Punish the Deed (3 page)

His eyes darted up to her face then bounced away and he looked down at the floor by his feet. “Uh, no, of course not.”

“You are in serious trouble, Mr. Lowery.”

“Trouble? Just because I . . . I . . . I . . .”

“The combination of your flight and your obvious lie have just made you a prime suspect in a murder.”

He looked at her with a blank expression. “What?”

She rose, slammed the door and pushed the button on her cell phone to redial the last call she’d received. “Have you found anything in the car search?”

“No weapon, Lieutenant. But found a small roach in the ashtray and three neatly rolled joints in the console.”

“Thanks,” she said as she disconnected and walked back toward the building. “Mr. Irving, I’ve got someone out here claiming to be your employee. You want to confirm that for me?”

When Lucinda opened the car door, Robert Irving’s eyes widened. “Sean?” he said.

“Mr. Irving, I don’t know what is going on. I didn’t kill anybody. Tell her, sir; tell her I wouldn’t kill anybody.”

“Lieutenant, what is going on here?” the superintendent asked.

“Do you recognize this man?”

“Yes. It’s Sean Lowery, our technology director. What has he done?”

“Nothing,” Sean interjected. “Nothing, sir. I swear.”

Lucinda slammed the door. “Thank you, Mr. Irving.”

As she walked back to the building, the superintendent followed behind her. “Why has Sean been arrested? You don’t really think he killed anyone, do you? What is going on? How long are you going to keep my people in the parking lot?”

“As long as I need to, Superintendent. I . . .” She stopped when the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter pulled her eyes upward. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath as she spotted the television call letters on the chopper. “Mr. Irving, is there a place on the top floor or in the basement where we can bring everyone inside in one place?”

“There’s the school board meeting room upstairs.”

“Gather your staff together on the sidewalk in front of Officer Colter. Do not discuss anything I’ve told you.”

Robert Irving sighed. “Lieutenant, you haven’t told me anything.”

“You know there’s been a murder. You know Sean Lowery has been arrested. That’s all you need to know right now. But the rest of these folks don’t need to know that. Can you keep your mouth shut?”

Irving bristled, opening his mouth to snap back at her before thinking better of it. “Yes,” he said through pursed lips.

Lucinda went inside and briefed Ted Branson on the situation outside. “I’d like you to go back to the station and get a warrant to search Lowery’s office for drugs. And make sure you get the language broad enough to include a possible murder weapon, just in case.”

Uniformed police officers escorted the school district employees through the side door and up the stairway just left of the entry. Lucinda followed at the tail end of the group but stopped on the landing when her cell phone rang.

“Lieutenant, Conrad Fleming is not at his workplace.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. His car’s not in the parking lot. Security said he didn’t use his entry card to get in this morning and to be doubly sure, I checked his office and lab. No sign of Fleming.”

“This is not good. Get out an alert on his car. Call me right away if anyone spots it. Approach the vehicle with care. If he did this, he’ll be a desperate man.”

Six

Lucinda scouted the second floor and found a room to use for questioning. She positioned a long table with a chair on one side where she could sit with her back to the window and another on the other side where the early-morning sun would shoot bright rays into the eyes of the person she interrogated.

She went down the hall to the school board meeting room where she ignored the superintendent’s attempts to get her attention. She put officers to work getting names, job positions and contact information for all the people in the room and asked Officer Kirby to stand guard down the hall. Then she called Sammy Nyguen.

He rose and walked to the front of the room with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. He followed Lucinda down the hall with steps as short and quick as a geisha. His dark green work pants were lighter at the knees – faded to a near-white shade. The legs of his pants were rolled into cuffs. Frayed edges rested on the top of scuffed work boots. His matching work shirt displayed signs of wear at the cuffs and across the top of the collar. Lucinda offered him a seat at the table and sat down opposite him.

“Mr. Nguyen, I know you’ve been through this already, but if you could please tell me everything you did, everything you saw, from the moment you pulled into the parking lot until the time the police arrived.”

Sammy related his story again, his voice getting higher and faster as his story progressed. The stress of the morning’s discovery was apparent in the whiteness around his nostrils and the tightness constricting his lips.

“Mr. Nguyen, are you certain that the basement door was locked before you entered the building?”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a nod.

“Did you unlock the side door before you left the building?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“And you unlocked the front doors?”

“When the officers asked me to, yes.”

“If the doors are locked, do you need a key to get out of the building?”

“Yes,” he said. “When the bolt is thrown you cannot open the door at all.”

Then whoever killed Fleming had to have had a key
. “How many people have keys to the building, Mr. Nguyen?”

“I don’t know. Lots of people. Most everybody.”

“Mr. Nguyen, what time did you leave work yesterday?”

“Me?” he asked, pointing a finger to his chest.

“Yes, Mr. Nguyen.”

“I left usual time – about three o’clock.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went home. I watch news on television. I have dinner with wife. We watched television shows and go to bed.”

“Which television shows did you watch last night?”

“Ahh, ahh, don’t remember – was something wife liked. I not pay much attention. I do crossword puzzles.”

“Your wife will corroborate that, Mr. Nguyen?”

“Yes, yes. She always tell truth. She’s good woman.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nguyen. Could you please return to the meeting room?”

“Yes,” he said. As he rose, he jerked his head forward in a half bow.

Lucinda jotted down a few notes about the interview then went back down the hall. She stood quietly in the doorway, unnoticed as she observed the behavior of the unwilling congregation. Sammy Nguyen stood with his back to a corner, shaking his head back and forth. Superintendent Robert Irving stood in front of him, badgering him with questions.

“Mr. Irving,” Lucinda said.

He turned toward her with a fast flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. “Yes?”

“This way, please,” she said and turned on her heels without waiting for his response.

As he stepped into the makeshift interrogation room, Irving said, “Lieutenant, you’ve put me in an awkward position. I should not know less than my own employees. What is going on in my building?”

“Have a seat, Mr. Irving.”

He slid into the chair but Lucinda remained standing, her arms folded across her chest. “The moment these premises became a crime scene, you ceded control and authority to the police department. I am in charge now, because, sir, you are a suspect – one of many, but a suspect nonetheless.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Do you have a key to this building?”

“Of course I do.”

“Since we’ve not found any indications of a forced entry so far, your possession of that key makes you a suspect.”

“Do you know how many people have keys?” Irving objected.

“No. But I’m hoping you’ll provide us with a list.”

“Of course, but who was killed?”

“We are still trying to locate the next of kin for the likeliest individual.”

“Lieutenant, I have narrowed it down to a handful of people who are not in the meeting room up the hall. I may be able to help you.”

Lucinda turned her back on him and walked in front of the windows and looked down into the parking lot as a car pulled into a slot and was surrounded by a sea of blue. She spun around and snapped, “Why did you call Mr. Nguyen a ‘son of a bitch’ this morning when he called you about the murder, Mr. Irving?”

“I did no such thing. He never called me. I would never call Mr. Nguyen . . .”

Lucinda raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then Mr. Nguyen is lying to me?”

He shaded his eyes from the sun. “Could you lower the blinds?” he asked.

Lucinda did not respond. She didn’t move. She continued to stare as she congratulated herself on the way she had positioned the chairs.

Irving broke the silence. “I admit I was pressuring him to tell me what he knew, back there in the meeting room. But I have never, ever called him names.”

“Once again, you are telling me that Mr. Nguyen is lying?”

“If he said I called him a ‘son of a bitch,’ yes, he is.”

“We’ve checked his cell-phone log, Mr. Irving. We know he called you this morning. And, from your response to him, it sounded as if you already knew why he was calling. In fact, at first, he thought you’d already called the police.”

“Why would I call the police?”

“You tell me, Mr. Irving. Did you know what Mr. Nguyen discovered before he called?”

“He didn’t call me,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Sit, Mr. Irving,” Lucinda ordered and waited for him to comply.

He glared at her before sinking back down into the chair and shading his eyes with his hand.

“Mr. Irving, we have documentation of Mr. Nguyen calling your home this morning. You’re wasting my time and yours by denying that phone call. Someone answered your home phone. And according to Mr. Nguyen, it was you and you said, ‘You son of a bitch, I’m calling the police. Leave us alone.’ And then you hung up the phone. Now if that is not an accurate representation of what you said to Mr. Nguyen, you tell me what you did say. But don’t tell me it didn’t happen.”

Irving stood to his feet again and leaned forward with his fists resting on the table in front of him. “Lieutenant, if you are not going to believe anything I am telling you, perhaps I need a lawyer. But I will insist again, I did not talk to . . .” The blood drained from Irving’s face, and he slumped down into the chair. “Ohmigod.”

Lucinda leaned into his face. “Yes, Mr. Irving?”

“I didn’t think it was Nguyen. I thought it was the other person calling again.”

“What other person, Superintendent?”

“I don’t know,” he looked up at her, a pleading look in his eyes. “Honest, I don’t know.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucinda urged.

“The first call came before five thirty. My wife answered. The caller wanted to know if I was there. I took the phone but he wouldn’t tell me who he was. He just hung up. Then he called again and hung up again. I thought the third call was from the same person. And, yes, that is just what I said. But I had no idea it was Nguyen. The first two calls certainly weren’t him. I’d recognized his voice. He has a slight accent.”

“I suppose your wife will verify your story?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Irving bristled. “But do you really need to drag her into this? It’s school business not personal business.”

Lucinda sighed. “Did you really need to ask that question, Superintendent?”

Irving flushed again. “Sorry. Stupid of me. I really do want to help, Lieutenant. I just don’t know how I possibly can without a better idea of what is going on – of who died here last night.”

Lucinda stared down at him, contemplating the wisdom of providing him with more information. Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door frame. She looked up at Ted Branson.

“I’ve got the warrant and brought along a couple of detectives to execute the search. Should I assist them or is there something else you need me to do?”

“Thanks, Ted,” Lucinda said. “I could use your help with these interviews. Could you pick a room, set up and get started?”

“Consider it done,” he said as he turned and walked away.

“I thought you didn’t need a search warrant, Lieutenant,” Irving said.

“We probably don’t but we have a side issue in addition to the homicide and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“A side issue? You mean Sean Lowery, the tech guy?”

“Yes,” Lucinda said.

“Please, Lieutenant. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help you,” Irving pleaded.

She studied him for a moment and said, “Okay, Superintendent, but it has to stay in this room.”

“No problem, Lieutenant.”

“Illegal drugs were found in Lowery’s car. We need to search his office for any additional drugs or drug paraphernalia and any information we might find to help identify his supplier. And, just in case, we’re also searching for a murder weapon.”

Irving gasped. “Drugs? Are you serious?”

“So far, just a small amount of marijuana.”

“There’s nothing small about that. He will be fired immediately.”

“That’ll have to wait. We’re holding him on resisting arrest, reckless driving, interfering with a homicide investigation, obstructing justice, driving under the influence and anything else we can think of to pile on top of the possession charge. He’ll be busy for a while.”

“I can’t wait to take action, Lieutenant. I would be underestimating the reaction of some of the parents if I did. If they even suspected that anyone on our payroll ever inhaled second-hand pot smoke at a college party, they’d be demanding termination. But this? If the school district is slow to take action, they’ll be lined up on our doorstep with pitchforks.”

“I thought most of your parents would have experimented with drugs when they were younger.”

“A lot of them did, but at times I get the impression that some of those who didn’t are bitter that they missed out on the fun,” he said with a laugh.

“Fun, Superintendent?”

Irving sighed. “Just a joke, Lieutenant. Now, are you going to tell me who died in my building?”

“We think it’s Sharon Fleming,” Lucinda said.

“Shari? Are you sure?” Irving asked.