Mixed Up With Murder

by Susan C. Shea

  “No, I need a nap after we meet the lawyer. You go to the match. In fact, there’s really no need for you to come with me to meet this guy. After all, it’s my problem. You go and have an evening with the St. Stephens’ alums and I’ll try and make sense of my notes for this donation report, which I want to finish so I can get out of here and go home. Anyway, don’t you have to check in with Miss Rome?”

  As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back.

  “Well, that’s a bit of a non sequitur, isn’t it?” he said, looking up at me from his Boston cream pie.

  “Sorry, it’s the fatigue. I only meant you have your own social life, and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

  He went back to his dessert without saying anything, which annoyed me. Not that I was prying, but he could at least say something. It occurred to me suddenly that the charming Isabella might be right now sitting in a hotel near ye old prep school waiting for my ex to meet her. I felt the beginning of a blush and willed the blood to back down.

  Finally, parking his fork, he said evenly, “Okay. You’ve had a rough time. As long as I know this lawyer will look after your interests, I guess I can head over to the school. I’m at the inn where parents usually stay. Here’s the number. Call me there or on my cell if anything comes up, promise? And I’ll come over first thing tomorrow to see how your meeting went.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but I’ll feel better if I do.” He got up, took a few bills out of his wallet, leaned down to rub my cheek with one finger and left.

  I sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wasn’t like Dickie to agree to anything he didn’t suggest, to accept what I wanted to do instead of his plan, and to do so quietly. I fully expected him to come flying back in with a new set of arguments about how I needed protection, or an escort, or something. The minutes passed and the only attention I got was from the waiter, wondering if he could clear the table. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced Isabella was waiting for him. Throwing my napkin down, I headed for the elevator, hoping she hated lacrosse as much as I did.

  ****

  Quentin Dalstrop was as eccentric looking as his name, about five feet tall, with a large head and short arms. He wore a brightly patterned vest under his suit jacket and had rimless glasses that perched, Santa-like, at the end of his pug nose. It took me only a minute to realize he was exactly the person I wanted on my side. He couldn’t sit still for more than a minute, and was pacing around like a compact tiger calculating its next meal before I was halfway through my story. When I told him about the hit and run and the anonymous call, he erupted in a burst of profanity, for which he immediately apologized.

  “The good news is the chief of police is an upstanding guy and has no town-gown chip on his shoulder. He’ll be straight with us on this.”

  “And the bad news?” I said, hearing it in his voice.

  “Well, there may not be any, but from what you’ve told me, you’re not going home soon.”

  I groaned.

  “We don’t know what their canvassing may have turned up in the way of witnesses on the first floor of the building or outside. This is a very small town and I wouldn’t bet on them having access to great forensics assistance. You may be the closest they can get to the killer, which the anonymous call proves. Are you sure you didn’t see or hear anything that could help identify someone?”

  “A man’s voice, Gabby’s, talking to him. That’s all.”

  “And absolutely no one—not even the smallest glimpse—in the hallway or on the stairs when you went looking for her?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “And no face in the car that hit you?”

  “I was still fighting with the airbag as he drove away.”

  “Well,” he said, “maybe something’ll come back to you in the middle of the night. If it does, you let me know. Now, if you want me to represent you, I’m going to do two things right off the bat. One, instruct you not to talk to the police again without me being present, and two, go over and meet with the police chief to see what I can learn. I’d like to know if they plan to keep an eye on you for your own protection.”

  We shook hands on it, exchanged cell phone numbers, and I left, relieved. I found a gas station that sold maps of the town and surrounding countryside, and located the golf course and the winding road that bordered it. That must have been where Rory Brennan had taken me. I circled the spot and decided I’d wait until late afternoon, the same time of day that Larry Saylor had gone up to that spot. In the meantime, I would reconstruct the lost materials as best I could from my last conversation with Gabby. Thinking about the final minutes of her life made me feel sick. I tried to shake it off as I waited for the elevator in the hotel.

  “Ms. O’Rourke,” someone called. I turned at the same moment the elevator doors opened. It was Dermott Kennedy. “I’m so glad I caught up with you,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Please? I need to find out…to try and figure out…” His voice trailed off and he ran a hand through his hair. His face was pale and blotchy and he looked disheveled.

  “You don’t look so good,” I said. Not the most polite thing to say, but an understatement. I was worried about him.

  “I feel spacey. I’ve been at the police station a lot of the time, but on the phone with her mother, and at our apartment with the cops too.”

  “What did the police want at your apartment?”

  “They wanted the clothes I was wearing. I know they’re looking for some sign that I killed her, but why? It’s crazy.”

  “It may not be that, Dermott,” I said. “They’re eliminating every possibility. It’s routine. You and I both touched her. They’re asking me lots of questions too. By the way, have you eaten?”

  “No, and I’m not hungry,” he said.

  “You’ll think more clearly with something in your stomach other than coffee,” I said, leading him into the hotel’s restaurant, empty at this hour. He protested some more but I ordered him a sandwich to pick at and iced tea for both of us.

  “Did you talk to your family too?”

  “I don’t really have one,” he said, poking listlessly at his meal. “No sisters or brothers. My dad died when I was ten and my mother when I was in high school. The only grandparent I have left is in a care facility. She has dementia and doesn’t know who I am.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Gabby was my family.” His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “They asked me if I owned a gun.”

  “Do you?”

  “No,” he almost shouted, then lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t ever have a gun. Ms. O’Rourke, they think I killed my own wife.” His eyes filled with tears and the fork dropped onto the plate with a tinny clatter.

  “Please call me Dani. We’ve been through a lot together and we both knew Gabby was wonderful.” I touched his hand briefly, but had the feeling he was so brittle right now that anything more might cause him to dissolve completely.

  Suddenly he blurted out, “It’s the damn life insurance policies. When we got married, we each took one out with the other partner as beneficiary. It’s what the articles we read advised newly married people to do.”

  “How did the police even know?”

  “They looked around while I was changing and found the insurance policies and some financial stuff on the desk. We were supposed to meet with an advisor in student services when I came to pick her up. I’d had the folder with me in the car and left it on my desk.”

  “Don’t they have to get a search warrant? Or is that just on TV.”

  “I don’t remember. I think they asked if they could look around, and I didn’t see why not. Now they’re suggesting I killed her for the money.”

  “But you’re not in jail.”

  “Not yet, but they’re trying.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Your listening helps. I feel like I’ve fallen in a hole and everything’s upside down.
”

  “You’re not sleeping much, I guess?”

  “No, and when I do, I wake up in a panic. I think I hear noises, or Gabby calling me. It’s horrible.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done. This was an ambush.”

  “I wasn’t there when you found her.” He looked at me with eyes that blazed. I pitied him, but his intensity was making me uneasy. “But you were. That’s why I came looking for you. I have to know. Did you see anything? Did Gabby say anything to you?”

  “Gabby was unconscious when I saw her on the floor,” I said. “The police have been asking me the same questions. There wasn’t anyone there when I got to the copier room. You were the first person I saw. Did you see anyone leaving the building?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I explained to the police that the main entrance isn’t the only one. There are exit doors at each end of the first floor corridor, and another at the back of the building behind the stairs. If someone wanted to get away without being seen, any of those doors would be better bets.”

  “What about the pathway from the building to the sidewalk?”

  “No, no one close enough to have come from the building. I don’t remember details, but it was six o’clock. Most of the students are finished with class and back in the dorms or at the cafeteria, so the sidewalks are quieter than during the day.”

  “Cars?” I said, unsure what I hoped to find out but determined to learn what I could from the only other person who was around. Other than the murderer.

  “No, I’m telling you, there was no one in view when I came in.”

  “Dermott, do you know of any reason why someone would want to hurt Gabby, to kill her?”

  “It must have been a random thing, someone hoping to grab her wallet, or thinking some of the offices were unlocked and panicking because she saw him in an office.”

  “Why do you say that? Was her wallet missing?”

  He shook his head. “They showed me what they found in Mr. Saylor’s office—her bag and her briefcase, a sweater. Nothing was missing that I could tell. Whoever it was might have been hoping to force her to go back to the office with him and she resisted. She was like that.” The ghost of a smile crimped his mouth. “Not easily intimidated for all that she was friendly and positive.”

  His face fell and he covered his mouth with one hand. “Oh god, I can’t believe she’s dead.” This time the tears spilled out, and he wiped his face savagely with the napkin. He jumped up. “I have to get out of here. I’m going crazy. Sorry.” He rushed out of the restaurant and was gone before I could get out of my chair and follow him.

  I stood looking out into the street, wondering. Was Dermott right? Was it a robbery gone bad, a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Certainly, the college president favored that explanation. It would let me walk away without the nagging sense of responsibility I was feeling. Then I remembered the papers Gabby had been copying. What kind of robber grabbed esoteric research material like that? What robber took both the originals and the copies?

  CHAPTER 19

  It was too early to head up to the golf course if I wanted to see how busy it was when Larry Saylor had gone back up to that spot. I went upstairs, retrieved my cell phone from its umbilical cord to the outlet on the wall, and checked. Three messages, one from Suzy, one from Charlie Sugerman, and one with no caller ID listed.

  “Would it help if I came?” Suzy said when I explained I was stuck in Bridgetown. “I will, you know. At least you could unload on me. I don’t like the idea of you sitting around by yourself.”

  “I have a lawyer now,” I said to reassure her, “and Dickie’s here.”

  “Dickie? I should have known. You told him and he flew out immediately, without a toothbrush, I’m sure?”

  “No, no. His prep school’s annual reunion is this weekend.”

  “You’re at a college, aren’t you?”

  “Right. His school’s in the next little town.”

  “Hey, that could be a good thing, right? Still, you want me to come? I know he can be a curse as well as a help.”

  I thanked her but explained that I expected to be back in San Francisco before she could finish packing. I have seen her take two weeks to pack for a long weekend, so I know how she operates. “I have to get out of here. I’m going crazy, but I need to do everything I can to make sure the police don’t decide to prosecute Gabby’s husband.”

  “Why would they?”

  “They haven’t got a clue who really killed her and you know how the police always say the killer is most likely to be a relative? Well, he’s her only local relative.”

  “I hope they have more than that. It would be shocking. Does he have a lawyer?”

  “I meant to ask that when I saw him a little while ago. He was so upset he jumped up and left before I had a chance.”

  “Don’t get any more involved,” Suzy said. “You have a way of getting excited and finding yourself in nasty situations you can’t get out of.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it with a snap. In truth, my curiosity about things that didn’t add up had gotten me into a few awkward situations in the past. All the same, I decided against telling her I was going to drive up to the golf course. This wasn’t the same thing. I was only going to look around, but I had a feeling she’d be all over me no matter what I said. So I thanked her and promised to call from the airport before my plane home took off.

  ****

  Charlie had left a message: “I do think you should hire a lawyer out there to make sure the cops don’t get ideas. I had a good talk with the local chief. No cause for panic. I’ll fill you in when I reach you. Take care of yourself.” If Dickie was too free with words of affection, Charlie was the opposite. It was as if he thought his messages might be posted on Facebook or something.

  I debated calling him, but decided to wait until I was back. I knew Charlie would not approve of my idea to check the place out on my own any more than Suzy would have. Anyway, I had taken his advice on two counts. I had told Detective Kirby about the research and had hired a lawyer to protect my interests.

  The third recent call was an unknown number and I never return those, especially if my inner voice says they might be anonymous threats. I stuck the phone in my bag, and turned to the computer to finish the part of my report having to do with making a pledge binding. As I flipped the pages of notes I’d taken in my meetings at Lynthorpe and in San Francisco, I came across a name that rang a bell. I pulled out the single copy of an auction page that Gabby handed me before she went down to make me copies of the others.

  There it was. Bart Corliss. He was the man Geoff had mentioned, the one who had jumped under a train. And here it was in a faint penciled note, “Corliss,” scribbled in the margin of the copy, almost off the page. So, had he been so grateful to his lawyer that he had bought him a present, a Roy Lichtenstein cartoon-style painting for twenty-one million dollars plus the broker’s fee? That’s a lot of gratitude.

  ****

  Before I could explore the connection, I noticed out the window the golden light that signaled late afternoon. I needed to get out to the golf course. I jumped up and grabbed my bag, remembering to sign off the Web and flip the computer closed. As I was waiting for the elevator, I remembered I had a dinner meeting with the college’s dean at seven. I’d be pushed to drive out and back. No time to waste.

  I swore at my easily distracted self when I realized I’d left the map in my hotel room. But I had internalized my destination when I traced it on the map, so I was okay. I looked in my rear view mirror a dozen times as I left town and climbed the road, but there was nothing at all suspicious. At first, there were a couple other cars, but they dropped off at side roads, and I was alone when I got to the place where the golf course was visible through a thin cover of trees. I parked in the same dirt pull-off where I’d had that awkward nighttime conversation with President Brennan. This time there was plenty of light and when I walked toward t
he course, I could see the pond, not at all menacing looking now as it reflected the blue and gold of the clouds and sky.

  Four women were laughing and chatting as they hit off the green and away into the distance. They piled into two motorized carts and zipped down a graveled path and out of sight. So they must already have played through this hole. I waited to see if they appeared again, but they didn’t. Wondering if I was about to be hit on the head with a ball, I ventured through the trees and closer to the green that lay between me and the pond. There was a group of men far off but pointing in my direction with their clubs, so I retreated to the car to figure out what to do. I might be sitting here for a while, until it was too dark to play. That would make me late for dinner.

  Happily, there was cell phone coverage. I called the dean’s office and explained I was on an errand and might be later getting back to the hotel. If he could wait, terrific, but if he couldn’t, I’d try to reschedule at least a phone call.

  Meanwhile, the men had arrived on their carts, two of them smoking fat cigars. They glanced toward the woods at one point, but I wasn’t sure they could see me. I used the time to check emails and to respond to a couple of questions Teeni forwarded from the fundraising staff at the Devor. Mostly, they wanted me to approve expenditures, which I wasn’t likely to do unless I could work my way out of the department’s tight finances. One of Teeni’s emails caught my attention. “Burgess says he must talk to you directly at Geoff’s urging. He’s the lawyer for a company called Loros. Said he’d been trying to get you on yr cell. Shall I set up appt?” I hoped it wasn’t the call I had just erased, and responded that she should give him my cell phone number again ASAP with my apologies. I doubted very much it was a bequest.