by Emily James
The way everyone kept saying that, it made me think they’d been close before. Not all families were. Some people only saw their relatives at weddings and funerals and felt that was too much. “Leonard told me about Gordon’s drug addiction.”
Clement’s eyebrows went up, but stayed in two straight lines instead of forming V’s the way Mark’s did. He tugged on his ear. “He told you Gordon had a drug addiction.”
I couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question. Which meant I also couldn’t tell if Clement was surprised they’d told me or was surprised because of what they’d told me. “That’s what they said.”
He kept tugging on his ear—enough that I was almost afraid he was going to permanently stretch it out.
He didn’t have to say it now. I knew from Clement’s body language now. Leonard Albright lied to me. Gordon hadn’t had a drug addiction. Still, because of what was at stake, I had to hear him confirm it. “Gordon didn’t have a drug problem, did he?”
Clement shook his head.
“Leonard said Gordon stole their mom’s money to fund his drug habit, and that’s why there was nothing left of her estate. Leonard dropped the suit when he found out because Gordon was getting help.”
Clement drew in one of those breathes that said someone was stalling for time. It let me know that his pause wasn’t due to another one of his lapses in concentration. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re sure Gordon didn’t struggle with drugs? Addicts can be good at hiding it.”
“I’ve known addicts before, Ms. Dawes. Physical symptoms, they show eventually. Darlene and I spent twelve hours or more a day with Gordon. Even if I thought my best friend would hide that from me, I don’t think he could. Not if his habit was progressed enough to consume his mother’s entire estate prior to her death.”
That was a reasonable argument. “Then I won’t waste time looking for his drug dealer. What did Gordon tell you happened with the law suit?”
“That’s why I don’t understand it. Gordon and Leonard’s mother was so sick near the end of her life that Gordon looked into natural pain remedies to supplement the morphine. From what Gordon told me, her care ate up all her assets.”
Why would Leonard lie to me if that was the case? Had he refused to believe the truth and so Gordon fed him a lie that would be more acceptable to a counselor?
The only other alternative seemed to be that Gordon had managed to deceive those closest to him about a major drug habit. I tended to agree with Clement that given how much time they spent together, even a functional drug addict wouldn’t have been able to disguise all the signs. Even Leonard claimed not to have known about it prior to their mother’s death, and yet they’d been close enough that their relational break drew attention. And I had to believe Gordon’s mother wouldn’t have given him complete control over her finances if she’d suspected anything of the sort.
But if Gordon wasn’t a drug addict, then it left me with one key question I had to answer above anything else related to this case—why had Leonard Albright lied?
12
Before I left, I reminded Clement that I’d set up a psychological and medical forensic evaluation for him. If I figured out that someone else killed Gordon, and had evidence for who that someone was, we wouldn’t need the evaluation results, but I didn’t want to take chances.
I might not be able to prove someone else had done it with enough certainty to get the case dismissed. I might be able to prove it with enough certainty for Clement and Darlene, though, and in that case, we’d want to fight to the end to minimize Clement’s sentence even if I couldn’t get him acquitted. An evaluation that confirmed his diagnosis and that confusion and hallucinations were possible would help.
Once I was back at my car, I called Chief McTavish and arranged to be let in to Gordon’s house. Since the prosecution went through his home, I was allowed the opportunity as defense counsel as well. The police and prosecutor would have been looking for anything that could implicate Clement. I had to see if I could figure out the truth behind what happened to Gordon’s mother’s money.
Before heading to Gordon’s house, I went by the Fair Haven post office and mailed the letter Clement gave me. It was the first non-business correspondence I’d ever had to mail. With email and texting, I didn’t realize people actually even wrote letters anymore.
Clement was trying to “put his affairs in order” the way his doctor had suggested though, and he’d wanted to write a letter thanking the teacher who’d gotten him interested in history. Given the man’s age, Clement suspected he didn’t have email, and it wasn’t like Clement was allowed a lot of phone time in prison.
Clement hadn’t had an address so I’d had to get the clerk’s help figuring it out. She’d even called over one of Fair Haven’s mailmen. The mailman knew my name because he also delivered to Sugarwood, and I’d left him a bottle of maple syrup in the mailbox at Christmas. The clerk went to my church.
A warm little shiver filled my core. Mark had been right. I was a local now. I belonged. That revelation made me even more glad we’d decided to stay in Fair Haven.
By the time we finished dealing with that single letter, I was running late. Chief McTavish had said he was sending someone to meet me at Gordon’s house right away, and I didn’t want to waste that officer’s time by keeping him or her waiting.
Troy Summoner already stood in Gordon Albright’s driveway next to his police cruiser when I pulled up.
He touched the brim of his hat. “The chief said I need to go in with you.”
I hadn’t expected to be allowed to go in alone—they couldn’t risk a shady defense attorney planting evidence and claiming to have found it. Someone had to corroborate whatever I saw here. Even though I wasn’t dishonest, policy was policy.
I smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave a mess.”
He gave me the staid blink-blink that I took as appreciation of my teasing. He was much too young to be this serious. I’d appreciated it when I was the victim though. Troy helped the day my dogs were kidnapped, and he took the situation seriously unlike the first officer who responded—Grady Scherwin. Scherwin was the Fair Haven officer I liked the least.
Troy unlocked the special padlock that was on the door.
Gordon’s house still carried a hint of antiseptic. It hit my nose sharply, and I could almost taste it on the back of my tongue. Not a smell I usually associated with a personal dwelling. It was more heavy-duty-hospital-disinfectant smell.
Troy stayed quiet and trailed behind me as I went from room to room. The bathroom still had a raised seat and handrails alongside the toilet, and the tub had been cut away on the side and a door installed so that a person wouldn’t have to step over the side to get in.
I peeked into the nearest bedroom down the hall. A hospital-style bed that could be raised and lowered electronically and had rails along the side rested where the bed normally would and a wheelchair lurked in the corner. I wasn’t a medical expert, but the canister attached to the chair looked like oxygen.
According to Maryanne Albright’s obituary, she’d died almost a year ago, not long after my Uncle Stan. That was a long time to keep expensive medical equipment around without reselling it, especially if someone had the level of drug problem Leonard claimed Gordon had. Even if he’d gotten clean shortly after, he likely would have sold the equipment to repay his brother for some of what he’d taken if he was penitent.
I’d been in the house of an addict before. To fund and then pay off his debts from his gambling addiction, Noah had stripped his house bare. Gordon still had a fairly large TV in the living room alongside the medical equipment.
If Leonard’s story sprung any more holes, I could use it as a sieve.
Knowing that didn’t help me, though, unless I could figure out what was really going on between the brothers.
“Is there anything specific you’re looking for?” Troy asked from behind me. “We took the computer out of the house to process
if that’s what you want.”
“I’ll ask Chief McTavish for the results.”
I stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and tapped my finger on the frame. Whatever they found on the computer could be useful, but most people kept tax records in paper form. If Gordon had spent his mother’s money on her medical care, he should have tax receipts. Hopefully he knew he was supposed to keep his tax records for seven years post filing.
“Which room did they take the computer out of?”
I moved away from the doorway and Troy took me to the end of the hallway. Gordon’s hallways were wider than most. If I stuck my arms out to either side of me, my fingers wouldn’t have touched the sides. It was the perfect house for a person who needed a wheelchair.
Maybe that was why Maryanne Albright stayed with Gordon rather than with Leonard and his wife, where she would have had two people to care for her. Either that or Gordon bought this house recently with his mother’s needs in mind.
I should mention the house to Saul in case his current home wasn’t as well suited.
Troy opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped in. “It’s a small room. Is there something you want me to bring out for you?”
A tight feeling filled my chest like a balloon inflating in a space two sizes too small. Troy was probably only trying to be helpful, but his presence was starting to feel a bit intrusive, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he either wanted to be done here or he was trying to block my investigation.
Neither made any sense. Chief McTavish wouldn’t allow him to be part of this case if he had any connection with the victim or the accused. The more likely explanation was that Troy’s personality and mine didn’t mesh well. His desire to be fastidious and watch over everything was likely unintentionally pressing the button inside of me that reacted when I felt my abilities were being questioned.
And that was okay. I didn’t have to have a friendship with every member of the Fair Haven police department. It was probably better I didn’t.
What I did need to do was find a way to work with him.
Which meant phrasing things carefully. I didn’t want to make it sound like I didn’t trust him to find what I wanted. We wouldn’t work together any better if he thought I felt he wasn’t smart enough to notice things.
“I need to take a look myself. My client wouldn’t appreciate it if I wasn’t personally managing looking into this aspect of his case.”
He gave a grudging nod. We swapped places, but Troy stayed in the doorway. He still had the demeanor of a babysitter watching over a stubborn child, but at least he wasn’t in my way anymore.
He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the space was a tight fit. The room wasn’t much more than a closet. The desk where the computer must have sat was wedged up against one wall, and two filing cabinets stood along the perpendicular wall.
With only two filing cabinets, it wouldn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. I pulled open the first drawer. It was empty.
I looked back over my shoulder at Troy. “Did the police take any paperwork?”
Troy shook his head. “Computer only. They looked through the cabinets, but I guess nothing there was pertinent.”
They didn’t know to look for evidence that Gordon had stolen from his mother because they were only looking for evidence that Clement killed him. Even if they’d seen financial paperwork, they wouldn’t think to examine it. So their idea of pertinent and mine would be different.
The next drawer contained nothing but blank printer paper, still in its packaging. There wasn’t a printer on the desk. Would there be a reason for someone to take his printer? Maybe I simply hadn’t noticed it. Space was limited. I craned my neck and looked under the desk. There was the printer. Minor mystery solved.
The second filing cabinet contained all the warranty information and manuals for the medical equipment and appliances. The fourth drawer was empty again.
I wanted to slump down, but Troy was still watching. Unless I could find something to refute Leonard’s story, I’d never get the truth. He had no reason to tell me anything other than what he had. I didn’t know what the truth might be, so I didn’t know where to look beyond here.
“I shouldn’t be away from the station too long,” Troy said.
Patience, Nikki. Patience.
And he can learn some patience too, the imp in the back of my mind said.
Police work wasn’t all about the excitement of watching over suspects. He might feel like he was missing out on something more interesting here, but this was part of police work too.
I smiled serenely at him. “Investigations can be a bit tedious at times. I shouldn’t be too much longer, but I have to make sure I don’t miss something important that could hurt the case.”
Nothing changed in his expression. The thought that he probably wouldn’t even sneeze if I tickled his nose with a feather flitted across my mind.
But he was going to get his wish. I was done here unless I could figure out where else Gordon might have stored paperwork if not in his office. He’d have had no reason to hide it in his own house.
When I was sorting through Uncle Stan’s belongings after he passed away, I’d found some boxes of old records up in the attic. “Does this house have an attic?”
“Nope.”
Strike that one. A garage might function the same way though. I headed back down the hall to the door off the kitchen that connected to the small one-car garage.
Mail rested on Gordon’s kitchen table—likely from the day he died or the day before—already opened. I flipped through them, making sure not to make eye contact with Troy in case he disapproved. Two of them were bills and both showed that he wasn’t carrying an overdue balance.
If he was a drug addict, he was the most responsible, conscientious one I’d ever seen.
The ramp into the house for Maryanne Albright’s wheelchair ran up to the front door, suggesting that Gordon brought her in that way. It was possible he used the garage for storage rather than for parking his car.
I pushed open the door. The car wasn’t parked inside, but he did have a push lawnmower. And shelves filled with clear plastic tubs. I walked along beside them and peered into each. Winter clothes. Tools.
Papers.
Jackpot.
Since the bin was at head height, I pointed at it. “I need that one please.”
Troy didn’t audibly sigh, but I could have sworn I felt a disturbance in the force, ala Star Wars. He got it down for me anyway. He must have realized that the quicker he complied, the sooner we’d get out of here.
I couldn’t imagine the cement floor would be warm and there wasn’t anything useful to sit on nearby so I squatted down next to the bin and popped the lid.
It wasn’t simply papers inside. These were definitely tax returns.
I pulled out the previous year for Gordon. Gordon’s income was in line with what I’d seen of the house and his car. Yet another thing that didn’t line up with him having a drug addiction. If it’d been ongoing for long, he should have already lost his house or there should have been overdue notices. Addicts tended to rack up bills quickly, and paying them off even once they got clean took time.
I wriggled out the next bundle and a bank book fell out. No one I knew stored their bank book in the garage or with their tax returns. This could belong to Maryanne Albright and Gordon put it with the tax returns when he was compiling evidence for his defense in the suit Leonard brought.
The tax return package bulged. A glance inside showed not only the return but a sheaf of what looked like receipts. This was going to take me longer than a few minutes to sort through. Troy was going to love me after this.
I straightened. “This is what I was looking for, but I can’t examine it out here.”
I hurried back into the house before he could ask any questions, moved the bills from the table, and laid out the tax return.
Troy stared down at the papers with what could almost be classified a
s a scowl. “How does this apply to Clement Dodd’s case? I can’t let you scrounge around in material that’s unrelated.”
I had to remind myself that I couldn’t kick him in the shin. It’d be assault on an officer of the law. I’d already spent a night in a cell for something I didn’t do. I had no desire to go back no matter how frustrating I found Troy at this moment.
“It’s related to a motive someone else might have had for murdering Gordon Albright, and that creates reasonable doubt for my client.” He’d been trying to speed this along the whole time. Maybe that would play in my favor. “I’d be able to finish with it sooner if you’re willing to help.”
He pulled out a chair and sat next to me.
That seemed like the closet to an acceptance as I was going to get. I handed him the stack of receipts that had the label Medical paper-clipped to them. “I need you to hand me these in order.”
I grabbed a paper and pen and brought out my cell phone. If Gordon put this bank book with the tax receipts, it was a good bet he’d thought it would help make his case. So if I could find that the numbers matched, I’d be able to prove Gordon hadn’t been taking money from his mother for drugs.
For the next hour and a half, Troy and I worked the numbers—and, to my surprise, he didn’t complain anymore.
He put the paperclip back on the stack of receipts after I finished with the last one. Partway in, he’d seemed to catch on to the theory I was working because when we came to a couple of receipts that looked like they might be forged, he called the company and confirmed they were legitimate for me.
“There are still gaps,” I said.
There were enough gaps that I hadn’t proved or disproved anything yet. The medical expenses matched almost every withdrawal in the bank book, but not every one.
My gaze strayed to the remaining papers in the file. And I almost felt bad. Troy had been quite obliging since we sat down, and now I was going to have to push that.
