To Die For (5 page)

“Detective Greco.”

Jeri looked good for a woman in her 50s. She was trim, with neatly styled dark brown hair, and she wore casual clothes. Russ had disappeared and Jeri sat across from Greco in a recliner. He noticed she was wearing Nikes.

“I'm sorry for your loss, but it's important that we get this information so we can apprehend whoever did this,” Greco said. “I need to know everything possible about Norma and her habits, any personal information that I can about her—who she regularly came into contact with, whether she had a maid.”

“I'll give you whatever you need,” Jeri said, addressing him formally as “Detective.”

Greco started with fairly innocuous questions about Norma's medications and her pill-taking schedule, which could be critical in estimating the time of the murder. Jeri, occasionally wiping away tears, said that Norma kept two separate pillboxes, a yellow one downstairs in the kitchen for morning pills and a blue one upstairs on the lamp table next to her recliner for those she took in the evening. Both pillboxes had a separate compartment for each day of the week. Greco knew that the pills for Monday, Feb. 14, were gone from the downstairs pillbox, which was corroborated by the fact that Norma was last seen alive at the hardware store that morning. But the pills in Tuesday evening's compartment were still there. Jeri said Norma typically took her evening pills with dinner at five or six o'clock.

She got up to check on Norma's medications and came back a few minutes later with some prescription bottles which she handed to Greco.

He went through his list of questions: a nurse's log for Norma's care, a list of individuals who visited Norma at home to render medical assistance after her accident and after the open-heart surgery. He also wanted to know about the keys that Norma had purchased the morning she was killed. Jeri said that they were for the mailbox; Norma had them made so that the younger woman could retrieve her mail. And Norma did have a housekeeper, but she had been hospitalized with an aneurysm last week.

Jeri brought up the Medicare check again. She'd gone into Norma's condo after the police had left and hadn't found the check. She thought it was something he could trace in case the killer had tried to cash it. Greco said he hadn't seen it among the evidence, so they would have to subpoena bank records to find out if it had been cashed.

Periodically, Jeri excused herself to search for various pieces of paperwork. She seemed well organized and could lay her hands on Norma's paperwork fairly quickly. With every question, Jeri either answered or found whatever Greco needed without hesitation. She was exceedingly courteous and polite. At times, during the interview, Jeri cried softly, but she remained composed.

“I don't know who would do this to Norma,” she said. “I can't believe this happened.”

She was not merely pleasant, she was bending over backwards to cooperate. What he saw in her eyes was shock and disbelief. This wasn't his suspect.

He had one more stop—Alice Williams.

*   *   *

It was getting dark by the time Greco got to Alice's house. He knocked on the door, rang the bell and waited, knowing it sometimes took elderly people a while to answer their doors. Greco heard a muffled voice. He waited. Then he heard it again. She was asking what he wanted.

“It's Detective Greco from the police department,” Greco shouted, pulling the badge clipped to his belt and holding it up so she could see. A bright porch light flipped on. From the corner of his eye, he saw the curtains move slightly.

He heard the lock snap and, when the door opened, a frail, white-haired woman invited him in. As soon as he stepped inside, she closed and locked the door. Greco took a quick look around. Her house was very clean and neat, just like Norma's.

Alice offered him refreshments, but Greco declined. She sat on the edge of her chair across from him. Greco could tell she had been crying. He handed her a card, gently reintroduced himself and offered his condolences with his standard opening line.

“I'm very sorry about what happened. I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it's important that I speak with you about this.” Greco said. He stopped himself. Alice was trembling and her hands shook.

This woman is really frightened, Greco thought to himself. It was bad enough that murderers take others' lives but they also inflict lifelong emotional scars on the people who discover bloody, often nightmarish crime scenes involving loved ones. It wasn't fair. Alice had lived this long; she didn't deserve to see her best friend butchered. When he'd first arrived at the crime scene yesterday, he'd seen Alice cowering by her car, surrounded by Norma's neighbors. Sgt. McElvain and Officer Noggle had told him she was pretty broken up, so Greco had decided not to traumatize her with questions then. She still looked pretty shaken. Greco whisked her through the interview, keeping the questions simple.

With tears in her eyes, Alice told him she took Norma to the bank before going to the hardware store. It was Valentine's Day. Norma had gently teased the teller about the candy and the vase of flowers at her window.

“She was a beautiful lady,” Alice said. “We played bridge together; we shopped together. Norma was my best friend.”

Greco nodded.

He asked if she had seen anything unusual when she drove Norma home.

“Just some gardeners working in the yard,” Alice said. “They were standing around talking and stuff.”

As the interview drew to a close, she lingered as if she didn't want him to leave.

“I'm afraid. I live alone. I don't have any family and there's no one to watch over me. Norma was my best friend. My only friend,” she said, her voice staying strong. “Do you think you could come back and visit? If you could just check up on me from time to time…” Greco assured her that he would.

Williams seemed relieved.

“I'm afraid the killer will come back.”

CHAPTER THREE

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1994, 10:30 A.M.

If you were to walk out of Norma's front door on Continental Way, cross the street to the golf course, bisect the sixth green and jog over two houses to the west, you'd wind up at June Roberts' olive-and-white house on Big Tee Drive. June, an attractive, 66-year-old brunette, and her neighbor, Edna Barker, wheeled their golf carts over to the cluster of mailboxes near one of the community's gates to pick up that morning's mail. Like most residents of the desert community, they whizzed around the complex in their open-air electric carts to visit friends or run errands. It had been two weeks since Norma Davis' murder, but talk of the brutal killing was still a popular topic among Canyon Lake residents. It seemed as if everyone either knew the victim or knew someone who did. Even June had a remote connection—her deceased husband was best friends with Russell Armbrust, who was married to Norma's step-daughter-in-law, Jeri. June had heard from Jeri that the investigators thought it was someone from the family, and June had passed that tidbit to a friend at church.

June, after losing her husband months earlier, took care of all her own finances now and needed information about homeowner's insurance. Did Edna have a good insurance agent? Edna said she did and promised to call her with the name and phone number later in the day. The two discussed June's weekend with her daughter in San Diego, about an hour south. Sorting through their mail, June and Edna chatted a bit more, then parted ways. A canasta regular, June was headed home, then was going out for her weekly midday card game. That night, she planned to celebrate her birthday with golfing buddies.

As June drove away, a big brown Cadillac lumbered through the Canyon Lake security gates and turned onto Big Tee Drive. Behind the wheel sat a striking blonde with slightly wavy, chin-length hair and the solid, muscular physique of an athletic outdoorswoman. A blonde 5-year-old boy was strapped into the front passenger seat. Stuffed cartoon characters Ren and Stimpy, an offbeat, irreverent animated duo, were stuck to the inside rear window with small suction cups, positioned to appear as if they were trapped inside the car. The Cadillac cruised past tall palms that rose high above the low, flat-topped homes, and stopped in front of June's house. June was raking leaves in the side yard and depositing the small piles into the trash.

“Just stay here, Jason,” the driver said, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from a box half-hidden under the floor mat behind the driver's seat, and stuffing them in her pocket.

“I'll only be a minute.”

Dana Sue Gray kissed Jason on the forehead and slammed the heavy driver's side door shut, then walked over to the carport to greet June. The ultra-low-maintenance front yard was cleverly landscaped with the small, green-dyed rocks favored by retirees. A small fruit-bearing orange tree and pink flowered bushes hugged the house.

June recognized Dana, Russell Armbrust's daughter. June occasionally played golf with Russell and Jeri, but had not socialized much since her husband passed away. Between the Canyon Lake Country Club, her card games and golf games, June rarely saw Dana. But when Dana had gotten pregnant last year, June, a fitness buff, had advised her about nutrition and had taken her to a health food store to pick up a few things. Unfortunately, she had heard from Russell that Dana had miscarried the baby, then heard that she had separated from her husband. Now Dana was in her yard.

June and Dana exchanged greetings and the younger woman asked if she could borrow a book on nutrition, one that June had suggested to her last year when she was pregnant.

“You know, I've been drinking a lot and I need to get back on track,” Dana said. “I need your help. Maybe that book would help.”

June smiled and said she knew exactly which one to get her. She disappeared inside the house and emerged moments later with the book. As she handed it over, she expressed sympathy for Dana and wished her the best.

Dana, a frozen smile on her face, glanced at the book and shook her head.

How dare you judge me? You have no reason to judge me.

“No, this isn't the right one,” she said. “I think it's the other one you recommended. You know, it had to do with nutrition. Maybe I can find it on your bookshelf.”

June hesitated slightly. Eager to get ready for her canasta game, June turned to go back inside, chattering away. Dana followed silently and shut the door behind her.

It will be real quick.

They walked in through the laundry room where June had plopped her purse on the dryer, down a short hallway and left into the den. June made small talk and Dana responded cheerfully, but deliberately lagged behind, quickly wriggling her hands into latex gloves while looking around for what she needed. With June's back turned, Dana quickly unplugged both the long, straight cord that connected the phone to the wall, and an extra-long, curly cord that attached to the receiver. She dropped the straight cord.

June walked around her desk and stood between it and a set of bookshelves stocked with books on religion and nutrition.

“Which one did you have in mind?” June asked, turning around to face Dana.

How dare you give me that look of disgust?

“Down there on the bottom shelf,” Dana said, coming up behind June as she turned her back on Dana to scan the bookshelves.

With a minimalist's eerie efficiency and sense of purpose, Dana quickly wrapped the curly phone cord once, then twice around June's neck and jerked it backward. June's head snapped back and she clutched at her neck, clawing the cord.

“What are you doing?” June managed to croak.

Dana's eyes were cold. There was no hate, no malice, no excitement, just a look of determination.

“You can't … do this to me!” June gasped.

“Relax. Just relax,” Dana said in a low, quiet voice, as if comforting a small child. She held the cord taut as June violently struggled. Dana assumed a wide, athletic stance, leaning backward like a water skier, using her body weight to cinch June's neck. The older woman arched back, trying to relieve the backward pull on her neck, and frantically tried, with both hands, to pull the cord away. Tanned and trim, June fought back, twisting and turning her body to shake off her assailant. As June fought for her life, her hairband was torn from her hair and her slip-on shoes were ripped from her feet. The two women careened around the small den, knocking over a heavy ottoman. In one explosive, violent move, Dana knocked June to the floor and straddled her. Weak from the fight, June couldn't stop Dana from putting her own hands around June's neck and strangling her face-to-face, sealing off her windpipe as June lost consciousness.

Dana pulled over a heavy wood chair, the match to the ottoman. One end of the curly cord was around June's neck. Dana threaded the other end of the phone cord around an arm of the chair, linking June's tethered neck directly to the chair, then tilted the chair back as leverage to keep constant pressure on the cord. Quickly scanning the area, Dana found a heavy glass wine decanter in the kitchen. She walked a few strides to the kitchen to retrieve it and came back to where June struggled vainly under the chair. She had awakened and was moaning softly and barely moving. Dana flipped June onto her back and stood behind her, close to her head.

How can you be pulling that kind of shit when you're supposed to be a friend of the family? I'm real fragile right now.

In less than a minute, June was no longer moving.

Dana left the way she came in, pausing to rifle credit cards from June's purse on top of the dryer. She tossed aside the JCPenney and the Broadway cards and chose the Mervyn's and Visa charge cards. She stuck both cards in her own purse and returned to the little boy still strapped in the Cadillac's front seat.

“Hey, Jason! Let's go shopping!”

*   *   *

Forty-five minutes later, Dana sipped iced tea and puffed on a cigarette at Baily's Wine Country Café in an upscale shopping center in Temecula, frowning her annoyance at the small boy running around the al fresco dining area. She ordered without looking at the menu and snapped at the waiter. She charged the scampi, crab cakes and cheesecake to June's credit card. It was too much to eat, so the waiter packed up the rest to go.