Murder with a Twist (14 page)

“I use my TV for gaming. I don't have cable and there isn't anything on the regular stations worth watching.” His voice was still tart and I realized it had changed to that taste when he'd told me his name. That's when I knew he'd been lying to me, though I wasn't sure if it was only now and when he'd given me his name, or the whole time. But I had an idea.

“All that stuff you said about your wife and her death, none of that was true, was it?” I asked him.

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed and ashamed of his behavior.

“No,” he admitted, his voice still tart. “But I learned long ago that it works to get chicks. If you tell them you're divorced, they're always wary, worried about the ex-wife coming back into your life, or wondering why she dumped you. And if you tell them you've never been married, they start wondering why, figuring there must be something seriously wrong with you. But a grieving widower, that's irresistible to women.”

I shot him a look of disgust, though my feelings were directed at myself as much as they were at him. I'd fallen for his stupid shtick and it ticked me off.

“So far, you're one of the last people to see Belinda Cooper alive,” Duncan said. “I think you're lying to us. I think you did stay with her Friday night and when she didn't put out for you then or the next morning, you got real mad. I mean, hell, you wasted all that time and money on her, and for what?”

“I didn't kill her, if that's what you're implying,” Edwin said, backing up several more steps.

“Prove it,” Duncan said. “Where were you yesterday evening between the hours of six and eight?”

Judging from the scared expression on Edwin's face, I guessed that he wasn't anywhere that was going to provide him with a solid alibi. I guessed right.

“I was home, alone, like I am most of the time,” he grumbled. “It was Saturday and I didn't have to work, so I slept in and then kicked back to play some video games. I live alone so I didn't even bother to get dressed.”

“Is there anyone who can verify that you were there?” Duncan asked.

“I just told you I live alone.”

“Were you logged on to any gaming sites?”

He shook his head, looking quite glum. “I don't play those interactive games. I'm mostly into football and Mario Brothers.”

“Where do you work?”

“I'm a collection specialist for the Debukey law firm.”

“A collection specialist?” Duncan said, looking puzzled.

“Overdue bills and that sort of stuff,” Edwin explained with a look of chagrin. “It's not a popular job. I spend most of my day getting screamed at and threatened by people who can't pay their bills. It's not the best way to meet women. That's why I come here.”

“Tell me about Friday night, when you took Belinda home. What happened?”

Edwin let out a little
pfft
. “Nothing happened. I didn't even get inside her house. She said she didn't want to risk waking up her kid. We shared a peck of a kiss and said good-bye in my car. I watched her walk inside the house and then I left.”

“So her son was there, as far as you know?”

Edwin nodded. “Yeah, she said she had a babysitter who was watching him, a neighbor kid or something like that. That was one of the reasons she needed to get home early.”

“And you didn't come back on Saturday evening for another run at her?”

“I just told you I didn't.” He was clearly perturbed now.

“Give me your full name, your address, and your home and work phone numbers, including any cells,” Duncan said. Edwin grudgingly complied and Duncan wrote it all down in the little notebook he always carries with him. When he was done, he flipped the notebook closed and tucked it back into his shirt pocket. “You can go for now,” he told Edwin. “But I might want to talk to you again, so if you have any plans to leave town, let me know first.”

Edwin nodded so hard and fast, it looked like a spasm. “No problem,” he muttered; then he hightailed it for the door.

“Damn it!” I said to Duncan. “That guy totally had me fooled.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were over there talking to the cashiers, he walked up and used this stupid pick-up line on me and managed to get me feeling all flattered and friendly toward him. And it was all a lie.”

“So, you fell for a smooth operator's lines. Some of them are very good. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Heck, you fell for my lines.”

I could tell this last part was his attempt to levy some humor into the situation, but I wasn't going for it. “It's not that, Duncan. It's this . . .” I waved my hand around in the air to indicate the general area of the store. “It's this thing I'm doing for you. I should have picked up on the fact that that Edwin guy was being dishonest, or at least deceptive, but I didn't. He was so practiced and smooth with his lies and his pretend vulnerabilities that he never gave himself away. It wasn't until you made him nervous that the taste of his voice changed enough for me to tell whether or not he was being honest. Or at least I think that's what it was telling me.” I ran a hand through my hair and gave Duncan a worried look.

“One mistake doesn't negate all of what you're doing,” he said.

“But what
am
I doing? I'm not sure my reactions are reliable enough for what you need. You were right; it's all so subjective. I'm interpreting my reactions, but I'm also making assumptions to arrive at those interpretations. It was all fun and games when I played hide-and-seek as a kid with my dad, but there's a little boy's life at stake here, Duncan. What if my assumptions are wrong?”

“You're just upset over that guy's ability to fool you. And I'll bet if you think back and analyze everything you experienced during your chat with him, you'll find something that was telling you he wasn't on the up-and-up.”

He was right, of course, but that didn't make me feel any better.

Duncan put his hands on my shoulders. “I have faith in you, Mack. You got it right every time these past few weeks when I tested you. You always knew when someone was lying.”

“But that was with people I know—people like Cora and Tad and the Signoriello brothers. What if knowing someone and being familiar with that person's norms is necessary for me to be able to pick up on the lies?”

“You think you have to know someone in order for your reactions to be reliable?”

“Yes . . . no . . . I don't know . . . maybe.” I waved his question away, getting more and more impatient with his insistence. “That Edwin guy's voice tasted sweet to me, until he gave me his name. Then it turned tart and sour. Normally I would have interpreted such a taste change as a lie and I would have thought this guy was lying when he told me his name, simply because it made the taste of his voice change into something more sour and more uncomfortable. But his honest voice is the sour one, and I think that's because lying is his norm. Most people are a little uncomfortable when they lie, even if it's a subconscious thing, and I think that's what alters their voice reactions for me. But when you have someone like Edwin, who is more comfortable with the lie than the truth, it's the exact opposite. And if I don't know that about him, I'm not going to interpret things correctly.”

“So you make a mistake now and then. No big deal,” Duncan said. “You got it right with the Stratford and Weber gang. Evidence of all kinds can be misleading from time to time.”

“But this isn't about just the evidence, Duncan. It's about me. I don't want the guilt of knowing I sent you guys off on a wild goose chase. If things turn out bad for that little boy, and I do anything to delay the investigation in any way, I don't think I could live with myself.”

“I think you're overreacting.”

“Well, I don't. It seemed like fun when it was all imaginary crimes with no real victims, but now it's not so much fun anymore. I'm sorry to say this, Duncan, but I quit.”

I
turned away and walked out of the store, eager to escape Duncan and all the evil in the world that I now associated with him. Unfortunately, I couldn't run very far because he was the one who drove us here, and I didn't even have my purse with me. I leaned against his car to wait for him and felt a little annoyed by how slowly he followed, taking his time as he walked down the sidewalk. He was talking on his phone, and while I realized that might be part of why he was taking his time, I also suspected that he knew I had nowhere to go and he hoped that having a little time to cool myself down might make me change my mind.

Duncan wasn't saying much on his phone, but he was listening intently. His expression looked serious and he ambled along the sidewalk a bit crookedly, as if all his attention was so focused on what he was hearing that there was little left over for the rest of his body. When he was a few feet away, he looked up, saw me leaning against his car, and stopped where he was. Aside from what I suspected was a grunt of acknowledgment, he said nothing. For the next minute or so he just stood there, listening. Then he hung up his phone without even saying good-bye.

He turned and stepped out into the street, heading for the driver's side of the car, unlocking the doors with his key fob as he went. As soon as I heard the locks pop up, I opened my door, got in, and fastened my seat belt.

The inside of the car smelled like Duncan, a clean smell that brought to mind line-dried sheets on a sunny day, which I found odd since I'd never actually smelled a line-dried sheet. I suppose I associated that smell with line-dried sheets because I had bought a couple of candles that smelled similar and were labeled as such. Plus, I use those dryer sheets that supposedly smell like “outdoor freshness.” The smell typically triggers a sound like very fine sandpaper being rubbed over smooth wood, and as I sat in the car, I noticed that sound was louder inside than it had been outside. That's when it hit me. Belinda Cooper had a garage attached to her house.

“Did Belinda Cooper own a car?” I asked.

Duncan nodded.

“Is it at her house?”

“I believe so,” Duncan said. “Why?”

“I want to see it.”

“I thought you were done. I thought you didn't want to do this anymore.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I looked over at him, fighting back tears. “I'm afraid, Duncan. I'm afraid of saying something, or misinterpreting something and causing someone harm.”

He reached over and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I understand,” he said. “I have that fear all the time. None of this is pure science, Mack. None of it is guaranteed. We cops make assumptions all the time based on gut instincts and the way we read people. Your ability is no different, really. And I promise you it won't make me dismiss any actions we would take based on the more normal evidence we get. So all your input will do is help. It may lead us down a path we would have taken anyway, or it might suggest paths we hadn't considered. But I promise you I won't let it detract from our normal processes and procedures. Okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak for the moment. My emotions had a strangle hold on my throat.

Traffic was light so it didn't take long to get to Belinda Cooper's house. Crime scene techs were still onsite processing the place. We ducked under some crime scene tape strung up on the front porch and entered through the front door. The door to the garage was off the living room and after Duncan explained to the officer in charge what we wanted to do, he led us out there.

Belinda's car was an older model Volvo sedan, and I wondered if she chose the make of the car with an eye to its safety reputation, or if it just happened to be the car she could afford at the time.

“What is it you want to do?” Duncan asked.

“I want to get inside the car.”

The vehicle wasn't locked, and after donning gloves, Duncan opened the passenger-side door since it was closest and then went to open the back door.

“Don't open that,” I said. “Can I sit in the front seat?”

“Sure. Hal said they haven't processed it yet. They'll probably have it towed in to the lab for further analysis, but as long as I document that you were in the car, it should be fine.”

I settled in the front passenger seat and shut the door. First I closed my eyes and let my senses absorb what they could. I picked up on several familiar and identifiable smells, including one that took me a moment to place. Unlike the other smells, this one was not one I expected to find. After processing the smells, sounds, and feel of the car, I opened my eyes and looked around the interior space. When I turned and looked in the backseat, something struck me right away. I opened the door and got out.

“There's no car seat in here,” I said. “Given little Davey's age, there should be one. Did you find one in the house anywhere?”

“I don't know. I'll have to check with the techs.”

“If the person who took Davey made the effort to take toys and clothes along, odds are they might have come for the car seat, too. They would have needed one to transport him.”

“You're right.”

“The reason I wanted to get inside the car is because it's a perfect trap for smells and sounds,” I told Duncan. “They stay confined inside for the most part. They don't dissipate as quickly as those in the open air.”

“So did you pick up on something in Belinda's car?”

“I did. I picked up the smell of bleach or chlorine, which triggers a squeaking sound, kind of like a mouse, or like rubbing your finger on glass. The sound is loudest, meaning the smell is strongest, toward the back seat. I noticed it in the house earlier, too, but I didn't put much importance on it there because it's something you'd expect to find, especially since Belinda seemed to be a very clean-conscious person. But it doesn't make as much sense in the car.”

“Bleach,” Duncan said, squinting in thought.

“If the person who took Davey came out here and took his car seat, they might well have had that smell on them for some reason. Maybe they work as a maid at a motel, or they clean houses or something like that.”

Duncan was writing in his little notebook. “This is good, Mack. If we can verify that there was a car seat in here, this is a good, solid lead.” He closed his notebook and reached over to give my shoulder another one of those squeezes, but this time his hand lingered, his fingertips touching the base of my neck. It triggered an electric zip that went from my shoulder into my groin, a sensation that was discomfiting and pleasant at the same time. When he finally withdrew his hand, I felt relieved yet disappointed.

We went back inside and Duncan did a search of the kitchen and bathroom, looking for any bleach or cleaners containing bleach. Belinda Cooper had tons of cleaners in the house, but the only thing we found with any sort of bleach in it was a powdered, color-safe laundry detergent and some toilet bowl cleaner. Both of these had other things in them and their smells were different from the one in the car, as was the sound that accompanied each one. Just to be sure, I sniffed the other cleaners to see if they sounded like the smell in the car had, but none of them did.

After we'd made sure there wasn't a car seat in the house anywhere, I stood by and listened as Duncan called Jimmy. I gathered from Duncan's end of the conversation that no one had thought to ask about whether or not there was usually a car seat in Belinda's car, and no one had yet noticed that there wasn't one, because they hadn't processed the car yet.

When he hung up the call, Duncan glanced at his watch and said, “One of the guys canvassing the neighborhood gave me the name and address for the babysitter. Her name is Christine Wolff and she lives a few doors down. I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but I'd like it if you'd come along.”

I felt renewed and restored after my success with the car, and it wasn't likely I'd see anything gross, so I agreed.

Five minutes later we were standing on the front porch of a house four doors away. The place resembled Belinda's house, though it didn't look to be in need of quite as many repairs. There was a large picture window in the front and, though it was covered with curtains that kept us from seeing inside, the glow of a TV shone through. We could hear what sounded like some kind of shoot-'em-up playing inside.

Duncan rang the doorbell and the sound from the TV stopped. We heard footsteps and then a female voice yelled through the door, “Who is it?”

“Milwaukee Police Department,” Duncan yelled back. He held his badge up so it could be seen through the peephole.

“You've already been here,” the woman yelled back.

“Yes, ma'am, but we have some additional questions, if you don't mind. It won't take long.”

A moment later a thin, fortyish-looking woman wearing a terrycloth bathrobe with a flannel nightgown beneath it opened the door a crack and peered out at us.

“I already told the police everything I know,” she said, eyeing me curiously.

“Yes, ma'am,” Duncan said. “I'm sorry to bother you again, but there are some additional questions we need to ask. You're Mrs. Wolff?”

“I am.”

“I understand you have a daughter named Christine who often babysat for Belinda. Is that true?”

“It is,” she said, clearly impatient. “But she has nothing to do with any of this and I don't want her involved. We don't know who did this, or what they might do to keep people quiet.”

“I understand your concern,” Duncan said. “The questions I want to ask your daughter aren't directly related to the crime itself. I'm more interested in finding out some things about Belinda's day-to-day life.”

Mrs. Wolff chewed the inside of her cheek, still holding the door and looking impatient. “I'll need to talk to my husband first,” she said.

“That's fine,” Duncan said. “I'll be happy to talk to him. Is he here?”

“He's at work,” she said. “If you want to talk to him, you can come back this evening.”

She started to close the door when another hand appeared from somewhere behind her, the fingers wrapping around the door's edge and preventing Mrs. Wolff from closing it. Then we heard another female voice. “Let me talk to them, Mom.”

“Go back to your room,” Mrs. Wolff said, never taking her eyes off us.

“Davey is missing,” the other female voice said. “I want to do whatever I can to make sure he's okay.”

Mrs. Wolff hung onto the door and glared at us, as if her daughter's willingness to help was somehow our fault. After several seconds of indecision, she finally stepped back and let her daughter open the door wider. Christine Wolff was tall and thin, and she had a stud through her nose, a dog collar around her neck, and shoulder-length, black hair with a streak of electric blue in it. She, like her mother, was wearing a flannel nightgown and a robe—clearly not early risers or churchgoers, at least not this Sunday. I idly wondered if Christine slept with that collar on.

Duncan quickly stepped inside, and I guessed it was because he didn't want to give Mrs. Wolff a chance to change her mind. I followed him and, once we were in, Mrs. Wolff closed the door to the cold. We were standing in a small foyer with dark wood wainscoting on the walls and oak hardwood floors. Mrs. Wolff not only didn't invite us deeper into the house, she stood in the doorway to the living room with her arms folded over her chest, her jaw firmly set, making it clear to us that we were not welcome to venture any farther.

Duncan got straight to the point. “We just have a couple of quick questions for you, Christine. To start with, did you babysit for Belinda Friday night?”

Christine nodded. “I already told one of the other cops that. Belinda had a date with some guy she met at the grocery store. Apparently it didn't go as well as she hoped. She said he seemed pissed that she wouldn't hop right into bed with him, or let him come in and stay.”

Apparently Edwin had shown his true colors that night. Had Belinda's reaction pissed him off? Was he not just a serial dater, but a killer? I shook my head as if to break that thought loose. My imagination was getting the better of me, probably because I still stung from the humiliation of my own experience with Edwin.

“Did Belinda date very often?” Duncan asked.

“No,” Christine said. “She hardly did anything like that. Once in a while she would go out with some women friends from work to a movie or something, but I don't think she's been dating anyone since she split from her husband.”

“Does he ever come by?”

Christine looked momentarily confused. “Does who come by? Her ex-husband?”

Duncan nodded.

“I don't think so, but I really didn't see that much of Belinda. She never had much need for a sitter. She works at a day care and takes Davey with her every day. And, like I said, her social life was the pits.”

Mrs. Wolff piped up then. “I think that ex of hers stopped by once or twice right after they split, but that was awhile ago and he never stayed long.”

“Do you know if the ex-husband ever took Davey with him?”

“Not a chance,” Mrs. Wolff said. “Belinda was very protective of that boy and I think she won full custody. I talked to her once or twice, just an occasional chat when we ran into one another on the street. I've been trying to lose some weight, so I do a thirty-minute walk every morning and every evening here in the neighborhood. Occasionally Belinda would be outside with Davey and we'd strike up a chat. She didn't come right out and say so, but she hinted that her ex had a drinking problem and had gotten physical with her. I think that's why she got full custody. And you can say what you want about that woman, but one thing was very clear: she loved that little boy. She'd never let her ex get his hands on him.”

“Did you take a walk on Saturday night?” Duncan asked Mrs. Wolff.