Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery) Page 9

  “I didn’t know you played in the band.” Somehow, Brian didn’t seem the type.

  “I don’t anymore.”

  I rocked back and caught the look on his face. For just a moment it darkened, like the sun dimmed by a passing cloud.

  “How come you stopped?”

  He shrugged, examined his hands. “It was boring.”

  “Were you and Dennis friends?”

  “Not likely.” A grimace pulled his expression tight.

  “I take it you didn’t like him much.”

  “Mostly we were just different.” Brian paused, downed a gulp of coffee. “He had a rough time in high school, but from what I’ve heard, he came through okay.”

  “Rough time?”

  “Emotional problems. In and out of school for a while, spent time in some treatment center up north.”

  “Was there trouble with the law, as well?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  I fiddled with the packets of sweetener. “Did Julie talk much about the Shepherds?”

  Brian lifted his right shoulder in a semi-shrug. “I told you, I hardly knew her. They wouldn’t let Julie date, so we got together a couple of times during the day. End of story, no big deal.” He squinted at me. “What are you after here, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I’m trying to make sense of what happened.”

  “There’s a lot of shit happens that doesn’t make any sense. People just make themselves crazy thinking that it should.” Brian broke off a piece of croissant and offered it to me. “You want some?”

  I shook my head. “What was your impression of Julie?”

  He blinked. “My impression?”

  “Right.”

  He shrugged. “I guess mostly it’s that she wasn’t what I first thought. She had this kind of been-there manner about her, you know? But turns out she was just a kid underneath. And a lot more serious about things than I expected.”

  “Pretty insightful, for someone who ‘hardly knew her.’ ”

  He gave me a quirky smile. “I’m an insightful kind of

  guy”

  “You aren’t by any chance related to a Claudia Walker, are you?” It was the only name I’d recognized from the list Patricia Shepherd had found in Julie’s computer files. I’d meant to ask about it before this.

  “Not that I know of,” Brian replied.

  Two well-built women in biking shorts walked by our table, and Brian’s eyes followed them.

  “Funny you should ask, though,” he said, finally dragging his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Julie asked me about her, too.”

  I sat forward. “Did she say why?”

  “At first, I assumed it was a friend of hers, but there was something she said later that made me think this Claudia person was someone Julie wanted to meet.”

  “Someone local?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I tucked the information away for Michael, although I wasn’t sure that the names on the list mattered anymore. The police were no longer looking for Julie, they were looking for her killer.

  We finished our coffee and arrived back at school just as classes were getting out for the day. A pretty girl I didn’t know waved at Brian. He beckoned her over. “Hi, gorgeous, want a ride?”

  She flashed him a smile that was meant to dazzle. “Sure, if there’s room.” The look she gave me was something altogether different.

  “I’m getting out,” I told her. Then I turned to Brian and said, “Gracias. ”

  He looked at me blankly.

  “It’s Spanish,” I explained. “Your sixth-period class.”

  He grinned. “I thought it sounded familiar.”

  “You shouldn’t give up on the class, you know. It’s only October.”

  There was a sardonic glint in his eyes. “Thanks, I appreciate the advice.” His fingers drummed the steering wheel. “If you want to know about Julie, you should be talking to Mario Sanchez, not me.”

  “They were good friends?”

  Brian’s laugh was quick and harsh. “I don’t know what you’d call it exactly.”

  Gorgeous stood by the door tapping her foot. She gave me a pointed look. “I thought you were getting out.”

  “I am,” I told her. Although if I could have found a way to do so, I’d have liked to stay and question Brian further. I had the distinct feeling he knew Julie better than he was letting on.

  Chapter 12

  Anna was in a funk when I picked her up after school. “I’m starved,” she announced, folding her arms indignantly across her chest.

  “How come? I packed you a good-sized lunch.”

  “I had to throw it away because it was full of ants.”

  “Ants?”

  “They got into all the lunches in the bottom cubbies. Mrs. Brown asked the rest of the class to share.” She paused while she punched the buttons on the radio. “Kyle gave me his celery,” she said.

  “That’s nice.” Although hardly substantial nourishment.

  “He should have given me his whole lunch. He’s the one who dropped the stupid ant farm.”

  So that explained it. I mouthed the necessary words of sympathy. “How about I heat up a pizza for you when we get home?”

  “Potato chips, too?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “Please. I was so hungry all day long, my stomach hurt.” Anna did her best to sound pitiful.

  “Okay, a few chips too.”

  “With a Coke?”

  Anna is a master at this game, but with Julie’s death still fresh in my mind, I decided there were worse things than junk food.

  “With a Coke,” I told her.

  She smiled, and I had a sudden vision of Anna single- handedly plotting new ways to transport ants to school.

  The phone was ringing as we walked in the door and Anna raced to answer it. I could tell from her end of the conversation that it was Michael. When I’d poured her soda, we traded.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “All right, under the circumstances. Anything new on Julie’s death?”

  “Looks like she never made it to the game Friday night, but that’s about the only piece of the puzzle that’s solidly in place. Of course none of the lab reports are back yet so something may turn up.”

  “No suspects, I take it.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But Gates isn’t going to tell me any more than he has to. He wants the credit and the glory channeled his way.” Michael must have leaned back in his chair; I could hear it squeak. “He’s been angling for a management position, and something like this might just cinch it for him.”

  “A girl is dead and he’s looking at it as a rung in his career ladder? That’s sick.”

  “It’s the way things work, Kate. And Gates is no fool. Whatever his motivation, he’ll bust his butt to get the guy who did it.”

  “Even if it means elbowing you out of the way?”

  “There’s nothing personal in it. Besides, it’s Berkeley's case.”

  “But shouldn’t they work with you? You were involved in looking for Julie when she was missing.”

  “The two departments are cooperating.” Michael paused. “I want to see the guy caught, and I don’t really care which of us does it.”

  Nice words but I could tell he was peeved. Turf wars are particularly irksome when you’re the little guy. It was a fact of life that Michael hadn’t counted on when he’d moved from San Francisco to the smaller department in Walnut Hills.

  “Her murder is similar to Cindy Purcell’s,” I pointed out. “And you’re working that one.”

  He sighed. “Gates sees it as similar, that’s for sure.” There was a pensive quality to his voice I’d heard before.

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “Do I? Maybe I am.”

  “About what?”

  The chair squeaked again. “Well, there are similarities, no denying that. The toy skeleton, the shorn hair, the bare feet en
cased in plastic. But there’s stuff that’s different, too.”

  “Such as?”

  “The means of death, for one thing. Cindy was strangled; Julie was shot. Other than that, it’s mostly little stuff. The differences may or may not be important. But once you’ve convinced yourself you’re looking for a single killer, the strategy of the investigation changes. It’s all a question of what assumptions you make up front.”

  “I thought you said Gates was good.”

  “He is. Even teaches a criminology course at Cal.”

  This last was delivered with a trace of envy. Michael had been trying for the last year to land a similar position.

  I switched the phone to the other ear and checked on Anna’s pizza. “Remember the name ‘Claudia Walker’ from that list in Julie’s computer files? I asked the boy at school with the same last name if he was related. He isn’t, but he said Julie had asked him the same thing. He got the impression that she wasn’t someone Julie knew but someone she was interested in.”

  “Thanks for checking.”

  “I also found out that Dennis Shepherd has had some emotional problems.”

  “What kind?”

  “I’m not sure.” I told him about my conversation with Brian Walker. “It warrants looking into, don’t you think? I mean, in light of his attitude toward Julie.”

  “It’s not my call, but I’ll pass the information along to the powers that be.”

  The front door opened, and I heard Faye call out, “Yoo-hoo, anyone home?”

  “Is that Dragon Mother I hear in the background?” Michael asked.

  “She’s not that bad.”

  He laughed. “Probably not. I gotta go anyway. Love you, Kate.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “Oh,” Faye said, wandering into the kitchen. “You are home after all.” She glared critically at the phone in my hand.

  “Bye.” I hung up and smiled at Faye. “How was lunch?”

  “Scrumptious. I’m so full I won’t be able to eat for a week. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight if you don’t mind.” She gave Anna a kiss. “And how are you, sweet pea?”

  Anna wiped the spot on her cheek where Faye’s lips had touched. “Starving,” she replied pointedly.

  I took the pizza out of the microwave and set it in front of her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  The front door opened again, and this time slammed shut, announcing Libby’s arrival. A moment later she shuffled into the kitchen, followed by Skye.

  Libby opened the fridge and grabbed two Cokes. “Is it okay if I have dinner at Skye’s tonight?”

  “Fine by me if it’s all right with the Burtons.” I was a bit surprised at the request, however, since Libby had, on previous occasions, referred to Skye as “the most self- absorbed creature on earth.”

  “My parents are going out tonight,” Skye said. “But they don’t mind if I have a friend over.” She ran her tongue over her braces. “Libby and I are both real upset over what happened with Julie. We thought we’d write a memorandum for the newspaper.”

  “In memoriam,” Libby huffed. “It’s different than a memo.”

  Skye tossed her head. “Whatever.”

  I handed Anna a second napkin, which she badly needed. She had pizza sauce from her forehead to her chin. “How involved is Mario Sanchez with the newspaper?” I asked. “I know he’s on the staff, but does he contribute much?”

  “Some,” Libby said. “But not a lot. He’s a whiz at the computer, though. I don’t think we’d ever get the layout right without him.”

  “Mostly he slinks around ogling the girls.” Skye’s nose wrinkled with contempt.

  “He does not,” Libby retorted.

  “Yes, he does. I don’t know where he got the idea that anyone in Walnut Hills would be interested in him. ”

  “What’s wrong with Mario?”

  Skye shook her hair from her face. She wore it in a style that was long and bushy, and not particularly becoming. “He’s just, you know . . . different.”

  Libby crossed her arms. “Hispanic, you mean?”

  “That too.”

  The doorbell rang and I went to answer it so I never got to hear how the discussion came out, but I thought Libby had probably hit close to the truth. It was my impression that Skye didn’t have much use for people who weren’t an easy fit in the stratum of society she imaged for herself.

  I reached the door just as the bell sounded a second time. Susie Sullivan Lambert stood on my doorstep in a raw silk blouse, perfectly pressed wool slacks and blazer, and enough gold and diamonds to open her own jewelry shop.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” she said in a voice as honeyed as her hair. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about the murders.”

  Since her third and most recent divorce, Susie has decided to devote herself to her career. To that end, she now fancies herself a news reporter rather than local gossip columnist, despite ample evidence that her talents are better suited to the latter.

  “Me?” I was genuinely taken aback. “I don’t know anything.”

  She smiled. “You were there when they found the body. Besides, you must know something about the girl— she was a student at the high school.” Susie stepped forward. “May I come in? This wind stirs up my allergies.”

  Susie had burned me once last year by misquoting my words in connection with another murder, so I was wary. But she was also a friend of sorts, and just as likely to make up what she didn’t get in the way of solid information. Besides, I could hardly slam the door in her face.

  I led her into the kitchen, where Skye and Libby were picking at the remnants of Anna’s pizza. Faye and Anna were nowhere to be seen.

  “What is it you want to know?” I asked Susie.

  “Everything. In as much detail as possible. We’ve never had a serial killer in Walnut Hills before.”

  I winced at her tone, which sounded almost jubilant. “What makes you think we have one now?”

  “That’s what the radio said. I mean, they didn’t come right out and say it, but that was the implication. The Berkeley police have given him a name even—The Parkside Killer.” She crossed her legs and rolled the airborne ankle in a semicircle. “A Berkeley girl murdered in Walnut Hills, and a Walnut Hills girl murdered in Berkeley. There’s a kind of symmetry to that, isn’t there? I wonder if it means anything.”

  “What it means,” I said with distaste, “is that two innocent young women are dead.”

  Susie looked at me. “Yes, that’s the whole point.”

  It was obvious she’d missed mine.

  Still swiveling her ankle, Susie turned to address Libby. “The Harmon girl was only a year behind you. Did you know her?”

  “Yeah, a little.” Libby scooted her chair back from the table, preparing to leave.

  “So did I,” Skye added, leaning forward.

  “Wonderful. Tell me about her.”

  “She was just an everyday person,” Libby said with a shrug. “Not real outgoing, but then she’d been through a lot recently.”

  “Withdrawn? Gloomy?”

  Libby shook her head. “Quiet, but friendly.”

  Skye crimped a lock of wiry hair with her finger. “It was kind of a surface friendly, though.”

  “I see.” Susie undid the clasp of her purse and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. “People who knew the girl from Berkeley said the same thing about her—nice, quiet, no bad habits to speak of. Both victims were blond, too.” Her tone was pensive.

  Skye seemed intrigued. “I’ve heard that serial killers often choose the same type of victim over and over again.”

  “Actually,” I said, interrupting before Susie could set the thesis of her story in stone, “Michael thinks the two deaths may not even be related. There are some serious discrepancies between the cases.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  I pulled back. “He didn’t tell me the details.”

  “I was hoping I could interview him. Do you thi
nk he’d have time to talk to me?”

  “You’d have to ask Michael.”

  “It might be better if you asked him for me.” Susie reached into her purse again and hastily freshened her lipstick, something I’ve never been able to do without a mirror. “In Berkeley they have a special office within the police department to handle questions from the press. There’s been someone there every time I’ve phoned. Here in Walnut Hills, where I pay taxes I might add, it’s hard to get anyone to return my calls.”

  I sighed. “I’ll see if he’s interested, but no promises.”

  She flashed me a smile. “Thanks, Kate.” Then she turned back to the girls. “What’s it like knowing there’s someone out there killing young women? Are you nervous?”

  Skye nodded solemnly, with a touch of drama I found unnecessary. “Who knows where he’ll strike next.”

  “It’s awful to lose a friend,” Libby said. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about mostly.”

  Susie scratched a few additional notes, then tucked her pen and notebook back into her purse. “Don’t forget to ask Michael. You can let me know tomorrow at the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “For the Fall Festival. Didn’t Sharon call you? She said she’d reached everyone.”

  I harbored the hope, however slim, that Sharon had forgotten she’d involved me in the undertaking. My hopes were dashed when I checked the answering machine. There was a rather lengthy message from Sharon about the meeting and all that we, as co-chairs, needed to attend to. She did, however, close by suggesting dinner, her treat.

  “I don’t suppose you’re free tonight,” she said over the machine, “what with a house full of people and all. But after that disastrous lunch yesterday, I feel I owe you. If you’ve got time, we can even go shopping afterwards.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t have gone. But with Faye not eating dinner and Libby out at Skye’s, I figured my presence wouldn’t be missed. And Faye had, after all, made this visit in order to spend time with Anna. An evening alone with her only granddaughter ought to be something she would relish.

  Chapter 13

  Most of the time Sharon dresses the way I do—comfortable, casual and cheap. Unlike me, however, she also has an extensive wardrobe of sophisticated clothing, and perhaps more important, occasions suitable for putting it to use. When we shop together, it’s usually Sharon who leads the way while I tag along like a kid in the candy aisle. Which is the way we spent an hour and a half working our way down the mall from Nordstrom to Macy’s.