Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery) (6 page)

“Of course I remember it, Alison. That picture you took of me in my underwear at the Heinrich’s crash scene not only made it into the local paper, but into some national tabloids as well.”

“Yeah,” she said with a wince. “Sorry about that, though technically it wasn’t my fault that the pictures got published.”

She was right about that. It was a freakish sequence of events that led to the pictures getting out, but that didn’t mean Alison was off the hook. “If you hadn’t taken them in the first place, they never would have been published anywhere,” I said.

“Yeah, like I said, I’m sorry about that,” she repeated, sounding genuinely sincere. “Anyway, after all the coverage from the various news outlets, the
Chicago Tribune
offered me a job. I was all set to accept it when my mother had what we thought at first was a stroke. Two days later she was diagnosed with ALS.”

Now it was my turn to wince. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I told her, and I meant it. ALS is not a kind disease, slowly robbing its victims of every last bit of dignity before it kills them. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

“Anyway, my parents split up eight years ago, and my dad moved out to California and married some hottie who’s younger than I am. I’m the only family my mother has left, and I didn’t feel I could leave her here alone, so I had to pass on the job offer.” She sighed. “For now I’m stuck here with this job, and I’m just trying to do the best with it that I can. So give me a break, okay?”

She stared at me with pleading eyes that tore down any remaining defenses I might have had. “I’m truly sorry about your mom and your job, Alison. But I have to be careful. Besides, the police are the gatekeepers for releasing facts when they feel it’s appropriate and won’t compromise the investigation. You really should be after them, not me.”

“But they never tell me anything. I thought it might get easier when Steve Hurley left town, but Bob Richmond isn’t any better. In fact, if anything, he’s even more tight-lipped than Steve was. If I have to rely solely on them for information, I might as well quit my job. I need someone who will open up to me more. I was hoping that would be you, Mattie.”

I saw Bob Richmond exit the Ames house and glanced at my watch. “I have to go, Alison. I’ll do what I can for you, but I’m not making any promises.”

“Thanks, Mattie. I knew I could count on you.”

I turned away from Alison and walked the rest of the way to my car, feeling like a heel. I was truly sympathetic to her plight and felt bad for her and her mother, knowing what lay ahead for them. I would do what I could for Alison, but I feared she might be expecting more than I was willing or able to give. I wasn’t going to do anything that would compromise my job or any of our cases.

Normally the drive to my office would have taken five to seven minutes, depending on whether the two stoplights on Main were red or green. But on this particular night it took me a little longer because I noticed a car that fell in behind me as soon as I turned off Truman Street.

As a test, to see if the car really was following me, I detoured from my usual route and drove up and down some residential streets, turning aimlessly, with no set destination in mind. Sure enough, the car behind me followed me turn for turn, though it did fall back some.

After a half dozen random turns, I tired of the little cat-and-mouse game and headed instead for a nearby strip mall that had a small, well-lit parking lot. At least that way, if my pursuer continued to follow, I’d get a good look at the car and maybe even the driver.

I headed down River Street—aptly named since it runs along the river that cuts through town—and approached the strip-mall parking lot. The car behind me continued to follow, closer now, and I flipped on my indicator and turned, only to watch with disappointment as the car revved up and passed me by.

I caught a brief glimpse of the vehicle, but it was of little help. All I could tell was that it was a dark-colored sedan. I wasn’t even sure if it was the same car I’d seen earlier. That the car had been tailing me, I had no doubt. There was no other rational explanation for why it had followed the same zigzag route I’d driven. And after that pointless meandering through the neighborhood, I figured whoever was behind the wheel—and by now I was convinced that it had to be my father—had probably figured out I was on to him. Clearly he didn’t want to reveal himself yet for reasons only he knew, but I figured that eventually he’d make face-to-face contact and offer an explanation.

Some other niggling part of my mind suggested that maybe the person making the calls and tailing me in the car wasn’t my father at all, but I rejected the thought almost immediately. At the time it was the only answer that made sense.

As it turned out, I was wrong, and it was a mistake that nearly cost me my life.

I
drove to my office, parked in the attached underground garage, and headed for the library, which did double duty as my office. It took me a few minutes to launch the appropriate software and hook the camera up to the computer to start the download. I glanced at my watch and saw it was only a few minutes before ten, and even though I knew it meant I might end up running late, I went looking for Izzy.

He wasn’t in his office, so I made my way to the autopsy suite and peeked in through the window in the door. Izzy was there, his back to me, working alone on Derrick Ames’s autopsy. He was doing something down by Derrick’s legs, and I could see that he hadn’t cut the man open yet, but the barbecue fork had been removed from his chest and was sitting on a nearby stainless-steel table.

I pushed the door open and said, “Hey, Izzy.” He startled, nearly falling off the stool he stands on in order to adequately reach the table. He clapped a hand over his chest and looked over his shoulder at me, eyes wide.

“Oh, geez, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Are you okay?”

“I will be,” he said, turning back to Derrick’s body, “just as soon as my heart rate slows down. You’d think that after all the years I’ve spent cutting open dead people that I’d be beyond getting the heebie-jeebies, but sometimes when I’m here alone, my imagination gets the better of me.”

“I’d be more worried if it didn’t bother you,” I told him. “Any building at night when you’re alone can be scary. Throw in a few dead bodies and you’ve got the makings of a Stephen King novel.”

“I’ve never read any of his stuff,” Izzy said. “All my reading time gets spent on professional journals.”

“It’s probably just as well. That man cost me a few nights of sleep before I started this job. I don’t know if I’ll ever read him again now. Anyway, I just dropped off the camera and hooked it up to download the pictures. Come up with anything yet?”

“Nothing surprising. Derrick has a black eye and a broken nose that looks like it bled a lot, so I’m pretty sure he took a hit in the face from something. He also has a number of fresh bruises on his arms and a linear bruise on his back just below his waist that I’m thinking must be from being pushed up hard against the counter. The arm bruises are most likely from the struggle he put up against his killer. Maybe I’ll come up with something more once I open him up.”

“Need me to help you with anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Just don’t sneak up on me again.”

“You got it. I’m heading over to the police station to meet up with Bob Richmond and interview Ames’s family. After that I’ll probably head home. Should I pick you up when I’m done?”

“No need. I’ll give Dom a call, and he can come and get me.”

“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will. Thanks. I’ll talk to you sometime tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

I left through the front door of the building and walked over to the police station, which was only a block away. Both buildings are located on the edge of the downtown area, and the streets are always well lit. Still, I couldn’t resist looking over my shoulder a few times. I chalked my nerves up to pregnancy hormones and talk of Stephen King as opposed to any real-life threat, but I was still glad when I reached the police station and was safely inside.

Stephanie, the evening dispatcher, was behind the desk, talking on the phone. She gave me a little finger wave and buzzed me through to the back.

I found Richmond in Hurley’s office, sitting at Hurley’s desk. The sight of him there instead of Hurley made my chest ache.

“Junior found a number for Derrick’s cell phone,” he said when he saw me.

“And?”

“And nothing,” he said with frustrated shake of his head. “When he tried to call, it went straight to voice mail. He had the phone company see if they could pick up a signal or activate the GPS on it, but they got nothing. They told Junior that it had to have been deactivated.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that either someone took the battery out of it, or they destroyed the phone.”

“That’s strange.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You can still get his call records, though, right?”

Richmond nodded. “Junior’s working on getting them now. We’ll have to wait until Monday to get the financials. In the meantime, I suppose we should go talk to the Ames family. You ready?”

“I am. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

He took the papers he was working on and tossed them atop a huge pile of folders. “I kept myself busy. That’s one thing about this job that never changes. There’s always paperwork to be done.” He stood, pushed his chair back into place, and said, “And the officers kept the Ames family busy getting fingerprinted. Wendy apparently balked at first, but when the guys explained that we needed the prints for elimination purposes, she relented. They just finished a few minutes ago, and I had them put Ames’s ex-wife in the interview room. The two boys are back in the break room with Brenda Joiner. I’d like to talk to the boys individually, and ideally without their mother present, but I’m not sure Mrs. Ames will be on board with that.”

“I’m surprised she allowed them to be separated from her at all.”

“Brenda suggested that some of the things we needed to talk about might not be suitable for her sons to hear. Mrs. Ames made Brenda promise that her boys wouldn’t be questioned about anything without her knowledge and presence. Brenda agreed and then left Mrs. Ames in the interview room making phone calls.”

“Isn’t that risky, letting her make phone calls before you talk to her? What if she’s working up an alibi or something?”

“I had Brenda turn on the recording device before she left,” Richmond said with a wink. “So anything Wendy Ames says while talking on her phone will be recorded.”

“Ah, very clever of you.”

“I have my moments.”

I updated Richmond on what Izzy had found so far as we headed for the interview room, which doubled as a conference room. There were no tiny interrogation rooms with small wooden tables and uncomfortable chairs here. The Sorenson PD did all of their interrogations at a large table that had eight plush chairs around it. It was the same table where they held most of their meetings. The room was carpeted and decorated, although the décor was hideous enough to drive the most determined suspects to confess, just so they wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. Despite the quasi-cozy décor, the room did have audio and video recording capabilities, and an observation room. The only other hint that the room served a dual purpose was a ring in the floor by the middle seat on the far side of the table. It was there so the cops could hook ankle cuffs to it in case anyone truly dangerous was brought in, though I’ve heard rumors that a rookie or two has been cuffed to it in the past as part of a hazing ritual.

Wendy Ames looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. I gathered there was some Asian blood in her family tree based on her glossy black hair, small build, somewhat sallow complexion, and slightly almond-shaped eyes, which at the moment were red-rimmed and smeared with runny eye makeup. She was about the same size as Mandy Terwilliger, so I was still unsure who the clothes in Derrick’s bedroom belonged to.

Wendy’s cell phone sat on the tabletop in front of her, so apparently whatever calls she was making were done for now. She looked up at us as we entered and blew her nose. When she was done, she tossed the tissue onto a pile that had accumulated on the table beside her. Then she sucked in a deep breath and straightened up in her seat, visibly gathering herself together for our talk.

Richmond took a seat directly across from her, and I settled in on his left.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ames. I’m Detective Bob Richmond, and this is Mattie Winston, an investigator with the medical examiner’s office.”

“Please, call me Wendy,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I don’t suppose you allow people to smoke in here?”

“Sorry, no,” Bob said.

“Didn’t think so.” She yanked another tissue from the box beside her and blew her nose again. “Just as well,” she said when she was done. “I’m trying to quit anyway.”

“First of all, let me say that we are very sorry about Mr. Ames’s death,” Richmond said.

“Thank you.”

“Were the two of you close at all?”

Wendy snorted. “I don’t think anyone would call our relationship a close one. When we first split up, things were pretty tense. But these days we make an effort to get along for the sake of the boys.”

“I understand that the two of you share custody, is that right?”

Wendy nodded. “I wanted full custody at first, but we reconsidered the arrangement when our boys said how much they missed their dad. I realized I was being selfish and considering my own needs over theirs.” She shrugged. “So I relented and let Derrick have them half the time.” She paused and gave us a wan smile. “The boys keep trying to get us back together, no matter how many times we tell them it won’t work. I’ve tried to tell them that . . . well, that it’s complicated.”

Something in the way she hesitated made me think there was more to the story. “Are you seeing anyone else?” I asked.

She hesitated long enough before answering to let me know I was on the right track. “There is someone,” she said. “But the boys don’t know about it. It helps that this other person doesn’t live here. You know how small towns can be when it comes to gossip.”

“A name please,” Bob said, pen poised over his notebook.

“Why?”

“Because he’s a potential suspect. We need to talk to anyone who has a connection to your husband, particularly people who may have a motive for wanting him out of the picture.”

“He’s my
ex
-husband,” Wendy said irritably. “And the idea that the person I’m seeing has any motive for wanting Derrick dead is utterly ridiculous.”

“That’s your perspective,” Richmond said, making Wendy’s frown deepen.

Wendy chewed on her lip, and I could tell she was scared. Why? Did she think the guy might have done it? Or was he married, perhaps?

“Is this really necessary?” Wendy asked in a voice that was half whiny, half angry. “There’s a marriage at stake here.”

I gave myself a mental pat on the back for figuring it out, but soon learned that I was only partially right.

“It is, unless you want us to arrest you on obstruction charges,” Richmond said.

“Fine,” Wendy snapped, clearly irritated. “It’s Blake. Blake Sutherland.”

“And how can we get hold of Mr. Sutherland?” Bob asked, scribbling down the name.

Wendy bit her lip again, rolled her eyes, and then sagged in her seat. “It’s Mrs. Sutherland,” she said finally, looking away in embarrassment. “Blake is a woman.”

Richmond stared at Wendy, his pen poised over his notebook. There were several seconds of awkward silence as we digested these pieces of information, which clarified the issue about the woman’s clothes in Derrick’s bedroom. I suppose Wendy might have left a blouse and some slacks behind, but the underwear was on top of the laundry pile. They had been left there recently, which meant they must have belonged to Mandy.

Richmond said, “Are you referring to the wife of John Sutherland, the owner of Sutherland Enterprises?”

Wendy nodded. I gave Richmond a questioning look. I had no idea who John Sutherland was, but clearly he did. Richmond must have sensed my confusion, because he leaned into me and explained. “Sutherland Enterprises is a real estate and building company that specializes in top-end, luxury houses. John Sutherland is one of the richest men in Madison.”

Now I understood why Wendy didn’t want to get Blake involved. No doubt a breakup of the Sutherland marriage would impact Blake’s, and perhaps Wendy’s, lifestyle.

Wendy started sobbing, and this time I wasn’t sure who her tears were for: Derrick or Blake. Or maybe she was crying for herself.

Richmond said, “I’ll try to be as circumspect as possible in questioning Mrs. Sutherland. But I do need to talk to her. If she wants to come here to talk, I’ll do my best to see to it that her specific involvement with this case doesn’t come out, assuming of course, that I can rule her out as a suspect.”

Wendy plucked several more tissues from the box and swiped at her tears. She nodded her understanding, and when she had herself somewhat together, she gave Richmond a cell phone number. Then she said, “I’ll talk to her and see if she can come by tomorrow. Will that do?”

“I’ll contact her myself,” Richmond said. “In the meantime, can you please account for your whereabouts today?”

“Seriously?” Wendy said, glaring at Richmond. “You think I’m a suspect, too?”

“Everyone is a suspect until we can rule them out. The more people we can rule out early on, the faster and tighter our investigation will be.”

Wendy shook her head and sighed. “I was at the grocery store around nine or ten this morning. I went home, put the groceries away, and then I took the boys to the noon matinee at the movies. After that I left the boys and went to a friend’s house for an hour or two. Then I went home and stayed there.”

“What was the movie?” Richmond asked, and Wendy told him, naming the latest action flick that was showing in town. “What time did you get home and when did you leave for your friend’s house?”

“I think it was between one-thirty and two when we got home. I left maybe ten or fifteen minutes after that.”

“And your friend’s name?” Richmond asked, scribbling again.

“Donna Martin. We got together to discuss plans for the costumes we’re making for the middle-school play. I suppose you’re going to have to question her, too?”

Richmond nodded. “Where were your boys during the time you were at Donna’s house?”

“At home.”

“How do you know they were there the whole time?”

“Where else would they be?”