(Excerpt From Murder at Dawn)
The Murder Scene
In this Murder at Dawn excerpt, retired detective Bill O’Shea is shocked when he recognizes the murder weapon.
Chapter 3
The address was 48B Fairway Oaks Lane. Bill could have found it even with the knocked down street number signpost because of the official vehicles parked on the road—two Wintergreen squad cars and two Nelson County Sheriff cruisers—the last of which brought Undersheriff Arnie Shields and arrived moments before Bill.
A sheriff’s deputy stood in front of the driveway to keep out anyone who happened to come along.
“Morning, Arnie,” said Bill, and they shook hands at the entrance to the driveway. “Emily asked me to stop by. Hope you don’t mind.”
“More the merrier,” Arnie said, with a hint of sarcasm. He was a short, thin man with brown hair graying at the temples. The murder was clearly in Nelson County’s jurisdiction, and Bill was a retiree. Perhaps little more than a busybody from Arnie’s perspective, but they had worked well together on a previous investigation. Bill would stick around for the moment. If Arnie wanted him gone, he’d be gone, no sweat.
Bill leaned over the broken street number signpost.
“Looks like a smidgen of black paint here. Could be from the vehicle.”
“Bingo,” said Arnie. “Now all we need is a vehicle, a driver, a motive, and how’s the rest of that go? I forget.”
“Okay, Arnie. Nice to see you too.”
Arnie chuckled, and Bill figured they’d be okay.
Inside, they passed through a short hallway into a large room with a combined kitchen, dining area, and living room space. There they found Emily Powell, Officer Mitch Gentry, and a tall man in street clothes Bill recognized as a local he had passed a few times on his morning walks.
Emily pulled Bill and Arnie aside.
“This man is a Wintergreen resident named Paul Jameson,” she said. “He found the body an hour ago and is a bit shaken up, but not too badly. I haven’t interviewed Jameson yet. Figured you would want to be here for that.” Emily addressed this last sentence to Arnie.
Arnie nodded his appreciation.
“I asked Bill to join us,” said Emily, “because, you know, he’s been down this road many times.”
“Sure.”
Arnie’s one-word answer didn’t make Bill feel welcome, but he’d stick around for a bit because Emily asked him to.
They moved toward the others, and Bill’s eyes scanned the great room. The kitchen island was cleared save for a casserole dish, a half-full bottle of orange juice, and some breakfast pastry. On the other side of the picture windows, Officer John Hill stood on the back deck. Someone sat slumped in a chair near John.
Must be the body.
After brief introductions, Emily asked Mitch Gentry to keep John Hill company on the deck. When Mitch had gone, Emily suggested that the four of them remain standing to preserve forensic evidence that might linger on any furniture.
Jameson was a tall, handsome man about Bill’s age who moved with the grace of an athlete. Jameson’s hands shook slightly, but he spoke with a steady voice. Emily asked him to explain what had happened that morning.
Paul Jameson lived alone and was a creature of habit. For exercise, he walked the same route on the same three days every week and a different route on the other days. He took Sundays off. Jameson had charted a route that equaled an exact distance of three miles. His route was a rough circle that included a portion of Blue Ridge Drive and all of Shamokin Springs Trail. The route was only two miles, so Paul added side trips down specific finger streets to reach his target distance.
“So, you come up this street three times a week?” said Arnie.
Jameson nodded. “Yes, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. To keep myself entertained, I look for differences in the setting.”
“Differences?” said Arnie.
“Yes, there are many houses on my route, but only a few people live in those houses. On some days, every detail is exactly the same as on my previous trip. The few cars are parked in the same spots. Sometimes, I don’t see another person, but I usually encounter a few cars on the road. Occasionally, I see other walkers; for example, I have seen you and your black Labrador several times.” Jameson indicated Bill with a nod of his head.
“That’s right,” said Bill, trying to be helpful. “I remember.”
“You have a nice dog.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what happened today?” said Arnie, eager to move things along.
Jameson had noticed the broken signpost out front. He had inspected the signpost and seen the same black paint that Bill had seen. This bothered Jameson because the color didn’t match that of the car parked out front.
“The woman on the back porch has been living here for about three months,” he said. “I noticed her white Camry when she first moved in, and I’ve seen her outside maybe two or three times.”
The color mismatch bothered Jameson enough for him to walk up the front steps and ring the doorbell. No one answered. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then he peered through the window by the door and saw someone sitting quite still on the back deck. He watched the person through the window for five minutes, but they didn’t move. So, he came around the back to check on them.
“You did all that because you noticed a broken signpost?” said Arnie.
Paul considered the question for several seconds and apparently found it odd. “Wouldn’t you?”
Bill lifted a hand to hide his smile.
Arnie asked what Paul had done when he found the body.
“I called 911.”
“Did you touch anything? The body? Or something inside the house?”
“I touched her neck,” said Paul. “I guess to make sure . . . but she had already lost some body heat. I knew she was dead.”
“Anything else?”
Paul considered this question a few moments. “No. I didn’t touch anything else. I must say, the response time was excellent. Officer Gentry was here within a few minutes of me speaking with the dispatcher.”
Emily asked Jameson a few background questions. How long had he lived in Wintergreen? Three years. What did he do before he retired? Defense lobbyist.
“I was career Army,” he said. “Then I found a job with the military-industrial complex.”
Arnie asked some questions. Did he know the woman who lived in the house? No. Where had he seen her? Once, he saw her driving on Blue Ridge Drive. They had exchanged waves as people often did in Wintergreen. On another day, he passed the driveway while she carried groceries into the house.
After Arnie and Emily had exhausted their questions, Arnie gave Bill a begrudging nod.
“Have you noticed any other cars parked in the driveway?” said Bill.
“Yes. About six weeks ago, a red sports car was parked here on several mornings. And last week, I noticed a black truck, but that was later in the day. I couldn’t exercise that morning because of a doctor’s appointment.”
“Did you notice the make of those vehicles?” said Bill.
“The truck might have been an F-150. But I don’t know about the sports car. I’m not good with those.”
“Have you seen anyone else with her?”
Paul shook his head. They had no more questions, so Emily thanked Paul for being a good citizen, asked him to keep the matter quiet until they released a statement, and told him he could go.
“Let’s take a look at the body,” said Arnie after Jameson had left.
When they came onto the back deck, Mitch Gentry and John Hill, who had been speaking in low tones, turned their way.
“Do we know who she is?” said Arnie.
Emily said, “We found a small purse containing a Virginia driver’s license and one credit card. Her name is Lily Wolf. The address listed is for this house.”
Bill examined the body. The woman appeared to be in her forties with blond hair. She wore a green cotton T-shirt and black leggings. She was thin, with her height hard to gauge because of her position. She had been stabbed once in the back, and the knife remained there as if the killer wanted all to admire their skill in piercing the heart with one blow. A great deal of blood stained the shirt below the wound.
“What’s the matter, Bill?” said Emily.
Bill stood only a few feet from the corpse, but he leaned even closer to study the knife handle. It was a bright, royal-blue color that he had only ever seen on one other set of knives.
“I’ve seen that knife,” he said, “or at least, I’ve seen one exactly like it.”
“Okay,” said Arnie, impatient. “Let’s have it.”
Bill stood straight. He suddenly didn’t feel well, as if perhaps he had not consumed enough water after his pickleball session. His eyes blurred, and he blinked to clear them.
Emily touched his arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I . . . I’m fine. It’s just that, uh, Kim Wiley and her nephew use a set of knives with handles like that. Same color.”
“Who is Kim Wiley?” said Arnie.
“She runs Café Devine,” said Emily. “You passed it on the way.”
“On the left after the turn? I saw it.”
“Her nephew Nathan works there too,” said Emily.
Bill scarcely heard the others, for his mind was reeling. What was Kim doing mixed up in this? He glanced at the corpse. Mixed up? Wrong choice of words. Murder was not mixed up. It was as bad as bad could get.
Arnie glanced at the body, then inside the house, as if trying to make a decision. He addressed Emily. “I’m going to take my guy and go to the café.”
“Makes sense.”
“Can you and your team wait for Soren to get here? Meanwhile, you can search the house.”
“Sure.”
Bill followed Arnie, who was now hustling. Arnie tromped through the house to the front door, where Bill stopped him. “Hey, do you mind if I tag along?”
Arnie’s eyebrows dropped. His brown eyes studied Bill’s face. “How would you describe your relationship with this Kim Wiley?”
Bill’s heart sank. He knew where they were headed. “She’s a friend.”
“Maybe you’d better stay here. See if Soren has anything of value to add.”
Oddly enough, it was at that moment that Bill recalled Kim drove a black Ford F-150, a fact he chose not to reveal to Arnie, which underscored Bill’s conflict of interest. It didn’t make any difference, though, not really. Arnie was a competent law enforcer. He’d undoubtedly notice Kim’s truck in the parking lot.
To join Bill O’Shea and his friends as they strive to solve a Wintergreen mystery, pick up your copy of Murder at Dawn.