‘He swam every evening.’ Elise’s voice quivered. She looked small and very alone on a big-cushioned sofa. The crimson robe and plaid squares of the upholstery made an odd combination. Her face was utterly colorless except for patches of blush.
Judy Weitz slipped a small black recorder from a pocket, turned it on, spoke quietly, ‘Detective Weitz. Interview with Mrs Elise Douglas.’ She added the date and time, put the recorder on a coffee table. ‘Tell me about tonight.’
The large black bird in the cage near the bedroom door moved on his perch and squawked.
Tears brimmed, streaked her cheeks. ‘He was having so much fun after that other detective made such a huge deal of where everyone was at eight fifteen last night.’
‘Other detective?’ Judy’s tone called for a reply.
The bird cocked his head, rustled his wings.
‘A redhead. Very plain suit. Detective Loy. She has the figure for good clothes. Maybe in her late twenties.’
The bird cawed.
‘Detective Loy.’ Judy repeated the name. ‘She was here earlier today?’
Elise sagged against the back of the sofa. ‘This afternoon. She wanted to know where everyone was at eight fifteen last night. We asked her what difference did it make. She said something about information received. I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to know if any of us saw that woman.’
‘Woman?’ Judy looked confused.
Margaret said quickly, ‘The antique dealer. The one pictured in the security footage.’
Judy well knew the time Fran Loring was photographed. Eight twenty-two. ‘Eight fifteen,’ she repeated thoughtfully.
Margaret was impatient. ‘I don’t think any of this matters now. Dwight was having fun. At dinner he persuaded everyone to go to the spot where they were last night and take a selfie, something silly.’
Judy wasn’t deflected. ‘Did Detective Loy explain why the time mattered?’
The bird pecked on a bar, cawed.
Elise spoke dully. ‘Not really. She only said the question arose because of information received. I don’t know what that means. Anyway, Dwight made a game out of it at dinner and said we all had to take selfies of exactly where we were at eight fifteen. He always went down to swim about a quarter to eight and was coming away from the pool at eight fifteen. I guess,’ her voice wobbled, ‘he didn’t get to take his selfie.’ A struggle for breath. ‘I took mine. I started to read and then I realized he was late coming up. He always swam for half an hour. I called and he didn’t answer. I called and—’
Judy interrupted quietly, ‘He would have his phone with him at the pool?’
Elise was impatient. ‘Are you listening? I told you. He said we all had to take pictures where we were at eight fifteen last night and that’s where he was. Of course he had his phone with him. But I called and there was no answer. So I went down.’ A shudder. ‘And he was lying on the bottom of the pool.’ She pressed her hands against her face.
The bird looked down at her, cawed.
Margaret patted her shoulder. ‘Elise, let me get you a Valium.’ She looked at Judy. ‘Elise needs to rest.’
Judy rose. ‘I will send Mrs Pace up to relieve you. Please come downstairs then so we can speak with you.’
As Judy walked swiftly to the stairs, she spoke into her cell. ‘Have we got a new hire, a redheaded detective named Loy? … Right. Thanks.’ Her face crinkled in a puzzled frown.
Judy Weitz gestured to the purple-haired tech. ‘Have you found a cell phone?’
‘Nope.’
Judy glanced at the terrycloth robe on the beach chair. ‘Check that out.’
I supposed Judy wanted to confirm Elise’s statement that she called several times. Perhaps she hoped Dwight took his selfie when he arrived rather than planning to take it as he departed.
The tech took pix from each side, used an attached stylus to sketch on her iPad. She put aside the camera and iPad, pulled on plastic gloves, carefully lifted the robe. After checking to make sure nothing had fallen free, she eased open one side pocket, probed with a stiff piece of plastic, repeated the search of the other pocket. ‘No cell phone.’
Judy looked at the large container of pool toys, pointed. ‘Give it a look. Search every inch of this place. I want that cell phone.’
I wondered with a chill if Judy hoped to catch Elise in a lie. I never doubted Elise’s grief. But what would Elise do if she killed Sylvia and Dwight was toying with her?
In the masculine room with the overstuffed leather furniture and dart target, Don placed the recorder on a coffee table, turned it on.
Stuart Chandler watched with interest. His eyes were clear, his round face firm. No slack muscles tonight. ‘How come sometimes you record and sometimes you don’t.’
Don was pleasant. ‘It’s customary when interviewing witnesses.’
Stuart nodded. ‘But she didn’t tape me this afternoon.’
‘Who didn’t tape you?’
‘The redheaded detective.’ His face creased. ‘A pretty tough lady.’
I was complimented. Then I eschewed the thought. I wasn’t ready to sniff coal smoke.
Don nodded. ‘Remember her name?’
Stuart looked embarrassed. ‘I’m bad with names. Kind of a funny name. Oh I know. I make up a little sentence to help me. Hers was Not a Boy. So it was something like boy. Not toy. Or Coy. Oh, yeah. Loy. Detective Loy.’
‘What did she ask you about?’
Stuart looked uncomfortable. ‘A bunch of stuff.’ He didn’t want to talk about money or Sylvia’s life interest. ‘She mostly wanted to know where everyone was at eight fifteen last night, and the funny thing is it turns out four of us were down here.’ He gestured toward the hall. ‘Dwight at the pool. Margaret in her office. Me here. Jason in the pinball room. Only Elise and Crystal were upstairs. Anyway, at dinner Dwight thought it would be a hoot if we all took a selfie where we were and we’d have a contest. Dwight was bored. He’s used to lots of action, ran a big lumber yard. Hanging around here waiting for my dad to die wasn’t his idea of fun. God, poor Elise.’ Stuart’s eyes were brooding. ‘Dwight’s all she had. That and her shop. I mean, maybe my life’s all screwed up but I’ve got two kids and … Anyway, that’s why we were all where we were tonight.’
Don kept on track. ‘You were here at eight fifteen. And afterward?’
Stuart took a swipe at his rumpled hair. ‘I stretched out on the sofa. I fell asleep. And then I heard screams.’
Crystal’s eyes were glazed with shock. ‘I’ve been waiting. They told me, that policeman, to stay here and you’d come. I don’t know what anyone can tell you. Dwight’s head.’ Crystal clasped her hands together and a huge diamond in her wedding ring glittered in the lamplight.
Judy Weitz put the recorder on an end table, turned it on, repeated the preface to an interview. ‘Did you know Dwight went to the pool every evening?’
‘Everyone knew.’ Her tone was waspish. ‘He dared Jason to do a double somersault. Jason does machines. Jason is in great shape.’
Clearly Jason didn’t measure up as far as his brother-in-law was concerned.
‘Did you see Dwight in the pool?’
‘Oh.’ A stricken breath. ‘So awful.’
‘Before the accident?’
Crystal swallowed jerkily. ‘Was it an accident? I’m scared. Sylvia last night. Dwight tonight. Oh, I don’t think it was an accident.’
Don waited in the hallway near the door to Margaret’s office.
Judy came quickly down the hall, faced him. ‘Anything?’
‘Same old, same old. All the little mice in their holes. Nobody heard or saw anything.’
‘Yeah.’ She sounded abstracted. ‘I checked the station. Nobody sneaked in a new hire without telling me. There is no Detective Loy. What the hell do you suppose?’
Don’s shoulders lifted and fell. ‘Only thing that occurs to me is maybe Howie asked OSBI for an agent. Why he would, though, I don’t know.’
‘Maybe the department doesn’t have to pay the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation anything for assistance. Howie saving a buck. I guess not ours to reason why. We’re just working stiffs.’ Judy jerked a head toward Margaret’s door. ‘Let’s see if she knows anything.’ She knocked, opened the door.
Margaret sat behind her desk, looked like a woman staring into a cauldron of snakes. ‘Come in.’ She gestured at chairs. ‘This is unbelievable.’
Judy pulled a chair a little closer to Margaret’s desk, placed the recorder there, clicked it on. She spoke her piece as Don settled on the other straight chair.
Margaret’s expression was somber. ‘Have you looked at the selfie on Dwight’s phone?’
Judy shook her head. ‘We’re looking for the phone. Let me check.’ She pulled out her cell, tapped. ‘Any sign of the victim’s cell phone? … See if the widow’s phone can track it. Let me know.’
Margaret picked up a pencil, rolled it in her fingers. She looked puzzled. ‘The selfies were Dwight’s idea. I’m surprised you haven’t found the phone.’ Several taps with the pencil.
I wondered if the taps were meant as a rebuke to police inefficiency.
Judy said nothing.
Margaret’s voice was high. ‘I’m frightened.’
Don spoke quietly. ‘What frightens you, Mrs Foster?’
The older woman’s lips trembled. ‘What doesn’t frighten me. Someone came into the library from the terrace last night and killed Sylvia. And tonight Elise screamed and I ran out into the hall and the door was open to the terrace and Dwight was on the bottom of the pool. Something’s terribly wrong.’
Don was gentle. ‘Take a deep breath, Mrs Foster. Another.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘You can help us. You’re perceptive, alert. I expect your subconscious has picked up a sense of danger. When did you first begin to feel frightened?’
Margaret breathed deeply, quietly, looked chagrined. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’
Judy was calm. ‘Detective Smith’s right, you know. You are someone who is attuned to the people around you. You’ve spent your life working for this family. Something has disturbed you. Is it connected to Dwight’s plan for everyone to take a selfie?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She didn’t sound certain. ‘Oh maybe.’ The pencil tapped.
Judy clicked off the recorder. ‘If you remember anything out of the ordinary, a look, a sound—’ Judy’s cell rang. She looked, tapped, listened. ‘Order a search tomorrow morning.’ She clicked off. ‘Mr Chandler’s cell phone is somewhere in the woods behind the house. We’ll find it tomorrow.’
Margaret’s face squeezed in thought. Several taps of the pencil. ‘I don’t understand how his cell phone can be in the woods.’ A pause. ‘Oh, the terrace door was open.’ She spoke slowly as if picturing a flight. ‘Someone took his phone and threw it into the woods. How odd.’ She sounded bewildered.
I struggled to understand as well. Everyone knows cell phones can be located. There could be no advantage to tossing Dwight’s phone into the woods where it would surely be found. I felt a deep sense of foreboding. The cell phone would not reveal a selfie. But the murderer, the quick thinking, active murderer, was executing a plan. Dwight dead. His phone thrown. Why?
Judy picked up as if there had been no interruption. ‘If you feel uneasy, have any sense of danger, call us.’ Judy pulled a card from her pocket, placed it on the desk. ‘Any time of the day or night.’
At the door, Don turned and said quietly, ‘It might be wise for the residents to keep their doors locked.’
In the pool room, a tech checked the pix on his laptop.
Judy and Don walked up to him.
The tech paused. ‘About to close up. They took the body away half an hour ago.’
‘Any surprises?’
The tech shook his head.
Judy nodded. ‘Shut it down.’ Judy looked at Don. ‘Meet me at the station?’
‘In half an hour.’
Judy gave him a steady gaze, shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
I gave a last look at the pool, the water utterly still. The only surprise tonight occurred when Dwight Chandler’s head broke the surface and death descended. He’d arranged for everyone to take a selfie at eight fifteen to show their location on Friday night. Dwight was the only one who wasn’t able to complete the plan. So why did the murderer remove his cell phone from the pool and throw it into the woods. Where it would be found.
Fran stared at the grandfather clock. A quarter to midnight. She stood up, paced back and forth. Her face was pale, tight with fear. The doorbell rang. She turned, ran, grabbed the knob, stopped, pulled open the peephole, checked. She opened the door, flung it wide. In an instant she was wrapped in Don’s arms. ‘I am so scared.’
He stepped back a little, put his hand under her chin. ‘I know. I’m scared too. I don’t know if I should be here.’
She stared at him for a frozen instant, then her face crumpled and she pulled away.
‘Oh hell.’ He reached out, grabbed her, held her tight. ‘I’m here for you. Now. Always. Don’t ever look like that, Fran. I meant I might have been smarter not to come, let you be contacted tomorrow and not know anything about what happened. I don’t know what’s smarter for you.’
Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. ‘That awful call. And someone else dead. If I’d gone there … someone is trying to get me blamed.’
‘Yeah.’ His voice was grim. ‘Come on. Let’s sit down.’
They settled on the rosewood settee. Don gripped her hands in his. ‘I’ve got to go to the station when I leave here. I have to explain why I showed up just in time to hear Elise Douglas scream. Whoever called you hoped you’d be there when all hell broke loose. If you had …’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s bad, Fran. A body on the bottom of the pool. Cracked head. Broken neck. Ninety per cent sure he was murdered. Now, I want you to get a little something to eat. Then I think we should go to the station together. You come in voluntarily. A good citizen.’
The break room held three small tables with four chairs each. Dingy pale green walls were more reminiscent of pond scum than a peaceful glen. Three Wanted posters decorated one wall, a detailed street map of Adelaide on another. But the break room wasn’t a grey-walled interrogation room with intense light pointed at a single chair.
A round clock on the wall, white face, black arms, reminded me of classroom days. Ten minutes after midnight.
Judy Weitz stood by a coffee maker. ‘We have regular. Decaf. Or tea. Or soda.’ Despite the late hour and her long day, Judy’s pleasant face was composed, her blue eyes alert.
‘Coffee. Regular.’ Don looked at Fran.
‘Decaf, please.’ Her golden ringlets were neatly brushed. Her sensitive face, bare of makeup, looked frightened but determined.
Don helped serve. Judy took a seat opposite Fran, Don to her right. Judy placed the recorder on the table, looked inquiringly at Fran, then Don.
‘Mrs Loring is here to assist the police in their inquiry.’ He reached out a long arm, flicked on the recorder.
Judy briskly recited date, time, matter under investigation, contributing parties. She looked at Fran. ‘You believe you have relevant information?’
‘I do. I was at home alone this evening when my work cell phone rang.’ She slipped the phone from a pocket, tapped Recent Calls. ‘The call came at eight thirty-three. I answered, said, “Mitchell Antiques. How may I help you?”’ Fran’s lips quivered. ‘The call was dreadful. A whisper and a threat, “Better help yourself, Fran Loring. I saw you last night” – a tight breath – “with the poker in your hand. Didn’t know I was there, did you? Let’s get together, have a little talk. Be at the railing by the terrace steps ASAP.”’
Don reached over, gripped her hand.
Fran shot him a grateful glance, but her eyes were dark with fear.
‘And?’ Judy prompted.
‘I just held the phone for a minute, stared at it. I was terrified. That whisper. And none of it was true. None of it. Sylvia was dead when I went inside. I ran right out. I never saw anyone, heard anyone. I looked at the phone and knew I was in danger. Someone – oh it must have been the person who killed Sylvia – called me, wanted me to come there. I was sure something awful had happened. I called Don. He said to stay home and lock the doors. I did. And I waited and waited.’ She looked at Judy, turned to Don. ‘And now someone else is dead.’
Judy was brisk. ‘Presumably everyone went to the spot they’d occupied at eight fifteen the night before.’
Don recited their names, where they claimed to be. Elise and Crystal in their separate suites upstairs. Downstairs a row of rooms, Jason Pace playing pinball, Stuart Chandler comfortable on a leather sofa, Margaret Foster in her office, Dwight Douglas in the swimming pool.
Don continued, ‘Douglas went down to the pool at a quarter to eight. He always swam for half an hour. When he didn’t come back, his wife called his cell. No answer. She tried several times. No answer. She went down to the pool. I’d just reached the terrace when I heard her screams. The west terrace door was open. I ran inside. He was on the bottom of the pool. I brought him up. Bashed head, broken neck.’
‘Why call me?’ Fran demanded. ‘I don’t know those people and how could anyone there know me?’
Judy took a sip. ‘The residents of the house were shown the security footage of you on the terrace last night. Likely someone there recognized you.’
Don looked disgusted. ‘Oh swell, let’s show the suspects – not that Howie will admit they are suspects – the photo of a trespasser, and hey someone said, oh that’s Fran Loring, she has that antique shop.’ He turned to Fran. ‘The call came on your business cell.’
Fran looked relieved. ‘Of course that’s what happened. That’s how someone knew who I was. That makes sense. The murderer saw the footage and called me tonight to try and get me to come there. Even if I hadn’t picked up, I’ll bet that whispery message would be left.’
Judy held out her hand. ‘May I see your work cell?’
Fran opened her purse, found the phone, handed it to Judy.
Judy looked. ‘Call came at eight thirty-three. Let me run a check on the number.’ She returned Fran’s phone, picked up her own. In a moment, she lifted her head, looked from Fran to Don. ‘Mobile number for Dwight Douglas.’
Fran looked puzzled.
Don’s face hardened. ‘Oh, Christ.’