Murder of a Creped Suzette

“Yes. That new officer, Martinez, brought it over yesterday.” Simon rubbed his temples. “I’ve stared at it and stared at it, but I just can’t shake loose why she looks so familiar to me.”

“Could you get the photo?” Skye asked. “I want to try something.”

“Sure.” Simon left the room, returning almost immediately with a glossy head shot of the dead singer. “What’s your idea?”

Skye took out a legal pad from her tote bag and ripped off a sheet. Eyeing the picture, she carefully tore a face-size hole in the paper, then laid it over the photo. “Now look. Does that help any?”

She had remembered a facial recognition test she used with younger children in which the removal of hair and background made a difference in their ability to identify faces as being the same.

Simon studied the altered image for several seconds, opened his mouth to speak, then pounded his forehead with the heel of his hand. “This is so frustrating. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Do me a favor.” Skye glanced at her watch. “Leave the picture covered like that; then after you’ve forgotten about it, look at it again.” It was twenty after four. “Memory is a tricky thing. Sometimes if you stop thinking about something, it will come to you.”

“Absolutely,” Simon agreed. “I’ll keep trying and I’ll call if anything clicks.”

“Thanks.” Skye stood and scooped up Toby. “And thanks for taking care of this guy, too.” Simon looked bereft, but she had to go.

“Anytime.” Simon walked her to the door and waved. “He’s a good little buddy.”

CHAPTER 20

“Desperado”

Skye rushed up the steps to the rectory and came to an abrupt halt. A piece of paper taped to the pillar read:

Members of the Low Self-Esteem Group

are reminded to use the back door.

Seriously? What was Father Burns thinking?

Skye shook her head and hurried inside. Wally was already waiting in the vestibule, sprawled on a wooden bench. His head rested against the beige wall and his eyes were closed. Not wanting to disturb him if he was catching a nap, she and Toby sat a few inches away from him.

Between the frustration of having no leads on the murder and the circumstances surrounding Darleen, Skye knew Wally hadn’t been sleeping well. At least the media furor had settled down for the time being. Thank goodness the reporters had been distracted by another Chicago politician caught with his hand in the till and his mistress hitting the talk show circuit.

“I’m awake.” Wally’s lids opened. “You can scoot closer.” His brown eyes looked affectionately at Skye. Once she was next to him, he said, “We now officially know the identity of our victim. The ME called this morning and confirmed she was Suzette.”

“Was there ever really a question in your mind?” Skye asked.

“No.” Wally shook his head. “Otherwise I would have conducted the investigation differently.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“I was just sitting here trying to figure out if there’s something I’m missing,” Wally explained. “Something I’ve overlooked in all the confusion.”

“I know what you mean.” Skye made a wry face. “Was she raped? Was her murderer someone from her past? And where is this mysterious brother of hers?”

“There’s nothing new from the Nashville police,” Wally said, putting an arm around her, “so I guess until we get the DNA results we’re stuck. And I could only request a fast turnaround for two of them, so if I chose wrong, the whole process could take a lot longer.”

“So all the guys you asked today agreed to be tested?” Skye asked.

“The construction crew was fine with it, but Taylor wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. Although he did it when I pointed out that matching the semen was our best chance at finding the killer and closing this case.” Wally smiled thinly. “Once he heard that, he said he’d issue an order to all his employees to cooperate.”

“I’m sure Rex wants the murder solved and forgotten so it doesn’t taint his big Branson of Illinois plans.” Skye leaned her head on Wally’s shoulder. “Did you tell him that his wife and James were the only people without alibis?”

“Nope.”

“Anything new from Darleen or her boyfriend?”

“No.” Wally ran his thumb down her cheek. “I’m not expecting any communication from them until I call tonight.”

“Right.” Skye snuggled closer. “Have you thought about what you’ll do if Darleen sends a statement disputing what you’ve said about your marriage? If she writes the wrong kind of letter—a dishonest one—you might not be able to get an annulment.”

Before Wally could respond, Father Burns swung open his office door and ushered them inside. He was in his early sixties and had been the pastor at Saint Francis for as long as Skye could remember. It was unusual for a priest to remain in a parish for so long, but his flock loved him and would be devastated if he was ever reassigned.