Once we were on the road, Devon made the call to Royce. He tapped Speaker then held the phone between us. “Hey, Boss, do you want us to have a talk with Kevin Martin’s parents?”
“Absolutely. We need to solve Kim Whitman’s murder before Danny gets pissed off enough to make a public ruckus about it.”
“Murder cases don’t always get wrapped up in a neat and tidy package within ten days,” I said.
“I know that well enough, Cannon, but we don’t always have a family member badgering us twenty-four seven either. Talk to the Martins and see what shakes out. Anything else?”
“Yep. There was an unknown character at the cemetery, watching the service from several hundred feet away,” Rue said.
I added my two cents. “Plus, he was wearing sunglasses for no apparent reason and drove away in a black sedan similar to ours.”
“Hmm. I didn’t send anyone else out there. Could you tell anything about the plate? Government-issued?”
“Couldn’t tell. They could have been vanity plates, but I did see the first three numbers—one, one, seven.”
Royce sighed into the phone. “Can this case get any stranger? Don’t even answer that. Head back after speaking with the Martin family.”
“Roger that.” Rue hung up and pocketed his phone. “Do you think Danny knows more than he’s letting on?”
“Don’t think so. If he did, he wouldn’t be bugging us for answers all the time.”
We reached the Martin home, and there was no doubt we were at the right place—the white Altima sat in the driveway.
“Don’t you think it’ll be awkward talking in front of Kevin?” Rue asked.
I shrugged. “Don’t care if he listens in or not. It’s unlikely his parents are aware that he visits funerals of people he doesn’t even know. We don’t need that kind of interference in our investigation.”
I parked along the curb, and we walked to the front door of the two-story white house on West Thirty-First Street. The redbrick street held a mix of one- and two-story homes all looking to be from the early 1900s.
Rue knocked, and we waited. Seconds later, the door swung open, and Kevin stood there staring at us. His eyes widened, and he backed away from the door.
“Who’s there, Kevin?”
An older man who looked to be around sixty took Kevin’s place. “Yes, can I help you?”
I held out the lanyard attached to my badge. “Are you Mr. Martin?”
“I am. What’s this about?” He looked over his shoulder at his son, who was heading down the hallway and likely to his bedroom. “Kevin! Get back here and sit down in the living room.” He nodded toward the couch. “Please, come in and tell us why you’re here.”
A woman who looked to be the same age as Mr. Martin peeked around the corner of the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“If you two wouldn’t mind, we have questions we’d like to ask you regarding Kevin and his recent activities.”
“Oh my Lord.” Mrs. Martin dried her hands on her towel then draped it over her shoulder before sitting on a side chair.
Rue and I took seats on the couch and waited until Mr. Martin dropped down onto the recliner.
“Now, what has Kevin done to warrant a visit from the police?”
“We’re detectives. Actually, homicide detectives,” Rue said.
Mr. Martin raised his brows. “Okay, so why are homicide detectives at my house?”
“A few hours ago, we attended the funeral of a murder victim. We’d already interviewed most of the people in attendance a week ago, but one person stood out.” I pointed my chin at Kevin. “My partner here, Detective Rue, tried to strike up a conversation with Kevin, who told us that his name was Bob. He also told the brother of the deceased his name was Mike.” I faced Kevin. “We’d like to know why you said you lived in the deceased woman’s neighborhood when you clearly don’t and why you were there at all.”
The elder Mr. Martin held out his hand. “Give me the car keys, Kevin. If you can’t manage to go where you say you’re going, you’ll lose your driving privileges for good.”
Kevin stammered. “I was bored and wanted to do something different.”
I interjected, “Kevin, the deceased woman was murdered. We were there to look for anyone acting strange, and you fit the bill perfectly. We can’t afford to have people disrupt our investigation because they’re bored.”
Mr. Martin insisted that his son wait in his room. Once he’d heard the bedroom door close, he sighed. “We’re so sorry, Detectives. Kevin has the mentality of a teenager and often does unexpected things. He must have seen the obituary in the paper and thought he’d check out the funeral—something he’s never done before.”
Rue cut in. “Yet he had the wherewithal to give us a fake name when we asked, and he gave another fake name to the deceased woman’s brother. That led to a call to our sergeant, who had to task someone to find out who Kevin really was, and that took time away from all of our assigned duties. I don’t want to tell you how to parent your son, but please keep him out of places he has no business being at.”
“We certainly will try. Thank you for letting us know, and I’ll go speak to him right now.” Mr. Martin stood.
“One more thing,” I said. “Can you explain to us what the two stalking arrests were about?”
The elder Kevin dropped back down onto the chair. “Like I said before, he has the thought process of a teenager. He had a crush on a woman from the diner down the street. Unbeknownst to us, he began following her around. When she noticed him on too many occasions, she called the police.”
“And the second arrest?”
“Same situation but with a different woman. We explained to him that it’s illegal to follow women around and make a menace of himself, but I’m not sure if it sunk in.”
“Is Kevin dangerous?” Rue asked. “Has he ever been violent?”
“God, no!” Mrs. Martin said. “Kevin doesn’t mean any harm. He just doesn’t quite grasp the idea of boundaries.”
I handed Mrs. Martin my card. “If you ever need to talk about Kevin, please call.”
We showed ourselves out and headed to the station. I was far more interested in finding out the identity of the man in the sunglasses who drove away in the black sedan and why he was at Kim’s funeral at all.
Our workday was about to end, and the night shift detectives would take over. After arriving at the station, we took the hallway to Royce’s office to let him know we were back and to see if he’d learned who the black sedan belonged to.
I knocked then looked around the partially open door. “Just wanted to let you know we had a talk with Kevin Martin’s folks and that we were back. Anything on that black sedan?”
Royce swatted the air. “Nah, not without a make or model, but I did do some checking, and it wasn’t a car from the police department’s fleet here in Savannah.”
“Hmm. That is interesting. I guess it could have been a sedan that was sold to a private citizen at the police auction.”
Rue chuckled. “And two people in one day wanted to go to the funeral of a total stranger? I’m not buying it.”
Royce huffed. “Let the night shift have a go at it. You two are off the clock as of two minutes ago. You’ve been working Kim’s murder for ten days without a lead. It’s time to let fresh eyes take a crack at it so you can get back to the pawnshop murders. You’ll have all day tomorrow to review camera footage.” He waved us off. “I’ll follow up with Bleu and his guys, so go home.”
I patted the doorframe then we walked out. “All right. See you tomorrow, Boss.”
As Rue and I crossed the parking lot to our cars, different ideas filled my mind. “Maybe the guy with the sedan was a PI.”
Rue frowned. “Why would a PI be there, and who would he be working for?”
“That’s a good question. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Kim herself but one of the guests. He could have been watching one of the funeral attendees.”
“True, but nothing like standing out with the whole sunglasses and black sedan image. I think the guy has watched too many Men in Black movies.”
We laughed, said we’d see each other tomorrow, and parted ways. As I drove home, I wondered what Mom and Marie were making for supper, then another thought popped into my mind. I pulled over and scratched out a note to myself to call the funeral home and request a copy of the guest register. The mystery man with the black sedan had a reason for being there. Maybe he was there not because of Kim but to keep eyes on somebody else at the funeral.