Scared Stiff (26 page)
Chapter 37
T
he “conference room” is actually the library since it’s the only space other than the morgue fridge big enough to hold this many people, and Hurley and I already have dibs on that other room. As we enter the library, a cacophony of noise greets us. Everyone is talking to everyone else and most of the voices are a mere gnat’s ass away from shouting. Hurley’s little pup tent is safe, assuming it’s still up, because our entry into the room goes unnoticed by everyone other than Izzy.
he “conference room” is actually the library since it’s the only space other than the morgue fridge big enough to hold this many people, and Hurley and I already have dibs on that other room. As we enter the library, a cacophony of noise greets us. Everyone is talking to everyone else and most of the voices are a mere gnat’s ass away from shouting. Hurley’s little pup tent is safe, assuming it’s still up, because our entry into the room goes unnoticed by everyone other than Izzy.
Larry and Junior hang out by the door, leaning against the wall. Hurley and I make our way to the head of the table and take the two empty chairs, me next to Izzy and Hurley between me and Grace Heinrich. I take a moment to observe the rest of the group. Grace and Katrina are seated to our left and Easton is seated at the opposite end of the table. On the other side are Sarah and Tom Conklin, with Aaron at the end near his brother.
Grace is leaning across the table lecturing Sarah about the importance of family heritage. Sarah is lecturing right back at her about the ills of greediness and how righteous it is to share. Katrina is mostly listening to this exchange, though she punctuates her sister’s comments periodically with “Damn right!” and “You know it’s true!”
Farther down, Easton is leaning in front of his brother and shaking a finger in Tom’s face, ordering him to “just give it up, put your tail between your legs, and go the hell home.”
Aaron, once again the cool, detached observer in the group, is smiling past his brother’s arm at me. I hear Hurley mutter, “Asshole,” under his breath and know he hasn’t missed the focus of Aaron’s attention.
Izzy makes a couple of attempts to get the attention of everyone, but his efforts are wasted. It’s not until Hurley cuts loose with a shrill whistle that the conversations cease and everyone’s attention shifts to the head of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Izzy says.
“Cut the crap and just get on with it,” Easton snaps. Judging from the red roadmap I can see running over his eyeballs, I guess his blood is somewhere around ninety proof about now. “Which one of them died first?”
Izzy nervously shuffles the folder of papers in front of him. I know the others in the room probably think he has autopsy results in there, but I know otherwise.
“We aren’t one hundred percent sure,” Izzy begins, “but—”
“What the hell!” Grace yells. “If you don’t have any answers for us, why are we here?” The rest of the group chimes in with their own grumbles but another whistle from Hurley silences them.
“I do have an answer for you,” Izzy says. “Just not the one you think.”
I expect more grumbling, but to my surprise, they all remain quiet, waiting.
Izzy opens the folder in front of him and takes out a stack of stapled papers. He doles out one of the stapled packets to each family member in the room, sliding them across the sleek surface of the table.
“As you can see,” Izzy begins, “the papers in front of you are copies of two wills and testaments. The originals are currently tagged as evidence and in the hands of an attorney. We found these wills inside a briefcase that was in your parents’ car.”
Aaron and the women start reading, flipping the pages as they go, their faces taking on disbelieving expressions. Easton, however, tries in vain to focus on the first page and then tosses his packet aside.
“We don’t need to read any goddamned wills,” Easton slurs. “We all have copies already.”
“Not of this one,” Izzy says. “If you’ll look at the last page, you’ll see that they were drafted, signed, and witnessed the day before your parents disappeared.”
Aaron flips a page and starts to chuckle.
Grace flips a page and mutters, “What the fuck?”
Katrina stares at her packet and says, “How could they do this?”
Tom remains silent and keeps reading; Sarah looks up at Izzy and says, “Are you sure this is for real?”
Izzy nods. “We found the lawyer who drafted the wills as well as the witnesses who signed them. They verified both documents.”
Easton, clearly curious now that he’s seen his siblings’ reactions, snatches his packet back and tries once again to bring the words into focus. He doesn’t appear to be having much luck so Izzy summarizes for him.
“So, as I’m sure you can all see, it doesn’t matter which of your parents died first because the outcome is the same either way. All of their money is going to a select group of charities.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Easton screams. “No fucking way.”
Aaron tries to placate his brother by placing a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid it’s true, bro,” he says calmly. “They’ve cut us all out.”
“Fucking sonofabitch!” Easton yells, pounding a fist on the table.
Grace sets her packet of papers down, glares across the table at Sarah, and in a scarily calm and quiet voice, says, “This is all your fault, you fucking bitch.”
“My fault?” Sarah comes back. “If you and your siblings hadn’t been so goddamned lazy and greedy, maybe our folks wouldn’t have felt the need to do this.”
“Greedy?” Grace shrieks. “I’ll give you greedy, bitch!” With that, Grace flings herself across the table and smashes into Sarah head first. Sarah yelps, grabs a chunk of Grace’s hair, and screams, “Get off me, you crazy bitch!” Grace manages to grab Sarah by the throat and at that point Tom joins in and starts trying to pry Grace’s hands loose. That sets Katrina off, who mimics her sister’s maneuver by flying across the table and trying to gouge Tom’s eyes out. Easton, who I’m now convinced is not only a lush but several Froot Loops shy of a full bowl, stands up, rips his shirt open, and dives across the table into Tom.
Seconds later, the room is utter chaos, with Hurley, Junior, and Larry joining the fray. Izzy and I hop out of our chairs and pin our backs to the wall behind us, huddling in the corner farthest from the melee. Across the room I see Aaron slide along his wall and then slip out of the room altogether.
I hear fabric ripping, people screeching, and the sickening sounds of flesh and bone crunching together. At one point blood flies and hits the side wall but I can’t tell whose it is. One of the chairs gets broken and the table is slowly pushed all the way to the other side of the room.
“Well, that went well, wouldn’t you say?” Izzy says to me as we stand watching. He grabs a nearby chair and positions it in front of us like a barricade.
“Thank goodness you had Junior and Larry here.”
Izzy nods. “Think we can get past them to the door?” he says as somebody’s purse flies across the room and hits the wall beside us.
I shake my head and watch as Tom Conklin takes a swing at Easton, who either ducks or falls, allowing Tom’s fist to connect with Junior’s face instead. “Too risky,” I say, grimacing as Junior staggers sideways.
Oddly enough, the Heinrich and Conklin clans seem to be pulling together for a change, ganging up on Hurley and the other two cops. It’s not looking too good for our side when the door to the library crashes open and an unbelievable sight appears.
There, filling the entire doorway, is a behemoth of a man wearing a Lone Ranger–type mask. His feet are encased in red boots and his body is outfitted in tight, red spandex: body suit, tights, and cape. He stands there with his legs spread apart, his fists on his hips, and his arms cocked wide. On his puffed-out chest is printed a giant, yellow, capital letter
H
for Hacker Man. As odd as this apparition is, it’s one I’ve seen before. Beneath that superhero costume is Joey Dewhurst, the computer savant who saved my life once before.
H
for Hacker Man. As odd as this apparition is, it’s one I’ve seen before. Beneath that superhero costume is Joey Dewhurst, the computer savant who saved my life once before.
The sight of him now worries me more than it reassures me. Despite his intimidating presence, Joey is a big softy and I’m afraid he’s going to get hurt. He steps into the room and grabs for the person closest to him, which happens to be Easton. Joey, who probably outweighs Easton by a good two hundred pounds, easily pulls his quarry aside. Easton whirls around angrily, ready to throw a punch, but he freezes, staring at Joey with a look of horror on his face. And then he screams like a little girl.
“Get it off of me!” he screeches. “Oh my God, oh my God! Make it go away!” With that, Easton collapses and starts to sob. This spectacle is enough to distract the others in the room, who glance over to see what’s going on and then freeze where they are, stunned into submission. I can’t say I blame them; Joey the superhero is a rather incredulous sight.
“What the hell is that?” Tom Conklin asks, his eyes wide with fright.
Since Hurley and the other cops know Joey and his predilection for costumes, they aren’t as riveted as the rest of the group. As a result, they are finally able to gain the upper hand and cuff Tom, Sarah, and the two Heinrich sisters.
That leaves Easton, who is lying on the floor at Joey’s feet, still sobbing. He appears to have wet himself, and once Larry and Junior realize that, they look at each other, sigh, and do a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Junior wins and a reluctant Larry carefully approaches Easton and zip-ties his hands behind his back.
By now, I can see there are other people lurking in the hallway just beyond the doorway to the room: Arnie and Aaron Heinrich. I hear Arnie tell Larry, “Yeah, Joey and I were just coming back from lunch and we ran into this guy out front.” He gestures toward Aaron. “He told us about the meeting in here, and when we heard the commotion going on beyond the door, Joey went into hero mode, stripped off his regular clothes, and made his entrance.”
With everyone in the room secure, Hurley makes his way over to me and Izzy. His hair is attractively mussed, one sleeve is torn nearly off, revealing a sexy shoulder beneath, and his lower lip has a small cut on it.
“You guys okay?” he asks.
“We’re fine,” I say. “But you look a little the worse for wear.” I reach up and gingerly dab at a drip of blood on his lip. And as soon as my finger touches that soft flesh, I remember how those lips felt against mine. I feel myself growing hot and quickly pull away.
“I’m fine,” Hurley says.
“Thank goodness for Joey,” I say. “Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did?”
Hurley looks offended. “We were managing just fine on our own.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” I say, looking askance. “Those nut jobs were beating the crap out of you guys.”
“The hell they were,” Hurley sulks.
I look at him and break into a grin. “Well, well. Aren’t we the macho man? You can’t stand the fact that a bumbling superhero-wannabe saved your ass, can you?”
“He didn’t. We almost had them by the time Joey showed up,” Hurley argues. He looks over at Izzy. “Didn’t we?” It’s a rhetorical question. Hurley fully expects Izzy to agree with him, but instead Izzy just shakes his head.
“Crap,” Hurley says, looking crestfallen.
“It’s okay,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. Nobody’s perfect. Now quit sulking, put on your big boy pants, and let’s get out of here.”
As I turn to leave the room I hear Hurley utter a parting shot behind me. “Women,” he huffs. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t get ’em to wear a leather bustier.”
Chapter 38
O
ddly enough, Hurley’s parting quip gives me an idea. As soon as the Heinrich and Conklin clans are hauled off to jail, I make a phone call to Carla Andrusson and ask her if I can stop by again. She isn’t happy with yet another interruption in her dinner party preparations, but after promising to be quick, she relents.
ddly enough, Hurley’s parting quip gives me an idea. As soon as the Heinrich and Conklin clans are hauled off to jail, I make a phone call to Carla Andrusson and ask her if I can stop by again. She isn’t happy with yet another interruption in her dinner party preparations, but after promising to be quick, she relents.
I let Izzy know I’m heading out and make a beeline for Carla’s house before she has a chance to change her mind. When I tell her what I want her to do she is resistant at first, but after some reasoning and cajoling, she finally buys into my plan and we agree to implement it the following day.
From Carla’s house I head to the dry cleaner to pick up my gown and Hurley’s jacket. As I’m headed into the store my cell phone rings and, as I fumble for it, I run into someone who is coming out. I look up to apologize but the words freeze on my lips. Standing in front of me is Luke Nelson.
“Ah, so we meet again,” he says. He is smiling but it looks forced and the tone of his words is flat, tired, and exasperated sounding.
“Hello,” I say. I start to push by him but he stops me with a question.
“Anything new with Shannon’s case?”
I turn to look back at him, my hand on the door. “We’ve made a little progress,” I say vaguely, studying his facial expression. If my words worry him at all, he isn’t showing it.
“I hear they found the gun her husband owned.”
“Yes,” I say. “But we don’t have the ballistics report yet so we don’t know if it’s the murder weapon.” Then it hits me. “How did you hear about it already?”
“I have a few connections,” he says cryptically. His evasiveness annoys me but I can hardly complain since I’ve been that way myself. “I take it my alibi patients from the day in question have been cooperative?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So I can safely assume we won’t be having lunch again anytime soon?”
There is a hint of smugness in the way he says this that makes my hackles rise. I suspect he is deliberately taunting me. “You are safe from me,” I tell him, flashing him my best plastic smile. “At least for now.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly when I utter this caveat and a muscle in his left cheek starts to twitch. For several intolerably long seconds we stand there staring at one another. I’m pretty certain he’s playing a game of intimidation with me so I stand my ground, refusing to break eye contact even though every nerve in my body is screaming at me to escape. It’s all I can do not to smile with relief when he finally says, “Good day,” and leaves.
Belatedly I remember the phone call I never answered. I take my cell out, look at the call history, and see it was Izzy. There is no message in my voice mail so I call him back.
“Hey, Izzy, what’s up?”
“Arnie says he’s found something of interest in the blood samples we collected from Shannon’s house. I thought you might want to be here when he tells us what it is.”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
I disconnect the call and head inside the cleaner’s, where the same lady is on duty behind the counter. She looks nervous when she sees me and I brace myself for some bad news. Which will it be? The gown or Hurley’s jacket?
“I have your stuff ready,” she says. She disappears into the back and returns a moment later with both items placed on hangers and covered in plastic. “That was one nasty jacket,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “We had to process it three times to get the smell out.” I nod, waiting for the kicker. “So your total comes to sixty bucks. I had to charge extra for the jacket treatment.”
I wince at the price and dig out my wallet. All I have is forty-two dollars. “I guess I’ll have to wait until payday to get both items,” I tell her. “How much was the dress?”
She chews her lip in thought for a moment, then says, “Tell you what. How about I give you a half-price deal?”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You mean thirty bucks for both of them?”
She nods.
“That’s a deal,” I tell her. I pay her and walk out to the car feeling pretty chipper. Today must be my lucky day. But as I drive to the office, something about the whole transaction bothers me. It was easy, maybe too easy.
I take the dress into the office with me and give it back to Cass, thanking her for letting me borrow it. Then I head for Arnie’s lab.
Izzy is already there and he waves me in as soon as he sees me. “Come on in. You’re going to love this, I think.”
Arnie is sitting at his desk holding a small plastic plate about the size of a playing card. On top of the card are a series of circles, each one with a red dot in it. “Check it out,” he says, handing me the card. I look at it and see that it’s a blood typing test. “I’ve spent all week wading through those two-hundred-plus blood samples we collected from Shannon’s house,” he says. “And every one of them has tested out as Shannon’s blood type.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, confused as to why this news would interest me.
“Shannon’s blood type is A positive but that sample you have in your hand is B negative, which is a very rare type.”
“It’s not Shannon’s blood?”
Arnie grins and shakes his head.
“Where was it found?”
“I pulled it off of one of the glass shards we found in the kitchen.”
“So it’s most likely the killer’s blood?”
“Yep. And here’s the part you’re really going to like,” Arnie adds, his grin getting bigger. “Erik Tolliver’s blood type is O positive.”
My eyes grow wide.
“And since we can assume the owner of this blood was injured by the glass, it might rule Erik out even more if there were no cuts of any kind found on him when he was arrested.”
My heart is leaping with joy; this really is turning out to be my lucky day.
“Have you told anyone else about this yet?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Izzy says. “I was going to call Hurley but I thought you’d want to be here when I deliver the news.”
“Damn right I do,” I say, smiling and rubbing my hands together with glee. “One free dinner coming up, compliments of Hurley. I can hardly wait.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Izzy cautions. “It isn’t a full exoneration yet, just a lot of very reasonable doubt. Arnie is going to send the blood sample to Madison for a DNA test and that might give us even more ammunition.”
“Might?”
Arnie says, “Well, it was a small sample to begin with and there isn’t very much of it left so I’m not sure if they’ll be able to get a full profile.”
“Still, the blood type alone is something, isn’t it?” I ask.
“It is,” Izzy agrees.
“Can I tell Lucien about this?”
Izzy shrugs and looks at Arnie, who shrugs back. “I don’t see why not,” Izzy says. “Why don’t you call him and I’ll get a hold of Hurley.”
I nod eagerly, realizing that for once in my life I’m actually looking forward to talking to Lucien. I take out my cell phone and dial his number, but it flips over to his voice mail. Rather than trying to explain everything on the phone, I leave a brief message to let him know we have discovered some key evidence in the case and ask him to call me back.
Izzy has already finished his call by the time I hang up. “Hurley will be here momentarily,” he announces.
I’m excited to hear this, not only because I’m eager to let Hurley know my faith in Erik’s innocence was valid, but because it means getting to see him again. I can’t wait to pick up where we left off and I figure any time spent near him enhances the chances of that happening.
I dash to the restroom to do some primping in preparation, and pop a breath mint just in case I might get lucky. By the time I come out, I hear Hurley’s voice outside Izzy’s office and hurry toward it.
As I round the corner high with anticipation, I stop dead in my tracks. Just as I’d hoped, there stands Hurley in the doorway of Izzy’s office. But standing beside him, looking doe-eyed, dewy-fresh, and lovely, is Alison Miller.
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