Terminal Secret Read online

  Wallace pulled in behind the main building of the Demaine Funeral Parlor in Springfield, just off Backlick Road. He straightened his tie as he shut the door. Emily shook her skirt and plucked a piece of lint off her black sweater.

  “Here’s the routine,” Wallace said. “In and out in fifteen minutes. Check out the crowd. See if we notice anything or anyone unusual.”

  “You mean besides us? The unknown white chick with the big black partner?”

  “I guess you’re getting comfortable with our racial differential.”

  Wallace held the door open and Emily nodded and smiled as she entered the foyer of the funeral home. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling. The first floor housed four viewing parlors, one on each corner of the large brick establishment. A staircase wound upward from the front of the foyer, leading to four additional viewing rooms on the floor above. Total vacancy for eight quiet customers at a time.

  At the far end of the lobby, a table stood near the entrance to a set of double doors. A guest book was splayed open, a gold pen resting in the crevice between the pages. A framed placard with the name Beth Fluto rested next to the guest book. A large monitor flashed photos on rotation, each passing glimpse of Beth straining to capture a life through snapshots.

  As Wallace handed the gold pen to Emily, a photo of Beth with her son in her arms flashed across the screen and Wallace felt a twinge of guilt. A life lost. A crime committed. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped there was no connection at all.

  Wallace entered the room and nodded at the group in the corner nearest the door. A white woman in her early thirties stepped forward and extended her hand. “My name is Liz. Beth’s sister. I don’t think we’ve met before. Did you work with her at the store?”

  “Yes. Previously. We both did,” Wallace offered, presenting Emily with his palm up. Emily shook hands with the sister of the deceased and felt her grief. The tear on her own cheek caught her off guard and she quickly wiped it away.

  “We had a few others from the store stop by at the earlier viewing. Philip was here, of course. You couldn’t ask for a more understanding boss.”

  “Philip was always good to me,” Wallace said.

  Emily nodded in agreement.

  “Thank you for coming,” Beth’s sister said, looking past the detectives at an elderly couple coming in the door.

  “Our condolences for your loss,” Emily added.

  Liz nodded and then moved in the direction of the elderly couple, leaving the detectives alone.

  “I hate this,” Emily whispered.

  Wallace pointed slightly at the dozen or so bouquets of flowers on the opposite wall, arranged in rows. Nametags and brief messages hung in front of each bouquet, pinched between decorative clips disguised as tree leaves.

  Emily stepped past Wallace and approached Beth in the coffin. Her body had been dressed, an expensive wig fitted neatly on her head to conceal the persistent bald spots, which had refused to embrace the end of chemotherapy. Her makeup was artfully applied. Compared to the ashen frame the detectives had seen in the morgue, the Beth in front of them had seemingly moved closer back to life.

  Emily wiped away a tear and Earl Wallace closed his eyes and dipped his head. When he opened his eyes again, his partner had moved towards the door and was plucking a handful of tissues from a box.

  Wallace walked over, grabbed a tissue, and then whispered. “Get a picture of the visitor’s registration on your way out. I’m going to work the room a little.”

  Emily nodded. She stood in the foyer and waited for two visitors to complete signing in. When they left, she took out her cell phone and snapped a picture of the visitor registration page. She set her phone on the table and flipped to the previous page. Again she raised her phone to take another picture when a young man with blonde hair approached and cleared his throat for affect. Emily looked over and her eyes fell to the pendant on the man’s lapel, indicating that he was an employee of the funeral home.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” the young man asked quietly from the confines of a perfectly tailored black suit.

  Emily raised the edge of her sweater just enough for the young man to see the bottom half of her gold detective’s badge.

  “Carry on,” the young man replied, heading for the staircase.

  *

  Emily waited for Wallace in the car.

  When he sat down, she punched him in the arm. “Never again.”

  “Part of the job. Did you get photos of the registration book?”

  “Yes. Three pages. Maybe twenty names on each page. Sixty people or so in total.”

  “Let’s run through some of the names.”

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Someone named Philip.”

  Emily fiddled with her phone, enlarging the photo she had just taken. “I got it. Fourth line on page two. Philip Rafter.”

  “I say we go pay Philip a visit at Trader Joe’s.”

  “How do you know he works at Trader Joe’s?”

  “Because one of the flower bouquets had a sign on it that read, From her family at Trader Joe’s. And according to Beth’s sister, Philip works at the store in the greatest-boss-ever capacity. I think we should pay him a visit.”

  “Can we change our clothes first?”

  “Why?”

  “We look like we’re coming from a funeral.”

  “We are.”

  “It might not be the best choice of clothes for asking questions. I mean, all black, asking questions about a woman that Phillip knows just passed away. Makes us seem like ambulance chasers.”

  “Hearse chasers.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Wallace looked down at himself and agreed. “Do we look good enough for visiting the EPA and a couple of coffee shops?”

  Chapter 10

  A guy in a Hawaiian shirt corralled loose grocery carts from the first lane of parked cars and pushed them to the sidewalk. Another man in an equally offensive color scheme exited the automatic doors with grocery bags in both hands. A pregnant woman walked next to him, directing the employee to her parked vehicle.

  The automatic double doors slid open as Wallace and Emily approached. “I think you should take the lead on this,” Wallace said.

  “Why, because it’s a white suburban grocery store?” Emily asked.

  “You said it,” Wallace responded.

  Emily marched across the front of the store, dodging exiting customers with carts full of food. Wood paneling covered the walls. Enough Hawaiian-print shirts for a luau buzzed about, stocking shelves, handing out food samples. Emily rang a bell near the door to an elevated manager’s booth in the front corner of the store. A woman’s face with dark-framed glasses appeared over the wall above and Emily flashed her badge.

  “We’re looking for Philip,” she said.

  “He is in the back,” the woman replied.

  Minutes later the detectives sat down at a small round table in the break room at the rear of the store.

  Philip, the best-dressed employee in the store, sported a goatee and a red paisley shirt with matching red canvas shoes.

  “How can I help you, detectives?”

  “We wanted to ask a couple of questions about Beth Fluto.”

  “She was a great lady. And a great mother.”

  “You knew her son?”

  “Everyone at the store got to know him.”

  “Anything of note in her life that seemed out of the ordinary?”

  “Not really. I mean, she was ill. She was out of work frequently. Undergoing therapy. Trader Joe’s is pretty flexible. Most of our employees are part-time. A fair number of students. A fair number of married part-timers looking for some extra cash.”

  “And Beth?”

  “She was a full-time worker. A full-time worker who was very ill.”

  “And you offer decent health insurance? I mean, cancer treatment costs a fortune.”

  “She started working here before she found out she was ill. S
o that’s not the reason she joined the store. I would like to think it’s because it’s a good place to work. But a single mother in a yearlong bout with terminal cancer… I think flexibility and insurance would be at the top of your priorities when time is potentially short.”

  “A single mother with terminal cancer is one tough nut,” Wallace said.

  “One tough nut, indeed,” Philip agreed.

  “Was she into anything illegal that you know of? Drugs? Gambling? Prostitution?”

  “Detective, I think you just crossed the line.”

  Emily smiled and tried to lessen the abrasion. “I think what my partner is getting at is whether or not Beth had been acting strange recently. Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Philip’s goatee did little to hide the sneer he flashed at Wallace. “I think acting strange is relative with someone in her condition. I mean, she worked hard, but she missed a fair amount of time with chemo and radiation. Though, neither seemed to help with the cancer too much. And with chemo and radiation, there are all kinds of side effects that could be construed as strange behavior. I mean, at what point do frequent bathroom breaks constitute strange behavior?”

  Emily and Wallace nodded and shrugged, respectively.

  “What about her child’s father, was he in the picture?”

  “I never heard her mention him. I know they were married for a very brief period of time. We aren’t legally permitted to ask questions about kids, or marital status, or any of that jazz, as you know. But you learn personal things over time, unless you’re oblivious or choose to be oblivious.”

  “Things like what?”

  “Well, for example, I know that Beth and her son were both covered under the company’s insurance policy. So that’s some indication that the father of her son wasn’t around.”

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “Not that I know of, but…”

  Philip faded out and Emily tried to reel him back into the conversation. “But what?”

  “Am I violating any confidentiality agreement by divulging what I think?”

  “No, for a couple of reasons. The most obvious is that Beth is dead. And if you are only telling us what you think, then it’s purely an opinion. Your opinion.”

  “I wondered once if Beth was being roughed up. I thought maybe it was the father of the boy. I mean, that seemed like the obvious culprit.”

  “Roughed up how?” Wallace asked as a serious expression washed over his face.

  “Well, we have this guy Tom who works stocking the shelves and handling inventory. He does most of the heavy lifting in the back. Here at Trader Joe’s, everyone does everything, but if there’s something you like to do, as a manager, I’ll let you have it as often as I can. Anyhow, Tom, the guy in the back, views moving heavy boxes as a workout. A free workout. A paid workout. He’s into martial arts, yoga, reflexology. All that. Good worker too. But one day I come back to the break room, right here at this table, and Tom is strapping Asian medicated hot pads to Beth’s arm. He turns to me and says, ‘Check these out.’ I look over and Beth’s upper bicep and shoulder are covered in bruises.”

  “I asked her if she was all right and she said she was fine, but I could tell she was uncomfortable with the questions. She said she was moving stuff out of the bin in the storage room of her apartment building and a large box fell on her arm. Something like that.”

  “And you didn’t believe her?”

  “Let’s just say it seemed a little rehearsed. She didn’t want to talk about it so I let it go.”

  “Which arm was it?”

  “Right. It looked like maybe someone had reached out and grabbed her. Latched onto her arm and maybe shook her a little.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “It was a good size bruise. And in a strange location. At first I was a little concerned it had happened here at the store. Workman’s comp is a big expenditure for all companies. We are no different.”

  Detective Wallace scribbled in his notepad for the first time and then returned the pad to his front pocket. Emily quickly opened her notepad and jotted a few sentences. Detective Wallace slipped his card across the table.

  “Thank you for your time. It’s been helpful.”

  Philip cocked his head to the side, not sure which part of the conversation the detective was referring to.

  Emily also slid her business card across the table. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.”

  All three stood and exchanged handshakes.

  “We have a sale on red wine and a tasting that starts in twenty minutes.”

  “It’s only noon,” Wallace retorted.

  “We call it early happy hour for stay-at-home moms. It’ll be packed.”

  “We’ll pass,” Emily said smiling. “Maybe on the weekend.”

  *

  Outside in the parking lot, Emily turned towards her partner and asked, “What do you think? Did you hear anything interesting in there?”

  “The story about the bruise on Beth’s arm piqued my curiosity. Though a bruise could be from a lot of things.”

  “It could be. Beth could have been roughed up,” Emily responded. She paused before continuing. “Then again, maybe not. You know I had to re-qualify on weapons at the Academy when I transferred from Fairfax to DC. But prior to practicing for re-qualification, it had been a while since I had done repetitive, extended shots with a rifle and a shotgun. I think the bruise the store manager described on Beth could potentially be a bruise from target practice.”

  Wallace nodded. “Let’s see if we can’t get an answer to that question.”

  Chapter 11

  Emily went over Beth’s case as they sat in the car on the Beltway, chugging along at twenty miles an hour in the fast lane.

  Detective Wallace took the Annandale exit off the Capital Beltway and merged onto traffic on Braddock Road. Minutes later the car entered the Tall Tree apartment complex, a sprawling development built in the 1960s, comprised of forty three-story buildings with twelve units in each. The grayish brick exterior of the buildings blended with the overcast sky.

  Wallace pulled the unmarked detective’s car into a space and shifted the vehicle into park. Through the windshield, he could see a woman in a long beige coat playing peekaboo with a young boy. The woman and the toddler took turns hiding their faces behind the trunk of an old tree on the communal ground that ran between the apartments.

  Wallace flicked his chin in the direction of the woman and Emily followed his partner’s eyes. “That’s Beth’s sister. You want to take the lead again? This is still your neighborhood,” Wallace said.

  “Annandale is not my neighborhood. I mean, in high school I think we played Annandale in football a couple times, but that’s about it. These days, Annandale is little Korea, all dressed up in suburban clothes.”

  “Like I said, your neck of the woods.”

  Emily scowled.

  Wallace continued. “And not everyone in Annandale is Korean. Beth wasn’t.” Wallace pointed at the woman and child outside the car. “And neither is her sister or her son.”

  “Maybe not, but they are a dwindling minority. Annandale has the largest Korean population outside of Korea. Just drive down the main drag and look at the signs. Don’t bother trying to read most of them.”

  Wallace relented. “Okay. We tag team this. Good cop, good cop.”

  Emily stepped from the car and the woman in the beige coat scooped up the young boy with strawberry blonde hair. The female half of the detective duo extended her hand as she closed the distance with the woman. Wallace pulled himself from the car and joined them on the sidewalk.

  “Thank you for meeting us.”

  “You’re the same couple from the funeral.”

  “We are,” Wallace nodded. “We apologize for the ruse.”

  “You mean the lie?” Beth’s sister raised her hand and waved her finger. “Let me see your credentials.”

  Both detectives extended their badges and Beth’s sist
er leaned forward to examine them.

  “One more lie and you can speak to my attorney, or get a warrant, or whatever it is you have to do.”

  Emily tried to cushion the second meeting as the two-year-old boy wriggled in the arm of Beth’s sister. “My name is Emily Fields and I’m a detective with the DC Police. This is my partner, Detective Wallace.”

  “I’m still Liz. I’m still Beth’s sister. I find it easier to keep track of the truth.”

  “And we are truly sorry for your loss,” Emily added. “And, again, for lying.”

  “Thank you. You know, nothing prepares you, even when you’re prepared.” Liz nodded at the boy in her strong embrace. “This is Quinn. My nephew. He’s two.”

  “He’s adorable.”

  “He’s a handful. And I don’t have my parental stamina yet so he’s wearing me out.”

  There was an awkward pause and Detective Wallace rubbed his hands together.

  “We wanted to ask a couple of questions.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll answer what I can. I’m not sure exactly what your interest is in my sister.”

  “We aren’t exactly sure either,” Emily replied. “But I thought maybe we would start with a couple of basics. Do you know where she was the morning she was killed?”

  “In the canal, if you believe the police,” Liz said.

  Emily felt the sting of the insult.

  Wallace ignored it.

  The sister continued. “She had a doctor’s appointment. She’s been seeing a group of doctors at GW Medical Center since her original diagnosis.”

  “Do you know what time the appointment was?”

  “Eight or eight thirty, I think. They open pretty early.”

  “Did she usually drive herself to her doctor’s appointments?” Emily asked.

  “If it was just an appointment and it wasn’t a treatment day, yes.”

  “What time did she leave the house the morning of her accident?”

  “I don’t know. I had Quinn with me at my apartment in Chantilly. The day before was a treatment day and Beth was feeling a bit rough. I was watching Quinn at my place so Beth could rest. Get a good night sleep. She was supposed to pick Quinn up after her appointment.”