Chapter 11
Wilton Residence
The rest of the Wilton household staff had appeared as scheduled a couple of hours after Bent’s deputies began the search of the main house. He’d sequestered the threesome to the main living room since that area was done.
At this point, with the downstairs complete, he’d sent two of his deputies upstairs and the other two outside to get started on the many outbuildings.
Nothing of consequence had been found, which wasn’t entirely unexpected.
With what Bent had learned from his many calls to Wilton’s business associates and attorneys this morning, it looked more and more like these murders had nothing to do with Wilton’s business and everything to do with his personal life.
Possibly Wilton suspected his wife of an affair, perhaps with Parson.
Or Wilton’s wife wanted to get rid of her wealthy husband, and things had gone way wrong.
Either way, when a crime of passion or greed was planned to the degree he suspected this one was, care was generally taken to ensure nothing was left to tell the tale.
Luckily for law enforcement folks, few killers ever managed to cover all potential telling details.
The only way to find those little missed pieces was to question anyone and everyone close to the victims. Bent started with the gardener, one Jose Martinez.
“Have a seat, Mr. Martinez.” Bent gestured to one of the two chairs in front of the desk in Thomas Wilton’s home office.
Martinez was in the neighborhood of forty, looked fit. His chambray shirt and jeans suggested he chose comfort over anything else. The leather ankle boots said the same.
“When was the last time you were here, Mr. Martinez?”
“I was here on Thursday. I cut the grass. Took care of the shrubs. Once it was all done, I left for the weekend. Mr. Wilton wanted everything good shape and the staff gone by dark on Thursday.”
The man’s voice was deep, heavily accented. His demeanor proved straightforward. There was a sadness in his eyes. He had liked his employer.
“Mr. Wilton gave these orders personally?”
Martinez nodded. “Yes.”
“And you were to return to work when?”
“Next Monday.”
“How long have you worked for Wilton?”
“Since he built the place eight years ago.”
“Would you say the two of you were friends?” Considering the timeframe, that was a distinct possibility.
“Yes. We friends for sure.” Martinez nodded again. “Mr. Wilton was a fair boss.”
Bent had heard nothing less about Wilton’s business dealings. “Do you know of any reason anyone might want to harm him or his wife?”
A firm shake of his head this time. “No way. Mr. Wilton had no enemies. He never have trouble. Never.”
Having an employee of eight years think so highly of him spoke well of Wilton, for sure. “What about his wife?”
Martinez exhaled a big breath. “His first wife was good woman. Saint, you would say. This one different. She’s mean. Snob, you would call her.”
“How so?” Innuendos were well and good, but Bent needed facts and specifics.
“I did not trust her.” His head was wagging from side to side again. “She tell me a task she want done in yard, then if her husband didn’t like, she’d swear I misunderstood her. She did same thing to the others. Just ask them. They tell you. She lied all the time.”
Bent’s cell vibrated deep in his pocket. “Excuse me a moment.” With a triple homicide and the business with Vera’s sister Luna, he couldn’t afford to ignore a single call. Vera. “I have to get this.” He gestured to Martinez with his phone. “Give me a minute.”
The man nodded, and Bent stepped into the hall outside the office. “Hey.”
“Someone came in the house and attacked me. Erwin too.”
When he would have demanded more details, Vera tacked on, “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want to bother you, but since Erwin was involved, I knew I had to.”
What the hell? Worry ignited in his gut. “I’ll be right there.”
Bent rushed upstairs and found Hastings. “I need you to continue with the interviews of the household staff. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Will do, Sheriff.”
He was out the door and on the road within the next minute. The idea that Vera was always the one the bad guys went after wasn’t lost on him. Most likely because she wasn’t one to play by the rules. She always stuck her neck out too far. Pushed the envelope. Took the bigger risk.
He had to get it through her head that his heart couldn’t take her continued indifference to her safety.
Lincoln Medical Center
Medical Center Boulevard, 1:00 p.m.
A serious concussion.
After hearing what happened, Bent wasn’t surprised Vera had a Grade 3 concussion. The attacker had used something—a baseball bat, Erwin believed—to wallop Vera in the back of the head.
Fury tightened his gut. Made him want to tear something apart.
He’d sent Conover to the farm to search for anything the attacker may have left behind—prints, the baseball bat, any damned thing.
Two other deputies had interviewed the neighbors.
No one had seen anything. Not surprising since the area was one farm after the other with tens if not hundreds of acres between the houses.
Not a single one of those neighbors had video doorbells.
So that aspect was a bust, but he’d had to be sure.
The deputies had done a thorough search around the house and yard and come up empty handed.
The chances of finding any evidence were about nil.
“This is really bad timing,” Vera grumbled, drawing his full attention back to her as she gathered her things to leave the exam room.
She stared at Bent in frustration. “It’s the last thing I need right now.
I can’t drive for at least twenty-four hours.
And only then if my symptoms have subsided. This sucks.”
Bent got exactly what she was saying. This was his fault, in her opinion.
He shouldn’t have insisted that she and Erwin come to the ER and then she wouldn’t have the diagnosis along with the doctor’s instructions.
Well tough. If she didn’t want him to take care of her, she shouldn’t have called him.
Not that he would ever say as much. He was lucky she had called.
Vera Mae Boyett had been known to ignore this sort of thing and to not call for help.
He was grateful she had, because she had not been okay.
He had taken one look at her and known she was hurt far worse than she would admit.
“It sucks, I know.” He doubted his understanding mattered or made her feel better, but he had to try. “I sent Conover and a couple of deputies over to your house.”
She shot him a look that said the idea was a colossal waste of time. “God, I hate this. There are way too many things I need to be doing.”
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “All you need is rest and a little time.”
The way she glared at him spoke loudly and clearly as to what she thought of that counsel.
“I’m going to the Wilton house with you to finish those interviews.” When he would have argued, she gave him the side-eye. “Don’t even go there.”
“Whatever you say.” He put on his hat and opened the door.
“I don’t know what you expected to find at my house. If the man wore a ski mask, he probably wore gloves.”
Bent had anticipated she would say as much. “Yeah, most likely. But it doesn’t hurt to check. Not all criminals are that smart.”
“Assuming it wasn’t Erwin,” Vera said in an aside, her tone nothing short of furious, as they exited the double doors into the lobby. “She barely had a scratch, as it turns out, and she was right behind me. She probably had some heavy object in her purse and swung it at me.”
The doctor confirmed Erwin had absorbed a blow to the forehead, but the injury wasn’t a concussion and only required a butterfly strip. Still, she claimed to have lost consciousness, which, in Bent’s opinion, was highly unlikely.
“You think she did this just to get a look at your notes?” Made the most sense, he supposed. He glanced down the corridor, spotted the woman in question waiting at the nurses’ station.
“You’re damn straight I think it’s a possibility.
Especially after that load of irrelevant crap she used as an excuse for dropping by.
She only wanted to see what I had found out.
I wasn’t unconscious long enough for anything other than someone—most likely her—to shuffle through my stuff and toss things around.
Ten minutes, maybe.” Vera wore a smile for the benefit of the woman now rushing across the lobby toward them, but her tone told Bent she was anything but glad to see her.
“Just wait. You’ll see what I mean. The real question is, Why?
Maybe she was working with Alicia. Or maybe she is our murderer, and she wanted us to believe it was Alicia. ”
Bent grunted. “Maybe.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Erwin rested her hands against her cheeks in a show of dismay. “The nurse said you have a really bad concussion. This is just terrible.”
“I’ll be fine,” Vera said tightly.
“Are you sure? You really look—”
“Ms. Erwin,” Bent interrupted as he ushered Vera toward the exit. “Deputy Houser is waiting in the ER drop-off lane to take you to your car. I’m sure you’ll want to get home after the morning you’ve had.”
Erwin blinked. “Thank you. Yes. I am overwhelmed and exhausted.” She suddenly looked the part, when the moment before she’d been over-the-top exuberant. “And my head, it really hurts.”
Outside, Erwin waved as the deputy drove her away. Vera scowled as she climbed into Bent’s truck and fastened her seat belt. “That woman is in this up to her eyeballs.”
Bent started the engine. “Is that your anger talking or your professional opinion?”
“Right now”—Vera shoved on her sunglasses—“they are one and the same.”
Bent would wager the Wilton case was mostly solved already. Vera’s instincts were always on the money—even after a severe blow to the head. He glanced at her profile, fear mingling with his worry now.
How in the world would he ever protect her from herself?