Chapter 18

18

On Wednesday morning at 9:00, Aylesford Police hold a press conference about the Merton murders. It’s a sunny spring day, and it’s held outside, in front of the station.

Interest is strong. Not only the news outlets are present, but many people who live in the area have come in person to hear what he has to say. Reyes suspects that they are hoping to learn that an arrest is imminent. They’re going to be disappointed.

He steps up to the podium and waits for the photography to die down and for the crowd to settle. Then he says, “Thank you for coming. I am Detective Eric Reyes of Aylesford Police. We are conducting an investigation into the murders of Fred and Sheila Merton in their home in Brecken Hill. Their bodies were discovered there yesterday. At this time, we appeal to the public for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for the murders of Fred and Sheila Merton. In particular, we are interested in speaking to anyone with knowledge of a pickup truck, dark in color with orange or yellow flames on the side panels, that was seen driving away from the direction of the Mertons’ property on the night of Sunday, April twenty-first.” He takes a breath and continues. “We are encouraging members of the public to call the tip line.” He recites the number slowly and repeats it. “We will not rest until the perpetrators of this awful crime are brought to justice. Thank you.”

Reyes steps away from the podium. The reporters start calling out questions, but Reyes turns his back and walks inside the station.

---

•   •   •audrey stancik watches the press conference on television. It reveals precious little. There was more information in the Aylesford Record that morning. Some enterprising reporter had found out that the bodies were discovered by Irena, and that Sheila was strangled and Fred was stabbed numerous times and his throat slit. So now she knows. Reading that, Audrey found herself shaken. The house had been ransacked and valuables were missing. There were no further details. When Audrey had been at Dan’s the day before, no one had told her that Irena had found them, and how they’d been killed. And Irena was right there. She’d had to get it from the newspaper.

Audrey gets in her car and drives downtown to see her brother’s lawyer, Walter Temple. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she’s sure he won’t turn her away, not under the circumstances. She simply can’t wait another moment.

Walter sees her right away. They’ve known each other for many years. They greet each other solemnly. He tells her how sorry he is about Fred and Sheila. But the attorney seems noticeably ill at ease, and it makes Audrey nervous.

She summons her courage and says, “Fred came to see you last week about his will, didn’t he?”

She’s expecting a quick confirmation, but Walter averts his eyes and starts straightening the edges of the papers on his desk. She’s worrying in earnest now. He clears his throat and says, “I was away all last week unexpectedly. I didn’t see him.”

She feels the blood drain from her upper body; Walter’s face swims in front of her eyes. “What?”

“Apparently he wanted to see me, but, as I was unavailable, he made an appointment for this week—he was supposed to see me today, at ten o’clock. But he died before . . .” His voice trails off delicately.

Audrey sags in the chair, all her hopes shipwrecked. “But that can’t be,” she protests. “He promised he would do it last week.”

“Yes, he did try to come in, but I was away on business. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe he saw another lawyer?”

“Apparently not, no.”

“He was going to change his will,” she says, her voice rising, all her plans crashing to pieces around her. “He promised me. He was going to change it so that I got half and his kids shared the other half. And if I died before him, my share was to go to my daughter.”

Walter looks back at her in obvious discomfort, but it’s nothing to what she’s feeling. “I’m truly sorry, Audrey. But he died before he could make any changes to his will. He couldn’t have known what was going to happen—”

She sits there stunned, not moving, disbelief turning to rage. It was her one shot at having something for herself, and for her daughter. And now it’s gone, just like that. Just like Fred. And now all his hard-earned money is going straight to his three spoiled, undeserving kids. “She knew!” Audrey cries.

“What?” the attorney says, startled.

“Sheila knew. She knew Fred was going to change his will to give me half. She was there—and she didn’t like it. She never liked me.” He’s clearly uncomfortable, wanting no part of this. “You know what must have happened, don’t you?” she says. He meets her eyes warily. “She told the kids what their father was going to do. And one of them murdered them both before he could do it.” She adds bitterly, “And they never saw it coming.”

“That’s absurd, Audrey,” Walter says, turning pale.

She gets up abruptly and leaves the office without another word. Descending in the elevator, in her fury, she’s certain. Sheila must have told one of them. Which one? Or maybe she told all of them. And one of them murdered Fred and Sheila without a shred of regret.

She’s going to figure out who if it’s the last thing she ever does. And they will pay.

---

•   •   •reyes and barr drive to the medical examiner’s office, not far from the police station. He parks in the lot and they enter the low brick building.

The two detectives make their way to the autopsy room. The sight of the gleaming metal counters below the high row of windows, the bodies resting on the matching metal tables, the awful smell—Reyes never really gets used to it. He slips a cough drop into his mouth. He glances at Barr, but she seems unbothered. Sometimes he wonders if she has any sense of smell at all, or if it’s impaired somehow.

One of the forensic pathologists, Sandy Fisher, is standing over a body, garbed in full protective gear. “Good morning, detectives,” she says.

They’ve come right in the middle of her work on Fred Merton, Reyes notes. The body cavity is still open, and there’s a stomach sitting on the weigh scales. He turns away, focusing on the covered corpse farther down the room, behind the pathologist. That must be Sheila Merton.

“I’ve finished with her,” Sandy says, nodding over her shoulder, “but I still have a lot to do on this one.”

She steps away from the open corpse and beckons them over to the other body. The pathologist’s assistant pulls down the cover from Sheila Merton’s corpse to reveal her upper body. “Pretty straightforward,” Sandy begins, as they stare at the unfortunate woman. “Ligature strangulation, most likely with something very smooth, like an electrical cord.”

“And there’s no sign of it anywhere, or of it having come from anywhere inside the house,” Reyes says thoughtfully. “So whoever killed her likely had it with him. There was no sign of a break-in—he might have known it would probably be Sheila who would answer the door.” He pauses for a moment, gazing at Sheila Merton’s dead face. “Someone showed up on that doorstep wearing gloves, thick socks and no shoes, holding something in his hands to strangle her with. Then, when she was out of the way, he grabbed the knife in the kitchen and waited for Fred.”

Barr nods thoughtfully. “Possibly someone who knew them, knew the house.”

Reyes asks, “Time of death?”

“Well, you know that’s always just a rough estimate,” Sandy says. “But my best guess is somewhere between ten o’clock Sunday evening and six o’clock Monday morning.” She adds, “I’ll know more when I’ve finished with him. But I can confirm that the knife from the kitchen block was indeed the murder weapon.”