The Detective's Dilemma. Arlene James
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a woman doesn’t usually strangle her victims.” He lifted a cautioning finger. “But we both know that means nothing. Under the right circumstances, anything goes.”
“Granted,” Paul said, “but if she really does check out at six-fifteen every night and we can prove it, then it’s an established pattern that anyone who knows her could use to frame her.”
“We need the logbooks for at least a year,” Ty said, beginning to pace the room as Paul took notes. “We’d better pull the phone records for Maitland Maternity Clinic and the residence.” He snapped his fingers. “Check to see if Beth Maitland has a cell phone, too. If she’s been harassing the happy couple, we’ll find some sign of it.”
Paul scribbled it all down. “Got it.”
Ty paced the narrow confines of the interrogation room. “What do you think happened to the murder weapon?”
Paul shrugged. “Nearest trash bin, probably.”
“We searched with a fine-tooth comb,” Ty reminded him.
“She must have taken it with her. I kept expecting you to ask about it.”
Ty shook his head. “If she hasn’t gotten rid of it, I don’t want her to rethink and do it now.”
“You figure she still has it?”
“Maybe. Anyway, we won’t have a decent idea what Brianne Dumont was strangled with until forensics has done their bit. No sense trying to look for it until we do. Make a note to ask forensics for an early determination,” Ty instructed. Paul dutifully made the note. “Okay, back to the breakdown.”
“One big consideration,” Paul said, “is that we only have Dumont’s word for it that the Maitland dame set up the appointment with the victim.”
“Or that she harassed her,” Ty said, picking up the thread of the argument. “And since Dumont was seeing Ms. Maitland until fairly recently, we can assume that he’s spent a good deal of time around the maternity clinic and the day-care center.”
“Which means he could probably get himself in and out without being seen,” Paul concluded. “There’s a working theory. He baits the trap by telling his wife that Beth’s asked to see her.”
Ty stopped pacing and brought both hands to his hips. “I have to wonder why she would go for that, meeting the other woman on her own turf, especially if the other woman was displaying threatening behavior.”
Paul shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to apologize—Maitland, I mean.”
“Or maybe there was no harassment,” Ty said, theorizing, “so the Dumont woman had no reason not to make the meeting.”
“Makes sense,” Paul concluded before returning to his theory. “On the other hand, he could’ve killed her, dumped the body in the office and fabricated the meeting to allay suspicion.”
Ty shook his head. “Too tricky, even without a blood trail.” He came to a halt and brought his hands to his waist. “We have to do some reconnoitering.”
“Until we discover a hole in the dike,” Paul agreed. “Then we pull the plug and let the truth flood away the lies.”
“You sound as if you’re convinced we’ll find that hole,” Ty said.
“Yeah, maybe. There’s something that’s been bothering me from the get go on this one.”
“Oh?”
Paul nodded. “It’s like this. The woman is rich and beautiful.”
And she has a freewheeling sexuality that fairly sings to a man, Ty thought but didn’t say. He knew that Paul, being happily married, wouldn’t say it, either, which was not to infer that he hadn’t noticed. Ty showed his agreement with Paul’s assessment by nodding.
“A woman like that’s got to be beating ’em off with a stick,” Paul went on prosaically. “What’s she want with a cold fish like Dumont? Any guy who would break up with Beth Maitland and marry another woman within forty-eight hours, well, he’s not the love of anybody’s life, if you ask me.”
“Definitely not the sort you’d kill over,” Ty agreed. “Now, all we’ve got to do is prove it.” And hope we don’t make the case against Beth Maitland in the process, he told himself, surprised at the sentiment.
Paul nodded thoughtfully and scratched his ear with the tip of his pen, leaving a bright blue mark. Ty smiled. Paul Jester was a good detective, a fine father and husband, an excellent friend, but he was always doing goofy stuff like marking himself up with those damned ballpoint pens he carried. Ty cleared his throat against a chuckle and added a query to the list.
“We’d better do some digging into Dumont’s background as well as Beth Maitland’s, just to cover our butts.”
“And don’t forget our victim,” Paul said, writing.
“Good point. Now I’ll tell you something about this case.”
“What’s that?” Paul asked, looking up. Ty knew that, given his ancestry, the guys around the office fancied him something of a shaman with his predictions and hunches, but he knew himself to be a purely logical man who made good deductions—not that he was averse to cloaking his expertise in a thin veneer of Crow mysticism. In this business, a man needed every edge he could get, and Ty was rightfully proud of his rich Native American heritage.
“I’ll tell you right now,” he pronounced sagely, “that this thing is going to come down to a face-off between Brandon Dumont and Beth Maitland. I, for one, think we’ll only hear the truth when we get the two of them in the same room together at the right time. Meanwhile…” He let the statement hang there, but Jester was quick to finish it.
“Meanwhile,” he said resignedly, getting to his feet, “we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Ty waited as his partner shoved his chair under the table and walked around it. Then he turned to the door.
“You’ve got ink on your ear,” he said as they went out together, just loud enough for the other guys in the ward-room to hear. Paul was still scrubbing at the offending mark long after the laughter had died down.
“YOU DID WELL, BETH,” Hugh Blake told her. “I don’t want you to be discouraged. The police are a long way from concluding their investigation, so there’s a chance the real murderer will come to light. If they do charge you, I promise you we’ll fight them on every front. Just stick to the truth and try to relax. All right?”
She nodded and thanked him for his help, then allowed her mother to usher her into the limo. Beth sighed, letting her head fall back on the warm leather upholstery. It wasn’t particularly cold, but Beth pulled her fitted brown corduroy jacket closed.
“My poor darling,” Megan said, sliding onto the seat next to her and laying a comforting hand on her knee. “How could anyone suspect one of my children of something so heinous? Especially you! Everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a flea. You’re much too fun-loving and playful.”
“I don’t think fun-loving and playful preclude murder in the eyes of the law, Mother,” Beth suggested with a wan smile.
Megan shuddered. “I still can’t believe they suspect you. It’s just ludicrous, and they’ll see that. They will.”
Beth tried for another smile and was saved the effort when the chauffeur slid the divider window open. “Back to the clinic, Mrs. Maitland—Ms. Maitland?”
“Oh…yes, thank you,” Beth replied for the two of them. “I’m a little distracted today. Sorry.”
“No problem,” the driver assured her, sliding the window closed. An instant later, the vehicle shifted into gear and swung easily across the parking lot. Beth lifted her head. Enough self-pity. Time to face this mess head-on.
“I’m worried how this is going