A brisk tattoo sounded on the hall door.
The chief called out, “Come in.”
A ruggedly handsome man in a baggy red sweater and gray slacks moved toward the chief’s desk like a fresh- launched torpedo.
A cotton-top blond with slate-blue eyes, he was a shade under six feet tall and loose-jointed, with large hands and feet. His craggy face looked intense and intelligent. I liked him instinctively.
Cobb gestured toward a chair. “What you got, Hal?“ Hal pulled the chair back, dropped into it. He pulled a notebook from his pocket, opened it, talked fast as if he had much to say and too little time. “Daryl Murdoch’s son, Kirby, moved out two weeks ago. Senior at Adelaide High. Swim team. Math whiz. Waits tables at Garcia’s. He’s been camping out and going to friends’ houses to shower. His girlfriend is Lily Mendoza. His dad didn’t want him to date Lily. Next-door neighbor Wilbur Schmidt said all hell broke loose a couple of weeks ago, Kirby and Daryl yelling at each other.
Kirby slammed out of the house and took his stuff.
“I talked to a friend of Kirby’s, Hack Thurston. Kept it low-key, asked the usual, how long he’d known him, school, hobbies, et cetera.
Turns out Kirby likes to target-practice with a twenty-two revolver out on the river bottom near Schooner Creek on his day off. Gets Thursdays off. Murder occurred Thursday afternoon. Checked Murdoch house this morning. No one home. Officer Leland is hunting for him.”
Cobb nodded. “Good work. Find the kid’s twenty-two.”
Ca ro ly n H a rt
Hal nodded. “I surveyed the crime scene again, including the Pritchard mausoleum. Somebody tried to prize loose that marble greyhound. I checked the crowbar we found under a bush. It had traces of marble dust. We could figure some kids—the first tip call came from a kid, right?—were in the mausoleum and maybe Murdoch saw some lights there and went to investigate and it ended up him getting shot.”
The chief drummed the fingers of one hand on his desktop. “So some kids out to heist a marble dog from the cemetery just happened to have a twenty-two with them, and when Murdoch showed up, they shot him instead of running like hell? I don’t think so. No, I got a gut feeling it’s a lot closer to the church. Look at the lab report.” He shoved it across the desk to the detective. “I don’t think Murdoch went to the cemetery and got shot. I think he was shot somewhere else and dumped there.”
Hal swiftly read the report. He immediately understood the significance of the dust balls. “Murdoch’s car is in the parking lot of the church. Probably means he got that far alive. So where does that leave us? From the dust, I’d say he was shot inside. Maybe the church?” The chief looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I’ll need more before I can get a search warrant. And”—he rubbed his nose—“do they keep a cat in the church?”
The young detective shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. How about the preacher’s house?”
Chief Cobb’s eyes glinted. “We got a tip the gun was on the back porch of the rectory.” He frowned. “I can hear the judge right now.
‘What’s this? Warrant to search the rectory at St. Mildred’s? Because of a dust ball?’ ”
The younger detective’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “You got that right. You better have evidence on a silver platter before you take that one before the judge.”
Cobb looked determined. “Get the crime van and check out Mur-108
G h o s t at Wo r k
doch’s car from top to bottom. We better be sure there’s no cat fur in it before I try for a warrant. Also check the Murdoch house for a black cat. When that’s out of the way, maybe it will be time to try for a search warrant.”
Hal bounded to his feet. “On my way.” I toyed with the idea of getting to Daryl’s car and placing some dust balls and cat fur inside. But perhaps creating fake evidence wasn’t exactly what Wiggins had in mind. However, I was truly worried. It was beginning to look as though our removal of the body from the rectory hadn’t solved Kathleen’s problem.
The chief swung back to his machine and clicked on a message with a red exclamation point in the margin.
To: Chief Cobb
From: Dispatcher
Subject: Crime Stoppers Call re Daryl Murdoch Call received from pay phone outside Wal-Mart, 1023 Snodgrass, at 9:07 A.M. Text follows:
“Crime Stoppers. Ask Kathleen Abbott about the red nightgown and her visit to Daryl Murdoch’s cabin on Pontotoc Road Wednesday night.”
Anonymous caller spoke in a husky whisper. Unable to determine sex of speaker. Tape has been turned over to laboratory for analysis.
As a ghost, thankfully I wasn’t subject to physical manifestations of distress such as palpitations or difficulty breathing. Nonetheless, I was shaken by the realization that Kathleen’s involvement in Daryl’s murder must have been the calculated objective of his murderer. Of that, there could now be no doubt. Daryl’s demise on the back porch obviously had been planned from the start. Last night, a call brought
Ca ro ly n H a rt
the police to the rectory back porch in search of the gun. Now an anonymous call threatened to embroil her further. How had anyone known about the red nightgown?
No wonder I was still here.
Chief Cobb leaned back in his chair, lips pursed in a sound-less whistle. He reached toward the phone. His hand dropped. He snagged a stenographer’s-size notebook, flipped to a fresh page. At the top, he wrote
