Time of Death (30 page)

PJ remembered the painful beginning to her phone conversation with John Winter, when she was the first to inform him of the death of his two nieces’ husbands. She didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news to Mrs. Singer. She already had an image of the woman in her mind: frail, crepe paper skin, eyes slightly filmy, sweet personality. Everyone’s old grandma.

“You must be Thomas,” said Rhonda, turning to her son. “Some of the men headed off to the rec room a little while ago. I think they’re playing table tennis. Would you like to join them?”

PJ saw the look that crossed her son’s face. A swimming pool where he could show off his excellent water skills, maybe, but stuck in a room with a bunch of octogenarians batting a little ball back and forth wasn’t his idea of fun.

“Actually, I have this book to read,” he said, holding out
The Great Gatsby,
assigned at the academy. She’d been pestering him to get started on it, and now he was eager to use it as an excuse. Annoyed, she stepped on his foot out of sight of the receptionist.

“Ouch. I mean, I’d be happy to. Just show me the way.”

“If you’d both follow me, please.” The woman took off down the hall. They heard the rec room before they saw it. “In here.”

The room was large almost to the point of being cavernous, high-ceilinged and lit by rows of skylights. Artificial lighting was taking over as an early winter sunset darkened the sky. There were several seating arrangements scattered around the room, some of them occupied with residents talking or quietly reading. One side of the room was lined with computers, and the rest of the place had many forms of indoor entertainment, including pinball machines, a self-service snack counter, pool tables, and table tennis.

“Heads up!”

A white ball went whizzing past Thomas’s head. He ducked, and it clattered to the floor after bouncing off a plasma TV.

“Sorry.”

They watched as play resumed. The men might have been octogenarians or nearly so, but they were active and thoroughly enjoying themselves. There was a rooting section that booed and applauded, and the players were good. They stood far back from the tables, and the moving ball was practically a blur.

“Hey, can you teach me how to play like that?” Thomas said.

“Sure, c’mon over, young man. Eddie here used to be a high school coach. He’ll get you started.”

“Bye, Mom. Take your time with your interview or whatever.”

PJ and Rhonda continued down the hall until they came to wooden double doors. The receptionist knocked and then opened the doors to a sumptuous office.

There’s no end to the surprises here.

“This is Dr. Penelope Gray,” Rhonda said. PJ entered and the doors closed behind her. The only light in the room was an exquisite Tiffany lamp on the desk. The base looked like a twisted vine, and the stained-glass shade was ringed with blue and green dragonflies. Light glowed vibrantly through the shade. It took a few moments for PJ to notice the woman sitting behind the desk. She was diminutive, dwarfed by her massive mahogany desk. PJ guessed she was about sixty, with a crown of silver curls, wearing a conservative dark dress and a tasteful amount of gold jewelry.

“It does draw the eye, doesn’t it?” the woman said, nodding toward the lamp.

“It’s beautiful. Are you the administrator?” PJ asked. “I made an appointment to see Mrs. Singer. My business with her is private.”

“Sit down, Dr. Gray. I’m Jasmine Singer.”

PJ sat down, keeping her face lowered to hide her confusion.
This isn’t everyone’s sweet old grandma.

“I don’t just live here, I own the place. Most people are a little surprised when they meet me,” Jasmine said. “Money can stave off old age, or at least the appearance of it, for a while. I’m seventy-nine. It shows up in some ways, though. The staff tennis instructor says soon he’ll be able to beat me with one hand tied behind his back. I told him if he ever does that, call the funeral home because I’ll be dead.”

PJ smiled. She liked this brash, honest woman, and her sense of humor.

That’s me, decades from now, I hope. Except for the money part.

She wondered how to begin, and if she was about to spring unpleasant news on her. Jasmine didn’t seem to be much of a factor in her nieces’ lives, so she might not be upset.

“Mrs. Singer,” PJ began.

“Call me Jasmine.”

“I’m PJ. Jasmine, are you aware of the very recent deaths of Frank Simmons and Arlan Merrett?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me say I’m sorry for the losses you’ve experienced.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d never met either of them, so it wasn’t much of a personal loss.”

“You didn’t attend your nieces’ weddings?”

“I was invited. I think the girls had stars in their eyes, figuring they’d get an expensive wedding present out of me. I told them it was too far for a frail old woman to travel,” she winked at PJ, “and sent them each a toaster.”

“They must have been disappointed about that. Not seeing you, I mean.”

“It was a four-slice toaster. Top of the line. Same one I use myself.”

PJ
really
liked this woman. “May I ask why you were estranged from your nieces?”

“You may ask.”

“My questions may be very important, Jasmine. Do you know I’m working with the police on the homicide investigations?”

“The Metro Mangler. I know who you are, what you do, where you grew up, and the name of your son, your cat, your ex-husband, your CHIP teammates, and even who gronz_eye is. I know that you phoned John Winter in Denver, but not what you talked about. I know that you rented a Ford Focus because your car was totaled in an attempt on your life. I know that you bought gas and looked at eagles in Clarksville on your way up here today.”

PJ was shocked. “You’re having me followed?”

“Not until you called and asked to see me. When someone inquires about me, I find out all I can about them. There are plenty of people who are up to no good where the very rich are concerned. Not that you are, PJ. Would you care for some orange juice? I usually have some at this time of day.” She pressed a button on her phone. “Rhonda, would you please bring in some O.J.?”

The trip was a waste of time. This woman’s lips are sealed tighter than an envelope.

The orange juice arrived in crystal goblets. PJ took the offered goblet to be courteous and was glad she did. It was the best orange juice she’d ever had.

“I didn’t come here to talk about May and June,” PJ said. “I came to talk about April. John Winter told me he went to her funeral. What do you know about her death?”

“For one thing, I know that she wasn’t in the casket that was buried that day.”

PJ sat back, stunned, goblet halfway to her mouth. “Who was?”

“A young woman named Elissa Nevers. Elissa was a maid in my sister Virginia’s household. April killed her in a rage, claiming the maid had taken a necklace from her. The necklace was later found behind the dresser, where it had slipped. What she did to that poor maid was horrible. Even now I block it from my mind.”

“Didn’t the police investigate the maid’s disappearance?”

“Not seriously. No one even inquired about her for a long time. She had no family. When a high school friend finally tried to get in touch with her, we said that Elissa had quit and left town suddenly, in the company of a young man she’d been dating. Elissa had done that very thing before and stayed missing for two years before surfacing in the Bahamas, working as a hotel maid. It was a stroke of good luck for us. The police lost interest when that fact came to light.”

An innocent woman killed, possibly tortured and maimed, and there’s something about it that’s a stroke of good luck?
PJ kept her face neutral, which was becoming harder to do. Her training as a psychologist came in handy at times like this.

“So where was April after the funeral? She couldn’t continue living in the same house.”

“Obviously. April came to live with me, at my summer home in Michigan.”

“Weren’t you afraid to take her in? Not to mention that you were hiding a killer from the law.”

“Family secrets, dear. All the wealthy families are hiding something. Ours just happened to be a little bit more serious than some. Virginia and I were close, and I didn’t hesitate when she asked it of me. I did take the precaution of hiring a doctor who lived with April and kept her under control with drugs.”

Family secrets. Score one for Merlin.

“I think you should have gone to the police, have her arrested, and then gotten her committed to an institution. What is it, schizophrenia?”

“You’re good. No wonder you have such a high solve rate on your cases. We did think about April being committed, but it would have shamed the whole family. The newspapers would have loved the story. Also, I liked April. When you know her better, it’s easier to sympathize with her.”

PJ’s favorable impression of Jasmine was fading fast. The woman was so concerned about image that she’d conceal a murder and let the killer avoid the consequences. And what could there possibly have been about April to trigger sympathy? That she was mentally ill, maybe. She might have led a better life if her parents had sought treatment for her early. No doubt that would have shamed the family, too. Thinking back on her earlier impression that Jasmine was what she wanted to be decades from now, PJ cringed.

“There’s something else I think you should know about April. Virginia’s husband wasn’t the father. Virginia was pregnant when she married.”

“The shotgun wedding,” PJ said.

Jasmine’s eyebrows shot up. “John told you that? May I ask what else he told you?”

“You may ask.”

There was silence in the room, except for the ticking of a schoolhouse clock on the wall. PJ watched the short pendulum as it swung back and forth.

Jasmine shook her head. “John didn’t have anything else to tell. Only a very few of us knew the secret.”

Secrets known only to a minority
—
esoterica! Score two for Merlin.

“Who was the father?” PJ asked. Evidently Jasmine’s lips weren’t as sealed as PJ thought. Information was sailing out of her mouth.

Jasmine sighed. “I’ll only say that April was the spawn of rape. Virginia’s probably thoroughly shocked in her grave with what I’ve said already.”

“Where is April now? Is she still in Michigan?”

“That’s the only reason I agreed to talk with you today, PJ.

April murdered the doctor and ran away six months ago.

With all the resources I can call upon, I can’t find her. She’s disappeared from the face of the earth.”

P
J WANTED TO THINK
over everything she’d heard and remember every detail. Thomas wanted to chatter about his newly-acquired skill in table tennis.

She took US-61 home. It was dark and she didn’t need the scenic route along the Mississippi. Her bright headlights tunneled through the night. After she saw a deer on the shoulder, she flicked off the buzzing thoughts in her mind and concentrated on getting home safely.

It was a tedious drive, punctuated by a stop at a fast-food restaurant to use the bathroom. She felt bad just taking advantage of the restaurant’s restroom, so she and Thomas ate there, too. She managed to buy a salad but added a milkshake to it. Thomas ate two double cheeseburgers and looked around for more. Seeing him staring at her milkshake, she handed it over. All that accomplished was trading guilt over her indulgence for guilt over Thomas eating so poorly that day.

She resolved to keep better hours and maybe even cook an occasional meal. Using her cellphone from the parking lot, she told Lilly they’d be there in an hour to pick up Megabite and Thomas’s things. Enough of this twenty-four-hour on-call business.

At home, she fed the cat, then called Schultz. Before he got there, she took a hot bath, swallowed a couple of Tylenol, and slipped on her flannel pajamas. The pajamas were faded from years of use, and the top was missing one of its buttons. She’d been getting around to replacing it for about three years. Physically comforted, she went downstairs to wait. Thomas passed her on the stairs carrying two apples and a bowl of popcorn up to his room.

“You couldn’t be hungry again,” she said.

“Yeah, I am. Aren’t you?”

She shook her head. At least there was fruit involved. “Remember, you’re still grounded. This would be a perfect time for
The Great Gatsby
.”

She put on some coffee and cuddled with Megabite in the living room while it brewed. Either the cat was really happy to be with her, or just enjoyed kneading on flannel. Either way was okay with PJ.

Schultz arrived. Over cups of coffee at the kitchen table, she told him everything about her visit with Jasmine Singer. He listened with great intensity and didn’t interrupt.

“So it’s likely April Winter’s the killer,” he said. “At least, of Arlan and Frank.”

“I don’t know if we can say that for sure, but it looks like she might be lashing out against her sisters in an indirect way, by going after their husbands. Maybe for the life she didn’t get to live. She was confined at Jasmine’s summer home, and probably given drugs whether she was willing to take them or not.”

“How about Shower Woman and the other five murders?”

“Seven murders, if you count Elissa Nevers and the Michigan doctor. I don’t know. The killings that used the signature mutilation obviously have deep meaning to her. The others may have just been people who got in the way.”

“Is it over now?” Schultz said. “She’s done everything she meant to do?”

“You mean because there hasn’t been a signature death in two whole days? If I were Jasmine,” PJ said, “I’d be more than a little nervous right now.”

“She’s probably got that Elder Care place built like a fortress. After all, she’s had plenty of time to prepare. She imprisoned April for thirty years.”

PJ sipped her coffee and thought about that. Jasmine was enormously wealthy, so her “summer home” could well be a mansion, with every luxury and convenience, including connections to the outside world through books, TV, and computers. Without Jasmine concealing her, April would have ended up in an institution or in prison for murder. Did she do April a favor, even though her motive was to protect the family image?