I stared at the note in a daze, as if glued to the ground, not knowing what to do. Iris started to lick my face, sensing my tension. Should I rip the note off the door as evidence? On second thought, I realized it was Adrian’s call to make. I took about five shots of the note with my phone from different angles and then jogged home to contact Adrian and Ashley again.
Adrian picked up after the first ring. “Hey, Tory. I got your text. Sorry I didn’t respond earlier. So, your neighbor, Katie, is related to Jo through marriage?”
“Yeah, but wait till you hear this.” I told him about her note. “And get this—the note was written on a yellow legal pad and all in caps, just like the one that was left on my car.”
“Wow. Okay. I was just about to leave the station. How about I swing by your place on the way home and take a look?”
“That would be great, Adrian. Thanks.”
Back at home, Otis circled my legs upon my return, and once I placed Iris down she started to hound me every step I made.
“Okay, guys. I get it. You’re hungry.”
I scooped Otis some kitty kibble, fed Iris her doggie kibble sprinkled with shredded cheese, and made myself dinner, a.k.a. opened a box of soup. After the filling lobster roll from Sadie’s, I wasn’t very hungry. I was, apparently, still on a lobster kick, so I chose lobster bisque for dinner. After we finished eating, Iris and I took a stroll in the backyard. The six-foot wooden fence separating my property from Katie’s gave me some reassurance of security and safety. On our second lap around the yard, I heard a clink of metal from Katie’s yard. I froze in place, trying to be quiet. Iris jolted into attack mode, ears erect and eyes alert. Then she let out a shrill bark that punctured the stillness like an ice pick—so much for stealth. She then began to yap loudly, dashing back and forth along the fence like an old-fashioned electric typewriter’s automatic carriage return stuck on repeat. A garage door thudded shut, followed by more clanking and clanging. I whispered to Iris in breathless shouts, begging her with wild pointing gestures to come to me. She acted as if she’d suddenly gone blind and deaf. Every time I caught up to her, she sidestepped my attempts to grab her and scampered away again. Finally, I managed to block her, scoop her up, and run inside.
Once we were safely locked inside, I ventured a peek out the front living room window. A white car was pulling away just as I heard a rap at the front door. The knock set off Iris again. She circled the entryway, barking hysterically.
“Who is it?” My trembling voice cued me in to how freaked out I was.
“It’s me, Tory, Adrian. Are you okay?”
I cracked open the door while keeping it chained to make sure an impersonator wasn’t pretending to sound like Adrian. Affirming that it indeed was Adrian, I feverishly slid off the chain, making a mental note to dial back on watching the Hallmark Channel’s mystery movie marathons for a while.
I flung open the door. “I am now. I’m so glad you’re here. I heard a noise coming from Katie’s backyard and then a white car drove off.”
“Yeah, I saw a white car speeding off. I think it was a male driver, but it went by so fast I can’t be sure. Was it the same one that’s been following you?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never gotten a good look.”
“I got a partial on the plate. I’ll run it through the database tomorrow to see if we can come up with anything.”
I put Iris’s lead on and we all walked over to Katie’s house to view the note. It was gone.
“It was right here. See? The tape left a mark.”
Iris tugged at her lead. Walking on a lead had never been one of her strengths. So many scents, so little time. She pulled me toward the bushes near Katie’s door.
“Iris, no. Whatever is in there won’t be good.” Cat? Squirrel? Rat? OMG, what if it was a skunk?
Iris emerged from the bushes with a trophy—the note.
“Give it to me, Iris. Good girl.”
For once, she listened. It was a little damp but intact.
I handed the note to Adrian. “Here it is. Whoever was here tore it down for some reason.”
Adrian inspected it and then took a few photos of it with his phone. “What kind of car does Katie drive?”
“A white sedan. I think it’s a Kia.”
We both locked eyes in an “aha” moment.
I gripped the railing bordering the two steps leading to her front door. “You think it was Katie who tore down her own sign? But why?”
“I don’t know. I was wondering whether she was the one in the white car who’s been following you.”
Adrian made a quick check on Katie’s property as I traipsed after him with Iris in my arms. The house appeared to be locked up and undisturbed, and other than a metal ladder lying on her driveway, her yard looked normal. After his inspection, we all strolled back to my house.
He scratched his head. “Have you tried contacting Katie?”
“No. I wouldn’t know what to say, knowing she might have lied about talking to Milo after the ceremony. I’m so confused and have such mixed emotions about her right now. She’s always been good with Iris, and Iris loves Katie and, believe me, I know when Iris doesn’t like someone. I don’t know what to think.”
We stood on my doorstep. Adrian crossed his arms. “Do me a favor and text her. Tell her you saw her note and offer to collect her mail if she hasn’t made other arrangements. Let’s see if she responds.”
I texted Katie as Adrian had suggested. He waited around for about five minutes to see whether she’d respond. When she didn’t, he instructed me to lock up and to turn on my security system.
“I’ll let you know if the license plate gets a hit. We’ll dust the note for prints too. And I’ll have the lab compare the two notes. Please don’t hesitate to call me if something comes up—day or night. Okay?”
“Got it. And thank you so much, Adrian, for coming over.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll put the perp behind bars, sooner or later. I appreciate all your tips. They’ve been very helpful. But remember, we’re dealing with a violent person who’s probably beginning to feel cornered. So, take care. I’d much rather you call me than risk endangering yourself or others in your impatience to catch the culprit.”
“I definitely will.” I laughed lightly to assure him I was fine. But my laugh sounded hollow because it was. I wasn’t fine. I was scared. Scared of the killer and scared Ernie would settle on me as the prime suspect.
• • •
Three days later I sat at my office desk feeling satisfied with my accomplishments over the past few days. I’d received the building drawings and tentative construction schedule from Chandler Architects. Our initial landscape detail plans needed to be drawn up, even though the actual planting wouldn’t be executed for at least another twelve months.
I had several other projects I was working on, a handful of proposals already submitted, and more proposals in the works. If half came through, our landscape design division would be busy for the next couple of years and financially flush. In the meantime, we’d have to lean more heavily on our nursery business to succeed in dodging the bankruptcy bullet in the event we didn’t recover the embezzled money. But to do that, first we had to identify the embezzler and, so far, Uncle Bob hadn’t made any progress on that front.
I pushed back in my chair, pleased that my productivity was paying off, plus, staying busy had kept morbid thoughts and fears at bay. My moment of satisfaction was interrupted by my phone’s vibration. Without looking, I knew it was Ernie Gomez again. He left messages a couple times a day like clockwork. Adrian told me he was running interference for me, but Ernie was relentless. I couldn’t keep putting him off forever.
I grabbed my phone, swiped to voicemail, and reluctantly played his message. He sighed heavily before he spoke. “Tory, it’s Ernie again. You can’t hide behind Adrian forever. We will meet and you will answer my questions. Call me.” He’d dispensed with the formality of his title and spoke more slowly than usual, as if he were resigned to leaving me messages I’d never answer. He still seemed menacing, but it also seemed our one-sided phone tag had worn him down a bit. I took this as a good sign. It bought me more time, which I desperately needed.
Ernie wanted his promotion and I was his ticket, even though all his evidence against me was circumstantial. All he had was my relation and proximity to the victims. My plan to propose other viable suspects to him, so he’d have to think twice before continuing to pursue me, remained just that, a plan. The clues pointing to other suspects needed to be presented in a methodical fashion to persuade him. Once charges were officially filed, wheels would be set in motion that would take a great deal of effort to reverse. I refused to sit back and become a victim because an overzealous cop was incapable of conducting a thorough investigation—the Innocence Project was created for a reason. It was time to get seriously organized. Ernie’s energy might be lagging right now but I couldn’t count on him staying that way. It might be only a matter of time before he’d be recharged and come after me again at full speed.
Scooting my chair in closer to my desk, I clicked on the project management software we used to organize multiple projects. It would be perfect for arranging my clues and suspects. A new blank grid opened on my screen and I titled the rows “Suspects.” I decided to make it all-inclusive to start with and to eliminate suspects one by one as I gathered more evidence.
For a moment, my fingers paused in suspended animation on the keypad. Writing it all down made it very real. I shook my head to clear away my apprehension and made my list: Katie, Uncle Bob, Aunt Veronica, Sam, Jed, Matt, Philip, Jake, and Paloma. Nine suspects—wow! I didn’t add Ashley because she was with me when Milo went missing, not to mention I trusted her with my life.
I hated that the list mainly included my family and friends, with the only strangers being Jake and Paloma, who I still needed to interview. I checked myself for referring to Jake as a stranger—hardly true anymore since I’d had lunch with him earlier and gotten to know him a little better. But my head told me not to let his baby blues lull me into a besotted gullibility. I still didn’t know much about him and a Google search to find out more was way overdue.
I was tempted to add Ernie Gomez to my list of suspects. His eagerness to solve the case quickly, even if it meant arresting the wrong person, struck me as shady. But I didn’t add him. Bad cops existed, but I couldn’t imagine him stooping so low that he’d commit two murders and arrest the wrong person just to get promoted. I wasn’t that paranoid. Plus, I was pretty sure Ernie didn’t even know Milo and Jo existed before they became murder victims.
Next, I labeled the columns with all of the clues I could think of. I typed in “Wallington Boots,” “Windshield Note,” “Katie’s Door Note,” “White Car,” “Truck,” “Rock,” “Knife,” and “Hoodie.” That added up to a total of eight clues.
I started to put checkmarks in the grids next to the suspects who had connections to each clue. So far, I’d found out that five out of my eight suspects owned Wallington boots. All were males: Uncle Bob, Sam, Jed, Matt, and Philip. The windshield note could have been put on my car by anyone. So, all nine suspects got a check. The same was true of the note left on Katie’s door.
Jake and Katie both had white cars, so each got a check under that column. Jed and Matt had pickup trucks and I gave each a check for that. Pretty much everyone had access to the rock, except Philip, who was with me, and Paloma, who I assumed wasn’t at the hotel the day of the wedding. The knife and hoodie—any and all had access to items like these.
I pushed back my chair and surveyed the screen. Well, crap. The pattern of suspicion I’d hoped would magically appear to persuade Ernie failed to materialize. Instead, a mishmash of random checks all over the place.
I stood and stretched my arms over my head to relieve the increased tension I was feeling. I grasped my hands diagonally behind my back, first with my left hand behind my back, then with my right, and felt the stretch. I turned my head gently to the right and to the left then looked up and down. Finally, holding on to my desk, I lifted one leg in the air as I tipped downward and then switched legs. Stretching made me feel more limber and relaxed, as if I’d hit a reset button. I sat back down. Maybe I needed a different approach.
I pulled up a blank grid. Again, I listed the suspects in the rows, but this time in the columns I typed in the headings of “Clues,” “Means,” “Motive,” and “Opportunity.” I leaned back with pride—all those hours spent watching TV police procedurals had finally paid off.
In the “Means” column, all my suspects were capable of grabbing a rock from the Hidden Garden and using it as a weapon. Except Philip, of course, who was with me during the time Milo was presumably murdered. The same was true for Jo’s murder weapon. Anyone could have hidden a knife in a handbag or under a coat thrown over an arm.
“Motive” was the most interesting category. If I could figure out what linked Milo and Jo’s murders, I was sure I’d find the motive. My head swam with competing thoughts. No one was immune from having a dark side. Whether it was greed, envy, jealousy, fear, or revenge, someone must have had a motive strong enough to kill for. Yet, even as I pondered this, I thought just because someone had a dark secret didn’t make them a ruthless murderer willing to kill to keep it secret, especially when they were my family and friends. Another troubling fact was that, as far as I knew, most of my suspects barely knew the two victims. I suspected everyone. I suspected no one. At this rate, I’d be chasing my tail forever.
Milo was the stickler regarding motive. I knew I was biased, but he was the nicest guy. He was selfless, really. Always willing to help people. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt him . . . unless somehow he was in the way. What if he was helping someone who the murderer didn’t want him to help? I bet that was it. Milo wasn’t murdered because someone didn’t like him, I bet he was killed because he was helping someone in trouble, and the person in trouble was the target. Could Milo have known Jo? Was he helping her in some way? And why would someone want to murder Jo? She had a shady past. It must be related to that. The person who could fill me in on that best was probably her friend Paloma.
I Google searched Josephine Benning and several hits came up for companies that required a fee to get to the good stuff. And by good stuff, I meant arrest records, especially recent arrests that hadn’t yet wound their way into the public domain.
I did, however, hit the lottery in terms of public information. I got the address of the apartment building where Paloma and Jo lived. It listed her as Josephine Benning, also known as Esmeralda Benning and Josephine Keaton, her former married name, I presumed. Another site even listed residents of the building with their phone numbers. I shook my head, marveling at how easy it was to obtain personal information online. I gave Ashley a call.
“Hi, what’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m okay. I’m going to visit Jo’s friend Paloma. Remember her?”
“Sure. The other fortune-teller, right?”
“Yep.
“Feel like an adventure?”
“That sounds like a trick question. What do you want?”
I chuckled. “No biggie. I just wanted to know if you wanted to go with me to talk to Paloma about Jo. If after work is okay with you, I’ll see if that works for her.”
“It would have to be before eight. So, if we can be done by seven thirty, count me in.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
I called Paloma. She remembered me and quickly agreed to meet with me. We picked a coffee shop not far from her apartment. I let Ashley know and then turned back to my suspect grid.
For the “Opportunity” column, Philip was out for Milo’s murder. I wanted to count him out for Jo’s too, given his description of how much he liked her. I trusted Philip. But keeping in mind that, under the right circumstances, anyone could commit murder, Philip remained a suspect. To indicate his low ranking as a suspect, I put a question mark after his name.
All the other suspects had opportunity. My whole family was at the wedding and the fundraiser, and the same was true for all of our employees. Everyone got a double check next to their name for opportunity, except for Sam, who hadn’t attended the fundraiser, and for Paloma and Jake, who hadn’t attended the wedding.
I sat back and surveyed my grid. My family members had the fewest number of entries next to their names in terms of hard evidence. Yet they, more than the other suspects, were more involved with both murder victims and, hence, more likely to have had a motive for murder. Was I being objective? I had no idea. If the way my head throbbed was any indication, I had certainly tried. Once again, my visual display had yielded nothing but a random display of checks and entries. No definitive pattern of guilt jumped out at me as I’d hoped. Trying to process everything and make sense out of nonsense had knotted my brain to a halt. I was stumped. Something was missing.