Smoke, Mirrors, and Murder

Reed set out to find out everything he could about the victim—how Dorothy had spent her last hours, her lifestyle, the human relationships that might have led to her murder. He was to discover an extremely complex woman, one who was different things to different people.
    One of Dorothy’s elderly in-laws told Reed that she had passed by the Jones house at four that afternoon and she was positive that Dorothy’s 1974 Cadillac was not parked in front at that time. “Dorothy’s the only one who ever drives that car,” the woman said. ”If it wasn’t there, that meant she wasn’t there.”
    A woman neighbor recalled seeing Dorothy come home just after 5 P.M. on December 20. At 6:20, she was dead. That narrowed the time frame to what should have been quite workable for the investigators. These two witnesses substantiated that the crucial time period was less than an hour and a half.
    An hour and a half to come home, start dinner, remove her clothing, make love, or perhaps submit to a rape.
    And die.
    Dorothy’s husband’s aunt had nothing but good things to say about her. “Dorothy’s always been good to me,” the woman said. “She usually drove me to work every morning and she was always calling me to be sure I was all right. I talked to her Sunday morning and she told me she was going to the Esquire Club that night and would be out late. Then, on Monday morning, she said she was too tired to drive me to work. I tried to call her Monday night at five-fifteen and there was no answer. When I tried a few minutes later, someone picked up after three rings. But no one spoke. I heard some rustling movement and then the phone just got hung up. I tried again and the line was busy.”
    Asked if her niece-in-law had any male friends, the woman shook her head. “No. Ohh, no—I don’t think so. Dorothy’s a very nice girl.”
    Jim Reed called the doctor whose name was on a prescription bottle found in Dorothy’s home. It was for a sinus condition. Nothing dark or mysterious about that. The doctor recalled that Dorothy had been in an auto accident in October 1975 and had sustained back and neck injuries.
    “She also complained of blurred vision.”
    “She ever have dizzy spells?” Reed asked.
    “No—not that I know of. She never told me about any condition that might have caused her to lose consciousness or faint.”
    Dorothy had received a settlement from an insurance company after that accident—something around $10,000.
    Maybe that settlement could explain Dorothy’s magnificent wardrobe. She had 115 blouses (the cheapest estimated at about $60), 50 pairs of slacks, 37 dresses, 24 nightgowns. And she had shoes, boots, and accessories to match. Although her husband surely made a comfortable living as a long-haul trucker, it hardly seemed adequate to clothe his wife like a movie star.
    Carl Jones himself arrived in town at 2 P.M. on Tuesday, December 21. Marshal 5 Inspectors Hickam and Owens met him at the house where his wife had perished only the day before. Jones, who had been delivering a load of furniture in Dallas the previous night, was shocked and incredulous about his wife’s baffling death.
    He said he had arrived in Dallas the previous day, unloaded his van, and driven to his mother’s house in San Antonio. That was where he was when he got the phone call from a neighbor late Monday night telling him that Dorothy was dead.
    “I got the first flight I could today to fly home to Seattle,” Jones said tearfully, clearly overwhelmed by his loss.
    Asked about his marriage, he said that he and Dorothy had been together for sixteen years, ever since she divorced her first husband. They had had no children. Their marriage had been a good one, although they actually spent very little time together since he was on the road four weeks a month. He seemed about to say more but stopped speaking, too grief-stricken to go on.
    Jones said he felt the whole picture surrounding Dorothy’s death was “fishy.” He could not understand how anyone could have gotten into their house without Dorothy’s consent, and she was much too smart to be tricked by anyone.
    “Dorothy never stayed ten minutes alone in the house without locking all the doors,” Jones said. “It was reflex action for her to turn the locks behind her.”
    He confirmed the investigators’ impressions about Dorothy Jones being a woman of precise habits, almost fanatically neat.
    “She always slipped off her shoes at the door, and she put