Works of Darkness (Matt Foley/Sara Bradford series Book 1) Page 13

  She shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing him, but there were a lot of people there. I did see a van similar to his a little earlier that evening, but I don’t think it belonged to Don. I only remember because the police asked if we’d seen any strangers in the neighborhood. Of course, it was getting dark. I could be mistaken.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry I can’t provide you with more useful information.”

  Davis shook her hand when they rose to leave. “On the contrary, you’ve helped quite a bit. Thank you for your time. May we come back if we have further questions?”

  “Of course. It’s good to talk with someone, even if the subject is unpleasant. I don’t get many visitors, other than Dora and Todd. He brings me lunch from McDonald’s from time to time.”

  On their way out, a small black woman inched down the hallway in a wheelchair. Someone had removed the footrests and she walked the chair with her feet. A snail could have outrun her.

  Davis smiled down at her. “May I help you go somewhere, ma’am?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I want to go to the front to visit for a spell.”

  “Sure. Hold up your feet. I’ll take you there.” In the vestibule, he helped her onto the sofa and left the wheelchair where she could slide into it when she wanted to leave.

  “Thank you kindly, young man.”

  “Yes, ma’am, glad to help.”

  Outside, Davis remarked, “From all outward appearance Elsie Kaufman’s mental ability is above average. Not everyone would have noticed where the security guard worked. And Don Tompkins’ absence from the search party could mean he’d taken the body to the retreat.”

  Hunter nodded. “Yeah, I saw where you were headed with that question. Anybody who didn’t join in to find Penny could be our murderer. It’s a place to start. However, the killer could have hidden the body in the van, then joined the search. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I hear you, pal, but I think Tompkins would be too smart to do something stupid.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They used bloodhounds in the search. As a cop, Tompkins would know better than to hang around the neighborhood with a body in his truck the dogs could sniff out.”

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  Hunter twisted Davis’ arm to go to a barbeque rib joint for lunch. Davis hated the messy hands, but he had to pacify his partner from time to time. Hunter wasn’t into bean sprout sandwiches. Davis filled his plate with beans, coleslaw, and grilled chicken, without the sauce.

  After lunch, they drove under the overpass to Highway 75 and turned left, headed to the outskirts of town to talk to Jacob Jamison’s widow.

  Davis rang the doorbell. A plump, smiling Hispanic woman answered the door. After introducing him and his partner, he asked to see Maddie Jamison. The housekeeper disappeared for a moment. Her slight accent drifted through the doorway.

  “Miss Maddie, two police detectives are here to see you.”

  “Show them into the library, Beatrice, please.”

  Beatrice returned to lead them down a spacious hallway to a large, mahogany paneled room, one wall filled with leather bound books. A healthy fire blazed in the hearth.

  A small well-dressed woman sat in a brown leather chair near the fireplace. She waved them in, indicating the matching sofa across from her. “Thank you, Beatrice.”

  Maddie Jamison turned her attention back to them. “Have a seat, gentlemen. You must be the detectives looking into Penny Pryor’s disappearance. Lily said you might stop by. I suppose I should call it a murder now. It’s difficult to think of Penny in that way.”

  Davis handed her his card. “Yes, ma’am. What can you tell us about that night?”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help. My husband and I were out of town when it happened. We knew the family. Penny and my niece, Sara, were best friends. Penny was a sweet child, energetic, always with a smile on her pixie face. Such a tragedy. Not the sort of misfortune that usually happens to people you know.”

  Hunter pulled a notebook from his pocket.

  “Did you ever know Sam Pryor to abuse his wife or daughter?” Davis asked.

  “Nonsense. If I’d suspected anything of the kind, I would have reported it. Let me guess. You spoke to Dora Hastings. Sam Pryor worshipped his daughter. He would never have harmed her. He did spank Penny, but I didn’t have a problem with that. Penny could be very strong-willed. In my personal opinion, if there were more spankings, there would be fewer Dora Hastings in the world.”

  She stood and walked to the hearth. “Dora’s vicious innuendos can cause real trouble for Sam and Lily. Which they don’t need to deal with while they grieve for their daughter.”

  Davis listened politely, but Maddie couldn’t know for sure what had happened in the Pryor home. How many times had he heard people become incredulous to learn a neighbor was a killer? Evil people were adept at blending into society.

  “I’m a little over-sensitive where Dora is concerned.” Maddie returned to her chair, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “Dora’s mother, Elsie, is a good friend of mine. About a year ago, Elsie had pneumonia. For some reason, she started to hallucinate, became confused. Dora took advantage of the situation. She placed her mother in a rest home. Elsie didn’t fight it, even gave Dora power of attorney. I think Elsie feared she had Alzheimers. As it turned out, she had a simple reaction to a medication her doctor prescribed. Once off the meds, she returned to normal.

  “Dora took control of Elsie’s home, automobile, and bank account. Elsie Kaufman doesn’t belong in Serene Acres any more than I do. Dora refuses to let her leave. I’ve tried to intervene, but my attorney says there’s nothing I can do.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent. But the mere thought of that woman...” She took a deep breath. “Please continue.”

  “You never saw any evidence that Sam Pryor hit his wife?” Hunter asked.

  “I’m aware of one occasion. Lily came to see me after it happened. She said it was the first time he’d struck her. She asked my advice. Since there was no regular pattern of abuse, I suggested they go to their pastor for counseling. I believe they did so. Lily never told me of another incident.”

  Hunter cast an impish grin at Davis. “The situation with Mrs. Kaufman is out of our jurisdiction, you understand. However, off the record, there is a possibility that if you contact Todd Hastings, away from his wife, he might help you. No promises.”

  Maddie patted his hand. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll do that. Todd always liked Elsie.”

  The housekeeper showed them out. When the door closed, Davis turned to his partner. “You know you shouldn’t have said that.”

  Hunter shrugged. “Probably not. I liked Mrs. Kaufman…and I’m not at all fond of her daughter. And God works in mysterious ways.”

  Davis expelled a deep breath. “Hunter, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you are not God.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Matt arrived at the station at half past eight Saturday morning, giving him time to prepare for the nine o’clock meeting with Davis and Hunter. The desk sergeant waved him over as he walked through the lobby. “Ralph Simmons, from Custom Body Works, called a few minutes ago. Sounded excited about something. Wants you to call him.”

  Matt took the note to his office. He called Davis. “Any updates for the meeting?”

  “No. We’re going back out to the Cook place with a search warrant later. Why?”

  Matt read the phone message the desk sergeant gave him. “Then let’s postpone until tomorrow.”

  He disconnected with Davis, then called Simmons.

  A receptionist answered and put Simmons on the phone. “Chief Foley, do you remember the BOLO notice you sent out a few years back, about the red Mustang with damage to the driver’s side?”

  After the accident, they’d towed Josh Bradford’s car in. Paint smears, left by the hit-and-run vehicle, allowed McCulloch to identify the
make, year, and model. The detectives sent out the notice to all the body shops in the area.

  Simmons continued, “This morning, we received a car that matched your bulletin. A miracle we caught it. I hired a new man who read the old memo posted in the break room. It had been there so long the other guys ignored it. Anyway, the new guy noticed the vehicle he was about to work on matched the description.”

  Matt sucked in a breath. “Good catch. Who brought the car in?”

  Papers rustled in the background. “Lance Cushing. He dropped it off. Asked to have the body repaired and wanted the car made ready for state inspection. The sticker and license plates were both outdated. I have his phone number on the worksheet.”

  “Hold on to the car. I’ll send someone over right away. Give me the license and VIN numbers.” Matt jotted down the numbers as Simmons read them off, then called McCulloch to have him pick up the vehicle.

  Matt ran the license plates through DMV. The car’s outdated Louisiana tags, listed the owner as Margaret Manning. She purchased the vehicle at an automobile auction in that state six years ago.

  He dialed Sergeant Kennedy and gave him Cushing’s telephone number. “Ask him to come in for questioning.”

  Later, he located Lucy Turner and asked her to take the interview. He gave her the background information on the kid. At four-o’clock, she buzzed to say she had Cushing in room one.

  “Be right there.” Matt strode down the corridor to watch the proceedings from the room next door. He closed the door and switched on the monitor in the corner. Detective Cole Allen joined Lucy and took a seat at the table.

  Cushing looked nervous. The blond soul-patch under his lower lip gave a slight quiver. “Am I in trouble?”

  Lucy didn’t answer. She leaned back in her chair, across from Cushing. “Mind if we record this?”

  Cushing placed both hands on the table. He looked around the walls as if the answer might appear. “No...I guess that’s okay. Do I need a lawyer?”

  Lucy shrugged. “We just want to ask a few questions. We’re not charging you with anything, but I’m gonna read you your rights.” Lucy switched on the recorder and read the Miranda warning. “Do you understand these rights as read to you?”

  Cushing nodded.

  “You’ll have to answer yes or no, Mr. Cushing,” Turner said.

  Cushing leaned forward. “Yes.”

  Cole reached for a pen in the table drawer to hide a smile. He slid a waiver form across the desk for the man to sign. Cushing hesitated, but signed, then slipped it back to Cole.

  “Do you want to waive your right to an attorney?” Lucy asked.

  Cushing mumbled, “Yes.”

  Lucy resumed the interview. “Okay, let’s get started. Did you take a red Mustang to Custom Body Works this morning?”

  Cushing nodded. “Is there a problem? I have the title. Just haven’t had time to transfer it.”

  “When did you purchase the car?”

  “I didn’t buy it. My uncle passed away and I inherited it. The title was in my uncle’s papers, the last owner signed it over to him.”

  “What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “Cook, Robert Cook. I don’t understand. It’s not a stolen car, is it? Like I said, the previous owner signed the title. I didn’t know—.”

  Matt moved closer to the monitor.

  “Did you ever drive the car while your uncle owned it?”

  “I didn’t even know he had a second car. When Uncle Bob passed away, I found it in a storage shed on the property. The car seemed in good condition, except for the body damage. It started right up when I jumped the battery. I decided to fix it up for my wife to drive. I don’t—”

  “We confirmed the car was involved in a hit-and-run accident four years ago. Attorney Joshua Bradford died in the crash. Paint smears on the Mustang match the paint on Bradford’s car. Did you know Mr. Bradford?”

  Visibly shaken, Cushing’s eyes widened. He sat up straight in the chair. “No, no, you don’t think I—my uncle drank a lot, but I don’t think even he would leave an accident.”

  Matt walked back to his seat. Cushing apparently decided not to take the rap for something Uncle Bob might have done. Cushing could be telling the truth. It would be difficult to prove otherwise with the uncle dead.

  Lucy continued. “And you never drove the car before today?”

  “No, like I told you, I’d never seen it before yesterday when I took over the property he left to me.”

  “Do you have any idea where you were in August, four years ago?”

  Cushing paused for a moment. “Uh...four years ago I was still in college at the University of Tennessee. I can’t be sure, but I think that’s the summer I stayed on campus to take some summer courses.”

  Lucy pushed back her chair and stood up. “That will be all for now. Thank you for coming in. If we need anything further, we’ll call you. By the way, we’ll have to hold on to the car for a while, and I’ll need to see that title.”

  After Cushing left, Matt caught Lucy in the hallway. “Joshua Bradford interviewed Robert Cook the night he died.”

  Lucy lifted an eyebrow. “I checked Cushing’s driving records before he arrived. He has a few traffic tickets. Nothing else. We’ll check Robert Cook’s record, then contact the college to confirm Cushing’s story.”

  “Bring Davis up to date when he gets back.” Matt massaged his neck muscles on the way to his office. He stood at the window behind his desk, running the interview details in his mind. Outside, gusts of wind whipped red and orange leaves in circles on the sidewalk, finally settling them in piles on the grass.

  After four years of investigation, could the solution be this easy? Had Cook followed Bradford and run him down? For what reason? Accident maybe?

  Detectives had interviewed Cook after Bradford’s death. According to the casebook, the man had been drunk, almost incoherent, that evening. Cook had a number of DUI’s. The state had revoked his driver’s license. Reason enough for Cook to leave the scene. Especially a fatal accident. No Mustang had been registered to Cook at the time and the case went cold. Now Cook looked good for both murders, Penny and Josh Bradford’s.

  ****

  When Matt returned to the station after lunch, a crowd of soccer moms, with their embarrassed kids filled the lobby, all trying to out-shout each other. The usual fight between parents, coaches, and referees had broken out at the game.

  Amazing. Sometimes kids were more mature than their parents.

  He strolled down the hall to the crime lab. Dale McCulloch sat on a stool, peering into an elaborate microscope.

  Matt cleared his throat.

  McCulloch looked up and gave him a lopsided grin. “Help you, Chief?”

  “Find anything on the vehicle?”

  “We pulled it in. You already know the paint smears on both cars matched. I also found minute particles of blood in the dents. It’s the car, all right. No question.

  “I did a computerized reconstruction of the accident. The damage to both vehicles matched. You may remember from the crash site, there were no skid marks on the road. An intoxicated driver might not have braked. No way to tell whether it was deliberate or alcohol confusion.”

  Matt pulled out a stool and sat down. “There’s a good possibility Robert Cook is responsible for Joshua Bradford’s death. What about the car’s interior?”

  McCulloch turned from the microscope to face Matt. “Not much, except four years of dust. Someone wiped the inside clean before the dust settled. That’s not something an innocent person does. There were recent fingerprints on the steering wheel, gearshift and car door. I assume they belong to the nephew, placed there when he drove it to the repair shop. I’ll check the prints against the ones the detectives got from Cushing.”

  The CSU Chief picked up a bagged leather-bound book from the lab table and tossed it to Matt. “We did find a day timer under the car seat. Didn’t you say the car belonged to Margaret Manning? If so, the book can’t be hers. The i
nitials don’t match.”

  Matt caught the bag. He looked down at the embossed gold initials and almost dropped the container. The initials S B were stamped on the cover.

  Sara Bradford.

  The monogram’s significance slammed him like a punch in the gut. The notebook proved a connection to the car that killed her husband. Proof he’d been looking for over the past four years. It should make him happy, but it didn’t.

  Had Sara hired Cook to kill Josh? It was certainly a possibility. Sara must have been in the car at some point to have left it there.

  Matt held up the day timer. “Any fingerprints?”

  McCulloch nodded. “A few, all belonging to the same person.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Something strange about that, though. There were no prints on the leather cover, someone had wiped it clean. All the prints I found were on the inside. And, the calendar dates were two years after Bradford’s death.”

  Matt’s gaze shifted to the notebook. “From that we can assume we have a murderer who is smart enough to wipe the prints off the cover. But dumb enough to leave it in the car with her initials on it?”

  “Sounds right to me. Her?”

  “Yeah. Bradford’s wife’s name is Sara.”

  Mac whistled. “Wow. I can verify ownership of the notebook by the fingerprints, make sure they’re hers.”

  “Do that as soon as you can.” Matt bounced the book against his palm. Sara Bradford might be many things, but she wasn’t dumb. “You sure none of the prints in the car match those in the calendar?”

  McCulloch shrugged. “If there are, we haven’t found them. We gave the car a thorough going over. The only prints inside belonged to whoever drove the car last and they don’t match those in the notebook.”

  Sara Bradford’s Home

  The church sale finally behind her, Sara had spent the afternoon boxing the leftovers for the Goodwill and Salvation Army before heading home.