Dead Man Talking

by Casey Daniels

  None of this was anything I could reveal to Helen, so instead, I asked her, “How can I care about your late husband? He died when I was just a little kid. I never knew him. I’ve never met you before. I don’t know the person who was killed and—”

  “Vera. Vera Blaine.” Thinking back, Helen’s gaze traveled somewhere above my head, her eyes misty. “She was a pretty girl. Not very bright.” She shifted her gaze back to me. “Jeff never slept with her.”

  Honestly, I’d never considered the sex angle, I guess because Lamar was middle-aged, Vera was younger than me, and the thought of them gettin’ it on was too icky for words. But if they had a relationship, it was a not-so-important fact that Lamar had never bothered to mention. I caught a whiff of scandal and glommed onto it. It was more than I had to go on before. “Is that what they said?” I asked Helen. “Was that what they claimed as motive? That he and Vera—”

  “Were lovers? Well, not in so many words, not in the newspapers, anyway. Even in the eighties, the media wasn’t as aboveboard about things like that. The newspapers mentioned that Jeff and Vera were friends. That’s all people needed to hear to make their own assumptions. There were plenty of hints, but the ‘A’ word—

  “Then why—”

  She answered with a shrug. It wasn’t that she didn’t know. It was that she didn’t understand. “Ugly rumors can take on a life of their own. Maybe you’re too young to have learned that yet. Once someone mentioned that there was something . . . romantic . . .”—she gave the word a funny twist—“between Jeff and that girl, everyone just assumed it was true. They claimed that’s how she ended up in that motel here in town, that she and Jeff used to meet there from time to time, and that one of those times, things got out of hand. They said he shot her.”

  “They found his gun at the scene.”

  Her head came up. “You know that, do you? You’ve been reading the old newspaper articles.”

  “He always kept it in his desk at our home near the prison. The drawer was locked. He hadn’t checked it for a while. I mean, why would he? Then when the police came around and asked to see it, well, of course, he went right for it. That was the first he realized it had been stolen.”

  “And the cops weren’t buying that.”

  It wasn’t a question so she shouldn’t have felt obligated

  “And his blood was on Vera’s blouse.”

  “Jeff had cut his hand at work earlier that day. Vera helped him bandage the wound.”

  “I asked the police the same thing when I heard about the blood. I told them Jeff had told me about the way he’d cut his hand. Of course, the police weren’t very forthcoming. They didn’t have an adequate theory about why, if Jeff and Vera were having an affair, they needed to come to Cleveland to do it, either. You’d think if you were sleeping with your boss, you wouldn’t want to drive so far to do it.”

  “Or you would because then it would be less likely that you’d get caught.” I was thinking out loud. I should have known better, so I offered Helen a smile of apology. “Just trying to think the way they were thinking,” I said. “If Mr. Lamar supposedly killed Vera because he was jealous—”

  “Those rumors were all part of the frame-up.”

  Honestly, had I been talking to anybody else, I would have told her to get real, come to grips with the fact that her husband was a cheating creep and a murderer, and get on with her life.

  If I hadn’t heard the frame-up theory from the dead guy in question.

  “But who—”

  Her laugh was anything but funny. “Some people have overactive imaginations. That’s why they believed that nonsense about Jeff and Vera. Others might have been paid to say what they said on the stand. It’s possible, don’t you think? I told the police that, but honestly, I don’t think they believed me. Still others . . . There’s a lot of pettiness and jealousy in the world. You’ll learn that, too.” She heaved a sigh at the same time she hauled herself out of the chair, and without another word, she disappeared into the house.

  I wondered if our interview was over, and I was about to chalk the whole thing up to bad timing when she came back to the porch carrying a framed eight-by-ten photograph of the man I’d been talking to at the cemetery.

  Helen put the photo in my hands. “Does that look like the kind of a man who would kill somebody?”

  I didn’t need to look at the picture, but I did, just so she wouldn’t get suspicious. “People kill people every day,” I said. “I can’t say for sure, but I bet they don’t all look like killers.”

  “Not Jeff.” She took the photo, and before she sat back down, she set it on the table next to me so that Lamar was staring right at me. “He was a good man. He was honest and ethical. He—” Helen’s voice caught on a lump of emotion and she took a drink of her tea. “He believed in justice. He believed in the system. He thought criminals could be reformed, that he could help change their lives. He wasn’t the kind of man who would take another life.”

  “You had him buried in Cleveland, not near Central State.” It was something I’d planned to mention later in our conversation, but this seemed as good a time as any. “I would have thought—”

  “We were both born in Cleveland, and there was nothing keeping us near Central State. Nothing but Jeff’s job. Once he was arrested . . .” Helen didn’t fill in the blanks. She didn’t need to. “My parents lived right here in this house, and they were elderly. It made sense for me to stay with them. I helped out around here, and I was close enough to downtown so I could visit Jeff during the trial. Once he was convicted . . .” A wave of pain crossed her face, and suddenly, not even her cheery T-shirt or her flip-flops could keep her from looking old and frail. “He didn’t think it was possible,” she said. “All the time the police questioned him, he understood they were just doing their jobs. He was cooperative and tolerant. He said they were only eliminating him so they could concentrate on finding a truly viable suspect. Then when he was arrested . . . And all through the trial . . .” Her shoulders rose and fell.

  “I knew he didn’t do it, and he kept telling me my faith in him was all that mattered. But I could see that the publicity and the stain on his reputation was eating him up inside. He never once stopped believing in the integrity of the criminal justice system, you see. He knew he was innocent, so he never imagined the system would let him down and that he’d be found guilty. But then when he was—”

  “He went to prison. Not to—”

  “Central State? Oh, no. They’d never send a warden back to his own prison. Not as one of the inmates. Not that it mattered in the end.” Again, her shoulders rose, but this time when they dropped, she shuddered. “He had such a strong belief in the right way of things, such

  Rather than think about it and get all mushy, I concentrated on my case. “Do you know who could have done this?” I asked Helen. “Who would have wanted to frame your husband?”

  “A warden makes a lot of enemies.” It was the same thing I’d heard from Lamar. “It’s hard to even know where to begin thinking about it. Believe me, I’ve tried. For more than twenty years.”

  “And so what do you think?”

  She gave me a half smile. “I wish I knew what to tell you. I’ve been over it in my head a couple million times.”

  “Your husband never mentioned names? I mean, prisoners who might have had it in for him? Or employees with grudges?”

  “Oh, he’d come home and say there had been problems. He would say some of the inmates were more trouble than others. Or he’d mention that he had some personnel crisis to deal with. But he never mentioned names. He didn’t want to bring that much of the job home with him. You know, so that I wouldn’t worry.”

  Wondering where to take my questions next, I drummed my fingers against my legal pad. That’s when I remembered the missing silver dollar.

  As if she’d touched an electric line, Helen shot up in

  “It must have been mentioned in one of those newspaper articles I read,” I told her.<
br />
  “Well, they were right. Though it wasn’t a lifelong interest or anything. That was the thing about Jeff.” Her expression softened and a smile touched her lips. “He’d get it in his head to get a new hobby every once in a while. It was coins for a couple years, then model trains. I think he tried stamp collecting when he was a boy, too. I bet I still have some of the coins packed away in the attic. Not that they’re valuable or anything. At least not that I know of. A couple wheat pennies, a few quarters from when quarters were all silver and didn’t contain any copper. Things like that.” She looked my way. “It’s funny that you found that mentioned in the newspaper. It’s such an insignificant fact about Jeff. Do you think it’s important?”

  I didn’t, and even if I did, I didn’t want to explain about the coin at the grave. For all I knew, my team was guilty of something for not only digging up the coin, but for not turning it over to whoever we should have turned it over to before it got stolen.

  “Just trying to get a sense of what kind of person he was,” I said. “You didn’t ever do things like . . . oh, I don’t know . . . like leave coins at his grave or anything, did you?”

  I knew what she was imagining: the beat-up neighborhood, the trash, the crime.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re fixing the place up.” Helen rose, and I figured our interview was over, so I got up, too. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help. If there’s anything else I can do . . .”

  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. If only I knew how to take her up on it. As I gathered my things, a thought occurred and I pounced on it.

  “You said there were people who were jealous of your husband. Do you think—”

  “That they’d arrange anything as elaborate as framing him for murder?” She cocked her head, thinking. “That would take a special kind of evil, wouldn’t it?”

  “But you don’t think it’s totally impossible.”

  She shook away whatever she was thinking and led me to the steps. “Sometimes my imagination runs away with me. But believe me, if I thought Lenny Fitzpatrick was capable of that sort of thing—”

  It was the first she’d mentioned a name, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass. “Lenny Fitzpatrick? He was—”

  “The assistant warden at Central State when Jeff was in charge. Lenny was efficient and competent, but he didn’t have Jeff’s zeal for rehabilitation. Or Jeff’s brains. We never thought he’d rise above his job as assistant, but you know how it goes. People are often promoted above the level of their competence. Lenny got the warden’s job after Jeff was arrested.”

  This was interesting, and though it wasn’t likely I’d forget, I made a note of it on my legal pad. “I can’t say it would do any good, but I don’t think it would hurt to go talk to this Lenny guy. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he is these days, do you?”

  The news hit me like a punch to the stomach. “You

  Helen laughed. Maybe she wasn’t used to seeing anyone go instantly green at the mention of prison. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Not to worry,” she said. “I heard that Lenny was recently injured in a motorcycle accident. He’s recovering nicely, but the hospitals are far better here in Cleveland than they are out in the sticks where the prison is located. He’s doing his rehab at the Cleveland Clinic.”

  As I walked away and got back in my car, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure I’d ended up with more questions than I did answers from my little talk with Helen Lamar, but was that such a bad thing? I had one more person to talk to, plus I’d dodged the prison bullet.

  To my way of thinking, that made it a successful afternoon.

  Helen laughed. “Good heavens, no! Jeff wouldn’t have liked that. He wasn’t cheap, but he was careful with our money. He would have called that a waste. And he wouldn’t have been happy about me visiting his grave, either. Not in that area of town. I did for a while, but . . .”

  I knew what she was imagining: the beat-up neighborhood, the trash, the crime.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re fixing the place up.” Helen rose, and I figured our interview was over, so I got up, too. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help. If there’s anything else I can do . . .”

  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. If only I knew how to take her up on it. As I gathered my things, a thought occurred and I pounced on it.

  “You said there were people who were jealous of your husband. Do you think—”

  “That they’d arrange anything as elaborate as framing him for murder?” She cocked her head, thinking. “That would take a special kind of evil, wouldn’t it?”

  “But you don’t think it’s totally impossible.”

  She shook away whatever she was thinking and led me to the steps. “Sometimes my imagination runs away with me. But believe me, if I thought Lenny Fitzpatrick was capable of that sort of thing—”

  It was the first she’d mentioned a name, and I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass. “Lenny Fitzpatrick? He was—”

  “The assistant warden at Central State when Jeff was in charge. Lenny was efficient and competent, but he didn’t have Jeff’s zeal for rehabilitation. Or Jeff’s brains. We never thought he’d rise above his job as assistant, but you know how it goes. People are often promoted above the level of their competence. Lenny got the warden’s job after Jeff was arrested.”

  This was interesting, and though it wasn’t likely I’d forget, I made a note of it on my legal pad. “I can’t say it would do any good, but I don’t think it would hurt to go talk to this Lenny guy. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he is these days, do you?”

  “Oh, certainly! He’s still the warden at Central State.”

  The news hit me like a punch to the stomach. “You

  Helen laughed. Maybe she wasn’t used to seeing anyone go instantly green at the mention of prison. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Not to worry,” she said. “I heard that Lenny was recently injured in a motorcycle accident. He’s recovering nicely, but the hospitals are far better here in Cleveland than they are out in the sticks where the prison is located. He’s doing his rehab at the Cleveland Clinic.”

  As I walked away and got back in my car, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sure I’d ended up with more questions than I did answers from my little talk with Helen Lamar, but was that such a bad thing? I had one more person to talk to, plus I’d dodged the prison bullet.

  To my way of thinking, that made it a successful afternoon.

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  6

  By the time I got to Monroe Street on Monday morning, there was a line of cars parked outside the stone archway that led into the cemetery. There were also people—two and three at a time in tight little groups—standing on the sidewalk outside the six-foot iron fence.

  Curious, yes?

  But things got even weirder.

  Just as I got out of my car, I felt someone watching me.

  I turned to see a man standing across the street just at the spot where the sunshine met the shadows of a boarded-up house. He was middle-sized and middle-aged. I didn’t recognize him, and he was so bland, I wouldn’t know him again if I tripped over him. When I looked his way, he stepped into the shadows. I twitched away the uneasy feeling that crawled up my spine, and

  “Can you believe this?” She met me as I was about to head out into the wilderness that was the cemetery. Her eyes were as bright as the glimmery earrings and beads she wore with her yellow sundress. “I had to stop and see you. I know Jim is anxious for some feedback. But really, Pepper, did you expect this?” She smiled and waved when we passed a group of middle-aged ladies.

  I may have been baffled (OK, I was plenty baffled), but I had a plan for the day, and there was no way I was going to let whatever was happening deter me. Part of that plan included cruising the perimeter of Team Number One’s section. I wanted to see what they were up to and what they’d accomplished while I was breaking my back yanking weeds the week before. I also wanted to look around my own sectio
n to see if there was any evidence of what might have happened to the box and coin we’d found at Lamar’s grave and who might have swiped it. I hadn’t seen anyone leave with the box. I hoped that meant it was still around the cemetery somewhere.

  Impressive, yes? But my planning did not stop there. I was going to the hospital at lunchtime to visit Lenny Fitzpatrick, so I’d dressed even more carefully than usual that morning in skinny jeans and a just-sporty-enough-for-manual-labor tank in a shade of olive I knew looked perfect with my fiery hair. Not incidentally, as long as I looked that good, I was hoping to run into Bianca just to show her what a top-notch fashion consultant I could be.

  With all this spinning around in my head and Ella still walking at my side, I turned off the drive and into the undergrowth toward Team One’s section, but once we

  Watching me watch them, Ella put a hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t see the show last night, did you? Pepper, how could you miss something so important?”

  “I tried to watch.” I cringed at the memory, and my stomach flipped the way it had the night before when I sat down and turned my TV to the local PBS station. “I saw the opening. You know, the one where the words Cemetery Survivor float across the screen. I bet Greer thought of the name of the show. She’s the only one dumb enough to think of anything that boring.”

  “That’s all you saw?”

  “I turned it off,” I admitted. “I even unplugged the TV. I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone seeing me in a show that stupid. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching myself in a show that stupid. My mother called from Florida three times so I could tell her what was going on. I didn’t answer my phone. Two of my aunts called after the show was over and left messages about how cute it was and how good I looked. I didn’t talk to them, either. My only consolation is that they watched because they felt obligated. Nobody else could possibly have—”