Out on the driveway, Buzz lit into her, which was not something he often did. He said, “Stella, that was dumb. Like it or not, dumping on one of our own is just plain stupid.”
With a smug smile, Stella said, “You can go fuck yourself, Detective Flip-Flop. Like it’s not the truth? Like you don’t feel like I do?”
20
Victor Blaine
On Friday afternoon, Emma decided to create an opportunity to speak with Julian Jackson without his mother present. Not strictly kosher to interview a youngster without a parent, but she felt it was worth the risk. Her suspect list was short. She hoped he might be able to provide some insight into his father, information he would be reluctant to share in front of his mother.
Emma drove back to the Jackson place and parked well down the street. She placed earbuds in her ears, opened Spotify on her iPhone, and settled back to wait.
An hour later, Julian appeared at the end of the driveway, riding his bicycle. Bingo. She followed, keeping her distance. He rode downtown and locked up his bicycle outside Rusty’s Hobby Shop. Emma knew the store. It was large with multiple aisles of overstuffed shelves. It seemed like as good a place as any for an ambush interview.
Before she could buttonhole Julian, a florid man approached him and engaged him in conversation. He had white hair, and he wore a well-cut navy-blue blazer. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their conversation appeared to become heated. After a few moments, which included spirited gesticulating and raised voices, the man spun on his heel and left the store.
On a hunch, Emma abandoned Julian and followed the man, who drove away in a brown Mercedes. She tailed him closely, not particularly worried about being spotted. On the radio, she ran his plates by her dispatcher. They came back to a Victor Blaine of 204 Hickam Street.
Hmm, she figured that was about a hundred yards from the Jackson house, where she had just been. She followed him home.
Emma and Pepper intercepted him before he made it to his front door.
“Mr. Blaine?” She held up her shield. “I’m Emma Thorne, Hampshire Police Department. May I have a word with you inside?”
Blaine studied the badge and said, “That dog. Is he really necessary?”
“She. And, yes, she’s my partner. She goes where I go.”
He led them into a room filled with, well, toys. On every surface—tables, shelves, and open cupboards—there were toy soldiers, model airplanes, model boats. Hence the hobby shop, she gathered.
Blaine was portly with thinning hair. Somewhere in his sixties, possibly early seventies. He wore a thin argyle cardigan under his blazer and khaki trousers. She thought she detected the remnants of an English accent.
“I happened to be in Rusty’s Hobby Shop earlier,” Emma began. “I noticed you speaking with Julian Jackson. As you know, we are investigating the death of his father.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Happened to be?”
“Buying a present for my nephew,” she lied. “It looked to me like you and Julian had a disagreement. Can you tell me about that?”
“Happy to, because I am the person who made spudger.com a success, not Ethan Jackson.”
“That’s the company Ethan sold. Correct?”
“The way I see it, the Jackson family owes me $4,500,000. My payout from Ethan Jackson was $500,000. Just that … after I built the entire company. Were it not for me, spudger.com would be no better than The Geek Squad, those fellows who drive those black and white Geekmobiles. I recruited every single one of the techies who made our company so successful that it sold for nine million dollars.”
“Is that what you were talking to Julian about?”
“Yes,” Blaine said, “and he told me to piss off.”
Emma realized that she was speaking with her first truly viable suspect. She’d never been fully convinced that Julian murdered his dad. And Blaine came complete with a financial motive.
“Do you mind if I sit, Mr. Blaine?”
“Of course,” he said, “forgive my rudeness.” He gestured to a club chair and took one himself. Pepper sat right next to Emma.
“That’s a fine-looking bitch you have, Chief Thorne.” He smiled, but the smile missed his eyes. “Is she a killer?”
Well, Emma thought, he opened the door.
“Yes,” she said, “are you?”
Victor laughed wholeheartedly. “Unusual interrogation technique, Chief. Admirable. But, no, I did not kill Ethan Jackson.”
“Tell me more about your relationship with Ethan.”
“Safer territory, I agree. Ethan and I started spudger.com a while ago. To be fair, it was Ethan’s idea. However, he could not have done it without me. All we had between us was a written contract, which we had prepared without the assistance of an attorney. I had one copy, and Ethan had the other.”
“What does spudger mean?” Emma asked.
“A spudger is a tool computer technicians use. It’s used to pry and probe electronics’ parts. Since we repaired computers, it was the perfect name. I thought of it, by the way. Ethan was a clever businessman, but he was not particularly creative.”
Victor rose from his seat and started pacing the room. “Then out of the blue, Ethan decided, unilaterally, to sell the company. In our agreement, either one of us could invoke that privilege. I didn’t want to sell, but I had no choice. That night I went home to check the details of my contract, but it was not in my desk drawer where I had left it. There is no question in my mind that Ethan stole it. After he arranged the sale, he walked away with nine million, of which he gave me half a million. So, you can see why I detested the man. But I didn’t kill him.”
Emma said, “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Blaine? You’re making me nervous.”
He did. Emma continued, “Ethan was murdered on Sunday morning, the thirteenth of May. Can you tell me where you were between, say, 6:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m.?”
“I was out photographing birds.”
“But it was raining that morning.”
“I know. But I photograph birds every Sunday morning, rain or shine. It’s one of my many hobbies.” He waved his arm to indicate his toys.
“Really? Did you run into anyone who could verify this?”
“No,” he said, “but I can easily prove where I was and when I was there.”
“How’s that, Mr. Blaine?”
Victor rose again and left the room. When he came back, he was carrying a black camera with a light gray telephoto lens. “It’s a Canon 7D Mark II DSLR,” he said proudly. “I also use it to photograph my models.”
“Models?”
“Plastic models, like these. Not nude women, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Victor pointed the LCD screen toward Emma. He scrolled back through a series of pictures. They were time- and date-stamped. Eventually he got to the series he was looking for. Sure enough, the date read Sunday, May 13. And the pictures clearly showed that it was raining.
Emma thought for a minute. She said, “What’s to have stopped you from adjusting the date afterwards?”
Victor had a ready answer. He scrolled forward through the pictures and showed her last Sunday’s date, five days ago. More bird pictures and no rain.
“This camera also has GPS-encoding. Let’s see … ah, here’s a good one: 9:33 a.m., Sunday, May 13. 41.9914° North, 73.0957° West. That’s the latitude and longitude of Mount Pisgah State Park, which is about an hour away. You can check the lat-long if you want. Does that satisfy you, Chief?”
“Was there anyone else at spudger.com who felt cheated by Ethan Jackson?”
“There was The Kid,” he said thoughtfully, “we always called him The Kid.”
“What’s the kid’s name?”
“Joe Henderson,” Blaine said.
Emma perked up.
“I know a Joe Henderson,” she said quickly. “Mid-thirties? Short, dark hair? Good looking?”
“Sounds about right.”
Emma leaned forward. “Tell me about him
.”
“Super bright kid. MIT. A real computer genius. He started his own company in college and sold it before coming to us. I understand he made a lot of money. Odd kid, though, he kept himself to himself, very much the loner. But I will say, when he engaged, he could be quite agreeable. Ethan used to say he could charm the habit off a nun.”
Emma smiled. “What happened when Ethan sold spudger.com?”
Blaine picked up a model airplane from his chair side table and fiddled with it. He averted his eyes. “The kid was as furious as I was. He got a settlement from Ethan but not nearly what he deserved. The last day, he and Ethan were shouting at each other inside Ethan’s office, but I couldn’t make out their words.”
“I’m sure you read that I arrested Joe recently,” Emma said deep in thought.
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “I don’t read the local newspaper. I find it provincial and amateurish. Why did you arrest him?”
She answered obliquely. “He’s being charged with child abduction among other crimes. The girl went with him willingly. He had a weapon, but he had a permit to carry one. But he is in serious legal jeopardy for evasion and vehicular endangerment. That said, I’m told he was able to make bail.”
“Gee-whiz!” Blaine exhaled. “Sounds to me like you should pay him a visit.”
“Oh, I will. Thank you for your candor and your time, Mr. Blaine. We can let ourselves out.”
Emma and Pepper left the house. She would check out Joe Henderson, because she found Blaine believable. She decided to ask Buzz to go back and check the camera over. He understood techno-shit. Maybe he could figure out if Blaine could have manipulated the metadata.
But she doubted that even the self-described hobbyist was that clever.
21
Leak
Officers Pete Sinclair and Chuck Smith wrote their canvassing report and left it on Emma’s desk, where she found it Saturday morning. As she feared, none of the neighbors saw, or admitted seeing, anyone at the Jackson house. Not on Saturday night or on Sunday morning. No one reported hearing anything out of the ordinary either. One neighbor noticed Mary Jackson and Julian driving out the driveway, but she couldn’t say what time. Not that it mattered. Emma already knew that.
Caroline Stoner stopped by the office.
“Chief,” she said, “got a sec?”
“Sure, what’ve you got?”
“Two cups of coffee, for starters. Milk, no sugar for you.”
“That’s thoughtful. Have a seat.”
“I also have Ethan Jackson’s phone records. I’m afraid they’re not gonna be much help. One call was made to the house on Sunday morning. No out-going calls. The incoming was made from a cell phone. We traced it to a Walmart store on Foxon Boulevard in New Haven. The buyer paid cash … three months ago. No way anyone’s going to remember who, but I asked the manager to contact everyone who was working a register that day. I got the carrier, AT&T, to ping the cell phone. No response. The tech said the phone is either destroyed, or someone removed the battery or the SIM card. Worst of all, there is no record of any calls made from this phone before or since. Smells like a burner to me.”
Caroline continued, “True, but it tells us that someone called Ethan the morning he died. That smells like a killer to me. Plus, it makes Mary and Julian less likely suspects.
“So, Ethan knows the killer, who calls him in advance. Then Ethan willingly lets him into his house. They have what looks like consensual sex. The partner disappears after stringing Ethan up. Why? And why stage it as a suicide?”
“All good questions,” Emma said. “I wish I had some answers.”
Emma then told Caroline about her meeting with Victor Blaine and his mention of Joe Henderson.
“Our Joe Henderson?” she said in surprise.
“Yup! Our old buddy Joe Henderson. Count on my paying him a visit real soon.”
Caroline nodded but didn’t move to get up.
“Anything else?” Emma asked.
Caroline took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes wandered around the office and then back at Emma. She said, “Okay to speak frankly, Chief?”
“We’ve been friends a lot longer than I’ve been chief. I’m Emma, before and now. What’s on your mind?”
“I just want to say that I always have your back.”
“Shit, that sounds ominous. Why do I need your protection?”
“There’s, um, just been a lot of talk. I mean, I hear people say things.”
“I’m guessing not very nice things.”
Caroline said, “Pretty hurtful, truthfully. I don’t need to tell you that Archie’s a tough act to follow … for anyone. Like all good leaders, he had the unconditional support of his troops—”
“Is this about my handling of the Ethan Jackson case?”
“Um, partly.”
“You were right, Caroline, to give me a heads-up. Go ahead and spit it out. I can take it.” Emma meant it when she added, “Whatever you tell me will be helpful.”
“Okay then, here goes. From what I can tell, there are two issues. Some of the guys … well actually most of the guys … think that Wardlaw may have been hasty in promoting you to chief—”
“They think that Stella should have been chosen instead of me?”
“Not exactly. Stella may think that, but I don’t think most of the department agrees with her. She’s not the most popular, to be honest. Did you know that she calls you ‘The Saintly One?’ ”
Emma had to laugh. “Do you know what a Spoonerism is?”
“A what?”
She explained, “A Spoonerism is an accidental (or intentional) transposition of sounds in two or more words, such as …”
Emma tried to remember a good example. “Oh, I know one that’s perfect for a cop called Stoner: ‘A hot pie would make me happy.’ The Spoonerism would of course be ‘A pot high would make me happy.’ My Spoonerism for Stella is ‘Shining Wit’, AKA, ‘Whining Shit.’ ”
Caroline gave a full-throated laugh. “‘Whining Shit!’ How perfect!”
Emma joined in, loud enough to wake up Pepper.
But it didn’t take her long to get back on track. “You said two issues. What’s the other?”
Caroline stopped laughing as quickly as she’d started.
“It’s the Ethan Jackson case. People can’t figure out why you’re going it alone … why you’re not asking for help from the state police.”
“Yes, the state police, the ones with all the experience. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure either. I think about it a lot. I guess I think I’m trying to prove something to all three of us. To Archie, Will, and myself.”
“I hate to sound like a typical cover-your-ass cop, but it would help to spread the blame if the Jackson case turns cold.”
“I really appreciate your being candid with me.”
“Yeah, sorry to be the bearer of crappy news.”
“That’s what it means to be friends. Thanks for sharing. I mean it.”
Caroline went to the door, chuckling. “Gotta love Whining Shit!” She closed the door behind her.
After Caroline left, Emma turned to Pepper. “What the hell am I going to do? All my suspects seem to evaporate. Maybe, Joe Henderson will have legs.” Pepper pricked her ears, stood, and placed her muzzle on Emma’s thigh.
“What do you say we take a walk?”
Pepper raced to the office door.
In Broken River Park, Emma released Pepper from the backseat. Instead of running off, the Belgian Malinois glued herself to Emma’s left thigh like a limpet and quivered with anticipation. Emma lowered her voice, as she always did when giving Pepper a command. Free, she said. A thoroughbred at Churchill Downs couldn’t have made a faster start. Pepper bounded away, her scissor-stride accelerating as she ran. She tore past two kids who shrieked, but Emma had utter faith that Pepper would never hurt anyone unless she was told to.
Emma sat on a park bench. Saturday was bright and sunny. The air smelled fresh. The puddles left earli
er in the week had evaporated.
She wished she could ask Will about the Ethan Jackson case. Will was a super person to bounce ideas off. He’d listen to the conundrum and give some seemingly random response, which would send her mind spinning in a new direction, often toward a solution. But, alas, no Will. Her dad would, of course, have been the perfect person to ask, too.
Dad’s death had been so sudden, so unexpected she still hadn’t fully processed the hole he’d left. Then again there was Will. How could anyone process the hole he had left? Still, she was glad that she had thought of asking Will first.
None of these thoughts was making her happy.
After giving Pepper a half an hour of pure joy, she pushed the tip of her tongue back with her pinkies and produced an ear-splitting whistle. Pepper was back at her side within seconds.
Emma said, “How about we take the rest of the weekend off?”
Even for Pepper that was a little too much to interpret.
On Sunday morning, after a breakfast of café au lait and a croissant, Emma walked to Jiffy Stop, where she picked up the Hampshire Chronicle. She handed it to Pepper, who liked to carry the newspaper home.
So, it was not until she was back in her kitchen that she saw the banner headline:
Medical Examiner: Ethan Jackson Murdered
She had no doubt that it was Stella who had leaked the story. Furious, Emma read the lead.
By Virginia Hobson, Staff Reporter
According to a source in the Hampshire Police Department, Ethan Jackson, 37, of 103 Hickam Street in the Northwood section of Hampshire was found dead in his house last Sunday. Police initially suspected suicide. However, after an autopsy by Dr. Herbert Mittendorf, 71, Chief State Medical Examiner, Mr. Jackson’s death is now being investigated as a homicide. Mr. Jackson, founder of the internet start-up company spudger.com ...
Emma threw the paper on her kitchen table and reached for her cell phone. She had Stella on speed-dial. Her call went straight to voicemail. Stella’s cell phone was her third hand. Emma knew that she was ducking her call.
Ever So Silent Page 11
