Unexpected
Chapter 12
The television screen emitted the only light from Connie's apartment as Johnny sat on the long sofa with his arms around her. After some time watching the late night news, Connie soon felt Johnny's chest rise in slow rhythm to his long, deep breathing.
He had obviously fallen asleep and his head now drooped on the top of her head. It made Connie smile at the indulgence of being alone with someone who truly cared about her. Their long history together spoke volumes. And looking at this scene now, she guessed Johnny will be staying over tonight again. It was getting to be a habit but this time the thought of that did not bother her.
Connie's expression became serious once more when she pondered the state of their relationship. He had been very understanding about her coming in late every night. He never put demands on her and he was there for her. She was lucky to have him.
What was she waiting for?
Reaching her arm over, she nudged him on the shoulder, "Hey...Johnny?"
"Hmmmm?' Johnny rolled his head a couple of times. He slowly opened his eyes and turned in her direction, while blinking a couple of times. It took him a while to take in everything, "Chica?" he still sounded sleepy, "Did I miss the news? You want me to go now or something?"
"Quite the opposite," Connie said, softly as she made her decision, "In fact, I'm thinking of leaving some extra space in the bathroom so you can leave your toothbrush...if you still want to, that is."
Connie had surprised herself when she blurted out the words. But she wasn't going to back down as she looked over at her boyfriend. Johnny sat up. He was wide awake now. And with a satisfied smile, he reached for her.
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It was early morning the next day. Mike and Connie were on their way to Heather Brantley's estate where her husband (who was still in Mexico), she and Tim Brantley resided.
Connie unintentionally yawned.
"Late night?" he asked.
"Sorry," she stated unthinkingly, "We had stayed up later than expected."
Mike's mouth was set in a straight line at her mention of 'we' but otherwise, his expression had not changed. Staring out the window, Connie thought it best to change the subject.
"Isn't this the same route that Tim Brantley had driven on the night of the accident?" she asked.
"It is," MIke agreed, his hands gripping the steering wheel, "This route down 67th Street leads to the State Highway, and after the next intersection, it will lead straight to the Brantley estate."
"So do you think Heather Brantley and nephew Tim are both mixed up in the murder?" Connie wondered.
"Hopefully this visit will answer some of those questions," Mike said, "Let's not dismiss Tim Brantley as a defendant just yet. At least we have three more days before we are due in court."
"So what we have so far regarding the case," surmised Connie, "is that Tim Brantley was driven home by assistant Katherine Scott and put to bed in a drunken or intoxicated state by her. Later, someone else takes the Mustang out again. Then while on the road, witness Mary Harrison notes that same car weaving before hitting a body. And it's only later that we find out that the car had hit the already dead body of Larry Carson."
"That's it in a nutshell," Mike stated, "Remind me to use you to write my summation."
Connie smiled.
Mike slowed his car at the intersection, drove three hundred yards over a surfaced road, and turned to the right between huge stone pillars, marking the entrance to the Brantley estate.
When they got to the entrance, Heather Brantley was standing at the opening the of the front door. Connie couldn't help noticing that Heather was dressed alluringly in a low cut, wrapped dress. She greeted both of them, though her eyes lingered on Mike ten seconds longer than necessary.
"You are here right on time," she said, as they came up the walkway. She still chose to address Mike and basically ignored Connie, "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked.
They stood at the doorway, for Heather had not invited them in as of yet.
"Mrs. Brantley, do you know a Larry Carson?" Mike inquired.
"Larry...Carson?" she scowled, as if thinking back, "No... why? Should I?"
"It's something we needed to know," Connie responded, "But actually, we're here to take a look at your nephew's room."
"Yes," concurred Mike, "May we come in now?"
"You're here to search Tim's room?" Heather looked at them with distrust, "Don't you need a search warrant for that?"
Connie shrugged, "We could, Mrs. Brantley, but I would think you would want to invite us in. After all, this may help to exonerate your nephew. If he is innocent, we can use the additional time to find the actual killer."
"So you do believe he is innocent?" she questioned Mike.
"Perhaps," Mike sounded noncommittal, "there is a chance he may have been drugged and this had been a set up."
"I don't know how you searching his room will help," Heather said haughtily, "You two are not even law enforcement experts."
"We just want a quick look around," Mike stated, "We could wait for a search warrant, but time is of the essence. Of course, we can always continue trying the case as is, with Tim in prison and as the defendant; it's your decision."
It didn't take long for Heather to decide as she opened the door wider, "If you must, come in."
They entered a grand foyer before she led them up a flight of stairs, "Is this Larry, uh, Carson character important in this investigation?" she asked, when they reached the top of the stairs.
"Larry Carson was the murdered victim who was also run over by your husband's car."
Heather's eyes widened at that bit of news, "Such a horrid image, Mr. Cutter. "
They walked down a wide corridor and she opened the door to reveal a spacious corner bedroom, "This is Tim's bedroom," she announced.
Mike and Connie entered and began looking haphazardly around the room as Heather Brantley observed from the doorway of the bedroom.
Connie had been looking in the closet when she heard Mike calling her.
"Connie, come take a look at this."
From the doorway, Heather unfolded her arms and also proceeded to go over to the writing desk where Mike stood next to an opened a pencil, he had lifted a gun by its trigger, "I'm no law enforcement official, " Mike stated, sarcastically mentioning Heather's snide remark earlier, "but this looks like a gun. What do you know about this gun, Mrs. Brantley?"
Heather looked surprised, "That's...that's my husband's! It's the .22 caliber he keeps in his locked desk drawer in the den. I have NO idea what it is doing up here in Tim's room!"
"Is your husband still on that expedition in Mexico, Mrs. Brantley?" Connie asked, "Because we would really like to talk with him."
"Yes," Heather responded, "I expect him back in three weeks."
"And what again was your alibi for the night of May 19th, Mrs. Brantley?" Mike asked.
"I told you, I was with my husband!" she stated, "Remember? He had called your office that morning to tell you he was sending me to your office."
"Too bad your husband can't verify that," Connie sounded suspicious.
Heather Brantley narrowed her eyes, "Just what exactly are you implying, Miss Rubirosa? My husband and I were in an isolated place in Mexico. It originally took us a couple of days to even hear the news that Tim had been arrested. There is no phone reception where we were. But you know that, for he spoke with you the morning he had sent me back."
"Still it would be nice if we could talk with your husband to ask him a few questions," Connie stated.
She looked coolly at both of them, "I believe your little investigation has concluded; I've developed a headache. Please go now."
Mike had no choice to place the gun back.
Connie gave an implied warning, "I assume the gun will be right here when detectives arrive with the search warrant."
Heather, looked at both of them with disdain, "Of course. I'll see you two out."
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Mike and Connie were sitting in the car in front of the estate. The darkness of the night gave a certain feeling of intimacy in the car.
"I thought you were supposed to be the people person of the two of us," Mike said lightly to Connie, "but Mrs. Brantley couldn't wait to get rid of us."
"Heather Brantley is such a fraud," Connie commented, trying to keep the bitterness out of her tone, "I wouldn't be surprised if she was involved in this murder somehow."
"Well, I think right now, we should just try and untangle this mess instead of haphazardly pointing fingers at people we don't like," reasoned Mike. Taking out his Blackberry, he dialed Lupo's number before putting it on speakerphone.
It was Bernard who answered.
"Hey, Cutter, good you called," Bernard said, not giving a reason why Lupo did not answer his own phone.
"We're calling to give you and Lupo a heads-up. We're on our way to get a search warrant," Mike told him, "we may have found the murder weapon."
"I think that will have to wait." Bernard announced.
Mike and Connie exchanged looks. What could be more important than finding a murder weapon?
"Detective Bernard? This is Connie," Connie spoke up, "Did something happened?"
"A doozey, actually," Bernard could be heard saying, "I have some good news and some bad news."
"It's been quite a day," Mike admitted as he gave Connie a tired smile, "tell us the good news first."
"Oh, sure, that'll be easy to do." Bernard sounded chipper, " Through phone records, we were able to pick up Edison Brantley's clean- up man, Bolt Jackman. Even better, he waived the right for an attorney. I think he's ready to sing like a bird. Lupo is in the interrogation room with him now."
Connie looked pleased, "That certainly is good news, Kevin. The bad news couldn't possibly overshadow what you've just told us."
"Au contraire, Connie," contradicted Bernard, "You two better brace yourselves."
Mike and Connie exchanged uncertain expressions.
"We're ready," prepared Mike.
"I just finished doing some research on your car victim, Larry Carson. He was actually a writer for a travel magazine. In fact, he even wrote an article on our favorite well-to-do couple, Edward and Heather Brantley."
"Well, that's certainly an interesting connection," commented Connie, "but I don't see how this is considered bad news."
"You will when I tell you the rest of this story," Bernard announced, "That body from the car accident that had been identified as Larry Carson? It may not be him after all."
"What?" Mike's question was more like an exclamation.
"Yeah," Bernard explained, "Turns out Larry Carson had already died alone in Yucatan, two years ago. So my guess is that this dead person is either someone else or we have here a corpse that died twice."
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