CHAPTER SEVEN
“It wasn’t me. I swear to God, it wasn’t me.”
Faith resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We know. Detective Jenkins informed us that your alibi checked out. We’re not interrogating you. We’re just trying to understand why someone might have wanted Margaret Hayes dead.”
Faith and Turk were talking to George Norwood, the next-door neighbor who had called the police on Hayes. Faith had cleaned Turk’s bite wound and stitched it up with her first aid kit, then walked next door to talk to him after finishing at Hayes’s house.
George licked his lips anxiously and looked between Faith and Turk, almost as though he couldn’t believe they were telling the truth and didn’t assume he was the killer.
The tall, overweight Norwood, who was now wearing a stained wifebeater and had more hair poking through the low cut of the collar than sat on top of his head, definitely looked the picture of drunk and disorderly but not exceptionally violent murder.
Jessica was still in the house. She insisted on being the one to look through Hayes’s computer, probably embarrassed from throwing up earlier.
Jenkins was overseeing the evidence collection and sweet talking the coroner’s assistant who showed up to get Hayes’s body, hoping to charm her into moving it to top priority.
Faith didn’t think he’d have to charm very hard to get that.
“I mean… she had that dog,” Norwood suggested tentatively.
“Yes, the fake service dog?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Big German Shepherd, biggest I’ve seen. Looked like him but younger and more muscular.”
Turk snorted indignantly, and if Faith hadn’t just seen a person literally cut to ribbons, she would have laughed. “Yes, I’ve seen the dog,” she said. “You’re claiming that it’s a fake service dog?”
“I mean, it was obvious,” Norwood explained. “Service dogs are supposed to be well-behaved. Like him.”
Turk snorted again and lifted his chin with great dignity.
“So, this dog wasn’t well-behaved?”
Norwood chuckled. “Hell no. We didn’t think anything was wrong because all that barking you heard? That was every day. Sometimes at night.”
“Did anyone talk to Margaret about the problem?”
“Oh yeah, we all did. Most everyone on this block.”
“One on one or all together?”
“No, one on one. It wasn’t like we grabbed pitchforks and marched on her house.”
Faith nodded. “So, you talked to Margaret, and what did she say?”
“To me? ‘Fuck off, asshole. Mind your own God-freaking business.’ I remember it specifically because it’s the only time I’ve ever heard anyone say God-freaking.”
“So, she wasn’t receptive to complaints about her dog.”
“She wasn’t receptive to complaints about anything. She was one of those women who like… like… she was entitled is what I mean. You know the word. I don’t want to say it.”
“A Karen?” Faith asked drily.
“Yeah, exactly.” He blinked. “Not that I agree with what happened to her or anything.”
“Right.”
“You gotta understand, Special Agent, this dog was a menace. It wasn’t just the barking.
It was aggressive too. She’d walk it, and it would growl anytime anyone came within twenty feet.
And she wouldn’t do anything to stop him.
Wouldn’t move out of the way either. If you tried to stand your ground, she’d say, ‘I’ll let him bite you if you don’t move.
’ Like it was the world’s job to get out of her way.
This one time a kid was playing in his front yard, and the dog snapped at him.
The parents came out all red-faced, and Margaret had the gall to tell them that it was their fault for letting the kid play ‘on the street.’ When her dog jumped onto their lawn to get to him. ”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind telling me which house this is?”
Norwood hesitated. “I mean… I don’t think they had anything to do with this.”
“Probably not,” Faith agreed, “but I want the house just the same.”
Norwood shifted his feet, reluctant to rat out his neighbors. “Look, I shouldn’t speak for other people. It’s not my bus—”
“Mr. Norwood,” Faith interrupted. “Margaret Hayes wasn’t just killed. She was literally torn to pieces. I’ve fought on actual battlefields before, and I’ve never seen a body that looked like hers.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “I know.” He lifted a shaky hand to his forehead. “Shit. I’m sorry. Number two-fifty-three. The Leightons.”
“Thank you.”
She turned to leave. Norwood grabbed her arm, a major no-no, but he let go instantly when Turk bared his teeth.
“I really didn’t want this to happen to her,” he said. “I didn’t like her, but no one wanted her killed like that.”
“Someone did,” Faith replied.
Norwood lowered his eyes. She left him there and headed for two-fifty-three, a single-story ranch house at the corner that looked a little out of place among the two- and three-story colonials that dominated the neighborhood.
A woman came to the door when Faith knocked. She wore a ragged t-shirt, no bra, baggy sweatpants and the world-weary expression that only overworked mothers could perfect. She took one look at Turk and that expression instantly hardened. “No dogs. We don’t allow dogs in this house.”
“I’m fine talking on the porch, ma’am,” Faith said, “and for the record, Turk is an actual K9. Your son could smack him in the head with a whiffle ball bat all day, and he’d sit there and take it.”
Turk looked up at Faith in alarm. The woman lifted her frown to Faith. “Why are you talking about my son?”
“I understand there was a confrontation between you, your husband and Miss Margaret Hayes recently. You are Mrs. Leighton, right?”
The woman looked past Faith at Hayes’s house. Her eyes widened when she saw the police vehicles. She blinked and looked back at Faith. “Yes, I’m Barbara Leighton. What’s going on? Why is the FBI here?”
“Turk, myself, and my partner specialize in cases with certain characteristics,” Faith replied. “We’re investigating Miss Hayes’s death because the crime scene demonstrates those characteristics.”
“Oh my God.” Barbara lifted her hand to her mouth. “That’s why the dog was barking.”
Faith realized she hadn’t seen anyone else here. No noise came from inside the house either save the soft note of the radio playing an old swing song. “Is your husband home?”
“No, Tyrone’s out with Oscar right now. They’re getting ice cream. Tyrone’s a long-haul trucker, so when he’s home, they try to schedule a father-son outing at least once. We do family outings too, but I like them getting just father-son time. I think it’s important.”
“I agree,” Faith said. “How old is your son?”
Barbara blinked and seemed to focus on the conversation again. “Why does that matter?”
Because I need to know if he’ll tell me if I ask him where his dad really was.
Aloud, Faith said, “I understand he was attacked by Miss Hayes’s dog recently.”
“Okay, but you asked his age,” Barbara said, the hard look back in her eyes. “Why does that matter?”
Faith realized she wasn’t going to be able to beat around the bush anymore. “Someone murdered Margaret Hayes a few hours ago. I believe it might be related to her aggressive dog and her own aggressive manner regarding the dog.”
“My husband is at the Shops at Chestnut Hill,” Barbara said firmly.
“I have texts from him telling me so, and for the record, my son is five years old, so if Tyrone were going to murder someone, he’d probably leave him at home rather than take him, especially where there’s a big dog that could kill him. ”
“All right,” Faith said, lifting her hands. “Fair enough. Can you tell me about your interaction with Miss Hayes?”
“Why?”
“Because someone killed her. Not your husband, fine, but someone. I need to find out who, and having an idea of what Margaret was like can help me with that.”
Barbara took a deep breath and released it through her nose.
Her expression suggested she still didn’t trust Faith, but when she looked down at Turk, what she saw must have mollified her a little because her face softened.
“Margaret was hurting deeply. I don’t know what happened to her to make her that way, but she was. ”
Faith raised an eyebrow. That was interesting. “Can you be more specific?”
“I just said I can’t,” Barbara said, a little irritably. She took a breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. This is…”
“It’s tough,” Faith sympathized. “No one wants the FBI talking to them for any reason.”
Barbara sighed. “Margaret Hayes was rude. Her dog lunged at my son on our front lawn, and when we told her to keep him off our property, she told us that it was our fault for letting our son play on the street. He wasn’t on the street; he was on our lawn.”
Faith nodded. “That matches what I was told. I’m curious to say why you believe Miss Hayes was hurting and not simply rude?”
Barbara smiled ruefully. “I suppose I don’t know that for sure.
It’s just what I’d like to believe. My mother always used to tell me to have sympathy for angry people because you don’t know what happened to them to make them angry.
I guess it’s easier for me to think that Margaret was hurt than that she genuinely believed our son deserved to be attacked by her dog. ”
Faith nodded again. “And did you have any interactions with Miss Hayes after this?”
“No. She didn’t really talk to any of her neighbors. She liked keeping to herself, and the rest of us liked it that way. We have Oscar play in our backyard now. That’s probably safer anyway. Tyrone told me if it wasn’t a dog, it could have been a different kind of predator.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s okay.”
“Me too.” Barbara shifted her feet, ready for the interview to be over. “Did you need anything else?”
“I might reach out to your husband a little later,” Faith said, handing her a card. “Give that to him just in case I do.”
“You really think he did this?”
“Honestly, no, but I have to do my due diligence. I might not call him, but he should be prepared in case I do.”
Barbara took the card and shoved it in her sweatpants’ pocket. “All right. Take care, Special Agent.”
“You too,” Faith replied.
As she and Turk walked back to Hayes’s house to rejoin Jessica, Faith played Barbara’s words over in her head. Margaret Hayes was, by all accounts, a rude, self-centered, entitled woman. A Karen.
But hurting. Faith wondered why. And she wondered what hurt might have prompted her to buy a fake service vest for an animal that was clearly a guard dog.
Maybe knowing the answer to that would help her find Hayes’s killer.
Maybe it would only help her understand Margaret a little better. Either way, it was worth the effort.
But what had hurt the killer enough that they tore a woman literally to shreds? Maybe Faith was better served answering that question and ensuring that they didn’t walk into any more scenes straight out of a horror movie.