The smell of gardenias filled Tyrell’s nostrils as he opened the door to Quilty’s flower shop and found himself surrounded by banks of the glossy-leafed plants. There weren’t many flowers he could have identified by name, but he knew gardenias because they were his grandmother’s favorites. He had bought her many a gardenia plant over the years, and she always exclaimed with pleasure and remarked that they reminded her of Billie Holiday, Lady Day, who famously liked to wear a gardenia tucked behind her ear.
A young, but completely bald man behind the counter was twisting wires onto yellow mums and sticking them into the green Styrofoam which anchored an arrangement on his counter. A petite, middle-aged woman approached Tyrell and asked if she could help.
‘I need to speak to the manager,’ said Tyrell.
The woman looked over her shoulder. ‘Keith,’ she called out. ‘This policeman wants to talk to you.’
Keith, the man behind the counter, waggled his beringed fingers at Tyrell. ‘Hello,’ he said, gazing at Tyrell appreciatively. Keith was a muscular fellow, wearing a sky-blue T-shirt with clouds printed on it that was stretched tight across his chest, and two gold earrings in one ear.
‘What can I do you for?’
Tyrell ignored his admiring glance. ‘You’re the manager?’
Keith stood up and extended a hand, angled slightly downward. ‘Keith Quilty. It’s my shop.’
Tyrell shook his hand politely. ‘I’m Sergeant Watkins. I’m investigating the murder of Mrs Jennifer Hubbell.’
Keith looked genuinely stricken. ‘Oh. Wasn’t that horrible?’
‘Did you have an order from Mr Hubbell to deliver his wife flowers that day?’
Keith nodded. ‘Unbelievable. Yes. He was in here that very morning.’
‘Did you ever actually make the delivery?’
‘Well, we tried to.’
‘You don’t happen to … What does your delivery truck look like?’
‘That’s it right now,’ said Keith, pointing out the window at a dark green van that was pulling into the nearest parking space. ‘The Windstar.’
Tyrell felt the little surge of adrenaline that came with putting a significant piece of the investigative puzzle into place. He silently blessed Dena Russell for her alertness. He looked from the van to the store owner. ‘Is this the same delivery person who was delivering for you on the day of Mrs Hubbell’s death?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Keith. ‘He’s worked for me for over a year now. A good kid. Very reliable.’
A slightly built, good-looking young man wearing a thermal undershirt and blue jeans came in through the front door.
‘Dante,’ said Keith, ‘This is Officer …’
‘Watkins.’
‘Officer Watkins. He wanted to ask you about that order for roses the other day. This is Dante DiBruno.’
Tyrell turned to the young man. ‘You had a delivery order for Mrs Jennifer Hubbell.’
‘Yeah. The woman that got killed. But I never delivered them.’
‘Are you saying you were never at Mrs Hubbell’s home two days ago?’
‘No. I was there. She said don’t come in the morning. So, I went over there about, I don’t know. Three, three thirty. Knocked on the door. No answer.’
‘Did you see or talk to anyone while you were there?’
‘No, I figured she wasn’t home yet.’
‘You’re saying you never saw Mrs Hubbell.’
The young man shook his head. ‘Nobody answered.’
‘Did you open the door and call out to her?’
‘I wouldn’t open the door,’ Dante said, offended.
‘So when nobody answered the door, you just left.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why didn’t you just leave the flowers there?’ Tyrell asked suspiciously.
‘Officer Watkins,’ the shop owner protested. ‘They’re roses. Roses require refrigeration. You don’t just set a vase of roses on somebody’s doorstep and walk away. Dante knows that.’
Dante nodded agreement. ‘So, I was driving away, and I seen Mr Hubbell walking up the street, coming home from work. I remember thinking it was early to be coming home.’
‘Mr Hubbell? Do you know Mr Hubbell?’
‘I didn’t know him but I saw him when he came in that morning and ordered the flowers. He looks exactly like my cousin, Rocky. Only dressed nice.’
‘So, you recognized him when you saw him again.’
‘Yeah. He could be Rocky’s twin. I remember thinking that. I mean I just had a quick look at him while I was waiting at the light, but it was him.’
‘How do you know he was coming home from work?’ Tyrell asked.
‘Well, he was wearing the suit and all, carrying his briefcase.’
‘And then?’
‘Well, then I thought, hey, now somebody’s home, I can bring the flowers back. I mean, I knew he wanted the wife to receive them herself, but I can’t make people be home if they’re not …’
‘Nobody said you could, Dante,’ Keith reassured him.
‘So, I figured, I had two other deliveries. I’d run them over where they were going, and head back to the Hubbells’. It took me maybe half an hour to make the other deliveries, and back I went.’
‘And …?’ Tyrell asked.
‘And when I got back there, there was cop cars and ambulance and the whole nine yards. I slowed down with the rest of the traffic, and I asked a cop who was out there keeping things moving what was going on. He said there was somebody killed in the house. Well, I didn’t think that was the time to be delivering flowers, you know …’
Tyrell nodded. Unexpectedly, this young man was giving their prime suspect an alibi. He found that he didn’t mind. He’d never liked the idea that someone could simulate the kind of grief that Ron Hubbell had exhibited. ‘Mr … DiBruno. It’s very important about the time. Can you pin the exact time down for me that you saw Mr Hubbell and then the time when you came back to the house.’
The young man, somewhat flattered by the apparent importance of his information, screwed up his forehead and concentrated. Then his face cleared and he smiled. ‘Three thirty. It was three thirty when I saw Mr Hubbell walking up from the station. The reason I know that is because my girlfriend gets out of school at St Catherine’s at three forty and I had a delivery out that way. I figured if I could time it just right, I could run into her.’
‘You’ll swear to that?’
‘Yeah. She’ll swear to it. I found her all right. We had a couple of minutes together, you know what I mean, before I had to get going …’
Keith Quilty rolled his eyes, but Tyrell made a note on his pad and nodded. The 911 call had come in at 3.40. It had happened exactly as Ron Hubbell said. He had walked in, found his wife already dead, and called the police. ‘Thank you, Mr DiBruno. Mr Quilty. Thank you very much.’
From her position at the switchboard, Peg gave Tyrell a warning look as he entered the station house.
‘Van Brunt wants you,’ she said. ‘On the double.’
Tyrell was not concerned. It was true that he hadn’t picked up Ron Hubbell, but this statement from Dante DiBruno would make that unnecessary. While it wasn’t exactly putting them closer to a solution, it didn’t hurt to eliminate such a significant suspect from the mix.
Tyrell walked back, and peeked into the chief’s office, half expecting Van Brunt to have taken up residence there already. He continued down to the captain’s office and tapped on the open door as he entered. A man was sitting in front of Van Brunt’s desk, and he turned as Tyrell entered. It was Ron Hubbell. Tyrell couldn’t help smiling at him.
‘Sergeant,’ said Van Brunt grimly. He was standing behind the desk resting his fingertips on his spotless blotter.
Tyrell raised one finger. ‘Can I talk to you a moment, sir? Very important. It regards Mr Hubbell.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Van Brunt. He came around the desk and joined Tyrell just outside the door. Tyrell handed him the statement signed by DiBruno. ‘He’s off the hook,’ Tyrell said, inclining his head toward the man sitting in the office.
Van Brunt snatched the paper from him. ‘What is that?’
‘Alibi. Witness who saw him coming home at the time he said. Just minutes before the 911 call. The time’s been confirmed.’
Van Brunt scanned the paper angrily.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t pick him up when you told me to,’ said Tyrell. ‘But I got a tip on this and I thought I’d better follow it up first.’
Van Brunt turned without a word to Tyrell and re-entered his office. ‘Good news, Mr Hubbell,’ he said smoothly.
‘You’re welcome,’ Tyrell whispered under his breath. He sighed and went in.
Ron Hubbell was listening to Van Brunt’s explanation of why he had been eliminated as a suspect with something less than jubilation. He did, however, look to Tyrell and thank him for tracking down the information.
‘No problem,’ said Tyrell kindly. ‘You’re free to go,’ he said, and then he looked to the captain, realizing he had exceeded his authority, ‘if the captain agrees,’ he added, wondering why Van Brunt was wearing such a sour expression.
‘Mr Hubbell is not here because he is under suspicion,’ said the captain.
‘Oh,’ said Tyrell.
‘You see, a friend urged Mr Hubbell to go through Jennifer’s belongings and see if he could find several threatening letters she received some years ago. Mr Hubbell found those letters and brought them to us.’
‘I see,’ said Tyrell, not sure where this was leading.
Van Brunt turned to Ron Hubbell. ‘I want to thank you for finding these. We appreciate your cooperation at this difficult time.’
Ron looked slightly confused. ‘Is that … it?’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ said Van Brunt.
Ron nodded and made his way slowly toward the door and out of the station.
Once Ron was out of sight, Tyrell frowned and gazed at the plastic bag of papers. ‘I don’t get it. What’s this all about?’
‘The letters were anonymous, of course, and related to some questions Mrs Hubbell had about the death of her sister when she lived with Mr Brian Riley,’ said Van Brunt.
‘Oh, yes. I heard about that,’ said Tyrell.
‘You knew about this!’ Van Brunt exclaimed.
‘Well, I knew she had some questions. The chief told me there was no substance to her allegations.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Van Brunt. ‘Well, it seems that Mrs Hubbell inadvertently stored her letters in a manner ideal for document preservation.’
‘A sealed baggie,’ said Ron.
‘Exactly. I brought a document examiner in to look them over and see what he could determine about their authorship. He quickly determined something extremely interesting.’
‘What’s that?’ Tyrell asked, genuinely curious.
‘The paper and envelopes used by the author of these letters appear to have come from this very office.’
‘What?’
‘After that it was a simple process of elimination and the lifting of two intact latent fingerprints to determine the authorship of the letters. Just to be a hundred per cent sure, I’ve sent the envelopes for a DNA analysis, but it’s a formality.’
‘Someone in this office sent them?’
‘I regret to have to tell you that the author of these letters warning Mrs Hubbell not to pursue her suspicions of Brian Riley was our very own Chief Potter.’
‘No,’ said Tyrell. ‘Not the chief.’
‘Oh yes, Sergeant.’
‘But … You’re not saying you think he killed her?’
‘You’re not very quick, Sergeant. No, I don’t think he killed her. I think he’s covering up for the killer.’
Tyrell felt stunned by this news. It took him a moment to realize what the captain was saying. ‘Brian,’ he breathed.
‘Imagine my surprise,’ said Van Brunt sarcastically, ‘when I did some quick checking and found that there was no report filed on Mr Riley’s first assault on Miss Russell. You took that call, didn’t you, Sergeant?’
Tyrell said, ‘Yes … well …’
‘Yes, well, we’ll discuss this later,’ Van Brunt warned. ‘Right now, in light of all this information, I think it’s time we brought Mr Riley in here to talk to him. Go pick him up, Sergeant, and don’t make any detours on the way.’
Brian looked out the window of his father’s room toward the parking lot and the treeless, well-tended grounds of the Roosevelt Long-Term Care Center. All this needs is a barbed-wire fence, he thought, and you’d feel like you were in prison. Behind him the television droned, and Matt Riley sat up in his wheelchair, staring at it. Brian turned around and looked at his father who was watching the screen blankly, his mouth hanging open, slack on one side. There was no improvement from one day to the next, he thought. No real change, he thought. What was the use?
Lucy, Matt’s favorite nurse, came bustling in, and Matt seemed to perk up at the sight of her. ‘How’s my pal?’ Lucy asked in a loud, jovial voice.
Matt tried to answer, and she seemed to understand. ‘All right, honey,’ she said. ‘I need your menu. Did you mark it yet?’ She hunted around in his bedside table and found the blue sheet of paper she was looking for.
‘You didn’t mark it yet!’ she cried, as if she were talking to a four-year-old.
Matt’s expression looked slightly sheepish. Lucy expertly swiveled a rolling tray table across Matt Riley’s lap. ‘Here,’ said Lucy, handing him a little pencil and the blue sheet of paper. ‘You do it now.’
Brian wanted to protest that his father couldn’t possibly fill out that menu form, but Lucy settled herself contentedly to wait, and Matt bent over the paper and gripped the pencil tightly in his better hand around the point.
Brian glanced at the TV. Oprah Winfrey was on, with her daily talk show and her usual assortment of whining housewives for guests, Brian thought. It always annoyed him when Dena bragged about making a cake once for the TV host. ‘Why does he watch this stuff?’ Brian asked aloud. ‘Isn’t there a ball game on or something?’
Lucy was unruffled. ‘It’s good for him to follow the conversations,’ she said.
‘If you can call these conversations,’ said Brian.
‘This is interesting,’ said Lucy brightly. ‘It’s all about father’s rights. You should be interested in this. You’re going to be a dad soon, right?’
Brian shrugged.
‘Where is that little gal of yours?’ Lucy asked. ‘I haven’t seen her around here lately.’ Before Brian could answer, she got up and bent over the tray table where Matt was laboring. ‘No, hon. You picked two desserts and no supper here. Do that one again.’
Maybe he wants two desserts, Brian thought.
‘She must be getting pretty close to due,’ said Lucy amiably.
Brian shook his head and looked at the TV to avoid her gaze. ‘I don’t know. She’s … mad at me. She moved out.’
‘Well, hey, then you really should watch this show. You can get a lot of useful information from watching these shows. You know she can’t keep you from seeing that child if it’s your child. Not if you want to see it. Of course,’ she said, casting a critical eye at the screen, ‘they’re talking about people who acted kind of extreme when they didn’t get custody. But you should look into it.’ Lucy hauled herself to her feet and went over to Matt. She examined the menu and then rewarded him with a big smile. ‘Good job,’ she said. ‘You did excellent.’
Brian hated the way these people talked to his father. They hadn’t known him as Brian had. A domineering man with an iron will. Impossible to please. Did he still exist? Brian wondered. Or was this shell of a human being all that remained of Matthew Riley? All that would ever remain.
Lucy collected her menu and bid them both farewell. The minute she was out of the room, Brian picked up the remote and started to surf the channels. He heard a noise of protest from his father and looked up to see that he was very indignant, very red in the face, staring at the remote.
Brian looked at him in disbelief. ‘You want to watch that stuff?’ he asked. Matt settled back in his chair, and Brian switched the channel back to Oprah.
‘OK,’ Brian said. ‘Whatever you want. I’m outta here. I’ve still got work to do.’ He did have work to do but, the truth was, he was thinking hard about a drink, wondering if it would be too soon to stop by Vibes and have a couple of pops on the way home.
‘I’ll see you later, Dad,’ said Brian to his father, who was already reabsorbed in the talk-show quandary of the day. Brian pulled on his blue jean jacket, but was met by Lucy, looking anxious, at the door.
‘Brian,’ she said.
Before she could get any farther, Brian saw Tyrell Watkins and two uniformed officers whom Brian did not recognize outside the door of his father’s room.
‘Mr Brian Riley,’ said Tyrell in a formal tone, ‘we need you to come along to the station with us to answer a few questions regarding the murder of Mrs Jennifer Hubbell.
Brian looked shocked. He glanced back at his father, but the other man was glued to the TV. Lucy avoided his gaze. ‘What is this?’ Brian demanded. ‘Does Chief Potter know about this?’
Now that he knew about the letters, Tyrell was sickened by these words. What did this guy have on the chief that Lou would jeopardize everything to protect him?
Tyrell glanced inside the room at the man in the wheelchair. Knowing about his long friendship with the chief, he didn’t want to upset the disabled man. ‘Chief Potter suffered a heart attack today,’ he said quietly.
‘What do you want with me? I don’t know anything about Jennifer’s murder.’
‘We’ll decide that. Come along, Mr Riley.’
‘I’ll sue your whole department for false arrest,’ Brian threatened.
‘You’re not under arrest, yet,’ said Tyrell.
‘Then I don’t really have to come with you.’
‘It’s in your best interests to do so,’ said Tyrell impassively.
‘I want to talk to a lawyer,’ said Brian.
Tyrell felt a contempt bordering on hatred for this unrepentant bully. Lou Potter was a good man, and he would be destroyed by this revelation. There would be nowhere for him to hide when the word got out that he had covered up for Brian Riley. Did he really believe Brian was innocent? Or was it blackmail? Tyrell couldn’t imagine the chief doing something so foolhardy unless it was under duress.
But he wouldn’t give Brian Riley the satisfaction of asking him. ‘Come along, Mr Riley,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got all day.’