The Question of the Felonious Friend

by E. J. Copperman

  Ten minutes before they were due to arrive, I asked Ms. Washburn (who had called the Microchip Mart and left a voice mail for the manager) if she thought it would be inappropriate for me to complete an exercise session with so little time to spare. She believed there was no harm in it “even if they see you walking around the room with your arms in the air for a minute or two; it’ll catch them off-guard.” So I began my routine, circumnavigating the office and raising my arms to increase my heart rate. I find this to be an excellent way to clear the mind.

  “What about the Swords and Sorcerers die?” I asked Ms. Washburn as I completed my first lap. “Have you asked your estranged husband about my theory?”

  “The idea that Richard was holding the Tenduline when he was shot and dropped it as a warning to Tyler? No, I didn’t consult Simon on that. He’s not the best at analysis. He’s better for raw data.” She looked away as she spoke, then seemed to force herself to face me again, but by that moment I had stopped looking at her.

  So close to answering the question, this was not the time for me to concern myself with Ms. Washburn’s marriage. It was unusual and puzzling that it occupied my mind at all. Ms. Washburn was remarkably able to separate her private life from her work at Questions Answered. Indeed, the only time I had met Simon Taylor was in connection to Mason Clayton’s question. We had spoken on the phone more than once—which had not been a pleasant experience—but Ms. Washburn’s life outside the office was entirely her own affair. I had no connection to it and normally would not have even thought about it. Why was my mind wandering to that topic now?

  “Samuel,” Ms. Washburn said, breaking my train of thought, “it looks like Molly and Evelyn have arrived.” She pointed toward the door.

  I looked up. Approaching the entrance, clearly visible through the plate glass window, were Evelyn Brandt and her daughter, Molly. I frowned. “I thought we’d asked them to come later,” I said.

  “I did when I called,” answered Ms. Washburn. “I guess they hit all the lights.” That suggestion did not make sense, as a person hitting a traffic light with her car would be delayed rather than accelerated, but I did not question it. I was disappointed that Tyler Clayton would be here after Molly. My plan would have to be adjusted.

  The bells on the entrance pealed as they entered. I saw Ms. Washburn stand up, so I did the same and walked toward the two visitors to welcome them. This, I have been taught, is a way to make newcomers feel more at ease. And right now, I wanted Evelyn and Molly especially to be comfortable with the surroundings.

  “Welcome to Questions Answered,” Ms. Washburn said. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “We could have taken the train to Edison from Bound Brook,” Molly informed us. “But that would have required changing trains in Newark, so driving was faster.”

  Evelyn looked slightly pained. “Sorry,” she said.

  “There is no need to apologize,” I told her. It was true; her daughter’s autism spectrum behavior was not her fault, nor was it at all offensive in this case. “We are glad you could come to help us with this question.”

  “The same would have been true if we’d taken the train from Bound Brook to New Brunswick, Metuchen, or Metropark, all of which are near this address,” Molly said. “But then we would have had to ask you for a ride from the train station because none of those are close enough to your office for us to walk.”

  “That is true, Molly,” I said. “Won’t you please sit down?”

  Ms. Washburn and I had added to our usual complement of seats with some folding chairs I had found in the pizzeria kitchen when I took over the space for Questions Answered. At Ms. Washburn’s suggestion (and with my enthusiastic agreement), they had been cleaned with disinfectant wipes. I gestured toward the chairs. Evelyn immediately took one but Molly stood.

  “Come sit, Molly,” she urged, but her daughter did not acknowledge that anything was said.

  “We could have taken the number one-hundred-fourteen bus and that would have been faster and less expensive, but it would have dropped us off too far from here,” Molly continued.

  “Molly,” Evelyn said with an edge of tension in her voice.

  Molly, apparently sensing her mother’s anxiety or simply because she was acquainted with that tone of voice, took one of the other seats Ms. Washburn had arranged in front of our desks.

  “What can we do to help, Mr. Hoenig?” Evelyn asked.

  As if by way of answering, the bells on the front door rang again, and we—with the exception of Molly—looked toward the office entrance. In walked Mason Clayton looking haggard and tired. The ordeal of his brother’s incarceration coupled with his own financial difficulties (which apparently he was attempting to keep to himself) had begun to take a toll on him.

  Behind him was Tyler.

  Hands moving rapidly at his sides, eyes darting from the ceiling to the floor with little time spent in between, Tyler seemed more agitated even than when we’d seen him in the interrogation room at Somerset police headquarters. No doubt the events of the past few days had damaged any progress he had made in social skills or fine motor training. He was, in the terms of the “typical” world, “regressing.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Ms. Washburn said to them as they entered. “Is Sandy meeting us here?” Their sister clearly was not following the two men into the room.

  “Sandy’s not coming,” Mason said. “Sorry about that, but there just wasn’t time for her to rearrange her day.”

  That was not an unexpected development but it was a slightly disappointing one. Sandy Clayton Webb seemed to be at the center of much of the activity to be discussed, so her absence would limit the amount of information that could be gathered today.

  But I was watching Molly and Tyler as closely as I could given their relative distance from each other. Molly was facing away from the entrance and Tyler had not yet spoken. (Indeed, I was not sure if he would say anything at all.) Molly was not yet aware that he had entered the room.

  As Tyler followed Mason toward our small conference area, his attention was anywhere but on the people gathered in the office.

  He seemed, as before, fascinated with the pizza oven, which I could understand—they are a very unusual feature, one that most people do not get to see up close on a regular basis.

  Then he noticed Molly was there. “Uh-oh,” Tyler said too loudly.

  Molly’s reaction to Tyler’s voice was considerably more dramatic. She broke into a wide smile and spun to face him. “Hawkeye!” she shouted and lunged at Tyler, catching him in an enthusiastic hug. Tyler looked startled, then uncomfortable.

  “Carlye,” he said quietly. He was not smiling.

  Molly’s mother Evelyn dropped her mouth open in astonishment. “Carlye?” she asked.

  Mason, eyes wide, smiled slightly at the sight of his brother being hugged tightly by a young woman Mason had probably never seen before. “Tyler,” he said, “do you want to introduce us?”

  “No.”

  “Molly,” Molly said. “I’m Molly. I’m Tyler’s girlfriend.”

  Mason, to his credit, did not look surprised now. He extended his hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Molly.” But Molly was not releasing Tyler from her embrace.

  He seemed uncomfortable, standing with his arms at his side, head occasionally vibrating with tension. “I shot Richard,” he said to no one in particular. “I took the gun and I shot him.”

  Evelyn’s face registered fear.

  “No, you didn’t,” Molly assured Tyler. “You couldn’t shoot anybody. You’re my Hawkeye.”

  Mason looked at Ms. Washburn, who said, “It’s a thing about the TV show M*A*S*H. They identify with two of the characters.”

  “No,” Tyler managed.

  “We don’t really think we’re at the four-oh-seven-seventh,” Molly said. “It’s a game, like Swords and Sorcerers
.”

  “I shot Richard.”

  Evelyn stood up. “Is that true? Did Tyler shoot someone?”

  “No,” Molly crooned.

  “We believe Tyler did not shoot Richard Handy,” I assured Evelyn. “We are in the process of answering the question for Mason.” I gestured toward Tyler’s brother to identify him, as he and Evelyn had not been met before. “Allow me to introduce Mason Clayton.”

  Evelyn, at least, did accept Mason’s hand and stood up to take it. “Evelyn Brandt,” she said. “Molly and Tyler are in the same therapy group. I’ve seen you pick Tyler up sometimes.”

  “I remember,” Mason said. I do not know if he was being truthful.

  Tyler said, “Let go of me now, Molly.” Molly did not seem the least bit upset by his bluntness, which I have been told can be construed as impolite. She released the embrace but hooked her right arm through Tyler’s left and stared up at him, grinning. He did not move his arm to indicate she should let go, but did not seem to participate in the gesture at all.

  “Mr. Hoenig, why are we here?” Mason turned and asked me. “Is there some breakthrough you have to report?”

  “Not yet,” I admitted. “I have some things to ask all of you, and I’m hoping that will get us very close to answering your question, Mason.”

  Ms. Washburn turned on a voice recorder she keeps on her desk but also got out her notebook and pen. Mason and Evelyn sat in the two folding chairs while Tyler remained almost immobile in his spot and Molly cheerfully held onto his arm and never took her eyes off his face.

  “Tyler, Molly says she is your girlfriend,” I began. “Is that accurate?”

  Tyler’s eyes rolled backward and up. “Nnnnnnn … ”

  I had not expected Tyler to retreat into nonverbal behavior so quickly. “Tyler,” Ms. Washburn said in a tone I recognized. “You don’t have to worry. Molly will like you no matter what you say.” I did not see how she could be sure of that, but I trusted Ms. Washburn’s instincts in such matters.

  “That’s right,” Molly said. “Hawkeye and Carlye love each other even though they can’t be together when she asks for a transfer. But I am your girlfriend.”

  Mason stood and got very close to Tyler so his younger brother could not avert his eyes. “Tyler. Mr. Hoenig is trying to help. Tell him what he needs to know.”

  “I shot Richard.”

  “No, you didn’t, but that’s not what we’re asking you now. Is Molly your girlfriend?”

  Tyler’s mouth widened as if in a grimace of pain. He opened it but no sound was emitted for six seconds. It was like a muscular cramp had overtaken his speech. I have had moments when emotion has made it difficult for me to articulate myself, but this was much more dramatic and severe than anything I have ever experienced.

  Finally Tyler managed, while fixing his gaze at a point some three feet over my head, to say, “Yes.”

  Molly grinned at him. “See?” she said without averting her eyes.

  I knew the next question would be especially stressful, so I wrote it out on a legal pad and handed it to Ms. Washburn. She read it and after a brief hesitation, asked Tyler, “Are you trying to protect Molly by saying you shot Richard?”

  What I had written was, You didn’t shoot Richard. Did Molly? I believed I knew the answer, but Tyler’s heightened emotional state would make the answer more fraught with difficulty. I knew Ms. Washburn would be able to word it more palatably.

  Again, Tyler struggled to speak and found the effort too overwhelming. Molly, as her mother watched open-mouthed, stepped in to rescue her boyfriend. “Yes, he’s protecting me,” she said.

  This time I knew I could ask the question myself. “But you didn’t shoot Richard Handy, did you?” I asked Molly.

  She laughed. “No. That’s silly. Carlye is a nurse. They don’t shoot people, not even in a war.”

  “Did you see who shot Richard?” I asked Molly. “Were you at the Quik N EZ when he died?”

  She seemed distracted, staring into Tyler’s face. “No,” she repeated. “I left almost as soon as I got there. Maybe two minutes.”

  “Molly!” Evelyn exclaimed. “You were there? You couldn’t have been there. I always know where you are, don’t I?”

  “I said I was going to see Tyler,” her daughter answered. “I went to see Tyler.” She hugged his arm a little tighter. Then she grinned. “I dressed like him too.” She turned toward Tyler. “Why did you ask me to do that?”

  “Nnnnnnnnnnn … ”

  Mason, still close to his brother, put his hands on Tyler’s triceps. “Look at me, buddy,” he said. “Tell me who shot that guy in the convenience store.”

  Tyler grunted but did not respond verbally. Mason turned toward Molly. “Do you know?” he asked.

  She seemed to refocus from a thought she had been having—something to which I can easily relate—and shook her head. “At the Quik N EZ? I just painted the cameras, then I left,” she said.

  “You what?” Evelyn looked stricken, face white and eyes wide.

  Molly was apparently unfazed by or insensitive to her mother’s panic. “Tyler said I should dress up in a hoodie and spray paint the cameras in the store,” she said, as if explaining that she had gone to the movies that afternoon. “So I did, but then he made me leave. No talking, nothing, just go. And that’s what I did.”

  Ms. Washburn looked concerned and walked to Molly to make eye contact. “That was you on the security video? You spray painted the lenses of the cameras so nobody would see when Richard was shot?”

  Molly was about to answer, then stopped short. “Someone got shot?” she asked.

  Twenty-Six

  Tyler Clayton was no longer capable of conversing, even less so than he had been when he entered the Questions Answered office. He had not completely reverted to his “nnnnnnnn” vocalizing, but he sat in Mother’s cushioned armchair and stared ahead. Mason said he believed the stress was proving too much for his younger brother, but I believed the cause was considerably more complex than that, although certainly Tyler was feeling pressure.

  He could tell us nothing, not even when Ms. Washburn offered him a legal pad or the use of her computer keyboard. He held his arms tight, as if hugging himself. Molly Brandt seemed offended by Tyler’s disinterest in having her hug him instead, and pouted for three minutes and sixteen seconds.

  During that time, I asked Mason about the Tenduline, and showed him an image Ms. Washburn had taken of it before we’d surrendered the die to Detective Hessler. He said it was unfamiliar to him and Tyler was not communicating. I was irritated with my own stupidity at not anticipating his reaction. I should have showed him the Tenduline first.

  “It’s one of the things for S and S, isn’t it?” Mason asked.

  “Yes, it’s cursed,” Molly volunteered. All heads (except Tyler’s) turned toward her.

  “You play Swords and Sorcerers, Molly?” Ms. Washburn asked.

  Molly laughed, although the question did not seem at all amusing to anyone else. “No. But Tyler told me about it, and once he did I looked up all I could find. The Tenduline is an ancient gaming piece that was cursed by an evil sorcerer hundreds of years ago when he lost a wager using it. His name was Androsken the Wicked, and he instilled the Tenduline with a power to predict when there would a violent death. If you see it, something bad is going to happen.”

  “Oh my,” Evelyn said under her breath.

  “Is that what happened?” Molly asked in a light tone. “Somebody died after they saw the Tenduline? That would explain it.”

  “No, it would not,” I responded. “There is no such thing as a cursed gaming die. Richard Handy was shot by another person for reasons considerably more human.”

  “But the … Tenduline? That’s significant?” Mason asked.

  “It was found at the scene of the murder,” I told him. “I believe it was ther
e as an intended message.”

  “A warning from the killer?” Mason said.

  I shook my head. “A warning from the victim. I believe Richard Handy was trying to send a message to someone else who was there when he was shot, a warning that the person who killed him could easily do so again, and that the circumstances led him to believe there would be more violence. If the killer or killers believe someone is close to exposing them, there could be great danger for the person Richard was trying to warn.”

  “Who is that?” Evelyn said, looking worriedly at Molly.

  “Tyler,” I told them.

  We did not establish any further useful information during the meeting, which was disappointing. Mason, concerned for his brother’s safety and his present uncommunicative condition, led Tyler out of the office and into his Sport Utility Vehicle only a few minutes later. Evelyn, overwhelmed with information she had not known before, said something about trying to make an emergency appointment with Dr. Shean and took Molly, who was protesting that she should be able to go with Tyler, out of the building.

  “So you think Richard was trying to warn Tyler that someone might try to kill him?” Ms. Washburn asked when the others had gone.

  “That is the theory under which I am currently operating, yes. I don’t believe that Richard, as he saw that he was in desperate danger and knowing he probably would not survive even a few seconds, immediately thought of the Tenduline and decided to hold it for luck. It is much more likely he saw the danger to the witness who actually knew something about the killing and the reason behind it, and was trying to send a message of warning.”

  “But Tyler hasn’t said a word about the shooting. The only thing he says is that he’s the one who killed Richard, and we’re pretty sure that’s not true, aren’t we?”

  I sat down behind my desk and considered Ms. Washburn. She in an invaluable part of the Questions Answered staff because she understands parts of questions that are difficult for me and because she understands how I think. But Mother says that it’s easy to see the solutions to someone else’s problem but very difficult to see the solutions to your own. So Ms. Washburn is very capable when dealing with the things I need assistance with, and not when she is dealing with her own issues, particularly with her husband and the difficulties in their marriage. I felt that strain was not really impeding her work with me, but that she was sometimes distracted to the point that she would fail to notice some details she would normally spot.