CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cooper closed the file on his desk, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. Verbena, her desk catty-corner to his, asked, “What?”
He dropped his gaze to meet hers, knowing he was about to tell her, once again, what she didn’t want to hear. “Engstrom didn’t do it.”
She shook her head. “He did it,” she argued. She always argued. Detective Elena Verbena blamed the husband first, or the boyfriend, or whatever man was in the victim’s life. She rarely leaned toward a woman doer. Cooper found it extremely sexist, but more often than not she was right, so he just listened to her.
And in this case whoever had killed Bibi Engstrom was male. The crime techs had recovered two tiny drops of blood from the kitchen, a part of the flooring that had miraculously survived the explosion that took out the garage. But the blood and the DNA recovered from it wasn’t Hank Engstrom’s.
“I’m waiting for the full report,” Verbena said again, like she had many times before. Bibi Engstrom’s body had been burned beyond recognition and was still being processed.
“Whose blood was it?” Cooper asked again. They’d had this conversation numerous times.
Verbena clamped her lips together. She knew she was being recalcitrant.
“It was a homicide. Someone, a man, killed her. Someone whose DNA does not match Hank Engstrom. You’ve talked to him. I’ve talked to him. His story doesn’t change. He was having an affair, leaving his wife. He’s a cheater, but not a killer. His alibi is damn near watertight.”
“He could’ve gone back to the house in that hour that his girlfriend was gone.”
Cooper smiled at her. She knew. And though her stubborn ways were annoying, they also created good dialogue that forced creative thinking. Hank Engstrom’s alibi was his new girlfriend whom he’d been sharing an apartment with. She’d left him at the apartment when she’d gone to the liquor store before it closed. When she returned he was in the shower. He said he’d been working out while she was gone and the crime techs had found a shirt and gym shorts that attested to that fact. There was no blood on his clothes, nor any trace of Bibi on Hank himself or left over in the shower. The girlfriend said they’d had sex just before she’d made the liquor run, which hadn’t been part of Hank’s initial report. And then it came out that the girlfriend just threw that in to make it appear that Hank was with her longer than he was, or something . . . it was hard to tell because the lie hadn’t been well thought out. The upshot of it was that Hank had looked guilty and that his new girlfriend was lying for him.
But . . . there was the blood. Someone’s blood.
For good measure, Cooper added, “Hank’s phone was at the apartment the whole time. So, for him to sneak out, accost Bibi in the car or garage, render her unconscious or kill her, fill the garage up with carbon monoxide, set up the candle, and light up the place in the hour the girlfriend was gone . . . maybe less than an hour? . . . and get back to the apartment and in the shower before she returned . . . Can’t be done.”
Verbena ran her hands through her dark curls. He knew that tell. She was coming around. “Who, then?” she asked.
Cooper shook his head.
“Some other man in her life?” she questioned. The same questions they’d run past each other for days.
“No evidence of that.”
“We both agree it’s homicide. So who wanted to kill her other than her cheating husband?”
“Don’t know the motive yet.”
“Take a stab at it,” she said.
Cooper grimaced. A preliminary look at the Engstroms’ finances hadn’t turned up anything particularly suspicious. Bibi and Hank had been renters who were getting by on Hank’s salary as a home furnishings deliveryman. They didn’t own a lot of things, but they also didn’t owe much money, either. Everyone knew about the girlfriend, which was why Bibi had once thrown all Hank’s clothes onto the front lawn and locked him out of the house.
Mackenzie Laughlin had dealt with the warring Engstroms, he believed. He thought it was time he talked to her about them.
He glanced over at the chief’s windowed office on the far side of the room. The curtains were open and he could see Bennihof at his desk. The old chief had retired several years earlier and Bennihof had been appointed by the mayor. The man had silver hair and a trim physique that came from regular trips to the gym. Cooper had never had serious problems with him as he allowed the detectives to run their cases as they saw fit. There were rumors that he cheated on his wife, but that she stayed with him because of his social connections throughout River Glen. They had two children and Bennihof talked a lot about his son who was on the baseball team at his high school. This seemed to be his only conversation other than when they brought a case to him, when he invariably spread his hands and said something like, “You know what to do.” They had no serious guidance from him and that’s how the problems with Howie Eversgard’s case had developed. Bennihof hadn’t defended Howie. He’d pretty much done what he always did, washed his hands of the whole affair. Howie had been cleared of any and all wrongdoing in the shooting that had ended a man’s life as it was clearly self-defense, but it was no thanks to Bennihof. The chief didn’t have your back. Everybody knew it and Howie had been left to defend himself. The police union had been there for him, but Howie’s psychological trauma had sent him out of the department.
Cooper had felt Bennihof hadn’t done nearly enough and his opinion of the man had soured. Plus there were rumors that Bennihof was handsy with women. He’d been seen with Katy Keegan from dispatch, his palm on her derriere. Verbena had marched straight to Bennihof and asked for an explanation. He’d assured her Katy had not complained and that she, Verbena, had misinterpreted him. Since Verbena was quick to blame men, no one had gotten all that excited about the whole thing. But then Katy had quit the force, and Barbara Erdlich, who preferred to be called the Battle-axe, had taken over.
And then Mackenzie Laughlin, the talented and decidedly pretty recruit, had left and Cooper really didn’t know what had happened there. Maybe something with Bennihof. Likely something with Bennihof because she’d been considered a rising star and then suddenly Bennihof had started finding fault with her. Verbena had once again had a talk with the chief, defending Laughlin, but to no avail.
“Something’s off,” Verbena had told Cooper quietly. “And I know you think I’m a man hater, which I’m not, by the way, but the chief’s become hypercritical of Laughlin all of a sudden.”
Cooper had listened to Verbena, who added that Bennihof had told her Laughlin was difficult and couldn’t get along with her partner. There was talk of reassignment, splitting Richards and Laughlin up, but then Laughlin had abruptly quit. Cooper had seen for himself that there was no love lost between Richards and Laughlin, but it sure seemed like it was coming more from Richards. He was jealous of his partner’s likeability.
Verbena had taken a phone call and now Cooper regarded her dispassionately. She was an attractive woman, too, but she was hard as iron. He sensed that Bennihof didn’t really know what to do with her. He’d seemed almost relieved when Howie quit the force, so he could team Cooper with Verbena. Before that, she’d floated between them as no one was seriously partnered at the department. Even now Cooper and Verbena worked together but a lot of time handled cases on their own.
“I’m heading out,” he told her. He and Jamie were having dinner at the house of her friends Camryn and Nate Farland, who owned one of the most well-known estates in River Glen, the Stillwell property, which they’d recently renovated.
“I’m right behind you,” she said, wrapping up her call.
Cooper exited through the back door that led to the lot. He aimed for his own vehicle instead of his usual department vehicle, a navy Ford Escape. Since he was going off duty, he hit the remote for his black Explorer.
As he was switching on the ignition Verbena came out the back and waved urgently to him. He lowered the window and she called, “We’ve got a body.”
A body. Turning off the engine, Cooper climbed back out of his SUV. He’d been looking forward to dinner, but now it appeared that was not to be.
* * *
Taft wheeled into his carport about the same time Tommy Carnoff pulled into his spot with his black Mustang convertible. Today its top was up as rain had been threatening all day, though it had held off and currently the roads were dry.
“Hello, Jesse,” Tommy said as he climbed out, pocketing his aviator glasses.
“Hi, Tommy.”
“I haven’t seen that pretty lady around for a while.”
“You were gone,” Taft reminded him.
“So, she has been around?”
There was no use lying to the man. “Nope.”
“You’re not working together anymore?”
“I’m trying to find out some things for her.” He was a little abrupt. Tommy’s questions felt like a tongue probing a sore tooth.
“What sort of things, may I ask?”
Taft wasn’t in the best of moods. After losing Keppler he’d gone back to Good Livin’ to check on Patti, who would usually be waiting for Seth to pick her up before they drove home together. But not today. This evening she’d taken an Uber.
“Come over and have a drink,” Tommy invited, apparently picking up on Taft’s mood. He started to decline, then decided why not? He had no dinner plans and he was at loose ends. He prided himself on his ability to be on top of a situation, but today he’d blown it.
He said hello to the pugs, who were all about greeting him and demanding his attention. Tommy took off his cap and hung it on a peg by the door, then went into his kitchen, his unit a reverse design of Taft’s. A few minutes later he served Taft a gin and tonic without asking what he wanted, and he accepted it and sat down on the couch, letting the dogs curl on each side of him. He gave Tommy a quick encapsulation of Mac’s interest in Rayne Sealy, and Tommy cocked his head and looked interested.
“The one who accidentally killed herself,” he said gravely.
“Yes.”
“Terrible story. Did your lady friend know her?”
“No.” He decided not to go into Bibi Engstrom’s death. He’d said more than he intended to as it was.
“I knew her,” Tommy said.
It was Taft’s turn to pay closer attention. “Rayne Sealy?”
He nodded.
“From the Coffee Club?”
“From Ridge Pointe. She worked there for a while. Friendly girl. I’m heading over to dinner there now.”
“At Ridge Pointe?”
He nodded. “A good friend of mine lives there now. Do you remember Maureen?”
“Oh. Yes.” Taft recalled the lady who’d seemed to corral Tommy’s interest the longest.
“She had a stroke,” Tommy explained, answering Taft’s unspoken questions. “She’s been at Ridge Pointe about a year and a half. I still go see her. I have a standing invitation from some of the women who share a table with her.” He eyed Taft closely. “You want to go? They all knew Rayne, too.”
“Thank you, but . . .”
“Join me,” Tommy invited. “I remember Rayne. She was too young for the place, and I don’t mean you can’t be young and work there, but you gotta be respectful. You gotta care. She was friendly to me, but maybe not so much to the women. Talk to them. They’ll give you a different perspective.”
“I’ll come and talk to them, but I don’t need dinner. I’ll take my own car.”
It was something of a revelation to Taft that Tommy still saw Maureen. He’d thought she was just one of many of Tommy’s companions, but she appeared to hold a special place in his heart. Taft followed Tommy to Ridge Pointe and walked in with Tommy toward a grouping of elderly women around a rectangular table.
The ladies immediately urged him to sit down and order dinner, but Taft demurred. Tommy, however, sat down across from Maureen and ordered the same thing she did: a chicken sandwich. Taft held off their insistence on dinner. He wasn’t sure who paid and how and didn’t want to burden anyone. He managed to get by with a light beer, but was peppered with questions by all the women. He admitted he was asking into Rayne Sealy’s death and wondered what they could tell him about her. To a one they looked at each other and dolefully shook their heads. They knew of Rayne, but they were relatively new residents and had never met her. Their friend Jewell could tell him all about her, but Jewell was with family.
“You could ask Emma,” one of them said somewhat reluctantly. Collectively they looked over at a young woman who was seated alone at a table. She looked to be in her thirties and wore her long, light brown hair in a single braid. Her eyes were blue and she possessed a frank gaze that nevertheless seemed slightly off-center.
“Emma’s not all there,” one of the women whispered, for which Tommy chided her. She looked slightly abashed and glanced toward Maureen, who didn’t seem to be following the conversation closely.
Taft finished his beer, and since the women were clearly enamored of Tommy, he scooted back his chair and walked to Emma’s table. Emma had just finished eating and was just getting up. She watched him out of the side of her eye as he approached and she paused, perched on the edge of her chair.
“Hi, Emma, I’m a friend of Tommy’s. My name’s Jesse. I was talking to the other ladies about Rayne Sealy and they said that you knew her.”
“She took a selfie and she died,” Emma said in flat voice.
He could see he was going to need to be specific in his questions. “You knew her when she worked here?” Taft tried.
“”Sort of. I was mostly with Jamie, Harley, and Cooper. Jewell knew her, but Jewell’s not here. She left early for Easter.”
“Okay. So Jewell talked to you about Rayne?”
“Yes.”
Taft gestured to the empty chair opposite her. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“It’s a free world.”
Taft eased into the chair and looked at his interviewee. He didn’t know what, if anything, had happened to her. Maybe it was autism. Something on the spectrum. Maybe something else entirely. But he thought she was definitely “all there.” She just didn’t have a ton of accepted social graces.
“I’m trying to determine if Rayne’s death was truly an accident.” He almost added, “for a friend,” but decided not to muddy the waters. “And that means doing some background on her. Find out what she was like. I’d like to talk to Jewell. Maybe next week, when she’s back?”
Emma cocked her head, as if in deep thought. “I can tell you what Jewell said about her.”
“Great. I’d like to hear it.”
“Jewell said she was a hot pants but Jewell gossips. Mrs. Throckmorton saw Rayne kissing the guy with long hair on the front porch. Jewell said Rayne was with Mrs. Throckmorton’s grandson, but he doesn’t have long hair. Old Darla says that he’s her grandson but Mrs. Throckmorton thinks he’s hers. Old Darla gets things wrong, but so does Mrs. Throckmorton.”
Taft was having trouble following. “Do you know the name of the guy with the long hair?”
She frowned. “I don’t think he was Thad.”
“Who’s Thad?”
“Mrs. Throckmorton’s grandson.”
“Was Thad a friend of Rayne’s?”
She looked at the remains of her half-eaten plate of pasta, her frown deepening. “It’s very confusing.”
“Sounds like it. How long have you been here?”
“Since we got my mom’s money. Jamie had to fight for it. That’s how those legal things go.”
Taft nodded. “I’m trying to determine how long ago Rayne was here.”
“Ask Bob. He thought she was too friendly for here and she quit.”
“Bob is . . . ?”
“Supercilious. That’s what Harley says. She has a big vocabulary. It means snotty.”
Taft fought back a laugh. “Bob is one of the residents here?”
“Bob Atkinson is the administrator. He wants to get rid of the cat, too. He and Jewell are two peas in a pod.”
“Who’s Harley?”
“My niece. Jamie’s my sister and Cooper’s her boyfriend. He has a stepdaughter named Marissa. We’re a blended family.”
Taft realized belatedly that Cooper might be Detective Cooper Haynes, who had a stepdaughter. “Detective Cooper Haynes?” he asked.
Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “You know him.”
“I know of him,” said Taft, repeating her words.
“You don’t like him?”
“No. I don’t have any problem with him.” He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind.
“You think he should be finding out what happened to Rayne.”
“That’s not it. I’m—”
“You think something bad happened to Rayne.”
Taft held up his hands, unable to stop her.
“And you think Cooper should do something. So do I. I’ll tell him,” she said determinedly.
“Her death was very likely an accident,” Taft assured her. “I’m just following up.”
But Emma was no longer listening to him. He’d given her something to think about and she was gone from the conversation.
“I have to leave,” she said, and she moved from the table and headed out the door. A black-and-white cat strolled a few steps after her and Taft assumed this was the cat Bob and Jewell wanted to get rid of.
As if it had heard him, the cat whipped its head around and gave him a cool stare.