Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour

by Aaron Stander

  “Because?”

  “There was a backpack and some other fairly expensive camping equipment in the rear. I opened it with keys we pulled from her jeans. I’ve dusted the car, her prints are everywhere. Dowd’s are on the passenger’s side. There are some others, random, and mostly partial. I don’t think the killer touched the car.”

  “What else?”

  “We’ve checked the other cottages along the ridge, they’re all closed for the season. And I talked with Nora again. She’s sure she didn’t see anyone else that evening. Said there were a few people around earlier, but they were long gone by dusk.”

  Ray slid down in his chair. “You’ve been thorough. Damn,” he muttered. “There just isn’t much here.” He paused, removed his glasses, and rubbed his right eye. “If we could find the weapon, that might give us some direction. Let’s do a search of the water contiguous with that part of the shore, out to the second bar. And sweep a broader area of the beach with the metal detectors. But… ”

  “But what?”

  “The proverbial needle, isn’t it?” Ray said. He looked at his watch. “Ready to face the cameras? We’ve got about fifteen minutes until the news conference,” he said, pulling several sheets of paper from his printer tray. “Here’s the statement I’m planning on reading. Why don’t you give it a quick read and tell me if you think I need to make any changes?”

  “This is the part I hate,” Sue said.

  “It won’t be bad,” Ray offered reassuringly. “I’ll take all the questions. And at this point we don’t have much that we can tell them.”

  13

  Ray parked near the entrance of the Last Chance Tavern and moseyed in, past the pool table, empty booths, and jukebox and settled on the black vinyl cushion of a barstool. Jack Grochoski, the bartender and owner, his back turned to the room, was focused on a large television screen mounted on the back wall of the bar, above the neat rows of liquor bottles. On screen, Oprah was chatting with a bald-headed, intense-looking man. Ray, making a coughing sound, cleared his throat. Grochoski, looking startled, turned around. “Ray. Sorry, I didn’t see you come in. I was getting counseled on my love life,” Grochoski said laughing, as he picked up a remote and turned down the volume. He reached under the bar to get a coffee cup. “I made this about half an hour ago, it’s probably still okay,” he said as he filled the large, white ceramic mug. “If it has gone bitter, just say the word, and I’ll… ”

  “It’s fine, Jack,” said Ray after he carefully tested the coffee. He laid two photos on the bar.

  Grochoski pulled a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket, unfolded them, and slid them in place, using his forefinger to adjust them on his nose. “Horrible thing,” he said, looking at the pictures. “We never used to have this kind of stuff. Maybe in Detroit, but not here.”

  “You’re familiar with the people in the photos?”

  “Yes, the girl especially, Ashleigh. She was a… well, I won’t say a regular, but she was in here once or twice a week. She’d have a meal, sometimes pick up a six-pack. She was a real cutie, full of life.”

  “And the young man?”

  “I’ve only seen him a few times. He was a friend of Ashleigh’s. He was always with her when he came in. He wasn’t a local. I think I’d only seen him on weekends.”

  “Were they here on Saturday?”

  Jack pulled at his right ear as he thought about it. “Saturday, yes, came in for lunch. Ashleigh loved our hamburgers. She liked to joke that she’d had burgers all over the world and mine were the best.”

  “What time did they come in?”

  “It was early. Noon rush hadn’t started yet.”

  “And they left?”

  “Probably one or shortly after. They had some burgers and fries, couple of shells of beer. They were sitting over at that table near the window. Seemed to be having a serious conversation. Ashleigh wasn’t her usual self, joking and all. And when they left she didn’t come over and say goodbye like she always did. She was always teasing me, calling me Mister Jack.” His eyes glazed over, sadness ran across his craggy face. He brightened a bit. “Mr. Jack— the name’s sorta caught on. Some of the regulars are calling me that now.”

  “Did she seem upset?”

  “I can’t say for sure. We had a lot of lunch trade, locals and color-tour folks. I didn’t have much of a chance to see what was going on.”

  “How long has she been a customer?”

  “Well, the news said she’d been at Leiston three years. That seems right. The first year she was probably in here a bit more.” “Men. Did you know people she was dating?”

  “Didn’t seem to let any grass grow under her feet. She was here with a variety of men, but most weren’t from around here. Except for Jason Zelke, of course. I think she was sweet on him for a while. Didn’t seem to last, though.”

  “When was that?”

  “Zelke, let me think.” Jack started to chuckle. “You know, Ray, they say that your mind is the first thing to go, but hell, I got a lot of other things going, too.”

  Ray smiled, then returned to the question at hand. “Zelke?” he repeated.

  “Pretty sure it was last winter. Might have been winter before that.”

  “Who else did she come in with?”

  “Mostly people from the school. The first year she’d come in with Warrington, the headmaster. All seemed proper and above board. I mean they were usually with other people from the school. They weren’t hiding in the corner like some couples, but I sorta wondered. His wife caught them together once; they had a bit of a domestic,” he pronounced the word slowly and rolled his eyes, “right over there at the table by the jukebox. I think that she was in her cups when she got here. Did a lot of yelling. He did his best to get her out of here in a hurry.”

  “Things change after that?”

  “Sure did. If there was anything going on, they took it underground. Lots of deserted roads and beaches around here, aren’t there?” he said with a grin. “And it ain’t too hard to get access to a summer home. No need to be seen in public if you don’t want to.”

  “And Mrs. Warrington?”

  “Helen,” said Jack.

  “Tell me about Helen.”

  “Nice looking woman,” Jack observed. “She was a regular for a time, especially the first year they were at Leiston School. She’d stop by in the late afternoon, have a G and T or two. I always thought she had had a couple before she got here. Then her visits started getting less and less regular. And now I don’t think I’ve seen her for more than a year. I heard she started going to AA.”

  “Did she meet anyone here?”

  “No, she seemed to want to be left alone. Can remember one time when a couple of deer hunters hit on her, didn’t catch what she said, but they got the message real fast.”

  “When she was here, what did she do?”

  “She’d talk to me, have her drinks, and smoke. Seemed lonely, you know what I mean?”

  “Ever talk about her marriage or anything personal?”

  “Never. Just local gossip, news, weather, stuff like that. What was happening on the tube,” he gestured over his back toward the TV.

  “She never brought anyone with her?” Ray asked, rephrasing an earlier question.

  “No,” said Jack. He looked across the bar, out toward the picture window on the front wall and then back at Ray. “I think I once heard a rumor that she was seen with someone.” Jack looked thoughtful. “Maybe it wasn’t her. You hear a lot of stories in this job. They all start running together.”

  “How about other Leiston employees?” asked Ray.

  “How far do you want me to go back?”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “The founder, Mrs. Howard, Gwendolyn,” Jack’s voice took on a wistful quality, “she was the genuine article, a real lady. Not like these yuppies that are building the trophy houses around here these days. Million bucks for a hundred feet of frontage. Where the hell does that kind of money come fr
om?

  “Gwendolyn was the real thing,” Jack continued. “Old money. She was a good person who treated you right. In the early days, after she started the school, she’d be here in the evenings with her teachers. They were all young then—in their twenties. She was probably forty-five, or fifty, still a fine-looking woman. They’d pull together some tables, get a few pitchers of beer, and sorta have meetings. There was a lot of excitement and energy, you know what I mean?”

  Ray nodded.

  “They were building something. And she’d invite me to the school when they were having a special event, like a play or a concert. But over the years we’ve seen less and less of the Leiston folks. In the sixties those were their tables,” he motioned off to the left. “Most of the original teachers are long gone. Those that replaced them ain’t the same. Guess the school ain’t the same either. And when they come in now they’re sort of snooty, like they’re better than the rest of us. My girls don’t like them. Say they’re too demanding and poor tippers.”

  “Are any of them regulars?”

  “Just one old-timer, the sculptor and painter, Janet Medford, she’s in here a lot. Mrs. Howard hired her; she was one of the original teachers. She was a real looker back in the ’60s—thin, big tits, pretty ass, and funny in a sarcastic kind of way. Think the cigarettes ruined her face. And she let herself run too fat. Used to come in with the drama teacher, Todd Danforth, he was one of the originals. I didn’t know whether they were a couple or just liked to drink together. Serious drinkers, Manhattans, light on the vermouth, extra dash of bitters. Didn’t seem to faze them. They used to joke that they hated the drinks but loved the cherries.” Jack paused, his voice softened. “He died last year, Danforth did, lung cancer. Janet still comes in the evening. Think she’s real lonely.”

  “Going back to Ashleigh. Did she ever pick up men here?”

  “Well, I think most men who saw her woulda liked to get lucky with her. Pretty, hell of a body, bit of a tease. But I don’t know. She wasn’t giving it away, if that’s what you mean. But I didn’t get the impression she was doing without. She could pick and choose. And most of the local boys, hell, they knew she was out of their class.”

  “Did you know if anyone was angry with her? Perhaps someone who hit on her and was put down?”

  “No. I’m sure that happened. But Ashleigh had such a nice way about her. She’d handle that kind of situation without making the person feel stupid. I’m going to miss her. Just looking at her made you feel good, know what I mean?”

  Ray nodded in agreement, but he was thinking about someone else.

  14

  Ray Elkins, with the help of a Leiston student, managed to find Sarah James’ office. It was in the same wing of the mansion as Ian Warrington’s, but farther back, on the opposite side of the hall. After Sarah and Ray exchanged greetings, she led him through a door on the left side of her office into a large formal room. The walls were paneled in dark oak, and a long walnut table was centered below two banks of fluorescent lights that hung from an ornately plastered ceiling. Eighteen high-backed office chairs in black leather, eight on each side, one at each end, surrounded the table. A tray with a silver carafe of coffee, two mugs, and two bowls—one with sugar packets, the other with small sealed containers of cream—was placed near the head of the table. Ray walked the perimeter of the room, taking it all in. An elaborately carved sideboard stood along the interior wall; opposite were three sets of French doors that faced a central garden. A travertine fireplace filled much of a third wall. Parquet flooring in a herringbone pattern, similar to the one that Ray had seen in Warrington’s office, covered the floor. The furniture and dark wood surfaces seemed to absorb most of the illumination from overhead lights and the garden beyond the French doors, giving the space an aura of gloom.

  “So this must have been the formal dining room,” Ray observed. “And your office was probably the butler’s pantry?”

  “Yes,” Sarah replied, seemingly intrigued by Ray’s interest in the building. “The school library has an archive of pictures taken before the mansion was converted. They’re quite fascinating,” she continued, warming to the topic. “They are all in black and white, of course, but you can get a pretty good sense of how the place looked in the early years: the furniture, the grounds, family photos, and pictures of parties and gatherings. And lots of animals: dogs, horses, and cattle. It was a different world.”

  Sarah placed a pile of folders on the table, and they settled into adjoining chairs. “I’ve pulled all our records on Ashleigh Allen. I’m afraid there isn’t much. At a small school like Leiston we don’t generate much paper.” She pulled the tray close to her. “Coffee?” she asked, starting to fill a mug.

  “Yes, please. Black,” Ray responded. “I’m trying to understand your function here. You take care of the personnel… ”

  “Human resources. Yes, that’s one of my responsibilities. My title is associate director for administration. I do the human resources work and handle most of internal management, plus whatever special projects Mr. Warrington assigns.”

  “In addition to you and Warrington, how many other people work in management positions?” he asked, observing her closely, watching her eyes. She seemed relaxed and was much more attractive than he remembered from their first encounter; her manner was warm and engaging.

  “Thompson, Bob Thompson, he’s our financial person, and Ian’s wife, Helen, takes care of the development office.”

  “Development?”

  “Yes, that’s the current euphemism for fundraising. She also looks after alumni relations; they really dovetail. And then there’s food service and security/maintenance. I’ve been told that when Mrs. Howard was alive and ran the school there was a lot more staff. But we’re now trying to make ends meet with tuition and a small endowment.”

  Ray looked through Ashleigh’s small stack of papers: college transcripts, a letter of application, three letters of recommendation, a pre-employment physical and drug screening, the report from a third-party background check, a copy of the letter offering employment, and three yearly evaluations. Ray perused each document carefully and found nothing unusual. The evaluations were written by Warrington and were highly favorable. Ray looked up and caught Sarah watching him.

  “You have a background check on all employees?”

  “We do now, it’s one of the many changes Dr. Warrington instituted.”

  Ray closed the folder. “You’re right. Not much here. But I wasn’t expecting a great deal. Tell me, Ms. James, tell me about Ashleigh.”

  “Would you like me to freshen your coffee, sheriff?”

  Ray nodded and held out his cup. “Ashleigh Allen?”

  “Ashleigh Allen,” she repeated as she pulled her glasses off and set them on the table. “Well, as you can see she came here to teach three years ago. But, as I’m sure you know by now, she was a niece of Mrs. Howard and had been a student here.”

  “Do you think that was a hiring consideration?” he probed.

  “No. I’m sure it could look that way, but no. You saw her grades and read her recommendations. Any school would have been lucky to get her.”

  “But she did upset people,” Elkins said, looking into her soft blue eyes.

  “Initially, yes, especially early on. She was so good at everything. And the students and their parents loved her.”

  “But not every one loved her?”

  “No, some of the old-timers disliked her. They thought that Ashleigh had an air of entitlement. She would ask for things that no one else would.”

  “Are you talking about salary?”

  “No, nothing like that. Nothing for herself, ever. She’d ask for equipment for her classroom, or things for her outdoors program: high-tech camping equipment, new sea kayaks, even a climbing wall with all the ropes and paraphernalia. And she’d get them. I think that’s what the others resented.”

  “And who would she ask, Warrington?”

  “She’d start with him. If she
couldn’t get the money from school funds, she’d go after an alum or one of our current parents. Ashleigh was very aggressive and quite persuasive.”

  “Did this ah… entrepreneurial approach, did this offend Mr. Warrington?”

  “I don’t think anything Ashleigh did offended Ian.” Once the words were out of her mouth her expression suggested that she wished she could take them back.

  “So, in spite of all these stories of how everyone loved Ashleigh, there were some people who were at least unhappy with her… ”

  “They thought she was self-serving. Other people needed things for their programs as well. The art teacher wanted new computers for digital photography; the French teacher wanted a modern language lab. Last year we had requests for a half million in new equipment, but a budget of less than forty thousand. Ashleigh usually got more than her share, and I would hear about it. When people are angry they come to me. They think it’s safer to air their grievances with me than with Dr. Warrington.”

  “How angry?”

  She looked thoughtful and then gave Ray a mocking smile. “Not angry enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re asking. Just the normal kind of friction you find in any organization. And,” she slowed down her speech, giving emphasis to her words, “there’s less hostility here than in most places I’ve worked.”

  “So, who was especially unhappy with Ashleigh?”

  “Probably Janet Medford, the art teacher, was the most vocal. She got quite personal, nasty is perhaps a better word. She kept referring to how the budget decisions were being made based on the T-and-A factor. But then Janet is bitter about most things, and it’s only gotten worse since her long-time companion died of lung cancer last fall.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Todd Danforth, he was our drama teacher.”

  “Tell me about the… ” Ray caught himself and rephrased the question. “Tell me about the man at the meeting who seemed so angry.”

  “Alan Quertermous.”

  “Who is?”

  “He’s one of the math teachers. And what you saw is typical of his performances at staff meetings. He usually explodes three or four times a year. And he’s always right and the rest of us are idiots,” she paused. “He refers to any of us who aren’t agreeing with him as ‘pinheads.’”