White Colander Crime (12 page)

The Queensville Township police department and jail was housed in a modern glass-and-steel building on the highway outside of town. It was bland and official looking, every detail of it. The jail itself was a long low cement-block-and-steel building that jutted off to one side, and was surrounded by high fencing with razor wire looped on top. Because of recent events Jaymie was all too familiar with the police station itself, but the jail was a new experience. Once inside, she was confronted by many layers of officialdom and security. The procedure to get in was intimidating, but the women and men in charge were nonchalant yet professional.

A young woman in uniform manned the first point of contact from an enclosed desk equipped with a speakerlike metal portal in the middle and a single open slot to hand documents and other items through. She was short and young, but strongly built, with a pug nose and freckled cheeks, her streaked hair in a scraped-back bun, wearing no jewelry, just a tan uniform. She glanced at Jaymie's ID, then got the form she needed and made some crosses at various blanks. “Sign where indicated, please. Who will you be visiting today?”

“Cody Wainwright,” she said, as she filled in the blanks and gave the form back to the officer. “His mother, Nan Goodenough, had me put on his visitors' list.”

The girl's eyes widened. The murder case was notorious, and Cody's name would be well known, especially among jail staff. She nodded, though, then glanced down at the form, which provided Jaymie's name, phone number, address and some other information. “No cell phones in the visitation area,” she said.

Jaymie slid her cell phone under the glass as a male guard came out and searched through her purse with gloved hands and passed a metal detecting wand over her. She was then guided through two sets of locked doors, between which was a metal-detection portal. At the end of it all, a portly male guard glanced at a list, then ushered her to number seven of a bank of video terminals in a clinically cold room that smelled of bleach and pine. In front of the bank of video terminals was a long bench and row of bolted-down chairs. Each video terminal was in a kind of booth, sectioned off from one another with laminate-covered fiber-wood barriers. Many others were there, women with children on their laps, elderly parents, or maybe even grandparents, and the odd sketchy-looking male, glancing from side to side. The tired-looking woman to her left had a baby in her arms and was weeping, pressing a tissue to her mouth as she spoke to her loved one.

Jaymie took a seat and waited. The screen blinked to life and a printed warning appeared, then Cody's face replaced it. She wasn't sure what to do, but noted that he had a phone receiver in his hand. She picked up hers.

“Mom got a message to me that you're going to help get me out,” he said.

“That's not exactly true.”

He frowned and shook his head in disgust. “Then what are you here for? I only get one of these visits a week, you know.”

“I had some questions. I'm, uh, investigating the story, you see, for . . . for the paper.” Oh, this wasn't going well. She wasn't sure how much she could say. She glanced around. Were they on tape? Being listened to? Who knew?

He looked disgusted and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and propping the phone receiver between his shoulder and ear. “I didn't do it. That's my only comment.”

“Cody, why did you lie about being at the Christmas tree farm when you were in town that evening?”

Bluntness appeared to work where friendliness hadn't. He sat up and leaned forward, arms on the shelf in front of him and receiver to his ear. His pale face flushed red, from his cheeks to his ears. “I'd heard what happened and knew what the cops would do, pin it on me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“That's what's easiest, right? Because some prissypants told them about me hitting her. My beautiful Shelby; I can't believe she's gone!” His youthful face twisted and tears welled up in his eyes. “I would
never
have hurt her.”

“But you
did
hit her.”

“It was like an impulse, you know?” he said earnestly, as if that explained it all. “She said something awful about my mom. Called her a name. I lashed out, you know? Wouldn't you?”

“No! Cody,
I'm
the one who
saw
you hit Shelby. It wasn't a tap. You hauled off and hit her with your fist.” She wasn't sure why she told him, but she was disgusted by his attempt to minimize hitting his girlfriend. Why was she doing this? Why not let the police work it out? She had gotten lucky a few times, but it never escaped her mind that in most cases she stumbled across the clue that broke the case, antagonized the felon until they struck out at her and in most cases the police were just one step away from the answer themselves.

His look was stony. His eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head. “Okay, so what was I supposed to do? What would
you
do if someone said your mother was a disgusting smelly old bitch?”

Jayme gasped. “She
said
that? Shelby Fretter said that.”

“It came out of nowhere. We were just walking and talking about something else, and she looked around and stopped. I remember, it was right by a wrought-iron fence near that green area in the middle of Queensville. She began to say crap about my family. At first I ignored it. She said she'd heard my sister was a tramp, and that my stepdad was a lush. It felt . . .” He squeezed up his face and grimaced and eased his shoulders, like they were tension filled. “It felt like she was pushing me, trying to get me mad. Then she made that crack about my mom and I lost it.
That's
when I whacked her.”

She watched him as he swiped at the remaining moisture in his eyes and firmed his chin. He looked like he was telling the truth, but he had lied so many times before, how was she supposed to believe him? “So you were scared and lied about being at the tree farm that evening. Didn't you think Gus would tell the police the truth?”

He shrugged.

“Why
did
you come to town?”

He looked conflicted. “Look, my lawyer says I shouldn't discuss this with anyone. You know?”

“I'm here to help, Cody. And this isn't anything you haven't already told the police, right? You don't have to tell me anything you haven't already told them.”

“I guess. I got a text message saying to meet Shelby at the band shell, that she wanted to talk, to work things out. I tried to call her, but she wasn't answering my calls or anything. So that was when I told Gus I had to take off, and headed to Queensville and the band shell.”

Jaymie didn't know how precise cell phone tracking was. She had seen enough police shows to know that most now used the GPS embedded in cell phones rather than the old system of checking what tower a call pinged from, but how close was GPS? Would it tell them if he was phoning from the park near the river rather than the Christmas tree farm, or the band shell or downtown Queensville? And did that even matter? As she had herself, it would have only taken minutes to walk from the band shell to the shed.

However, one question occurred to her right away. “Are you sure the text came from her phone?”

He looked blank. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did it come from the number you always use to text her? Did it come up as Shelby?”

He looked blank, then confused. “I . . . don't know. I don't remember.”

Lying or telling the truth? It was something he hadn't been asked before, that was evident. “Did the police seize your cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

She stowed away that knowledge to think about later. “So what happened when she didn't meet you?”

“I went home.”

“Are you
sure
you went home? Anywhere else first?”

“I went home! I was tired.”

“What time was that?”

“God, I don't know!” He shifted, restless. “I don't keep track.”

“How did you hear about Shelby?”

“I found out in the morning on Facebook. I didn't believe it at first, thought it was a joke. Shelby had a weird sense of humor.”

“Do you know her family?”

“Yeah, I've met 'em. I knew Travis from before.”

“How do you get along with them?”

He shrugged. “No comment.”

That was an odd thing to say, she thought. “So if someone said they saw you in town with Shelby that night, arguing, what would you say?”

“That they were lying.”

That was rapid and to the point. “Why did you think she wanted to talk to you? Hadn't you broken up?”

“I was getting mixed messages, you know? She'd say we were done, then she'd call me late at night or text me. Say she was sorry.” He frowned down at the shelf and scratched at something on the surface. “She said I was special, that there was no one else like me.”

From the conversation she had overheard between him and his mother, Jaymie thought that would draw him in like honey to a bee. He needed to feel special. “Were you two exclusive?” Jaymie asked, intent on not giving away what she knew of Shelby dating other guys.

He shrugged, not looking up. “I
thought
we were.”

She couldn't tell whether that meant he now knew otherwise, or if it was just a toss-off remark. “You
thought
you were?”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, I don't know for sure. I kept hearing things. I heard that she was going out with this guy, some jerk in a suit.”

That might be Glenn Brennan, Jaymie thought. “And did that make you angry?”

He narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment.

“Just tell me the truth,” she said.

“We kind of had a fight about it. She said it was just business, some client of her boss's.”

“Anyone else?”

“I saw her with some biker dude in Wolverhampton once, at the place I met her. But she told me he was just a friend of a friend. I don't know. Some chicks like biker-looking guys, but he was old. Probably in his fifties.”

Biker dude. That was a new one. “Anyone else?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

The screen flashed that they had three minutes left. She had to hurry. “Cody, who do you think did it?”

He leaned forward, staring straight into her eyes through the video terminal. “Her boss, Delaney Meadows. That guy gives me the creeps. I've always thought he had the hots for Shelby, and she didn't like him the same way. He's the guy who beat her to death, mark my words!”

Twelve

T
HE VISIT TERMINATED
abruptly with the screen going blank. She got up and left, retrieving her cell phone on the way out.

Even after such a brief visit, she felt like she was reentering the free world when she escaped from the jail. She circled the police station, heading across the parking lot toward her van and heard her name shouted. Chief Ledbetter, a paunchy gentleman in his late sixties, crossed the parking lot from the other direction with Detective Vestry, who appeared stony eyed and irritated, her lips compressed into a thin line.

As Jaymie approached the chief, she heard him say to the detective, “Go on in, Angela, I'll join you shortly. I have some private business with Miss Leighton.”

The woman whirled and stomped into the police station.

“She looks angry,” Jaymie said, as she joined the chief by the walkway toward the building. The ground was coated with snow, but it had melted off the sidewalk. There was a flutter of tiny flakes in the air, though, and it was getting colder. She jammed her hands down in her parka pockets.

“She's always angry. Woman's going to have a stroke if she keeps it up. She smokes, you know, like a fiend. And drinks black coffee. Feel like she's trying to live up to some detective stereotype. Course, look at me,” he said, patting his belly, which jutted out from his unzippered parka. “I eat too much of my wife's excellent cooking.”

“It must be hard to be a female detective on a small town force?”

“Hard to be a female detective anywhere. Won't do for her to try to be more like a man, though, 'specially with me. I think we all bring different perspectives to crime detection, woman or man, young or old.”

She smiled. He was unique, Chief Ledbetter. Much smarter than he liked people to know. He had begun to relax and not play off his folksy persona with her, and she often saw the glint of a ruthless intelligence in his small eyes. He had retired from a big city force some years back, moving to Queensville. But found he missed police work and so became chief of Queensville's tiny force. He was going to be forced into retirement for good soon. She wondered what he'd do when he did retire permanently.

“So what's up, Chief?”

“Saw your name on Cody Wainwright's visitor list.”

Jaymie shifted from foot to foot. “Nan asked me to talk to him.”

He eyed her speculatively. “Ms. Goodenough should just let us do our job. She's been here every single day badgering our desk folks, telling them they're not doing their job, that her son is innocent, that she'll expose us for the idiots we are.”

Jaymie grimaced, but it didn't surprise her; Nan had a talent for rubbing many people the wrong way. “It's her
son
,” she said weakly.

“I am
well
aware of that. She tells us all the time. Beginning to hear it in my sleep.” He paused, his breath coming out in puffs of steam. “I would tell her it's too bad that she raised a liar as a son. We didn't arrest him on a whim, you know.”

“But it wasn't your idea; you were out of town for the weekend.”

“I stand by my assistant chief's decision,” he growled. “I'm not gonna tell you our case against him, but I will tell you that that boy has lied consistently, and I have no doubt he has lied to you, to his lawyer and most especially to his mom.”

“Nan is sure he didn't do it. I don't know what I believe. I don't want a guilty guy to go free, but I don't want an innocent guy to pay, either.”

He cocked his head to one side, scratched his belly underneath his parka and examined her eyes. “I should warn you away, you know. I'm probably crazy.”

“You're crazy like a fox,” she said.

He jabbed his finger at her and said, “But you get any info, you bring it to me, you hear?”

“I will do that, Chief. I'm assuming you have his cell phone.”

He just looked at her.

She met his gaze evenly. “Cody says Shelby texted him, and I was wondering if the text really came from her phone, or from another? If you have his cell phone, you already know.”

“I can't tell you that.”

She sighed. “I guess not. But he says he tried to call her back, tried to text her. That should pinpoint when he left Jakob's farm. Travis says he saw them together arguing, but the timing just doesn't seem right to me.”

“We are investigating every bit of his story. Leave it alone, Jaymie.” He harrumphed for a moment, then screwed up his face and sighed. “I am going to warn you after all. I would prefer it if you wouldn't poke around in this.”

“I won't cause any trouble, I promise. You know me . . . I tend to go down different avenues than the police can or will. He's not the only suspect. I saw Travis Fretter arguing with his sister. If anyone had motive,
and
motive to deflect attention by lying about seeing Cody and Shelby together, it's him. I don't mean to load any more trouble on that family, but that's what
I
saw.”

“I'm asking you to leave this alone, Jaymie.”

“I
promise
I won't get in the way of your investigation.” She waited. What could he do? Maybe have her arrested for interfering in an ongoing investigation? She didn't know enough about the law to know.

He sighed wearily. “You know what? It's fine. I don't think you'll get in any trouble this time because we've got the right guy locked up.”

“Maybe you do,” she said blandly. “Maybe you don't.”

He chuckled, a throaty, gruff sound rumbling through his barrel chest. He turned and walked toward the police station. “Stay out of trouble!” he shouted over his shoulder, his words puffed out on breaths of steam that trailed behind him like steam from an old-fashioned train chugging down the tracks.

She headed to Wolverhampton and parked behind the newspaper printing plant, went around to the office, waving to the receptionist and going directly to Nan's office. She tapped on the cubicle half wall. Nan looked up.

“Jaymie! I was just framing an editorial piece to explain how we'll handle my son's arrest.”

Nan looked somewhat better but still disheveled, with her coarse hair sticking out and the bags under her eyes only slightly less puffy. But her wry tone was intact, a good sign.

“I was just talking to Cody.”

The editor waved her in, peeked up and down the aisle to check that the other staff were a ways away, then pushed Jaymie to sit down in a chair. “And?”

“Nan, he's lied about a lot.” She watched the editor's eyes, but there were neither tears nor anger. So far. “I just don't know if you truly want me looking into this.”

“Why not? You're the one who always seems to stumble over the body, and then the culprit.”

Jaymie forced herself to be calm. She didn't just
stumble
over the answers, she asked questions and figured things out. But she was determined not to take offense.

Nan eyed her when she was silent. “What did you and Cody talk about?”

She relayed most of the conversation. “He says that Shelby texted him to come meet him in the park near the band shell. I asked if he was sure the text came from her cell phone, but he wasn't sure, and the police have his cell phone now, so I'll never find that out.”

“I'm not sure I get the distinction you're going for.”

“He said he got a text telling him to meet Shelby at the band shell, that she wanted to straighten things out or something like that. But if he's not sure the text came from her phone, then maybe someone else used it to get him to the park and incriminate him. Lots of people knew he had hit Shelby.”

“You're a smart cookie to think of that. Did you ever think of journalism when you were in college?”

“Nope. Not once. I did get a liberal arts degree, but had no clue what I wanted to do. I think it's taken me this long to figure it out.”

“What have you figured out?”

“That I don't need a career to fulfill me. Some people do, but not me.”

“I would have gone crazy without a career,” Nan said. “I couldn't have stayed home with the kids.” She shrugged. “It's all good as long as you know what you want.”

“I do now,” Jaymie said. “I did talk to the chief in the parking lot. He wasn't in town when the arrest was made, but he's standing behind his assistant.”

“He's always looked like a hick to me.”

“He likes people to think that. I asked Cody who he thought did it, and he said Delaney Meadows, Shelby's boss. I don't get that, but I'm willing to look into it. Do you have anything on him?”

Nan grabbed a phone, punched in one number, muttered something then hung up. She clicked her desktop computer on, glanced at it, then turned back to Jaymie. “What else?”

“Well, Cody mentioned some older biker guy that Shelby had been seen with, maybe a guy she was dating? I don't know who it is, and I'm not sure how to find out.”

Nan thought for a moment, sitting back in her chair, which squealed in protest. “We may have a contact in that community. I'll have someone look him up and see if they know anything about a biker guy seen with Shelby Fretter.”

“I have an idea of another guy Shelby was dating at the same time as Cody, and I already have a connection, so I'll be looking into that today.” She paused. “You know, Nan, I don't know the first thing about investigative reporting or anything like that.”

“I don't actually want you to write a story, I want you to dig for information. You've done plenty of that in the last seven months or so, haven't you?”

“I guess.”

“Then just do whatever you've done in the past that's successful. But you can tell someone you're writing for the
Howler
if you get stuck and need to give a reason why you're poking around.” Her computer bleeped, and she looked at the screen then hit a button. The printer on the file cabinet sputtered to life and printed off a few pages, which she handed over to Jaymie. “This is everything we have on Delaney Meadows.” She went back to the screen and scanned the information. “Moved to Queensville three years ago. Started small, now runs a thriving white-collar headhunting agency. Involved in the chamber of commerce.”

“Anything from before he came to Queensville?” Jaymie asked.

Nan stared at the screen then back to Jaymie. “There's more there, maybe some about his past before Queensville. I'll have something for you on the biker guy by tomorrow morning, or even later today. I'll email it to you.”

She was decisive and swift, as always. Jaymie stood, folding the papers and sticking them in her purse. “I'll do my best, Nan.”

“I know you will. You can't help yourself.” With that cryptic remark, Nan waved her away.

Jaymie drove back to Queensville, thinking about the visit with Cody and her conversations with Chief Ledbetter and Nan. For better or worse she was becoming known as an investigator of sorts, or, as the older ladies of her acquaintance called it, a nosey parker. But in this case it was not her idea, she was being pushed into it. She could have said no, but she was so grateful to Nan for all her help in achieving her goals of becoming a food writer, and hopefully eventually a cookbook writer. How could she say no when she was asked a favor? And that was one of her problems; she had trouble saying no when someone asked her to do something or give them something.

That would be her New Year's resolution, she decided, to learn how to say no if she didn't want to do something. But this time, though she was hesitant, she
did
want to do this, for Nan's sake, but also for justice. There was just enough doubt in her mind that it would bug her until she settled it with herself. Three days, she decided. She'd give it until Thursday, and if she was no further ahead, or still thought Cody guilty, then she'd tell Nan she couldn't find anything to help Cody. She heaved a sigh. A goal and time limit was good. Three days.