Punish the Deed (5 page)

Eight

“You first,” Ted said.

“They found Conrad Fleming’s car,” Lucinda said.

“Where?”

“After looking all over town, a returning patrolman spotted it in our parking lot.”

“At the police station?”

“Yeah,” Lucinda said with a shake of her head. “If the media gets hold of this, we’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“What was it doing there?”

“Fleming was inside filing a missing-person’s report on his wife.”

“You’re kidding,” Ted said.

“I wish. He arrived there at about the same time the first officer arrived here. I’ve gotta head down to the station to talk to him. I need you to keep the situation here under control.”

“No problem.”

“So what did you get?”

Ted related Monica’s story about Robert Irving and Shari Fleming.

“Do you believe her?” Lucinda asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe she’s guessing. Maybe she’s making it all up. And maybe she’s right but it has nothing to do with Shari Fleming’s death.”

“Aw, c’mon, Ted. What are the odds that they’re having an affair and it has nothing to do with this homicide?”

“Slim. I know. But, it’s also possible that, true or not, the story is a smoke screen thrown up by Theismann to conceal her own involvement.”

“And what would be her motive for killing Shari Fleming?”

“At this moment, I have no idea,” Ted said, shaking his head.

“Follow up on that, Ted. Ask some other people about Theismann’s story and about Theismann. See what you find.”

“So what do I do with her now?” Ted asked.

“Do you trust her not to talk to anyone about your conversation if you send her back to the meeting room?”

“I hardly trust her to keep her mouth shut sitting in a room all alone.”
“Oh, one of those,” she said with a laugh. “Stick her in the room I was using. Kirby’s still there. He can keep an eye on her.”

Lucinda walked out to her car. Before she was halfway down the sidewalk, she spotted something stuck under her wiper on the driver’s side. It seemed irreverent to be soliciting so close to where someone had died a violent death.
No one knows that, though
. She thought.
Not yet.
She sighed.
But they will soon.

She turned and looked down the street to the barricade where uniforms stood vigilant to prevent reporters from nudging the white sawhorses forward. She spotted a camera with a very long lens moving to point in her direction. She turned away and snatched the glossy sheet of paper off her windshield. She was starting to crumple it into a ball when she realized that none of the other vehicles around hers had anything under their wipers.

She smoothed the paper out – it was just a flyer for a battery sale at Sears. She flipped it over and saw words printed in black ink in the white margin of the ad. “STOP IT. STOP IT NOW OR ELSE.”

Stop what?
She knew whoever had left that on her car was sure to be long gone by now, but she scanned the area anyway, turning quickly away when she spotted a media camera again.
Was this note intended for me specifically? Looks like it. Does it have anything to do with this investigation? Who knows? It could be a coincidence – and nothing more.
Coincidences always made Lucinda nervous. She decided to hold on to the note just in case.

As she pulled away from the curb and headed to the station, she didn’t notice that beyond the barricade, another car started up, circled the block and fell in behind hers.

Nine

Lucinda stood on the viewing side of the glass and observed Conrad Fleming. He rose from the table, circled the room and sat back down. He rested his elbows on the surface and his face in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and stood again. He repeated this pattern seven times in the five minutes Lucinda watched him.

The stress was apparent in more than his actions. His hair stuck out in all directions. His eyes reminded Lucinda of a panicked rabbit as they darted around the room. He wore a rumpled Duke University T-shirt and a slouchy pair of sweatpants – his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them.

Is he distraught? Or is he feeling guilty? Or is he just putting on a good show?
Lucinda wondered.

Fleming was on his feet with his back to the door when Lucinda opened it. He spun around at the sound. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his lips parted.

“Conrad Fleming?”

“Y-y-y-yes,” he stammered.

“I’m Lieutenant Pierce,” she said as she strode across the room with an outstretched hand.

He slipped his hand into hers but his handshake was weak and his palms cold and clammy.

“Have a seat, Mr. Fleming.”

His movements were clumsy, as if someone tugged a rope and jerked him into the chair. “Did you find Shari?”

“We think we have . . .” Lucinda began.

He threw his head and exhaled loudly as he placed a hand flat on his forehead. “Oh, thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”

“Mr. Fleming, if we are right, it is not good news.”

He dropped his head forward. “What do you mean? What are you saying? Is Shari hurt?”

“If we are right, yes, she is. She––”

“How badly?” Conrad interrupted. “Is she in the hospital?”

Lucinda pursed her lips and took a deep breath through her nose. “Mr. Fleming, we fear that your wife has been murdered.”

“Murdered? No. You’re wrong.” He thrust out his arms and pushed away from the table. Turning his back on Lucinda, he hung his head and swung it from side to side. “No. No. No. No. No. No.”

“Mr. Fleming, please. Please sit back down. We are not sure if it is your wife. We need to find out. Please sit down and help me.”

He returned to his seat. “It’s not Shari. It can’t be.”

“How was your marriage, Mr. Fleming?”

“It’s good. Really good. The only disagreement we ever had was over her long hours at work. We really don’t get to spend as much time together as I would like. But Shari’s job is demanding and she really cares about the students. And that’s part of who she is – of the woman I love.”

“Have you had any arguments recently?”

“Arguments? No, we hardly ever argue. What? Are you thinking I did something to Shari?”

“We have to check out all the possibilities, Mr. Fleming. If you argued, she could just be missing right now. She may just have gone out of town to think.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that. No. No arguments. I was hoping she’d get home before too late last night ’cause there was something I needed to ask her. I guess that could have been an argument if we had a chance to talk, but we didn’t.”

“What did you want to ask her, Mr. Fleming?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter now. It bothered me last night but not now.”

“Why, Mr. Fleming? What happened to change your mind?”

“Oh, I found out it wasn’t true,” he said.

“Found out what wasn’t true?”

“The stupid stuff Monica said.”

“Monica Theismann?” Lucinda asked.

“Yeah. She called last night. She’s not a very nice person.”

“What did she tell you, Mr. Fleming?”

“She had some ridiculous story about my wife and Robert Irving having an affair.”

“If it bothered you last night, why doesn’t it bother you now?” she asked him but her thoughts were more direct
. Is it because you know she’s dead – because you killed her?

“Because I know they didn’t spend the night together.”

“And just how do you know that?”

“I called his home this morning. He was there.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Actually, when he came to the phone, I hung up.”

“You just called once?”

“Well, actually, no. I called again to ask him if he knew where Shari was but when he answered the phone he was so angry, I just hung up again. I’m usually not that rude, honest.”

Well, that answers that. Or does it?
“When was the last time you spoke to your wife, Mr. Fleming?”

“Uh, let’s see. Right after I got home from work. I couldn’t have been home more than fifteen or twenty minutes. It was sometime before six last night.”

“Where was she when she called?”

“At work. She said she’d be there for a while. She told me to go ahead and eat dinner. I was worried about her. About whether she’d get something to eat or not. She told me not to worry. She said she’d grab something when she got home.”

“Did she say when she expected to get home?”

“Uh, she said she wasn’t sure. She said she had some paperwork to do and a parent conference and she’d be home as soon as she could.”

“Did she mention the parent’s name?”

“Uh, uh,” Conrad bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “No. No she didn’t. And, damn it, I didn’t ask.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Fleming. Stay calm for me, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, shaking his head, but his ragged breathing belied his words.

“Do you remember what she was wearing when she left for work in the morning?”

“Uh, I was still in bed. I-I-I, uh, she kissed me goodbye. I, uh, I told her I loved her. I didn’t pay any attention. I don’t know.” He threw his head on folded arms and sobbed. “It is true, isn’t it? She is dead.”

Lucinda reached across the table and patted his forearm. “I’m still not certain, Mr. Fleming. But, yes, I think so.”

“Oh, God,” he wailed as he raised his head. “Why didn’t I notice? I never paid enough attention to what she wore. She always looked so good and I hardly ever told her. Can I see her now?”

“Mr. Fleming, you don’t want to see her.”

“Yes, I do,” he said in an angry voice. “In fact, I demand to see her. She is my wife.”

Lucinda shook her head, “No, Mr. Fleming, you don’t. You really don’t. Please trust me on this.”

“What? Oh my God. What do you mean?” Conrad shouted. His mouth hung open. His eyes filled with tears. “What happened to Shari?”

“We have the body of a woman. We have reason to believe it is your wife. But we can’t be certain just by looking at her.”

He stood and paced back and forth in front of her, wringing his hands. “Ohmigod! What did they do to her? No, I don’t want to know. How will I ever know it’s her? Or maybe it’s not her? How will we ever know? Maybe this is a big mistake. A case of mistaken identity? That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Anything’s possible right now, Mr. Fleming. Let me check and see if her personal effects are available. You would recognize her watch and jewelry, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, some of it. Some of it, not. I bought some of it for her. I would remember that. She usually wore the watch I bought her two Christmases ago but not always. What – what did she have on?”

“I don’t recall off-hand, sir. Let’s see what I can find out from the coroner’s office.”

“The coroner’s office? Oh my God!” He slumped back into the chair and rested his head on the table, sobbing quietly.

When the phone answered, Lucinda said, “Pierce here. Are Shari Fleming’s personal effects ready?”

“Yes, ma’am, all wrapped up and ready to go,” the tech said. “If you’re in the building, I can bring them up.”

“Thanks. I’m in interrogation room B.”

“Be there in a flash.”

Lucinda disconnected and turned to Conrad Fleming. “Is there anyone you need to call while we wait? Any family members that need to know?”

He raised his hands and waved outward-facing palms in the air. “No. No. Not now. Not until we know for sure. Oh, God, I don’t know if I want to know,” he said, bowing his head.

“We need to know, Mr. Fleming. If it’s not your wife, we need to be looking for her.”

“Really?” his head lifted, his eyes brightened. “That officer who took my report said it had to be at least twenty-four before they’d do that.”

“Things have changed, Mr. Fleming. She was last known to be in a building where someone was murdered. If she’s not the victim, she could be a witness, or, quite frankly, she could be responsible. But either way, we’ll need to find her immediately.”

A rap on the door brought Lucinda to her feet. She signed for the small box wrapped in brown paper. She sat at the table and broke the seal. She slipped the contents out for Conrad to see.

He grabbed the thin watch, held it up and stared at its face. Then he clutched it to his chest and wailed. Lucinda had her answer. Shari Fleming was dead. Now she had to figure out why.