There was nothing under Ada’s bed.
Des went back out in the hall now and locked the door behind her. She stretched a length of yellow crime scene tape across the doorframe, sealing it off.
“Find anything?” Mitch asked anxiously from his guard post at the top of the stairs.
“Not so much as a dust bunny.”
She unlocked the room next door and went in to photograph Norma, well aware that this crime scene had already been thoroughly compromised. Les had been alone in here with her before he’d called out to them. Hell, he had been in the damned bed with her. Ada had come in to say good-bye to Norma, as had Teddy.
When Des was done snapping her photographs, she slipped on a pair of latex gloves and had herself a closer look at Norma. Opened an eyelid, shining her flashlight into Norma’s eye. No hemorrhaging of the blood vessels. This told her that Norma had not been smothered with a pillow. Nor had she been strangled. Not that there was any obvious indication of strangulation. There was no bruising on her neck-or at least none that was visible to Des’s naked eye. An autopsy might prove otherwise, of course. She examined Norma’s scalp for wounds. Gently lifted her heavy head, fingering the back of it for welts or bruises. Nothing. There was no broken skin, no trace of blood on the pillow underneath. She examined the surface of the quilt that Norma lay under, searching for any hairs or fibers that might be foreign to her person. Nothing obvious jumped out at her. Carefully, she pulled the quilt back, followed by the blanket and sheet. Les had not neatened Norma’s flannel nightshirt when he’d tidied her. It was all bunched up around her thighs. Des pulled it up toward Norma’s neck, shining the light around on her mammoth, fleshy nakedness. A gross violation of the lady’s dignity, to be sure. But there was absolutely no way to be delicate when it came to examining the dead. Des found no obvious bruises or welts or cuts. The sheet underneath Norma appeared to be free of bloodstains. Also semen stains.
If the medical examiner and crime scene technicians had been standing right there alongside of her, Des would have flopped Norma over onto her stomach now and proceeded to check out her backside. But she was alone, and didn’t want to disturb the crime scene any further. So she stretched the quilt back over Norma, knowing full well that she’d already done quite a bit more than a first responder was typically supposed to do. There were two reasons for this. One was that she didn’t know when the crime scene technicians would get there. The other was that Des had been in the game. Once you have, it’s damned hard to pull yourself back.
Especially when it’s not in your nature to pull back
There was the half-empty water glass on Norma’s nightstand. Des bent down and sniffed at it. No odor. Not chlorine, not sulphur, not anything. And there was no mineral residue in the bottom of the glass. Still, she carefully bagged and tagged it. Norma’s copy of Ten North Frederick, the one that Teddy had given her, lay there on the nightstand, too. Recalling just how anxious he’d been to get it back, Des picked it up and flipped through the pages. About a third of the way in she found an Astrid’s Castle bookmark. Nothing else. Not until she glanced at the title page and found this inscription written lightly in penciclass="underline" TO N-MTYK-T
Which explained why he wanted the book back. Because here it was for anyone, specifically Les, to see. Written proof of their secret love, signified by the initials of that song of theirs, “More Than You Know.” As Des stood there studying the inscription, she found herself wondering just how deeply Teddy might be involved in these deaths. She knew he had loved Norma. She knew he needed money. How did these two facts fit together? Did they fit together?
The nightstand had one drawer. She slid it open, found an assortment of hand creams inside, also Vaseline, Vicks VapoRub, nasal spray, a couple of old wristwatches, spare eyeglasses, key chains, a deck of playing cards. Nothing, in other words.
Norma’s prescription bottles were on the bottom shelf of the medicine chest over the bathroom sink. Here Des found the bottle of Synthroid tablets that Les had told her Norma took for her underactive thyroid. Also Norma’s two hormone-replacement drugs, Prometrium and Premarin. And her heart medication, digoxin, which was marketed under the brand name Lanoxicap. This prescription, like the others, had been filled at Dorset Pharmacy. It also came with a red flag of a warning labeclass="underline"
Be sure you understand how and when to take this medication. Do not change your dosage unless your doctor tells you to do so.
According to the label, Norma’s prescribed dosage of Lanoxicap was two capsules twice a day. The bottle had contained 120 capsules when it was full-a thirty-day supply. The label was dated twelve days ago. Therefore, Des figured, it should contain no less than seventy-two capsules. She opened the lid, poured the capsules out into her hand and counted them out, returning them to the bottle one by one. She arrived at a total of eighty capsules. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
Still, she bagged and tagged all of Norma’s meds, then went and asked Mitch to fetch Les from room ten. Quickly, she closed the door and scampered over to the bed and listened closely. From there, she could hear Mitch’s footsteps creak on the floorboards. Hear him tap on Les’s door. Hear the door open, the low murmur of voices, the door close, footsteps approach. She could hear it all, just as Teddy had told her he had heard it all in the night.
Les Josephson was continuing to diminish right before her eyes. The hale and hearty innkeeper looked positively ashen, his posture hunched, his movements slow and unsure as he shut the door behind him. It was beginning to dawn on Des just how much of his usual robust chestiness was sheer willpower on his part. Minus that willpower, he was rapidly turning into a sad little old man.
“How may I help you, Des?” he asked softly, his eyes carefully avoiding the bed.
“By telling me why you rearranged her, Les,” Des said to him, not unkindly.
“I told you, I wanted her to look nice.”
“And how did she look? What position did you find her lying in?”
Les considered this carefully, his eyes continuing to steer clear of Norma. He absolutely wouldn’t look at her. “She was on her side, kind of.”
“You mean like a prenatal position?”
“No, it was more like she was on her back with one leg thrown over the other. And her hair was quite messy and, well, clammy. So I combed it.”
“Which comb did you use?”
“The one that’s there on her dressing table,” he said, pointing to the small mirrored table by the bathroom door.
She went over to it and said, “This wooden comb?”
“Yes.”
Des bagged and tagged it and set it on the mantel next to Norma’s pills and water glass. She took her time doing this, watching Les shift his weight from one foot to the other, growing steadily more uncomfortable in the presence of his cold dead wife. This was not a very nice thing for her to do, but hers was not always a very nice job.
“Is there anything else I should know about, Les? Besides you rearranging her and combing her hair, I mean.”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“You didn’t dispose of anything or pocket anything?”
Les frowned. “Such as what?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said distractedly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, could we talk about this somewhere else?”