Hostile Witness (Sanctuary, Inc. #1)

Chapter 12

12

S ergeant Earl Thompson’s foul mood preceded him as he grumped his way into C3 for the morning briefing. Dammit to hell, the presumed murder weapon—the bust from the piano—was clean.

He scanned the expectant faces of his waiting detectives. “Listen up, everyone. The only fingerprints we’ve found in Lieutenant Plante’s home were the ride along’s, those of an electrician who’d wired a new dining room chandelier a couple of days before the murder, and those of Sergeant Guy Evans from the NYPD.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Now, why would there be fingerprints from a New York cop in Margie Plante’s home?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “The only distinguishable footprints leaving the home were in the backyard and fit Margie Plante’s sneaker size, although we haven’t found any athletic shoes on the premises that fit the imprint. In addition, there aren’t any tire tracks except for police, ambulance, and the coroner’s vehicles. And Margie’s service weapon and ammo are absent from the gun cabinet, so whoever killed her is not only dangerous, but assumed to be armed.” He handed the report to Ethan. “Keep reading, Son. Out loud.”

“We’ve interviewed the neighbors. All of them are working couples who haven’t seen a thing. Every single house has camera footage of their private driveways and porches, but none include a long-distance shot of the lieutenant’s residence.” He cleared his throat. “She had an alarm system but must’ve used it only at night, because there are no videos for the day in question.”

Ethan took a sip of his water and continued. “The New York police are investigating any threats made toward Margie during her final ten years of service. It’s a long list, but all but a dozen felons are still in prison or a halfway house. Officials up north are tracking the whereabouts of those dozen.”

Earl swigged at his can of cherry ginger ale and motioned for Ethan to stop. “We’re six days out from the lieutenant’s murder and have diddly-squat in the way of suspects, unless we count Sergeant Guy Evans from the NYPD. As of a phone call I made five minutes ago, NYPD is questioning the sergeant to find out why his fingerprints are in Lieutenant Plante’s kitchen, powder room, and on the ivories of her piano. Not the black keys, mind you, only on the white ones. He’s been there—and recently.”

Earl closed his eyes and considered out loud. “Who in the hell plays a piano and only touches the ivories? It doesn’t make sense. But of course, Sergeant Guy Evans has the same rights as anyone else: innocent until proven guilty.

“Just a reminder for you newbies from up north. Worcester County is a big area with lots of farmland and little towns. The population this time of year is about twenty-five thousand, but it’ll swell to a whopping quarter of a million in the resort area during the summer. We need to solve this murder by the first of May, before the influx of tourists arrives.” Earl raised an index finger for emphasis. “That’s only a month away.”

He walked to the whiteboard at the front of the room.

“I want you to check out every hotel, motel, and quickie joint starting here.” He made a small circle on the map. “Expand the perimeter as you need to. According to our profiler, we’re looking for a hotel guest, most likely a single male, who’s paying cash. The lack of evidence at the crime scene suggests our perp planned it. Otherwise, we’d have crime-of-passion evidence around the property.”

“You’re looking for out-of-state tags. Someone here to settle an old score, and with any luck, they’ve decided to stay until the funeral to admire their handiwork. Dismissed.”

Ethan got up to leave.

“Not you...” Earl waved him over. “Chief wants you to visit Lieutenant Plante’s K9. Ask the vet if there’s any way the dog can attend the funeral and what we can do to make that happen. The dog is at Bayside Animal Hospital. Between you and me, the chief would love to have someone in the department sign on as the animal’s new guardian, because the closest K9 unit is an hour away.”

Ethan shook his head. “Well, it won’t be me.” Between his police work and Sanctuary missions, it wouldn’t be fair to the dog if he adopted him. “Plante’s dog has been retired for a couple of years.”

Earl nodded. “True, but his sniffer isn’t retired. Chief wasn’t thinking of working him regular, but it sure would be nice to have him around and use his expertise if a child goes missing during the summer.” He shrugged a shoulder. “If he’s able to do it, of course.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll stop by and see him. I don’t know if the animal is even up and moving yet. He was in rough shape when we found him last Friday.”

Earl picked up a yellow sticky note and held it out to Ethan. “Chief gave me this note earlier today. He’s assigned you as an escort to”—he squinted at the handwriting—“a Mrs. Bessie Stoddard during the funeral. She’s Lieutenant Plante’s great-aunt, the executor of her estate, and the only living relative Margie had. The aunt is in her eighties. Treat her like a dignitary, Son. Whatever it takes.”