Cookie Dough Killer Read online

  “Is that yours?” he asked Kendra, pointing at a gold bracelet with a heart-shaped diamond charm.

  Her eyes widened.

  “I don’t know where that came from,” she shook her head.

  Chas took a photo of it, then pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his pocket. “Mind if I take this to the lab and see if I can find any information on it?” he asked.

  “I…I don’t know…” Kendra hesitated. “What if Brant got me a present and was going to surprise me with it?”

  “Do you remember seeing this in here before now?” he ignored her question.

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t you think your husband would’ve told you about it if it were a present, rather than leaving it on a windowsill where it might take you quite a while to find it?”

  “Maybe,” she murmured.

  Chas pulled on a nitrile glove and delicately picked up the beautiful trinket.

  “This isn’t fake,” he commented. “Do you think that this is the type of item that your husband could typically afford to buy?”

  “No,” it was almost a whisper.

  “Is it your birthday? Anniversary?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “No.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I take it and check it out, right?” he persisted.

  “I guess not,” Kendra wrapped her arms around her midsection.

  Chas continued his investigation, not finding anything else that stood out, and just before he finished, his cell phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text from Spencer.

  I have a lead, and some evidence. You available to come to the office?

  “Excuse me,” Chas said absently to Kendra, moving near the front door to return the text.

  Will be there in ten.

  “I have some pressing business,” he informed his former daycare provider. “I’ll be in touch if I need more information.”

  “Or if you find Brant, right?” she sounded worried.

  “Right. Of course. Thank you for your time,” Chas opened the door.

  “I suppose it goes without saying that you won’t be bringing Kaylee back,” Kendra said sadly.

  “I believe my wife has made other arrangements,” was the quiet reply before Chas strode away from the home.

  **

  “Where’s the catalog from the insurance company?” Chas asked, after Spencer had brought him up to speed.

  “Right here,” the younger man reached into his sport coat and pulled out the thin booklet.

  Chas flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Bingo,” he said, holding up the plastic bag with the bracelet in it. There was no doubt that the bracelet had belonged to the late Allivia Dunham.

  “I reviewed the video from the pawn shop, and I identified the guy who dropped off Allivia’s jewelry,” Spencer said.

  “You know him? Who is it? Brant Henderson?”

  “No, I don’t know the guy’s name, but he’s a homeless person who approached Janssen after Janssen went to the shelter looking for Brant. He took a photo of the guy with his pen camera.”

  “The victim’s body was clothed in filthy men’s clothing that smelled awful. I’m beginning to wonder if your homeless guy brought an extra bundle of clothes with him and dressed her in them after he killed her,” Chas mused.

  “Why would he dress her in something that would have his DNA all over it?” Spencer was skeptical.

  “A couple of possibilities,” Chas frowned. “Either our guy doesn’t have full command of his faculties, or, he might have just been smart enough to steal another homeless person’s clothing to throw us off.”

  “That makes sense,” Spencer nodded. “So, we’re heading to the shelter?”

  “Absolutely,” Chas buttoned his sport coat. “Let me see the photo that Janssen took.”

  Spencer showed the photo to his boss on his phone. Chas nodded.

  “Janssen would make a great member of our team if you can talk him into it,” the detective remarked.

  “I’m working on it, sir,” Spencer replied, following him out the door.

  **

  Chas and Spencer entered the City of Refuge shelter, looking very much out of place in their suits and Italian leather shoes. The two men scanned the inside of the building, looking for their jewelry thief/murderer. As they moved slowly through the worn interior of the building, the homeless folks wandering about cleared a path, intentionally stepping out of their way.

  The woman whom Janssen had encountered previously strode up to them with a stern look on her face.

  “You two here to make a donation?” she asked dryly.

  “As a matter of fact, I made a considerable donation already this year,” Chas replied, his eyes still glancing about the room.

  “Oh really?” she oozed skepticism. “And who might you be?”

  “Detective Chas Beckett. We’re here looking for one of your regulars,” he focused his attention on her at last.

  His response startled her and she changed her tune immediately.

  “Oh, Detective Beckett, yes…I remember your…sizable donation. I can’t tell you how much it helped,” she smiled gratefully. “We’ve been able to shelter at least a hundred more folks because of our expansion. What can I help you with? Who do you need?”

  Chas looked at Spencer, who brought up the man’s photo on his phone.

  “Oh, Larry,” she nodded. “What did he do now?” she asked with a rueful expression.

  “We need to bring him in and ask him some questions. Do you know where we can find him?” Chas asked.

  “Probably at the yacht club,” she replied, stunning them both into silence. Noticing their astonished looks, she explained. “That’s where he sometimes hangs out when he’s not here. Behind the kitchen. He knows a guy who works there, who sometimes gives him food and unfortunately alcohol. I don’t let him sleep here if he comes in drunk, that’s against the rules, so he crashes behind the trash cans at the Club. The cops have thrown him out of there a few times.”

  “So, he’s been incarcerated before?” Spencer asked.

  “Almost certainly. I think that’s actually what landed him on the street to begin with.”

  Spencer and Chas exchanged a glance.

  “What’s his name?” Chas asked.

  “Larry. Larry Burnside.”

  “Any chance he’s armed?” Spencer inquired, always thinking about security.

  “I seriously doubt it. Weapons aren’t allowed here, and I don’t know where he’d keep them if he had them. He’s never struck me as being the violent type anyway.”

  “Thank you so much for your help, Ms…?” Chas shook her hand.

  “Janna. Janna Winkleman, and the pleasure is mine, Detective, truly,” she grinned, her grip firm.

  Chas handed her a business card with his office number on it. “If you hear from Larry before I do, would you please give me a call?”

  “You got it. Have a nice night,” she waved as they headed toward the door.

  “You too,” the detective replied.

  “To the Club?” Spencer asked, getting into the car.

  “To the Club,” Chas confirmed.

  **

  Chas parked his unmarked sedan behind the Club, and as soon as he and Spencer got out of the car, they heard the unmistakable sound of singing, and followed it behind the trash cans, where they found a bedraggled Larry Burnside serenading the back door of the kitchen.

  “Larry Burnside?” Chas asked, flashing his badge.

  “No,” Larry’s eyes looked like those of a trapped animal.

  Before Chas or Spencer could respond, the back door flung open and an irate man shouted at Larry.

  “I told you to get outta here and stop disturbing the peace, you no-good…” he cut off in mid-sentence when he noticed Spencer and Chas. “Can I help you?” he turned his attention to them.

  “We’re just here to have a conversation with Larry,” Chas held up a hand. “It’ll be much quieter b
ack here in a moment.”

  “You guys ain’t the mob, are you? I don’t need no trouble around here,” the man warned.

  Chas flashed his badge. “Calgon PD, don’t worry.”

  “Oh, okay, gotcha. Well…carry on then, I guess,” the man raised a hand in farewell and hurriedly closed the door.

  “Cops? You two are cops?” Larry regarded them quizzically. “I ain’t never seen no cops dressed like you two.”

  “Larry, we’re going to take you to the police station to have a little chat,” Chas replied.

  “What? Why? I didn’t do nothing. I was just out here singing for my supper. That usually works. They give me food so my mouth will be full and I won’t sing no more,” he chuckled.

  “We’ll get you some food at the station. Right this way,” Spencer gestured toward the rear parking lot.

  “For real? Can I spend the night too? Those cots that y’all got in there are sweet, and every cell has its own bathroom.”

  Chas and Spencer maintained straight faces and led Larry to the car, seating him behind the passenger seat.

  “Man, this is the nicest police car I’ve ever seen,” he remarked as Chas and Spencer rolled down their windows.

  The smell of the man in the back seat was overwhelming. Chas put his portable light on the roof and drove faster than usual back to the station.

  “That was fun,” Larry smirked as they led him into the station and sat him in an interrogation room. Chas chose the largest room they had, and turned the ceiling fan on high to circulate the air.

  “Do I get some food now?” Larry asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “Sit upright please. We’re having a dinner delivered from the jail, it’ll be here in a bit,” Chas informed him.

  “Why am I here anyhow?” Larry frowned.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions in connection with the murder of Allivia Dunham…” Chas began, and the effect of his words on Larry Burnside was startling.

  “What? Murder? I don’t know nothing about no murder,” he shook his head and stood up. “Uh-uh, no sir. You got the wrong guy.”

  He turned toward the door and ran into a brick wall named Spencer.

  “Sit down, Larry,” he ordered quietly.

  “Okay, but I didn’t do nothing and I ain’t going down for murder, I don’t care how good the food is,” he plunked back down in the chair, crossed his arms and shook his head.

  “Do you know this man?” Chas showed Larry a picture of Brant Henderson.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He gives me food sometimes, from that fancy club that he works at,” Larry avoided the detective’s eyes.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “Huh?” Larry asked, bouncing his legs up and down while he sat, and clearly stalling.

  “How did you meet Brantworth Henderson?” Chas enunciated carefully.

  “Oh, he…uh, he volunteers down at the shelter,” Larry scratched behind his ear and Spencer unconsciously shifted away from him, wanting to avoid any potential pests that might be scurrying about.

  “How did you happen to find out where he worked?”

  I don’t, uh…I don’t remember,” Larry’s eyes darted about the room. “Where’s the food?”

  “Speaking of food, how is it that you made an arrangement with Brant to get food from a very expensive restaurant?” Chas stared at the nervous man in front of him.

  “It was just leftovers when they cooked too much, or when the rich people changed their minds. It wasn’t like stealing or nothing,” was the defensive response.

  “Funny that you mention stealing,” Chas scooted his chair closer to the table, the metal legs making a horrific screech. Larry, already agitated, nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’ve done a bit of stealing yourself, haven’t you, Larry?” the detective leaned forward, his steely gaze pinning down the now-shaking man.

  “I…no…I…don’t…I haven’t…” he stammered, the color draining from his face, his breathing fast and shallow.

  “I want to show you something Larry,” Chas nodded at a uniformed officer in the back of the room, who rolled an audio/visual cart forward. It had a small television screen which was hooked up to a VCR.

  Spencer turned on the TV. The video was already queued up, so he hit PLAY on the VCR, and an image of the pawn shop popped up. Moments later, Larry Burnside came strolling into the view of the camera, his pockets full of treasures.

  “Oh no, oh lordy no,” he sighed, trembling and running a hand over his face.

  “Watch the video, Larry,” Chas ordered quietly.

  Larry turned his attention back to the screen, tears welling in his eyes. The image flickered a bit, then showed him handing over Allivia Dunham’s jewelry to the shopkeeper. Spencer stopped the tape, which showed Larry frozen on the screen, committing a very illegal act.

  “I didn’t…I can’t…you don’t understand,” he cried, dropping his head into his hands and rocking back and forth.

  “Larry, put your hands in your lap and look at me right now,” Chas instructed.

  He took in a shuddering breath and complied.

  “The jewelry that you just handed over on the tape belongs to a woman who was murdered the night before,” Chas dropped the bombshell, watching Larry for a reaction.

  “No! No, no, noooo…” the tears finally came. “I didn’t kill anybody! I swear to you on my mama’s grave, I ain’t never killed nobody. Never,” Larry put his hands over his face, making a pitiful, keening sound.

  “Take a breath, Larry,” Chas nodded at an officer who appeared in the doorway with a cup of coffee, and the officer placed it in front of the crying man.

  Larry took a few deep breaths, swiping at his face with the back of his hand and leaving streaks of dirt behind. Spotting the coffee, he picked it up with shaking hands and took a sip. It seemed to calm him.

  “Where did you get the jewelry, Larry?” Chas asked.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” he shook his head and took a gulp of the coffee. “No sir, no way.”

  “Where did you get the jewelry?” Chas repeated.

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “If you don’t tell me where you got the jewelry, I’m going to have to assume that you took it off of the victim when you killed her.”

  “I didn’t. I never saw her and I didn’t take the jewelry,” tears threatened again.

  “Then who did?” Spencer broke in.

  Larry looked from Spencer to Chas and back again. “Brant,” he confessed, his shoulders slumping.

  “Brantworth Henderson took the jewelry? How do you know?” Chas demanded.

  “We…we had an arrangement. He would give me food, and every now and again, I’d get a little drink, and I just had to run some errands for him from time to time.”

  “What kinds of errands?”

  “Every couple weeks or so, he’d give me a bunch of jewelry, and he’d tell me to go sell it for cash. I’d bring him the cash, and he’d give me food and a drink sometimes. Good food too, like pieces of steak, and fish and salad. Way better than the stuff at the shelter,” Larry finished miserably.

  “Where did he get the jewelry?”

  Larry shook his head. “I don’t know and I didn’t ask. He always had it when he was at work though.”

  “So, he stole it from women at the Club and sold it through you.”

  “I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t do it. I’m just trying to survive you know?”

  “Did he ever say anything about his mother?”

  “No, he never talked about his personal life. We were like business partners.”

  “Did he approach you and ask you to do this for him?”

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “Why do you suppose he chose you, Larry?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe cuz I was desperate? I got kicked out of the shelter one night for being a little opinionated in a discussion with another resident, and he had to escort me
out. I was in a bad way, cuz I was sick and didn’t have nowhere to go, so he gave me some money and told me to come see him behind the Club the next day,” Larry shrugged. “Guess I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “When is the last time that you saw Brant Henderson?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really keep track of days and such.”

  “When was it in relation to this video? The night before, that morning, two days before?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought it was kind of weird though. When I got that stuff,” he pointed at the screen, “he didn’t leave it in the pocket of my backpack like he usually does.”

  “Where did he leave it?”

  “When I woke up, it was laying right in front of my face, right out there in the open.”

  “At the shelter?”

  “Oh no, he never brought that stuff to the shelter, that could’ve been dangerous. He always made the drop when I was sleeping behind the Club.”

  “Do you recognize this bracelet?” Chas held up the baggie with the bracelet from Brant’s house.

  “Nope, but I bet the guy at the pawn shop would give me at least twenty for it,” his eyes were starry for a moment.

  The smell of chicken and dumplings wafted into the room and Larry’s stomach growled audibly.

  “Oh wow,” he groaned, turning toward the officer who stood in the doorway with a tray.

  “Jenkins,” Chas spoke to the other officer in the room. “Take him to holding and let him spend the night after he eats. Make sure he gets a shower first though, and give him some clothes from lost and found.”

  “You got it, Detective,” the officer motioned to Larry who rose and looked at Chas.

  “Am I going to jail?” he asked.

  “For tonight, yeah. You’ll be released in the morning, but don’t leave town.”

  “I won’t,” he shrugged. “Got nowhere to go,” he mumbled, shuffling after the officer.

  “Find Brant,” Chas told Spencer when all the others were out of earshot.

  “You got it,” the younger man nodded grimly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN