by Bobbi Holmes
She guessed he was at least 6-feet tall, in his mid-thirties, and if his surname hadn’t been Italian, she still would have been able to determine his ethnicity by his dark good looks alone. Damn, Lily is going to regret not coming with me, Danielle thought as she shook the handsome officer’s hand and looked into his friendly brown eyes. Most of the cops she knew wore their hair buzzed short to the scalp, whereas Officer Morelli’s neatly trimmed thick dark hair couldn’t conceal his hair’s propensity to turn into soft curls.
“Please call me Danielle, or Dani. Sargent Morelli, I wanted to thank you for your help on Saturday.”
“Hey, no problem, that’s my job. And I’ll call you Dani, if you call me Joe.”
“Deal,” Danielle said with a grin.
“Craig tells me nothing was taken.”
“We were lucky.”
“I appreciate you coming in.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Danielle smiled.
“My office is this way.” Joe walked over to the doorway he had just come through. The woman behind the counter pushed a button to unlock the door. Joe opened it for Danielle before saying, “Just follow me.”
• • • •
“I was wondering if I could ask you a question,” Danielle said after they finished discussing the break in.
“Sure.” Joe sat behind his desk and leaned back, looking at Danielle, who sat in a chair facing him.
“How long does the police department keep old files?”
“Are you talking about case files?” Joe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desktop.
“Yes, and any autopsy reports.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“If possible, I’d like to look at Walt Marlow’s case file.”
“Walt Marlow?” Joe frowned.
“His grandfather built Marlow House,” Danielle explained. “You know, where I live.”
“Ahh, Marlow—it didn’t register. His grandfather, you say? Is your Walt the one who hung himself in the attic?”
“I don’t think he committed suicide. I believe he was murdered.”
“Wasn’t that back in the twenties?” Joe asked.
“Yes. So I guess that means you wouldn’t have files that old?” Danielle looked disappointed.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s back there. And if you have a few minutes, I’ll be happy to get it for you. But you’ll have to look at it here. I can’t let you take it from the office.”
“Seriously? You would do that?” Danielle sat up straighter and smiled.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.” Joe stood up and tossed his ink pen on his desktop before stepping from the office. He was gone for less than ten minutes when he returned carrying a manila folder.
“Found it.” He waved the file before tossing it on his desk and sitting down.
“I can’t believe you were able to find it that quick.”
“The truth is, we’re in the process of digitalizing these old files. Had you asked me last month, it probably would have taken me days to track it down.” Instead of handing the file to Danielle, he opened it and thumbed through its pages.
“As far as an autopsy goes, his body was checked out by a…Doctor Clemens.” Joe looked up from the folder.
“Clemens? That was the local doctor at the time,” Danielle explained.
“Really? How did you know that?”
“Umm…I’ve been doing some research.”
“Doctor Clemens wrote a lot of notes on the condition of the body.” Joe studied the report while Danielle sat anxiously, waiting for her turn to inspect the file.
“There were no defensive wounds, which is why the doctor ruled a suicide. There weren’t any rope marks on his wrists indicating he was restrained, no sign of a struggle. He felt Marlow wasn’t forced into that noose, but went willingly.”
“I can’t believe that.” Danielle sounded disappointed.
“Neither do I,” Joe said, shuffling through the pages.
“What do you mean?”
“The condition of his neck and body, and a head wound, tell a different story.”
“How so?”
“When you hang yourself, you want to be high enough so that the drop snaps your neck, a clean kill. Otherwise, you are strangled to death, which can be slow and painful. By the condition of Marlow’s larynx and the rope burns described in Clemens’ report, I’d say he died by strangulation.”
“What does that mean in regards to it being a murder or suicide?”
“During strangulation, the natural tendency of the body—even for a suicide victim—is to try and get air. Unless his hands were bound—which according to the report they weren’t—he would frantically be grabbing at the noose, leaving behind scratch marks or broken fingernails. But he didn’t. Plus, when someone hangs themselves, they normally bite through their tongues—I’ve seen these types of suicide victims bite their tongues almost all the way off.”
“Oh please, that is a visual I could do without.” Danielle felt a little sick.
“Sorry,” Joe said with a sheepish grin.
“You mentioned a head wound?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. According to Clemens there was a slight head wound at the back of Marlow’s skull. The doctor claims the head injury most likely occurred after the police cut him down. But he mentioned swelling, and it wouldn’t swell if postmortem.”
“What do you think happened?”
“If I was to just go by the doctor’s notes, I’d suspect Marlow was unconscious when he was put in the noose. Drugged, or maybe he was knocked out, which would explain the head wound.”
“So he really didn’t kill himself…”
“I don’t think so.” Joe closed the file and pushed it across his desk to Danielle. She picked it up and began looking through its pages.
“I wonder how the killer got Marlow up in the noose. I’d imagine it would take more than one person,” Danielle said.
“Not necessarily. A likely scenario, consistent with the doctor’s report on the neck injuries, is that Marlow was unconscious when the killer put the noose around his neck, and then threw the rope over the rafter in the attic and hauled him up, which probably killed him before he was dropped.”
“Sounds so gruesome.” Danielle shuddered.
“Murder tends to be gruesome.”
“How did the doctor miss all that?” Danielle asked.
“He was probably a little country doctor—this wasn’t a very big town back then. It’s not that big now. I imagine he didn’t have the experience or training. It was probably his first hanging.”
“If this was a recent case would you re-open it based on what’s in this report?”
“I would definitely take another look.” Joe studied Danielle as she flipped through the file. “I tell you what, while I can’t let you take the file home, I can make a copy of it for you.”
“You can?” Danielle looked up hopefully.
“Sure.” Joe stood up and gathered up the file, taking it from Danielle’s hands. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Joe flashed Danielle a smile, before stepping from the room.
Sitting alone at the desk, Danielle tapped her feet nervously. Glancing down, she smoothed the hem of her summer dress down past her knees, keeping her sandaled feet together.
What now? She asked herself. Had she sufficiently looked into Walt’s death? Would the information she gathered be enough to convince people Walt Marlow had not taken his own life? If so—would it matter? Would it liberate Walt and allow him to move onto the next level—wherever and whatever that might be? The thought of Walt leaving made Danielle a little sad. She had never gotten attached to a spirit before—not even during her grandmother’s postmortem visit so many years ago.
While she might be able to prove Walt had been murdered, she saw little possibility of proving who had killed him. Roger was the most likely suspect, and yet…Danielle frowned at the thought. Roger…
Danielle glanced at the office
door, anxious to have another look at the case file. When reading through it she saw no mention of interviews with Roger Calvert, which according to the newspaper had taken place, especially in regards to his discrepancies involving Angela’s whereabouts during and immediately following Walt’s death.
Joe returned to the office a few minutes later and handed Danielle her own file.
“Here you go,” Joe said with a smile. Danielle immediately opened the folder and began shuffling through it.
“You know, you can take it with you.”
“I know, but I remembered something and I have another question for you.” She continued to look through the file.
Joe sat on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he silently watched Danielle. After a few minutes she closed the file and looked up at him.
“There’s nothing in here about any interviews with Roger Calvert. If they interviewed him, wouldn’t that be in the case file?”
“Roger Calvert?”
“He was Walt Marlow’s brother-in-law. I think he’s the one who murdered Walt.”
“Walt?” Joe smiled. “You’ve become pretty invested in this old case, haven’t you?”
“I suppose. I just want the truth.”
“If Roger Calvert was a suspect, there should be something in there. I don’t remember seeing anything, but maybe I missed it.”
“I came across some old newspaper articles about the case. At the time of Walt’s death his wife Angela was in Portland, supposedly visiting her twin brother, Roger. Walt’s body was found on a Thursday, and Roger showed up unexpectedly in Frederickport that night. He led everyone to believe Angela was still back in Portland, but the fact was, she had been hit by a car the day before and had died in the hospital. It was a week before she was identified. Roger didn’t know she had been killed—not until her body was identified a week later. But in the mean time, local authorities were trying to locate her and Roger couldn’t come up with a clear reason for where she was. In the beginning he led people to believe he was with Angela on Wednesday night, before he came to Frederickport. But in fact, she was already dead, and I believe the reason he didn’t know was because he was in Frederickport at the time.”
“It would have been a priority to locate the victim’s spouse. Let me see that…” Joe picked up the file he’d given Danielle and started thumbing through it. After a few minutes he shook his head and handed it back to Danielle. “No, there is nothing in there about that—about any of it. Odd.”
“There was a witness who saw Roger returning from Frederickport Wednesday night.”
“There wasn’t anything about that in the report,” Joe said. Danielle went on to tell him about Emma Jackson, and how she had met her over the weekend.
“You have one hell of a mystery there,” Joe said. “The officer you mentioned, Tucker, I came across his name when going through those old files to digitalize. As I recall, he left Frederickport in 1928. I remember the date because that’s the year they built the old courthouse. If Tucker intimidated Emma Jackson to suppress evidence, my guess is that anything regarding Roger Calvert went with Tucker.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
If only I didn’t have to think about that damn necklace, I’d be pretty content right now, Danielle told herself as she drove from the Frederickport Police Department back to Marlow House. Turning on the radio, she listened to music while recapping in her mind the events since coming to Frederickport.
When Danielle first pulled into town with Lily a week earlier, she imagined they would be spending their time working on Marlow House, doing what was necessary to open for business. Instead she spent a significant amount of her energy and focus investigating a decades-old mystery. Unraveling the mystery was for the sake of her new business—at least initially. Unshackling Walt Marlow from the weight of false accusations might free him to move on; a friendly exorcism of sorts. Who needs a haunted B and B?
Somewhere along the way it was no longer about getting rid of Marlow, and all about helping him as she would any friend. Fact was, she would miss him when he decided to move on.
Unfortunately the necklace disrupted everything. It made her vulnerable, a target for unethical treasure hunters like Nichols and Jones. She didn’t understand why Walt was being so stubborn. She just hoped it was resolved before he moved on.
Danielle’s train of thought was interrupted when she was forced to slow down due to road work ahead. Not wanting to wait in a line of cars, she decided to turn right and take an alternate route home. She hadn’t been this way before, but she was fairly confident she could find her way back to Marlow House.
Before she got half way down the street she saw it: Frederickport Cemetery. Holding her breath for a moment she drove alongside the green lawns and old fashioned standing markers. She tried not to look, but cemeteries always had the power to draw her in, something she desperately tried to resist. Where there were graves, there were typically a few lingering souls who either refused to or were unable to move onto the next level. They sought her out, sensing her gifts.
She almost made it past the cemetery when her car’s engine made a thumping sound and then stalled. Cursing, she steered the vehicle to the side of the road. Once the car came to a complete stop, she tried turning on the engine, but nothing. She hadn’t passed another car on this road and there didn’t seem to be anyone walking around in the cemetery.
Taking out her cellphone she tried to turn it on. The battery was dead.
“I can’t believe this!” Danielle said aloud. “I put this damn thing on the charger last night!”
She looked around again, still no other vehicles on the street. Don’t be a baby Danielle, get out of the damn car and walk home; it is only a couple blocks. Cursing her bad luck, Danielle grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Walking on the sidewalk along the cemetery’s perimeter, she calculated the time it would take to reach Marlow House by cutting through the cemetery verses staying on the sidewalk. Her appliances were being delivered in the afternoon and she had a few things to do before they arrived. Taking a deep breath she mustered her courage and stepped off the sidewalk onto the manicured lawn.
Determined to block out anything paranormal, Danielle hurriedly made her way through the cemetery. It was quiet, just the sound of a few birds chirping in a nearby tree and wind moving through the overhead branches. Relaxing a bit, she slowed her pace and breathed in the clean ocean scent.
“She said you would come,” a female voice called out. Danielle stopped and turned toward the caller. Not six feet away a young woman sat atop a massive headstone, her bare legs crossed casually, the fringed hem of her dress falling mid-thigh. Danielle instantly knew who it was. The portrait artist had captured her likeness perfectly—Angela Marlow.
Walking toward the woman, Danielle glanced down at the headstone and read the inscription. It was Angela’s. Danielle imagined Roger had chosen it for her. To the right she noticed the neighboring grave’s more discrete marker—it was Walt’s.
Turning back to Angela she asked, “Who said I would come?”
“She was right. She told me you wouldn’t run away in fear if you were able to see me.” Preening, Angela’s right hand touched the sides of her blonde curls while shifting her body slightly to strike a more flattering pose.
“Who told you? And how do you know who I am?” Danielle asked.
“You know who I am.”
“Yes, you’re Angela Marlow.”
“I prefer to be remembered as Angela Calvert. Walt brought me nothing but bad luck.”
“I know who you are because I saw your portrait. How do you know who I am?”
“Because she told me you would come,” Angela said with a sigh, sounding bored.
“Who?” Angela snapped impatiently.
“Kathrine O’Malley, of course!” Angela laughed.
“Kathrine O’Malley is here?” Danielle looked around.
“She was. Said something about her time, off to meet her daug
hter. Left me all alone.”
“You’re the only one here?”
“Of course not, look at all these graves!” Angela laughed again.
“And you know who I am?” Danielle asked.
“You’re the one who inherited Marlow House. Kathrine saw to that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Kathrine became quite tedious. Fretted so about people thinking poor Walt killed himself. When she’d visit her daughter she learned about a step niece who had a special gift. Kathrine believed it was her mission for you to inherit the house so you could help Walt.”
“How did Kathrine visit her daughter?” The moment she asked the question she knew the answer.
“In her dreams, of course. We can’t all do, it you know. It takes practice and it’s not like we can just pop into anyone’s dream.”
“How did Kathrine know about me?”
“I suppose Brianna must have told her, during one of their visits.”
Brianna didn’t know about my ability—or did she? Danielle thought back to when she was just a young girl and had told her parents about the encounters. Their answer was to send her into therapy. Had they discussed Danielle with her great-uncle and his wife during that time?
“How did you know who I was?” Danielle asked Angela.
“I don’t know,” Angela said with a shrug. “I just had a hunch when I saw your car, decided to see if you were the one Kathrine was talking about.”
“You did something to my car and phone, didn’t you?”
In reply Angela smiled.
“Why? Why did you bring me here?” Danielle demanded.
“Because I don’t want to be here anymore!” Angela jumped down off the headstone, landing on her feet. She faced Danielle.
“Are you stuck here like Walt?”
“Isn’t that obvious? Do you really think I would choose to spend my eternity in a place like this? You might say I’m under house arrest.”
“Was Kathrine stuck here too?”
“Not in the same way. She insisted on sticking around until she felt things were set right. That woman could be so damn annoying!”
