I waited for the receptionist to put me through to Kanesha. Canned music played in my ear for almost four minutes before the chief deputy answered.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Harris? I’m extremely busy right now.”
Judging from her tone I was at the bottom of her list of favorite people right now, but I didn’t let that intimidate me.
“Have you had time to read any of Lawton’s files yet?”
Kanesha countered with “We know someone copied the contents of that drive before Miss Harris turned it over to me. I’m frankly surprised it took you this long to talk to me about it.”
There was no point to feeling chagrin, I decided. “I’m surprised, Deputy, that you didn’t threaten us with some kind of charge, when we talked earlier today.”
“I still might bring charges, Mr. Harris. The investigation is ongoing.”
The cool amusement in her tone deflated me a bit, although I should have expected her to say that. She had the upper hand and was enjoying it.
“Back to my question.” I tried not to sound impatient or irritated. “Have you read any of the files?”
“Yes, I’ve read some of them. What is it you want to direct my attention to?”
“His play, the work in progress that the students were workshopping.”
“What about it?” She still sounded amused.
Was she deliberately trying to make me lose my temper with her? After brief reflection I decided she probably was, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
“Laura told us that, during the last conversation she had with Lawton, he muttered something. A quotation from Shakespeare, actually: ‘The play’s the thing.’ It’s from Hamlet, and the full quotation is: ‘The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.’ “
“I’ve read Hamlet, Mr. Harris. In senior English class at Athena High School.”
“Then surely you see the significance. That play has to be important. It’s a clear motive for murder.” My temper was beginning to fray, despite my best intentions.
“I’m well aware of what that quote might mean. Matter of fact, I’ve read a few pages of the play, and I’m already considering how it fits into my investigation. Now, is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“No, that was it.” Score one for Team Berry, I decided. That’s me, firmly put in my place. “Thanks for your time.”
“The department is always happy to hear from the public.” The phone clicked in my ear as she ended the call.
I stuck my cell phone back in my pocket and glanced over at Diesel. Head raised, eyes blinking, he meowed at me.
“I’m an idiot, boy; you might as well realize that now. I never know when to leave well enough alone.” I sighed as I stroked the cat’s side. He meowed again and went into languorous stretch mode, shifting until he was on his back, head twisted at what looked to me like a painful angle. I decided it was the librarian in me, the part that always wanted to help people find the information they needed. I wasn’t a busybody, surely.
No point in going any further with that train of thought. I contemplated going to the kitchen for a snack, but when I considered the idea further, I knew I wasn’t really hungry. It was simply a response to stress.
I picked up the pages and read further. I had to suppress more than one yawn. The dull part of the play threatened to put me to sleep. I read through the bit I had seen onstage only two days ago and marveled at the sheer banality of it. I found it hard to reconcile the staggering difference in quality between the Rafe/Maggie part and the Ferris family saga.
The plot of the Ferris story centered around rage against the patriarch for his refusal to help his younger daughter Sadie out of trouble. The older daughter, Lisbeth, I discovered, was almost old enough to be her sister’s mother. She became so angry at her father that she actually began plotting his death. She discussed different methods with Sadie, who seemed to nurse a savage hatred of her father. There was another character, whose purpose I couldn’t fathom, a young child named Connie who flitted in and out. The Ferris section of the play ended before either Lisbeth or Sadie acted on one of their plans to murder old Mr. Ferris.
I laid the final piece of paper aside and leaned back on the sofa. My eyes were a bit tired from the reading, and I realized I was thirsty as well. At the moment, though, I couldn’t muster the energy to get up. My lack of sufficient sleep was catching up with me. I’d sit here for a few minutes and relax, then I would take care of my thirst before I tackled the rest of Lawton’s files.
I awoke some time later to the sounds of activity down the hall. I sat up and rubbed my neck, sore from having slept at an odd angle. I needed water and aspirin, in that order. Diesel still sprawled on the sofa beside me, but he stirred as I got up. He yawned, and then I couldn’t resist yawning myself.
“Come on, boy, let’s get something to drink.”
Diesel chirped, stretched, then stepped down from the sofa to follow me out of the room.
Sean and Laura were at the table drinking iced tea when Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. Laura looked tired, but relaxed, and I realized with a pang that I would have to upset that as I remembered the events of the day.
“Hey, Dad,” Sean said, half rising from the table. “Can I get you something?”
Laura greeted me as well, and I thanked Sean and said I’d take care of myself. Diesel, after pausing long enough to warble a welcome at them, disappeared in the direction of the utility room. Laura and Sean exchanged grins.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I asked Laura as I poured myself a large glass of water from the pitcher we kept in the fridge. I was stalling, but the news could wait a bit longer.
“Tired, but otherwise fine.” Laura smiled before she had another sip of tea. “I’m not sure I accomplished much today. All my students wanted to talk about, of course, was Connor’s death.” She ran a hand through her hair and left it looking artfully disheveled.
“Only natural” was Sean’s comment. “Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened in their lives in a while.”
“That’s a pretty callous way to put it.” I sat down across the table from him.
“Plain fact.” Sean shrugged.
“Sadly, yes.” Laura rubbed her forefinger around the rim of her glass, seemingly mesmerized by the sight. “Connor didn’t do much to ingratiate himself with them.”
I found it hard to imagine Lawton taking the trouble to ingratiate himself with anyone—unless it was some woman he was trying to get into his bed.
I pulled up short mentally at that notion. Not a profitable train of thought, I realized, as I gazed at my daughter.
“What have you been up to today, Dad?” Sean asked.
“Dealing with the insurance agent and the contractor, to begin with.” I gave them a quick summary of those conversations. Then I decided I could no longer put off telling them about Damitra Vane. “Kanesha Berry came to talk to me.”
“More questions?” Laura looked up from fidgeting with her glass.
“Yes, but she also came by to share some news with me. Some pretty distressing news, in fact.” I hesitated. “It’s about Damitra Vane. She’s dead.”
Laura drew in a sharp breath and her hand jerked, knocking her glass over. There was little liquid left in it, and Sean quickly retrieved a paper towel to mop it up.
“How? How did she die?” Laura didn’t even seem to notice she’d spilled her tea. Her anguished gaze was focused on me.
“She was murdered,” I said as gently as I could. “Sometime last night, probably while we were in the midst of dealing with the fire.” I hoped neither she nor Sean pressed me for further details. I wanted to spare Laura as much as I could, at least for now.
Laura bowed her head, and Sean and I exchanged concerned glances. I reached across the table and clasped both her hands in mine. When she looked up at me, tears shone in her eyes. “She drove me crazy sometimes, but she didn’t deserve this.” Laura’s
voice was barely above a whisper.
“No, she didn’t.” I squeezed her hands lightly. “I’m so sorry I had to give you such terrible news, sweetheart. It’s small comfort, I know, but Kanesha will find out who did it and that person will be punished.”
“She was a silly woman with not much self-esteem.” Sean’s words were a sad, but probably accurate, epitaph. “Still, she deserved better.”
Laura pulled her hands from mine, and Sean offered her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and then stood. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while, if you don’t mind.” She offered Sean his handkerchief back but he shook his head, so she tucked it into her pocket.
“Of course not. You get some rest, and we’ll call you for dinner.” I heard meowing and turned to see Diesel coming back from the utility room. “And here’s Diesel. Take him with you, why don’t you?”
The cat didn’t need any prompting. He went straight to Laura and rubbed against her legs. She smiled. “Let’s go upstairs, okay?” Diesel chirped and followed her out of the kitchen.
Sean sat with one ear cocked in the direction of the hall, his eyes on me. After a moment—perhaps after he was satisfied Laura was out of earshot—he said, “Okay, Dad, what didn’t you tell us? You were holding something back.”
I nodded. “I didn’t want to upset Laura any more than I had to. She’ll find out soon enough. The killer cut Damitra Vane’s throat according to Kanesha.” I grimaced when the image slid back into my head.
Sean looked as sick as I felt at that moment. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.
“Maybe Laura should stay here in the house until this thing is over.” Sean’s hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke. “Or send her somewhere out of harm’s way, like Tierra del Fuego.”
“Can you imagine your sister consenting to do either of those things?” I shook my head. “As much as I agree with you, I know she’d never go along with it.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Sean sighed. “But one of us is going to have to stick with her every minute she’s out of the house.” He laughed, albeit grimly. “I even made her stand right outside the men’s room today, whenever I had to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t happy about that, I can tell you.”
“No, I imagine not. Maybe both of us should stay with her.”
“Either that, or flush out the killer somehow and end this thing as soon as possible.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Not a bad idea,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s going to be necessary.”
“Why not?” Sean frowned. “Have you figured out who the killer is?”
“I believe so.” I told him the gist of Lawton’s play, the Rafe/Maggie story. “There’s motive enough right there, even if Lawton hadn’t been having an affair with Magda Johnston.”
“That I’ll agree with. But the play can only be considered a motive if either or both of the Johnstons were aware of its content.”
“True,” I said. “I’ve thought about that. Frankly I think there’s enough motive for Ralph, in particular, even without foreknowledge of the play.”
“Agreed.” Sean thought for a moment. “Plus, who’s to say Magda Johnston didn’t snoop around on Lawton’s computer at some point.”
“Or Damitra Vane, for that matter. I wonder what she knew—or saw, perhaps—that put her in danger? Maybe she had read the play and said something that alerted the Johnstons.”
“Possible,” Sean said. “But do you know if she ever met either of them? If she didn’t meet them, I can’t see them having a reason for getting rid of her. Why would they consider someone they’d never met a threat?”
“You’re right.” I thought for a moment. Something niggled at the back of my mind. It had to do with Damitra Vane. What was it?
Sean didn’t speak, evidently aware of my effort to concentrate.
A vision of a gold earring flashed in my mind, and I had it. “Damitra Vane visited Lawton before he died. That earring of hers was found under his body.”
“Yes,” Sean said. “And how does that connect her to the Johnstons?”
“It might not,” I had to admit. “But if she realized she’d left it behind and went back to Lawton’s apartment, she could have seen or heard something then that would implicate the Johnstons. Maybe she saw one or both of them coming out of his apartment, and they saw her. She was hard to overlook.”
“Again, possible.” Sean frowned. “There are still too many maybes in this. The dots need to be connected, and I guess Kanesha Berry will have to be the one to do it.”
“No doubt she will.” I shrugged. “She’s read at least part of the play. I called her about it.”
“Let me guess: She was thrilled to have your help.” Sean quirked an eyebrow at me as he spoke.
“As much as ever.” I pushed back from the table and went to the fridge. “Time to figure out dinner. I don’t know about you, but I need a break from thinking about murder, plus I’m hungry.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sean said with a laugh. “What can I do?”
As I expected to, I found a note from Azalea on the door of the fridge. “Not much. There’s a roast in the oven, with potatoes and carrots, and green beans on the stove. All it needs is warming up.”
“Are you ready to have dinner now?” Sean glanced at his watch. “It’s just about five-thirty. A little early.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I’m hungry, but I can wait. Let’s give Laura another hour, and we’ll eat around six-thirty.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Sean stood and stretched. “In the meantime I think I’ll catch up on e-mail. I’ll be on the back porch if you need me.”
I nodded, and he disappeared—probably headed up to his room to fetch his laptop and a cigar from the large humidor he kept there.
My noble intentions about dinner aside, I was still hungry. I checked the cheese drawer in the fridge and found one of those small, individually wrapped cheeses that I loved. One of those would satisfy me until it was time for dinner.
I unwrapped it, removed the wax covering, and disposed of the waste. Nibbling at my cheese I wandered back to the den, intent on examining more of Lawton’s files. I was pretty convinced now, perhaps against reason, that one or both of the Johnstons were guilty of double murder. There could be more evidence—although I wasn’t really clear on what it might be—in Lawton’s other files. I might as well have a go at them.
I popped the last bit of cheese in my mouth as I picked up the small stack of papers that appeared to be a miscellany of notes of various kinds. As I settled on the sofa, I glanced to the side, as if expecting Diesel to be there in his usual place. The spot was bare, of course, and the sofa suddenly felt much larger. I smiled. My cat managed to take up four-fifths of the space when he spread out on it, but I’d rather be crowded than not, I decided.
I figured the first two pages were random thoughts that Lawton recorded, possible ideas for other plays or scenes in the current play. One line read simply “Rolf—Rafe—Rory—Rand—Rich—Rick.” Potential names for the character who ended up as Rafe in the play, I supposed. Other notes were more cryptic, like “cabinet?” or “arrest record.” They meant nothing to me.
After a couple more pages of such random words—random to me, anyway—I found something that sparked a memory. Lawton had recorded “1744 Rosemary,” and that, I recalled, was the address of the Johnstons’ house, the scene of the party I had attended with Laura. What was the significance of that, amidst all these other notes? It seemed an odd place to record an address.
I turned the page. More cryptic notes. The capital letters “ADR,” followed by strings of numbers, like “1-84321” and “1-84323.” I scanned the page. There were perhaps ten numbers in all before a new heading, more capital letters, “MCA,” with several strings of numbers following them.
I stared at the page for a minute or so, trying to understand what they could mean. I couldn’t come up with anything and went on to the next page. There was more of what seemed like gibberis
h to me, words like “bathtub,” “ankles,” and “bruises?” Further down the page I spotted what looked like a name, “R. Appleby,” followed by numbers that translated into a local phone number after I stared at them for a moment.
Appleby, I thought. Why is that familiar?
Of course. That reporter for the local newspaper, Ray Appleby. Why would Lawton have his name and number? Maybe he was looking for PR for himself and his play. I could easily see him cultivating Appleby, hoping for a profile in the local paper. Anything to get some attention.
He certainly had attention now—national, perhaps even international. He was highly regarded enough as a playwright, I reckoned, to warrant media attention from all over the place.
Now that I thought about it, wasn’t it odd that Appleby hadn’t approached me or my family about Lawton’s death? He had been pretty quick in the past to call on a hunt for news items with the other murder cases I’d been a part of.
Perhaps he didn’t know yet that any of the Harris family was involved in the investigation. I hoped it would stay that way. Appleby seemed to be a decent guy, but the less I had to do with the press, the happier I would be. I could see the headlines now, along the lines of “Local Man Thinks He’s Sherlock Holmes” or some other such nonsense.
My cell phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket. Helen Louise was calling.
“Hello there, how are you?”
“Hi, Charlie. Taking a short break.” I could hear noise in the background, the usual sounds of her bakery, with customers enjoying themselves. “Getting ready for the evening. I just wanted to call and let you know I finished my ad for the paper, and it will start running tomorrow.”
“That’s excellent news.” I hoped she was imagining my happy smile. “Fingers crossed that you get some great applicants right away.”
“That would be lovely. I’m more than ready for some time off.”
I could hear the tiredness in her voice. She worked awfully hard, and I was delighted that she might soon be able to slow down a bit and have more time for us to spend together. I told her that, and she chuckled.
File M for Murder Page 19
