When Day Breaks

by Mary Jane Clark

  The woman’s facial expression grew even graver. “So you think there’s some connection with the dead dog, this shelter, and Vinny’s murder?”

  “That’s what we want to find out,” said Eliza. “We already have the name and New York City address of the man who owned the dog and brought it here before he moved out of town.”

  The woman considered Eliza’s words. “All right,” she said finally. “Let’s go back up front to the computer.”

  A few strokes of the computer keys and the information came up.

  “Here it is,” said the woman. “Graham Welles. He brought in a male black Great Dane named Marco. I remember now. Vinny had been so worried that nobody would choose that dog. He was so excited when he found a home for it.”

  “Can you tell me who adopted the dog?” asked Eliza.

  The woman squinted at the computer screen. “Yes. Ryan Banford,” she said, pointing to the data. “And here’s the address.”

  As Eliza, Annabelle, and B.J. drove back to the Broadcast Center in the crew car, B.J. speculated. “How much you want to wager there’s no Ryan Banford at that address?”

  “I’m not going to take that bet,” said Annabelle. “But can you believe we beat the police in making the connection between the dog and this animal shelter?”

  “Nice work, Annabelle,” said Eliza. “And let’s hope they don’t make that connection before airtime. Then we’ll have an exclusive.”

  “And let’s hope something else,” said B.J. as he steered the car through midtown traffic. “Let’s hope that missing sodium pentobarbital isn’t used on anybody else.”

  CHAPTER 53

  The detectives entered the office building of Whitaker Medieval Enterprises. The receptionist buzzed Mr. Whitaker’s secretary, who escorted the investigators upstairs.

  As they walked down a long hallway, the detectives observed the artwork hanging on the walls. Renderings of dragons, dungeons, armor, crossbows, and spiked-ball flails flanked the dimly lit corridor. The detectives shot looks at each other.

  “Please, have a seat here in the conference room,” the secretary said. “Mr. Whitaker will be right with you.”

  A huge circular table dominated the room. Its legs were carved with menacing gargoyles and human figures with angry faces. A reproduction of the table reputed to be that of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table in the Great Hall of Winchester Castle in England, the table must have weighed a ton. The names of the knights were painted at each place, with a portrait of the great mythical king painted at the place farthest from the door. Neither of the detectives had the nerve to sit at King Arthur’s place, choosing instead to sit in two of the other twenty-four chairs stationed around the table. As they waited, they took in the other medieval accoutrements in the room. At one corner, a full suit of armor stood with lance in hand, arranged like a knight going into battle. In another corner, hammered iron shackles hung from thick chains on the wall.

  “Does this place creep you out, or is it just me?” one detective asked.

  “This Whitaker guy is one strange customer,” said the other, shaking his head and looking around the room. “God, and to think he’s made millions with this stuff. We’re doing something wrong, buddy. Why couldn’t we have thought of making video games based on crap from the Middle Ages?”

  “Probably because we couldn’t even say when the Middle Ages were.”

  “You’re right.”

  The conference room door opened. Stuart Whitaker entered, followed by another man.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” said Stuart, shaking both detectives’ hands. “This is Philip Hill, my attorney.”

  The attorney nodded at the detectives.

  “You’ll notice there is no head to this table, gentlemen. Everyone is equal at a round table,” said Stuart as he took a chair across from the detectives. “That’s why King Arthur had his knights sit at a round table.”

  “Is that so?” asked one of the detectives. “You learn something new every day.”

  “Mr. Whitaker,” said the other detective, “let’s get to why we’re here.”

  “Please, do,” said Stuart, taking off his glasses and wiping the lenses with a snowy white handkerchief.

  “We’re here about the ivory unicorn and the death of Constance Young.”

  Stuart put his glasses back on and waited.

  “The Cloisters’ security staff has informed us that you and Ms. Young had access to the unicorn on a private tour you took there.”

  “Yes, that is correct,” said Stuart.

  “Well. Let me come right out and ask you, Mr. Whitaker. Did you take the unicorn?”

  Stuart looked from detective to detective and then to his lawyer. Philip Hill nodded encouragement to his client.

  “I borrowed the unicorn,” said Stuart. “I intended to make a copy for Constance, who had admired it so. But then I could not wait to show it to her. She loved it and, when I placed it around her neck, it looked so beautiful on her. I couldn’t bring myself to take it back. Constance was a true queen, and she deserved the real thing, not a fake.” Stuart hung his head. “I realize that was not the right thing to do.”

  “Did Ms. Young know that the unicorn was the real thing, or did she think it was a copy?”

  “At first she thought it was a copy. I did not tell her until last Friday that it was the authentic unicorn.”

  “Friday? The day she died?” asked a detective.

  “Well, Friday, her last day on KEY to America anyway,” said Stuart. “I do not know exactly when Constance died.”

  “So you saw Ms. Young on Friday?”

  “No. I spoke with her on the phone that morning after I saw her wearing the unicorn on television. I called her to tell her that she was breaking her promise not to wear it in front of anyone but me, and that I was disappointed in her.”

  “So you were angry with Ms. Young,” stated the same detective.

  The attorney interjected. “Mr. Whitaker said he was disappointed in Ms. Young. He didn’t say he was angry with her.”

  The detectives gave the lawyer a resigned look.

  “Well, Mr. Whitaker,” one detective asked, “were you angry?”

  “You don’t have to answer that, Stuart,” said the attorney.

  “That is all right, Philip,” said Stuart quietly. “I have nothing to hide. In fact, I want to get this off my chest. I was, as I said, disappointed that Constance was wearing the unicorn amulet, even though she had promised me that she would wear it only when we were together. And, of course, I was worried as well.”

  “Worried about what?” continued the detective.

  “Worried that someone would recognize the unicorn and realize that it had been stolen,” said Stuart.

  “And then figure out that you took it from the museum?”

  Stuart nodded.

  “So then what happened?” the other detective asked.

  “I told her the unicorn I had given her was not a copy, that it was the real thing. I asked her to give it back to me,” said Stuart.

  “What was Ms. Young’s response?”

  “She said the unicorn had brought her good luck and she would not ever want to part with it.” Stuart rubbed his hand over his bald head. “Then she rushed me off the phone.”

  “So she didn’t care that you could be in trouble for taking the unicorn?” asked the detective.

  “I do not know how she felt,” said Stuart. “I loved Constance, and I cannot allow myself to think that she would be so callous.”

  The detectives watched closely for any expression, any hint of emotion on Stuart Whitaker’s face. What they saw was a paunchy, pale-skinned, middle-aged man looking defeated and sad.

  “So that was it, Mr. Whitaker?” asked a detective. “That was the last conversation you had with Constance Young?”

  Stuart nodded.

  “And you made no further attempt to get that unicorn back?”

  Stuart looked quizzically at his attorney.


  “It’s all right, Stuart,” said the lawyer. “Tell them.”

  Stuart nervously cleared his throat. “Well, I did try to get the unicorn back. At least that was my plan. I went to the restaurant, Barbetta, where the farewell luncheon for Constance was being held, in hopes of seeing her and asking her again to return the unicorn to me.”

  “And did she?”

  “I never got to talk with her. I never even saw her,” explained Stuart. “Her assistant was worried there would be a scene, and he thought I should leave.”

  “Was that Boyd Irons?”

  “Yes. He told me he understood what it was like to have Constance give him a hard time. He said he would do his best to get the unicorn back for me.”

  “And what did you tell Mr. Irons?”

  “I said that I would make it worth his time if he did. I asked him if he could get the unicorn for me. I didn’t mean that he should kill her for it.”

  Whitaker’s attorney interrupted again. “Detectives, it would seem you are investigating two separate things here—the theft of the ivory unicorn from the Cloisters and the death of Constance Young. On the first point, Mr. Whitaker has already admitted that he misguidedly borrowed the artifact from the museum with every intention of returning it. I have been in contact with people at the Cloisters, who have already agreed that this was all a gross misunderstanding. They understand that Mr. Whitaker, a longtime and generous patron of the museum, had only borrowed the unicorn amulet. And they have assured me that they will not be pressing charges against him. If the unicorn is not physically recovered, Mr. Whitaker will make financial restitution for it.”

  The detectives looked at each other knowingly. It was nice to have money.

  “On the second point,” the lawyer continued, “as to the death of Ms. Young, my client knows absolutely nothing about that horrible tragedy. He left the restaurant on Friday without ever seeing Ms. Young. In fact, he never saw her again.”

  The attorney rose from his seat and indicated that Stuart should follow suit.

  “As Mr. Whitaker just informed you, he told Boyd Irons that he would pay him if he could reclaim the unicorn. I suggest you talk to Mr. Irons about how successful he was in that regard.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Just after five o’clock, Jason pushed the buzzer and waited in the hallway until the apartment door opened. A boy with dark, tousled hair and a thin, serious face opened the door.

  “Are you ready, buddy?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I’ll be right there. I got to get my stuff.”

  “Don’t forget to bring everything you need for your homework,” Jason called after his son. He walked through the door and stood in the small vestibule. He could hear Nell wrapping up a telephone conversation. When she hung up, she walked out to acknowledge him.

  “Hi. How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Actually, Nell, it’s going pretty well,” Jason answered, happy to have the first positive thing to report to the mother of his son in a very long time. “Have you been following the news?”

  “How could I not?” she asked. “It’s everywhere you turn. And now this missing Lady Guinevere unicorn? That’s fascinating. I’d love to see that Camelot Exhibit. But do you think Constance Young was really killed for that unicorn?”

  Jason shrugged. “Who knows? But all this is turning out to be great for book sales.”

  “That’s kind of sick, don’t you think, Jason?”

  Jason shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But it’s hard for me to feel too sorry for her after what she did to me.”

  “Well, do me a favor, will you please?” said Nell. “Don’t say that in front of Ethan. He’s a nine-year-old boy, and he doesn’t need to be tainted by your personal problems any more than he already has.”

  “Don’t worry, Nell. I won’t say anything to him about my feelings toward Constance Young. But I would like to share with him the news about the book doing so well. Did you guys see me on television this morning?”

  The uncomfortable expression on Nell’s face told Jason that his call alerting his ex-wife and son to the cable news show interview hadn’t induced them to make a point of watching it.

  “That time of morning is always tough,” said Nell. “Ethan is rushing around getting ready for school, and I’m trying to get to work.”

  Jason tried not to let his disappointment show. “Don’t worry. There will be other interviews,” he said. “So how are things in the real-estate business anyway?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

  “It can be tough working on commission,” she said.

  “Then why don’t you get a salaried job?”

  “Because this job gives me flexibility,” said Nell. “I can plan my schedule somewhat and be here when Ethan gets home from school, at least a few afternoons a week. He’s not a little kid anymore, but there’s no less reason to keep track of where he is and what he’s doing.”

  Jason nodded. “You’re right. But I hate that our lives have been like this, Nell. Think how much better it would be if we were all together again. I hate seeing Ethan only a couple nights during the week and every other weekend. I could be with him all the time, and you wouldn’t have to work unless you wanted to.”

  “That presupposes that you’d be making enough money to support us, Jason.”

  “If this book does as well as my agent thinks it will, there will be enough,” he answered. “I already have an idea for the next one, and Larry feels confident he’ll be able to sell it.”

  Nell sighed. “Finances aren’t the only problem, Jason. We’ve grown apart. I don’t feel like we know each other anymore.”

  CHAPTER 55

  The KEY Evening Headlines began precisely at 6:30 P.M. At the top of the broadcast, Eliza Blake delivered the forensic findings.

  “Constance Young died of cardiac arrest. There was no sign of any struggle usually associated with drowning. Neither her stomach nor her lungs were filled with water.”

  Eliza took a breath before continuing. “The fact that the lights and heater at the pool had shorted out suggests a possible surge of electricity. Therefore, authorities are working on the supposition that Constance Young died of cardiac arrest when an electrical current pulsed through her heart, stopping it.

  “While the results of the autopsy answer some questions,” she concluded, “there are still others left to be answered. Chief among them: If Constance Young was electrocuted in her swimming pool, was it an accident? Or was she deliberately killed?”

  Eliza turned to look in the direction of another camera.

  “We already reported to you that a dog was found lying dead on Constance Young’s property last Friday morning. That dog has been recovered, and while we don’t know the results of the necropsy yet, KEY News has learned that its original owner had delivered the Great Dane to an animal shelter a few weeks ago. This is what Graham Welles, who now lives in California, had to say when he spoke with KEY News today.”

  An image of a distinguished elderly man appeared on the television screen.

  “Marco was the best dog anyone could ever want,” the man said. “I loved that dog from the moment I got him as a puppy. I treasured him. That’s why I got that microchip implanted, so if he ever ran off or got lost, somebody could track Marco back to me. I could have gone with a tattoo, like a lot of folks do, but I thought the chip would hurt him less.”

  Eliza appeared on the screen again.

  “Today we went to the animal shelter that took the dog when Graham Welles moved from New York to live with his daughter on the West Coast. We found out that the Great Dane had been adopted just last week, the day before the dog was found dead on Constance Young’s property. And in an even more troubling twist, the shelter employee who facilitated the transfer of the dog to its new owner has been found murdered.”

  Images of the interior of the animal shelter popped up. The words KEY NEWS EXCLUSIVE appeared in the bottom-left-hand
corner of the screen.

  “The body of thirty-seven-year-old Vinny Shays was discovered when one of his coworkers opened the animal shelter this morning. It is suspected that Shays was injected with sodium pentobarbital, the product often used for the euthanasia of animals. Containers of the substance were found in disarray in a storeroom at the rear of the shelter.”

  The director switched back to a shot of Eliza at the anchor desk.

  “So we have a dead animal found on Friday and Constance Young found dead the very next day. A coincidence? Perhaps. But the fact that the last person known to have seen the dog alive has now been murdered raises worrisome questions that all of this is somehow connected.

  “In addition, we’ve traced the name and address that were given by the person who adopted the Great Dane from the animal shelter. There is no such person at that address. In fact,” Eliza continued, “there is no such address at all.”

  Her luminous blue eyes looked directly into the camera lens.

  “KEY News will continue investigating this story, and we will, of course, keep you informed of everything that develops.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Watching and listening to Eliza Blake, Ursula knew what she should do. She should go to the police and tell them what she’d seen, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. The police would say they would protect her, but they really wouldn’t. They always promised they could ensure the safety of a witness, but the reality was that the witness was never totally safe. If the killer wanted to get to her, eventually it would happen.

  Ursula looked around her modest living room and wondered if Constance might have left her anything in her will. Her small house wasn’t much by the standards of the many wealthy people who lived nearby, but she loved her cozy little place. She worked hard, she paid her bills, she went to church, she taught the rich ladies how to knit and do needlepoint. She guessed most would judge it to be a small life, but it was a life she treasured. Ursula wanted it to last.