by Lee Doty
In addition to playing piano, Anne often controlled anxiety by organizing things, her jewelry box or chest of drawers or music collection. She thought now of the most daunting of messes requiring a clean-out and her large, cluttered cloak room came to mind.
She surveyed the litter of stray boots, gloves, drum sticks, tennis rackets and vacuum parts. Beneath it all was the same wide-planked pine flooring that ran through the rest of the cottage, only some prior owner, an artist, had painted this floor white with large black diamonds. The diamonds were pretty well worn away by years of families and guests dropping things off or burrowing through the wide coat rack for the light-blue windbreaker or the full-length parka.
Overwhelmed with fatigue, she was unsure whether or not to take on the task and turned back toward the cloakroom entrance. Laney’s backpack hung on a hook and Anne realized it had been there since the discovery of the beach murder. She loosened the tie and poured the contents onto the floor. Amidst the sunscreen, sunglasses, book, and sand, one item seemed out of place, an empty pack of cigarettes. Like mother, like daughter? Anne held the pack in her hand. “Gold Flake.” She’d never seen the brand before, not that she’d ever smoked. She considered asking Gin about it, but the sting from her daughter’s likely retort sent her instead to the Internet. It was a way to keep busy.
Gold Flake came up immediately and, as she scrolled through other ads about the brand, she saw that it was a popular one in India. She reached for it to look more closely, then snapped her hand back, as if she’d burned it.
She tried to reassure herself. “Probably nothing.” Laney had done what she’d seen her Gran do for years, pick up someone else’s garbage with the intention of throwing it away. Anne refused to panic over the cigarette pack, but immediately gave Lieutenant Coigne a call.
26
Norma thought about the sandal and how it had dropped or been tossed miles from where Laney’s bike was found next to Marymac Pond. Obviously a car was used in her kidnapping. She couldn’t imagine anyone hauling a struggling, 110 pound girl that distance, even through the woods.
The police were focusing their evidence-gathering on the road itself, having set up barricades, crime tape, and detour signs in the vicinity of where the sandal had been found. They hadn’t yet explored the field of tall grasses on the west side of the road. Norma scanned it carefully, noting that not a blade of grass was bent much less broken. She turned to the east, where the road was bordered by woods. Nothing would be gained by standing around and watching the police. She plunged into the teeming pines, unsure which way to go or what she was even looking for. About a half mile in, she stopped. Why not get a map, figure out where the woods led and who owned the woods? As it was, she may as well have been searching blindfolded. She decided to forge ahead awhile longer and her perseverance paid off. She stumbled onto a gravel road and followed the tire tracks. Road must lead to something, she thought. Probably some family has a cottage back there. With my luck they’ll call the police on me for trespassing.
The thought of police brought Coigne to mind. She’d been shoulder to shoulder with him for more than two days now, on the lookout for signs he was what his reputation said he was, rotten. On the contrary, he treated her well and solicited her advice. But the more she dwelled on his apparent kindness, the louder her inner warning became. Out of nowhere she remembered playing in the backyard with her younger brother, Mike. It was a sticky, buggy summer afternoon and they hadn’t eaten all day. Their father was out of work and looking after them while their mother took a few months off, as she was wont to do. “Looking after them” consisted of telling them to go play in the backyard while he watched TV.
She and Mike played airplane, taking turns flying off the back steps, each time ascending one step higher for take-off. On the final take-off, Norma crashed and cut her head open. The bleeding soaked her shirt and formed a red bib across her chest. Mike ran for their father, who rushed out. “God!” he said. He gently tilted her chin upward so he could examine the wound. He’d never used such a light touch on her before. His kindness was unexpected and for a moment she felt loved. Then he slapped her face so hard she fell down again. “I said play in the backyard, not on the steps.” She didn’t like to think of her childhood, but knew such warning memories were for her own good.
Her pace slowed as the dense heat in the middle of the woods made breathing tough. The sweat beneath her waist band irritated her. She’d left her hat in Coigne’s cruiser and her shoulder-length hair felt like plaited mail on her shoulders. “I suppose a guy can be sensitive to the needs and feelings of others while cheating the hell out of the public for his own benefit.” Yet she didn’t know of any such person. Even while her mind sifted through several layers of painful worries, the possible whereabouts of Laney, the lawsuit pending against her, the imminent burst of blisters on her heels, she continued thinking about Coigne. Maybe he was only dirty when his “victim” was a bad guy. Was that so wrong? Yes. For one thing, maybe the bad guy victim wasn’t a bad guy after all. For another, it was dishonest and if you’re willing to screw one guy, it’s a lot easier to screw the next, and so on and so forth. By then she’d walked another mile and found herself standing beneath a canopy of leafy branches. She looked ahead. “Bingo.”
The cottage, although surrounded by bird calls and squirrel skitterings, was not peaceful. It was devoid of the usual Cape cuteness: café curtains, window boxes filled with pansies, and brightly painted shutters. Raccoon scat and wasp nests littered the front porch. Torn lace curtains looked like spider webs. It was hopeless trying to see through the window panes on the locked front door. She knew if she broke in she could get into trouble for trespassing and possibly destroying evidence at a crime scene, but instinct told her something was wrong and she needed to get inside. She removed her blouse and, wrapping it around her fist, shattered a pane. Sticking her arm through and unlocking the door, she went in, with a final word to the squirrels. “You want to sue me? Get in line.”
“You in there, Norma?” Coigne’s voice called from outside.
Norma left the kitchen to find Coigne and Trooper Katepoo standing side by side in the front hall. She said, “Took you long enough. Laney was here.” She held up what looked like a colorful worm. It was an anklet of braided string. She dropped it in Coigne’s outstretched hand saying, “Clever girl, huh?”
“You sure it’s hers?”
“Of course I’m sure. The sandal. The anklet. She may be scared, Coigne, but not enough to keep her from helping us find her.” She turned away, surprised by the stinging in her eyes. “And go see the bathroom, if you can stand the stink. There’s a small bar of soap and it’s still moist. Tell me I’m seeing things, but I think there’s an L etched in it.”
“Don’t touch anything else, Norma.” Coigne pulled out his cell phone and nodded to his trooper and then toward the living room. Trooper Katepoo guided Norma by her elbow like she was mother-of-the-bride being seated in her pew.
When he’d finished his call, Coigne looked around the cottage and then joined them in the living room.
“I don’t think they hurt her. Do you, Coigne?”
Coigne gazed at Norma for what seemed like a long time, which frightened her. Then he said, “I don’t see evidence of it.”
Soon the cottage was overtaken by Crime Scene Services. They were like a pack of beagles nosing around foxholes. Norma went outside, promising to sit on the edge of the drive and not move. She wasn’t going to leave if forensics might make other discoveries. After a while, her legs cramped from sitting cross-legged and she stood. Laney had been in the cottage. Okay, so then what? Had she been out on the road where she lost a sandal, gotten picked up and taken to the cottage? Or was she taken to the cottage first and somehow escaped to the road, where she was trapped again? Where are you, Laney?
It was almost sundown by the time Coigne dropped Norma back at her house. She closed the cruiser door, but paused at the open passenger window. “You let me know if they
find anything immediately, Coigne. I want to hear from you first thing in the morning.”
Coigne rolled his eyes. “Yes, Boss.” He started to leave, then stopped, his face turning serious. “You’ll hear from me as appropriate.”
Norma frowned. “Why the Dragnet voice? We have a deal. I’m telling you everything I know, you’re telling me everything you know. Right?”
“That’s not a deal, Norma. You’re telling me everything you know because you don’t want to pervert the course of justice.”
“Don’t give me that Criminal Procedure 101 crap. What are you trying to say?”
Coigne picked at an invisible splinter on his thumb. “You’ve been a big help today, Norma. We wouldn’t have found the cottage for some time without you.” He put the cruiser in gear. “I’ll call you.”
Coigne’s sudden frostiness worried Norma. Wasn’t she part of the investigative team? Hell, she’d practically led the investigative team.
As Coigne drove off, she shared with him something she’d learned from her French lover, “Pole.” She gave him the full bras d’honneur.
27
Norma shook off Coigne’s odd behavior and made her way down the brick path to her front door. Memories of the night Bark died caused her to take a half-crouched position as she stepped inside. It was dusk and everything looked shadowy and vague. She saw no boogey man perched on the stairs and her files were stacked as she’d left them. Still, she felt the heaviness of a presence and it filled her with unease. All too soon, the source made himself known.
“Oh good. I was afraid you’d be gone all night, out with the police on some errand of derring-do. Join me for a drink?” Derek Dohnan toasted her with a glass of her own scotch. He sat tucked in a leather armchair by the fireplace, stomach protruding over splayed legs, lord of the manor.
“How did you get in here?”
“I guess you could say turnabout is fair play, Norma.”
His tone was cheerful. He reminded her of a fat cat. She could almost see canary feathers sticking to his greasy mug.
“You’re right about one thing, Dohnan. I have been working with the police. In fact, one of them just dropped me off and should be able to turn back and arrest you, P-D-Q.” She started to leave to get her phone.
“And I’ll say you invited me in to discuss the Cockle Cove-Temple litigation.” In a sing-song voice he added, “Phone records will show we spoke this morning.” He gave the arm of his chair a swift pat.
As a general rule Norma wouldn’t hesitate to go on fighting and even call Coigne back, but this time she was more curious to know why Dohnan had broken in. “What do you want?”
“All in good time, Norma. Fix me another drink, will you?” He held up his glass, which she ignored. “Or better yet, come sit by me. No reason we can’t be friends. I’ve always been fond of you.”
“I’ll get you the drink.”
When she returned, Norma was reminded about that time at The Lucky Duck, how Dohnan would pull at an imaginary goatee every time he lobbed a whopping lie. He was at it again.
“Get on with it, Dohnan. I’m very tired and you’re very ugly.” She handed him the scotch.
“Ha!” His voice now lowered a notch, from wheedling to intimate. “Please, Norma. Have a seat. I suspect there’s something you want to ask me, something you’ve perhaps discovered in your review of my files?”
Norma had indeed something to ask Dohnan. He’d been the lawyer for Old Man Todd. Now he was representing the Temple brothers in a suit against her. Something was wrong with that picture. Norma mentally reviewed the professional conduct rules for a Massachusetts attorney. It wasn’t a conflict of interest for Dohnan to represent Old Man Todd in his land sale, then represent the Temple brothers to recover their Red River Resort interest and indirectly recover the same piece of land. It would be a problem if he’d tried to represent the Temple brothers against Old Man Todd, to recover the land. No, the problem had to be elsewhere.
She went back to basics. Dohnan was a swindler. Since he was now hell bent on getting big dollars into the hands of the Temple brothers, and presumably a kickback for himself, maybe he’d been working with them all along at the same time he’d represented Old Man Todd. Maybe he’d tricked Old Man Todd out of his land. But then why had Dohnan and the brothers allowed Mary Temple to sell to the resort? Had they really been surprised by the sale, as they now claimed? And why had Old Man Todd sold property that, according to Gin Sager, he’d intended for Laney to inherit? Her head ached.
“I’m sorry, Norma. Did you say something?”
“You attached to your draft Complaint an agreement between Mary Temple and her sons that contained language giving the Temple brothers a right of first refusal in Mary’s Red River Resort interest. That version of the agreement was not in existence at the time of the sale.”
“You are incorrect. The copy I attached to the Complaint was notarized at the time of the execution by the Temple brothers and their mother, and that was at the time of the sale.”
“Then your clients’ beef is not with me but with their mother, and now her estate. But of course it would be silly to pursue her estate, as they are her heirs and their suit would only deplete the size of their inheritance. So, they’re after me. And by the way, who drafted that agreement between Mary Temple and her sons?”
“I did, of course.”
“That’s interesting. I didn’t see that agreement in your files.”
“But unfortunately that’s not a claim you can make in your defense, is it, or you’d have to admit how you came to have access to my files.”
Speaking of files, how did she know Dohnan wasn’t the one who’d knocked her out, ransacked her files, trashed her home and killed Bark? Did he look the type, smooth skin, porcine snout? He was certainly creepy enough, but not like a thug, more like a pedophile. If he was responsible, he’d hired someone to do the dirty deeds. She’d find out, but first she’d try to get some easy answers.
“How is it that you come to be representing the Temple brothers?”
“Let’s face it, Norma. You were hired by Mary Temple, a kindly, unsophisticated widow, because you had helped her with her—what was it—the Hospital Auxiliary or something. After she died, her sons wanted to hire someone with clout, someone who knows his way around, someone used to playing with the big boys. You’re on your own. You work from home—no infrastructure, no bench, deep or otherwise. Not exactly a confidence-inspiring set-up.”
“The future of American jurisprudence isn’t exactly in the hands of Dunscomb and Dohnan.”
He expanded on her other professional inadequacies, but she paid no attention, her mind focused on whether he had other “proof” of an error on her part, beyond the agreement he’d attached to the Complaint. She was certain she’d asked Mary whether there was anything that would prevent her from selling her interest to her Red River partners. There were attestations in her file signed by Mary to the effect that there were none. Still, Dohnan probably had enough with that agreement to keep Norma tied up in knots for some time. The dated signatures on his agreement looked legitimate and his copy was notarized. So what did he want with her this evening?
Dohnan bent over the side of his chair. Only then did Norma notice his brief-case. He lifted it onto his lap and flipped open the brass tabs with his thumbs. He drew out a document and handed it to her. “A compromise is the only way out, Norma. I know your financial status.” He looked pointedly around the room. “You can’t afford to defend the lawsuit, much less pay damages.
She glanced through the pages. “What is this crap?”
“The document should be familiar to you. It’s a settlement agreement you signed in a suit with facts similar to the one the Temple brothers are going to file against you. They’re almost identical. You overlooked three consents needed for a sale transaction ten years ago and the oversight cost your client plenty.”
“That’s baloney. My insurance company insisted on a nuisance value settlement f
rom me. That claim against me was as bogus as yours.”
“Nevertheless, it won’t look good for you in a second malpractice suit.”
“You won’t get that admitted, dummy.”
“I might. Besides, we’re not asking you for much. We’re simply asking you not to contradict us if you’re called as a witness against Red River Resort for swindling Mrs. Temple out of her partnership interest. In return, we won’t sue you for overlooking the right of first refusal provision.”
“Of course they didn’t swindle her out of her interest. You’re asking me to lie under oath. This sounds like extortion and suborning perjury. Am I on the right track?”
“That’s the idea.
“Don’t worry. We probably won’t get to trial. We aim to squeeze Red River Resort right up to the moment of their zoning board hearing. You have no doubt heard they’re working on a sizeable development. My hunch is they’ll be only too happy to settle quite handsomely with us to avoid litigation and a scandal at this sensitive time.”
Despite her revulsion, she forced herself to think through Dohnan’s proposition. A decision tree appeared in her mind and she followed each branch to its end. The possibility of getting out of the lawsuit would tempt anyone. She made up her mind and stretched out her hand for a shake.
Dohnan stood up and grabbed at his invisible goatee. “Norma, your worries are over.”
“Get out.”
28
Norma slept only two hours and those were fitful. The Dohnan experience the night before had left her addled. She needed something painfully aerobic, like a quick run, to restore her mental faculties, but a phone call from Anne made her change plans. Her friend seemed out of breath with excitement. Coigne still had no word on Laney’s whereabouts but had good reason to believe she was alive. He wanted them to meet him at the Barracks at 11:00 to review the forensic results from the cottage.
