Clarissa and Gracie got the casserole put together and in the oven, then sat down at the dining table to start going through the papers Ken had left. They began by making an attempt to sort them into piles by appearance; whoever had scattered them on the floor had done a good job of getting them out of any semblance of order.
"Here's some more brokerage statements," Gracie said as she handed them to her mother. "Good thing the lieutenant doesn't want us to figure that stuff out, there's a ton of it."
Clarissa added the sheets to the proper stack and sighed. "I'm surprised he kept all these. I'd have thought he'd leave the details to his broker and just throw these out. I always look over my monthly statements, but your father thought that was why you hired the broker in the first place."
"Do you think we'll find a copy of his will in this mess?" Gracie asked. "That reminds me, do you think Dad made a pre-nuptial when he married Jennifer?"
"I'm sure his lawyer insisted on it, Gracie," her mother said. "And I'm sure your father agreed. He wasn't a stupid man, he must've known there was a chance Jennifer would divorce him for someone her own age and he would've wanted to make sure she didn't get everything." Clarissa laughed ironically. "Especially after
our
divorce!"
"Except that she wouldn't divorce him for a younger
man
," Gracie said. "It'd be for Cindy. I figured it out, Mom. She and Cindy are lovers! I caught 'em holding hands at the party and she jumped away so I wouldn't see."
Clarissa looked at her daughter thoughtfully for a minute. "You might be right, Gracie. That could explain a lot of things, beginning with why a lovely young woman like Jennifer spends a lot of time with poor plain Cindy."
"I bet Jennifer was just waiting until she could get enough from a divorce so she and Cindy could live together. I wonder if the amount went up now that they've been married a whole year," Gracie said.
"If it did, you'd think it would continue to increase for every year she stayed with him. She'd be better off to wait more than one year. You're not suggesting she killed him, are you?" Clarissa asked.
"No, I don't see how she could've," Gracie replied. "She was talking to the police, you don't get a better alibi than that! I'm just wondering if Cindy could've done it. I can't really imagine her killing anyone, but her alibi is mostly based on answering her phone at the right time – what if she got someone else to do that?"
"The lieutenant is looking into that possibility. We don't really know all that much about Cindy, though I agree with you, she seems like a nice girl. I think the lieutenant is right, though, that she wouldn't have had time to drive from the Bixby mansion to your dad's house. And that would be pretty gutsy to show up
knowing
you would be talking to the police just after you'd murdered someone!"
Gracie shuffled through a few more pages as she thought about it. "Maybe Jennifer
did
shoot at him that morning and tore up the house to make it look like someone had broken in so the police would think it was someone else. She followed him to his office and tried again. Then she got someone to answer Cindy's phone when she
pretended
to discover the burglary while Cindy was at Bixby's shooting Dad."
Clarissa gave her a look that said 'you don't really think that'.
Gracie shook her head. "No, you're right. Too complicated," she said. "Jennifer could never put all that together, even with Cindy's help. Lieutenant Freeman even said he thought Dad might've fired his gun off when he'd been drinking, she could've explained the bullet away that way. If she really meant to kill him she knew the mansion was out in the boonies and would be the prefect place. Why go through all the rest?"
"Remember, Gracie – everyone at the party knew about his appointment on Tuesday. But no one knew how long his presentation might last. If anyone went out there to wait for him they couldn't be sure when he'd come out. So if Cindy was hanging around in the bushes she wouldn't be able to coordinate with Jennifer," Clarissa said.
"That's right, Cindy doesn't have a cell phone," Gracie said. "If Dad had gotten out of the meeting earlier – or later – their timing would've been off. If
I
was going to plan it out like that I'd plan to shoot him when he got there. Except you'd think the staff would've been watching for him and that might make it hard to be sure you could get away without being seen."
Clarissa laughed heartily. "If
you
were planning it! Darling, I hope you
never
plan to kill anyone. I'll grant you that Jennifer certainly has motive, and Cindy too if they're really lovers. I just think there are a lot of far easier ways to provide yourself with an alibi than faking a burglary. I hate to say it, but your Aunt Jeanine has just as much motive and the lieutenant can't corroborate her alibi at all."
"I've thought about that," Gracie said in a satisfied tone. "She might have
wished
he'd die without really meaning it, but actually killing him would be too much trouble for her. For all her faults, she doesn't
try
to hurt people. Even the things she says aren't
meant
to hurt, it just never occurs to her that she's inconsiderate of others' feelings."
"Whew! Looks like we've got these all sorted out. Here you take some and we'll see if we can put the stack in order." Clarissa handed half the pile of brokerage reports to Gracie. "I agree. She gets angry too easily, but she never carries through on her threats. A woman who won't even bother to apply for a better-paying job because it's too much trouble wouldn't be likely to make three attempts at killing someone. Even if she were desperate enough to actually try she'd freak out after she missed the first time, and go get drunk."
"Yeah. Besides, even Aunt Jeanine could think of a better excuse than playing bingo. You'd think she'd
know
those people aren't looking at anything except their cards." Gracie was busily dealing out sheets of paper into piles by month.
Clarissa was doing the same at her end of the dining table. She continued in silence for a few minutes. Finally she stopped with just a few sheets left in her hand. "It worries me that the lieutenant can't confirm Clay's alibi."
Gracie threaded three of the small piles between her fingers and stood up. She walked to her mother's side and added them to the appropriate stacks. Then she put her arm around her mother's shoulders and gave her a hug, and still leaning against her said, "Clay didn't do it, Mom. They'll find someone who saw them at Candy's apartment, and it'll be OK."
Clarissa wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist and hugged back. "I know he didn't do it. Why would he? It's not like I'll inherit any money from my ex-husband, and even if I did Clay wouldn't get it. We're not married."
Gracie extricated herself and went back for a second group of papers. "It does seem odd that he'd take the afternoon off and spend it with Candy when she was supposed to be working too."
"Maybe a little, but he explained that. You
know
he's worried that she parties too much and doesn't seem to care about paying her bills. It could've happened just the way he said, he felt it was important to talk to her about the error of her ways. Those construction sites are busy places, no one would've known if he was at work or not," Clarissa explained.
Gracie put the last of the monthly piles together. "Do you think that's it?" she asked. "He didn't think anyone had seen him at the site and he wanted something that sounded a little better?"
"That could be it!" Clarissa said. They began putting each month's pages in order.
"So let's think about this," Gracie said. "There were four bullets fired from the same gun in three different places. It makes sense that it was the same person. I mean, how could anyone else get the same gun?"
"Agreed," Clarissa said.
"So they either followed Dad around all day, or knew where he would be. I could see figuring he'd stop by the office at some time during the day, maybe even just before he left to see Mr. Bixby. But how would they know he'd go by the house?" Gracie asked.
"He did make a point of telling us how hard he'd worked on the presentation
at home
," Clarissa pointed out. But anyone who knows your father knows he's organized when it comes to the job. It wouldn't be likely that he'd forgotten something he needed – and we're assuming that's why he went home, anyway."
"I don't think it matters why Dad went home," Gracie said slowly, thinking it out as she spoke. "I just can't see how anyone would've
known
he'd do that, so it had to be pure luck. He came home unexpectedly and caught someone doing something, or someone was following him. But here's what I don't understand – why would he let them get close enough for a second shot?"
"Yes, I see what you mean," her mother said. "If someone shot at him and then ran away,"
"Ooh! And remember Lieutenant Freeman said he thinks Dad fell against that table and was maybe knocked out for a couple minutes. They
must've
thought he was dead or they'd have shot him again." Gracie paused to gather her thoughts. "If they were only trying to scare him so they could get away, why shoot at him again later? And if they weren't smart enough to make sure he was dead in the first place, how and when did they figure out their mistake? Either way, wouldn't he have recognized them later?"
"That's were I was going," Clarissa said. "If he saw them later on and
knew
who it was you would think he wouldn't have let them get close, especially out in the country where there wouldn't be anyone around."
"I thought about that last night," Gracie told her. "Whoever took those shots in the parking garage must've hidden behind a car or something, so Dad couldn't see who it was. Which goes double for that morning. But if they were in the house they must've worn a mask, maybe to play the part of the burglar."
"Which means we're back to the theory that the burglar found something that angered him or her enough to want to kill your father over it," Clarissa told her. "We seem to be back at Square One."
"I know, it doesn't make sense," Gracie said. "It's like we're missing one little piece that will make it all work."
The kitchen timer dinged, putting an end to their theorizing. Clarissa made a determined effort to keep dinner conversation light; much as she would like to know what had happened she wasn't sure it was good for Gracie to dwell on it.
Friday morning Ken was sitting at his desk thinking about the Greene case. The officer who'd canvassed the Oak Place Apartments hadn't found anyone who could place Candy Wilson in the complex on Tuesday afternoon, much less her father. That didn't mean they weren't there, but it still sounded highly suspicious.
The phone rang. Ken answered, hoping it was good news. Right now he'd take
any
good news on this case. It was Mr. Michaels, the victim's lawyer.
"Thanks for returning my call," Ken told him. "Was Mr. Charles Greene indeed your client?"
"Yes, sir, he was," Stan Michaels said. "I was quite distressed to read of his apparent murder in the newspaper. I tried to call his widow, but haven't been able to reach her. I'd strongly prefer to speak to her first you understand, but I'm happy to help the police in any way I can."
Ken though some ugly things about lawyers in general but only said, "I need to know if Mr. Greene had a valid will and if so, who inherited and how much?"
"Indeed he did," Stan told him. "He also had a pre-nuptial agreement with his new wife."
"OK, I need to know the gist of that as well," Ken said.
"Very well then, I'll begin with the pre-nuptial," Stan said officiously. "In the event of a divorce Jennifer Greene would have received nothing until they had been married a full year. Um, yes, I see that they have celebrated their first wedding anniversary so in that case she would have received $50,000. There is an escalation clause, she would receive $50,000 for every year of marriage up to and including the fifth year, which of course would be a maximum of $250,000."
"No extra after that?" Ken asked.
"None. I spoke with Mr. Greene about that, I don't think he expected her to stay that long." Stan began to sound more human. "You have met Mrs. Greene, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, and I understand what you're saying," Ken told him. "Everyone seems to think the marriage wouldn't last very long. Makes me wonder why they bothered. So she had no financial incentive to stay with the guy for more than five years. That would seem to give her reason
not
to kill him after only one year. What's she get in the will?"
"Mrs. Greene will receive $250,000," Stan said.
"Nothing else?"
"Oh well, of course her personal property. Jewelry, car, any investments made in her name. That sort of thing," Stan told him.
"What about the house?" Ken asked.
"Mr. Greene stipulated that the house is to be sold and the profits divided equally among his three children. The children will also get equal shares of the remainder of the estate," Stan said.
"Anyone else get anything?"
"There is a clause addressing his sister, a Ms. Jeanine Thompson – she is to receive one dollar."
"A whole buck?" Ken laughed. "She's
not
going to be happy. Nothing to the ex-wife I presume?"
"The ex-wife is named as executrix, and may act as fiduciary guardian for any minor children, but does not inherit in her own right," Stan said. "Mr. Greene insisted I add the clause regarding his sister. I told him that she wouldn't be able to contest the will simply because she was not named as a beneficiary, but he seemed to think it would be better to leave her a token nonetheless. I'm quite sure he felt it would be an insult"
"From what I've heard about this guy, I'd believe it," Ken told him. "Anything else I should know?"
"That's the gist of it, Lieutenant. I will continue trying to contact Mrs. Greene; I must know when the funeral will be held so that I can set up an official reading. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" Stan asked.
"Nope, that's what I needed to know. Thanks for your time, Mr. Michaels."
Ken hung up and thought about what he'd learned. The sister's gonna be pissed about this! Maybe I should've warned Michaels to remove any heavy objects from the room before he gives her the info. I can just see her beaning him with a paperweight for going along with the dollar thing. But Greene
didn't
lie to her, she was in his will. He just hadn't told her the amount of her inheritance; it still gave her a very good motive.
The widow had a very good motive, as well. 50K if she divorced him – and a quarter mil if she killed him. After living with him for a year she could've decided she couldn't take another four. The fact was that she
hadn't
pulled the trigger for the fatal shot; but she could've hired someone. Maybe some other poor schmuck who didn't know about her girlfriend.
Ken got up and refilled his coffee cup, then went upstairs to see the accounting expert. He didn't learn anything very helpful. The widow had nothing in her own name, had apparently been completely financially dependent on her husband. Her girlfriend was barely getting by paycheck to paycheck working at a call center.
The ex-wife was comfortably well off. As her boyfriend had said, she could live on her investments if she'd wanted to. Smart of her to work and let the money grow, though. The boyfriend seemed to be doing fairly well himself; good-paying job, a sizable portfolio of his own. Didn't mean either of them didn't want more.
The best friend, Conover, seemed to be making ends meet on his professorial salary, even with paying child support for two kids. But kids were expensive, as Ken well knew; could Conover have needed money for some crisis with his kids and asked for a loan? Would Greene have turned down his best friend? He'd refused to loan his sister money, but having met her Ken could understand that. There'd be no way to prove that, though.
And speaking of kids, the boyfriend's daughter (and would-be alibi) was about a hair away from being evicted from her apartment. Seems she hadn't paid the rent in two months, and was habitually late on utilities and car loan. Too much partying Ken guessed, but he couldn't see how that was relevant.
The sister was in worse shape, if that was possible. She was chronically late on the rent, had re-financed her car last year to extend the time and decrease the monthly payments and still didn't make them on time. The electric had been cut off twice in the last six months, and she was making interest payments to three payday loan companies. She had no credit-card debt because she had no credit cards; likely no bank would give her one.
Which all meant that the wife and sister and the ex-wi - hell, Candy - all needed money. Money was a great motive, but it wasn't the only one.
Ken went back to his desk and added the reports to his growing collection. He felt like there was something he'd intended to check on this morning, and leafed through the pages to jog his memory. Oh, yeah – the neighbor's complaints.
A little computer research showed George Thompson had filed numerous complaints over the last three years. Most of them apparently pertained to Greene's parties – noise and cars illegally parked, especially in front of Thompson's driveway.
There was one, however, that was interesting. Last year Thompson had claimed he'd heard gunshots in Greene's backyard. An officer was dispatched but found nothing, and no one answered the door at Greene's home. Thompson said he'd seen the boys (would that be Justin and his friend Zack?) shooting at the squirrels scampering through the big oak tree behind the pool house. The weapon had appeared to be a pistol, though Thompson admitted he hadn't been able to see it well through the fence. On a whim Ken sent an officer to see if he could recover any bullets.
There was one more thing Ken could check. He went to the department's garage where both Jaguars had been towed. The boss's car, which had been at the scene of the actual murder, hadn't apparently held any clues. They'd gotten a juicy thumbprint from the outside left door handle, but it was Greene's.
That would tend to show that he'd gotten out of the car and shut the door himself, rather than the murderer opening it and dragging him bodily out. The question was, why had he exited the car? Greene hardly seemed the kind of man who'd get out to help someone, say with a flat.
There had been nothing apparently wrong with the car such that he might need to get out and take a look, either. Tires were all good and it had started right up when the lab boys had turned the key. And you'd think he'd have just driven off if someone jumped out of the bushes pointing a gun at him. He'd been lured out, though Ken didn't know how.
Greene's own Jag had given up more information, but it didn't seem to help. The scratch along the passenger side had been made by something small and probably metallic, but that left a pretty wide-open field of possibilities. Someone could have deliberately scratched it; there were losers who just couldn't stand for someone else to have anything nice and had to ruin it on general principle. Or at some point during the morning Greene could've been driving and seen the assailant, maybe trying to shoot him again. Under those circumstances he might have swerved to avoid the shot and inadvertently scraped the side of the car against something. He might not have even realized it at the time, with more important things on his mind.
The two rounds had both been fired from behind the car. One had missed and buried itself in the trunk. The other had shattered the back window, passed through the headrest, and ended up in the dash. The angle indicated they'd been fired from a standing position by someone approximately six feet tall. It could also have been someone crouched down in a pick-up bed maybe, but a shot from a car seat would've been too low. That didn't help much.
The dark spot on the seat that Ken had noticed in the parking garage had been coffee, and the lab boys had found a couple of crumbs as well. The coffee was dry and since they hadn't found the car until the next morning there was no way to tell how long it might have been there. The stain pattern showed that no one could've been sitting in the seat at the time because it covered too much area. Anyone sitting there would've gotten a hot seat! Perhaps Greene had stopped for breakfast and set the bag of coffee and pastry on the seat beside him and the coffee had spilled.
They'd managed to pull a few decent prints from the car, all of which belonged to Greene. There was no trace of blood, not even a tiny drop. Nothing was obviously missing from the car, though that didn't mean nothing had been taken. The windows were rolled up and the car had been locked, even though the back glass was shattered. They'd found nothing that might have been thrown through the window so the shot must've been what broke it.
The cars hadn't helped, and Ken had another case he needed to put some time in on. Sometimes if you let things sit for awhile you'd think of something. He fervently hoped so, as he hadn't seemed to be getting anywhere on this case so far.
"Hello, I'd like to, um, speak to Clarissa Stewart please," Jennifer said.
"Speaking," Clarissa said in the perfect secretary's tone, smooth and cool.
"Oh, hi Clarissa. This is Jennifer. I thought you'd like to know, I mean Charles' lawyer called this morning. He said he can't, you know, read the will until after the funeral," she said.
"Yes," Clarissa said, voice still neutral. She wondered where this was going.
"So I, like, called Officer Freeman and asked when we could get poor Charles' body to the funeral home. He said I'd have to call the coroner's office, and oh, Clarissa! I just can't take all this! I don't know why he can't, I mean, isn't Officer Freeman supposed to help?"
"
Lieutenant
Freeman's job is to solve the murder," Clarissa replied, with a definite emphasis on the man's title. "Did you call the coroner?"
"No, I've never done this before, I don't know what to do," Jennifer wailed.
Clarissa sighed, audibly. "Well, I've never done this before, either!"
"Clarissa,
please
. I mean, I know it's tacky, but I'd really appreciate it if
you'd
take care of the arrangements. You knew him better than I did. We never, like, talked about that kind of thing."
Wonder of wonders, Jennifer was worried about being tacky! Clarissa massaged her forehead, she didn't need this. The funeral should be Jennifer's responsibility. But maybe it would be better this way; Jennifer's idea of decorum was highly questionable. It would be better for the children to have a nice, sedate funeral, it would be hard enough for them even then.