Dead Matter

by M. K. Wren

  Her face reddened, and tears began to flow as freely as raindrops. “Ye-es. No! I mean, he —he guessed, sort of. And I couldn ’t lie to Dad. I never could. ” For a moment, she seemed mildly annoyed at that, and the flow ebbed. She found a Kleenex in her jeans pocket and discreetly blew her nose, then the enormity of her dilemma came back to her, and she pleaded, “Conan, you ’ve got to help Cady. You ’re his only hope. And you ’re Dad ’s only hope, too. He told me you promised to investigate the murder for him, but he wants everybody to think I hired you. But, Conan, I want to hire you for myself. I mean, for Cady. I can pay you. It might take a while, but —”

  “You can ’t afford me, so save your money for a lawyer. Cady ’s going to need a good one. ”

  “Oh, I already called Herb Latimer. I was his secretary, you know, and he said I could work out his fee over —well, as long as it takes. ”

  “Herb isn ’t exactly experienced at criminal law. Look, I know Marcus Fitch. I’ll call him and see if —”

  “Marcus Fitch? ” Her mouth dropped open. “I’d never be able to pay his fee if I worked for him the rest of my life. And Herb is a good lawyer. I know because I went to the courthouse with him on nearly every case he had for four years. ”

  Conan flicked the ash off his cigarette into the dented metal ashtray on the table. “Angie, did Earl tell you why Giff Wills wants to see Cady convicted? ”

  “Yes, but I thought —”

  “You thought Herb ’s connections with the good-ol ’-boys network might help Cady? ”

  “Well, I figured they couldn ’t hurt! ”

  “Yes, they could. Herb will find it difficult, to say the least, to put up a real fight for Cady because that would jeopardize his position with the network. Whatever happens to Cady, Herb still has to practice law in this county. So you ’d better reconsider your decision about Marc Fitch. He doesn ’t always charge an arm and a leg for his services. ” Just ninety-nine percent of the time, Conan added to himself.

  Angie produced a resigned sigh. “Okay, Conan, whatever you say. ”

  “I’ll call Marc as soon as possible. Now, I have a couple of questions for you. When was the last time you saw Cady yesterday? ”

  She tried for an air of nonchalance, but only succeeded in looking sly. “Cady was at home with me all last night. ”

  “Is that what you told Herb? ”

  “Well, yes. I mean, it ’s the truth. ”

  Conan took a slow drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out as he gazed up at the ceiling. “It ’s not nice to lie to your lawyer —or to the PI who wants to save your husband from a murder conviction. And I know already where you were last night. Earl said you and Michael spent the night at his house. ”

  Her attempted nonchalance crumbled, and she seemed ready for another rain of tears, but apparently read something in his face that induced her to restrain them. “Conan, I didn ’t see Cady at all after I left the bookshop yesterday. When I got home, he wasn ’t there. It was, I don ’t know, maybe three or four in the afternoon when Michael and I went over to Dad ’s house. ”

  Conan grimaced. “But you went back to your house this morning. You were there when Cady was arrested, weren ’t you? ”

  “Yes. Oh, it was awful —”

  “I’m sure it was. When did you get home, and was Cady there? ”

  “About eleven. And Cady was lying on our bed with his boots on, sound asleep and smelling like a brewery! If he ’d only lay off the beer, maybe —” She stopped, perhaps realizing how petulant that sounded.

  “Did he tell you when he came home? ”

  “No. We…didn ’t get a chance to talk about that before Johnny and Elaine came to arrest him. ”

  Conan put out his cigarette and rose, reminding himself that he hadn ’t expected much of an interview with Angie. He certainly hadn ’t gotten much. “Angie, if you think of anything that might help, call me. ”

  “Okay, Conan. ”

  He opened the door for her, and as they walked down the corridor, he said, “Until —or if —I can talk Marc Fitch into taking the case, make sure Herb Latimer ’s here whenever Giff questions Cady. ”

  “Dad ’ll see to that, but I don ’t know how Herb ’ll feel about having another lawyer —”

  “Oh, I think he ’ll be delighted to throw this case in another lawyer ’s lap. ” They had reached the front counter, where Sergeant Hight was taking a report from two tourists whose car had been broken into. Conan said, “Angie, go home and try to relax. I’ll talk to you later. ”

  She nodded, managed a murmured “Thanks, Conan, ” then with her eyes reddening for another downpour, hurried out the front door.

  Conan went to the counter and, when the tourists had departed, said, “Dave, I need to talk to Cady. ”

  “Sorry, Conan. ” Hight didn ’t look up from the form he was filling out. “I’ve got my orders —damn. ” He turned to the radio console, commanded by a disembodied but peremptory voice. Conan waited.

  And listened. The call was from the Sheriff ’s Department dispatcher in Westport, and the gist of it was that two men who had been residing in the county jail awaiting trial for felony murder had escaped. Hight beckoned frantically to Kleber, and the chief came out of his office to hear the sheriff ’s dispatcher explain that the felons were armed and dangerous, and Sheriff Wills was asking every law officer in the county, plus the Highway Patrol, to join the manhunt.

  When Hight signed off, Kleber asked, “Where ’s Johnny and Elaine? ”

  “Out on their regular patrol. Well, right now they ’re having lunch. ”

  “Get hold of them and tell them to head down to Westport and report to Giff. Better send Joe and Billy, too. Damn it, how the hell could two guys break out of that jail? When that bond issue passed, Giff said that jail would be escape-proof. Just like Alcatraz. ” He turned to Conan, asked wearily, “What do you want, Conan? ”

  “I want to talk to Cady. And before you say no, you should know that Angie hired me to investigate Gould ’s murder. ”

  “Did she, now? Well, she ’s of age. She can do anything she wants, as long as it ’s not against the law. But I can ’t let you see Cady till Giff has a chance at him. And yes, we ’ll make sure Herb is on hand when Giff gets around to him. Don ’t know when that ’ll be. ” Kleber smiled uncharitably. “I figure Giff has his hands full right now. ”

  Conan nodded, satisfied, as Kleber was, that Hight had gotten the message that Angie had hired Conan, and that Hight would, if he ran true to form, pass on the news to anyone who was in the least interested. Conan was thinking about coffee and breakfast when he turned away from the counter, or perhaps it would be lunch by now.

  But he was destined to go hungry and caffeineless for a while longer. The front door opened, and Marian Rosenthal stood propping it with one hand, a determined set to her mouth. She fixed her gaze on Kleber and demanded, “Have you talked to Savanna yet? Has anybody bothered to tell her that her husband is dead? ”

  When that question met with a shocked silence, Marian sighed and approached Kleber. “Chief, it ’s been a bad day for everybody, and actually I don ’t know Savanna very well or even like her very much, but I think that when she ’s notified, she should have somebody she knows there, not just a stranger taking notes of everything she says. ”

  Kleber said earnestly, “You ’re right, Mrs. Rosenthal. The trouble is, I ’m out of this case. It ’s in Sheriff Wills ’s hands. Now, if you ’ll excuse me, I ’ve got a lot of work to attend to. ” And with that, he retreated to his office and closed the door behind him, but not before he gave Conan a meaningful glance.

  Conan didn ’t need the glance. While Marian was catching her breath for a rebuttal to someone, Conan said, “The sheriff is occupied with another crisis at the moment, and I guess you and I are as close to friends as Savanna has around here, so maybe it ’s up to us to tell her about her husband. ”

  Marian nodded. “Then let ’s get at it. Why don ’t you ride wit
h me? Justine gave me directions and a map. ”

  Conan almost balked at being without his own car, but two things made him reconsider. First, the drive to Portland —rather, to Valley West, or whatever the suburb was called —would give him an opportunity to question Marian, who was in a position to provide background information. She might even qualify as a suspect, if she couldn ’t explain why she had been so stunned by the ring Gould had worn last night, the ring that was missing from his body this morning.

  Second, Savanna would have to return to Holliday Beach to deal with the myriad decisions inevitable with the death of a spouse. Maybe she ’d need a driver, and she could certainly provide background information.

  And Savanna Barany might also qualify as a suspect. Conan could neither forget nor dismiss the smoldering hatred in her eyes last night when she left the party.

  He offered Marian his arm and headed for the door. “Let ’s go. ”

  Chapter 9

  The drive from Holliday Beach to Portland was beautiful in any season, but Conan never enjoyed it in August when Oregon ’s highways were clogged with wagon trains of RVs and campers. Nor did he enjoy being a passenger under any circumstance, especially not when Marian Rosenthal drove like a New Yorker accustomed to taking taxis.

  Conan kept his safety belt fastened and tried not to look at the road ahead of him any more than necessary, while he considered how he might casualty introduce the subject of Gould ’s murder, but in the end, he didn ’t have to do the introducing. When Marian turned off Highway 101 and headed east, she honked at a log truck that had the temerity to block her way, then as she gunned past its roaring length, asked, “Conan, are you a good judge of character? ”

  He studied the forest flashing past on his right, swallowing hard before he could answer. “Sometimes. Why do you ask? ”

  “Well, I was just wondering about Ravin ’s murder. You said you didn ’t think that logger was capable of murder. ”

  “Not of this murder. ”

  “Damn! Where did that pickup come from? Anyway, I think there ’s more to Ravin ’s murder than meets the eye. ”

  Nothing met Conan ’s eyes at the moment because they were squeezed shut, but when he felt no crushing impact, he asked, “What makes you say that? ”

  “The manuscripts. I mean, the fact that they ’re missing. ”

  “If Gould was on the fourth draft —well, are you sure he had the first three drafts here with him? ”

  “That ’s what Byron said. He saw them Friday. ”

  “Didn ’t Gould keep copies somewhere else? ”

  “I doubt it. Writers always make copies of the final manuscripts, but not the early drafts. Well, they might if they use computers. It ’s so easy that way. But Ravin refused to modernize beyond an old electric typewriter. I’m surprised he wasn ’t still using a manual. To him that would be…I don ’t know. Macho, I guess. Road construction! Why can ’t they construct the roads in the winter? ”

  While the Buick chattered over a stretch of gravel, Conan replied, “Because they lose too many backhoes in the mud once the rains start. Have you ready Odyssey? ”

  “Me? No way. Ravin never let anybody read his manuscripts. ”

  Conan silently wondered if someone wanted to make sure these manuscripts would never be read in the future. He wondered aloud, “Would any of those drafts be publishable? ”

  “There are publishers who ’d print a grocery list if it had Ravin ’s name on it, and any reputable publisher would turn handsprings for that third draft. Ravin was a careful craftsman, actually, and I ’m sure the third draft would be publishable with some line editing. ”

  “I assume it would be quite valuable? ”

  She gave that her throaty laugh. “Valuable? James Ravin Gould ’s last book? His autobiographical novel? It ’d be worth millions. ”

  “Is that why Byron Lasky is so shaken about their disappearance? ”

  She concentrated on swerving past a flagger waving a sign that read SLOW. “Well, I think that ’s just reflex. Byron didn ’t have a contract with Ravin. That ’s not so unusual between agents and writers. And it means if —since Ravin is dead, Byron has no claim on Odyssey. ”

  Conan stared at the bumper sticker on the pickup ahead of them: GOD SAID IT, I BELIEVE IT, AND THAT ’S THE END OF IT. They came to the end of the construction and lurched onto blacktop again, and it was something of a relief that the already thick traffic had backed up at the bottleneck of the road construction so that the Buick was caught in a blessedly slow-moving, bumper-to-bumper line sedately winding the curves as the highway climbed toward the crest of the Coast Range.

  “Marian, you said Gould never signed a contract for a book until it was finished. Does that put Odyssey in public domain now? ”

  “No, the copyright was his from the moment he typed the first word. That ’s the way the law works. The only way anybody can publish any manuscript is to sign a contract with the author. Writers and publishers talk about buying or selling manuscripts, but that ’s just jargon. What really happens is a publisher contracts with the author —or his heir, in this case —for the right to publish a manuscript in exchange for a small percentage of the retail sales of the book. ”

  “And the agent negotiates the terms of the contract with the publisher in exchange for a percentage of the writer ’s percentage? ” Then at Marian ’s nod, “What happens to the agent if the writer dies? ”

  Her eyes went to suspicious slits. “You mean what happens to Byron and Justine now that Ravin is dead? They ’ll go on taking their percentage on the sales of any of Ravin ’s books they negotiated the contracts for, but any unfinished manuscripts —well, they ’re out of luck. ”

  “Wouldn ’t they also have been out of luck if Gould had decided to go to another agent? Last night he threatened to do exactly that. ”

  “Oh, that wasn ’t the first time Ravin threatened to dump Byron and Justine. It was just one of his power games. Or the booze talking. ”

  “Marian, I know the Laskys are your friends, but that threat is a possible motive for murder for both of them. ”

  The car wobbled unnervingly as she turned to stare at him.

  “That ’s crazy! Anyway, can you imagine either of them handling that chain saw? They wouldn ’t even know how to start the thing. ”

  “That ’s not so difficult to figure out, and Cady ’s a handy scapegoat. ”

  “Damn it, I ’ve known these people for years, and they aren ’t even remotely capable of murder. ”

  The tension was as taut as a vibrating violin string, but a moment later Marian laughed, damping it, and, to Conan ’s relief, focused her attention again on the road. “What is it with you, Conan? I mean, are you just normally nosy or what? ”

  Conan hesitated, finally deciding that if he didn ’t tell her why he was asking so many questions now, she might find out from someone else later and feel betrayed. A betrayed witness tends to bitter silence. And a guilty suspect wouldn ’t reveal anything to him anyway.

  He said, “I’m a licensed private investigator, and Angela MacGill hired me to find out who murdered Gould, since she believes her husband is innocent. So do I. Marian, you can ’t pass here! ”

  She swerved back into her lane. “Why not? ”

  Conan lowered his hands from their braced position on the dashboard. He didn ’t try to explain that passing on a curve on a hill on a narrow mountain road was not a good idea. He simply said, “The solid yellow line. It ’s Oregon law. You can ’t pass where there ’s a yellow line. ”

  “There ’s been a yellow line for miles. I thought that was how they marked the center line here. Well, so you ’re a PI. I’ll be damned. ” She studied him obliquely, and he couldn ’t read her reaction with any assurance. Finally she shook her head. “You know, I don ’t think I ’m as surprised as I should be. Somehow you don ’t seem the type to spend all your time running a small-town bookshop. So that ’s why you ’re worried about Byron and Justine ’s motive f
or killing Ravin. Well, I guess you can ’t leave any suspects unturned. ”

  “I’m afraid not. Do you object to helping me turn a few? ”

  “No, not unless you ’ve got your heart set on pinning this murder on Byron and Justine. ”

  “I just want to pin it on whoever did it. What can you tell me about Dana Semenov, Saturday night ’s catalyst? ”

  “Dana? ” Marian wrinkled her nose. “She ’s a catalyst, all right. Well, Dana is typical of what I call the Yaffies —young, ambitious females. She grew up poor. Parents immigrated from Russia, I think. Always had a great sense of timing, and she ’s good at coordinating production, promotion, and sales. She started as an editorial assistant at Winfield and Ryder about ten years ago. I don ’t know offhand how many publishers she ’s worked for. At least four. That ’s not unusual these days, but every time she changed houses, she climbed a rung higher up the ladder. And she has a reputation as a big game hunter. ”

  “Is that related to a headhunter? ” Conan asked, quite coolly, he thought, in view of the fact that as the stream of traffic picked up speed, Marian did, too, and she seemed to believe that at fifty miles an hour, she could stop within ten feet if the car ahead of her braked suddenly.

  “In a way. Dana ’s main claim to fame is the marketable authors she brought into her publisher ’s stables. I mean, we ’re talking brand-name authors, people who write books with legs. ”

  “But she didn ’t succeed in bringing Ravin Gould into her stable. ”

  “No, and it ’s not her stable. Nystrom, Inc ’s. Of course, it works out to the same thing. Every thoroughbred she rides into the winning circle makes her share of the purse that much bigger. She ’s editor-in-chief now, but I doubt she intends to stop there. She ’s aiming for the top rungs. Associate publisher, maybe, or even publisher. ”

  “So, to pursue your mixed metaphors, would bringing Odyssey into Nystrom ’s stable boost her to the top rungs? ”

  “Damn right, it would. She ’s been after Ravin for years, and I think she almost had him with Stud. Or maybe he was just playing with her. Ravin enjoys having a tall, streamlined blonde on his arm —and probably in his bed —when he comes to New York. ” She grimaced. “I keep forgetting to put him in past tense. Well, a passing lane. Finally! ”