The Purrfect Murder (3 page)

Harry and Susan stood up, too, as Coop hurried for the door.

They ran out with her as she flipped the phone closed.

“Can we help?” Harry asked.

“No. Will Wylde has been shot.”

Dr. Will Wylde, OB/GYN, was on the board for Planned Parenthood.

The two best friends watched Coop peel out of the drive. Thoughtfully, she didn't hit the siren until she reached the paved road.

“Antiabortion nut,” Susan uttered through taut lips.

“So it would seem,” Harry replied.

Susan turned to Harry. “Why would anyone else want to shoot Will Wylde?”

“I don't know, Susan, I really don't know, but I have learned that the obvious answer isn't always the correct answer.”

3

T
he Madison office complex, a pair of inoffensive brick two-story buildings with basement offices as well, was tucked in between Route 29, Route 250, and the back way into Farmington Country Club.

Dr. Wylde's office was there, making it convenient for his patients, most of whom lived in the western part of the large county. He lived in a lovely home on the country-club grounds, golf being his passion, as well as that of his wife, Benita. Convenient for him, too.

Coop stood on the roof of the building catty-cornered to Wylde's office. Sheriff Rick Shaw stood with her, the heat seeping up through the thick soles of their shoes.

“No shells?” Coop asked.

“No. Too smart for that.” Rick paused. “Kind of like a rapist using a condom.” He paused again and, knowing Coop as he did, knew she wouldn't take that the wrong way.

She knelt down so her eye would be level with the top of the roof. “The trajectory of the wound will no doubt confirm your thoughts. And it makes sense, because if he shot from an office window, he'd need to move through the office. Can't do that and go undetected. All these offices are full up.”

“He'd have to walk down the hall with a rifle or get inside the office and assemble it quickly, if the weapon was one that can be broken down. I expect it was.” Rick watched the emergency squad finally place the body in the ambulance; they'd had to wait for Rick's officers to thoroughly inspect everything. “So he came up here—easy enough, since few people use the stairs—waited, fired, walked down, and drove away.”

“Car parked on the side of the building near the stair door?”

“Yep. Macadam. No print.”

“And no one saw anyone drive away?”

“Coop, that's just it. Cars pull in and out of here all the time. No one saw any vehicle leave in a hurry, and no one knew Wylde was shot until probably five minutes after he was hit, which makes me think the perp may have used a silencer. No one came out of either building. So whoever drove out, it just looked like business as usual, or so it seems. The only people identified so far who drove off the lot close to this time are Dr. Harvey Tillach and Kylie Kraft, one of the girls in the office. She came right back with four frosties for everyone.”

“They're a mess in Will's office, but that's understandable.”

“What if the killer had help on the inside?” Rick kept trying to put the pieces together.

“Ah.” Coop once again appreciated her boss's mind.

“The antiabortion extremists have become more sophisticated and patient. I say extremist because I don't think most antiabortionists are willing to kill doctors to prove their point; it does the reverse.”

“Can't say you revere life, then take it away.” Coop nodded. “Well, boss, this one's going to bring the press down like vultures, as well as every local and state politician on both sides of the issue. And in the process, people will forget that Will was a talented OB/GYN, who also performed terminations.”

He turned toward the door leading out onto the roof. “I know.” He opened the door for Coop and they both descended the stairwell, their steps reverberating.

Before going outside, Coop stopped a moment and knelt down. Rick knelt beside her and reached in his deep breast pocket for a small plastic Ziploc.

“Could be nothing.”

“One smoked Virginia Slims cigarette is still worth bagging.” He used the tweezers she handed him, plucked it up, and dropped it in the bag, sealing it.

“Not my brand.”

“Mine, either.” He paused. “I didn't know you had a brand. I thought you just bummed fags off me.”

“That's a low blow.” She stood up, her left knee creaking even though she was in her thirties. “I'll bet five bucks this didn't belong to Wylde's killer.”

“Why?”

“Men don't smoke Virginia Slims, number one. Number two, I know of no case where a woman has killed a doctor who performs abortions. It's always men.”

“This could be a first.” Rick pushed open the door into the bright light.

“Take the bet?”

“Sure, what's five bucks?” They crossed the parking lot and entered the building. Then turned right to Will's office.

Margaret Westlake, the office manager, who was in her early forties, stood to greet them. Her eyes, puffy and bloodshot, testified to her tears.

Sophie Denham, the senior nurse, in her early fifties, had a paper cup in her hand as she stood over Kylie Kraft, a young nurse verging on hysterics.

Sophie glanced at the sheriff and deputy. “Thank God you're here.”

“I want to go home,” Kylie wailed.

“Gave her a Valium,” Sophie, hands shaking slightly, informed them.

Having seen their fair share of hysterics, Rick replied, “Terrible shock. I know Officer Sharpton took your statements. Deputy Cooper and I will carefully go over them. On the outside chance that something occurred to you since he was here, I thought I'd come in.”

The three looked mutely at one another, but both Margaret and Sophie were sophisticated enough to recognize that Rick came by to scope them as well as the territory. Anyone with contact to Will Wylde was potentially a suspect.

“Did Dr. Wylde gamble?” Cooper asked.

Margaret, surprised, answered, “No. Why?”

“If a person falls behind on the debts, this can be the payback,” Cooper quietly informed them.

Sophie blinked. “As far as I know he didn't gamble.”

Reaching for Cooper's slender hand, Kylie moaned, “Can't I go home?”

“Not just yet,” Cooper said as Kylie dropped her hand, disappointed and beginning to get a little fuzzy from the sedative.

“Women?” Rick questioned.

“No.” Margaret shook her head.

“There was that rumor about the first Mrs. Tillach,” Sophie added, then instantly felt disloyal to the deceased doctor.

“There was a creature given to fantasy.” Margaret's lip curled upward slightly. “Typical Charlottesville rumor. Everyone smacks their lips but no one actually ferrets out the facts. The entire episode was repellent.” She calmed herself, then added, “Sheriff, given that this appears planned—I mean, no one broke in here waving a gun and screaming—I have to think it's political.”

“Could be political if someone did come in screaming. Dr. Wylde was on the hot seat.” Cooper said this in a kind fashion.

“That he was.” Sophie's eyes teared up.

“Ever mention names of people he thought were violent?” Rick asked.

Margaret, folding her arms across her chest, said, “If only it were that simple, Sheriff. The short answer is no. The antiabortionists who incline toward destructiveness are never your neighbors, because you can hold them accountable. What these antiorganizations do is bus people in for demonstrations, throw packets of blood at the doctors—”

Kylie interrupted with a wail, “And us.”

Margaret ignored her, feeling that one dealt with pain and suffered by holding it together and never, ever, by blubbering or seeking pity. “I'm not saying local people didn't join in barricading our office, but you can pretty well bet the killer is not a local. At least that's one woman's opinion.”

“And one I certainly respect.” Rick nodded to her. “Ladies, this is a vicious blow. I am so sorry for you all, for Will's family. I promise you we will get to the bottom of this.” He paused. “In the future, either Deputy Cooper or myself may call upon you again. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience.”

“We'll be glad to help in any way,” Margaret replied.

“Indeed.” Sophie wiped her eyes again.

Rick opened the door into the corridor. Cooper followed, but as they reached the front door, she turned and hurried back to Will's office. She rapped on the door.

Margaret unlocked it. “Come in.”

“Channel Twenty-nine just pulled up with the mobile unit. You might want to lock this door again and go somewhere in the office where they can't see you.”

Kylie started to rock back and forth and cry again.

Margaret turned to Sophie. “Let's get her back in the supply room and cut the lights.”

“I expect they'll be out of here in an hour. They'll want to talk to people in other offices and then they'll probably go shoot footage of his house or the hospital. But if you want to avoid their questions, sit tight for at least an hour.”

“Thank you, Deputy Cooper.” Margaret closed the door and cut the lights.

Rick turned as Cooper joined him on the raised outside steps. “And?”

“Going to lock up and hide in the supply room.”

He nodded. “That will give them a little time. Until tomorrow, at least.” He watched the small crew quickly set up. “Come on, we've got to get to Benita before someone else does and certainly before this breaks. You know once they've got the video shot, they'll interrupt any show going.”

“Damn.”

“That's a nicer word than ‘shit.' I've got to watch my language.” He took a deep breath, lifted his chin, and strode toward the television crew. He made the time-out sign before the camera rolled. “Dinny, I'll give you a statement, I'll keep you in the pipeline, but I have got to get to Benita Wylde before she hears of this. All right?”

Dinny Suga, who was pretty and petite, knew enough about the community to know she had to respect this or she'd never get another good story out of Shaw again. Even though she'd worked for Channel 29 for only a year, she was becoming part of the community, one she was learning to love—if for nothing else than the fact that no one would dream of calling her Asian-American. She was just Dinny Suga.

“I understand.” She looked to her camerawoman, nodded, and the light blinked over the top of the minicam.

Sheriff Shaw gave a terse statement that the murder had occurred at around two-thirty
P.M
. No suspect had been apprehended, and, yes, Dr. Wylde had been targeted in the past for harassment.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Dinny, give me an hour. If she's not home, she's on the golf course, most likely.”

“Okay.”

Within twenty minutes, Rick and Coop were zipping toward the back nine in a golf cart. When members started to wave at them as they roared through their games, they quickly discerned this was the sheriff and his number-one deputy; something had to be really wrong.

Benita, back on 13, had just hit a gorgeous approach shot, which her three bosom buddies admired. When she heard the cart, saw who was in it, she dropped her club. There'd been enough threats on Will's life these last ten years. She just knew. So did the others.

She said nothing as Rick stopped and climbed out.

“Benita, I am so sorry to tell you this.”

“He's gone, isn't he?”

Rick nodded. “Yes, yes he is.”

Coop, now also out, walked up alongside Rick.

“How?” Benita remained calm, although she was as white as paste.

“Sniper. One shot clean through the heart. At least he didn't suffer.”

She fought her tears. The rest of the foursome—Folly Steinhauser, Alicia Palmer, and BoomBoom Craycroft—quietly came up to Benita's side.

Alicia put her arm around Benita's waist and said, “Let me drive you home, honey.”

“Yes.” Benita's voice faded.

“The reporters.” Folly's mind worked quickly. “Girls, we need to be there to get rid of them.”

“We can take turns.” BoomBoom, who was tall, commanding, and beautiful, knew how to handle most situations, as did Alicia, a former movie star in the seventies and eighties.

“You're right,” Folly agreed.

“Before anyone leaves, Benita, if you can stand it, it would be very helpful if you could answer a few questions.”

“Yes.” A tear splashed on her lemon-colored golf shirt.

“Have there been threats recently?”

“No. In fact, we were just talking about that last night. We thought that maybe those nutcases finally realized violence is counterproductive.”

“Any problems apart from the abortion extremists? A disgruntled employee or unbalanced patient, debts?”

“No.”

“Any old enemies from the past that you can recall?”

She thought as she knelt down to pick up her club. “Harvey Tillach. Harvey hated him, but they avoided each other.”

No reason to inquire about why Harvey hated Will Wylde, since everyone knew that Harvey, also a doctor, had accused Will of seducing his then wife. An accusation that Will hotly denied, but the damage had been done, because rumors take on a life of their own.

Although, in truth, sexual peccadilloes rarely elicited the tongue-clicking found in the Puritan states. The people upset were the people directly involved. Most Southerners assume nature is taking its course and best to stay out of it.

Alicia, firmly but with respect, said, “Sheriff, let me take her home. This is a staggering blow.”

He nodded, then added, “Benita, I'll need to question you again. I truly am sorry.”

“I know, Rick, I know you are. Everybody loved Will.”

BoomBoom said to Rick and Coop, “Let us know if there's anything we can do, including strangle the killer.”

Coop had grown fond of BoomBoom. “You'll have to get a ticket and stand in line for that. But if we need you, I'll call. Right now, do anything you can for Benita. It's going to be tough. A media circus.”

Folly shook her head silently, fearing the onslaught, as Alicia gently led Benita to one of the golf carts.

As the two carts drove off, Rick turned to Coop. “She's a good woman. She deserves better.”

The sheriff and his deputy knew the wife is often a prime suspect in the husband's murder. But these two didn't think Benita Wylde had killed her husband. For one thing, she was on the golf course at the time of the murder. For another thing, it was a happy marriage. Whoever did kill the doctor knew the layout of the office buildings, his schedule, and could drive away without calling attention to himself.