Death Angel (14 page)

Bea paused, staring around at the intent
faces. She extended her arm, waving the pages in front of her.

“I have to stress again that this is a
very preliminary report. We have nothing but circumstantial evidence against
Richard Warner. No matter how it looks, we can’t afford to get tunnel vision at
this stage of the investigation. There’s no evidence he was in the forest
preserve on Tuesday. It could have been anytime during the week prior to his
daughter’s death. And even if he was there on Tuesday, it could be some bizarre
coincidence that has nothing to do with the murder.”

Carl knew Bea was right in saying that
it was too early to make any judgments, but he would not make the mistake of
accepting Richard’s role of bereaved parent as proof of innocence.

The tension level in the room had risen
with the results of the lab report. Carl changed the subject. “Ellen, what kind
of psychological profiles are we working with?”

“If it’s a pedophile who picked up a kid
and then panicked and killed her,” she said, “we’re probably looking for
someone either younger or older than Warner. Pedophilia’s not generally a
middle-aged crime. According to the experts, the peeping and flashing can be
done to gather intelligence or it could be the foreplay to an event. The
scenario: ‘I see you but you don’t see me’ is very arousing to the serial
rapist or pedophile.”

“Bea, I want all recent reports of
peepers or flashers flagged.” Carl said, then moved to the next subject on his
list. “What have we got on ButterSkots?”

Tony sifted through his paperwork until
he came up with several pages clipped together. “The partially sucked piece of
hard candy was found in the right-hand pocket of the victim’s yellow jacket. It
was wrapped in a clear cellophane sheet with the word ButterSkots in plaid
letters on one side.”

“Prints?”

“None. Only smudges.” Tony looked up
from his notes. “The candy is butterscotch flavored, made in Dundee, Scotland.
It’s a small company, family run. The individually wrapped candies, thirty of
them to a metal tin, are sold locally. No mail order.”

“I don’t think she got it at school,”
Ellen said. “I checked with the teacher and the kids in Jenny’s class. None of
them recognized the name ButterSkots or the logo. I realize it’s not conclusive
but . . .” Her words trickled off into silence.

“Do you think the perp used the candy to
lure her into the car?” Bob asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Tony
shrugged his shoulders. “The prick could have offered it to her after she got
into the car. To establish friendship or trust.”

“If the killer gave her the candy it
would argue against Richard Warner’s involvement. According to Mrs. Warner, the
girl hated butterscotch, and he would have known that.” Bob was clearly in
Bea’s camp.

“He mighta forgot,” Tony argued.
“Someone ought to check if Warner’s been to Scotland. I called the company
direct, and they’re going to send us a list of any American orders. At least I
think they are. The babe I talked to had an accent, real thick. I could hardly
believe she was talkin’ English.”

“She’s probably saying the same thing
about you,” Diego said.

“I’d like to keep the info on the candy
as tight as possible,” Carl said. “The media would pick up on it and the next
thing you know they’d be referring to the ‘Butterscotch Killer’.”

“What about the license plate info?”
Tony asked.

Bea pulled out a thick sheaf of computer
paper. “At this point we’re not interviewing everyone with the plates, although
it may come down to that. For the moment, it will be noted along with other
information as we develop a prime suspect list. You’ll be happy to know you
made the list, Chief.”

“You know my theory,” Carl said.
“Support local business. It pays your salary. And if you’re wondering, I was
home alone with my dog.”

“You dating again?” Diego asked, earning
a laugh from around the table. Carl grinned, saluting him with his coffee.

Tony leaned forward. “Does Richard
Warner have the PF plates?”
 

“Yes.” Bea’s voice was neutral. “So does
Mike Kennedy.”

“How about Chris Mayerling?” Bob asked.

“No. He primarily drives a red Porsche
convertible.” Bea once more flipped through her notes. “However he does have a
second car, a dark blue Seville. License number PE 4324.”

“PF or PE. The old lady coulda mixed
them up,” Tony said.

The sound of a pencil scratching on
paper filled the silence.

“Anything else?” Carl asked.
 

“Just one last item. I’d like you to
take a look at this list.” Bea dealt the papers out. “When we ran the printout
of the people in town with the PF license plate, this group of names kicked out
because they matched other criteria that’s built into the system.”

Carl read through the names quickly as
he flipped the pages. “Are you saying we should consider this group as possible
suspects?”
 

Bea shook her head. “No. Just be aware
of them. They have PF plates, and for some reason they’ve come to the attention
of the police department. It may be something as random as a burglary or
jaywalking. Could be they called to report a lost dog.”

“Did you run the names against the list
of people the Warners know?” Bob asked.

“Yes, and four of them came up positive.
They’re underlined.” Bea held the point of her pencil against the first name.
“Edward Bushnell lives on the same block as the Warners.”

Carl leaned forward. “Do you know who
that is? Bushnell used to be the mayor of Pickard. Hell, it’s got to be close
to thirty years ago. Ed and his wife are very active in town. Lots of money and
generous philanthropic tendencies. Before he retired, Chief Corcoran used to be
pretty thick with Bushnell.”

“I’ll make a note of that but ex-mayor
cuts no slack with me,” Bea said. “He’s seventy-three, retired, lives with his
wife, and has no record. His name came up several years ago when we were
running a sting on a mail-order house that was dealing in pornography.”

“Old boy probably couldn’t get it up and
sent for some rubber goods.”

Carl ignored Diego’s aside. “Anything
come of it?”

Bea shook her head. “No. The notes
mentioned him in passing. Just said he was embarrassed and confused.”

“I was at Warners’ when Bushnell stopped
by with a cake his wife had baked,” Carl said. “He was at the wake. Came
across as old and shaky. Upset but he seemed harmless enough.”

“Pedophiles don’t wear signs,” Bob
commented.

With a nod, Carl conceded the point,
placing a double check mark beside Bushnell’s name, and moved to the next one.
“Buddy Fanning? The guy who owns the Jeep dealership?”

“That’s the one. Mr. Sleaze himself.”
Bea grinned. “Two women customers accused him of fondling them while they were
out for a test drive. Two separate incidents about a month apart. Neither
pressed charges after Buddy Boy apologized, and offered a great deal on a new
car.”

“Just ’cause a guy tries to cop a feel
doesn’t mean he’d do a kid.” Tony looked around the table for confirmation.

“I’m not making any accusations here.
I’m just giving you the facts,” Bea said. “The next name is Nathaniel
Nathanson. He’s an insurance agent, and in his spare time volunteers for the
park soccer league. He was Jenny’s coach for two years. I don’t know why his
name came up. The reference name was Frank Mannino of the Rockford police.”

“I know Frank,” Tony said. “His wife,
Marianne, is a cousin of mine. I’ll give him a call and see what he can tell
me.”

“Good.” Bea made a note and then moved
on to the last name. “Wayne Zmudzki. He came up twice. Two teachers suggested
he might be physically abusing his daughter. Beatings, not sexual. Nothing
proved, and he denied everything. Wife backed him up, and the kid said he’d
never hit her. He lives a block from the school, and his daughter was in the
same class as Jenny.”

“None of these sound particularly
promising,” Diego muttered.

“I know,” Bea admitted.
 

“Okay then. Anything we’ve left out?”
Carl asked. He looked around the table at the shaking heads. “The next meeting
will be Friday at four, unless there’s a break in the case.”

Chairs were shoved back and they began
to gather up their reports. Carl jotted a final reminder, closed his notebook,
and rose to his feet.

“By the way,” he said. “Make sure your
teams stay visible. A strong police presence on the streets might discourage
the killer from trying again.”

There was little reaction to his words.
Carl could see in the cynical expressions that the question was not
whether
it
would happen again, but
when
it would happen.

“How’s my girl?” Mike asked as he leaned
over to kiss Kate on the cheek. He put his arm around her as they walked
through the front hall to the kitchen.
 

She moved out of his embrace and pointed
to the refrigerator. “Would you like something cold? Beer? Iced tea?”

“I’d love a beer, but I’ve got to go
back to the hospital, so I’ll go for the tea. My prize patient, Edith Olson, is
well enough to be released. She’s going to be eighty-five tomorrow, and wants
to celebrate at home.”

He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs
and sat down at the table. He pushed the café curtains aside, unlocked the
window, and raised the sash to let in some fresh air.

“It’s stuffy in here. We ought to be
sitting outside. It’s a beautiful day.” He nodded to the window. “Your
daffodils look good.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Kate said. She
placed a glass of tea in front of him, and stared out at the backyard, her face
showing little interest.
 

“You know, Kate, it’s natural to feel
numb.” He sipped the tea. “It’s your mind’s way of protecting itself against
overload. In time it will pass.”

Kate shrugged. Psychobabble, she
thought. What did he know?

She moved away from the table and poured
herself some iced tea. She leaned against the counter, too restless to sit
down. Mike’s unexpected visit made her nervous. Since Jenny’s death, she’d been
aware that he watched her, assessing her mental and physical condition. She
didn’t know if his concern was just normal for a doctor or if there was
something more involved.

“What’s up?”
 

“I was passing by and I thought I’d stop
in.” He raised his glass to take another drink.

“Give me a break.”

Above the rim of the glass, Mike’s face
flushed, the freckles standing out starkly against his pink skin. It surprised
Kate. She rarely saw him flustered.
 

“All right. All right. I wasn’t passing
by. I wanted to talk to you.” He put the glass down on the table, moving it
around, leaving a series of wet rings on the surface. “I tried to bring it up
with Richard, but I thought it might be easier talking to you.”

Whatever it was, the subject was
obviously uncomfortable. “Could you give me a clue, Mike?”

“It’s money.”
 

He blurted out the words, looking
relieved at the accomplishment, but leaving Kate still in the dark. “Do you
need money?” she asked.

“No. No.” He shook his head. “I’m doing
this poorly, Kate. I’m sorry. I wondered if you needed help with legal
expenses, that type of thing.”

She was genuinely warmed by Mike’s
concern. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly, smiling at the look of panic
on his face. He started to rise, but she waved him back.

“I’m not going to cry,” she said. She
brought her drink over to the table, sitting down across from him. She reached
out, putting her hand into the large palm he extended. It was almost her undoing.
His kindness broke through the defenses that she had erected in the past week
and a half. Her voice was slightly shaky when she spoke. “I’m glad you were
passing by.”

Mike waited while she gathered her
resources. She didn’t feel rushed. Swallowing her tears, she smiled across the
table. He released her hand.

“In answer to your question,” she said,
“we don’t need any money at the moment. I don’t feel I’m telling you anything
Richard wouldn’t, if you asked him. He gave Stacie $6,000. Her final bill will
probably be pretty hefty, but we’ve got enough savings to cover that.”

“Good.”
 

Once more he appeared hesitant but this
time Kate was more attuned to his thoughts. “You’re wondering what will happen
if Richard is arrested?”

“Yes. Richard appears to be the focus of
their investigation. I’d hate to think they’d pin it on him for lack of any
other suspect.”

“It’s happened before,” Kate said.

“That’s what concerns me. I know you’re
under a lot of tension and worrying about money will make things worse. I
couldn’t think of any way to bring it up with Richard. I don’t want him to
think that talking about arrest means I’m beginning to doubt him.”