Murder Scene

by Richard Montanari

  75

  ‘What do you see?’

  Detta spun quickly around. There was a man standing behind her. She had not heard him enter the room.

  The man was elegant and slender, and wore a dark suit and scarlet tie. Even though she was a little afraid, there was something about his voice, in this place, at this time, that reassured her.

  The man took a few steps toward her. He gestured to the wall to her left.

  ‘These trees have had a very long journey to come to this place,’ he said. ‘As have you.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You fainted,’ the man said.

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is Billy?’

  ‘The boy went for help when you faltered, my dear. He came to get me, and together we brought you here.’

  Detta looked around. The quick movement of her head made her dizzy. ‘Where is here?’

  The man touched a panel near the door. In an instant, all four walls came to life. It was as if Detta was sitting in the middle of the Fairgrounds. All around her there was activity. Stalls serving food. Children running around. The sounds of a calliope.

  Her father was standing next to the booth Reuben had built for Godwin Hall.

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘I told your father where you are. He will come for you shortly.’

  The man poured some tea into a china cup. It was white porcelain with a watercolor design of pink and yellow and lime green.

  ‘Have some tea,’ the man said. ‘You will feel better.’

  ‘These are our cups.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My mom’s china cups. I chipped one once and had to go to my room.’

  Detta looked at the cup in her hand. It was damaged in the same place as the one she dropped. It was the one she dropped.

  Detta took a sip. The tea was sweet and aromatic, just the right temperature. It tasted faintly like the apple she had eaten.

  ‘Do you remember the day that you went to the library on a school trip?’ the man asked.

  ‘What library?’

  ‘The majestic library on Fifth Avenue.’

  He was talking about New York.

  ‘When was this again?’ she asked.

  ‘It was six years ago. There was an old woman on the street.’

  Before Detta could respond, the wall in front of her changed. It was now the massive steps leading up to the library’s main entrance. The two enormous lions, Patience and Fortitude, kept watch. In the foreground, nine-year-old Detta stood next to the homeless woman. The memory came flooding back.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘It was just before Christmas. There had been snow, but not much of it. Still, it was quite cold.’

  Detta could suddenly feel a chill in the air.

  ‘While all your classmates ran up the steps you lingered by the woman.’

  Another photograph. She now had the woman’s hand in her own.

  ‘You spoke briefly with the woman. You did not give her money, but you passed a few moments with her.’

  Detta recalled the encounter now with clarity. She felt something unmoor inside her. She had forgotten about this woman.

  ‘Do you recall what you said?’ the man asked.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her she was not alone. I told her that she shouldn’t be afraid.’

  The man walked across the room, knelt in front of her.

  ‘It was always going to be you, you see. From the moment you first drew breath, this moment was planned. And now we are here.’

  Detta felt warm tears on her cheek. The man reached out a finger, collected a tear, brought it to his lips.

  ‘There’s someone who wants to see you,’ he said.

  Detta looked up, suddenly returned to the moment. ‘Who?’

  The man stood, crossed the room, and touched the panel near the door.

  ‘I’ll leave you two to catch up.’

  As the man left the room, the wall in front of Detta, as well as the walls to her left and right, went black. She could see her own shadow from the light coming from behind her.

  Detta turned slowly around, and what she saw took her heart. There was a woman sitting behind her, a beautiful woman with deep auburn hair and sparkling green eyes.

  It was her mother.

  76

  Of all the feelings Jakob expected when he’d finally stood in front of the girl, when he’d at last fully tasted her essence, the emotion he experienced was unlike any other. What had for many years been lightless within him was now illuminated.

  He felt different in his skin, as if he were not reliving the life of Rinus van Laar, but actually was the man.

  The dead men lined the gallery.

  ‘I don’t know if I can do it,’ Jakob said.

  You must finish what you’ve started. You must complete the cycle that was begun one hundred and fifty years ago. You have no say in this.

  But he did. Meeting her, touching her, savoring her, gave him the power.

  Finish what you’ve begun.

  Jakob began to pace the gallery corridor. Every so often he would glance up at the drawings. More than once he saw movement in them. The vices were stirring, as they stirred within him. He stopped, poured himself a sherry infused with mandrake. The feelings inside him grew warmer, more vivid. His own voice rumbled.

  Now is the time.

  You will never again have this moment.

  He had always thought of time passing in terms of seasons and years, each era clearly defined by numbers. But now he knew that the decades and centuries were not discrete, but one. From the first raindrop to the final harvest.

  One eternal life, one thought.

  Forever.

  He now knew that he would not fulfill his legacy, and for that shame he would one day do penance. But for now, in this glorious and revelatory instant, he was free and he was complete.

  He turned back to the gallery. The dead men were gone.

  What lingered was the smell of mortality.

  Beneath it, the essence of the girl.

  One by one Jakob began to take down the drawings. He would take them and leave with Eva. He would build a new house, an even grander house than Veldhoeve. In the end there was nothing for him here. It was just brick and timber and stone and glass.

  His sin was Pride, and had been all along.

  Once all fourteen drawings were removed, and stacked at the end of the corridor, Jakob straightened his tie, found his bearings and began to descend the steps. He knew what he had to do.

  He touched the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, as he had nearly every day of his life.

  And that was when the doorbell chimed.

  77

  When Ivy rang the bell she didn’t know what she expected. Probably a butler or a maid. In her whole life, indeed that of her mother and grandmother, the van Laars were always The Rich People.

  For as long as she could remember the family was involved in just about every aspect of village life in Abbeville. There was not a charity board or philanthropy enterprise in which the van Laar family was not integral. But that’s not to say they were highly visible. Just the opposite. Ivy remembered once, as a little girl, going to the county fair in Burton. Her mother pointed out the well-dressed man giving a speech to a number of business owners. She remembered a boy about her age sitting calmly and firmly and properly to the man’s side. The man giving the speech was Sébastien van Laar.

  In all the time since she had seen Jakob, perhaps, four or five times. To be honest, she didn’t even know if the man was married or had children.

  So, as she stood on the front porch at Veldhoeve she did not know what to expect. Perhaps the last thing she expected was the man himself opening the door.

  ‘Chief Holgrave,’ he said. ‘How nice it is to see you.’

  ‘Mr van Laar. Nice to see you, too.’
/>   ‘Please come in,’ he said. ‘And you must call me Jakob.’

  Ivy had never been inside Veldhoeve. She had been to the farm a number of times, had eaten in the restaurant, had visited the gift shop. All of those interiors were mostly modern in design and execution. Veldhoeve was like stepping into a painting. The foyer gave way into a great room. The floors were highly polished chestnut, as were the raised panels of the walls. A great crystal chandelier hung overhead. There was artwork everywhere.

  ‘This is really beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jakob said. ‘When Rinus van Laar built Veldhoeve he entertained quite a lot, as I understand it. I’m afraid I don’t find the time for guests these days as often as I’d like.’

  The long hallway leading to the south end of the building was lined with framed paintings and drawings.

  ‘May I offer you some coffee or tea?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  Jakob gestured to a tufted leather loveseat. Ivy sat down. Jakob sat on the wing chair opposite her. He crossed his legs, smoothed the crease in his trousers.

  ‘How may I be of service?’ he asked.

  Ivy flipped open her notepad, even though she knew what she was going to say.

  ‘I just have a few basic questions about an investigation we are conducting.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to help in any way I can,’ he said. ‘I hope it is nothing too serious.’

  ‘Just routine for now.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you do any business with the Heritage Equestrian Center?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I believe my grandfather began supplying them with produce many years ago. It is a lovely place.’

  ‘What do you supply them with?’

  ‘Apples, of course. There may indeed be some other fruits. I would be happy to check for you.’

  ‘What about Comfrey tea?’

  ‘Comfrey tea? By this you mean Symphytum uplandicum?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is not something we sell. It is what’s known as a dynamic nutrient accumulator. It is used to improve soil. Although the jury is still out in the study of permaculture, we have used it in limited tests here at Zeven Farms.’

  ‘So, it’s not something to drink? Something you serve at your restaurant?’

  ‘Oh my, no. It can be quite toxic in quantity.’

  ‘And you say that you use it here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ivy glanced at her notes. ‘And you say you supply apples to the equestrian center?’

  ‘We do indeed. Not in large quantities, mind you, but horses find apples quite the delicacy, if properly sliced and sized. Many times apples are used to mask the taste of medications.’

  Ivy made notes. She moved on.

  ‘Do you know a man named Chevy Deacon?’

  ‘Chevy?’ Jakob asked. ‘Like the automobile?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I don’t believe I know him. At least, not by name.’

  Ivy reached into her bag, took out a mug shot of Chevy Deacon, his most recent. She held it out to Jakob.

  ‘I do know this man,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken to him, but he has done some work here. I’m not sure when the last time was, but I can find this out for you.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Let me talk to my day manager right now. Do you have a few moments?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘In what time period are you interested?’

  ‘Just the past four months would be fine for now,’ Ivy said.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. Jakob stood. He gestured to a sideboard against the wall. On it was a beautiful silver tea service. ‘If you change your mind about the coffee or tea, please help yourself.’

  Coffee suddenly sounded good. ‘I think I will. Thanks.’

  When Jakob disappeared down a hallway at the other end of the great room Ivy poured a cup of coffee. She took a sip, walked the room. The hallways leading to the back of the house were lined with framed prints, artfully lighted. She was at a loss as to time period, movement or artist.

  She could tell a Diane Arbus or Ansel Adams or Dorothea Lange from fifty feet away, but with drawings and paintings, not so much.

  She took the opportunity to take a few pictures of the room with her phone, wondering how people who lived in such splendor did it. She wondered if she really could get used to it, then reminded herself that she would probably never have the opportunity to find out.

  She’d just gotten her phone put away when Jakob returned, a pair of documents in hand.

  He handed them to Ivy. Ivy took her glasses from her coat pocket, slipped them on. She scanned the document, saw what she needed immediately. Chevy Deacon logged four hours on the day in question.

  Ivy held up the page. ‘And this time sheet is accurate? By that I mean, his presence here during these hours can be verified?’

  ‘Without question. We run a very tight ship. As you might imagine, there is a lot of transient work in this type of farming.’

  ‘One last question for today, if I may.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How was Mr Deacon paid?’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Was he on a payroll? Did he get paid a salary?’

  ‘I see,’ Jakob said. ‘He is a day laborer, so not on salary.’

  ‘Is it possible he was paid in cash?’

  ‘This is not something we ordinarily do here at Zeven Farms,’ he said. ‘But some of our day workers insist on it.’

  Ivy flipped through her notes. ‘I think that’s everything. I can’t thank you enough for your time.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jakob said. He opened the massive front door. The sounds and scents of the Fairgrounds flooded in. ‘Quite the day in our village’s history is it not?’

  ‘Have you ever seen the white bird, Jakob?’

  ‘I have. It was 1994. It came to light on the windowsill of my bedroom. It was absolutely radiant.’

  ‘How nice.’

  ‘What about you? Have you ever seen the white raven, Chief Holgrave?’

  Ivy was just about to answer in the negative, but she stopped herself.

  She had no idea why.

  78

  The photograph of her mother seemed so real. It was the one she had taken herself. The one with her mother sitting at the table at the osteria.

  In the picture her mother wore the same green dress she had worn on the day that began the end of her life.

  In here, though, in this place of old music and warm lights, this place with her mother’s special china cups, Amanda Kyle Hardy was alive.

  Detta stood, crossed the room, and touched a finger to her mother’s face.

  79

  Business at the Godwin Hall booth was brisk, even though most of the early visitors to the Appleville Festival so far had been locals. While all of them were friendly and personable, offering Will an official welcome to the village, most taking a brochure, none of them seemed to have much interest in a romantic getaway weekend in their own town.

  Miriam Yoder was helping out. The fact that she had baked a number of treats, and was offering them free to visitors, really helped.

  ‘Good morning.’

  Will looked up. It was Ivy Holgrave.

  ‘Good morning.’ Will gestured to the burgeoning crowd. ‘You look like you have your hands full today.’

  ‘Both hands and then some,’ Ivy said. ‘How are things going?’

  ‘Not bad, I think. This is all pretty new to me.’

  ‘These are good folks, as a rule. I think you’ll meet some nice people, make some good contacts. People come to this festival from all around the state. Even further than that.’

  ‘Have you seen my daughter by any chance?’

  ‘Do you mean this morning?’

  ‘Yes. She left me a note saying she was going out to do some sketching.’

  Ivy looked around the Fairgrounds. ‘I’
m afraid I haven’t seen her. Have you called her?’

  ‘I have. Sent her a few text messages, too.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s just fine.’ Ivy pointed toward the square. ‘I’m heading back to the station right now. I’d be happy to look in at the Hall if you like.’

  ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘All in a day.’

  As Ivy left, Will heard the clip-clop of the horse drawing the ornate carriage as it made its way around the Fairgrounds once more. When it stopped, a small group of giggling teenagers emerged.

  Bernadette Hardy was not among them.

  80

  Will barely heard the sound. In fact, he felt the buzz more than he heard the tone signaling a new text message. He took the phone from his pocket, looked at the screen.

  It was a text from Detta.

  I’m at Veldhoeve. The artwork is amazing!! When you get a break you have to come see it all. It’s like being in a museum!!!

  Will now felt a bit foolish that he involved Ivy Holgrave. He looked at the time stamp. It was from eleven minutes earlier. Why hadn’t he heard this alert before?

  He checked the switch on the side of the phone. It was on Silent.

  Will got Miriam Yoder’s attention.

  ‘Do you think you could watch things here for a few minutes?’

  ‘I’d be happy to.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  Veldhoeve was on the far side of the Fairgrounds. Along the way Will was stopped by a few of the local merchants who wanted to buttonhook him regarding a co-promotion once Godwin Hall was officially open for business with paying customers. Will did his best to listen and not make any promises.

  A few minutes later he stood on the porch at Veldhoeve. He found the doorbell, pressed it.

  No one answered. He tried again. Still no response.

  He opened the huge door.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence.

  ‘Mr van Laar?’

  Will stepped into the foyer, closed the door behind him. In here it was cool and dim and quiet. He called out again, his voice absorbed by the dark wood and thick draperies.