A Wedding and a Killing (8 page)

Chapter Seven

Located along the shore of Deep Creek Lake, Spencer’s small police department sported a dock with a dozen jet skis and four speed boats. For patrolling the deep woods and up the mountains trails, they had eight ATVs. Their fleet of SUV cruisers was painted black with gold lettering on the side that read “SPENCER POLICE.”

The next morning, David handed Mac a mug of hot coffee while reporting where the case now stood. “We’ve managed to narrow down the kill zone to a surprisingly small window. Eugene Newton was shot at twelve twenty-eight—almost an hour and a half after Chip Van Dorn killed his lover and committed suicide.”

After setting the coffee mug on the corner of an empty desk in the squad room, Mac took his time examining each photograph of the crime scene from the previous day’s murder. “Twelve twenty-eight? How did you manage to get it down to the minute?” With a grin, he asked, “Did Eugene’s watch stop working when he got shot?”

“Something like that.” David pressed a fingertip on a picture of the laptop next to the stacks of bills and coins. “According to Edna Parker, the church’s office manager, Eugene kept count on his mini-laptop with an accounting program. He had entered the dollar bills and coins, but not the checks, which, she says, are entered individually. The checks were in a neat pile. But none of them were entered. According to forensics, the last keystroke Eugene had made on his laptop was at twelve twenty-eight. It’s a safe assumption that he was shot before he could enter the checks.”

“Twelve twenty-eight was less than twenty minutes before we got there,” Mac said.

“His wife told Bogie that Eugene had left home at eleven thirty,” David said. “He got a burger and coffee at McDonald’s. We found the bag and wrapper in the trash. Here’s the interesting thing.”

“Something more interesting?”

“Eugene had made a phone call on his cell phone at twelve minutes after noon,” David said. “Four minutes after his laptop was turned on and two minutes before he started entering his count.”

“So he made that call while he was at the church,” Mac said.

“Exactly what I’m thinking,” David said. “And he most likely told the person he called where he was. Want to know who he called?”

“Tell me.”

“Helga Thorpe’s business phone at Thorpe Sporting Goods and Boat Rental,” David said.

“Eugene calls the woman who is itching to replace him as chief of the trustees,” Mac said, “and sixteen minutes later he’s shot.”

“He spoke to her for one minute and forty-two seconds,” David said.

“Too long to have been a voice mail,” Mac said. “He certainly spoke to someone.”

“Funny that Helga didn’t mention that phone call yesterday when she was pointing the finger at Chip Van Dorn while ordering us to keep her informed about our investigation.” He eyed Mac while taking a cautious sip of his hot coffee.

“Any idea why Eugene called her?” Mac asked.

“The check that was on the top of the pile was from Helga Thorpe,” David said. “It was made out to the church for one hundred dollars, but it wasn’t signed. A yellow stickie on the check read, ‘call Helga.’ The office manager confirms that it was Eugene’s handwriting. He was meticulous about keeping notes.”

“Bank wouldn’t take her unsigned check. He called her to ask that she come in to sign it. Seems innocent enough.” A slow grin came to Mac’s lips. “Didn’t she say yesterday that she was supposed to count the offering on Sunday?”

“Yes, she did,” David said.

“But the person who was on schedule to count with her had been fired,” Mac recalled.

“That’s right.”

“And it was a holiday weekend,” Mac noted. “Helga Thorpe has been a trustee for several years, so she would know the routine. With this other counter gone, and a holiday weekend, she could probably bank on Eugene counting the offering Tuesday morning. If she’s as devious as Carmine Romano claims, maybe she didn’t sign that check on purpose.”

“Forcing Eugene to call her to let her know when he was at the church,” David said. “But how would she know Edna wasn’t going to be there to witness the shooting?”

“If she was a trustee and a church busy-body, she could have easily found that out,” Mac said. “She may have planned the murder when Eugene said he was going to count the offering Tuesday morning and maybe Edna mentioned that she would be late because she had family visiting from out of town.”

“At which point,” David said, “it became a murder of opportunity.”

“You need to bring her in,” Mac said.

“I’m way ahead of you,” the police chief said. “I called her last night when I got the report from forensics about the phone call and the unsigned check. Helga Thorpe is scheduled to come in for an interview at ten o’clock.”

“That gives you two hours to beat a confession out of her by noon to satisfy Archie.”

Over the top of his coffee mug, David asked, “Why the sudden hurry to get married?”

Mac uttered a heavy sigh. “I’m through playing house.”

“But you can’t tell Archie’s mother that you’re married,” David said. “You have to keep it a secret. So while you’re really married, you’re pretending to play house. I don’t get it.”

Unable to come up with a response, Mac said, “You have to be there.”

Across the squad room, Tonya, the desk sergeant, yanked a sheet of paper from the printer. “Sirrus Thorpe has a forty-five caliber Smith and Wesson, semi-automatic, registered to him. He bought it back in two-thousand and two. Eugene Newton was shot with a forty-five caliber.” She handed the report to David.

“Should be enough to get a search warrant for the gun,” David said. “I’ll call Fleming. Maybe we can have one by the time Helga Thorpe comes in.”

Mac rubbed his hands together. “I can feel a confession coming our way already.”

“And your bachelorhood going out the window,” Tonya said.

The front door opened. Carrying two white pastry boxes, Carmine Romano stepped inside and sauntered to the reception desk.

Tonya rushed back to her chair. “May I help you?”

Like he was acting as her assistant, Gnarly leapt from where he had curled up on the sofa and jumped up to place his front paws on top of the counter.

Unfazed by the hundred pounds of fur and teeth, Carmine grinned at Gnarly. “Well hello there, handsome. You must be the clever canine who found Eugene yesterday.” He patted Gnarly on top of the head. “You’re as good looking as you are smart.”

When Gnarly leaned across the counter to sniff the larger of the pastry boxes, Carmine slid it out of his reach. “Sorry, dude, these aren’t good enough for someone as regal as you are. These are for the lowly humans you’re forced to work with.” He moved the smaller of the boxes toward the German shepherd. Gnarly’s tall ears stood at attention. His nose twitched while he focused on the box. “I made you something much better.” Carmine opened the box. “Dog biscuits made from a special family recipe.”

In a low voice, David explained, “Carmine doesn’t know the meaning of processed food.”

A devoted dog lover with three dogs of her own, as well as grown children and grandchildren roosting in her home, Tonya gasped when she saw the box filled with what appeared to be freshly baked double chocolate cookies with chocolate drizzled across the top. “Those are dog biscuits? I hope that’s not chocolate. It’ll kill him.”

“Oh, no.” Carmine held up one of the dog treats. “They only look like chocolate. These are actually carob chips.”

Gnarly was prancing in place.

“If you don’t hand that over to him,” Mac warned, “he make take off your hand.”

“Can you sit?” Carmine asked the dog.

Gnarly plopped his butt down on the floor.

“Of course you can sit.” Carmine handed him the cookie.

As if he feared it would be taken from him, Gnarly whirled around and raced back up onto the sofa to enjoy the treat.

Inspecting the contents of the box, Tonya said, “These are still warm. Did you just bake them?”

“Hot out of the oven.” Carmine slid the other box down the counter to her. “And these are for Gnarly’s human co-workers. I hope I made enough for all of you.”

After opening the box, Tonya turned to show David and Mac. “Cannolis! Oh, they look delicious.” She took one out. “These are still warm.”

“Are those homemade?” Mac asked.

“Humans aren’t good enough for homemade,” Carmine said with a mocking frown, before breaking into a jolly grin. “Of course. Only the best for our men in blue.” Noticing David’s black slacks and white shirt, he corrected himself. “I mean black and white.”

Holding up a cannoli with a bite taken out of it, Tonya squealed. “Oh, this is heavenly!” She rushed back to her desk to retrieve her coffee mug. “This calls for fresh coffee and gourmet creamer.”

While she hurried down the hallway to the break room, Gnarly trotted back to the counter, jumped up, and managed to take another dog cookie from the box. He then returned to the sofa.

Mac went over to close the lid to the box. “If we don’t want Gnarly to eat all of these in one sitting, I suggest we put this box in the cupboard in the break room.”

“Good idea,” David said.

Seeing his treat box being taken away, Gnarly fell in behind Mac to go to the break room.

Once he was alone with the police chief, Carmine turned serious. “If you don’t mind, sir, may I have a word with you?” When his smile fell from his usually jolly face, the hearty Italian appeared to have aged no less than ten years.

“Carmine,” David asked, “have you come in because you remembered something that might help us solve Eugene Newton’s murder?”

“Gnarly is now sitting at attention, staring at the cupboard, trying to will that box of treats to come to him,” Mac said when he came back down the hall. He stopped when he saw the two men’s serious expressions.

“Yes,” Carmine said to David. “I did remember something about the murder and I wanted to come in right away to tell you so that we can get this all wrapped up and close this case—How you say? ASAP?”

“What did you remember?” Mac asked.

“Who the killer is,” Carmine said.

“That’s great, Carmine. Can you tell us?” Trying to maintain his professional demeanor, David swallowed and sucked in a deep breath to contain his excitement.

“Most definitely.” Seeing a notepad on one of the officer’s desks, Carmine picked it up and handed it to David. “You’re going to want to write this down.” He then took a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to the police chief. “Here. You can use my pen.”

“Give us the murderer’s name,” David said.

“Carmine Sergio Romano,” Carmine said. “I have his address, too, if you need that.”

David was halfway through writing down the name when he stopped. “That’s you.”

Carmine grinned. “That’s right. I’m your killer.” He held out both of his hands. “Slap the cuffs on and take me away.”

“Are you serious?” Mac asked. “You’re confessing?”

“Of course, I am,” Carmine said. “I’m a cold-blooded killer. If you don’t cuff me, I might hurt one of you. So you better slap them on me right now.”

“If you think this is funny…” David tossed the notepad down onto the desk.

The Italian placed his hands on his fat-padded hips. “I’m serious.” Carmine’s voice went up an octave.

“You told me only yesterday that Eugene was one of your closest friends,” David said. “You were seriously distraught.”

“He was my best friend and that’s why I was upset. It’s not easy killing your best friend.” Carmine shook his finger at the police chief. “Now I know my rights. I’ve seen
Law and Order.
If you don’t Mirandize me then my confession won’t be worth spit. So you better read it to me now.” He looked around the squad room. “Where’s your interrogation room?” He gestured down the hall at the end of which were the stairs leading to the cells down below. “Is it down that hall?”

Receiving no answer from the stunned men, Carmine marched with purpose down the hallway. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Get the swabs to collect a sample of my DNA and call the county prosecutor to tell him that you’ve wrapped up this case. Meanwhile, I’ll be making myself comfortable.”

Carmine went inside the break room.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” David asked Mac.

“Nope.”

Carrying a cannoli, Carmine stepped back out into the hallway and announced, “Confessing to murder can make a guy hungry.” He took a bite from the cannoli before making his way down the hallway in search of an interrogation room. Finding one, he threw open the door. “Hey, Chief O’Callaghan, does your interrogation room have one of those set ups where it starts recording as soon as I go inside? If so, then we can get this show on the road and I can start telling you my confession while you’re doing the paperwork.”

David and Mac were too busy exchanging glances to respond.

“Whatever.” Carmine took a bite from the cannoli and then continued speaking around it. “Just tell me what I need to do to make your job easier. I’ll be waiting.” After entering the interrogation room, he slammed the door behind him.

“You did want a confession,” David whispered to Mac.

“Somehow, I’m not buying this.”

The door to the interrogation room flew open. “Hey,” Carmine yelled down the hall, “I need some handcuffs in here and don’t forget to Mirandize me. I’d hate for you to go to all the work of cracking this case only for me to get off on a technicality.” He went back inside and closed the door.

“I’m calling Reverend Deborah,” Mac told David.

“You do that,” David said. “Meanwhile, I’ll go read our cold-blooded killer his rights.”

At Tonya’s desk, Mac was looking up Reverend Deborah Hess’s phone number when Bogie came in. “You’re here early,” the deputy chief said. “I’m assuming you saw Doc’s autopsy report on Eugene?”

“Shot three times with a forty-five caliber semi-automatic.” Mac paused in writing down the phone number. “We may or may not have a break in the case.”

“Oh?”

“We have a suspect in the interrogation room giving David his confession,” Mac said.

Bogie’s eyes lit up. When he grinned, his thick mustache stretched across his face. “Who?”

“Carmine Sergio Romano. He’s the owner of Carmine’s Pizza.”