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The last homicide in the county had occurred during Lyndon Johnson’s administration. It had been an open-and-shut case. The culprit had confessed to the killing when police arrived at the scene.
The department’s lack of experience as crime solvers worked in Maris’s disfavor. But it worked to her advantage in that a murder investigation stimulated more enthusiasm than tacking up notices of a lost kitty or setting up bleachers for the Fourth of July concert and fireworks display.
The officers had approached the investigation of Daniel’s death with a zealous desire to sniff out the ruthless killer of an esteemed citizen, even if he was a weekender.
She and Noah drove up in separate cars. The exterior of the ivy-covered building looked more like a yarn-and-woolens boutique than a police station. Maris arrived a few minutes ahead of Noah. As soon as he got there, they were ushered into the chief’s office. Both declined an offer of coffee and sweet rolls from the local bakery.
Chief Randall, a ruddy-faced man with a bad, blond comb-over, sensing her desire to cut to the chase, kept the pleasantries to a minimum and settled behind his desk. He seemed more disappointed than relieved to report the outcome of his department’s investigation.
“I’m afraid I haven’t got all that much more to tell you that wasn’t in the initial report, Mrs. Matherly-Reed. My people went over the house with a fine-toothed comb. Didn’t find a thing that suggested foul play.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah complacently fold his hands in his lap.
“The officers think, and I concur, that your father simply fell down the stairs. There were some bloodstains on the floor where he was found, but they’re explained by the gash on his scalp. It split open when his head struck the floor.”
She swallowed, then asked, “What about the autopsy report?”
He opened the case file and slipped on a pair of reading glasses that were too narrow for his wide face. The stems were stretched and caused the glasses to perch crookedly on his nose. “The contents of his stomach verify that he ate only minutes before he died, which is what Mr. Reed had assumed.” He peered at Noah over the eyeglasses.
Noah gave a solemn nod. “When I went into the kitchen to call 911, there were dirty dishes in the sink. I had cleaned up after dinner, so I surmised that Daniel had gone downstairs for something to eat. On his way back up, he fell.”
“Is it possible that the scene was staged, Chief Randall?”
“Staged?”
“Perhaps the dishes were placed in the sink to make everyone think Dad had used them.”
“Oh, he used them,” Chief Randall assured her. “His fingerprints were on them. Nobody else’s.”
“The dishes could have been used upstairs. He often ate off a bed tray. How do we know he was downstairs?”
“Crumbs.”
“Excuse me?”
“Bread crumbs on his robe, his slippers, and on the floor near the sink. My best guess is that he stood and looked out the kitchen window while he ate his sandwich.”
Patting his comb-over as though to make sure it was still in place, he referred to the file again. “His blood alcohol level was above the legal driving limit but not by much.”
“Any trace of a controlled substance?”
“Only the medications he was taking. We checked out the prescriptions with his physician in New York. Dating from when they were last refilled, the correct amount of dosages remained. There was no sign that a struggle had taken place anywhere in the house.”
“You found his cane in his bedroom?”
“Leaning against the nightstand, and yes, we checked it for prints,” he said before she could ask. “His were the only ones on it. No evidence of a break-in by an intruder. Not a mark on your father’s body except for the cut on his head, which the ME said was consistent with the fall. He also places the time of death within minutes of when Mr. Reed’s 911 call was received. That’s all documented.”
He removed his glasses and rested his clasped hands on top of the binder containing the report. He cleared his throat and looked at her sympathetically. “When a tragic accident like this occurs and someone dies, their loved ones look for reasons. A scapegoat. Something or someone to blame. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it appears that your father ran into some difficulty as he was making his way upstairs. He lost his balance and suffered a fatal fall. I’m sorry, Mrs. Matherly-Reed.”
Maris was neither heartened nor disappointed. The findings were exactly what she had expected them to be. She gathered her handbag and stood. Reaching across the desk, she shook hands with the police chief. “I appreciate your time and effort.”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’ve put your house on our regular drive-by route. We’ll keep a check on it for you.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
Once outside, Maris made a beeline for her car. Noah caught up with her before she could get in.
He gripped
