“Is she completely unresponsive?” Chase asked.
“What Bart sees,” said Dillon’s father, “are some reflexive movements. Some occasional jerking. The hospital doctor is no help. He won’t explain it to Bart. But if her brain is damaged, she has no chance. There’s no point in continuing life support. Our own family doctor agrees with us.”
“Not in so many words,” his wife said, rearranging the cards on the windowsill.
“No, but that’s what he meant. He said he wouldn’t continue if it were his daughter.”
Chase shuddered at the stark words. The agony was palpable in this warm, small room. She reached out and touched the hands of Dillon’s parents, unable to speak. Julie did the same, and they departed in silence.
Julie had to say good-bye in the parking garage so she could get back to work. Chase drove home slowly, bothered by the terrible decision Dillon’s parents were forced to make. Bart, she was convinced, was positive he was doing the right thing, but he was making it harder for Dillon’s parents. There was no good solution. When she got home, she cuddled with Quincy and watched traffic from inside her balcony doors until she felt a bit calmer. Then she called Detective Olson.
“Olson here.” He sounded official and in a hurry.
“This is Chase Oliver, Detective Olson.”
“Chase, you can call me Niles, you know.” His voice softened.
Sometimes she thought she could, but at other times she didn’t think so. “Okay, Niles. I wanted you to know that Mrs. Cray, the janitor at the high school, was in our shop yesterday. Has she called you?”
“No. What about?” Now he was interested.
“She cleaned the school Sunday morning after the reunion and she found the principal asleep in his office. She thought Mr. Snelson had slept there all night.” And left tissues all over the floor.
“Do you have a number for her?”
Chase mentally kicked herself. “No, I gave her your number.”
“I don’t think that helped, did it? She hasn’t called me.”
He didn’t have to rub it in and make her feel even worse for not thinking of getting some information from the woman.
“It’s all right, Chase. I can find her. As a matter of fact, I interviewed Mrs. Snelson again this morning and she finally told us what I’m pretty sure is the truth. It also matches what your janitor says.”
“Which truth did she tell this time?” How could he be sure when she had given so many versions?
“She broke down, said she told him to leave the house and drove all his clothes to the dump. She said he had urged her to lie for him, but she hated doing it. She apparently didn’t know he was involved with the land swindle that’s been in the news. He told her about it a couple of nights ago and she blew up at him.”
“That makes sense. Anna said she saw Mrs. Snelson’s car yesterday and it was piled high with clothing.”
“We re-interviewed him after talking with his wife and he gave us the same story. He slept all night at the school. The reason he didn’t go home after the reunion was that he’s allergic to his wife’s new dog. She’s been lying to protect him from being a murder suspect, but she’s pretty upset about the real estate thing.”
“I think he had a lot to drink.” Mrs. Cray had said he smelled like liquor the next day. Chase herself had seen him taking hits from Ron’s flask around the punch bowl, too. Maybe Ron compensated his blackmail victims with shots of fortification.
“He admitted he was being blackmailed by Mr. North,” Niles said. “But I don’t think he could have killed him. A few witnesses say he was almost too drunk to stand by the end of the evening. We have two, now three, matching accounts of his whereabouts.”
“Should you be telling me all of this?”
“I just talked to a reporter and gave her most of the same information. Enough to publicly get Snelson off the hook anyway.”
“I didn’t know he was on the hook. I thought Julie was the only one there.”
“Definitely not the only one.”
“But she is still on?”
“Yep. She’s still on.”
TWENTY-ONE
Chase felt more despondent than ever. Julie was firmly in the sights of Detective Olson for Ron North’s murder. Another cuddling session with Quincy didn’t lift her spirits. Maybe she would take her kitty out on his leash. Some fresh air and exercise might be what she needed to sharpen her mind about who had actually killed the reporter.
“Let’s go, little guy.” She got his leash off the hook by her door where she’d been keeping it.
He padded over to her, which made her smile. Maybe, she thought, he’s getting used to the leash. My training is working.
Before she realized where they were heading, she found herself in front of the neighborhood tavern, standing in the very spot where Dickie Byrd had been kissing the woman who was not Monique, his wife. She wanted to stop a moment to think about things, but Quincy wanted to keep moving. The sidewalks everywhere were shoveled and dry. A squirrel scolded Quincy from halfway down the trunk of a tree planted in the sidewalk.
“You won’t catch him, you know,” she said to Quincy.
“Won’t catch who?” a man’s low voice said.
Chase turned in time see a short man stagger out the door. His overcoat was open, showing his plaid vest. Langton Hail must have overheard her comment.
“Are you talking to me?” he asked. “I’m not trying to catch anyone.” His words were slurred and he grabbed the trunk of the tree, right where the squirrel had been, to steady himself. The squirrel scampered to the topmost branches and quit chattering.
“No, I . . . My cat . . .”
The man was a lot drunker than she’d seen him either the night of the reunion or at the restaurant where she’d been with Eddie.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” His body swayed toward her.
“Sorry, Mr. Hail. I’m out walking my cat. Do you need some help?”
“Who you think you are? I don’t need any help. How do you know me anyway? Get outta my way.”
Chase was glad to oblige him and walked briskly down the sidewalk. When she reached the corner, she glanced behind. Langton Hail was still clutching the tree, reeling in an attempt to stay upright. He didn’t seem to have any idea who she was, but why would he? She was one of the many alums at the reunion and he’d been an outsider, easy for everyone to notice. His code name, PHOTO, in Ron North’s notebook, had one less numerical entry beside it than PRINCE, Mr. Snelson’s code name, and she hadn’t seen anything pass between those two that night. Had Hail refused to pay Ron North? Had they had an altercation later, maybe when Ron attempted to extort the money? Had it ended up with Ron dead? And that’s why the man was drinking so much. Remorse and guilt. Trying to wipe out the memory of what he’d done.
She hoped Hail was firmly in Detective Olson’s sights along with Julie. He belonged there. Julie didn’t.
When she got home and released Quincy from his harness, she gave him a warm Kitty Patty and told him what a good boy he was. Then, after pacing her kitchen for a few minutes, she called Anna.
She sat in her cushy chair and stared out at the street below. It was mid afternoon but, this far north, the sun was setting and it was already beginning to get dark. Anna’s phone rang and rang. As Chase decided she wasn’t going to answer, Anna picked it up. She sounded sleepy.
“Did I wake you?” Chase asked. “Were you taking a nap?”
“Not a nap. I closed my eyes for a few minutes.”
Yeah, right, Chase thought. It was that kind of day, chilly and gray, a good day for napping. In fact, her voice sounded like she was awakening from a sound sleep.
“You aren’t practicing for the baking contest?”