TIL DEATH Read online

  “Except she’s dead.”

  “There is that.” He strode toward the biohazard bins, stripping out of his protective garb as he went. “You know what to do regarding the paperwork.”

  Zoe nodded. Cause of death: Undetermined pending toxicology. But first, she had to find Franklin’s phone.

  Which turned out to be the easiest part of her day so far. He’d left it on his desk, plugged into the charger. She knew his PIN from the many times he’d had her make calls for him in recent weeks. Doc said the ex-wife’s name was Loretta, which made finding the number in his contacts list a breeze.

  The voice that answered was anything but jovial. “What do you want now, Frank?”

  Frank? For a moment Zoe feared she’d misdialed or picked up the wrong phone. She’d never heard anyone call him anything other than Franklin. “Um, is this Loretta?”

  A pause. Apparently, Zoe wasn’t the only one confused by this call. “Who is this?”

  “My name’s Zoe Chambers. I’m the chief deputy coroner. I work with—”

  “He finally died, did he?”

  Zoe wished she could see the woman’s face. Hoped there was more sadness in her eyes than in her tone. “No. But he asked me to call you and let you know he’s in the ER at Brunswick Hospital.”

  “Oh.” Another long pause. “How serious is it?”

  “His glucose levels dropped rapidly, throwing him into an irregular heart rhythm. I had to shock him, but he converted and is now receiving treatment in the Emergency Department. He should be fine once they stabilize him.”

  “You shocked him?”

  Not the question Zoe expected. “With an AED we keep nearby.”

  “But you did. A deputy coroner. Not a doctor.”

  Zoe wanted to ask what the hell this woman was getting at. “I’m also a paramedic.”

  “Oh.”

  Was it Zoe’s imagination or did Franklin’s ex sound disappointed?

  “Okay then. Thanks for calling.”

  “Wait. Should I say you’ll be in to see him?”

  But the line had gone dead. And if Zoe was any judge, Franklin’s ex-wife would’ve been happier to hear that he was too.

  A half dozen men and women in business suits entered the coffee shop and gathered at the counter, placing their orders.

  Pete hoped they’d choose a table toward the front.

  Baronick tapped notes from Pete’s narration into his phone. Looking up, he asked, “Any sign of the car being broken into?”

  “No.”

  “Security cameras?”

  “None. The plaza’s owner installed them afterward.”

  “Doesn’t help us any.”

  “No, it does not.”

  “What about the physical evidence at the scene?” Baronick asked. “According to what I read, there wasn’t much.”

  “There were no casings. The parking lot was paved, so no footprints. All the fingerprints in the car belonged to either the victim or the husband.”

  The detective watched the new arrivals. “If our one-armed man exists, he wore gloves. Or didn’t touch anything.”

  “Stop with the one-armed man references. For starters, in the movie, he wasn’t a serial killer. And if a random murderer passed through my township and I missed a chance to nail him, it’s no laughing matter.”

  Baronick raised an eyebrow. “You can’t seriously believe Landis’ theory.”

  Did he?

  With their coffees in hand, two of the business suits migrated toward the rear of the shop and placed their cups on a small table, leaving only one other between them and Pete and Baronick. The suits proceeded to drag chairs out of their way and moved that table to butt against theirs. At the same time, a group of laughing college kids entered.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Pete said.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Baronick uncrossed his legs and stood, scooping up his phone.

  Outside, the gray early-February sky matched the color of the sidewalks and the buildings in Brunswick’s downtown area. Even the mounds of dirty snow from last week were the same shade. February, the longest and most monochrome month of the year in southwestern Pennsylvania.

  Baronick pulled his collar up against the chilly breeze. “You didn’t say whether or not you believed the transient killer theory.”

  “No. I don’t. Dustin Landis killed his wife.” Pete winced. He hadn’t wanted to taint Baronick’s findings with his own opinion. Then again, the detective had access to all the records and witness statements, not to mention a jury had already reached the same conclusion. Pete checked his watch. “I should get back to Vance Township.”

  “Yeah. Duty calls. You can tell me the rest while we walk to our cars.”

  Their cars weren’t parked that far away.

  They crossed Main Street and climbed the stairs to the front entrance. Security waved them through, and they headed across the rotunda to the rear exit, reserved for law enforcement.

  “Tell me about the gun.”

  “Thirty-eight revolver. Registered to a man in Altoona and reported stolen over a year before. We found it in a plastic grocery bag, wrapped in black pants and a hoodie in a dumpster behind the office building where Landis worked. No one saw it placed there, and no security cams. Again.”

  Baronick grunted. “Convenient. What about fingerprints?”

  “The gun was wiped clean, but ballistics matched it to the bullet that killed Elizabeth. The lab was able to find traces of her blood on the clothes, consistent with the blowback you’d expect from shooting someone at close range.”

  “Anything else link the clothes to Landis?”

  “Landis’ size, and he admitted owning several pairs of black sweats, but they’d been washed. No DNA. However, we were able to lift a print from the plastic grocery bag. Definite match to Landis.”

  “How’d he explain that?”

  “His attorney claimed anyone could have taken it from his garbage can outside his house. No one on the jury bought it. That print was the final nail in Landis’ coffin.”

  Baronick stopped as they reached the door leading to the secured parking lot and faced Pete. “You’ve confirmed everything I’ve already read in the reports. I want to know your thoughts about the case. About Landis. The stuff that doesn’t get put down on paper.”

  Pete met his gaze. “I’ve told you enough. Frattini wants your fresh eyes on the case. I don’t want to taint your findings with my own personal take on Landis.”

  Baronick bristled. “I’m a better cop than that. I can still reach my own conclusions even with your input.”

  “I know that,” Pete said. “You’ve got the facts. Talk to Landis and decide for yourself. Afterward, come see me and we’ll compare notes.”

  Baronick thought about it, nodded his agreement, and pushed through the door.

  Pete followed him into a parking lot surrounded by walls and razor wire. At one time, it had separated the courthouse from the old jail, an archaic structure that now loomed empty. “While you interview Landis, I’ll swing by Franklin Marshall’s office and have a chat with him about Elizabeth’s postmortem.” Pete recalled that Marshall had been one of the chinks in Frattini’s armor during the trial.

  Baronick chuckled. “You aren’t fooling me, Pete Adams. You’re going to Franklin’s office to see his new chief deputy coroner.”

  Pete couldn’t argue with facts.

  “How are the wedding plans coming? You’ve got less than two weeks left as a free man.”

  “Zoe’s handling the wedding. She’ll tell me when to show up and where.” They’d agreed on a divide-and-conquer mentality. She and her mother tackled the wedding. He dealt with moving his stuff to her farm and getting his house ready to go on the market.

  “Smart man.” Baronick headed for his unmarked black sedan. “We’
ll sit down later and divvy up the rest of the witness list.”

  Pete’s phone rang. He waved a confirmation at the detective. The words Imperatore & Associates came up on caller ID.

  “Chief,” the familiar voice boomed in his ear when he answered. “This is Anthony Imperatore. I presume you’ve already spoken to the District Attorney about my client’s retrial.”

  “I have.”

  “Mr. Landis has asked me to contact you. He wishes to speak to you. The sooner, the better.”

  Dustin Landis wanted to see him? “Detective Baronick is on his way over to talk to Mr. Landis. He’ll be handling that part of the investigation.”

  “I’m afraid my client insists. He wishes to speak to you, Chief Adams. Of course, he’ll cooperate fully with any other law enforcement officers who need to question him—in my presence, of course—but you’re the one he wants to see now.”

  Pete watched as Baronick backed his black sedan from its space. The last person he wanted to deal with was Dustin Landis. He’d heard everything the man had to say nine years ago. Time didn’t change facts. But Imperatore would hound Pete until he conceded. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He ended the call before the attorney could begin arguing for five and stepped into Baronick’s path with a raised hand.

  The detective stopped and lowered his window. “What?”

  “Change of plans.”

  Four

  Zoe leaned back from the computer in Franklin’s office at the Marshall Funeral Home and rubbed her eyes. She’d never get used to all the paperwork. She checked the time. Crap. Only an hour until she was supposed to meet her cousin, Patsy Greene, at the dress shop for a final fitting while video chatting with Mother. Her upcoming marriage to Pete warmed Zoe’s heart. Dealing with Kimberly Chambers Jackson chilled it. At least Kimberly had attempted to rein in her control issues lately and agreed to stay in Florida until the week before the ceremony. Hearing her belittle Zoe’s dress choices was hard enough long distance.

  Muffled footsteps in the hallway—heavier than Franklin’s secretary’s—approached. Over breakfast, Pete had mentioned stopping by after his meeting with the DA. Zoe looked toward the door, eager to see her fiancé.

  But it was Wayne Baronick who appeared. “Hey there, Chief,” he said, flashing his biggest smile.

  “It’s Madam Coroner to you. Pete’s the Chief.”

  Wayne entered the office, pausing to study the display shelves holding a variety of urns and guest books. “I understand why Franklin works out of here. He’s a funeral director. But you really need to get your own office someplace a little more…upbeat.”

  “Like over in the morgue?”

  “That’s your only other choice?”

  “If I expect the county to pay for it.” The cost of the classes Pennsylvania required her to take for this new job had already added to the debt she’d gone into making repairs on her rundown farmhouse and planning a wedding. The rest of her paycheck went toward feed and care for her horse and two cats. She and Pete only half joked when they said they’d be living on peanut butter sandwiches and Ramen noodles once they married.

  Wayne crossed to the desk and took a seat. “I hear they have a spare broom closet in the hospital they might rent you for cheap.”

  “I’ll look into it.” She clicked the computer’s mouse to bring up a different screen. “What case are you here about? Gina Wagner?”

  “No.” He scowled. “Who?”

  “The autopsy I did this morning.” Zoe gave him a quick rundown of the mysterious death.

  “Doesn’t sound like a criminal case.”

  “Doesn’t sound like natural causes either.”

  “I’ll check with whoever worked the scene. If anything suspicious comes back from toxicology, let me know.”

  “What case then?”

  “Elizabeth Landis.”

  The name wasn’t on Zoe’s computer list of recent autopsies. “The woman whose husband killed her? Pete told me a judge overturned the conviction.”

  “The DA has me and Pete investigating her homicide.”

  The Landis murder was one of those cases Pete never wanted to talk about. “I don’t know how I can help. I wasn’t on duty the night it happened. And I wasn’t working with the coroner’s office yet.”

  “Where’s Franklin? He’s the one I came to see.”

  “Across the street.”

  “At the morgue?”

  “In the hospital.” She told Wayne about the excitement in autopsy earlier.

  “Is he gonna be all right?”

  “From the heart attack? He should be. But he still has kidney failure to contend with.”

  “How about his paperwork on the case?”

  Zoe typed in a search for old files and found the one labeled Landis. “Got it.” She clicked print and studied the report and notes on the screen while waiting for the printer to kick out the pages.

  Raised voices drifted down the hallway. Most notably, Franklin’s secretary shouting, “You can’t go back there.”

  A tall dark-haired woman with a face hard and sharp enough to cut glass charged into the office and pulled up short. She looked from Wayne to Zoe. “Who are you and what are you doing in Frank’s office?”

  Frank? This had to be…

  “Loretta?” Zoe rose and circled the desk, extending her hand. “I’m Zoe Chambers. I’m the one who called you earlier.”

  The woman’s dark eyes lowered to Zoe’s hand then rose to her eyes. “Yes. I’m Loretta Marshall,” she said without reaching toward her.

  Paulette, Franklin’s secretary, appeared in the doorway. “I am so sorry. I tried to keep her out.”

  Loretta wheeled. “You have no right to stop me from going anywhere in this building. Check the deed. My name’s on it too.”

  Zoe wondered if that was true. From the look on Paulette’s face, she had the same question.

  “Now get back to your desk and leave me alone or you’ll be out of a job.”

  Paulette stood taller, her posture saying, go ahead and try. With a glance at Zoe, she turned and marched away.

  Loretta brought her focus back to Zoe. “This is my husband’s office. You shouldn’t be here.” Before Zoe could respond, Loretta swung toward Wayne. “And who are you?”

  “Detective Wayne Baronick, Monongahela County Police Department, ma’am.”

  She didn’t shake his hand either. “A cop? Good. Get this woman—” She pointed at Zoe. “—out of my husband’s office.”

  If Loretta Marshall’s dark hair had been half white, Zoe would’ve warned her friends who owned Dalmatians. “This may be Franklin’s office, but he’s put me in charge while he’s incapacitated. As chief deputy coroner, I’m here taking care of official business.”

  “This is a funeral home,” Loretta said. As if Zoe didn’t know.

  Wayne crossed his arms. “I was just saying the same thing. Zoe needs to find a place of her own. Something less…depressing.”

  His faux serious expression forced Zoe to conceal a smile.

  Loretta, however, didn’t know him well enough to spot his sarcasm. “I wouldn’t call it depressing. I bought that desk. But yes, she needs to conduct her business, official or otherwise, elsewhere.”

  “It’s not my business. It’s Franklin’s.” To reinforce her stance, Zoe returned to the desk and reclaimed her seat. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Loretta looked to Wayne for backup. There was no mistaking his serious expression was genuine this time. He had no intention of doing her bidding. She huffed. Scanned the room. Pressing her lips into an inverted “U,” she lifted her chin. “No.” Casting one last evil eye at Zoe, Loretta strutted out.

  Zoe waited. Listened. Once the front door slammed, she exhaled.

  Wayne sank into his chair. “Wow. Franklin’s married to that?
”

  “Was. They’re divorced. As I understand it, they have been for a long time.”

  “And yet, she shows up now.” Wayne rubbed his chin. “She didn’t expect anyone to be in here. Makes you wonder what she planned to do.”

  Zoe jotted a reminder to herself. Ask Paulette to have the office locks changed.

  Clad in prison orange, Dustin Landis had aged twenty years in the eight since Pete had last seen him. Pete might’ve felt sorry for him, except that aging wasn’t an option for the man’s wife.

  Pete found Landis and his attorney waiting in a small room in the county jail. Three uncomfortable chairs and a table on which Anthony Imperatore had set up shop. Briefcase, folder, legal pad, and pen.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” Imperatore said once Pete had claimed the vacant seat.

  “As I told you on the phone, Detective Baronick will be questioning Mr. Landis. DA Frattini wants a fresh perspective on the case.”

  “We understand and will cooperate fully with the detective.” Imperatore shot a glance at his client, who slouched in the chair next to him, gaze lowered to the table. “Nevertheless, Mr. Landis believes you and he developed a bond during the initial investigation. From my own experience, I know you’re a fair man, Chief Adams. I hope you’ll hear what Mr. Landis has to say and keep your mind open.”

  Pete recognized when a lawyer was blowing smoke up his ass. The “bond” Imperatore mentioned had only lasted until Pete uncovered the truth. “I’m listening.”

  Client and attorney exchanged a look. Imperatore nodded.

  Landis placed his folded hands on the table and raised his eyes to meet Pete’s for the first time. “I didn’t kill my wife.”

  “That’s what you brought me here to tell me?”

  Imperatore narrowed his eyes. “Chief. Please.”

  Pete gestured with one hand—go ahead.

  “I’ve said all along that someone else—a stranger—killed her that night in the parking lot. But no one looked into the possibility.”