All the local artists’ supply stores in the phone book were closed. Auburn decided to call it a night.
On his desk next morning he found a lean sheaf of background reports from Dollinger and his temporary colleagues in Records. Nothing was known to the discredit of Laverne and Felix Bott or their establishment. Avram Choutras's record was likewise without blot or stain. The Bernish sisters too were model citizens. Charlene taught biology and chemistry. Christine was indeed worth millions.
After reporting on the results of last night's search to Lieutenant Savage, Auburn started calling artists’ supply stores. The proprietor of the third one, which was just a mile or so from Crestview, remembered selling a tube of rose lake to a traveling artist a few weeks earlier. Before visiting that store, Auburn called the remaining ones, drawing blanks all round.
The owner of Henshell's Art Supplies, a tall woman with white hair, refined features, and sensitive, restless hands, recognized Christine Bernish's picture. Moreover, after Auburn's call she had recovered a record of the transaction from her computer. There was no name, but the date matched, and the time was 10:40 A.M.—not long after the time Christine must have left Crestview.
"Do you remember anything about her?” asked Auburn. “Was she alone?"
"I'm trying to think. It was three weeks ago.” She stepped to the front window and looked out into the parking area in front of the store. “No, she wasn't alone. She came in a big luxury car, black or dark blue, I think. And a man was driving it, but he didn't come inside."
"What kind of man? Young, old, tall—"
"Oh, I'm sorry, but I have no idea. It was one of those gloomy winter days; it might even have been raining."
"Did she say anything about where she was going?"
"I don't think so. All I remember her saying was that she liked to blend a little rose lake into her lighter colors because it made everything look more cheerful—something like that. That's why I thought of her right away when you called."
This was progress of a sort, but hardly worth reporting to Charlene Bernish. On his way back to headquarters he got a radio message from Patrolman Bystrom via the dispatcher.
"Sergeant, a couple of kids found your missing Caddy out at Rolland State Park this morning."
"Empty?"
"Not sure. It's in about thirty feet of water."
"The lake."
"The lake. These crazy kids were canoeing in and out among the ice cubes at the north end, just above the dam, and they saw the car down on the bottom."
"Are you there now?"
"Yes, sir. The park ranger called the state troopers because they have jurisdiction, and they called us because we're looking for the car."
"How sure can you be that it's the car we're looking for under all that water?"
"Maybe it's only twenty feet. You can't see the plates, but the model and year are right."
"What are the troopers doing about getting it out of the water?"
"Doesn't look to me like they're doing anything about anything. I think it's like, if we lost the car, we can fish it out."
"The dam, you said? I'm on my way."
He got back to the dispatcher and directed him to call Fire and Rescue for a boat and a diver. He also suggested they call Hennessy's Garage, which was probably as close as any to the park, for a tow truck. He decided to put off notifying the coroner's office until he had a body.
He found the state highway patrol car and Bystrom's cruiser parked in tandem along the side of the road near the dam and pulled in behind them. The day was blustery but bright, and from the walkway over the concrete dam he had no trouble seeing the car under the choppy green water. There was no sign of the kids who had found it or their canoe.
Patrolman Bystrom, whose mustache made Auburn's look like a worn-out toothbrush, joined him on the dam. “What do you think, Sergeant?"
"I think that's the one we're looking for.” He went back to his car to wait for the technical support people and tried to figure the odds that Christine Bernish was down there in the water. He considered calling her sister, but reflecting that a body that had been in the lake for three weeks would be gruesome beyond a ghoul's nightmare, he decided against it.
The tow truck from Hennessy's Garage arrived with Greeves in charge. He parked on the cobbled shore of the lake, walked out on the dam to see where the car was, and moved the truck closer.
Time passed. The inevitable crowd of onlookers began to form, and Bystrom had his hands full keeping them at a distance.
At length the dispatcher called with another relayed message. “Sergeant, this is Commander Chaney, Fire and Rescue. Where is Rose Lake?"
Auburn groaned in exasperation. “Forget rose lake. That's a paint. The car's in the lake at Rolland State Park."
"The message I got said Rose Lake, north end."
"Well, the north end part is right. If you get a move on you might beat the TV crews out here."
He walked across mushy turf to the tow truck. “Morning, Greeves. Looks like the diver got lost. Be another few minutes. Let me sign your work order so the garage can get paid before Memorial Day."
Back in his car, Auburn called Records and got Dollinger. “Fritz, this is Auburn. If you thought you weren't going to get any emergency calls while you were stuck in Records, think again. I need a background check and I need it a half hour ago."
"Okay, shoot, Sergeant. If you'll excuse the expression."
The rescue squad finally arrived and launched their boat, and a diver went down with a light to inspect the car. In half a minute he surfaced to report that the registration number was that of the missing car and that the body of a woman was strapped into the driver's seat. The doors were locked and the key was in the ignition. Auburn called the coroner's office.
By the time the diver had attached a cable to the car and Greeves had hauled it out, both the coroner's investigator and an evidence technician were on the scene. They got in each other's way shooting pictures and argued with the rescue team and each other about the procedure of cracking the car open.
When the first TV camera unit arrived, Auburn called Charlene Bernish. The only television set at Crestview was in the parlor, and for all he knew it was as nonfunctional as the treadle sewing machine standing next to it. But since the search was officially in his hands, he felt he should be the first to break the news to the bereaved sister. She took it pretty well, her grief perhaps tempered by the prospect of inheriting Chris's millions. She promised to stay put until she heard from the coroner's office.
As soon as the mortuary crew had removed the body, Auburn directed Greeves to tow the car to the police garage on Sixth Street. He followed the tow truck, and Bystrom followed him. During the trip Dollinger radioed him with a preliminary report on the background check Auburn had requested.
Greeves had deposited the car and was rewinding cable on a power winch when Auburn and Bystrom cornered him.
"Greeves, we'd like you to come next door with us to headquarters and answer some questions about how this car got in the lake."
"How it got in?"
"And also about what happened to the driver beforehand. She didn't get those head wounds in any accident. She was belted in, and there isn't a scratch or a dent on the car."
Greeves faced around and looked at Auburn and Bystrom as if to gauge his danger. “How would I know anything about that?"
"Maybe you can explain this. The dispatcher at headquarters got a couple of messages mixed up, and by mistake he sent you to pull a car out of Rose Lake—that's what's written on your work order. In spite of that, you went straight to the right place, the lake in Rolland State Park."
Greeves turned his back and busied himself with his winch for a few moments.
"Your rap sheet is on file right next door, you know,” continued Auburn. “Three months in the workhouse for petty theft when you were nineteen, two years at Parkersburg for robbery with assault..."
For an eternity lasting three or four seconds
it seemed as if Greeves was about to put the detachable winch handle to a use not intended by the manufacturer.
They read him his rights. His collapse wasn't graceful, but it was complete.
"That woman was covered with rings and jewelry,” he said, “and she was loaded with cash. She kept waving it around under my nose, and I kept trying to figure out how I was going to get my hands on it. When I dropped her off at the hotel, I told her I'd come back and get her at ten the next morning, which was my day off.
"I couldn't sleep all night, but I just couldn't think of no way I could get that jewelry and money away from her unless I ... It was like an obsession, you know? So I drove her out through the park, and...” He shrugged and motioned toward the Cadillac, still dribbling lake water onto the oily concrete floor of the garage.
Auburn felt no sense of triumph at this arrest. Greeves's murder of Christine Bernish, like his attempt to implicate Choutras in the crime, was obviously the impulsive act of an undisciplined man cursed with dismally poor judgment. They walked him through the tunnel to headquarters without putting on handcuffs.
Among the personal effects recovered from the sunken car were a brand-new tube of rose lake, still in its brown paper sack; a case containing other paints, brushes, and artist's supplies; several paintings, which had fused under water into a layered sandwich of pulpy Bristol board and blotches of pigment; and a large leather-bound diary. From the diary the police laboratory technicians extracted, by a process involving acetone, glycerine, and a hair-dryer, a legible record of what had struck Christine Bernish as the salient features of her last few weeks of life.
On the morning of Saturday, February 21, she'd made a brief note to the effect that when the garage man brought her car she was going to get him to drive her to an artists’ supply store so she wouldn't get lost before getting back on the interstate. Without much relish, Auburn read the whole record, which began on January 1 of that year. He learned that Christine Bernish hadn't been overly fond of her sister and that her daydreams and fantasies, like her paintings, were tinted with generous doses of rose lake. But he never did find out where she was going or what she was looking for when she hit the road in February.
The name of Ellison Trask appeared only once in the diary. Stamped in gold letters on the inside back cover, it was the name of the firm that had manufactured the diary.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Copyright © 2005 by John H. Dirckx.
[Back to Table of Contents]
The Tanabata Magpie by I. J. Parker
Heian-Kyo (Kyoto); eleventh century; at the time of the Tanabata Festival.
The day before the festival did not start auspiciously for Akitada. His green cap ribbon with the diamond pattern, mandatory when on duty in the Greater Palace, had disappeared, and he tore a hole in one of his white silk socks.
Next, while crossing the courtyard in the dew-sparkling beauty of a summer morning filled with the scent of roses and birdsong, he stepped into dog feces and had to return to the house to change his slippers. When he set out again, the dog, aptly named Trouble, attempted to reinsinuate himself into Akitada's good graces by shoving a drooling muzzle against his good green robe, leaving stains on one sleeve.
And now, seated behind the low desk in his office in the Ministry of Justice, he was about to confront a junior clerk with the news that he would be dismissed. Akitada, as senior secretary, intensely disliked such chores, but the minister was out of town and had left instructions that Akitada was to inform young Shigeyori of his deplorable performance evaluation.
To make matters worse, the minister had given Akitada this assignment to make a point about careless recommendations. Shigeyori had been taken on against everyone's advice because Akitada had spoken up for him. Since then, Akitada had been busy and lost track of the young man. He was a mere presence in the archives which tended to be cluttered with eager young legal clerks trying to look busy whenever a senior staff member entered the room. He dimly recalled him as a rather good-looking youth who had lately adopted a mustache.
But remembering his own years at the bottom of the career ladder, the many times he had been glared at, threatened, reprimanded, mocked, and called to account, Akitada made an effort to verify the facts first. Shigeyori had a fine university record and had seemed very eager. It was incomprehensible and embarrassing for Akitada that he should have proved unsatisfactory.
The facts were dismal and disturbing. The senior scribe and others had complained repeatedly about absences and a lack of diligence in completing tasks in a timely fashion. Worse, a stack of legal documents which had passed through Shigeyori's hands now lay on Akitada's desk. Each and every one of them contained startling errors, omissions, mistakes in Chinese characters, and illegible entries. Since the performance of the entire ministry rested on accurate recordkeeping and reliable archives, Akitada was appalled and angry when he sent for the young man whom he had sponsored and who had so singly disappointed his expectations.
Shigeyori sidled in, bowed nervously, and sat. He eyed the stack of documents and looked away quickly. A slow flush crept up his face.
"Um,” said Akitada, very ill at ease.
"Yes, sir?” The voice trembled a little.
"You, ah, have been with us almost a year now, Shigeyori."
"Yes, sir.” Shigeyori clenched his hands together. He looked young and vulnerable, his face still childishly rounded. The mustache was a mistake, Akitada decided, feeling a pang of pity.
"As you know,” he started again, forcing his mind back to the long list of offenses committed by this young man and the embarrassment to himself, “we have to submit annual performance reports by the end of the seventh month."
Shigeyori swallowed and nodded. The fear in his large, liquid eyes was almost palpable.
Akitada sighed. “This is a very good and proper rule and affects all of us, from the lowliest scribe to the highest minister of the realm. It assures that the people are served with virtue, duty, honesty, and conscientiousness. We must all demonstrate diligent service and devotion to the public good.” He meant to let the young man know that he was not being singled out unfairly, but for some reason Shigeyori's eyes blazed with anger.
"I know all that,” he snapped.
Akitada frowned at his tone. He tapped an accusing finger on the documents and said sternly, “I have had a look at your work. And I have spoken to your coworkers. It was an embarrassing task, since I am the one who spoke up on your behalf when you applied for your position. To say that I am disappointed would be an understatement. I am very much afraid that I cannot recommend any merits, and you know that means dismissal."
Shigeyori went deathly pale. He gulped, then cried, “Everybody here hates me. It's lies, nothing but lies, whatever they've said. As for the documents, I've been given so much work I couldn't do it properly.” His voice broke.
Akitada opened his mouth to ask about this possibly extenuating circumstance when Shigeyori suddenly jumped up and shouted, “I should have known. You're just like the rest. There's no pleasing any of you. There never was. I must have been mad to hope. What, a fellow with my background? It's ridiculous. I bet you're all going to have a good laugh about it after I'm gone.” He shook a fist at the unoffending door, then turned back to Akitada, tears in his eyes, to say stiffly, “I'll save you the trouble of writing your report and resign now. Good-bye, sir!"
His bow was spoiled when his cap fell off. He scooped it back up before slamming out of Akitada's office.
Akitada's jaw sagged. He was still staring at the door when he heard muffled laughter followed by a cry of pain.
He rose and opened the door to look out into the corridor. One of the other young clerks sat on the floor, holding a bleeding nose. His friends stood about him, looking after Shigeyori, who was running out of the building.
Akitada was forced to issue another reprimand, this time to the troublemakers who had waylaid Shigeyori after eavesdropping on his interview. He knew thei
r type from experience. The strong always picked on the weak, and Shigeyori came from a poor provincial family, while they were the sons of court nobles.
* * * *
That afternoon, Akitada's bad day got immeasurably worse. Superintendent Kobe, Akitada's friend and sometime rival, stopped by. After initial hostilities many years ago, when the young law clerk Akitada had put his nose into police matters, Kobe had mellowed enough to ask his advice occasionally. The superintendent was at least ten years older than Akitada, his hair and beard already gray, yet over time they had become close.
But this was no casual visit. After a greeting, Kobe said, “You have a clerk called Shigeyori?"
The young hothead must have caused more trouble. Akitada felt vaguely responsible as he nodded.
"He's under arrest for murder."
"Murder?” stammered Akitada, aghast.
"Yes. I thought I'd come myself. Anything you can tell me about him?"
Akitada's first reaction was disbelief. “Are you sure? I saw him earlier today. He left here a little overwrought because his performance report was poor, but I cannot imagine...” His voice trailed off.
Kobe raised his brows. “You dismissed him?"
"I was getting around to it when he saved me the trouble. Burst into an angry speech that ended with a resignation, then stormed out—after knocking one of his colleagues to the floor for sniggering."
"A violent temper, in other words."
Akitada became cautious. “I don't know ... it seemed that way, but ... what exactly happened?"
"He killed Masayoshi. The director of the wardrobe office."
"I don't think I know him. But why? And when?"
Kobe spread his hands. “A few hours ago, around the time of the noon rice. And why do such things happen? His temper explains it well enough. The young have little restraint. In this case, Masayoshi had forbidden visits to his daughter."
"Shigeyori seduced the daughter of a ranking official?” For someone of Shigeyori's low social standing, that was the height of audacity. Akitada had liked his spirit when he had applied for the clerkship, but this was most improper. Still, the boy was very young, and the young make foolish mistakes when they think they are in love. “You are quite sure he is guilty?"
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