Ray shifted his gaze toward his young partner. De Luca just shrugged. He didn’t know, not for sure. A lot of things pointed toward Stuckey. He wanted it to be the case, wanted to be able to close the files and move on but doubt nagged at him so he just shrugged.
Hewes’ lawyers, for all their efforts to convict Stuckey in the press, hadn’t mentioned the most damning evidence the detectives had uncovered. There was no mention of the porn episode. The people ‘close to the investigation’ hadn’t mentioned it either. They couldn’t. The only people who knew about the ‘UrMoM’ episodes were Ray, Tony, Carol, Jonny Kumpula, and a pervert named DuPree.
And Karen Hewes.
“Is Karen on any medication?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know. Why?” Lakisha had a puzzled look on her face that mirrored Tony’s. She wondered why Ray wanted to know. Tony wondered why he was just now asking.
“Just thinking about how freaked out she is. Is that normal for her?”
“Why all the questions about Karen, Rayford?” Lakisha squinted at him, her mystery writer’s instincts on high alert.
“Just curious.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ray flashed a quick disarming smile. “You have a ride? Can we drop you somewhere?”
“I’ve got my car. Are you stopping by Tia and Barry’s? Scott still won’t go back to the house. I think he’s going to sell it.”
“Can’t, babe. Urgent police business.”
Tony was grateful for Ray’s lie. He had no desire to eat hot dish and mill around listening to stories about the dead woman all afternoon. Tony was satisfied that they’d gotten far enough into these people’s lives. He nodded to Lakisha and headed for the car, giving them a minute alone together.
“Good one, boss. Urgent police business.”
Ray, behind the wheel, gave Tony a quick knowing glance. “That’s what it is.”
Tony realized they were heading into the heart of Highland Park, toward the Hewes’ house, not toward headquarters. Ray was up to something so Tony settled back into the seat waiting to find out just what.
“Teaching moment coming up.”
“You have a hunch.” Tony phrased it as a statement, not a question.
“I do indeed.”
“You want to snoop around in the Hewes’ house.”
“It’s a crime scene. We have access now and don’t need to bother any judges about a warrant.” Ray had the half-smile going. Tony was a fine pupil and was going to be a top notch detective someday.
“What are we looking for, Obi-Wan?” Tony tented his hands as if in prayer and bowed to Ray. They pulled to the curb in front of the house. Yellow plastic tape fluttered in the wind, advertising the tragedy that had occurred inside the day before. Ray explained his hunch while they walked to the side door.
“The woman bothers me.”
Tony looked over his shoulder. “The husband bothers me. What if he shows up?”
Ray shared a word with the uniformed officer sitting just inside the kitchen while he signed in and looked over the log of people who had visited the crime scene. He was pleased to note that Jonny Kumpula was the senior evidence tech on the case.
Tony wasn’t happy when Ray led him through the master bedroom. The sheets and blankets on the bed were twisted and stained. They looked diseased-crusted and oily. Tony could smell the flu germs mixed with Mentholatum fumes. He could feel them invading his body, waiting to strike, to lay him as low as they had Gary Hewes.
He found Ray examining prescription vials in the medicine cabinet and making notes. He was ignoring Gary’s prescriptions.
“What are you doing?” Tony asked when Ray dumped one vial out on the countertop and counted the pills.
“Math.”
“Math?” Tony watched Ray jot down dates and other numbers next to the pharmaceutical names.
“This might mean something.” Ray held up an amber vial and shook it. Empty.
“What is it?”
“I have no idea, but I know someone who will.”
“Quite a cocktail, Ray. These from the Hewes woman?” Kumpula didn’t miss much.
Ray nodded. “In her medicine cabinet. Do you know what they’re for?”
“From the same doctor?” Kumpula had fired up a computer and was clicking through several medical websites.
“All from the same clinic. Stilnox? Zoloft? Ducene? I’ve heard of Zoloft but I don’t have a clue what it’s for.”
“Same clinic? Same doctor? Then they meant for them to all be used. She’s being treated for a couple of things at least. Let me read here.” Ray stepped back next to Tony.
“What gave you the idea she might be on medication?” Tony was mildly pissed that his partner hadn’t discussed this before. “And when did it click?”
“In the church, actually. She’s not there, supposedly her closest friend’s funeral and she’s strapped to a bed speaking in tongues. So I started thinking about it.”
“You think she snapped?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. She sure didn’t want Stuckey getting a word in. That’s the impression I got.”
Tony thought back to the day before, to the shooting. Karen Hewes had been screaming the whole time they were in the kitchen. The only time Stuckey got a word in was when he covered her mouth.
“Wish we had a tape,” Tony mused. Ray smiled and started to say something when Kumpula interrupted.
Kumpula looked up at Ray, frowning. “These drugs…in this combo? Your patient is suffering from depression, probably combined with insomnia and anxiety attacks. Probably not bi-polar, but still screwed up pretty bad.”
“Could Deanna’s death have triggered it?” Tony asked. He knew a little about depression. His parents’ death had hit him hard.
“Probably not situational. What about the dates?”
Ray checked his notes. “She’s been on them for a while. Long before the murder.”
Kumpula rechecked the computer screen. “This cocktail could be for panic attacks as well as depression. Does the Hewes’ woman drink a lot?” Ray shrugged. He didn’t know about day to day but he did recall that she hit it pretty hard when they were off on one of the trips.
Kumpula added, “She might have been something of a recluse too, afraid to leave the house.”
“That might be the husband’s doing.”
“I’m reading there can be obsession issues, too. Excessive worry and stress can trigger panic attacks and irrational behavior.”
“Any sexual triggers?” Tony asked, thinking back to the videotape.
“Not that I can see here. We can call one of the Pharm consultants if you want to take it that far.”
Ray shook his head. He wasn’t ready to do that yet. Truth was, he had what he guessed he needed so far. He turned to Kumpula for a summation.
“So what we have is?”
Kumpula wheeled away from the desk and crossed his arms, looking up at Ray. “We have a woman suffering from depression that has problems with panic attacks and impulse control. She’s fairly fucked up, Ray.”
“The shooting couldn’t have helped,” Tony offered.
“I’d be freaked if someone’s head was blown apart right behind me, but that’s not your biggest worry with this gal.”
“What is?” Tony asked.
“Suicide.”
“What’s got you so down, partner?”
Tony and Ray shared a booth at The Red Door. It was mid-shift so the place was quiet. Ray had taken only one sip of his scotch and was staring at the glass, frowning. The few patrons there that knew Tony started the congratulations and kidding as soon as they entered, but now Tony shrugged and told his friends to knock it off. Inside, though, he felt good that the case was being considered closed.
“Are you satisfied?”
“About the case? About Stuckey being the murderer? I guess so.” Tony took a pull from his beer bottle. “You’re not?”
“Not completely. Over at the lab a little bit ago you said you wished you had a tape.”
“Of the scene in the kitchen with Stuckey and Karen? Yeah, I do. It was chaos, Ray. Chaos.”
Ray reached into his jacket and took out a small electronic device. It was his digital recorder, the same one he used the morning they worked the murder scene in Deanna Fredrickson’s kitchen. Tony’s eyes widened, asking with a look if that was what was on the recorder.