Murderous Roots

by Virginia Winters

  "Sure, better than the front page. How long did you plan to be here?

  "I'm fairly free. I inherited some money last year and decided to retire from my practice. I don't have any close family, and a friend is looking after my cat so I can stay here as long as I want to. Within reason," she said with a faint smile.

  "Can you start today?"

  "No, tomorrow morning. I have some plans for today".

  "Please keep it to yourself. I don't want you in any danger."

  "I will," she said a little unsteadily.

  Personal danger didn't occur to her when she agreed. She wasn't very brave. Not really brave, she thought. Then she resumed her gardening. Attacking weeds always had a calming effect on her.

  It was close to 7:00pm when Adam got back to the station. Pete lowered the window of his new truck.

  "Hey, Pete. Nice looking vehicle. How did your interviews go?"

  "Thanks. I picked it up last weekend," Pete said as he ran his hand lovingly over the steering wheel. "I put the report on your desk. They were mad as hell at Jennifer, but their alibis for the time period are solid. The Madisons spent the night in the emergency room with a sick baby, and the Bakers left at 5:00pm that day for an overnight in Burlington. She had a doctor's appointment the next morning. They checked into a hotel at eight. Room service at nine. Movie ordered at 10:00pm and wake-up call at 7:00am. Maybe one of them sneaked out, but the desk clerk doesn't think so."

  "Why are they so mad?"

  "It was like Ms. Maxwell told you. She stuck it to them good, every rehearsal. They said she changed quite a bit over the last six months. Mean."

  "Thanks. See you in the morning'

  Pete drove off as Adam ran up the steps of the courthouse. He still needed a warrant for Jennifer's safety box and bank accounts. Fortunately, the judge was free and agreeable. He would execute the warrants tomorrow.

  Chapter Nine

  Lil's diner was packed when Anne dropped in for coffee before going to the police station. Memories of her own teenage Friday nights at Haramis's restaurant flooded back as she smelled the French fries and listened to the high-pitched, excited chatter of the teenage girls. French fries for breakfast. It had been a long time.

  A short red-haired man in a business suit standing at the cash turned as Dougal, one of the twins called to her, "I hear you're going to help Lieutenant Davidson solve the murder, Dr. McPhail."

  "Shush, Dougal."

  His freckled face fell.

  "Gee, I'm sorry, Dr. McPhail. I didn't know it was a secret."

  "That's all right. It isn't really, but it's better not to talk about it."

  Anne didn't notice the alert look that came into the eyes of the sad-faced man sitting next to her at the counter or know that he watched her as she walked across to the courthouse. She stopped to read the message on the statue in the park, rubbing its toe for luck before she walked on. Chuck LaPlante, Dougal's brother, called to her as she reached the courthouse steps.

  "Hey, Dr. McPhail, are you a giving a statement?"

  "Not today, Chuck."

  A black SUV, sitting at the curb with the window down, drove in behind the courthouse. Anne's car, conspicuous with its Ontario plates, was the only one in visitor parking. A few minutes later the other car drove off.

  Anne walked into the police section of the courthouse, expecting a high counter with a grizzled sergeant to demand gruffly what she wanted. However, the door opened straight into the expansive common office. A middle-aged, comfortable-looking woman in a navy sweater directed her to a young man seated at a grey, steel desk. He grinned a friendly greeting to her.

  "Hi," he said, "I'm Brad Compton, Dr. McPhail. Can I get you some coffee?"

  Anne smiled back at him as she held up her take-out cup. "Brought my own."

  "Did you already hear about ours?"

  Brad showed her the information he had on the databases in the computer as well as Jennifer's program. Anne was impressed with the amount of information Jennifer accumulated. She also asked Brad to go online so they could access information in the Church of Latter Day Saints database and others. She began the slow task of reconstructing the Beauchamp family tree.

  She looked up from her work when Adam stopped at her desk.

  "Thanks for coming in, Anne. How's it going?"

  "Not too bad. There are a lot of years to cover. Brad helped me get the databases I needed."

  "Okay. Ask if you need anything more."

  He picked up his warrants and called Darlene Utronski to tell her what they were going to do. She asked him to speak to Dave Lepine, her sister's lawyer.

  Lepine and Wagger, Law Offices were diagonal across the square from the courthouse, and beside the bank. Adam had called David Lepine the day before and arranged to meet him at the bank when he had acknowledged being Jennifer's lawyer.

  "Morning, Davidson."

  One of those guys who insist on calling you by your last name, he was medium height, jaw pushed in, too many teeth, bad acne scars, big ears. Good in court, Adam thought—pugnacious.

  "Morning. I have the order to open her accounts and her safety deposit box. Mr. Canal said he would meet us here."

  Adam handed over the papers for inspection. As he did so, the bank manager pulled up in his Volvo. Dark green, Adam noticed and not new.

  "Morning, all."

  Cheerful for a banker, he led the way into the bank, past the row of curious tellers behind their high counter, to the massive, steel door of the vault. The door itself was open, but the barred gate was locked. Behind it was a small room lined with safety deposit boxes and a tall counter, with a single small table filling the center of the room.

  After the usually complicated formalities with keys, and signature cards the manager removed Jennifer's box. She rented the largest of the three models. The manager used the key that Adam handed him to open it, but turned it to face the lawyer and the detective as he placed it on the table. At the looks on their faces, he came around the table to see for himself.

  Neat stacks of currency, all in denominations of five hundred or one thousand dollar bills, as well as a jewel case, filled the box. The banker's hand went out to touch the money when Adam stopped him.

  "It needs to be counted."

  "We can put it through the machine. Come into my office, and I'll see what else I can find out on the computer."

  While one of the clerks counted the money, Mr. Canal accessed Jennifer's accounts. Besides the ones Adam had found, she also had an investment account containing $100,000. The money in the box totaled another $100,000. The deposits into her savings had included regular cash deposits of $8,000 weekly at a time, just under the $10,000 limit that would have drawn the bank's attention and that of the IRS. The jewel case contained an unset diamond and some small antique pieces.

  There was no helpful paper trail, just week after week of steady cash deposits, spread out among several different accounts, mostly made at the Burlington branch of the bank. Blackmail, Adam wondered, or some other illicit enterprise? He thought it was time to interview Stan Davis again.

  "Do you have any ideas about this, Mr. Lepine?"

  Adam's tone was blunt and far from affable.

  "Hell, no. I even gave her a break on fees because I thought librarians weren't well paid."

  The lawyer was as astonished as the bank manager.

  Adam called Pete to come with evidence bags, and together they took the money back to the station and stored it securely in the evidence room.

  "What next, boss?" Pete asked as they wolfed down take-out hamburgers and fries at their desks.

  "Time to interview the Culvers. They were on Jennifer's local list."

  "You or me?"

  "I'll go. You drive to Burlington and see Darlene Utronski. Check out her lifestyle. See if Jennifer was sharing the wealth. I want a report on Nancy Webb, too. Maybe all that stuff between them was just show."

  "Ted Atkins called. Wanted to know how a Canadian doctor came to be "h
elping you with your inquiries". Said it with a British accent. That some kind of joke?"

  "Search me. I gave Atkins all he needs to know for now."

  Adam stopped by to talk to Anne and warn her about the reporter, but she’d gone to have lunch with Catherine at a small inn a few miles from town.

  The Culver home was off the main square and on the river. Lawns reaching to the river bank, and very extensive gardens formed a park-like setting. The house itself was white clapboard, well cared for, with green shutters. A question--were there still servants--was answered when a large but tidy woman in a simple grey dress opened the door.

  "Good morning, I'm Lieutenant Davidson of the Culver's Mills police," he said as he showed her his identification. "Could I see Mrs. Culver, please?"

  "Certainly, sir."

  The housekeeper turned to leave, but he called her back.

  "Could you tell me who you are?"

  "Beatrice Ames. I'm the housekeeper here."

  She seemed nervous, careworn hands twisting as she spoke. The back of one was bandaged. The hands of a woman who worked for a living, he thought.

  "Thank you."

  He waited in the hall as she went in search of one of the Culvers.

  The accumulated possessions of generations of the Culvers, all cared for, all in good taste, were becoming just a little threadbare. No decorator's touch here.

  A dark, wiry young man of about thirty, bounded down the stairs.

  "David Culver, Lieutenant Davidson. Mrs. Ames said you wanted a word with me."

  He had a very careful accent, a bit English, Adam thought.

  "Yes, I'm investigating Jennifer Smith's death. I understand you or your family employed her to do some digging into your family's past."

  "Indeed. How do you know that, Detective?"

  The patrician accent was becoming annoyed.

  "Computer files, Mr. Culver. We have a warrant to look at Jennifer's genealogy files."

  "That includes very private information."

  He drew back his head. Just like a turtle, Adam thought, or a buzzard.

  "We know that. Only information relevant to our investigation will be used. Is there anything in particular that you are worried about?"

  "Of course not.” Culver said, his color rising and getting a panicked look in his eyes.

  As the two men faced each other in the hall, an elderly lady, striking in a high-necked, well-cut dress of some sort of red wool walked carefully down the stairs. She must have been beautiful when she was young, Adam thought, and she still had a proud carriage.

  "David, what are you yelling about?"

  He had only raised his voice, but maybe that passed for a shout in this house.

  "Grandmother, this policeman is here about the work Jennifer did for us. They are looking at the files," he said in a desperate tone.

  "What are you so concerned about?"

  "But the history—”

  "Please leave us."

  Brushing aside his protests she waited until he had stalked down the hall and disappeared, then turned to Adam.

  "Mister?"

  "Davidson."

  "Please come with me, Mr. Davidson."

  She took him into a small study. Upright wingback chairs, a cherry wood desk, framed watercolor of a pointer above the fireplace: a room that Adam would have liked to spend time in.

  "Mr. Davidson, my grandson is too precipitous. He also has an exaggerated idea of the consequences of some scandal present in a family's history."

  Her stiff posture echoed her stern words.

  "What was Jennifer doing for you, Mrs. Culver?"

  "Some years ago, a letter was found in one of the boxes in the attics here that suggested a disgraceful episode in my husband's great-grandfather's family. We hired Jennifer to prove or disprove the allegation."

  "I'll need to know what effect the allegation would have today," he said.

  He was pushing a little. If the information didn't show in the files he had a warrant for, he wasn't sure he could insist on an answer.

  "The allegation was that the great-grandfather had had a liaison with a servant in his home, an Irish girl, producing a child, and therefore a second and related Culver line in this community."

  Her pale cheeks colored a vivid pink.

  "What effect would that have on the finances of this family?"

  His first rule—follow the money.

  "None at all. The laws until recently favored legitimate over illegitimate children. Some members of my family, perhaps the younger ones, take this very seriously indeed, but I assure you, Mr. Davidson, not enough to kill the messenger. Jennifer hadn't been able to find any evidence when last she reported to me."

  Mrs. Culver stood up, apparently thinking that the interview was over.

  Adam, standing, asked, "Which members of your family took this seriously, Mrs. Culver?"

  Before she could answer, David and a young woman Adam recognized as David's sister Natalie entered the room. Natalie had her grandmother's fine bones and posture, but the pride had turned to arrogance.

  "We did, Detective."

  "Then perhaps you could tell me where you were Wednesday evening and early Thursday morning?"

  "I don't think we have to," said David.

  "No, but if you don't tell me I will be investigating you," Adam told him.

  "For heaven's sake, David. We took Grandmother to Burlington to a concert. We had dinner with friends. We got back at one-thirty and went to bed."

  "May I have their names please?"

  "Yes."

  Natalie scribbled hastily at the desk.

  "Now, please go," she said, as she thrust the paper at him.

  As he left, he saw the quiet housekeeper watching him from the top of the stairs.

  Chapter Ten

  The blued-steel look of snow coming colored the sky to the northwest. Not unusual for early April in Vermont, but not welcome either. The first flakes were hitting the windshield as Adam reached the courthouse. He called Pete in Burlington to check on the Culvers' alibis, although a 1:30am return did not let them out entirely.

  The office/squad room was empty except for Brad and his computer. No sign of Anne. Seemed to be a long lunch, but he wasn't paying her.

  "Any luck, Brad?"

  "I'm working backwards on the Culvers. Dr. McPhail said this file was complete back a few generations but had gaps at the beginning."

  "When did she say she would be back?"

  "About 2:00pm. What time is it now, boss?"

  "1:30pm. Get some lunch."

  Adam took his messages from the front desk. Atkins called again, and Mrs. Ames called. Who was Mrs. Ames? Oh, yeah, the Culver housekeeper. He thought she had something to say. Call after 6, the message read. He had time to track Davis, Jennifer's lawyer friend, to ask about her unexpected income. Greenbank was a few miles away, and a phone call to his office went unanswered, so Adam decided to leave the interview until later and write reports.

  Two hours later, he leaned back from the desk. No clear path anywhere. He looked out at Brad and his computer—no Anne. The weather had settled in, the slow, steady, Vermont snowfall that piled up fast. She's Canadian, he thought. She knows how to drive in snow.

  The squad room door opened. Atkins again.

  "Adam, I hear we're importing medical talent to work on our homicides. Old Doc Patterson not good enough anymore?"

  "Come in, Ted. Sit down for a minute."

  Adam decided to try and protect Anne by giving Ted a little more information.

  "Sure, coffee on?"

  "Help yourself."

  When Ted came back with his mug, Adam said, "You have your what, where, and whatever those other w words you work to are."

  "Why, and how it was done and who did it are still missing. What's this McPhail woman got to do with it? She found the body. Is she a suspect? And where did Jennifer get all the money?"

  "Dr. McPhail is helping us and, no, she is not a suspect."

/>   "Have you found the murder weapon?"

  "No murder weapon has been found."

  "Motive?"

  "None established at this time. That's all I have for you."

  "And little it is."

  At that, the reporter stood up and ambled out of the office.

  Where did the reporter get the information about Jennifer's money? Could have come from the bank, he supposed, although bankers were a tight-lipped lot. Even bankers talked to their wives.

  Across the square, the doorbell tinkled in Erin's shop. She was surprised to see the tall figure of Beatrice Ames walk through towards her. Beatrice had only been in the shop once before, to buy a gift for her mother.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Maxwell."

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Ames. What can I help you with today?"

  How nervous she is Erin thought, watching the large hands twisting as the older lady spoke.

  "Oh, dear. You might be offended if I ask you."

  "Of course, I won't be offended. Ask away."

  "It's that young man, Lieutenant Davidson."

  She stopped and peered anxiously at Erin.

  "You know him, don't you?”

  "Yes, I do?"

  "Is he a kind man?"

  "Kind? Yes, he's kind and understanding. Do you need to talk to him?"

  Beatrice continued wringing her hands. She shook her large head, as though to clear it and paused a long minute before answering.

  "Yes, I do, but I must go."

  She turned and was out the door before a surprised Erin could speak.

  She'd tell Adam, Erin thought, but before she picked up the phone another customer came in, and she put off calling.

  Chapter Eleven

  From his office, Adam stared out at the worsening storm. Blowing snow filled the parking lot and hid the row of houses along the square.

  Brad reported he hadn't heard from Anne, and neither had Catherine LaPlante. The women finished lunch at 1:30pm and left separately. Anne headed back to the station while Catherine intended to visit an elderly friend who lived in a local nursing home.