David Handler - The Snow White Christmas Cookie

“Why would anyone want to kill him?”

“Hank may have been mixed up in something. Stuff has been going missing on his route for the past couple of weeks. At first glance, it looked small-time. Someone swiping his Christmas cookies, tips and-”

“Wait, people in Dorset bake cookies for the mailman?” Toni shook her big hair in amazement. “Who lives here-the Keebler Elves?”

“But the deeper I got into it the more it started to smell like something for the postal inspectors. Items of real street value have been disappearing. We’re talking about retail gift cards, DVDs, iPods and-brace yourself because this is going to hurt-shipments of prescription meds.”

“Oh no, you didn’t,” Yolie groaned.

“Oh, yes, I did. Hank’s route was the Historic District. That’s the highest concentration of people in Dorset. A lot of them are older people who get all kinds of meds and those meds are being stolen.”

Yolie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The Narcotics Task Force broke up a black-market meds ring in Bridgeport a few months back. It’s big money stuff. You think he was into it?”

“Either that or he stumbled onto someone who is. I spoke to him at the Post Office this morning. He was very forthcoming and cooperative, but he also asked if we could speak later in private. I gave him my card. It’s sitting right there on his passenger seat. He had something more he wanted to tell me, Yolie. And now he’s dead.”

“And we’re going to be in a world-class pissing contest,” Yolie fumed. “You do not bump off a mailman. By tomorrow morning the postal inspectors will be all up in my grille. So will the FBI. And you just know they have to be in charge because they are the FBI. Our Narcotics Task Force will want in, too. Plus it’s the week before Christmas.” She glowered across the seat at Des. “Thank you large for this.”

Des smiled at her sweetly. “Yolie, I do what I can.”

“Did the victim have any money troubles?” Toni asked.

“I hear he was into his ex-wife big-time. Mitch is the one who got wind of it-by way of a friend who didn’t have much use for Hank.”

“Any chance this friend might have killed him?”

“No, he’s over eighty years old. Can barely get around.” Then again, Des reflected, if Rut Park wanted someone to take care of Hank he had dozens of loyal friends who owed him favors. Would they do him this kind of a favor?

“Something’s bothering me, Loo…,” Toni said slowly.

“Then spit it the hell out, Sergeant,” Yolie barked. She rode the kid hard. Was supposed to. Plus it amused her. “ Don’t waste the resident trooper’s valuable time by telling me you’ve got something to tell me. Just say it.”

“Right, Loo. Sorry, Loo. If the victim brushed up against a black-market meds ring then we are talking about some real bad boys. The kind of boys who’d put a bullet in your head. They wouldn’t bother to stage a suicide. Someone went to a whole lot of extra trouble here. Why?”

“Good question, Sergeant,” Des said. “I wish I had an answer for you. All I know is that Hank was one of my people and I let him down.”

“You’re taking this kind of personally, aren’t you?” Toni said.

“Miss Desiree Mitry takes everything personally,” Yolie lectured her. “Miss Desiree Mitry cares. That’s why she’s good at her job. You feeling me, Sergeant?”

Toni nodded her head convulsively. “Absolutely, Loo.”

Yolie gazed at Des curiously. “Sorry, did you say this was your second suicide of the day?”

“First one was Bryce Peck, Mitch’s neighbor out on Big Sister.”

“Any chance that one wasn’t a suicide either?”

“To me it played suicide all of the way. But given what’s happened here we certainly ought to take a…” Des’s cell phone interrupted her. She glanced down at its screen. “Paulette Zander’s calling me. I’d better take this.”

“Go for it.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Des,” Paulette said when Des answered. “But I–I’m a bit … I’m worried about Hank.” Her voice was faint and halting. “He went out before dinner and he hasn’t come back and I–I don’t know where he is. This … isn’t like him.”

“What time did he leave, Paulette?”

“It was about 5:30, I think. But he doesn’t have band practice tonight. It was cancelled. Everything’s been cancelled. And he sent me the strangest text message. I was downstairs doing laundry and I didn’t notice it until just now.”

“What does his message say?”

“Here, I can read it to you … It says, ‘It’s all my fault. I messed up. Sorry for everything. Take care of yourself.’ ”

“And what time did he send this?”

“I got it at 7:13.”

About thirty minutes before Paul Fiore phoned 911 from Kinney Road.

“I’m probably overreacting,” Paulette went on. “But I just wondered if there’ve been any accidents on the road tonight or-or…” She trailed off into uneasy silence. “Have there?”

Des didn’t like to break this kind of bad news to a loved one over the phone. Doing it in person was much more humane. “Paulette, how about if I stop by and we talk about this, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Then she rang off and said, “That cell phone on the seat next to Hank just got a whole lot more interesting. He texted a suicide note to his girlfriend.”

Yolie frowned at her. “So maybe it is a suicide.”

“Or maybe he texted her at gunpoint. Then again, maybe he didn’t text her. Maybe one of his killers did.”

“We don’t usually have much luck getting developed prints off of those teeny-tiny buttons. But we might get one off of the phone itself.” Yolie sat there in brooding silence for a moment. “Damn, where were we?…”

“Today’s first suicide, Loo,” Toni reminded her.

“For breakfast in bed this morning Bryce Peck washed down a boatload of Vicodin, Xanax and Ambien with a fifth of Cuervo Gold. I saw no sign of a struggle. No bruises. No scratches. Nothing in the room was disturbed. Bryce had a long history of depression and substance abuse. He left a handwritten note. And he died out on Big Sister. It’s a private island. No one else was out there this morning besides Bryce, Mitch and Bryce’s live-in girlfriend, Josie Cantro. Josie and Mitch went out running together for about an hour. She found Bryce when she got home. Like I said, to me it played suicide. But I could have missed something. You may want to fast track his autopsy. The M.E. doesn’t usually get around to suicides for days.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Yolie said, shoving her lower lip in and out. “Bryce Peck OD’d on prescription meds. Any chance he was mixed up in stealing the meds from Hank Merrill’s route?”

“Anything’s possible, but I kind of doubt it. Bryce was a loner.”

“Well, is there any connection at all between the two men?”

“Josie Cantro. Both men were clients of hers. She’s a life coach.”

Yolie raised her eyebrows. “She’s a what?”

“Life coach. One of those gung-ho types who help you to lose weight or whatever.”

“Oh, is that what those bitches are calling themselves now?”

“Before Josie moved in with Bryce she was helping him get off of the Vicodin and Xanax. She helped Hank quit smoking. It so happens she’s also treating Paulette’s twenty-eight-year-old son, Casey.”

“Wheels within wheels,” Yolie said with a shake of her head. “Next I suppose you’re going to tell us Casey’s a mail carrier, too.”

Des nodded. “Part-time.”

“Shut up!” Toni exclaimed.

“And I haven’t even brought out the real funk. I walked in on Casey and Josie getting busy on her office sofa this morning. They like it rough.”