by John J. Lamb
Reluctantly turning from the bears, I resumed my search. There was another doorway leading directly into what looked like a dining room and I headed in that direction. I hoped I’d find the museum director there or in some other first-floor room, because I really didn’t want to tackle the stairs with my bum leg. Entering the dining room, I stopped abruptly. Now I knew why my calls had gone unanswered. The museum director was lying flat on the dining room floor, motionless and crushed beneath an enormous oak china cupboard that had fallen on him.
Six
Only the very top of the man’s head and his right hand were visible…and a fair amount of blood. I hobbled over as quickly as I could to check and see if the guy was still alive, although I didn’t think it was very likely. There was broken glass on the floor, which I assumed was from the cupboard’s doors, or perhaps glassware that had been stored inside, and I heard and felt it crunching underfoot. I gingerly knelt down and took the limp wrist in my hand. The flesh still felt a little warm, but I couldn’t find a pulse. The guy was “sneakers-up,” a cheerful cop expression that meant he was dead. I bent my head over to look at the man’s face and inhaled sharply. It had been a long time since I’d seen something that bad.
I stood up and backed away from the body. It may sound heartless, but my first thought wasn’t to call 911 for the rescue squad and EMTs. The guy was dead and nothing was going to bring him back, but I knew that the rescue squad would feel duty-bound to yank the victim from underneath the cupboard and rush him to Rockingham Memorial Hospital, a well-meaning yet useless gesture, which could also irrevocably contaminate the death scene and perhaps destroy vital evidence. Welcome to the wonderful world of death investigations. True, this appeared to have been an accident, but murder couldn’t be ruled out, especially since the Yakuza had said they were coming to the museum.
Looking down at the body, a horrible thought occurred to me: if this was indeed a homicide, could the murder have been prevented if I’d telephoned Tina immediately about the Yakuza? I was deeply ashamed to think that my misjudgment might have cost a man his life.
I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and speed-dialed our home number.
Ash answered, “Hello?”
“Hi honey. Sorry for disturbing your meeting. Is Tina still there?”
“No need to apologize. We wrapped up a little early and everyone’s gone but Tina.” Hearing my troubled tone, she asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’ve stumbled onto a DB.” The initials stood for Dead Body.
“What? Where?”
“At the County History Museum on Wheale Road. It looks like a huge china cupboard fell on the museum director.”
“What are you doing there?”
“It’s kind of a long story and I need Tina out here ASAP. There’s a slight chance we’re looking at a one-eighty-seven here.” I used the California penal code section for murder.
“I’ll put her on.”
A moment later, Tina got on the phone. “Hey Brad, what’s up?”
“Sorry to ruin your Saturday off, but you need to come to the history museum right away. The director is dead.”
“Franklin Merrit?”
“Yeah, he’s crushed beneath a china cupboard.”
“And you don’t think it’s an accident.”
“I’d probably classify it as one if it weren’t for the fact that, about ninety minutes ago, three Yakuza came into Sergei’s place and asked for directions to the museum.”
“Yakuza? Are you sure?”
“Almost positive.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Tina sounded distraught.
“They weren’t breaking any laws, and I figured it could wait until the guild meeting was finished. Turns out I was wrong. Sorry,” I said, realizing how lame and inadequate the words sounded.
“If I’m going to be out there in an official capacity for any length of time, I guess I’d better go home and change into uniform.”
“And you don’t want to be wearing shorts while you do this. There’s broken glass all over the place. Besides, our victim isn’t going anywhere. I’ll secure the scene until you arrive. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t put this information out over the radio unless you want reporters from the Harrisonburg newspaper and TV station there.”
“Good idea. I’m on my way. Here’s Ash.”
A second later, Ash was on the line. “Sweetheart, you sound bad. Are you all right?”
I turned away from the body. “No. If this guy was murdered, it’s partly my fault. When I was at Sergei’s, three Yakuza came in, wanting to know how to get to the museum. I should have called Tina then, but I didn’t.”
“Brad honey, were these Yakuza committing any crimes?”
“No. They looked like they were on vacation.”
“So, how could you have predicted what they were going to do? And for that matter, if they were going to come all the way from Japan to commit a murder, is it logical to think that they would ask local witnesses how to get to the scene of the crime?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So, maybe it was an accident. Look, hang on and we’ll be there in a minute.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sweetheart, my days of sitting at home while you work a homicide case are over. I’m coming to the museum with Tina. Bye, love.”
“Hang on. I’m not so certain Tina is going to allow you to come here.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have any official standing to be at a potential homicide scene.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Ash disconnected from the call and I stood there marveling yet again that I was married to such a magnificent woman. You like mysteries? Try solving this one: We met back in 1977 in Northern Virginia when I was finishing up my enlistment as an army battlefield intelligence specialist at Fort Belvoir and she was an English major at George Mason University. Intelligent, witty, gorgeous, and as sweet as a Honey Crisp apple, Ash could have had almost any man on a campus full of future doctors, lawyers, and business executives. But she picked me, and it still doesn’t make any sense. Later, during my career as a cop, Ash chose to be a stay-at-home mom to raise our kids, who are now both successful adults. She’d carried me through the bad days after the shooting and then moved on to create amazing award-winning teddy bears. She’s incredible, all right. But who could have predicted that she’d also have a talent for investigating murders?
Yet she does. Sure, we’d discussed my murder cases, back when I still worked for SFPD, but that doesn’t explain her amazing natural abilities as an investigator. Since my retirement, we’d found ourselves involved in two different homicide inquiries, and Ash’s insights into human nature had played a pivotal role in solving those crimes. So, I didn’t object to her assistance; in fact, I welcomed it if she could overcome Tina’s objections. My only concern was that she’d never encountered this sort of gruesome death scene, and I wasn’t sure how she’d react to the sight.
I decided to wait outside on the porch. It was bloody hot outside, but inside hadn’t been much better. Besides, I couldn’t run the risk of visitors accidentally coming across the body and contaminating the crime scene by, say, being sick on the floor. I’ve witnessed that sort of thing happen; talk about tainting a crime scene. So I stood on the porch, leaning against one of the Doric columns and occasionally swatting uselessly at the flies.
Then I heard the crackle of vehicle tires on gravel and a dust-covered blue Isuzu Trooper rolled into the parking lot and parked next to the Toyota. The driver got out, slammed the car door shut, and began walking very quickly toward the house. I reflected on how sad it was that Mr. Merrit wasn’t alive to see two groups of tourists coming to his museum in a single day. I vaguely recognized the man as someone I’d seen around town, but I couldn’t remember his name.
He was about my heig
ht, tan and lean, with a sandy moustache and longish blond hair that hung wispily from beneath a rust-colored Virginia Tech ball cap. He was wearing denim shorts, tennis shoes with white socks, and a baggy canvas-colored sport shirt. Between the cap and the big Oakley sunglasses he wore, you couldn’t see much of his face, but I guessed his age as late twenties or early thirties. He also smelled like an ashtray.
As he mounted the steps, I said, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go in.”
“But I work here.”
“Really? And you are?”
“Hey, how about you tell me who you are first.” The man put his hands on his hips.
“My name is Bradley Lyon and I’m here as an authorized representative of the Massanutten County Sheriff’s Office.”
“You don’t look like a deputy.”
“I’m not. I’m a civilian consultant for the department. Sheriff Barron will be here in a few minutes and then she’ll decide whether or not you can go in.”
His head dipped for a second and I could tell he was looking at my cane. “Now I know who you are. You’re that retired California cop that married Lolly’s daughter.”
Ash’s dad was Laurence Remmelkemp, but he was known universally as Lolly. Lolly and Ash’s mom, Irene, live just over the hill from us.
I nodded. “Correct. But I still don’t know who you are.”
“Neil Gage. I’m the museum’s curator, and these days, the janitor, and groundskeeper.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it. Gage glanced over at Merrit’s Toyota. “Frank’s car is here. Is he okay?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Gage yanked his sunglasses off. “What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Merrit appears to have suffered an accident. I found him.”
“Did you call the—oh, my God. Is he dead?”
“I’m sorry to say he is.”
“How did it happen?”
“It’s still a little early to tell.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“That it could have been an accident, but Sheriff Barron has to make sure.”
“But I can’t even go in and see him?”
“Were you a friend?”
“Yeah. He was a good guy.”
“Then, believe me, you don’t want to see him the way he is now.”
Gage appeared pale beneath his tan. “I can’t believe this. He left a message on my answering machine a little while ago. That’s why I’m here.”
“He asked you to come here?”
“Yeah, he said there was some sort of problem at the museum and that I should get over here right away.” He looked down at the floor of the porch. “Nothing else. I was out mowing my yard when the call came in.”
“How long ago did he leave the message?”
“I don’t know. An hour ago…maybe forty-five minutes.”
Right about the time the Yakuza would have been here, I thought. “And he wanted you to come right over. Did he sound stressed or upset?”
“Maybe a little annoyed. So I jumped in the truck and came here.”
I’d already fumbled the ball big time once this morning, so maybe that made me overly suspicious, but Gage didn’t look to me as if he’d just been mowing the lawn in the summer heat. He wasn’t sweaty and his socks were pristine white, when his shoes and shins should have been covered with fragments of grass. Then again, he might have gotten cleaned up before responding to Merrit’s summons.
“You live far from here?” I asked casually.
“A couple of miles. I live up by Port Republic,” Gage replied.
Port Republic was a small community south of the museum, so Gage’s use of the word up told me he was a Shenandoah Valley native. The valley runs downhill from the southwest to the northeast, so locals refer to any trip southward as going up.
“So, did Mr. Merrit have a family?”
“A wife and a son. The kid might miss him, but the only thing she’ll be crying about is that there won’t be any more paychecks.”
“That sounds kind of cold.”
“You’ve obviously never met his wife. Frank was a fulltime history professor up at the community college in Waynesboro, but that didn’t pay enough as far as she was concerned. That’s why he took a second job as the museum director.”
“Considering the way the county slashed the museum’s funding, it can’t have paid much either.”
“No, but I guess every penny counted. And it did get him away from Marie.”
“He told you about all this?”
Gage gave me a sad smile and waved at the almost empty parking lot. “We had plenty of time to talk.” There was a long pause and then he shook his head angrily. “Damn. If only I’d gotten that message sooner. Maybe…”
“Trust me, it wouldn’t have changed anything. But there is a way you might be able to help. You said you’re also the groundskeeper here?”
“Yep, which goes to show how valuable a history degree is on the job market these days.”
I nodded sympathetically. “So, would you have been responsible for making sure the lawn and flowerbeds were clear of rubbish?”
“Yeah.”
“When did you last do that?”
“Last night. Call it five-thirty. It was after I finished my other job.”
“Which is?”
“I work part-time at Wal-Mart. It helps pay the bills.”
“Working two jobs can be tough. Was there much trash?”
“No. Hardly anyone ever comes here. Still, Frank had a thing about keeping the yard tidy.”
“Which means you wouldn’t have left any candy wrappers or cigarette butts on the ground, right?”
“Absolutely not.” Gage furrowed his brows. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a routine question. I’m just trying to get some background information on how things operated here.”
I heard the low hiss of a car speeding down Wheale Road, coming from town. Seconds later, a Sheriff’s patrol car rolled to a stop in the museum parking lot and the vehicle’s trunk popped open. They’d made excellent time considering that Tina had stopped at home to change into her brown and tan uniform and put on her gun belt. Ash went to the trunk and retrieved a metal camera case. Then the two women started up the sidewalk to the house. I was relieved to note that Tina didn’t look angry, so I assumed Ash had temporarily rescued my reputation by talking to her on the way over. Ash gave me a quick smile, but was obviously trying to remain in the background.
Ordinarily, I call Tina by her first name, but since this was a formal setting, I said, “Sheriff, it’s good to see you.”
“Has anything else happened since you called?”
“Just the arrival of Mr. Gage here. He said that Mr. Merrit called and left a message on his answering machine about forty-five minutes ago asking him to come to the museum.”
Tina looked at Gage. “Did he say why?”
“No, ma’am. I came right over, but he wouldn’t let me into the museum.” Gage nodded in my direction.
“Which was exactly what I wanted Mr. Lyon to do. I realize that you’re concerned, but we need to follow our policies and procedures.”
“I just want to know what happened.”
“So do we, Mr. Gage. With that in mind, can you please wait outside here for a few minutes until we take a look?”
“I’ll be right here.” Gage sat down on the steps.
I followed Tina and Ash up the stairs. Once we were inside and the door was shut, Tina said, “The Medical Examiner is en route, ETA maybe thirty minutes. Where’s the victim?”
“In there.” I hooked a thumb in the direction of the dining room. “But before we go and say howdy, we should do a quick search of the rest of the building.”
“For suspects?” Tina cocked an ear toward the ceiling.
“More likely, other victims. I didn’t hear anything to make me think that someone else was here. If you want, I can check the kitchen while you clear the second floor.”
; “Sounds good. I’ll meet you back here in a second,” said Tina, heading for the staircase.
I gave Ash’s hand a squeeze. “Honey, on the off-chance there’s a homicidal maniac hiding in the kitchen, why don’t you wait here?”
“Okay, but be careful.”
“Count on it.”
I went down the hallway, slowly pushed the door open, and went into the restored nineteenth-century kitchen, which smelled faintly of cinnamon and cloves. There was a cast-iron stove; a large pinewood table covered with antique cooking utensils; an authentic butter-churn, and thankfully, no dead body sprawled on the floor. Upstairs, I could hear the squeak of wooden floorboards as Tina moved from room to room. By the time I returned to the foyer, Tina was coming downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
“Nothing suspicious upstairs.”
“The kitchen was clear too,” I said.
“That’s a relief. Oh, and before we get too busy and I forget to mention it, did you know that your wife is the most stubborn person in North America?”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Uh-huh. I explained that this was potentially an official homicide investigation and that she couldn’t come with me.”
Ash smiled serenely. “And I told her that I’m your investigative assistant and that we do everything together.”
“True, and I am glad you’re here, but our partnership might not be much fun this time, honey. This is a messy one.”
The smile faded a little and Ash shot a nervous glance down the main hallway. “Not that I don’t think I can’t handle it, but just how messy are we talking here?”
“The guy’s been smashed like a bug and there’s quite a bit of blood.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know, but if you do start feeling…queasy…”
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave.”
I said to Tina: “Before I show you the body, there’s something else I think I should mention. Maybe I’m overly-suspicious, but Mr. Gage told me that he was mowing his lawn just before rushing over here and there’s not so much as a blade of grass on him.”
“Interesting.”
“I thought so, but it might not mean anything.”
