Marcie's Murder by Michael J. McCann Read Free Book Online Page B

and nodded before turning back to Branham.
    “I’ll see if he’s available. Is it a personal matter, or business?”
    “ Police business,” Branham said. “A homicide investigation.”
    “Oh, well, I see. He should be in his office. Follow me.”
    Brother Miles led them through the reception area to the main staircase. As they went up the stairs to the second floor, Karen stared at the back of the man’s head. She ’ d been put off by the cassock and the oily personality. It was a point in his favor that he ’ d discarded the receptionist bullshit as soon as Branham told him they weren’t there to compare sugar pie recipes, but it didn’t do anything to lessen her dislike of the place. Religious fanaticism set her teeth on edge.
    On the second floor Brother Miles showed them in to a large room furnished with a round wooden meeting table and chairs.
    “This is our meeting room,” he said. “No phone, no interruptions. Brother Charles will be with you right away.”
    Within two minutes they were joined by a tall bearded man who also wore a white cassock. Karen was standing just inside the door and he approached her first.
    “I’m Brother Charles Baker,” he said, sticking out his hand.
    “Detective Stainer,” Karen said, hesitating. What the hell . She shook his hand. His grip was firm and dry, business-like. He was the man she ’ d seen this morning outside the donut shop. Up close, he looked nothing like Hank . H is face was longer and the skin looked pasty . H is nose was hooked like an eagle’s beak, where Hank’s was straight and normal sized . H is brow was higher and his eyes were a watery blue , where Hank ’s heavy brow gave his brown eyes a brooding look. This guy’s reddish- brown hair was short and slightly wavy, where Hank’s chestnut brown hair was frizzy, and the monk’s beard was quite long, where Hank kept his beard trimmed short. Th ey were about the same height but this guy was about twenty pounds heavier than Hank . Karen could believe that an eyewitness catching a one-second glimpse of this guy through a kitchen window at night might mistake him for Hank from a distance when Hank was getting into his car to leave the bar . Otherwise, though, you’d have to be blind not to see the differences.
    “Deputy Chief,” Brother Charles said, moving around the table to shake Branham’s hand. “ Good to see you again . Please, sit down. What can I do for you?”
    “Do you drive a white pickup truck, Brother Charles? Dodge Ram?”
    “Yes, I do. It’s mostly used for farm work, but I borrow it occasionally when the administration car, the Ford Focus , isn’t available.”
    “Were you in Harmony this morning, driv ing the pickup?” Branham asked.
    “Yes, I was.”
    “What about Saturday night? Were you in Harmony Saturday night?”
    “What’s this about? Was there a traffic violation or something?” Brother Charles frowned. “I don’t remember doing anything wrong.”
    “Please just answer the question, Brother Charles. Were you in Harmony Saturday night?”
    Brother Charles leaned back and sighed. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
    “About what time?”
    “Later in the evening.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “Late.”
    “How late?”
    “Close to midnight, I guess.”
    I guess . Karen eased her chair away from the table a few inches. This guy was definitely going for a ride. She looked at his hands, resting lightly on the table in front of him. They were large hands, with thick fingers. She could imagine them around the neck of some woman, strangling the life out of her.
    “Were you at Gerry’s Bar about midnight?” Branham asked.
    “Yes, I was.” Brother Charles spread his hands . “Look, I take it that someone saw me there and reported it to you. I’m guessing this is in connect ion with the killing of Mrs. Askew. It was in the news . I was there Saturday night, but I didn’t see anything that could help you.”
    “Why were you there?”
    “I’d rather not