Dressed to Die: A Lindsay Chamberlain Novel

by Beverly Connor

  "His body was found this evening. He'd been stabbed," said Grant, eyeing her closely.

  Lindsay opened her mouth, stunned. "With my letter opener, no doubt," she said.

  Chapter 22

  LINDSAY HAD TO admit to herself as she sat in her living room under the intense gaze of the two university police officers that the comment about the letter opener was about the stupidest thing she could have said.

  "Exactly why did you say he was stabbed with your letter opener?" Captain Grant asked. He was a man Lindsay knew and had worked with in the past. She was reasonably sure he didn't think she had murdered Kaufman, but these days she was never completely sure of anything.

  Sinjin sat down on the couch by Lindsay, taking her hand in his. The two officers sat down in chairs opposite. It was a moment before Lindsay answered. The man was dead, and a moment ago she had sounded flippant. She hadn't meant to.

  "It has my name on it, and whoever is doing this seems to want to direct the attention of the police toward me."

  "Someone has a grudge against you, you think? Do you know who?"

  Lindsay shook her head. "Not necessarily a grudge. It may only be that I'm a convenient scapegoat. I know Kaufman was married. Did he have children?"

  "Two teenagers," said the woman, introduced by Grant as Officer Sharon Meyers. "Twins."

  Officer Meyers was young and athletic-looking. She had short blonde hair and green eyes which glittered at the moment as if she were holding back tears.

  "I'm sorry. I'll do what I can to help you find the murderer," Lindsay said.

  "Where were you this evening between seven and nine?" asked Grant.

  "Here. I left work about 6:45. I talked to a faculty member, Trey Marcus, for about fifteen minutes before I left. I drove home, stopping at the Ford dealership up the road from here, and talked to Jake Gilroy. When I got home, I opened my mail and I rode my horse. I have my dirty riding clothes from riding bareback. I know that's not proof, but it does support what I'm telling you. After that, I took a shower. All that took about an hour and a half. Two of my cousins called, and I talked to them about a half hour. It was long distance, and I imagine it will show up on telephone records along with the exact time. I fell asleep on the bed until Sinjin got home."

  "It looks as though we can verify most of that," Grant said. His attention turned to Sinjin. "Do you mind telling us where you were?"

  "Not at all. I went to Macon this morning with a friend, Sally Flynn. We were there most of the day and got home about ten this evening."

  Grant's cell phone rang. He answered it and listened to the caller. "Interesting," he said, and punched the disconnect button.

  "Kaufman was shot and the letter opener placed in the wound. Whoever it was couldn't possibly have hoped to fool us. It was obviously done to pull your chain, Dr. Chamberlain."

  "Detective Kaufman must have discovered who was stealing the artifacts," said Lindsay. "That would be the only reason to try to connect me."

  "You argued with Kaufman several times," said Officer Meyers. "Can you tell us what that was about?"

  Lindsay eyed her a moment. She didn't know if Meyers was unwilling to let go of her as a suspect, or if she was trying to get a handle on how Kaufman was thinking about the investigation.

  "He had focused in on me for the theft of the artifacts without, I believe, enough justification. He appeared not to be looking anywhere else for a solution. He was antagonistic. I reacted to his manner."

  "You didn't know that he wasn't being thorough in his investigation. He had his methods of interviewing people and he got results." The way Officer Meyers's chin was thrust forward, Lindsay assumed she was being defensive and not informative.

  Lindsay deliberately concentrated on keeping her voice even and cordial. A fellow policeman had been murdered. She knew that produced an angry hurt in the entire force. But Lindsay was tired of people painting a target on her and shooting at it.

  "I understand, and had his interaction with me been only between me and him, that would have been fine, but it was also in the papers, and he interviewed me in the presence of my department head. All this has compromised my position at the university. I'm having to fight to keep my job, and I haven't done anything. Sacrificing my job and reputation for his investigative methods was rather callous, I think."

  "Kaufman can't be held responsible for the press," said Grant mildly. "We can't stop them."

  "I'm aware of that, but knowing that the press would be on it, he should not have been so insistent on my guilt."

  "You just overreacted," said Officer Meyers. "He was no more focused on you than on anyone else."

  This wasn't an argument Lindsay could win, she knew that, but she plunged ahead anyway. She was angry at Kaufman for getting himself killed. "You're wrong," she said. "Everyone knew he was investigating me: the newspapers, my department, you. But you don't know who else he was investigating, do you?" It was a guess on Lindsay's part, but she thought she was right. "Why is that?" Neither answered her and she continued. "Someone was manipulating him, giving him false information to cloud the case. I think he caught on, and that may be the reason for what happened to him this evening. I've been told it was a senior administrator, an associate dean."

  Grant looked surprised. "You don't suspect an associate dean of murder, do you?"

  "I don't suspect anyone. I don't have enough information. But I do suspect an associate dean of directing Kaufman toward me. Irene Varnadore, sheriff of Dover County, knows Kaufman and his wife. She may be able to help."

  Lindsay wanted to ask them questions, but she knew they wouldn't answer her. She was a suspect.

  "May I see your riding clothes?" asked Officer Meyers.

  "Sure." Lindsay led her upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the clothes hamper. Her riding clothes were fortunately on top. She pulled out her jeans and showed Meyers the seat and legs. There was a distinct pattern of dust and horse hair on the seat. No matter how well she brushed Mandrake, riding bareback always got her jeans dirty.

  "I saw your horse. He's really beautiful. Reminds me of the Black Stallion. He looks like a valuable horse," said Meyers, taking a sudden turn toward friendliness. Lindsay was surprised her jeans were that convincing.

  "Thanks. He's a gift from my mother. She raises Arabians. I'm really sorry about Detective Kaufman. Sheriff Varnadore thought a lot of him, and he was very kind to my graduate assistant, Sally Flynn, when she was attacked. This is a terrible thing, and I'll be glad to help in any way I can."

  "Thank you. He'll be missed." As Lindsay led her down the stairs, Meyers tried to make light conversation. "I noticed your Land Rover as we drove up. How does it drive?"

  "It's not a Rover, it's a Ford Explorer, and it drives well."

  "Oh, well, it was dark."

  They reached the landing, and Officer Meyers told Captain Grant about the riding clothes. He nodded to Lindsay and Sinjin, and they left.

  "Just when you think things can't get worse," said Sinjin.

  Lindsay stopped by Jake Gilroy's Ford dealership on the way into work and signed all the paperwork. It always surprised her how much was involved in buying a car-more than buying her property. If Jake had gotten a call from the campus police, he didn't indicate it. Lindsay was relieved. The press she had been getting lately was bad enough, but having the police going around to people she knew and checking her alibi was embarrassing.

  Captain Grant did phone her mid-morning and told her that her alibi had checked out. Lindsay thanked him for calling.

  "Do you have any leads?" she asked.

  "Not really. Kaufman usually kept meticulous notes, but he didn't tell anyone where he was going last night."

  "It must have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, and he must have not expected any trouble," said Lindsay. "Otherwise, he would have told someone or had backup."

  "It would seem so. He did record in his case file the name of the person who told him that he should investigate you. We're going to talk to hi
m."

  "Is that information you can share with me?"

  "No."

  "Well, thank you for calling. I appreciate it."

  So, thought Lindsay, at least I know it's a him. She picked up the phone and called Will Patterson at his office. She was glad to hear that he sounded sober. He hadn't yet fallen off the wagon.

  "I was wondering if you could do me a favor?" she asked. It was the least he could do, she thought, for all the aggravation he had caused her.

  "Sure thing," he said. "What do you need?"

  She told him about Detective Kaufman and about the missing artifacts. "The campus police can't give me any information about the circumstances of his death, or any other leads they have," she said. "Do you have any contacts who might give you that information?"

  "Hmm, maybe not directly. I don't do much university work that involves the campus cops, but I may know a few people who know a few other people."

  Lindsay told him what she knew about Kaufman's death, including her alibi and the letter opener. "His death has to be related to the artifacts. Why else put the letter opener at the scene?" Will agreed with her.

  "I think Kaufman discovered who was stealing artifacts on campus and maybe even what they were doing with them," Lindsay added.

  "I'll find out what I can and get back to you. It shouldn't take too long."

  Lindsay thanked him and hung up the phone. A thought struck her. She picked up the receiver and dialed Patterson's number again. "Do you think you could find out if he called anyone right before he left the office?"

  "Well, maybe, if it was long distance."

  Lindsay shook her head as she spoke to him. "He would have made it from his office on campus. All campus calls that go off campus are logged electronically, even if they're local."

  "Really? I didn't know that."

  "Most people don't," she said.

  "Who would have that information?"

  "BellSouth initially, then the business manager of each department gets a printout once a month, I think. But I'm sure the police would be looking for that information first thing. Maybe your sources will know."

  "They might. I'll check. That's interesting to know about the phone calls."

  Lindsay could imagine him tucking it away for future reference. She said good-bye again and dialed Sheriff Varnadore. "Irene, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about your friend, Detective Kaufman. Friends are hard to lose."

  "Thanks. It was such a shock. Jesse called me late last night with the news."

  "I told the campus police to talk to you because you knew him. They came to see me last night."

  "Really? Did they suspect you?"

  "It seems that whoever did it left something of mine at the scene." Lindsay told her about the letter opener. "Fortunately, I could account for myself."

  "I heard that he was shot."

  "He was. The murderer put the letter opener in the wound," Lindsay told her, then belatedly wondered if that was an item the university police were keeping to themselves. She mentioned as much to Irene.

  "Somebody hates you in a big way," the sheriff said.

  "Maybe. I don't like thinking that there's someone out there who hates me that much. Perhaps they just wanted to confuse things."

  "If the letter opener was evidence in another case, I wonder what the perp was doing with it?" Irene mused. "Kaufman must have had it with him."

  "I don't understand it either," Lindsay said. "I just wanted to give you my condolences." Irene thanked her and they hung up.

  Lindsay hated to think what the papers would say today. Probably something like: "Lindsay Chamberlain, soon to be former Archaeology faculty member, has been questioned in the death of the campus detective who wanted to arrest her for stealing antiquities." Lindsay put her face in her hands and thought about Kaufman's family. Whatever she was going through, they were going through something so much worse.

  Sinjin came to her office bearing turkey sandwiches, three bean salad, potato chips, and Cokes for lunch.

  "You want to eat in the cemetery?" he asked.

  "Let's go to Memorial Park. I'll drive you in my new Explorer."

  It was a windy, cloudless day, cool enough for a jacket. They chose a picnic table next to the duck pond and she brushed leaves and twigs from the concrete bench and sat down. She had to anchor the napkins with her drink can to keep them from blowing away. Five geese waddled up from the pond, and she threw pieces of her bread crust to them. The geese all jumped for the bread, honking noisily.

  Sinjin watched her silently for a few moments. "How you doing?" he asked finally.

  "Fine. You don't need to look at me like I have a terminal illness." She paused. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  "That's all right. I like your new truck."

  "I like it, too. The moon roof is kind of fun. Captain Grant called and told me my alibi checked out."

  Sinjin smiled at her. "At least that's one thing you don't have to worry about." He took a bite of his sandwich. "I had a long talk with Maggie this morning. I didn't mention anything about the artifacts. I told her that looking at all those old photographs and newspaper articles had gotten us interested in our family history."

  "Did you find out anything from her?"

  He pushed his salad around the Styrofoam bowl with his fork, and several seconds went by before he answered. "Yes, I did. We'll probably never know exactly what happened, but I think I can make a good guess."

  "Are you serious?" Lindsay said. "You've figured it out?"

  Sinjin nodded. Lindsay wanted to ask him if their grandfather had done it, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

  "I asked Maggie if she remembered Billy's brother, Lonnie. Of course, she did. She had never heard of Creasey, by the way." Sinjin took a large envelope from inside his jacket and selected a photograph from among several inside. It was of their grandfather and a younger couple with their arms around each other's waist. "This is Lonnie Cross." He pointed to the young man.

  Lindsay picked up the picture and examined it. "He looks like Billy." She laid it down on the table.

  "And this," Sinjin pointed to the young woman, "is Rebecca Warfield."

  Lindsay's jaw dropped. "You mean the one..

  "Yes, the archaeology graduate student who was killed during the theft of the artifacts. She was engaged to Billy's brother, Lonnie Cross."

  Chapter 23

  "BILLY'S YOUNGER BROTHER was engaged to the archaeology student who was killed?" Lindsay whispered.

  "Maggie said Lonnie nearly went crazy when she was killed. Vowed to find who did it. Here's what I think happened."

  Lindsay set her sandwich aside and listened to her brother.

  "It was the middle of the depression, and times were hard for everyone. You said Creasey's bones showed signs that he'd worked hard all his life." Lindsay nodded and Sinjin continued. "He apparently had turned to petty thievery to make ends meet, according to the article. Stealing Indian artifacts was an easy occupation for him to move into. I don't imagine it was a crime that had a high priority with the authorities. That is, until he broke into a lab at the University of Kentucky and unexpectedly ran into a student working late. He must have panicked and hit her on the head with the first object at his fingertips, which happened to be a grinding stone, and it killed her."

  Lindsay shivered as a gust of wind blew through the park.

  "Lonnie Cross," Sinjin went on, "started looking for his fiancee's murderer. I don't imagine it was too hard to get a lead on who was dealing in Indian artifacts. It may not have been as much a secret back then, when collecting was more acceptable. He got a line on Creasey.

  "Creasey may have hidden the artifacts in the mine he worked in, maybe in one of the played-out shafts. Lonnie Cross got a job in the mine, found out about the stash, and confronted Creasey. Something happened, and there was an explosion. Perhaps Creasey planned it to get rid of Lonnie Cross. Whatever the motive, Lonnie and three other men died in the explosio
n and cave-in."

  "The article said that Lonnie Cross was suspected of causing the cave-in," Lindsay said.

  "The survivor gets to write history." Sinjin stopped and took a bite of sandwich and a sip of drink. "Creasey was hurt pretty bad, from your description of his bones, but I don't think he died. He knew he was in trouble, that someone might find out the truth, that someone might follow in Lonnie Cross's footsteps. So, I think Creasey went to his people after he got out of the hospital and had his family send an obituary to the newspaper. I don't imagine that was too hard. Newspapers don't require a death certificate. Creasey changed his name slightly and headed south.

  "But that bit of trickery didn't fool Billy, and Billy followed him. Maggie said that Billy was beside himself when his little brother, Lonnie, died. He almost beat up a detective who suggested that Lonnie had caused the explosion. Maggie said she was glad when Billy wanted to go to Georgia and work with Papaw. She thought it would be good for him to get away. I think Billy caught up with Creasey at the archaeology dig in Macon and killed him, to avenge his brother's murder. One other bit of evidence: Billy was a tall man, as tall as Papaw, and he was left-handed."

  Lindsay absorbed everything Sinjin told her, turning it over in her mind, comparing it with the facts she knew. She could find no fault with his analysis, but that didn't mean it was true. "What were the crates doing in Papaw's shed?" she asked.

  "I think Papaw helped Billy cover up Creasey's death."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "When you thought Sid and Kathy had stolen the artifacts, you were willing to sacrifice those items if it would keep peace in the family. You thought Kathy was carrying my baby, and you didn't want anything to stand in the way of me having a relationship with my child. As dedicated as you are to archaeology, you were willing to sacrifice the artifacts, if necessary, for your family. I think Papaw did the same thing. Maggie was his favorite sister. She was married to Billy. It would have killed her to have Billy arrested for murder and sent to jail. He hid the body and the artifacts in a safe place that only he knew. I don't think even Billy knew where they were. Billy knew they were hidden somewhere, he even alluded to his son of their existence, but I'll bet he didn't know where Papaw hid them."