Death Angel (4 page)

“Have you got any suspects?”

“Is the coroner’s report in?”

“Is it true this is just one of a series
of child murders in Pickard?”

Carl did not even acknowledge the
questions, reaching inside the car for the radio to order backup to the area.
He leaned casually against the car door, watching the activity as the crowd
dispersed and the exodus began. By the time two patrol cars arrived, there were
only a few neighbors standing around and these stragglers broke apart and
hurried indoors. After giving the men instructions to block off the street to
the media, he picked up his leather notebook and started up the walk.
 

Neatly trimmed bushes hugged the
two-story Tudor and the green of tulips and daffodils was already showing in
the stone-edged gardens on either side of the front stairs. The house had been
painted recently and the cream-colored flower boxes beneath the front windows
were still empty. Carl wondered if the boxes would ever hold flowers again.

Moving briskly, he brushed a piece of
lint from his uniform sleeve, straightened his shoulders, and pushed the
doorbell. After a moment, a short, matronly woman pulled the door inward. Her
body barred his entrance and warily she peeked around him at the empty street.

“Thank goodness, they’re gone. It’s been
a zoo all morning.”

“Sorry, ma’am. My men will keep the
street clear,” he said, adding, “Chief Leidecker to see the Warners.”

He stepped forward, forcing the woman to
pull the door wider to permit him entry. The phone was ringing and in the back
of the house he could hear the low murmur of voices.

“Please come in. I’m the Warner’s next
door neighbor. This is all so god-awful.” Her voice shook and her face took on
a pinched look. “I’ll get Richard. They just got back from the funeral home,
and we’re trying to get Kate to eat something. She hasn’t been able to keep
anything down since it happened and she’s going to need strength to get through
the next couple of days.”

As if she realized that she was
beginning to babble, she snapped her mouth shut, turned on her heel, and
hurried toward the back of the house. Left alone, Carl surveyed the living
room, soothed by the warmth evident in the arrangement of the furnishings. The
upholstery fabrics and draperies were varied tones of yellow and cream. The
only bright splash of color in the room was the red in the painting that hung
above the fireplace.

Carl remembered seeing the picture. He
had commented on it, and Kate had told him with pardonable pride that Richard
had painted it. Moving closer to the mantel, he stared up at the rain scene, a
moment in time caught forever in swirling brushstrokes on the canvas.

Beneath red umbrellas, two figures in
yellow slickers and black boots splashed in a puddle. The woman’s face was in
shadow, but the child’s laughing features were so meticulously painted that
Carl imagined he could hear her girlish shrieks in the corners of the room.
With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, he realized that the child
would never laugh again.
 

Jenny Warner, the model for the picture,
was dead.
 

Carl turned his back and faced the
archway as footsteps sounded in the hall and the telephone shrilled. Richard
Warner came into view just as the doorbell rang, a quieter echo to the strident
tone of the phone.

“Good God, now what!” Richard said,
rubbing a hand across his forehead. He reached toward the doorknob, hesitated
for a moment, then snatched the door open. The conversation was unintelligible,
but Richard’s rigid back reflected the controlled pain just beneath the surface.

“Thank you for coming, Joe,” He accepted
the plastic-wrapped plate thrust into his hand, and began to ease the front
door closed. “I know Kate will appreciate the cake.”

Once the door was closed he stood
uncertainly with the plate in his hand, then set it on the mahogany table in
the hall, and turned once more toward the living room, extending his hand as he
crossed the carpeting. “Carl. Sorry to keep you waiting, but this place is
bedlam.”

“Please, don’t give it a thought.”

“Marian told me that you got rid of
those ghouls out front.”

“We’ll try to keep the media at a
distance, but it won’t last.”

“Bastards almost mobbed us when we went
to the funeral home.”

Richard’s voice was savage and as Carl
opened his mouth to reply, the phone rang again.

“It’s been like this ever since we came
home last night. Joe Bushnell, the guy who just brought the cake, lives at the
end of the block with his wife. I know people are trying to show their concern,
but it’s about to drive me out of my mind. Come into my studio. There’s no
phone in there.”

Richard moved to a door at the back of
the living room. Carl followed, entering what appeared to be a converted porch.
Draperies covered the windows on two sides, but were open over the windows that
faced out onto a fenced backyard. Aside from shelves along the wall that were
crowded with books and papers, the room was surprisingly neat. An easel with a
covered canvas stood in one corner, and facing the backyard, was a drafting
table and stool. Two easy chairs were tucked in a corner and Richard indicated
to Carl that he should take one.

“Kate will be along in a moment. She’s
having some soup and I told her she had to finish it before she could join
us.”
 

Carl took in the strained air and the
nervous energy carefully held in check. Before he could respond, Richard
hurried into speech.

“Thank you for expediting everything
with the funeral home.” His voice shook slightly, but after a shuddered breath,
he managed to continue. “As it stands now there’ll be a wake tomorrow and the
funeral will be Friday. Everyone has been so understanding.”

“I’m glad.” Inadequate words.

“Richard?”

Carl had not been aware of Kate’s
arrival until she spoke. One hand held to the framework of the door and the
other pressed against her throat. Her face was devoid of color except for a
bright slash of lipstick. With her brown hair tied with a rubber band behind
her head, she looked like a teenager rather than a woman in her thirties.
 

“Come and sit down, Kate.” Richard drew
her into the room, easing her toward one of the chairs and standing over her
until she settled into the cushions. “Did you finish your soup?” he asked as if
she were a child.

“Most of it,” she said, her voice a bare
whisper.
 

The few times that Carl had seen Kate
and Richard together, he had been surprised at their interaction. They were a
loving couple, but it was clear that Richard was the more dominant in the
marriage. She was always gracious, but in Richard’s company she concentrated on
anticipating his needs. Her plain clothing and lack of makeup did little to
enhance the beauty that Carl saw in her. He wondered if her preference to
remain in the shadows was her idea or Richard’s.
     

Carl sorted through his notes, giving
them a chance to prepare themselves for his questions. Asking them to repeat
everything that happened the day Jenny disappeared would be painful, but he
knew from experience that each repetition would be less hurtful.

Throughout their recital of events, Carl
heard the constant ring of the phone, a muted reminder of the world outside the
closed door of the studio. Richard appeared unaffected by the chaos beyond the
room. He seemed able to focus on the events of the moment to the exclusion of
all else. Kate flinched at each sound. Occasionally she closed her eyes, taking
a deep, steadying breath until the lines and furrows smoothed away leaving her
face expressionless. Only then did she reopen her eyes. Emotions once more
controlled.

Carl finished scratching notes on the
yellow, lined sheets in his notebook. He reached into the folder at the back
and pulled out a sealed envelope.

“This is a copy of the preliminary
autopsy report.” He tried to ignore the horror on their faces, letting the
honesty in his words reach out to the couple. “I know you’re not ready to read
this now, but later you may want to see it. It’s better to know exactly what
happened than to imagine even worse things. No one can hurt Jenny anymore. I
know you’re in agony, but it’s necessary to find the man who killed her. Let
your anger help you fight the grief.”

He handed the envelope to Richard, who
folded it with meticulous care and put it in the pocket of his shirt. Kate
turned away as if the sight of such a document was too distasteful for her to
bear.

Carl didn’t give them time to dwell on
what might be in the report. “I’m sure you’re appalled by the cameras and
reporters. We’ll try to keep things under control but you need to know that
some of it’s necessary and actually serves a purpose. We’ll be taking our own
film of people at the funeral home, the church, and the cemetery. Later we’ll
go back and, with your help, identify everyone who was present.”

“You think the murderer would show up?”
Richard asked.

“More than likely. Or so the
psychiatrists would have us believe.” Keeping his voice neutral, Carl
continued, “I know you’ve got a lot to do but I’ll need a list of names from
you sometime today.”

After a sideways glance at his wife,
Richard asked, “Is this something that could wait?”

“No, I’m afraid not. It shouldn’t take
you long. We need the names of everyone either of you spoke to the day of
Jenny’s disappearance. Added to that I’d like a list of the people you know or
have frequent contact with. Doctors. Dentists. For the present, just people in
Pickard.”

“You mean — our friends?” Kate asked.

“Yes.” He kept his response to the
single syllable. Everyone wanted crime to be committed by strangers.
 

“Surely you don’t think someone we know
would have h-hurt Jenny?” she asked.

“It’s something we can’t rule out.
Although it’s possible that the attacker was a transient, we have to go on the
assumption that it was someone Jenny knew. So far we’ve had neither report nor
sign of a forcible abduction. At this point the evidence suggests that she went
willingly with her killer.”

He watched both parents as the impact of
his words sank in. The nightmare situation had just gotten worse. The thought
that someone they knew might have committed such a crime was another cruelty
added to the death of their child.

“Do either of you recall any time that
you were uncomfortable with anyone’s relationship with Jenny?”

“No, of course not.” Kate shook her
head, shrinking against the cushioned back of the chair.

“Did Jenny seem unusually shy with any
of your friends or acquaintances?”

“No.” Richard’s response was brusque.

“I know this is distasteful, but it must
be faced. In light of what’s happened, you need to think back. Perhaps
something happened that at the time you dismissed as nothing of importance.
Don’t drive yourselves crazy but give it some thought and let me know if
anything comes to mind,” Carl said. “Do you have any questions?”

Richard spoke up immediately. “You say
you’ve had no reports of an abduction. But what if someone saw something but
doesn’t know it’s important?”

“Don’t worry. Officers have gone door to
door all around the bus stop, especially on the side street where the
watercolor was found. We questioned all of the occupants in the households.
That brings up something I need to ask you.” He reached into the folder again
and withdrew another sheet of paper. “In the pocket of Jenny’s windbreaker
there was a piece of hard candy. She had been sucking it and put it back into
the original wrapper. It’s an imported brand of butterscotch candy called
ButterSkots. Are you familiar with it?”

“ButterSkots? No, I never heard of it,”
Richard said.
 

“Jenny hated butterscotch,” Kate said,
sitting forward in her chair, her face alive with eagerness for the first time
in the interview. “She always spit it out. If you’re suggesting that someone
might have offered Jenny candy in order to grab her, you’re way off base, Carl.
She’d had all the ‘Stranger Danger’ lectures. She knew enough not to be enticed
by the offer of a piece of candy.”

“It may have no bearing at all on what
happened. I’ll check with her teacher to see if she got it at school. One more
thing. When you reported Jenny missing, you described what she was wearing but
in going over the list there’s an item not accounted for. You said she was
wearing a bracelet.”
 

Carl flattened out the piece of paper
and ran his finger under the section as he read the description. “One bracelet.
Gold links with one charm of a guardian angel. The initials
jlw
on the back of
the charm.”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears. She
nodded her head but was unable to speak.

Richard, voice tight, answered for her.
“I gave her the bracelet last Christmas.”

“The bracelet didn’t show up on the list
of her belongings. Are you positive she had it on when she left for school?”