Desperate Measures

by M. Glenn Graves

  Owens walked out of the room and left Sandy with her thoughts. I watched her for a few minutes as she began to write on the pad. There was no way to tell if she were writing what Owens had asked her to write. Time would tell.

  Owens entered our little room and stared at Sandy through the large window.

  “Piece of work,” he said.

  “Yeah, she is,” Rosey agreed.

  “May I have a crack at her?” I said.

  “Sure, why not? What do you hope to get from her?” Owens said.

  “I don’t know, maybe nothing. I just want to see if she actually has a button that can be pushed.”

  Owens raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Or a conscience,” I added.

  “Living dangerously, are we?” Rosey said.

  “On the edge of something,” I said.

  71

  It was close to ten o’clock when I opened the door and entered the interrogation room with Sandy Chatterworth. She seemed to be passive, but not surly.

  “What do you want?” she said to be without any attitude in her tone.

  “Not sure that I could tell you what I want,” I said.

  “Then why come in here and talk? You a pseudo-psychiatrist?” she said.

  “No, nothing like that. Just a detective hired to answer a question from a father,” I said.

  “Melody’s father hired you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanted to know why she killed herself, huh?”

  “More like he wanted to be absolutely sure that she took her own life.”

  “We made it look real, didn’t we?”

  I wasn’t about to praise her for murdering someone.

  “Too much over the top,” I said.

  “Whattaya mean?”

  “Overkill. Fire and then a gun shot. Way too much.”

  “We thought it good theatre,” Sandy said.

  “No remorse from you,” I said.

  “What difference would that make? She’d still be dead.”

  “Yeah, she would. But at least you might have some regret since you now know you didn’t need to kill her.”

  “I don’t know. Knowing my father, he might have found a way around the church beliefs to justify having an impure bride and priestess. He was good at finding his way around rules.”

  “As bad as you father was, the murder of Melody Legrand isn’t on him. It’s yours.”

  “I told you that Lee did it.”

  “Lee’s dead. You’re the accomplice. You’ll be charged as if you were the sole responsible party.”

  “Well, that’s life.”

  “Without parole, most likely,” I said.

  She smiled but said nothing. There was a gleam in her eye which made that moment with her seem surreal. It was like I was staring at some El Greco painting, some disturbing presence floating around the edges of my world. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, I can assure you.

  “I’m sorry for you, Sandy. I’m sorry that you did all these things,” I said trying to break whatever spell she might be casting.

  “I don’t need your sympathy. I did what I had to do each step of the way. No remorse, no guilt, and certainly no regrets. Things happen. Life’s a bitch. You can go back and tell her father that.”

  I stood up and walked out of the room. I could only take so much. Way past my fill. Probably last me a lifetime.

  “She don’t have many buttons that can be pushed,” Owens said to me in the hallway outside the interrogation room. “You left early. I figured you’d stay for a while.”

  “She was pushing my buttons. I didn’t want to kill her.”

  “That’s why we check firearms before entering those sessions,” he said and walked away.

  Down the hall he turned and looked back at me.

  “You and your friend heading out?”

  “Yeah. Back to Boston.”

  “More work ahead?”

  “Got to finish up this job first, then some rest.”

  “What else you got to do with this job?” Owens said.

  “The hardest part.”

  72

  Rosey, Sam, and I didn’t say much to each other on the ride back to Boston. Sam slept in the backseat on the padding that Rosey had provided. Rosey drove and I slept most of the way. Tired would have been an improvement over the weight I was feeling. It was probably a good thing that Simon Legrand had already paid me most of my money. The way I was feeling, I was a good mind not to accept anymore of his money. It’s painful enough to pay to have someone investigate the death of your child. It’s another thing to have to pay for information regarding her senseless killing at the hands of two crazy religious kids. The fact that it was her search for some meaning to life in the realm of religion added insult to the whole senseless thing. I had to report this to her father.

  I woke up just outside of Boston. We were ten minutes out from Uncle Walter’s place. It was just after midnight.

  “You had a nice nap,” Rosey said.

  I turned and looked at the sleeping dog.

  “He’s still at it. Must be a good dream,” I said.

  “You dream any?” Rosey asked.

  “Don’t remember if I did. Sleep was too brief and too restless, I reckon.”

  “You going to see Simon Legrand tomorrow?”

  “You mean today, don’t you?”

  “Well, I thought you might want to rest up some more today and do the deed tomorrow. Give yourself some time to think about how you might present your information.”

  “I appreciate the suggestion. Not many good ways to tell a father what I have to tell him.”

  “Not many, but at least he will have the solace of knowing that his little girl didn’t take her own life.”

  “Not sure that murder provides much solace. She died a horrible death,” I said.

  “Maybe she didn’t feel much of it for any length of time since she was on some kind of drug,” Rosey said.

  “One can hope.”

  My uncle was waiting on us when we arrived.

  “Why are you still up?” I said.

  “I don’t always go to bed at the same hour of the night,” Walters said.

  “How did you know we would be coming in this late?” I said.

  “A Detective Owens of Weston called me. Told me what had happened and thought you two might need some company.”

  Rosey and I smiled a bit at each other.

  “That sly old hound,” Rosey said. “He’s got a good side to him.”

  “Yeah, he does. I’ll miss working with him. Nice to know there’s a concerned soul at work out there in the trenches.”

  “Oh, I suspect that there are lots of good policemen working out there, as you say. You used to be one of them,” Walters said.

  “Yeah, I did. Long time back.”

  “You two hungry?” Walters said.

  We both nodded. “Starved,” we said simultaneously.

  It was after eleven when I awakened later that morning. I wandered downstairs to the coffee pot. Walters was reading the paper. Sam was somewhere outside, Walters said. I was still wearing my pj bottoms and t-shirt top. Walters’ place felt like home to me.

  I finished my first cup and retrieved a second.

  “You okay?” he said, putting down the paper and looking at me.

  “Still a little tired, but okay. Nothing hurts except my heart.”

  “That’s a pain that will not go away easily,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know. The price I pay for doing this crappy work.”

  “You help a lot of people,” he said.

  “Maybe, but I also find out mean and despicable things that people do to each other for stupid reasons. This time it was for religious reasons, or so they said.”

  “Some religions are better than others. Depends upon whether you think morality should be a part of religion,” he said.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “It’s not important what I think,” he said. “What
is important is what guides you.”

  “I value what you think,” I said.

  “I know. I appreciate that. But it’s your values that are causing the heart pain, not mine. In other words, would you want a religion devoid of morality so that you could avoid the heart ache that comes when people violate an ethical code? Just eliminate the morality, the ethical code, like Fletcher did, and you don’t hurt. You remove the heartache.”

  “I wonder,” I said.

  “How’s that?”

  “I think deep down Sandy Chatterworth, his daughter, suffered great heartache. Through the years she buried it and then came the day she discovered that it was her father who had caused the heartache. It was too much to bear.”

  “Well, you may be right, but you do see my point.”

  “My pain is inevitable as long as I operate from some morality base, some ethical position.”

  “Precisely,” he said. “And you most likely always will. Your father and mother ingrained that in you.”

  “Mostly my father,” I said.

  “Don’t be too hasty with that notion. You have a lot of your mother in you. I see a healthy balance from both sets of genes,” he said.

  “Trying to make me feel really good, are you?”

  “How about some brunch?” he said as he walked to the kitchen.

  “Whatever you fix, I shall devour.”

  73

  I called Simon Legrand and had him meet me on the corner of Tremont and Boylston in the Boston Commons. I exited the subway at that corner stop and met up with him. We started walking in the direction of the Central Burying Ground of Boston Commons. That was probably more of an accident than anything intentional on my part. However, I could blame Freud for that if I wanted.

  “You know something,” Simon said to me.

  “I know too much,” I said.

  “She killed herself, right?”

  “No, Simon, she didn’t. It was all forced upon her, and that makes me very sad.”

  “Spare me any other details,” he said. “I know the how, I just wanted you to verify the why, if in fact, there was a why. I’m satisfied in knowing that my little girl did not take her own life.”

  “You Catholic, Simon?”

  “How did you know?”

  I smiled and looked down at my feet. “Lucky guess, I suppose. Just a lucky guess.”

  He handed me a sealed envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “I have another job for you.”

  “You’re assuming I will take it,” I said.

  “I want you to go tell Duchess what you have learned.”

  I offered the envelope back to him, “You can save yourself a little money by doing that yourself.”

  “I can’t do that. Besides, she wouldn’t see me if I went calling, not even for this. No, it’s better that she hear it from you. This will more than compensate you.”

  I sighed and exhaled a lot of air. I didn’t want to take anymore of Simon’s money, but he was asking me to do something which I really did not want to do. On the other hand, I knew that whatever amount was in the envelope would generously compensate me.

  “Tell you what you do,” I said to Simon. “Take this money, and, as you know, I have no idea how much is in this envelope, but take it, and create a scholarship at Regis College in Melody’s name. She deserves to be remembered in some positive way.”

  “What a grand idea,” Simon said. “Thank you for suggesting that. But, I will not take this money to do that. I have plenty of money. You take this. You have earned all that I have paid you, and you will in fact earn this by doing what I have asked. You do this for me and I’ll take care of the scholarships in Melody’s name.”

  Reluctantly, I agreed to go see the Duchess and talk with her. I called her and we made an appointment for the next day, noon-ish. I agreed to come to her home.

  I took Sam with me for backup. We talked a lot en route; that is, I talked a lot en route and Sam listened. Good therapy. A girl’s best friend.

  Traffic from Uncle Walters’ to West Medford was flowing well so I arrived a few minutes after noon. Duchess Legrand met me at the front door with a drink in her hand. It appeared to be a Bloody Mary. There was a small mint leaf on the side of the glass. Nice touch. Duchess was wearing black slacks and a black silk top that showed substantial cleavage. Her black stiletto-heels set off her dramatic outfit. Dramatic but not seductive. Only my opinion.

  “Started without me,” I said as I walked through the door past her.

  “Didn’t think you would be drinking and driving. Staying the night with me again?” she said.

  “Depends upon the direction our conversation takes,” I said.

  “That’s what I figured,” she said as she paused in front of the sitting room filled with the pink furniture. “Is this a more formal visit slash conversation?”

  “Let’s go to the back close to the bar. That way if you feel the need to freshen up your drink, you won’t have so far to walk,” I said.

  “You’re a doll,” she said, and headed off in the direction of the booze.

  I followed her into the den and sat down on the recliner portion of her sectional furniture.

  “You want a drink?” she said

  I shook my head and she sat down. I watched her cross her legs and sip on her Bloody Mary. She was making strides. Gulping down the liquid was out. Sipping was in. My heart was pounding a bit more than I would have wished. While I had no love-loss for this woman, I did feel some empathy with her at the present. I have a little experience with bad news.

  “You’re here to tell me what you found out about my daughter, right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I don’t follow,” she said.

  She took a longer sip and tried to focus on me.

  “I don’t have to tell you what I know unless you want me to tell you what I know.”

  “And why is that, sweetie?” she said. Another long sip and it appeared that her eyes were glassing over even as I watched her. With my astute detective skills, I immediately determined that she had been drinking for a long while before I arrived. Ever observant.

  “You didn’t pay me to find out about Melody,” I said.

  “To the point. I like that about you. At least I always know where I stand. So, Simon sent you here to tell me something,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  “If you want to know,” I said.

  “Will this make me feel better?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Then why did Simon send you here to tell me this?”

  “You have a right to know. He thought you should know.”

  “Is this a slam against my daughter?”

  I shook my head.

  “Is my daughter still dead?”

  I didn’t answer that. I didn’t think it needed to be answered.

  She finished her drink, stood up and walked to the bar. I watched her pour vodka into the glass all the way to the top. No room left for the tomato juice. Or the mint leaf. She drank most of it and then walked back to the sofa and plopped down. Gulping was back. No nore sipping.

  “I don’t know if I want to hear your report or not,” she said. She spit the word report as if it were dirty. “Simon hates me. I have to factor that into this.”

  “I don’t think Simon intends you more harm here. You’re the mother of this girl and he wants you to know the truth. I figure he believes you deserve to know the truth.”

  She laughed. It was forced. Kin to a mocking laugh, I suspect.

  “Do you know the truth?” she said.

  “I know the facts I have uncovered from my investigation. It’s not pretty. It’s not wholesome, but it does show one important detail.”

  “What detail?” she said.

  “Your daughter didn’t commit suicide.”

  I watched her down the rest of her straight vodka. Her eyes were now way past glassy. Her eyelids were starting to hang over half of her eyes. It wa
s only a matter of time before the lights went out and I would be alone with her limp body passed out on the sofa across the room from me.

  My life as a crime fighter. Super detective and nurse maid.

  “That’s wunnerful,” she said. “Sim-pe wunnerful.”

  Duchess closed her eyes and fell over onto the couch. I took out my phone and called Uncle Walters. I told him I wouldn’t be back for supper.

  “I’m doing a sleepover with the rich and slushy.”

  “Slushy?” he said.

  “The lady is soused. I can’t leave her like this, so I’m gonna bed down here with Sam beside me.”

  “She allows a dog in that mansion?”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t know it yet.”

  74

  When I heard noises the next morning, I began stirring. I was already awake drinking coffee, but I decided to have some breakfast going by the time the Duchess appeared in a more sober state. Hung-over, but walking with eyes opened. Sam was still resting, but he had already gone outside to explore the surroundings and relieve himself.

  When the lady of the house appeared, I had fixed toast, bacon, and was within a minute or so of completing the scrambled eggs. She was wearing a silky kimono that had birds and trees and flowers in vertical runs. Everything was black and red on it. She had exchanged her stiletto-heels for house slippers. Her hair had been brushed with a couple of strokes, but she maintained a natural disheveled look despite her attempts at early morning improvement.

  “”And she cooks, too,” she said as she staggered into the kitchen and sat down on a bar stool. “You have anything to drink in this establishment?”

  “Black coffee,” I said.

  “Not my first choice, but I’ll take a cup.”

  I filled her cup and watched her drink a little of it.

  “My head hurts,” she said.

  “And well it should. You polished off that entire bottle of vodka.”

  “How do you know how much vodka I drank? You the vodka police?”

  Complete sobriety was still a good way off. I decided that humoring her might be a better course to take until the breakfast and black coffee had kicked in.