A Murder in May

By C.L. Shore

 

 

When she learns about the murder of her childhood best friend, a nun join forces with a detective to find the killer. 

Detective Jed McCracken wonders if his first phone call of the week is a prank, until he realizes he's talking to his late partner's widow. Jed hasn't spoken to Sarah since her husband's death and he's surprised to discover that she's now Sister Lucie. Distraught over breaking news about the murder of her childhood best friend, Sister Lucie is intent on finding her killer.

Jed and Sister Lucie renew their friendship while untangling a network of deception, lust and greed. Although they appear to be closing in, the killer proves elusive. Jed sets a trap, and Sister Lucie becomes the bait. Will Sister Lucie outwit the murderer…or become the next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093078

Book preview

One

Jed pulled his unmarked cruiser into the coffee shop’s drive-through lane. His arms and eyelids registered the sensations of sleep deprivation, courtesy of the angry outbursts audible through his apartment ceiling the night before. While he waited for his vanilla latte with an extra shot, Jed considered what would happen if he told his upstairs neighbors about his connection to the police department. He doubted the strategy would change their behavior.

His coordination at collecting both his coffee and change through the car window surprised him until his cell phone rang. Drops of the scalding liquid trickled over his knuckles as he put the phone to his ear. He swore under his breath before he could stop himself.

Detective McCracken? Jed recognized the voice of Cindy, the criminal justice major who’d be interning through the summer.

I’m here. Jed hoped he sounded dignified.

A nun is on the other line and she sounds hysterical. Cindy hesitated before continuing. Something about some other nun and sex.

Jed spilled a little more of his latte and sputtered. I think she has the wrong authority. Nuns who have sex aren’t criminals in this state. Did you refer her to someone of a more ecclesiastical nature?

Cindy’s voice got even softer. Well, no, she’s insistent she wants to talk to you.

I’m not involved, if that’s what she’s thinking. I have a rock-solid alibi for last night.

Jed felt guilty when his comment met with silence. He shouldn’t be so flippant with a new intern trying to do a good job.

Sir, Cindy said with more authority in her voice. She said to tell you her name used to be Sarah Forbes.

Sarah Forbes! She had told him two years ago she planned to enter a convent. He had hoped she’d find peace and comfort in a religious community after enduring the unexpected loss of her young, talented husband. But once she disappeared from his daily life, he hadn’t thought much about her. He doubted she had crossed his mind even once except for a brief time surrounding the first anniversary of Mark’s death. Is she there in the station?

No sir, she’s on the other line.

Put her through to me, will you, please?

Jed pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. He heard a click after a short delay. Jed, it’s Sarah—I mean, Sister Lucie.

Sarah! Good to hear your voice again! But you sound upset. What’s wrong?

Jed—something awful happened. Let me catch my breath. Her breathing sounded raspy and irregular, similar to that of a person who had witnessed violence. I just heard terrible news. One of our former sisters is dead and it’s likely she was murdered. I had a dream about her less than half an hour before I heard about it. Sister Lucie paused. Jed heard her inhale.

Was this dream of a sexual nature? I’m asking because that’s the impression I got from our intern.

Well... Sister Lucie hesitated. I had a vision about her dancing with a man. Not her husband. Then, I heard the news she was dead and foul play was suspected. We were good friends in grade school but we didn’t associate much in recent years. Still, I feel pretty shaken up about the whole thing.

Okay. Jed paused, partly to consider what to say next, but also to slow Sister Lucie’s rapid conversation. It sounds like this former sister was married, then?

Sister Lucie’s speech matched the rhythm of Jed’s voice. Yes, she left the convent a year and a half ago to marry the president of Trentham University.

Hmm. Jed considered his options; he was running late for a fully scheduled day. Is it permitted for me to see you? And where are you right now? Indy?

You’ve asked quite a few questions, Jed. He heard Sister Lucie take another deep breath. He hoped she wasn’t hyperventilating. Let me start with the easiest one. No—I’m not in Indianapolis. I’m at the motherhouse near Batesville. And yes, I’m allowed to have visitors. Even if not, I think under these circumstances Mother Superior would allow it.

If Jed hadn’t been Mark’s partner and friend, he would have been inclined to dismiss Sarah as blatantly crazy, or maybe a person experiencing some post-traumatic stress. She had lost a childhood friend to violence only a few years after losing her husband, after all. But Jed had seen Sarah’s uncanny knack for pulling puzzle pieces together several times when it looked like difficult cases couldn’t be solved. That’s my wife, Mark would say proudly. She’s got a sixth sense that appears from time to time.

Sarah—I’m embarrassed to say I’m running late. Jed couldn’t bring himself to tell a fib to a member of a religious order. I’m going to connect you to Cindy again. Give her a telephone number where I can reach you. I do want to come and speak to you soon, maybe tomorrow. Jed gave the summer intern instructions and disconnected the call. He realized he was wide awake—no urgent need for caffeine now. He could let his latte cool before sipping it.

A nun became disillusioned with the convent way of life, left her order and married a college administrator. Today, she’s dead. Not your average life story. Especially when it ends far too early. Jed guessed the deceased former sister would be between 35 and 40 years old.

Jed had the weekend off. Sometimes he called in to the station when he heard something interesting had happened on the weekends when he wasn’t on duty. But other times, he purposefully avoided the news to give himself a true weekend away. Besides, it was the weekend of The Mini, Indianapolis’ annual half-marathon. Much of the news focused on the race and human interest stories related to it. He didn’t want to watch TV coverage emphasizing the race, because he still hadn’t kept his vow to run it. His job left him little time to train. To date, the longest race he had ever run was eight kilometers, about five miles.

Still, I could probably outrun most of the guys in the department.

He glanced at his watch: almost nine o’clock. He returned his car to the road and switched on the radio, hoping to catch the top-of-the-hour news. The murder Sister Lucie referred to was the headline story. Charlene Stowes, the wife of the president of Trentham University, was found dead in a room at the Coventry Hotel in downtown Indianapolis this morning. The cause of death appears to be a gunshot wound. Police are on the scene, beginning their investigation. Stay tuned to this station for updates.

Jed knew the Coventry as one of the oldest hotels still in business in downtown Indianapolis. Celebrities frequently stayed there. Jed’s coworker, Mike Francis, and his wife had recently celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary at the establishment. Mike had nothing but good things to say about the place. Jed imagined Mike was at the Coventry now, along with the department photographer.

Was the husband a suspect? Jed analyzed the scant amount of information he had. Correction, the husband is always a suspect! But, is he a likely suspect? That remained to be seen. Jed wanted to be the detective to interview him. The first five minutes of interaction with the president of Trentham University would likely tell the tale of his guilt or innocence. Was Dr. Stowes a registered guest at the Coventry as well as his wife? Either way, the story could be interesting.

He parked his car, grabbed what was left of his latte, and entered the police headquarters. Once through the front door, he noted crime techs down the hall. They entered the large office that housed his desk, along with those of several other Indianapolis MPD detectives.

Hey, Jed! This came from Phil Larimore, one the best crime scene photographers in the department, and possibly in the state. Take a look. Phil was downloading digital images onto his computer screen. A blonde, wearing a Coventry complimentary bathrobe, was centered on the screen. She was lying on her back across a bed with an opulent gold and red coverlet. Her legs were off the bed, with both feet touching the floor. The robe gaped slightly, showing part of her left leg, but the tie was knotted securely around her waist. She appeared to be looking up at the ceiling with an expression of surprise. One dark red splotch appeared just above the robe’s tie. The body appeared pale, the leg only slightly discolored. Although it was difficult to tell from one photograph, Jed guessed she was tall, maybe five-ten. Her pale yellow hair was parted to the side and partially covered one eye. Even though it was early in the day, she wore bright red lipstick. She was quite a looker, Jed thought. Nobody would take her for a nun.

Did they take the body to the morgue before you left? Jed asked.

Affirmative, Phil replied, his eyes on the screen. Rigor mortis hadn’t completely set in. This crime occurred an hour or two before we arrived.

Pictures of other areas of the room appeared. The curtains at both windows were fully drawn and a brass vase of yellow carnations and deep red roses appeared on the room’s dark wood accent table in one shot. Are the flowers real?

The flowers? Hmm. Good question. I assumed they were. I really didn’t check them out, though. Phil smirked a little. I guess I broke your number one rule: Challenge all assumptions.

Just curious. They coordinate with the room, obviously. All other aspects of the room appeared neat and tidy in the photographs. Who discovered the body?

One of the maids and the night manager, around seven this morning. The occupant of the neighboring room heard a scream, and then the radio at an extremely loud volume. They called down to the front desk to complain. There was also a noise complaint suggesting a gunshot or a loudly slamming door. The door to the room wasn’t locked when the two employees arrived.

Murder weapon recovered? Jed asked.

We think so. A twenty-two was found on the bed. Possibly the victim’s own gun. We’ll check that out, along with fingerprints, of course.

Any thought this could be a suicide?

Anything’s possible. But it doesn’t sound likely, given the scenario described by the hotel personnel. Also, women don’t tend to be shooters. An overdose of pills sounds more likely, especially if a person goes out of her way to make herself glamorous.

We have anyone still at the hotel?

Affirmative. Mike is there; he’s waiting for the evidence team.

Jed reached Mike on his cell phone. Hey, Mike! I’m going to come down and have a look.

Are you assigned to this case? Mike asked.

I will be. Jed left the last of his latte on the desk and sprinted back to his car. The Coventry was only ten blocks away.

Two

Jed took the Coventry’s stairs two at a time and arrived on the second floor close to breathless. Damn , he thought. I’ve got to find time to get in better shape . The crime scene opened off the landing. Mike was in the process of dusting the room for prints. Hold it, buddy, Jed said, still panting. Let me take a look around first. I’ve seen the photos.

Jed strode through the dark paneled door and stood at the room’s entrance. He glanced to the right and saw the comforter pulled halfway up the bed as the photograph had depicted it. A faint, horizontal indentation creased the deep-red quilted cover. Both pillows were neatly aligned at the head, completely undented. This bed doesn’t look slept in.

Well, we haven’t gotten that far yet. But I bet it was slept in last night. And the lady wasn’t alone. Just my hunch. Mike cast a sidelong glance at Jed.

Keep this under your hat, Mike, but the deceased was a childhood friend of Mark’s wife.

No kidding! How do you know?

She called me this morning, very upset.

I can imagine. The poor kid went through hell when Mark was killed investigating that informant’s story. How is Sarah doing now?

Well... Jed hesitated while he decided on a response. He didn’t want to reveal the details of Sarah’s current life. I think she changed her name.

Hmm, back to her maiden name? Well, she’s an attractive woman. Maybe she feels like it’s time to, you know, just get out there again. Start dating. After all, it has been a couple of years.

Jed decided to nod rather than answer verbally. He glanced at the mahogany accent table near one of the room’s windows. The brass vase with the yellow and red arrangement visible in the photograph contained real, as opposed to silk, blooms. I wonder if this place even provides fresh flowers.

Mike stood up and faced Jed. I don’t think so. When my wife and I stayed here, there were no fresh flowers. If the lady wasn’t alone, maybe her so-called ‘gentleman companion’ brought them or had them sent.

Possibly Jed considered this. But the flowers fit in with the room’s color scheme. To me, that detail suggests a woman’s touch. And if the deceased was involved with someone...who says it has to be a man?

Mike looked surprised, then shook his head and chuckled. Jed stepped to the center of the room. He stood at the foot of the bed and studied it from that angle. No significant details jumped out at him. He crossed the room to scrutinize the bath. Compared to the opulence of the room, it seemed rather small and plain. White tiles on the walls and floor, and a claw-foot tub fitted with a hand-held shower attachment. This was an older hotel, built when simply having an indoor private bath was a luxury. The fixtures were new and the room itself was well designed. Thick and fluffy towels hung neatly from a brushed nickel towel rod. Only a single hand towel appeared to have been used.

Was she still wearing all of her make-up? The victim, I mean. In the photos, her lips were bright red.

Yes. Mike answered as he paced the room, inspecting the window sills and locks. And she had no visible defensive injuries. Jed noted both windows were closed and locked from the inside. The curtains and blinds covered most of the windows, but small portions of each were unobscured. He noted the room’s windows were parallel to the second level of the parking ramp across the alley.

Jed opened the closet door next to the bathroom and peered inside. Only women’s clothes hung on the hangers. An athletic bag sat in the back corner. A crumpled robe, identical to the one on the victim, covered part of the floor. It appeared to be slightly damp. Jed squatted and inhaled deeply. It smelled faintly sweaty. Masculine sweat. Not really a bad odor, but distinctive.

Another thought occurred to Jed: the room lacked the smell of fear. Victims of violent crime who had been under psychological duress left a recognizable scent at the scene. It was related to the body’s response to the fight or flight emotions experienced with a perception of threat to personal safety.

It fits with the lack of defensive injuries. This lady either knew her attacker or was quickly surprised by an intruder.

Well, Jed said, Until I saw the robe on the closet floor, I saw little evidence anyone else had occupied this room. But I do think our victim had a so-called ‘gentleman caller,’ as you so delicately put it.

Women don’t wear make-up all night long when they’re alone.

True, Jed admitted. When we get the coroner’s report and the analysis of the sheets and other evidence from the crime scene team, we’ll know more. Speaking of more information, I’m going to interview the husband today. By the way, who registered for the room?

Mrs. Charlene Stowes. She claimed to be staying here alone, according to the people at the front desk.

Hmmm. No alias involved. Okay, I’m out of here for now. I’m going to make sure I’m officially assigned to this case. Then I plan to have a little chat with Dr. Branston Stowes.

Three

It didn’t take much persuasion for the chief to assign Jed to the Stowes murder. Once the procedural formality was taken care of, Jed wanted to question Branston Stowes as quickly as possible. He gave Cindy the task of locating him while he called Sarah.

Placing a phone call to a nun in a convent required persistence and patience. First, Jed spoke with the switchboard operator. During a long pause, he wondered if the operator, whom he assumed was also a nun, asked someone’s permission to connect the call to Sister Lucie. While he waited, he glanced at the crime scene photos stacked on his desk. He moved the shot of Charlene to the bottom then considered the wide shot of the room. The open bathroom door revealed the edge of the sink and the slightly rumpled towel. Mark had been known to study crime scene photos saying, There’s something here that holds the key to the crime. Sometimes he was right, but Jed doubted it in this case.

Heck, remove the corpse and close the bathroom door, and you have a photo you could use in any brochure.

Jed heard a click on the telephone receiver. Hello...Jed? Sarah, aka Sister Lucie, was on the line.

Sarah! I wondered if they had to get permission from Rome.

Well, not from Rome. But you’re correct; Sister Claire had to get this call cleared before connecting us.

So, I’m half right. By the way, should I call you Sarah or Sister Lucie?

Call me Sister Lucie. That’s who I am now.

I’ll try. But you need to cut me some slack if I slip up. Jed focused on the reason for his call. I want to talk to you in person, but it’s going to have to be tomorrow. I need to interview Charlene’s husband as soon as possible and I have no idea how long that will take. I can drive to Batesville first thing in the morning. Okay with you?

It’s fine with me. What time do you think you’ll arrive?

Look for me between eight-thirty and nine.

I’ll be waiting. It will be good to see you again, Jed.

Jed hung up the phone. His adrenaline rush subsided a little. He studied the photo of Charlene in front of him.

Charlene Stowes had the appearance of a movie star. The plush, classic white bathrobe and the chin-length blonde hair reminded him of Marilyn Monroe. The yellowish pallor of her skin and the red blotch on the front of the robe revealed she wasn’t merely relaxing on the bed. To all appearances, Charlene Stowes had met up with someone for a tryst at the Coventry. A common story, but Charlene was both a former nun and virtually a newlywed, raising questions about her choice. What was her motivation? Jed considered the two hotel employees who had found the body and sent a quick e-mail to Mike.

Detective McCracken? Cindy reached him through the walkie-talkie feature of his cell phone. Dr. Stowes is in his office on the Trentham campus. Should I have him wait there for you?

"Please do. I need to talk with him about his wife.

Four

Stowes’ office impressed Jed as presidential. The office wasn’t oval, but it had a combination of solid furniture, windows, light yellow walls, and even a flag on one side of his desk. Branston Stowes stood behind the desk, staring directly at Jed as he entered the room. His eyes followed Jed as he crossed the floor, but he said nothing.

He appears to be standing at attention, Jed thought. But something is off; his chin is sagging slightly.

Jed appraised Stowes as being at least ten years older than his wife, possibly more. In addition to the age difference, the attractiveness quotient was decidedly unbalanced. Charlene appeared to be close to a knock-out, while her husband was nondescript, balding and a little paunchy. He wore a well-tailored suit, but a professional wardrobe only went so far. Jed could empathize; he regarded himself as just above average in the looks department. He considered this trait a benefit when investigating, but a detriment in his personal life.

My condolences on your loss, Dr. Stowes. I apologize, but it’s my job to ask you some rather pointed questions. Any details you can provide may help us track down who committed this violent crime.

Stowes inhaled deeply then sighed. His gaze shifted to the floor. I know. Please have a seat. I’m not thinking clearly. This has been such a shock.

Jed’s first inclination was to believe him. Stowes didn’t have the typical mannerisms of a person who’d committed a crime. He truly appeared dumbfounded, uncertain how to respond to the chain of events in the last few hours. Jed sat in a mahogany chair opposite the desk. Stowes sat across from him, wearing a strained expression, and Jed wondered if it was difficult for him to sit right now, if he would rather be pacing.

It’s up to you, Dr. Stowes, but if you are more comfortable, we could go on a walk around campus. I’m sure there are some areas that are fairly private.

Jed viewed Stowes’ body language as a message. He displayed too much agitation to be comfortable in the seated, face-to-face posture that an office conversation demanded. Getting him moving might lead to better information. Stowes also would be spared the necessity of looking directly at him, and the strategy might lead to more details. Talking while walking was Jed’s equivalent of Freud’s couch.

"You’re correct. There are few people around