Natchez
Michael drove to the office of Price Investigations on Friday with confidence he would succeed at his newfound career. At long last he had something to offer besides stupid questions and demands for special training as though this was summer camp for thirty-year-olds. He and Beth had spent yesterday apart, studying evidence, following leads, and sorting out the suspects. Today he would present his case.
When Michael walked into the office, Beth was sitting at Nate’s desk studying the doodles on his desk blotter. “Trying that out for size?” he asked, settling in a guest chair. “Nate is too young to retire.”
Beth rocked back and forth with a big grin. “I expect rapid advancement up the ranks, mainly because I’m so cute.”
“There goes political correctness out the window.” Michael broke eye contact, her overconfidence effectively undermining his. “Is Maxine still on vacation?”
“She is. I’m hoping she’s someplace fun and not home washing windows.” Beth poured a handful of M&M’s from a bag in a drawer.
“Aren’t those Nate’s? And did you know you left the front door wide open?”
“Yes, on both counts. Crime is nonexistent in Natchez before noon. Bad people always sleep late. Anyway, I’m ready for whoever walks in.” Beth lifted her foot to the desktop and pulled up her pant leg. “Twenty-two caliber with seven in the clip.” She turned her ankle to show off the holster.
“How many guns do you own?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Six or seven, plus a bazooka and a cannon.” Her blue eyes sparkled.
“You’re joking about the artillery, right?”
“I am. What did you find out yesterday?” She lowered her foot to the floor.
Michael took the file from his leather briefcase. Clearing his throat, he concentrated on his notes. “First off, I called Mrs. Dean and asked if I could revisit the pastor’s study. She wouldn’t allow it because she was leaving town. She’s taking Katie to her sister’s for a few days. I asked if I could borrow their computer, and she said absolutely not. When I mentioned Buckley had returned, she grew incensed.” He paused, waiting for Beth’s reaction.
She stopped rocking. “Do tell all, Mr. Preston.”
“Mrs. Dean asked if he was still spreading nasty rumors about her husband. Apparently, Buckley thought Reverend Dean was either losing his mind or had early onset Alzheimer’s. She insisted the allegations were ‘a crock’ and ‘who doesn’t occasionally forget where they left their keys or wallet?’ I had to agree with her.”
“Me too, for what it’s worth. Just yesterday I put a roll of waxed paper in the fridge. Distraction makes us look silly. Sounds like Ralphie’s trying to regain control of the money.”
“That’s what I thought. Mrs. Dean knew about Buckley’s aggressive investments and suspected he was also skimming profits.” Michael reached for the bag of M&M’s. “Not that I’ve found evidence of that. I’m just repeating Mrs. Dean’s conjectures.”
“Duly noted, Sherlock.”
Michael felt himself blush, a habit he couldn’t seem to break. He refocused on his notes. “Mrs. Dean also provided verbal confirmation that her husband controlled the account for the past several months.”
“Works for me. What else?” Beth grabbed the bag for another handful and returned the bag to its drawer.
“I spent the rest of yesterday studying the detective’s report and the autopsy results for the alleged suicide. Thanks, by the way, for giving me copies. They helped to clarify the case. And thanks for target practice and supper at your aunt’s house. The meal was delicious.”
Beth burst out laughing. “It was chicken and rice with corn on the cob. Not exactly nouvelle cuisine from the Food Network.”
“It was gourmet by my standards. I live alone and never learned how to cook.”
“Also duly noted, and you’re welcome. My aunt really liked you.” Beth wiggled her eyebrows. “Don’t say you weren’t warned, Preston.”
“Getting back to the police report…” Michael refused to reveal how easily she embarrassed him. “According to Detective Lejeune, no fingerprints were on the rope. Isn’t that odd? Why would somebody planning to kill himself bother to wear gloves? No gloves were found at the scene, but if somebody helped Reverend Dean, he or she would certainly have taken them with them.” Michael looked up from his notes.
Beth remained devoid of expression. “Go on,” she prodded. “I’m listening.”
“I checked with Mrs. Purdy. On the day Reverend Dean died, he left the church before two o’clock. He told her he was needed at home, but neither his wife nor his daughter was home until much later that day. The pastor had given his wife the impression he would be visiting shut-ins. But there were no appointments on either his office calendar or his day planner at home. I checked into this—Paul Dean was meticulous about writing appointments down, both at church and at home. He even wrote ‘take out trash’ on the calendar.”
Beth cocked her head. “Okay. What conclusion can you draw?”
“Somebody was coming to the house, someone the pastor didn’t want anyone else to know about.” Michael spoke the words as quickly as possible, as though confessing to a personal crime.
“That’s valid because the timetable doesn’t line up with what he told his wife and assistant. Keep talking. You’re on a pretty good roll.”
Her flippancy hit a nerve. “Facts are facts, Elizabeth. Reverend Dean told two different stories.”
“I agree.” Beth pulled a bottle of water from her bag and chugged down half of it. “What else?”
Michael collected his thoughts. “According to the coroner’s report, two separate bruises were found on the victim’s neck. They were close together yet distinctive. As though there were two separate incidents of hanging. The first attempt damaged the windpipe and would have made it difficult to talk or breathe, but it wouldn’t have incapacitated the victim. Reverend Dean would have had to shorten the rope and climb back on the stool for another try. This time he succeeded in breaking his neck and dying within moments.”
Beth flinched from the mental picture painted with his description. “How awful,” she murmured.
“Truly, if that’s how it went down. But I don’t think a scrawny man like Reverend Dean had the physical or emotional wherewithal to try again. I believe someone else shortened the noose and forced the pastor back onto that stool. Furthermore, Buckley possesses the upper body strength along with sufficient motive to carry this out. Reverend Dean probably figured out that the guy was trying to regain control by spreading rumors. If Reverend Dean decided to confront him, Buckley might have panicked and taken matters into his own hands.”
“Could you make this sound less like a game of Clue?”
Michael felt his blood pressure begin to rise. “Sorry if my delivery doesn’t live up to expectations, but I think I’m on to something.”
Beth straightened in her chair. “Actually, your conclusions surpassed my wildest expectations, and your delivery was fine. I just have the bad habit of making jokes out of things that upset me. I’m sorry.”
She’d spoken the final two words softly, but Michael heard them clearly. “Then this will be good for us both,” he said after a few moments. “I might need to lighten up.”
“And I’ll be the first Kirby to develop a sensitive side.” Beth pulled open the drawer. “M&M’s as a peace offering?”
“Not unless they actually belong to you, and I sure hope you plan to replace Nate’s candy.”
“Fair enough.” She shut the drawer. “What should we do with your conjectures?”
“Let’s ask the detective if this type of rope retains fingerprints. If someone in the Natchez PD agrees with my assessment, maybe we can raise reasonable doubt in the mind of the coroner. We need another medical opinion about the second hanging attempt. Of course, Mrs. Dean would have to agree to exhume the body, but she might be willing based on the evidence. I believe if the pastor failed during his first attempt, Mrs. Dean would have found him injured but alive when she got home.”
“Or their daughter.” Beth covered her face with her hands. “What an awful thought. Paul Dean never would have subjected his family to that.” She jumped to her feet. “You done good, partner. I’ll go talk to Detective Lejeune. He was the lead detective during the investigation.”
“Let’s both talk to him. I can learn a lot from watching you interact with Natchez’s men and women in blue.”
“No, I must do this alone.”
“I’ll keep quiet and listen this time, Elizabeth. You have my word.”
“I believe you, but Detective Lejeune was my old partner on the job before his promotion. In fact, his promotion came mainly because I left. We have plenty of past history and most of it isn’t warm and fuzzy.”
“So this has nothing to do with me?”
“Not a thing, honest. We’ll meet later after I talk with Lejeune.” Beth strode toward the door and then stopped in her tracks. “I owe you more explanation than that.”
“You owe me M&M’s purchased with your own money. Nothing more.” Despite his denial, Michael secretly hoped she would spill her guts.
“Jack Lejeune was a headache the entire time we partnered together. He’s very competitive and can’t tolerate the idea of a woman besting him at anything. When we both took the detective’s exam, I scored higher in every category. Yet when I made detective instead of him, he whined that my promotion came because of my…relationship with the chief.”
“Some men have more ego than intelligence. Surely other officers on the force recognized the truth.”
“People must have been nice wherever you worked last.” Beth forced a sad smile. “Anyway, thanks for understanding. No matter what happens today, this is the last time I go without you. Lock up on your way out,” she called over her shoulder.
Michael sat alone in Nate’s office, mulling over the case and his partner’s comments. When his thoughts drifted back to the last place he worked, he jumped to his feet. He suddenly had the urge to pound the pavement and burn up energy.
One person in particular at his last job was anything but nice.