Don't Cry Over Killed Milk (4 page)

“Unless the killer didn’t specifically have Mr. Milk in mind and just murdered whoever came by first,” Richard said.

“That’s possible,” Margaret conceded. “But let’s start by focusing on the park staff who would know the rangers’ schedules.”

 
Gerry ticked off names. “Alex Rancor, the operations manager. Three rangers: Milt Verblanc, Lawrence Drake, and the female ranger, Aylin Erul. The other two on staff are the education specialist and the maintenance worker—I don’t know whether they would know the rangers’ schedules or not.” Gerry paused. “There are also two Park Police officers who do patrols. They’d probably know the schedules.”

“That’s true,” Margaret said. “Even though we’re running this investigation, we have to keep the Park Police in the loop, so let’s tread carefully with them.”

“Was there a lock on the door of the shed?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” Richard replied. “But Alex said the rangers routinely leave it unlocked. If someone wanted to wait for Mr. Milk inside the shed, it would have been easy.”

“Good job, Richard,” Margaret said. “Detective Sloman and I will take it from here. Gerry, let’s get back to those interviews and crack this case wide open.”

“You bet, boss,” Gerry said. “One last thing, Richard: Did Jeremiah initial the chart last night?”

“You know what?” Richard responded. “He didn’t.”

Chapter 4

On his way home, Damon stopped in front of Jeremiah Milk’s house. He longed to search it but knew the police would be along soon, and he didn’t want to disrupt evidence. The Milk home was landscaped decently but otherwise in disrepair by Hollydale standards. Paint peeled from wood siding. Sunlight glinted through a crack in an upstairs window. Edging the right side of the house stood three bedraggled crepe myrtle trees.

An hour later, Damon and Rebecca were sitting in matching rockers on Damon’s front porch. He summarized his morning excursion.

“The police think it’s probably one of the park employees,” Damon said in closing.

Rebecca sipped fresh-squeezed lemonade through a straw. “That makes sense,” she said. “Though it could have been anyone who knew his work schedule.”

“But you told me he was a loner,” Damon countered.

“That was certainly true years ago. It’s possible he changed.”

“There’s his mother, of course,” Damon said. “But she lives in Arizona.”

“I’m sure she’ll be back in Hollydale soon enough to coordinate a funeral and tie up Jeremiah’s affairs. You could ask her if he had any friends. Assuming they were on speaking terms.”

Damon thought about Dottie Milk. Would the police ensure she had an alibi for the night her son was murdered? Damon couldn’t imagine a mother killing her own child. But Dottie had been in the Hollydale home when her daughter-in-law and grandchild died.

Rebecca interrupted his thoughts. “What’s happening up there in your head?” Even when the two were sitting, Damon hovered five inches above Rebecca.

“I was thinking about what you told me the other day. Dottie Milk didn’t inform the police after her grandson died.” Damon had forgotten to pass along that snippet of information to Gerry when he spoke with the detective earlier in the day.

“You don’t believe that Kathryn and Samuel died of natural causes,” Rebecca said incredulously. “And you figure that Dottie flew from Arizona to Arlington and finished wiping out the family by burning her own son to death?”

Damon smiled grimly. “You did ask me what I was thinking about.”

* * *

Hours later, when the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Damon dialed Gerry’s number.

The detective picked up and said, “Thanks for the background information this morning. Lieutenant Hobbes and I are making good progress.”

“That’s wonderful. When we spoke, I forgot to mention something about the deaths of Jeremiah’s wife and son. Are you interested in coming by for a late dinner?” Damon could have summed up the point in a matter of sentences, but he wanted to see if he could glean more information from Gerry. Damon was too interested in the case to leave it to the professionals.

“I grabbed a bite here at the station,” Gerry said. “But I’ll swing by on my way home if you make some coffee.”

Gerry arrived at Damon’s white HardiePlank duplex half an hour later. “I can’t believe I have another homicide,” the detective said, sitting down at Damon’s eat-in kitchen table. Gerry toyed with a gold cross dangling from a chain at his open collar.

“You did so well with the last murder investigation, I’m not surprised Lieutenant Hobbes picked you to work this one.” Damon poured Gerry a steaming mug of coffee.

“Thanks, Damon. Your instincts helped a lot. Now what did you want to tell me about Jeremiah?”

Damon relayed what Rebecca had told him about Dottie’s failure to notify the police of baby Samuel’s death.

“That’s interesting, but I’ve heard stranger things,” Gerry said. “People have all types of reactions when they’re in shock. They don’t always act rationally.”

“Have you notified Dottie Milk about Jeremiah?”

“Margaret did several hours ago. Dottie’s plane arrives at Reagan National later this evening. I’m planning to speak with her tomorrow morning, but I don’t expect she’ll have much useful information. Just to be safe though, we’ll verify that she has an alibi for last night.”

Damon smiled at his friend, then admitted to overhearing Gerry and the other officers from outside of the rangers’ lounge.

Gerry chortled. “If it was anyone else, I’d be upset.” He sipped from his mug. “We still don’t know exactly how Jeremiah was killed. The lacerations in his neck and chest were deep and severe. No doubt he died from them, but the medical examiner, Dr. Chu, is certain they weren’t caused by fire. They may be chemical burns. The lab will run tests, and we should know within a week. He had broken bones, too. In his fingers and toes.”

“His fingers were disfigured from birth,” Damon said.

“I know. So were his toes. But they still had bones, which were crushed.”

“Do you think he was targeted because of his condition?” Damon asked.

“Is there a madman prejudiced against the malformed? It’s possible. Or maybe the killer just wanted to torture Jeremiah before doing him in at the chest and neck.”

“If Jeremiah was the last one at the park, no one would have heard him scream,” Damon commented. “Especially in the basement of a shed. Could a chemical burn have caused the broken bones?”

“Margaret thinks the killer hammered down on his fingers and toes before turning to the chemicals,” Gerry said. “And the use of chemicals would account for a wet uniform and the damp basement. The killer might have been trying to wash away the smell.”

“So you’re looking for suspects who have access to deadly chemicals,” Damon surmised and wrapped both hands around his mug to warm them despite the moderate temperature of the kitchen.

“It’s on our radar. But you can find acids and other chemicals that will do serious damage in a lot places. Almost every high school science lab is stocked with them.”

“I heard the police caught two guys drinking battery acid,” Damon said and gave Gerry a wry grin. “They were charged immediately.”

Gerry shook his head with a smile.

Damon turned back to the conversation. “I suppose the park rangers have chemicals on site as well.”

 
“They do,” Gerry replied. “Let me tell you, Damon, the park staff is an interesting bunch. The operations manager, Alex, seems to be the most normal one there. That’s probably why she’s in charge.”

Damon recalled Alex’s delicate facial features.

“Jeremiah’s fellow rangers didn’t talk much during their interviews,” Gerry continued. “Milt Verblanc—the tall wiry one—has been there for ten years and builds robots. He and Jeremiah started at Tripping Falls within a couple of months of each other. Verblanc didn’t have much to say about Jeremiah. But when he started talking about robots, we heard an earful about advanced electronic systems and modular limbs.”

Gerry rose and refilled his coffee cup. “Then there’s Lawrence Drake, the naturalist,” Gerry said. “He was prone to grunting and one word answers. The third is Aylin Erul—the name sounds Turkish if you ask me. She’s carves fruit—makes watermelons and cantaloupes into animals. It was weird: she showed me a wallet full of photos, as if the carved specimens were her children.”

 
“How about the education specialist?” Damon asked.

“Veronica Maldive. She’s the one we’re most interested in.” He paused. “She and Jeremiah were dating.”

“That’s something.” After a moment, Damon snapped his fingers. “Rebecca told me Jeremiah’s late wife Kathryn worked at the park, too, before they were married.”

Gerry waved a hand dismissively. “People have to meet somewhere. Trina was a dispatcher at police headquarters when we met.”

“Do you know how long Jeremiah and the teacher were dating?” Damon asked.

“She said for several months. It was a little delicate, but I asked Veronica if Jeremiah ever spent the night at her place after work. After blushing, she admitted that he did once or twice a week.”

 
“Which is why Jeremiah regularly left his car at the park overnight,” Damon said, picking up the line of thinking.

“Correct. They’d drive in Veronica’s SUV from the park to her place in Reston, spend the night, and go back to work together the following morning.”

“So she would know his schedule.”

“I see where you’re going,” Gerry said. “But if she wanted to kill him, why do it at the park? Why not murder him when they were at her place? She lives alone.”

"Maybe to cast suspicion elsewhere.”

“That’s a possibility,” Gerry admitted.

“Did Veronica mention any friends of his?”

“She said he didn’t seem to have any. According to Veronica, the only person Jeremiah ever talked about was his mother.”

Damon contemplated this information, then pulled himself up from the table and filled a glass with water. “Did you interview the maintenance worker?” he asked.

“We did. Emmanuel Alvarez is Dominican, but he’s lived in the States for over thirty years. He’s in his mid-sixties.”

“I imagine he has access to all of the buildings in the park.”

“He does,” Gerry said. “I misspoke earlier when I said Alex Rancor was the most normal one at the park. Alvarez is pretty balanced, too. But Margaret Hobbes has been grilling him.”

 
“Why’s that?”

“There’s a small cabin and garage about an eighth of a mile behind the visitor center. Alvarez uses the cabin as his personal space. He claimed he doesn’t live there, but I saw a mattress inside. When we scoured the grounds around the park buildings this afternoon, one of our officers found a severed power cord in an outdoor trash bin that sits between Alvarez’s cabin and garage. We showed it to him, but he said he didn’t put it there.”

“Is the cord important?” Damon asked.

“We don’t know yet. It was of the heavy-duty variety, so cutting it wasn’t a simple task. We found both ends in the trash.”

“Anyone could have put it in there,” Damon said.

“Theoretically, yes. Alvarez said he emptied the bin into the park’s main dumpster at six o’clock last night. The park stayed open until eight, so a visitor could’ve put it there but it’s not likely. The cabin is set back in the woods and not near any of the trails.”

“So that points right back to the park staff,” Damon said.

“If the cord was used to kill Jeremiah, then yes. Margaret accused Emmanuel Alvarez of committing the murder.”

“How did he react?”

“He has an easygoing temperament, so he took the accusation in stride. I was impressed at how well he kept his cool. To be honest, I think someone is trying to frame him.”

“Makes sense,” Damon said. “If the power cord was instrumental in the murder, Alvarez would be crazy to leave it right next to his cabin.”

“I agree,” Gerry said. He stood and stretched his legs. “I appreciate talking through these points with you, Damon. You have a keen sense for human nature.”

“Thanks. What are your next steps?”

“We have Forensics scouring the shed with the empty basement. They’re looking at the power cord now, too. And our finance expert spent this afternoon digging into Jeremiah Milk’s accounts. Money is always a potential motive for murder.”

“Anything unusual there?”

Rather than answering, Gerry said, “I know you didn’t know Jeremiah well, Damon, but did he strike you as a man with considerable means?”

Damon reflected back to the poor condition of the Milk family home. “I don’t think so. After he married, Jeremiah and Kathryn lived with his mother rather than getting a place of their own. He stayed there after his wife and son died and Dottie moved to Arizona. His house is at least sixty years old, and it isn’t in very good condition. No, I didn’t have the impression that he had much money.”

Gerry scratched the underside of his chin and gave Damon a hard stare.

Damon took it in without comment. He could see that Gerry was debating his next move. Damon was prone to interference when it came to police investigations, but it was his stirring the pot that led Gerry to collar his first murderer.

Gerry sighed. “Don’t make me regret this, Damon,” he said. “According to Cameron Williams at True Capital Bank, Jeremiah Milk deposited $2 million into his savings account two-and-a-half years ago. One year later, he pulled out $1.6 million in a single transaction.”

Damon whistled.

“When someone gets murdered and has that kind of money,” Gerry said, “there’s almost always a connection.”