“Yes, ma’am.” Todd wasn’t a tea guy, but the thought was appreciated. “Did you see anything unusual in the neighborhood last night, particularly at Mr. Northcott’s house?”
The tabby jumped into her lap, and she shifted back to make room. “There was a white SUV parked a few houses down. It doesn’t belong to anyone on the block.” She gave Todd a direct stare. “I know everyone.”
“I’m sure you do.” Todd had no doubt. “But people get visitors.”
She scratched under the tabby’s ear, and he began to purr. “It was cold last night, and the person in the SUV sat behind the wheel for a while.” She set the cat on the floor, walked to the window, and pointed. “It was right there, in between the streetlamps.” She turned back to Todd. “Where it’s the darkest.”
Strudel gone, Todd got up and stood behind her.
“It was about fifteen feet in front of the fire hydrant.”
With a good line of sight on the Northcott house, thought Todd. “Do you know the make or model of the SUV?”
“I don’t know much about cars,” she said. “I didn’t get a good look at the person either. It was too dark, and they were hunched down in the seat, as if they were hiding.” She added drama to the last part.
“You’ve never seen the vehicle before?”
“No.”
Todd returned to his chair. “Would you recognize the SUV if I showed it to you?”
She considered his question with a tilt of her head. “Maybe? I can’t say for sure.”
“How well do you know Mr. Northcott?”
“Well enough to not want to get better acquainted.” Mrs. Zimmerman returned to her chair. The cat immediately reclaimed his spot on her lap.
“He wasn’t a good neighbor?” Todd asked.
Mrs. Zimmerman shrugged. “He kept to himself, which wasn’t the problem.” She pointed to the opposite side of her house. “The Andersons live on the other side. Kyle Anderson is a nice young man. He always shovels my walk when it snows. He drags my trash cans to and from the curb too. I never have to ask. In exchange, I bake them cookies, and when they go on vacation, I feed the cat and collect their mail. Other folks on the street keep an eye on each other’s houses. That sort of thing.” She paused. “But his lack of friendliness wasn’t the issue with Northcott.”
“Then what was?” Todd asked.
“Mr. Northcott was a pervert.”
Todd hadn’t expected that and had no response.
“It was a constant parade of women in and out of that house.” She held up a hand. “I’m not a prude. I believe sex is a healthy part of an adult relationship. But adult is the key to that. I have two granddaughters. The oldest is only fourteen, and Northcott looked at her in a way that a man of his age should not look at a child.” Her hand drifted to the pit bull’s head. “He’s the only person Missy has ever growled at. I believe dogs are good judges of character, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Did you ever confront him?”
“Damned straight I did!” Bright spots of color flooded her parchment-like cheeks. “He denied it, of course. Then he laughed at me and said I was just a powerless old lady. I told him that a bullet fired by an old lady would leave him just as dead as one fired by a young person. And if he ever looked at my girls like that again, I’d shoot him and feed his carcass to my pets.” Her gray eyes went cold, and Todd had no doubt she would be willing to kill to protect her grandchildren.
Then he thought about how that would read in his report.
“We told him, didn’t we?” Mrs. Zimmerman reached down and patted the dog’s head again. “After that day, I never let the girls outside without me—and Missy. He was terrified of her.”
Missy thumped her tail on the floor.
“You’re a good girl,” Mrs. Zimmerman crooned.
Todd couldn’t think of any questions to top that story. He stood. “Thank you for the strudel.”
“You are very welcome.” She smiled, and there was no sign of the lady who’d threatened to shoot her neighbor and turn him into pet food.
“Is it always this cold in here?”
She wrapped both hands around her mug. “Not in the summer.”
“Fair enough.”
She toyed with the mug handle. “Someone threw a rock through my back window. Kyle from next door nailed plywood over it, but the cold gets in. The window glazier can’t get out until next week to install new glass.” She lifted her mug. “I’ll survive. I’ll bake a lot.”
“Do you have any idea who broke the glass?”
She shook her head. “I have ideas, but without proof they’re meaningless.”
“True.”
Anyone could speculate.
Had Northcott thrown the rock? Had he resented her threats and wanted to teach her a lesson?
“Don’t you have anyone you can stay with for a few days?” he asked.
She stroked the old cat’s head. “If it gets too cold, I can go to my son’s. But I’d rather stay here. They have a small house, and it gets crowded. I love them, but I like to sleep in my own bed at night.”
“One more thing.” Todd pulled out his phone. “Do you recognize any of these women?” He scrolled through pictures of Avery Ledger, Monica Linfield, and Farah Rock.
“She looks familiar.” Mrs. Zimmerman tapped on Farah’s photo. “I think she was one of Northcott’s floozies.”
Which would link Farah to both victims.
Despite the quick zip of excitement, Todd kept his voice level. “You saw her at his house?”
“I think so.”
“Do you remember when?” Todd asked.
Her face scrunched in thought. “Four weeks ago? Six?” Her face relaxed. “I can’t say for sure.”
Todd showed her a picture of Spencer LaForge. “Do you recognize this man?”
She nodded. “He was on the news. He was murdered.” Her gaze caught his, and her eyes brightened. “Are the murders related?”
Todd gave her the usual brush-off. “We can’t say at this time.”
But she was sharp, and he wasn’t fooling her.
“Thank you for your time.” He gave the dog a final pat before he left the house, full of strudel and suspicions.
Mrs. Zimmerman wasn’t a serious suspect, but had Northcott offended other parents of teenage girls?
Had he done worse?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was afternoon before Bree and Matt made it back to the sheriff’s station. Bree’s empty stomach swirled with hunger pangs and coffee.
Matt carried a bag of sandwiches from a local deli. “I’ll take these into the conference room. Please come and eat before you get sucked into anything else.”
“I will,” Bree promised. She veered to her office to drop off her coat and check her messages. Most of her correspondence came in through email and voice mail, but there were still some people who insisted on speaking to and leaving a message with a human being.
Marge greeted her at the door. “The media is going ballistic. You need to make a statement.”
“I know.” Bree hurried past the squad room into her office. “I’m hoping to get updated information, but the public has a right to know what’s going on. Tell the press I’ll make a statement and take questions within the hour.”