All the Deadly Lies Page 4

  The emerald ring, an heirloom passed down from grandmother to granddaughter for generations, Shanna never took it off, according to family members. Valued at fifty thousand dollars, the ring alone provided a motive. Every day, she had worn a gold cross with a diamond in the center, and a name bracelet her sister Chloe had given her for her birthday. Earrings she had varied with her outfits. Two of the three items would have made identification easy, even if they hadn’t had fingerprints and dental records.

  He made a note to ask Mrs. Wagner what, if anything, Chloe had received from her grandmother.

  Next, he’d redo the timeline for her parents and sister at the time of the murder. Did Shanna and Chloe fight often? Two sisters, close in age, each unique. Their coloring differed, as did their personalities, friends, and interests. Did they hang out together? Did they share friends? Did they dip into the same dating pool?

  Movement at the captain’s door caught his eye. With a jerk of his head Shamus called him into his office.

  “Tag Louie, there’s a body in the trunk of a car at the Chevy dealer off exit 25,” McGuire said, handing Jake a sheet of paper with few details. “Oh, and Jake, once you’re settled into your office, you’ll be assigning the cases.”

  “Louie won’t be in great shape,” Jake replied.

  “No one in this squad is. How late did you guys stay out last night?”

  “I’m not sure. Louie and I got driven home by a uniform. Sophia’s pissed. She cooked dinner and we didn’t show up. She made me stay on their couch.”

  McGuire chuckled. “Get him and secure the scene. Here’s a list of missing persons. See who fits the description of the person in the trunk.”

  “Is it a man or a woman?” Jake asked. “I’ll have Louie take the lead on this one, while I concentrate on the Wagner case.”

  “Your call. At this time, we don’t have any more information. The salesman who found the body is on the lot throwing up. The manager didn’t get much more out of him.”

  On the way back to his desk, he called Louie.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like death warmed over. It’s unfortunate but I’ll live. I hope you’re calling me about a case, because I have to get out of here. If Sophia bangs one more pan I swear…”

  “We caught a new case, you’re the lead on it. Meet me at the Chevy dealer off exit 25 and I’ll fill you in. We should get there at about the same time. You gonna be okay? I don’t need you sick when you get there.”

  “When have I ever been sick on a scene, Jake? Give me a break. What—you gonna bust my balls too?”

  He hung up, ignoring Louie’s complaint.

  * * * *

  Jake pulled into the car lot and parked by a group of guys standing around with their hands in their pockets. He drew back his jacket to expose his badge as he walked over to the group.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen, I’m Lieutenant Carrington.” It has such a nice ring, he thought.

  “Hey, Jake, over here.” His head snapped up at the use of his first name.

  Yep, just like a small town, he thought. And crap, Kevin Myers of all people. He and Myers went through Hogan High School together. The guy lived in the past. Jake made a silent bet with himself that Myers would bring up the state championship game from high school. Ah, my glory days, long gone and forgotten—so many other things put that trivial period of my life aside. He should be thankful. The title and his part in winning it gave him a scholarship to UConn, where he played ball, but changed his major to Criminal Justice. Before graduation, he turned down the offer to play pro ball.

  He focused his attention back to Myers. Not a violent guy, as he recalled, but people changed. Did Myers? “Kevin, you find the body?”

  “No. Mike Murphy did. Hey guys, I want you to meet the man who put Wilkesbury on the map. Remember, Jake?”

  “I remember, Kevin. Who did you say found the body?” Jake changed the subject before Myers took him down memory lane. It was another time, another life. One he didn’t want to revisit, especially now.

  Kevin motioned to a guy standing alone. Pale as a ghost, Murphy didn’t approach him. Jake walked over to him, Myers on his tail. “Mike, this is Lieutenant Carrington.”

  “I don’t have to go back over there, do I?” Murphy said, sweat dripping down his face.

  “No, you don’t. Tell me what you saw and if you touched anything.”

  “I…smelled something.” Murphy ran through it for him. Jake stepped away a little when Murphy finished up. The poor man looked as if he’d lose his stomach contents again.

  “Stay here. My partner, Detective Romanelli, will take your statement when he arrives.” Jake pointed to the first row of cars where the other salesmen stood, and turned to Kevin. “Can you show me the car? Does it belong on the lot?” Jake asked.

  “No, it’s not one of ours, though it’s parked between two of our cars in the last row.”

  “This is the first time someone noticed it?” Jake looked over at Kevin.

  “I can’t say. I didn’t notice it. I’ll ask the other salesmen if they did,” Kevin offered.

  “No, don’t, Kevin. My partner or I’ll ask them. Thanks for your help. This one?” Jake pointed, as he walked up to the car. No mistake. The stench of death never left you once you encountered it. It wasn’t something you got used to either. Anyone who said they did, lied. The record-breaking heat for late April didn’t help preserve the body or lighten the odor.

  Myers nodded.

  “Please go wait with the other salespeople. I’ll get back to you in a little while.” Jake dismissed him.

  With the temperatures in the eighties, it would be hard to determine on scene how long the body had been in the trunk. Normal temps for Wilkesbury this time of year should be in the mid-sixties to low seventies. Point in case, last week it was in the forties. If this heat was a prelude to summer, it was going to be a scorcher.

  He’d have to wait on the medical examiner for an estimation of TOD—time of death. Someone tapped Jake on the shoulder. Annoyed, he looked up to dismiss Myers again, but it was Louie standing there struggling.

  “Man, this is not what I needed today,” Louie said, rubbing the back of hand over his mouth, his skin the color of the Grinch.

  “Want something to camouflage it?”

  “No, it would make matters worse with that smell. Bad enough having to deal with the body.” Louie pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket.

  In unison, with a rhythm of working together for years, they went about their work. Louie took the pictures. Jake dusted the trunk for fingerprints. Louie bagged the items around the car. Jake bagged her hands, her feet, all the contents of the trunk, and marked the evidence bags. They worked together in a reverence born of experience, each absorbed in their individual tasks, until they hit a stopping point. There was nothing else for them to process until the M.E. did his thing. As he waited, Jake called in the license plate and the make of the car along with the VIN. If he was lucky, it would appear on a missing or stolen vehicle list and narrow down their timeline.

  The victim looked to be in her fifties with brown hair, and glassy brown eyes now defined by the death stare. It was hard to tell height and weight at this angle. Death stole the rest of a person’s life and had leached the color from her skin. A hole in her forehead was mostly likely the cause of death. He leaned in closer to study the bullet wound. A brownish-orange tattooing marred the skin around the wound. The mark resulted when a weapon fired from a slight distance drove the gunpowder, both partially burned and unburned, into her skin. The shooter couldn’t have been more than three feet away from the victim. Was it someone she had known? He’d have to wait for the M.E. for more information on the cause of death—COD. The M.E. would fingerprint her again once he got her in the morgue in Farmington.

  All autopsies for the state, on suspicious deaths, were performe
d at the UConn Medical Center, the best facility in the country. He hoped they weren’t loaded down. They did have a missing person report on a fifty-three-year-old woman, last seen a week ago Friday. They’d start their search locally, and if nothing turned up, they’d expand it to a statewide search and proceed from there.

  Looking up, Jake watched the assistant M.E. approach him. “Hey, McKay.”

  Assistant Medical Examiner Tim McKay, MD, stood five-ten, and weighed in around a hundred and seventy, with a belly going to pot. At fifty-six, time had thinned McKay’s wheat-colored hair, stripping his natural color out and leaving behind more salt than sand. The doc didn’t seem to care about the change.

  “I hear you’re having a busy week, Jake. Second body, isn’t it? And I also hear congratulations are in order, Lieutenant.” McKay exaggerated the title.

  “Thanks, Tim, I’m still getting used to it. Yes, the second one this week. But the first one was an open and shut suicide. This one’s all yours. Once you transport her, I’ll have the car taken in. I want the lab working on it while you work on her.”

  “Then I better get started,” McKay said.

  “Give a shout out if you find an exit wound.”

  Jake liked Tim McKay. Tim handled the victim in a methodical way along with a gentleness and respect as if she still lived. A survey of the scene while McKay worked told Jake it was a perfect place for a body dump. The area would’ve been deserted at night—no one would have paid any attention to a car in a car lot. Clever killer.

  “I’ll call you once the post is done. Give me a couple of hours. By then I should have my initial report ready,” McKay said.

  “Thanks, Doc. If you could run the fingerprints first for an ID, I’d appreciate it. I’ll talk to you later.” Jake headed back to the sales personnel to question them.

  Louie had already divided them into two groups. There were too many people for Louie to interview alone, though Jake wanted to get back on Shanna’s case. She’d have to wait a little longer. He took his group a few feet away from Louie’s.

  The five salespeople in his group were Michael Murphy, who found the body, Kevin Myers, Craig Nelson, Jimmy Jackson, and Michelle Williams. He started with Michelle Williams.

  “Ms. Williams,” Jake said. Crime scenes tended to get innocent people babbling. Williams was no exception. The petite brunette in her twenties displayed an abundance of energy.

  “I don’t see how I can help you,” Michelle said.

  “Relax, Ms. Williams, this won’t take long. I’ll ask you a couple of questions now. If I need more after I check out your answers, I’ll contact you here for a follow-up interview. If you remember anything after I leave you can call me,” Jake said.

  “I never saw the car, or smelled anything. I’ve been on for about three hours. I had no reason to come out here today. I didn’t have any customers,” Michelle rambled. He tried to keep up with her. “I won’t have to go back there, will I?” Michelle asked.

  “No. When we identify the victim, one of us will bring a picture of her and show it around to see if anyone recognizes her. It’s possible the car was there all week. Are you sure you never noticed it?”

  “I’m sure.” She wiped at her mouth with a shaky hand.

  “You never went to where the car’s been parked all week?” Jake asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay, did you work yesterday?”

  “Yes, from noon until closing,” Michelle said.

  “Did you come back here yesterday?”

  “I didn’t go any farther than the row with the red Impala. I’ve only had one customer this week.” She pointed to a spot four rows before the vehicle with the body. “My customer chose a car and we went into the office to process his paperwork.”

  “Okay, I’ll need your customer’s name to verify.”

  “Can you wait till he signs the rest of his paperwork? This is the first sale I’ve had this month… I don’t want to scare him off.” Her brown eyes pleaded with him.

  “When are you signing everything?” Jake asked.

  Michelle let out a deep breath. “Tonight, at six o’clock.”

  “Okay, we’ll question him tomorrow, please get me the information I asked for.” Jake handed her his card and moved on.

  He read the list Louie had given him. A rail of a man with a comb-over took his outstretched hand. “Kevin Jones?”

  “Yep.”

  “Man of few words, Kevin?”

  “Naw, you haven’t asked anything yet that required an answer,” Jones said with a shrug.

  “When did you come on this morning?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Do you always come in at that time?” Jake scribbled in his notebook.

  “Yes, I like to catch the service crowd while they wait for their cars to be fixed, they browse. I sell a lot of cars that way.”

  “Did you sell any today?” Jake asked.

  “No,” Kevin said as he looked at what Jake was writing in his notebook.

  Jake tilted the book out of his view. “Did you have any reason to come back to the last row today or any other time this week?”

  “No, I hadn’t been out on the lot today until I heard Michael scream. His customer came running into the office asking for the manager. The rest of the week, I’m not sure. But if I smelled something, I would’ve investigated it.”

  “Did you work yesterday?” Jake asked.

  “Nope, it was my day off. Six days on, one day off,” Kevin finished, rubbing his chin.

  “You don’t look shaken, Kevin. Are you used to having dead bodies turn up?” Jake gauged his reaction.

  “No. At this point, I haven’t seen a dead body and I don’t care to.”

  The rest of his interviews went much the same way. He re-interviewed Michael Murphy after he had calmed down but got nothing new from him.

  At his car, he and Louie compared notes. Louie had interviewed Cathy Elder, Carl Hannon, Rob Greene, Gino Spino, and Byron Sommers. Jake looked over Louie’s list. Louie’s interviews mirrored his. Nothing stuck out.

  “I need another shower. The air’s like soup with this humidity,” Louie said, wiping his brow. Jake noticed Louie’s color wasn’t as green as when he’d first arrived.

  Back at the station, they headed into the locker room where they kept another set of clothes and towels and jumped into the showers. Jake made a mental note to replace the items. After his shower, he started the identification process on Jane Doe while Louie processed and tagged the contents from the car the lab boys left behind. Though he wanted to work Shanna’s case, a fresh murder always took priority. The first forty-eight hours were critical. He’d need to jump back on the Wagner case when he was finished gathering information on the Adams woman. Luck was on his side—Chelsea’s prints popped right up.

  A social worker employed by the state, Chelsea Adams, worked in Wilkesbury, lived in Southington. Jake pulled her picture from her state ID. An attractive woman—brown hair, brown eyes, five-six, her weight at the time her picture was taken was a hundred thirty-five pounds. Her daughter had reported her missing last Friday, according to the printout.

  The car she was found in was also reported missing last Friday. The late model, white Chevy Impala came back to an eighty-year-old woman. She’d left it running in her driveway while she took her groceries into the house. Mrs. Page said she’d planned on garaging it after she unpacked them.

  The deceased had disappeared last Friday, April sixteenth, after having drinks with some coworkers. Her daughter Cara reported her missing on Saturday morning when she didn’t show up at home. She tried her mother’s cell phone, got no answer, and started to worry. Cara Adams’s statement said she expected her mother to be home around ten o’clock Friday evening. She had stressed that her mother never stayed out any later. Cara had called the police station around midnig
ht. The officer had followed procedure, explaining to Cara an adult had to be missing forty-eight hours before the department expended manpower searching unless there were extenuating circumstances.

  * * * *

  Cara Adams had listed her brother as a contact in the police report. Jake did a search for the work phone numbers for the kids. The notification couldn’t wait until the end of the day in case the press got wind of it and released the victim’s name first. It made a difficult job harder if the family heard it on the news. They’d start with the brother. Seth Adams, a paralegal with a downtown law firm, worked within a mile of the police station. Cara, an accountant, worked in Southington, ten miles outside of Wilkesbury.

  Jake drove, while Louie processed information on his laptop. Seth worked in one of the old renovated mansions in Wilkesbury. The city had offered tax incentives to buyers as part of their revitalization project of the downtown area. The Jackson Healy Law Firm used the entire building for their practice. He and Louie entered a nicely appointed lobby done in neutral colors—beige walls, mauve sofa, accented with floral-upholstered chairs, and a deep burgundy rug.

  The receptionist looked to be in her late twenties: blond hair, cut to look messy but sexy. Her snug blue suit showcased a spectacular body. At the same time, it emphasized her keen blue eyes as she studied them.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. We’d like to speak to Seth Adams and somewhere private, if possible. He’s not in any trouble, but it’s important.” Jake palmed his shield.

  “Your name please?” she asked.

  Louie took out his shield, laid it on the counter. “We don’t have an appointment. My name’s Detective Romanelli. This is my partner Lieutenant Carrington.”

  “I’ll get him right away.” She shot out of her chair and hurried down a long hallway. Jake’s gaze followed her.

  “A little young for you, isn’t she?”

  He ignored Louie’s comment and took a seat while they waited for Seth to come out. Jake stared down the empty hallway, while Louie read a magazine. When Seth walked toward them, Jake sized him up. Five-eight, one-sixty, brown and brown, he noted in cop speak. The kid looked scared. Not guilty, scared, clearly afraid they were going to confirm what he had feared.