The Codebook Murders

by Leslie Nagel

  Mitch almost dropped his cellphone again. “Yes, Chief!”

  “I want you and Officer Cutter here on the double.” There was a click as the call was terminated.

  “Yes, Chief,” Mitch said to dead air. He pocketed his cellphone and pulled out a notepad. “When I first arrived, you said you’d just determined that Regan’s killer was still at large. Explain.”

  Again keeping to the bare facts, Charley described the reenactment and laid out their reasoning. “Our short list of suspects includes a school janitor named Merritt Vance and a teacher named Harding Knox,” she said. “Both men knew Regan, both men had motive, and both men are the right height.”

  “Got it.” Mitch snapped his notebook shut, turned without another word, and strode off.

  Vanessa released her breath in a whoosh. “That was so. Freaking. Hot.”

  Kyle regarded her for a moment, then his freckled face split into a huge grin. “I guess it was. Stay safe, everyone.” He loped off, calling, “Coop! Wait up, bro!”

  Charley slipped her shoes on. “If I can’t go to the scene, the next best thing is to check out Ground Zero—Dye’s last known location. Maybe someone there heard him take that phone call.”

  “Me, too,” Frankie announced.

  “Oh, no.” John smoothed Frankie’s hair back from her flushed and perspiring face. “We’ll drop Charley off, but it’s nap time for you.”

  Frankie pouted, then perked up. “See you all at dinner? Everyone’s invited. My folks still don’t have power, and Mama’s frozen tomatoes are thawing, so she’s making about twenty gallons of Bolognese over a propane burner in the backyard.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Charley smiled at Frankie. “Hey, Shorty, will you text Marc and tell him to meet me at Ground Zero?”

  “You betcha.”

  While Frankie tapped away, Sharon’s cellphone beeped with an incoming text.

  “It’s my boss, the chief coroner. He’s already heard about the traffic fatality, and he wants me to work the scene. He’s dispatched a full CSI field team to meet me there.”

  “Dinner tonight?” Frankie asked.

  “If this is a homicide, I’ll have my hands full. But thank you for the invitation. Fellow Mystery Clubbers? This was the most fun I’ve had in ages.” Sharon retrieved her flats and headed across the lawn toward the entrance.

  “Let’s hustle,” John said. “I need to close the top on my car before it starts pouring.”

  “I guess we’re heading home, too.” Vanessa sounded deflated, and Heddy squeezed her shoulder.

  “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she whispered with a kindly smile.

  Everyone exited the Gardens, the mood decidedly more subdued than when they’d entered.

  Frankie’s cellphone trilled. She checked the display and held it out to Charley. “That was quick.”

  As Charley started to take it, she caught a glimpse of white in her peripheral vision, but when she turned her head, it was gone. Something about the way it had ducked around the corner was tripping her internal detective alarm. After a moment’s hesitation, she walked swiftly down the sidewalk.

  “Charley?” Frankie called after her. “What’s up? You’ve got a call from—”

  Charley lifted a hand and Frankie fell silent. When she reached the corner she glanced left. Already nearly at the bottom of the hill was a figure with long white hair, walking fast.

  Just as it reached the end of the block, the figure turned and looked straight at Charley. It was a man, a very old man in fact, wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt and black dress pants. Despite his evident age, he stood straight and tall. He moved with the powerful stride of a much younger man. Even from this distance Charley could make out the hawk nose, the high forehead, the dark eyes, the arrogant sneer of the mouth.

  Those eyes locked on hers. They pierced her with a single, malevolent glare, and then the man disappeared around the corner.

  Charley considered giving chase, but to what purpose? What would she say? There was no law against walking down a public street. She paced slowly back toward Smith Gardens, studying the black fence and the border of trees and shrubbery that screened the interior from view.

  “What was that all about?” John asked.

  Charley said, “I think that was Sawyer Magellan.”

  “The father of Carter?” Afiya asked. “How odd that he would be here.”

  Charley put her hands on her hips and surveyed the street. “Not so odd if he was spying on us.” This statement elicited a gasp from the group, and she waved a hand to take in the entrance, the fence, the sidewalk with its border of impenetrable green. “I don’t think he could see much from out here, but he might have heard us when we moved to the bench. He definitely could have overheard that phone conversation. I spoke louder than normal so that Chief Prince could hear me.”

  “How would he even know we were here?” Vanessa asked.

  Charley thought a moment. “Maybe Kendall told him she’d hired me to clear Carter’s name. You should’ve seen his face, though. Instead of being grateful, he looked really ticked off.”

  Thunder rumbled, a long and menacing roll. Angry black clouds flickered with lightning, their swirling shapes the only things that moved. No breeze stirred the heavy, humid air, and even the birds had fallen silent in anticipation of the coming storm.

  “Time to go,” Heddy announced, unlocking her car for Vanessa and Afiya. “The heavens are about to open.”

  As Charley climbed into the backseat of John’s car, Frankie craned around and extended her cellphone. “Your man has been holding on this entire time! You should make up something really dramatic, like you were being chased by a bunch of ninjas.”

  “Give me that thing.” Charley pretend-glared and snagged the cellphone.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  At the sound of Marc’s low, sexy voice Charley felt herself relax, as tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding on to drained away. She closed her eyes.

  “Hey, yourself. You heard about Berkeley?”

  “Paul texted me just before Frankie did,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s a shock,” she murmured. “I liked him, Marc.”

  He sighed. “I know you did, and despite his behavior, I am sorry. He wasn’t a bad guy. You aren’t going to the scene, I hope?”

  “No. As it turns out, that was pretty much unanimous.” She hesitated. “Any chance you could go and check things out? I bet Paul will let you get in close.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already wrangled all the relevant details out of the poor guy.”

  Charley smirked at Frankie, who was eavesdropping shamelessly. “Not only from him. Chief Prince and I just had a telephone consult about the case. She asked me if I thought Berkeley was murdered. When I told her yes, she said she trusted my judgment.”

  “Look at you, showing the cops how it’s done,” Marc said with a mixture of humor and admiration. His tone became serious. “What makes you so sure it’s homicide?”

  She quickly recapped the reenactment and their resulting conclusions. Thunder rumbled again, louder and closer now, and fat raindrops began spattering against the windshield. John flipped on the headlights. “The timing is too convenient,” she finished. “Someone doesn’t want this case reopened.”

  “I’m about two minutes from Oakwood. I’ll swing by the scene, see what I can find out, and meet you at Ground Zero. Please stay put until I get there?” Marc asked. “If you’re right, there’s a murderer on the loose.”

  Chapter 17

  Charley sat in a corner of Ground Zero, sipping a frozen coffee and trying to tune out the cacophony of several dozen conversations. The place was packed with people who still didn’t have electricity and were trying to beat the heat. She’d made it inside just as the rain began falling in earnest. Beyond the l
arge windows, thunder boomed and lightning put on an impressive display, illuminating the storm-induced twilight and reflecting off windshields and rain-slicked pavement in blinding flashes. Sheets of rain rippled and pounded the ground, creating a noise like gravel being dumped from a great height and forcing everyone inside to raise their voices to be heard above the roar. The café’s air-conditioning was fighting a losing battle, and the lights had flickered more than once, prompting loud exclamations and outbursts of nervous laughter.

  She rolled her frosty cup against her perspiring forehead. On the one hand, she hoped the storm would cool things down. On the other, she wondered glumly whether the deluge would obliterate any evidence of foul play at the scene of Berkeley Dye’s death.

  And what was happening at home? Had Katie found a copy of that old dictionary before the storm hit? Was it, in fact, the book key? Did they still have power? Was her father okay? While Charley had enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie engendered by the neighborhood power outage, the loss of twenty-first-century communication had officially moved from inconvenient to extremely annoying.

  Without her cellphone to display a picture of Berkeley, she’d had to describe him as best she could to the barista. Luckily, it seemed that the reporter’s Hawaiian shirt had been particularly memorable that day. Charley had been directed to this very corner, but unfortunately none of the patrons she’d questioned recalled seeing Dye, much less overhearing him take the fateful phone call.

  She stared across the crowded room toward the wide window without really taking in the scene. The light wasn’t the spooky, otherworldly green she’d seen before the tornado, but it was dark enough. She wondered uneasily whether, if Oakwood’s tornado warning siren went off, anyone in here would be able to hear it.

  The front door opened and Marc entered, soaking wet and smoking hot. His face lit up as he spotted her and began weaving through the crowds to her table. He seemed oblivious to the many admiring glances he drew from both women and men. Charley, however, was not.

  Mine, she thought with a secret smile.

  “You have no idea what I’ve gone through to save that seat,” she said.

  He kissed her and dropped into the proffered chair, dragging his hair back from his face, where the damp ends curled around his neck in the way she loved. “Sorry for the delay. The scene was a real circus.”

  “I want all the details, but may I borrow your cellphone first? I need to check in.”

  A quick call to the Carpenter home confirmed that the power was still on, but that Katie had not yet returned with the book key.

  “Haven’t heard from her or PJ in a couple of hours.” Lawrence’s voice was threaded with worry. “Hopefully those two found someplace safe to ride out this crazy weather. On the plus side, I managed to get the Coach down for a nap. All this stress is not good for his blood pressure.”

  Charley’s stomach tightened with worry. “Do you want me to come home?”

  There was a brief pause, and she heard several muffled voices speaking.

  “Heddy, Vanessa, and Afiya want me to tell you to follow the clues and solve the mystery.” Lawrence hesitated. “And to, uh, stay sexy and don’t get murdered? What on earth, ladies?”

  Charley grinned. “It’s from our favorite true crime podcast. Tell everyone I’m on the case.”

  She ended the call, feeling only slightly less anxious. Where were Katie and PJ? With an effort, she set that aside as something beyond her control. “Tell me about the circus. What did you find out?”

  “You know the basics. Dye was crushed against a tree. COD was likely asphyxiation, although Sharon said there are indications he also had a heart attack.” Marc laid a gentle hand on hers. “And of course, the autopsy’s going to show massive internal injuries.”

  Charley closed her eyes a moment as she processed this shocking news. “Poor Berkeley. He must have been terrified.”

  “Not a quick death or a pleasant one,” he agreed grimly. “Since Chief Prince has tagged this as suspicious circumstances, labs on Dye’s van and other physical evidence will get priority. With the threat of rain, the CSI field team was moving fast and bagging everything in sight. But not too fast.”

  Something in his tone snagged Charley’s attention. “What did they find?”

  “The team leader is a real pro. He says he’ll need to confirm, but the strike pattern on the tree is all wrong for a single impact cushioned by a human body. Plus, the tires tracks are too deep for the van to have been driven down the incline a single time. He says it was backed up and driven into the tree at least three times.” Charley gasped, and Marc squeezed her hand. “Pretty horrible, and if that CSI is right, we’re talking one coldhearted killer. But even without that evidence, or the connection to the Fletcher case, I’d still be treating Dye’s death as suspicious.”

  “Why?”

  “That wad of paper he was reaching for? It was a neatly tied bundle, not just trash. And the tree cavity was damp, but the bundle was bone dry, meaning it was placed there after yesterday’s storm.”

  Marc tapped his cellphone screen and handed it back to her. Charley stared intently at a photo of a clear evidence bag containing a flat parcel of newsprint. The “rough cord” Chief Prince had mentioned was actually burlap twine of the type used by landscapers and handymen the world over. Someone had untied the twine, no doubt checking to see if the newspaper packet contained anything dangerous. A detailed examination would be conducted at the Montgomery County Crime Lab.

  “Did Mitch tell you about Afiya’s dead-letter-drop theory?” she asked. “We think someone wanted Berkeley to believe he was about to discover the missing Fletcher necklace.”

  “Diabolical, and from what Dye said about it, he’d have jumped at that possibility,” Marc replied. “And what about his manuscript? Everything else I remember seeing the other night was still in the van. So why would this one item be missing?”

  “Somebody’s worried about what he wrote in there,” Charley decided.

  “They’ve been combing the woods, but they haven’t found his cellphone. Again, that points to someone else being there. Chief Prince ordered Mitch to pull Dye’s phone records, but that could take a few days. Power outages are bogging everything down.”

  Charley frowned. “There’s no guarantee the caller used a registered phone. You can pick up a burner cell at a drugstore for thirty dollars.”

  “How’d they even get Dye’s number?” Marc wondered.

  “Berkeley’s an investigative journalist. He published his numbers and email all over the place. Anyone with a computer could go on LinkedIn and get his cellphone.” She tapped her chin, considering. “Remember how I said our suspect pool was everyone on the planet? I don’t think that anymore. Based on what you’ve just told me, I think it’s got to be someone he’s already been in contact with.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “First”—Charley began ticking off fingers—“the killer had to know who Berkeley was, and second, that he was back in town. Those two facts strongly suggest Berkeley contacted his killer. He told us he hadn’t been back here in years, that his leads kept dying off or moving away. His story last night was pretty heavy on details, and he clearly wanted our help. If he’d had a fresh suspect, why wouldn’t he have acted on it, or even mentioned it to us? Third, only people connected to this case would understand that luring Berkeley into the woods with a fake dead letter drop would even work. Fourth, he left Harding a voice mail at twelve-thirty. Is it a stretch to imagine that he also contacted Merritt Vance? Maybe he even took another run at the Magellans. That might explain why Sawyer looked so unhappy.” She described her odd almost-encounter with Carter’s father outside Smith Gardens.

  “All you say makes sense. Bottom line? We’ve got an active player out there, someone desperate to stop anyone from looking into Regan’s murder.” Marc’s eyes met hers. “So
meone willing to kill in order to keep it from happening.”

  Charley tensed. “Don’t ask me to back off, Marc. Chief Prince may be treating Berkeley’s death as a homicide, but as far as I know, she’s stopping short of reopening the Fletcher case. If I don’t investigate—”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “We, sweetheart. And I know better than to ask you to back off. But you are at risk, and that means I’m sticking to you like glue for the duration.”

  “No argument here,” she said, pleased at the prospect.

  “Things are moving fast, and I need you to bring me up to speed, but—can we get out of here?” He tugged his wet shirt away from his chest. “I think I know how steamed broccoli feels.”

  She glanced toward the window, where the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. A single shaft of sun broke through the clouds. “Until Katie comes back—if she finds the book key, that is—there’s no point in going home; I’ll only pace around and drive everyone nuts. You’ve got your Mustang, right? Can we just drive for a while?”

  “About that.” Marc stood and pulled her to her feet. “That was one of my missions—getting your transportation squared away. Shall we?” He led her outside and around to the side lot. “What do you think?”

  Charley gaped at a bright green sports coupe, sleek and low-slung, with a fierce-looking grille sporting a logo she recognized. “A Lexus?”

  “An LC 500h. Multistage hybrid drive, three hundred fifty-four horses,” he said with evident satisfaction. “She’s got a high safety rating and plenty of power. This will get you where you need to go.”

  Boys and their toys, she thought fondly. “Thank you for this. I need a car, but isn’t it a bit fancy for a rental?”

  “It’s not a rental.” Marc handed her the keys. “It’s yours. Happy birthday, beautiful.” He grinned at her stupefied expression. “I was going to surprise you next week, but since you need wheels now…”

  Charley laughed aloud. Would this man ever stop surprising her? “Wow. I mean, just, wow!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank you! I love it.”