Janice Kay - Back Against The Wall

This woman was petite. If she’d been any bigger, she couldn’t have been squeezed into such a narrow space. Even so, the angle of the feet—skeletal except for some gristle—suggested the killer had broken her ankles to make her flat enough to cover with wallboard.

The blond hair was suggestive, too, as were her teeth. They didn’t look like a young woman’s, displaying a number of metal fillings on molars and at least one crown. She still wore a polyester blouse that was apparently indestructible, as were nylon panties. No trousers, shoes or socks. His guess was that she’d been killed as she started to get dressed, maybe after sex. She could have been surprised from behind.

Jess and Larry laid the bag and body on the cement floor. She stood, staring down in pity and the horrified fascination Tony suspected was on his own face.

Crouching beside the dead woman, Larry shook his head. “I don’t know whether the ME can deal with a body in this condition, or whether we’ll have to hunt down a forensic anthropologist.”

“Morgue van on the way?” Tony asked.

Jess glanced at him. “Yes. It’ll mean opening the big door, you know.”

He did. So far, they’d shuttled whatever they needed from the van to the side door, hoping to avoid awakening too much interest from neighbors. What they’d found wouldn’t stay a secret for any length of time, though.

“Once that’s done, I’ll go talk to the family again. Get her dentist’s name.”

“Bitch of a scene,” Jess said sympathetically.

“No shit.” And it was barely the beginning of the investigation.

Chapter Three

MATT DEPARTED FIRST, which didn’t surprise Tony. Figured he’d leave his sister holding the bag. It was clear he and his father didn’t get along—maybe didn’t even speak. Tony wondered how Beth had talked him into helping with the great garage cleanup.

Something else had occurred to Tony, too. Matt would have been nearly an adult when his mother disappeared. Seventeen or eighteen. He’d have towered over her. What if he’d come home unexpectedly and caught her with a lover, say? Words could have exploded into rage.

Leaning against the back wall of the house, Tony shook his head. He was being premature. Tomorrow, they’d know from dental records whether this was Christine Marshall. Until he had that confirmation, there was no use doing too much speculating.

Beth slipped out the French door, looking surprised to see him. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Couple of things.” He’d been worried about her, but he couldn’t say that. Keeping an eye on her the way he had today, that had had nothing to do with his job. What he’d seen was a strong woman holding up under painful circumstances, still able to be supportive to the rest of her family. At this point, he couldn’t afford to like her too much. “I don’t want anyone touching the stuff you packed that’s out here. Can I depend on your father to keep his hands off?” He’d debated moving it all into the garage, but that wouldn’t protect it from his main suspect. At least in this climate, at this time of year, he didn’t have to worry about rain.

“Yes. Good heavens! Even if he wanted to find something, how would he be able to figure out where it is?” Beth’s laugh was sad. “I don’t think he cared what we did with anything in the garage. Why would he now?”

Because his dead wife’s body had been discovered?

“People panic.” He watched her. “He didn’t try to put you off tackling the garage? Or ask you to keep hands off anything?”

Her eyes briefly narrowed, but she answered with a no before hesitating. “The only thing he said when we got started was not to throw away anything important.”

Though tempted, he didn’t say, What about your brother? Did he try to put you off? Maybe agree to help so he could steer you away from that part of the garage?

If that’s what Matt had had in mind, he’d failed in a big way, hadn’t he?

Beth looked at the fruit of their weekend’s labor. A strip of yellow crime scene tape now wrapped the pile. “Will you have to go through it all?”

“Very possibly.” Considering how much was still in the garage, too, he almost groaned. “It depends what was out here, how you reorganized it.”

“We’ve already dumped some stuff in the garbage can,” she said suddenly. “And the recycling container, too.”

He sighed. “I’d better take a look in both before I go.”

“I was going to order a Dumpster tomorrow.”

“Hold off for now. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to go ahead.”

She nodded, looking more drained than upset, which was understandable. He’d been lucky today to have her cooperation, to have her answer questions. That didn’t excuse the way his body stirred at the sight of her.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes. I got Dad to eat a bite. I suggested he spend the night at my place, but he’s set in his ways.”

A spark of irritation reminded Tony of what her father had said earlier. Bethie was old enough to take over helping her sister and making meals, so nothing changed all that much. Maybe he shouldn’t admire her for enabling her father’s selfishness.

She’d probably say she loved him enough to overlook some flaws. Tony grimaced out of view. God knows, he kept performing chores for his mother that she could afford to pay to have done. Of all people, he should understand.

As they walked the narrow passage alongside the house, Beth slid a glance at the window, covered with sheets of newspaper, before she looked determinedly away. Tony touched her back.

“Try to think about something else.”

She gave a broken laugh. “I never drink, but I’m reconsidering that. I go right by the liquor store on my way home.”

He smiled at her. “Might help tonight, but you’d be guaranteed a hangover in the morning.”

She wrinkled her nose. “One reason I stay away from even beer and wine. My stomach doesn’t handle alcohol well.”

“Your father likely to drown his worries tonight?”

“I doubt he has so much as a beer in the house. He’s never been a drinker either.”

“Maybe you inherited the weak stomach from him,” Tony suggested.

He stopped long enough to take that look into the garbage can and the recycling container, verifying what she’d said, before following her to the front of the house.

Beth stopped at the white Civic parked in the driveway. He guessed it to be ten years old or so. The brother drove a shiny black Kia Sorento that looked new. The other car at the curb earlier was an older Volkswagen Golf. Emily’s, he presumed. Apparently Dad owned the Buick sedan, showing its years. Tony wasn’t much surprised that John Marshall didn’t bother to regularly upgrade what he drove.

Beth opened the driver-side door but, instead of getting in, gazed anxiously at Tony. “Will you be coming out right away in the morning?”

“Likely,” he said. “If this isn’t your mother...well, that leads to other problems, but it’s clear we’re looking at murder here.”

“Could you tell, um, what happened to her?”

“You mean, what killed her?”

Unhappy, she nodded.

“A depression at the back of the skull is a possibility, but it could have occurred post-mortem.” Somebody—say, her father—had had to haul the dead woman out to the garage, probably drop it on the concrete floor. Or it could have been dented when the body was forced into the narrow space. The rest of the scenario he was still playing with.

Could there have been construction materials handy out here? That was a question he’d have to ask but, for now, he held it in reserve. Otherwise, the killer would have to have driven to the nearest lumberyard and bought a single sheet. How had he unloaded it and gotten it into the garage without being noticed? After all these years, would anyone remember something so seemingly insignificant? Of course, anyone but the homeowner carrying the wallboard in would likely have drawn more attention from neighbors. Yet another reason to focus on John.