Bitter laughter. “Can I sell you a bridge? But I let it go. I wanted it to be true. What can I say, stupidity on my part. Then we started getting sued and everything started coming out. That’s his pattern: He takes advantage of stupid bimbos. Maybe your victim was one of those and he killed her to get rid of her.”
“You see Denny as capable of murder.”
A beat. “I don’t know what I see, Lieutenant. Part of me wants to hate on him but part of me is terrified. Married to someone who’d do that? Baby having to live with that? One thing Denny’s actually not bad at is being a father. Baby adores him.”
She began to cry. “Excuse me. Hold on.” Dead air for several seconds. “Sorry, it’s just overwhelming. Why can’t you get a warrant on him? Isn’t what I just told you enough?”
“Unfortunately not, Corinne.”
“Well, that sucks. The system really needs to change.”
Milo said, “If Denny did spend significant money on other women, could he hide that from you?”
“I can’t inspect every restaurant bill or every time he dips into the petty cash. Which wasn’t that petty, we used to keep five to ten grand around for incidentals. Back when we were raking it in — at the peak we were netting over four hundred K a year. Now it’s down to nearly nothing. Could he support a bimbo full-time? Probably not, but he could give her toys. And with a skank whore, we’re not talking suites at the Peninsula.”
“Do you remember the name of the woman in Hawaii?”
“Marissa something.”
“No last name?”
“Oh, God, this was years ago. Please don’t go looking for her, it’s not like she’s the only one. He has no idea I’ve talked to a lawyer. I need time to get my financial ducks in a row, can’t afford to tip my hand.”
“Got it,” said Milo. “But if her last name does come up and you’re comfortable—”
“What would you tell her?”
“That someone ruined your daughter’s wedding by murdering a young woman and we’re looking at all former employees and anyone else associated with your business.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m not going to remember, though. And you have to promise me you won’t rat me out to him.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“I was a Girl Scout,” she said. “Back in the Ice Age.”
“Let me ask you something, Corinne. Was there a point during the wedding when you and Denny weren’t together for an extended time?”
I scribbled a note and handed it to him. He read, nodded, as Corinne answered.
“You mean could he have done it without my noticing? Sure. There were all kinds of points. At the church we were together from the procession until we left for the reception but once the party got going, it was chaos. I went circulating by myself to be friendly because he’d already been drinking and brushed me off when I suggested we do it together. For most of the time, everyone was on the dance floor or up at the bar. I can’t tell you the longest period we were apart but I’m sure not going to give him an alibi.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Working with the cops,” said Corinne. “This is kind of an adventure.”
He placed my note on the desk. “One more thing. Do you ever pay Denny’s phone bill?”
“I always pay his phone bill,” she said. “I handle all the bills.”
“Is the number registered to the business?”
“Of course it is.”
“And you’re a partner in the business.”
“I am — ah.” She laughed. “I get where you’re coming from. It’s in his name but I actually share it. Yeah, you’re right. You want me to ask Verizon for another copy of his bill.”
“If you’re okay with that.”
“If he had something to do with wrecking Baby’s big day, I’m more than okay. Minute I hang up, I’m on it. Very creative, Lieutenant. I can relate to that, I’ve always been the creative one. If we depended on him for ideas, we’d be living on Skid Row.”
Chapter 13
I’d just left his office and was halfway down the corridor when he called me back.
Waving a sheaf of papers.
Back I went.
Summary of the autopsy results on Jane Doe #5 of this year composed by Acting Deputy Medical Examiner Basia Lopatinski, M.D. He’d printed two copies from his desktop. We read simultaneously.
Well-nourished white female, approximately twenty-five to thirty, in excellent health prior to death by asphyxiation due to ligature strangulation, “most probably by a metal filament.” Tiny marks running diagonally along the neck wound suggested a wire topped by wound strands. Approximate gauge, making allowances for “skin compression and atmospheric changes subsequent to death,”.025 to.040 inch.
No alcohol or drugs in the decedent’s system but for a nonlethal dose of fentanyl mixed with heroin. That, combined with the pain and shock of the injection in a “nerve-rich site,” could have stunned the victim “possibly to the point of lost consciousness.”
I visualized it. Red Dress taken by surprise, drugged into submission.
Leaving plenty of time to finish the job.
Why not simply O.D. her on fentanyl? The drug was fast acting and easily lethal.
Why slow things down with heroin?
Fentanyl had begun as a Big Pharma profit well. Drug companies touting it to doctors for conditions far beyond its original use for intractable cancer pain. Causing one of the worst addiction crises in history.
Cheap to produce. Maybe a mixture was what you got on the street, nowadays.
Or someone had craved the prolonged minutes it took to choke the life out of a human being.
Full-face, hands-on kill, a helpless victim.
Watching the lights go out.
I sent an email to Robin and resumed reading.
Stomach content analysis revealed partially digested lettuce, corn, green beans, tuna fish, red peppers, and an egg-based liquid, probably diluted mayonnaise. All of that ingested approximately two to three hours prior to death.
She hadn’t intended to dine.
At the bottom of the report was a note by Dr. Lopatinski for Milo to call.
He complied, got voicemail, left a message.
I said, “The food’s interesting.”
“She had a tuna salad before showing up.”
“What I mean is she ate before the wedding because she had no intention of enjoying the catering. Add that to no booze or self-administered dope in her system and the all-work-no-play scenario firms up.”
My phone pinged a text.
Robin answering my question.
I sent her a Thanks, hon, and relayed the info to Milo: “At the low estimate, the gauge fits a wound guitar D-string, at the upper end, a light A-string.”
He said, “So look for a killer with a Gibson. Hey, that would be a pretty good slogan.”
I got home by four p.m. An hour later, Maxine Driver called me.
“Got Ms. Burdette’s schedule such as it is, and guess what, an address.”
She read off numbers on Strathmore Drive.
Walking distance from campus. “Thanks, Maxine. How’d you get it?”
“Don’t ask,” she said. “In terms of the schedule, there’s not much. She takes one real class, chem for non-science-majors. The rest is independent study with no set time, her DIY is Multiverse Cultural Aspects of Civilization. Part of a program the administration tried a couple of years ago but discontinued. Brainy little tots recommended by their high school counselors allowed the freedom to explore their inner whatevers.”