Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (11 page)

Iris sat down in a white plastic chair and motioned for Savannah to sit across from her. She looked over at Savannah. “That detective wants to see me today and suggested I might need an attorney.”

“What? What’s this about? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not quite sure. But, hon, I could be in some kind of trouble.”

Savannah made deliberate eye contact. “What trouble?”

“Oh, I didn’t kill that man. I can tell you that for sure. It’s just that…” Iris grimaced, looked toward the diner door and abruptly stood. “Gotta get back to work.”

“What time, Iris?” Savannah asked quickly.

“What?”

“What time is your appointment?”

“Three.” She walked toward the restaurant.

“Want me to come?”

Iris stopped for a moment and looked back at Savannah. She shook her head and said, “No, that wouldn’t be right. Thanks anyway.” She disappeared into the diner.

Brrrrinnnng! Brrrrinnnnng! Knock! Knock! knock!

Iris walked slowly toward the front door and opened it just wide enough to see Detective Sledge standing on her porch with what she could only perceive to be a scowl on his face.

“Ms. Clampton, we had an appointment this afternoon. You stood me up. You can’t do that, Ms. Clampton.”

“Um, I’m not feeling well,” she said.
And that’s not a lie. I feel awful—sick, weak. I can’t eat. I’m a mess.

His tone was stern. “I need to talk to you sooner or later. If you choose later, it just might be in a jail cell.” He paused before asking, “Now, may I come in?”

Iris reluctantly opened the door.

In keen detective fashion, Sledge looked around the room and listened for signs of life elsewhere in the small house. “Is your son around?” He glanced toward the sounds he heard coming from down the hall.

“Damon isn’t here,” she said, her voice weak.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

He looked at her face as she spoke. “Ms. Clampton, your face is swollen. May I ask what happened?”

Iris took a deep breath, her posture became rigid. “Nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Looks like someone hit you. And I’m not usually wrong about these things.”

She tightened her lips in defiance.

“Your son? According to his record, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s done something like this, right?”

Iris turned away from the detective, pulling her hot pink and orange floral cardigan tightly around her. “So what do you want with me?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Can we sit down?”

“Oh, um, okay, I guess.” She motioned toward a chair and then walked across the room and sat down.

The detective leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He cleared his throat, his eyes on Iris. “Ms. Clampton, why were strands of your hair found on the victim’s body?”

Iris gasped. She jumped up from the chair and paced swiftly toward the kitchen. She wanted to run away, but where would she go? This was something she had to face. But how? How would she possibly get through it?

“Can you tell me how they got there, Ms. Clampton?”

She turned to face him, preparing to speak when the front door opened. Damon rushed in wearing a black hoodie. He glanced up at his mother and stopped for a second before becoming aware that Sledge was sitting there.

“Damon Jackson?” Sledge stood to confront the younger man.

Gosh, he has done his homework,
Iris thought.
He even knows that Damon has a different last name than the younger boys and I do.

Damon froze. He stared at Sledge, looked over at his mother, turned and darted. Sledge rushed to the open door and called out, “Mr. Jackson, I need to talk to you.” But it was no use. Damon was gone.

Sledge walked back into the house where Iris stood crying. “Are you going to have him arrested?” she asked.

“Not at this time,” he said. “But I may have someone pick him up and bring him in for questioning tomorrow. Do you know where he hangs out?”

Iris’s perfect posture seemed to give way. She returned to her chair, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her world collapsing. Sledge took his seat. She lifted her eyes in his direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect him to do that.”

“How extensive is his drug use, do you know?” he asked

She leaned forward, folding her arms in front of her. “I don’t think he’s using anymore. He’s been better—well, until he started feeling cornered by all you cops.”

Sledge had heard this kind of denial from hopeful parents before. “Who are his friends? Where does he hang out?”

Iris let out a sigh. “Chris has seen him outside a tattoo parlor on South Main Street. I think there’s a raunchy club right there where he goes sometimes. He used to hang out with a kid named Basil Bennett. And I’ve heard him talk about Jesse something-or-other. Oh, some creepy guy came here looking for him once—not sure if he was a friend. Seemed kind of mad at Damon.”

“What can you remember about him?”

“He had long hair…looked like a homeless guy.”

“Homeless?”

“Yeah, looked kinda like Damon, actually.” She shook her head. “Only he must have money because he was driving a nice car. A sports car. I think Chris said it was a Corvette.”

“What color?”

“Orange…?” she said as if she wasn’t all that sure.

He made a few notes, then looked up at Iris. “Thank you, Ms. Clampton. Now, I’d like to ask you a few more questions.” He blew air out through pursed lips. “Why did we find your hair on the victim?”

Back to that again, are we? Crap. How am I going to explain that? How could it have happened?
“Uh, I don’t have any idea.”

“Did you know the victim, Marvin Byrd?”

“You asked me that; I told you no. I didn’t know him, didn’t know who he was, never saw him before…” she snapped.

“Do you know who killed him?”

“NO!” She frowned and squirmed in her chair.

“Were you in the room where we found the body anytime that day?”

Iris froze. Her eyes darted from side to side as she considered how to respond.

“Well, were you? That’s a simple enough question, isn’t it, Ms. Clampton?”

She swallowed hard. “Only after the body was found—I went in there when I heard Maggie scream.” She continued in a strained voice, “The deputy asked me to look at the body.” She rubbed her hands together—twisted a ring on her finger. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and—well, it’s embarrassing—but I’ve been experiencing…hair loss.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence.

“Experiencing what?” Sledge asked.

“Hair loss,” she repeated. “If you want proof, I can show you the tube of stuff I bought to treat the problem.”

“Come on Ms. Clampton, how would your hair fall out of your head and land on the body if alls you were doing was standing there looking at it?”

She glared over at him. “I’m telling you, my hair falls out real easy—like a dog or cat that sheds. It comes out if I comb my hair…”

He smirked. “Did you comb your hair while you were looking at the body?”

“Well, no—but I may have scratched my head or there could have been hairs on my clothes and they fell off as I walked around the room.” She became more and more agitated. “I find my hair all over this house.” She was practically shouting now. “It just falls out, I tell you…”

Sledge stared at her without speaking. Finally he asked, his voice rather subdued, “You look pretty agile. Do you work out—exercise?”

“What?” she demanded, crinkling her forehead.

“I’m just wondering if you’re fit enough to climb out the window and down that ladder at the Forster home.”

Iris jumped to her feet. “Are you accusing me of taking the money?”

“Ma’am, the gig is almost up.” He fixed his eyes on her face. “We found more red hair in the bushes outside the window.”

“I did NOT take that money. I did NOT kill anyone. And I would appreciate it if you would just leave me alone!” she screamed, near hysteria. “Get out! Get out, now!!”

“Okay, Ms. Clampton,” he said as he stood. “I’ll go. But please don’t plan to leave town. After we complete the investigation and lab tests, I’m sure we’ll want to talk to you again.” Before reaching the door, he turned. “Take my advice and hire a good lawyer, will you?”

***

“Sledge here,” he said into his earpiece as he drove back to the station in his unmarked car.

“Yeah?” Gonzales responded. “How’d it go with Clampton?”

The detective thought for a moment and then said, “Interesting. Very interesting. Gonzales, she’s one damn stubborn woman. I’d sure like to know what her story is. If she’s not the killer, then who is she protecting? Her son? Did she witness the murder? Is that why her hair was found at the scene? Something just doesn’t fit—but then it’s early in the investigation and there are many more people to talk to. Someone is bound to have seen something.”

***

“Good evening, Mrs. Baxter. I’m Detective Sledge and this is Sergeant Gonzales. Please have a seat. And thank you for coming down here this afternoon.” He checked his watch: three-thirty-five.

“No problem, Detective. I believe in doing my duty. What is it you want from me?” she asked.

Hmm, eager to do her duty, huh? Sometimes these are the worst kinds of eye witnesses. They’re so keen on helping that they start making up things they think you want to hear. Some of them do it for the attention—their one-minute of fame.

He made a mental note of the woman’s demeanor and body language.
Well, for better or worse, here goes.
Sledge cleared his throat and asked, “Mrs. Baxter, were you there at the Forster house Saturday when the body was found?”

“No. I was on call for my real estate business and someone wanted to see a house that afternoon, so I wasn’t there for very long.”

“What time did you leave?”

“Close to one-thirty.”

“Did you go inside the Forster home?”

“Well, yes, I did. I used the…uh…powder room before I left. I also helped my friend, Dora—that’s Dora Lipton—cut and arrange some of her cakes and goodies on trays in the kitchen.”

“Did you have occasion to walk around to the south side of the house at all?”

“Uh, south?”

“Yes, where the booths and most of the activities were.”

“Well yes, my daughter was there with my grandson and I watched him play some of the games in the little arcade they had set up.”

“Did you know any of the people who were running the arcade games?”

“Nooooo. Oh, well, Dora’s young friend, Charlotte, was helping a little. But the games were run mostly by teenage boys.” She shuddered a little. “The older one was kind of creepy. I know that Reba…” she leaned in and explained, “that’s Charlotte’s mother, was watching over her daughter very carefully whenever that guy was around.”

Sledge perked up a little. “Tell us more about this dude.”

“Well, he may have been okay, just seemed a bit…crass for an event like this—especially where children were involved. First, he dressed like he was homeless and wore all black like a criminal. Oh and he had this black kerchief wrapped around his head like…like a gang member or an Indian brave. Strange person.” She looked up, raised her eyebrows. “He never caused any trouble that I know of.” And then she scowled. “I just didn’t like his manner or his looks.”

“Did you see this individual anywhere else on the property—in the house?”

“Noooooo…except when I was leaving. I saw him out in front of the house.”

Sledge glanced up from his notes. “What was he doing?”

“Oh let’s see. I really wasn’t paying that much attention. I guess he was talking to someone in a car.”

“Who was in the car? Can you describe him or her?”

“No.” She began speaking a little faster. “I wouldn’t have even known anyone was in the car, except that just as I was about to drive past to leave, I guess he didn’t see me and he took off real fast right in front of me.” Her eyes grew larger as she spoke. “It startled me.”

“So what did the individual in black do?”

“Just stood there. I looked over at him as if to say, ‘Really?’ I mean I had to slam my brakes on—my purse fell on the floor…” She took off her glasses and rubbed a spot on one lens before putting them back on.

Sledge cleared his throat and said, “Okay, Mrs. Baxter…”

“Oh wait…” She sat forward in her chair, squinting one eye. “There was something...” She snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it—the guy in black…well, when I saw him out in front of the house, he was no longer wearing that bandana. Yeah, that’s what was different. He had taken off the bandana and his hair was kinda bushy. He didn’t look quite so much like a…a gang member anymore.”

“Hmmmm, bushy hair, huh?” The detective thought for a moment. “Mrs. Baxter, what kind of car was it that took off in front of you?”

“Oh that’s easy. An old boyfriend of mine used to have one. It was a burnt-orange Corvette Stingray.”

***

Craig Sledge noted the time on the dash clock in his car as he pulled up to the curb in front of a tidy home on Crescent Street. Four-forty. He walked along a series of inlaid pebble steps that led to a small porch and used the knocker on the wide green door. “Hello, I’m Detective Sledge,” he said, flashing his badge toward the woman who responded.

“Oh yes, Detective, come on in. Let’s sit in the kitchen. Can I get you anything…coffee, water, lemonade…tea?”

“No thank you.”

The woman motioned for Sledge to have a seat. She walked over to the sink counter, quickly twisted her long, brown hair into a knot on top of her head, and picked up a sports bottle filled with a health drink. After lowering herself into a chair opposite Sledge, she said, “Now, I suppose you want to talk to me about the recent murder.”

“Yes. And I appreciate you agreeing to meet me at the dinner hour.”

“No problem. My husband and kids won’t be home from choir practice until later.”

“Mrs. Jameson, I understand you were at the fundraiser at the Forster place on Saturday.”

She nodded. “Yes. I was there with my family.”

“Did you know the deceased—Marvin Byrd?”

Kimberly Jameson shook her head. “No, the name isn’t familiar and I didn’t recognize his photo in the paper.”