“Of course you did,” I murmured. “Why?”
Bernie shrugged. “Just a simple difference of opinion about how a Santa should act. It was nothing, really. A movie is going to be filmed in town next week, and it’s a horror flick with Santa as a crazed lunatic, and Lawrence was actually going to play Santa! What a betrayal. Plus, the holidays are stressful and we both took it out on each other. That’s all there is to say about it.”
Right. I’d have to delve into that more. “Who is Lawrence? I take it he’s another Santa?”
Bernie gulped. “Yeah. We’ve known each other our whole lives, both having grown up in Bourn. He’s a year older than me, and we’ve worked as Santas during our retirement years.” He wiped tears from his weathered cheeks. “Even before that, really. We like to give back to the surrounding communities, and it’s a good way to make extra income.”
I’d learned early on that clients rarely gave the whole story, and considering the two ladies were flanking him protectively, he wasn’t going to say anything that would put them off. I studied his ruddy complexion, noting again the bluish tinges on his left cheekbone. Fresh ones. “What about the bruises on your face?” I asked.
Bernie groaned. “We might’ve gotten into it a little last night, but it was before we played poker, and then it was done.”
That wasn’t good. “Tell me what was said,” I suggested.
He scratched his bearded jaw. “I don’t remember. We’d already been drinking, and he made a crack about my suit looking old, and I went back at him regarding the movie. Then he said that my ‘ho-ho-ho’ was tinny.” Bernie’s eyes widened. “Can you believe that? I have a great Santa chuckle, and he went right for the soul with that insult. So I hit him.”
“How many times?” This wasn’t looking good for Bernie, but that blood was drying, and I had to get things moving along.
“Once,” Bernie said. “Lawrence wrestled in his youth, so he punched me back and then took us both to the floor.”
I tried really hard not to wince. “So your DNA is all over him?” When Bernie nodded, I considered what else the police would ask. “How many people saw this fight?”
“About three,” Bernie said. “Our friend Doc Springfield pulled us apart, and then we stood up, knocked back another shot of Jack, and decided to play poker. It wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounds. Well, except for the DNA and I guess my finding the body. Poor Lawrence. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
The man seemed a little scattered, but that made sense since he’d found a body just an hour before. I paused. “Where have you been for the last hour?”
“I sat there for a while, just kind of in shock. Then I got cold and called my friends.” He reached out and took Thelma’s hand. “I remembered that they were in trouble last summer and found a hotshot lawyer to get them out of it, so I figured they’d lead me to you. I couldn’t remember your name. I’m sorry.”
I looked at the women. “Did either of you touch the knife or body?”
They both shook their heads. So I tugged out three notepads from my bottom drawer and pens, sliding them across the desk. “All three of you need to write down exactly what happened, and Bernie, I need names and phone numbers for any witnesses.”
They all dutifully filled out their notes, Thelma humming Christmas songs quietly as she did so.
“Did either of you know Lawrence?” I asked them.
“Not really,” Thelma said. “We saw him at a couple of events, but he usually had a chick with him already.”
Okay. That was as good as it was going to get for the morning. I took a deep breath and looked at all three of them. “All right. We need to call the police now.”
Thelma’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
‘“Yes, I’m sure.” When nobody disagreed, I picked up my cell phone and dialed a number I knew well.
“I’m in the middle of something right now, Anna,” Detective Pierce said curtly, the sound of moving bodies around him. “I can’t talk but will give you a call later if you like. I’m sure it’s life or death, like usual.” He didn’t sound like he was kidding.
I sighed. “Could your current business have something to do with a dead Santa stabbed in the back?”
Pierce knew when to draw out a moment, and he did so, no doubt trying to rein in his inherent crankiness. “Do I want to know how you’ve come by that information?”
“Yeah. I have the murder weapon on my desk,” I said, focusing on the knife. “Want to talk to me now?”
Chapter 2
Imanaged to harangue my clients to the police department with the knife safely encased in a Ziplock bag in my laptop satchel. We were ushered to the larger interrogation room and all sat, with Bernie and Georgiana accepting mugs of coffee from a fresh-faced uniformed officer. She had to be in her early twenties but seemed younger.
We waited with the door closed. I put the knife on the table, and the blood had mushed against the inside of the plastic.
Finally, Detective Pierce opened the door and stopped short upon catching sight of Thelma and Georgiana. He sighed.
