The False-Hearted Teddy Page 9

  “I saw Jennifer use that inhaler on Friday morning, shortly after I stopped Tony from going Raging Bull on her. She had it in her purse.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Call it ten-twenty.”

  “So, if it’s the same inhaler, we’re talking a twenty-two-hour window for the suspect to burg the room and alter the inhaler.”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Did anyone tell you about the disturbance at breakfast this morning?”

  “What? You think the woman…” Delcambre began to flip through the pages of the notepad.

  “Donna Jordan.”

  “Yeah, Jordan. You think she has something to do with it?”

  “I’m not accusing her, but there’s definitely bad blood between them.”

  “Over what?”

  “Donna accused Jennifer of stealing her teddy bear designs.”

  “And she’d kill her over that?”

  “They were apparently the same designs the Swifts just sold to Wintle Toys for three hundred and fifty grand—not that you need a six-figure cash amount as a motive for murder. I worked a homicide once over the theft of an Our Lady of Guadalupe medal that was worth two dollars and eighty cents retail. People often kill for stupid reasons.”

  “Good point.”

  “And add this to the mix: there’s also the possibility that Todd Litten, the guy who wrote the books for her teddy bears, was suffering from a serious case of unrequited puppy love for Jennifer.”

  “We heard about what Tony said.”

  “It’s worth following up on. In fact, it’d be premature to eliminate him as a suspect.”

  “I know, but if he was in love with Jennifer, what would his motive be?”

  “How about something as simple as ‘if I can’t have her noboby else can either’? I’ve worked a few of those.”

  “Me, too. But the problem is that Mulvaney is absolutely convinced Tony did it and she’s using Litten as our main witness.”

  “How so?”

  “He can testify to Tony’s ongoing physical abuse of Jennifer and how frightened she said she was of him.” He glanced toward the exhibition hall door. “And I’ve got to take off, because she’s waiting outside in the car. But…”

  “If I come up with anything, I’ll call you. Got a card?”

  “Thanks, man.” Delcambre dug a business card from his badge case and handed it to me. Then he gave me a wry, knowing grin. “Oh, and should I be concerned as to what might lead you to think that you’d come up with evidence pertaining to an official murder investigation?”

  “Do you really want the answer to that question?”

  “Nah.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Nine

  Once Delcambre left, I resumed work on my notes and was jotting down a rough chronology of events when I heard someone clear their throat to announce their presence. I looked up and realized that if Ash returned in the next few moments, there was an excellent possibility that I might witness a second murder this morning. The lady teddy bear judge who’d made the suggestive “big one” remark was standing in front of our table, fondling one of our bears. It was apparent she wanted to chat and I knew it was no coincidence that she’d arrived while my wife was gone.

  Furthermore, the judge had dressed up for her visit. She was wearing a tight raspberry-colored pullover shirt with a low neckline that showed off more than a little décolletage, snuggly-fitting slacks, and a lip-glossed smile I think was intended to be coy. There was a pale circular indentation at the base of the ring finger on her left hand, which told me she’d probably removed her wedding band only a few moments earlier. Another thing I noticed was that she was eyeballing me in the same longing manner that Kitchener has when staring at a pizza crust and, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. My hair is the same color as the brushed aluminum on a DeLorean, I’m lame, and I thank a merciful God for the invention of “relaxed fit” jeans. So, what was the attraction?

  “Hi, remember me?” she asked.

  “Of course, you were here yesterday with the judging team looking at our teddy bears. Thank you for the nomination.”

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself yesterday. I’m Lisa Parr and I have to tell you that you were amazing this morning at breakfast.”

  “It was just standard CPR and I couldn’t have done it without my wife. She’ll—”

  “But you were the one in charge.”

  “—be back in a minute so you can also thank her.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I adore a man who takes command.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Lisa gave me a quick puzzled look. After a moment, she said, “Did you hear the news?”

  “No. What?”

  She leaned over to speak confidentially and provide me with a panoramic view of her cleavage. “Someone told me they heard a policewoman say Jennifer is dead.”

  I pretended to look shocked. “Really? That’s too bad.”

  “And that isn’t all. She also said that some detectives just took Tony Swift out to a police car and he was wearing handcuffs. What do you suppose that means?”

  “I really wouldn’t know.”

  “Do you think he might have killed her?”

  “That’s kind of hard to believe. From everything I could see, they were the perfect couple.” I lied with the easy grace of a congressman, hoping Lisa might reveal some useful gossip about the Swifts.

  “You don’t know them, do you?”

  “No, my wife and I are still pretty new to the teddy bear show circuit, especially on the East Coast.”

  “He’s a pig and for all her snooty attitude, Jennifer always made me feel as if I should check my purse to make sure my wallet was still there when I finished talking to her.”

  “So, could there have been some truth to the accusations Donna made this morning?”

  She looked thoughtful. “There might be. A far as faces are concerned, their bear designs are pretty similar. But how do you prove who had an idea first and if someone stole it from you? It happens. I’ve had designs ripped off, but you’ve just got to trust that you’re a better artisan than the thief and move on.”

  “You grin and bear it.”

  Lisa laughed a little too heartily at the feeble pun, straightened up, and turned to perch herself on the edge of the table so that I could survey her derriere, which was less than two feet away. She smiled when she saw that I was studiously keeping my eyes on her face. “Let’s talk about something else. I heard you’re a retired homicide detective from the San Francisco police.”

  “That’s true.”

  “That’s so exciting. I’ll bet it was dangerous.”

  I thought: If my wife shows up in the next couple of seconds, not half as dangerous as what you’re doing right now, because you’re dicing with death. Instead I said, “Mostly it was a lot of paperwork.”

  “I think you’re being modest. You know, I write articles for the teddy bear magazines and I’d like to do one about you.”

  “I can’t think why.”

  “Because there aren’t many male teddy bear artisans with your background. I wonder if we could get together sometime before Sunday night so that I could interview you.”

  “With my wife, of course.”

  She gave me a little pout. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet privately, so that I could get a more…intimate and in-depth profile of you.”

  My cheeks flushed and I realized that she’d just crossed over the line from relatively innocent flirty banter into what sounded suspiciously to my finely honed investigative ear like an invitation to dance the horizontal naked mamba with her. I also knew I had to acknowledge and politely decline the invitation, because if I chose to ignore it, Lisa would view my passive response as a tacit signal to proceed with plans for the in-depth meeting.

  I said: “You know, you’re a very attractive woman and I’m f
lattered and frankly perplexed by your interest. But I have to tell you that I’m very much in love my wife and it wouldn’t be right for me to be alone with you under any circumstances.”

  “That’s so sweet. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to meet a man with principles.” She stood up, gave her tresses a shampoo commercial flip, and smiled warmly. “I have to go now, but we’ll talk more later. Bye.”

  I’ll tell you, I was feeling pretty good about how I’d handled the situation, which only goes to show you that as far as the subject of women and how they think is concerned, I haven’t seen the ball since kickoff. That point was firmly driven home when Ash returned to the table a few minutes later and I casually told her of the encounter, while striving to keep the self-satisfaction from my voice.

  When I finished, she asked incredulously, “And you actually think she understands that you’re off-limits?”

  “Umm…yeah.”

  “Wrong. Honey, all you did was encourage her.”

  “Okay, I’m officially confused. How did I do that?”

  “Because you’ve made the prospect of seducing you more challenging. You’re a much bigger prize now, because there’s the extra thrill of knowing that she’s trying to take you away from another woman.”

  “The fruit from the Forbidden Tree being the sweetest, huh?”

  “And what could be more forbidden than a man who says he’s in love with his wife?”

  “But what’s the attraction?”

  “Brad, one of the nicest things about you is that you don’t realize how wonderful a husband you are. There are probably a couple of hundred women at this show that envy and despise me because I got one of the few good ones. She—you said her name was Lisa, right?—Lisa just happens to be a little less moral than most.”

  I looked down at the tabletop. “Well, if that’s the case, it makes me wonder if the only reason she picked Dirty Beary was because she had ulterior motives. Maybe he really isn’t good enough.”

  “Which is another excellent reason to break that chick’s neck the next time I see her.” She took my hand and continued in a more tender tone, “Honey, your bears are wonderful and I’m convinced that Beary would have been nominated regardless of who was on the judging team. So, don’t let a bad and selfish person ruin everything.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Now, forget about Lisa and tell me what your next move is on the investigation.”

  “To go upstairs and run some quick computer checks and then change clothes. We didn’t bring a tie did we?”

  “No, this was supposed to be a casual event. Why do you need a tie?”

  “If I’m going to commit the felony crime of impersonating a homicide detective, I’d better be dressed like one.”

  “And why do you need to impersonate a cop?”

  “Because we need to know if there were any extra card keys issued to the Swifts’ room and the hotel staff won’t give that sort of information to an average citizen.” I kissed Ash on the cheek and pushed myself to my feet. “Love you. I’ll be back in awhile. Oh, and I’m assuming you found that woman. Is she coming back for Brenda Brownie?”

  “She said she might, but I don’t think so. Mulvaney really scared her off.”

  “You know, taking into account we’ve so far dealt with domestic disputes, drunken rants, murder, bullying cops, and predatory trollops, I vote that we pass on the Baltimore Har-Bear Expo next year.”

  “The motion passes unanimously. Please be careful, honey.”

  Tucking the steno pad under my arm, I headed for the exit, passing crowds of happy people and table after table loaded with sweet-looking teddy bears. This was my life now and I wondered for just a second why I was voluntarily going back into the revolting universe of murder investigation. I guess the bottom line is that although I’d been removed from the homicide bureau, the homicide bureau hadn’t yet been removed from me.

  Leaving the exhibition hall, I noticed the doors to the adjoining banquet room were closed and a plastic DO NOT DISTURB sign hung from one of the handles. I knew that meant there were Baltimore detectives and CSI techs inside, photographing the murder scene and searching for evidence. The last thing I needed was for any of the cops to spot me, so I continued on down the corridor.

  I went through the lobby, avoiding the registration desk, and saw a sign pointing the way toward the gift shop, which was apparently down a side corridor. Passing the hotel’s glass entrance doors, I saw the rain was coming down in gray sheets and caught a glimpse of a parking valet standing out in the storm, his old-fashioned fisherman foul weather gear billowing in the gale. I applauded the Maritime Inn’s commitment to creating a wooden-ships-and-iron-men atmosphere, but that was just insane, especially since I knew the valet was probably making nothing more than minimum wage, tips, and whatever personal information he could boost from the cars to commit identity theft.

  The hotel gift shop was about what I expected. The clerk was a young woman playing some sort of computer game on her cell phone who paid no attention to me as I entered the store. Inside, I found usuriously priced candy bars and bags of salty snacks, a small and well-thumbed assortment of glitz, financial, and computer magazines, cheap sunglasses, Maritime Inn commemorative teddy bears made from shoddy tangerine plush and looking as if they’d been stuffed with sawdust, a collection of royal blue Maritime Inn baseball caps that had obviously been on the shelf since the mid-1980s because the brims were decorated with that hokey military-style gold braid so popular back then, and since a high-class shopping expedition always works up a big thirst, twenty-ounce sodas at five bucks a pop in the small refrigerator. I also found the small collection of men’s ties at the back of the shop hanging next to a display of T-shirts the color of baboon rumps, silk-screened with the message, “My Mom and Dad Went to Baltimore and All I Got Was This Stupid Shirt.”

  The selection of ties was limited—again, no big surprise. My choices were either second-team Warner Brothers cartoon characters such as the Pepe LePew and Sylvester the Cat, or hideously asymmetric geometric designs in neon tones reminiscent of Japanese anime that looked as if they’d been designed by a nine-year-old boy who couldn’t draw and who’d consumed way too much sugar. In the end, I selected one of the ugly Pokemon ties and managed to attract the clerk’s attention away from her game long enough to pay her $22.95 for the polyester assault on the eyes.

  A few minutes later, I entered our room on the fifth floor. The bedclothes were still in disarray, which signified the maids hadn’t gotten to our side of the hotel yet. It also meant that there wasn’t anything but a package of decaf for the room’s miniature coffee brewer, so there wasn’t any point in starting a pot because hot water from the tap would be much quicker and be just about as tasty. Windblown rain spattered against the window, creating a gloomy, Monetlike, monochromatic view of the Baltimore Inner Harbor cityscape off to the west.

  Turning on the laptop, I accessed the hotel’s high-speed Internet connection and whimpered with joy. I love living out in the country and wouldn’t dream of moving back to a city, but our house is so isolated that the only Internet service available is telephone dial-up that moves at a speed best measured by geological epochs—that is, when the connection isn’t dropped. Anyway, before long I was typing Jennifer Swift’s name into the search box on my Internet provider’s homepage.

  The reason why I started my inquiries with the dead woman is that I look at murder as being very similar to investigating a two-vehicle traffic accident. A crash doesn’t just happen; it’s the result of different vehicles on separate routes that somehow violently collide, which is also how most murders occur. I didn’t know who the killer was, but by studying Jennifer’s journey toward death I might develop some insights into the path she’d been following and how that might have played a role in causing someone to hate her enough to kill her.

  There’s a surprising amount of personal information available on the Web and I soon had her home address and telephone nu
mber in Basingstoke Township. Running another search, I found that the Basingstoke Township Blade-Tribune newspaper had a Web site with a wonderful archive section and I located a feature article from 2004 about her burgeoning success as a teddy bear artisan. Then the well went dry. All I could find after that was her Cheery Cherub Bears Web site and a long list of e-tailers and stores selling her stuffed animals.

  Next, I entered Tony’s name into the search engine and had greater luck. The newspaper Web site contained a story about how Tony had pled guilty to felony domestic violence against Jennifer, who’d suffered a broken wrist during the attack. The piece included the requisite idiotic statement from his defense attorney that the big guy was undergoing “anger management” therapy. Just for fun, I considered looking up the liar-for-hire’s telephone number and calling him to break the news that the therapy hadn’t worked and Tony was in jail for murdering his wife, but it was Saturday, so I knew the law office was closed and the lawyer wouldn’t have cared anyway.

  I clicked on another newspaper story and read about Tony receiving some twenty-five-dollar gift certificate from the big-box retailer where he worked for being salesperson-of-the-month. Having briefly worked retail myself before joining the army, I suddenly understood why Tony wanted so badly for the Cheery Cherub Bears business to take off.

  I entered Todd Litten’s name next and came back with next to nothing. The Blade-Tribune Web site had a couple of small articles about car crashes and medical emergencies where he was mentioned in passing as one of the paramedics. Another news story said that he’d been a presenter at a fire department safety fair, back in September. The only other information was from the sports page, which reported he’d bowled a three-hundred game in 2005. A check of the person-locator Web site revealed that he lived in the town of East Stroudsburg.

  Then I began running Donna Jordan. She also lived in Basingstoke Township, was cross-referenced with a few teddy bear e-tailers, and her name also appeared connected with James Polk High School, in nearby Lititz. I clicked on the high school Web site and clicked again on the faculty icon. Scrolling down the page, I found her name and my pulse began to pound as fast as Buddy Rich doing a drum solo on meth. Donna Jordan taught chemistry, which meant that she would know the lethal effects of superglue on human lungs.