The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  She went up to the eighth floor and located Elaine Larson, explaining she would like to see Professor Craig’s appointment calendar.

  “The police have it.”

  “Oh.” So it existed.

  “But Dr. Mackenzie has a copy.”

  “Oh?” Had he mentioned that? Where was his copy?

  Elaine nodded. “I made one for him the day he was here.”

  “I don’t suppose you know who Professor Craig had appointments with that afternoon?”

  Elaine shook her head. “Sorry, no, but it must have been a short list. He was away all morning at the conference and left around four p.m. So, three hours, max and I know he was in his office for part of that time. Not to mention that scene with the process server and Mr. Adams. He couldn’t have met with more than a handful of people.”

  Ginny nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Thank you.”

  “Ginny—”

  She turned back to face Elaine.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  Ginny felt a shock go through her body. “What?”

  Elaine shrugged. “The police have been asking questions and I know you’re trying to help. They found some files about me losing my job. You knew about that?”

  Ginny nodded.

  Elaine licked her lips. “It’s true my employment problem went away when he died, but I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t have done that.”

  Ginny suffered a range of uncomfortable emotions. She was embarrassed and felt defensive. She’d been caught making inquiries about people she knew. Anyone under investigation would be annoyed at the thought that he or she could be suspected, and might blame Ginny, might try to hurt Ginny.

  Elaine continued. “I’ll tell you what I told the police. I didn’t do it and I will do anything in my power to help you catch the real killer. I want him found and my name cleared.”

  Ginny’s eyes met Elaine’s. She had no way to judge whether she was speaking the truth or not, but she hoped she was. “I want the same,” she said.

  Ginny made her way back down to her car. Like it or not, she needed to see that appointment calendar, which meant asking someone to show it to her, either Detective Tran or Jim Mackenzie.

  * * *

  When Ginny got home, she found the files Alex had promised to send her in her email box. She added the CDC files to the thumb drive that held the spreadsheets — her investigation files — then did the same with the stuff she’d gotten off Professor Craig’s computer. Once that was done, she pulled up the access-to-virus list Alex had sent and scanned it slowly. There were no names on it she recognized.

  By the time she had finished, it was time to go meet Caroline for dinner. She was back from Hawaii and eager to talk. Ginny glanced at the clock. One more thing.

  She picked up the phone and accessed the number for Detective Tran. A very polite recording explained Detective Tran was unavailable and would return the call as soon as possible. Please leave a message. Ginny explained about the appointment calendar and asked for permission to see it, then hung up the phone. She rose from her chair and headed out to meet Caroline. The evening was likely to be full of angst and human folly, but at least Ginny wouldn’t have to face someone across a table while wondering if she was a cold blooded murderer.

  * * *

  Chapter 36

  Tuesday

  Ginny was enjoying the salad, the margarita, and the blow-by-blow account of the wedding in paradise. Caroline was pulling no punches, starting with a narration of the long flights, there and back, with detailed descriptions of her fellow passengers. Caroline was a good observer and an insightful judge of character. She made her fellow travelers come alive in the retelling.

  “But what about the wedding?” Ginny prompted.

  “I’m coming to that.”

  An hour later Ginny’s side was hurting from laughing so hard. There had been the usual miscommunications, lost items, overindulgence (with consequences), and a long string of Caroline-saves-the-day events.

  “She was lucky you were there.”

  Caroline nodded, a half-smile on her face. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Ginny brushed the tears from her eyes and swallowed another gulp of margarita. Now they were coming to it. “But?”

  Caroline sighed. “I’m glad I went.” She sat back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “But I don’t want to do it again.”

  “Why not?”

  Caroline’s eyes met hers and Ginny found a complicated mix of disappointment and relief in them.

  “This sounds so corny, but they’re not my people.”

  Ginny nodded. All of them had, at one point or another, discussed the pros and cons of being born into a culture as different and demanding as the Scots. The ongoing lament was, “Why can’t I just be normal?”

  “They expected all sorts of things from me I either didn’t understand or wasn’t prepared for, most of them having to do with spending money.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, tipping huge amounts and gambling all night long and buying liquor by the bottle, then pouring it in the bathtub.”

  Ginny waited for her friend to go on. Adolescent behavior happened at home, too.

  “But it was more than that. They weren’t happy, Ginny. Not one of them.”

  Ginny’s brows rose. “Not even the bride and groom?”

  “Not even them.” Caroline leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, her eyes on the glass she was turning round and round. “They struck me as always on parade.” She glanced up. “Do you know what I mean?”

  Ginny nodded. “Aware of other people’s eyes on them at all times. I’ve seen it.”

  “Yes, that’s right. No down time, no relaxation, no genuine emotion. None that I saw, anyway.”

  “But a wedding is a very public occasion. Maybe they relax at home.”

  She sighed. “Maybe, but I guess I expected to see joy, or at least satisfaction. Instead what I saw looked more like a stage production.”

  Ginny felt that was a good description of the modern wedding, but didn’t say so.

  “What about the young man Jodie wanted you to meet?”

  Again, Caroline’s eyes registered eloquent disappointment. “He was completely taken up with himself and at the same time kept trying to put me in my place.”

  Ginny frowned. “What do you mean? He was rude to you?”

  “Oh, no. He was much too well bred for that. It was more that I didn’t know how to behave. He kept trying to teach me what I was supposed to say or do or think. He was very sweet about it. He treated me as if I was a foreign exchange student, unaware of how things ought to be done.”

  “But isn’t that true? You and Jodie have very different backgrounds.”

  Caroline nodded. “Yes. It was true and he was trying, but again, there was no warmth there. It was all instruction, with a tiny bit of impatience thrown in to show me how far beneath his expectations I was.”

  “Expectations?”

  Caroline squirmed. “I wouldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t get drunk with him. I wouldn’t skinny dip with him. I’m a prude.”

  Ginny snorted. She’d seen Caroline at work during the Friday night dances. If anything, she was a confirmed flirt. “You behaved yourself.”

  Caroline glanced up, wrinkling her nose. “Yes, I did.”

  Ginny was smiling now. “Well, that’s not such a great obstacle. He just needs to behave himself as well.”

  Caroline picked up her glass, drained it and ordered another. “It’s not that I can’t misbehave,” she said. “It’s just that I wanted so much more than a weekend fling.”

  Ginny looked at her friend. “What did you want? What do you want?”

  Caroline’s eyes took on a soft glow. “Decency, courage, genuine emotion. I wanted a human being, not a glittering fake.”

  “You want the Hieland Hero.”

  Caroline smiled swiftly. “Yes. I do.”

  “So why did you think you’d find him in Hawaii?”


  Caroline was silent for several moments, thinking it over. “I suppose it’s because we hear so much about equality, that every race, religion, and culture is equally valid, that it should be easy to cross those lines, to interbreed. But I don’t think I believe it.”

  She looked up and met Ginny’s eyes. “Some types of behavior really are better than others. Not getting drunk every night is better than getting drunk and wasting money and good liquor and your reputation. Being faithful to one man or woman is better than sleeping around. Taking care of one another is better than discarding anyone who can’t advance your career or pocketbook.”

  “What you’re describing is family and we both know there are some cultures that feel the way we do. But there are many more that don’t. That set you were with for the wedding, they think money can replace family.”

  Caroline squirmed. “I hate to think of Jodie as being that shallow. We’re friends.”

  “Yes, you are. Friends, not family.”

  Their eyes met and Caroline’s suddenly narrowed. “Something’s happened.”

  Ginny dropped her eyes to the table. “We were talking about you.”

  Caroline leaned forward. “We were talking about belonging.”

  “Well, you and I belong to the group we were born into. The question is whether that should be enough.”

  Caroline nodded. “I think, for me, the answer is yes. I belong here and I don’t belong among the glitterati. They don’t live up to my standards.”

  Ginny sighed, the corner of her mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Welcome home.”

  “Now, tell me what’s been going on with you? Obviously something has.”

  Ginny leaned back and thought about the last week. What Caroline wanted to know was what had happened to her love life.

  “I found out today Hal has been lying to me about Jim.”

  “I thought you already knew that?”

  Ginny shook her head. “Not this. You remember we decided I should work with Alex and avoid both Hal and Jim?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, Alex told me today Hal had access to that virus and Jim did not.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hal told me Jim had worked in that lab for two weeks. Not true.” She licked her lips. “Jim told me Hal had access and I refused to believe him. Now I find out Jim was telling the truth and Hal wasn’t.”

  “Oh, Ginny.”

  Ginny nodded. “My stubbornness getting in the way, again.”

  “Does this clear Jim?”

  “No. It just means he wasn’t in that lab. He’s an expert. He could have come across that bug someplace else. But it does mean I owe him an apology.”

  “What about Hal?”

  Ginny squirmed. “At its least damning, it means Hal is so jealous of Jim he’s making up stories about him. That’s not the kind of man I want to marry.”

  Caroline reached over and laid her hand on Ginny’s. “I’m so sorry!”

  Ginny sighed. “Does this mean I should be looking closer to home, too?”

  “Do I know? I always thought you had it made, except Hal hadn’t gotten around to proposing.”

  Ginny nodded. She, too, had thought it didn’t matter that Hal was not one of the clan, but maybe she’d been wrong. He’d refused to come to any of the Homestead events. She had dragged him out to the Games one year, but that was it. No ceilidhs, no dancing, not even the kirk. The unspoken message was that, if she married him, she would have to leave her world behind.

  “Well, I feel the need for a girl’s night out. Care to come destroy some targets with me tomorrow evening?”

  Caroline grinned. “You’re on and I’ll bet you the range fee I can beat your score.”

  * * *

  Chapter 37

  Wednesday

  On Wednesday morning, Pierre Michel pulled out his notes and looked them over. He was not optimistic. Most arson cases go unsolved. Nationwide, roughly one-quarter of the investigations led to a suspect but only about five percent of those cases resulted in a conviction.

  He was better off than most, however. He had some forensic evidence. He had the traces of the fire-starter. He had a footprint that might or might not be that of the arsonist. And he had a fuzzy photograph taken at night by a child with a cell phone camera, which no one had come forward to identify, in spite of an appeal being broadcast over the local news agencies three nights in a row.

  If the fire was related to the death of the owner of the house, then the attempted break-ins and the arson were most likely the acts of a desperate person. It had started in the home office and that part of the house had been effectively destroyed. If the arsonist believed any incriminating evidence had gone up in smoke, he would relax. If not, he would try again.

  Officer Michel’s brows drew together in a small frown. The young couple in possession of the house, the heir and his wife, had been advised to move to a hotel, but had declined on the grounds that they needed to complete the inventory of the estate so they could return to their home in Tennessee. It might be worth his while to talk to them again, to see if they remembered anything else. Also, he should talk to the boys who had witnessed the arson. The police had done so on the night, but he had not spoken to them directly.

  He extricated himself from his chair, collected his hat, and headed out.

  He had spoken to the librarian yesterday and her information had led him to the disgruntled client, who had admitted his threats toward the victim. But that man could not have been the arsonist. Not only did his physical appearance not correspond to the image in the photograph, but he had an alibi.

  Officer Michel had also spent some time yesterday talking to the investigator on the murder, Detective Tran. She was pursuing a lead, something to do with the murder weapon, but she had declined to tell him much, explaining it was an ongoing investigation.

  He drove over to the Craig’s address, then made his way to the front door of the house across the alley. The doorbell was answered by a middle-aged woman in jeans and a sweatshirt.

  “May I help you?”

  He removed his hat, introduced himself and explained his errand.

  “Oh. Yes, well, Jeremy is at school.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I need your permission to speak to him so I came to you first.”

  Mrs. Warren turned out to be a very capable, no-nonsense sort of woman. She invited him in, inspected his credentials, read the permission form, phoned her husband, then called the school. While they waited for Mr. Warren to bring Jeremy home, she provided iced tea and answered background questions.

  She rose when she heard the car pull up, then introduced Officer Michel to her husband and the child.

  When they were all seated around the table, Pierre Michel turned to the boy.

  “You are not in trouble, Jeremy. In fact, I have come to ask for your help.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Cool!”

  “I’m hoping you can tell me more about this man in the backyard across the alley.”

  As it turned out, he could. Pierre Michel controlled his expression carefully over the next half hour, taking down the details of an intelligent child’s perception of the neighborhood spectacle. He had done a good job of surveillance, considering his limitations.

  “The old man disappeared and they said he was dead and then they moved in and it didn’t look right, so I kept an eye on them.”

  “You saw the other woman, the redhead, come and visit?”

  “Yes. They were all three in the room that burned. Maybe she set the fire!”

  Michel kept his eyes on his notepad. The child had been playing hooky that Thursday morning, so fascinated by his suspicions that mere schooling had faded to unimportance.

  “You took a picture of a man with his arm through the window.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, then he did it. He hung around and watched, anyway.”

  When he saw there was no more to be learned here, Officer Michel closed his notebook, rose and thanked the famil
y. He turned on the doorstep and addressed the child.

  “Jeremy, if you really want to be an investigator, you must stay in school. The tools you learn there will be needed in the field. I advise you to master them.” He gave Mrs. Warren a small smile and touched his hat. “Good day.”

  * * *

  After almost three weeks off, Ginny was back on her regular noontime session at the rink.

  She stepped carefully out onto the ice. She’d been skating for most of her life, but she still went in awe of the fact that a person could stand on something as thin as a single skate blade. She glided across the surface to the hockey box and set her bag down, then turned to see who else was on the ice. Two others, both very much like herself. Grown women with a bit more than basic skills and a love of the sport. Neither paid any attention to her.

  Ginny pushed away from the boards and started her warm-up. Slow, smooth strokes at first, forward, then backward in both directions, clockwise and counter-clockwise, making a huge figure of eight as she crossed through the center of the ice on the changeovers.

  Swing rolls next, deep edges bisecting the surface of the ice in geometrically perfect half loops. Up one side of the rink and down the other. A little faster now, she moved into crossovers and cross rolls, power stroking and edge changes, working the inside edges as much as the outside ones.

  The ice was in good condition, neither too hard nor too soft. Ginny felt her heart lift as the tension of the last few days began to ease, lost in the physical exertion.

  She finished the lap, then peeled off to do some stretching. Ice skating was as much a matter of suppleness as of strength. She closed her eyes and centered her balance, then reached for her toes, her fingertips brushing the ice surface. Up, down, side to side, all done with the skates in a neutral position, but off the boards, to teach her body how to move while balanced on the stationary blades.

  She put a hand on the boards and went through the rest of her routine; deep knee bends, lunges and high kicks, to loosen the joints; fifth position with her hips pushed into the boards and her back arched, to stretch the tendons and boot leather.