by Lisa Fernow
“Was that about Nathalie? How is she?”
Detective Morrow looked into her eyes for a moment before speaking. His face was expressionless. “I’m sorry, Ms. Blakeley. Your friend died on the way to the hospital.”
Before Antonia could stop herself, she said, “She’s not my friend.”
“Oh?”
What did I say that for? Now he’ll ask all sorts of questions about our relationship and I’ll have to tell him how I knew Nathalie, and why Nathalie came to Atlanta, and that will lead to more questions about more relationships which will lead straight to Christian. The police will get it wrong. They always do.
I’ve got to keep Christian out of this.
CHAPTER 24
Déjà Vu
SHE’D BEEN WRONG about the color of Detective Morrow’s eyes. They weren’t baby blue – they were hard, cold, pieces of slate. She hated Nathalie for dying.
She struggled to compose a suitably benign expression. “What I mean is, I barely knew Nathalie. None of us did, really. Except Roland, of course. Roland Guest. They just announced their engagement tonight.”
“Really?” Detective Morrow consulted his notepad.
Why does he bother writing this down if he’s taping me? And what’s he writing? Reading upside down she couldn’t decipher his chicken scratches except to see he’d noted the time of day.
He clicked his mechanical pencil to expose a fresh piece of lead and looked up at her. “Let’s see if we can trace Miss LeFebre’s final movements, ma’am. You said just now that ‘Nathalie fainted so they took her to lie down in Shawna’s bedroom.’ Who is ‘they’?”
“Bobby for sure. I think Shawna and Roland helped. Ask him.”
“Which one is he?”
“The man on the porch in the white t-shirt. He’s the iceberg that sank the Titanic.”
He took her statement without comment as if he met treacherous icebergs every day. Antonia found herself examining the freckles on his forehead – not that there was any way to divine his intentions by reading their pattern. She came back again to the broken nose and the mustache that was so neatly trimmed.
“Have I seen you somewhere before?” she asked. “I mean, besides my studio?”
“It’s a small world,” he answered without looking up. He scribbled something. “Where were you when Miss LeFebre took faint?”
“In the kitchen.”
“So you didn’t actually see Miss LeFebre collapse.”
“No. They brought Nathalie to Shawna’s room to lie down. Bobby came back to check on Barbara. Shawna and Roland stayed with Nathalie.”
“Just tell me what you saw, personally.”
“I am telling you.”
“You say you were in the kitchen.”
“I was.”
“Did anyone cut through the kitchen?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t have seen what ‘they’ were doing.”
The guy was totally anal. She sighed. “Okay. I went to the kitchen to get some water and there were no clean cups out so I looked around the pantry for more but couldn’t find any. Bobby came into the kitchen and told me they’d taken Nathalie to Shawna’s bedroom and that he’d taken a back step against the line of dance and rammed Nathalie and Roland. I said I told him what would happen if he did that – step back, I mean, not take Nathalie to Shawna’s bedroom – and he said, yes, he knew, and it was all his fault. Then he went back to the dining room to check on Barbara. I know he was checking on Barbara because he said he was going to check on her and he’s always checking on her. Is that what you want?” The last part came out rudely, she knew, but she was too rattled to care.
“You’re doing fine, keep going.”
She told him everything in as much detail as she could remember. “I heard a scream. I thought Shawna was hurt. Then I realized she was trying to get help for Nathalie. She’d carried Nathalie’s shawl into the living room and it had blood on it.”
“How do you know that? The living room was dark.”
Antonia threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I just knew Nathalie was in trouble and so I ran to Shawna’s bedroom and found her alone, slumped back in Shawna’s chair, and I tried to stop the bleeding.”
Detective Morrow double-clicked his mechanical pencil. “Was the blood fluid or tacky?”
Antonia looked down at the front of her costume. It was stained and still damp. The room suddenly felt close. “Not gushing,” she said, wishing he would open a window. “More like a steady leak.”
“Did you move her?”
“A little, to feel around. I laid her back on the cushions.”
“What happened after that?”
“I took her pulse. I had trouble finding it. Everybody was yelling and I remember Eduardo kneeling at Nathalie’s side. I noticed that especially because I had expected to see Roland and I thought it was odd that it was Eduardo and not Roland. I heard water running in the sink and I remembered I’d left the tap on. I realized we needed a doctor and I saw Roland standing in the doorway nearest the phone so I told him to call 9-1-1.”
“Did he?”
Antonia sniffed. “No, he just stood there. Eduardo said he’d take care of Nathalie so I went.”
He flipped back to the first page of his notebook. “Your call came in at two thirty-seven. From the time you found Miss LeFebre injured to the time you phoned for help, about how long was that?”
So he’d known all along she’d been the one to call 9-1-1. What was he driving at, then? Did he think she should have acted sooner? “I don’t know. Maybe five, ten minutes? Long enough for Shawna to find the first-aid kit.”
Detective Morrow leaned towards her. He smelled faintly of deodorant soap. “Good. Now, let’s go back. From the time Roland Guest came into the kitchen for ice to the time Shawna Muir came into the kitchen looking for help, how long was that?”
He’s trying to see who has an alibi. Where was Christian? Think.
A clean-cut, slightly pudgy man in a beige raincoat poked his head into the library. “Sir, we found the weapon. It was stuck in the potted plant. There’s still blood on the blade.”
Oh no. The dagger. Christian’s prints will be all over it.
“Did you have Sevedra photograph it first?”
The younger man scratched the back of his neck. “Uh … no, sir. She just got here. But I noted it on the plan like you said.”
Detective Morrow pressed his fingers to his sinuses and closed his eyes. He opened them and said, “Don’t touch anything else. Tell her there should be a shawl somewhere. Ask her to shoot the witnesses first, all of them. Let me see your floor plan when you’re done with it.”
“Yessir.” The officer retreated into the hall.
“Ms. Blakeley. You were about to tell me how much time had elapsed between when Roland Guest came into the kitchen and Shawna Muir called for help.”
Antonia shook her head while she continued to digest the news that the dagger had been found. No sudden moves, she told herself, nothing to show Detective Morrow you have anything in mind except a desire to help. She couldn’t remember exactly when she’d left Christian on the dance floor but it was certainly long enough for him to have slipped into the library and from there into Shawna’s bedroom. What if Shawna had stepped out of the room for some reason and left Nathalie alone?
“Ms. Blakeley.”
Christian had been acting strangely all evening and he’d actually fantasized aloud about cutting Nathalie. Could he possibly have done it? Could he have gone into Shawna’s bedroom from the library with no one in the dining or living room seeing? The pocket doors from the library to the hallway had been shut, hadn’t they? She didn’t dare turn around to check if they still were. She felt ashamed of herself for even imagining for a second … but he had touched the dagger … the police would think …
“Ms. Blakeley.”
She finally decided what was good enough for government officials was good enough for her. “I’m sorry. I don�
�t recall.”
“You said Roland Guest came into the kitchen to get some ice for Ms. LeFebre.”
“That’s right.”
“You were together one minute? Two?”
She snapped, “How should I know? How long does it take to fill a dishtowel full of ice?”
Then it hit her. If Roland had been in the kitchen only a couple of minutes Christian couldn’t have had time to creep into the bedroom from the library, sneak up on Nathalie without being seen, and stab her in the back.
He couldn’t have done it.
CHAPTER 25
First Murderers
MOST HOMICIDES CLEARED QUICKLY. Usually it was a case of domestic violence with the grieving spouse cast as the repentant, talkative killer. But not this one, Morrow thought. This one’s a friggin’ train wreck.
Normally he’d have had Jackson take informal statements while he went over the crime scene to establish the basic facts. Then they’d transport the witnesses separately to the station to make more detailed formal statements. But the witnesses had already had the run of the house, and the first responders, instead of sequestering them, had stashed everyone together on the porch, leaving them free to talk, hug each other like long-lost relatives, and dance tango with roses in their teeth for all he knew. They’d have spread trace evidence everywhere. And to top it off Jackson had screwed up chain of evidence with the weapon.
He’d decided to take statements himself, on the spot, before anyone could gin up a story or ask for a lawyer. Break the news of Nathalie LeFebre’s death and watch the reactions. Get everyone’s movements straight. Circle back later once he had the physical evidence, chip away at the witnesses, and see if he could get someone to crack. It wasn’t ideal to bring them back into the house but the crime scene was already FUBAR. At least he had a head start with the players from the Rothenberg case and he was now free to reopen that investigation officially. Thank God for small favors.
He ran down the list of names and background information Jackson had compiled so far.
Robert “Bobby” Glass
Background: Age 40. Born and raised in College Park, Maryland. Single.
Education: BA in Geology, PhD in Paleontology from the University of Maryland
Occupation: Professor of Geology, Environmental Studies Department, Emory University
Criminal History: Unknown
Costume: Marshmallow?
Roland Guest
Background: Age 45. Raised in Atlanta, family ties to the community back to the 1850s Engaged to Nathalie LeFebre (the deceased)
Education: Whitefield Academy, Atlanta. BA in Economics, Yale University
Occupation: Owner, Rothenberg and Guest European and Asian Acquisitions
Criminal History: None
Costume: Bullfighter
Shawna Muir
Background: Age 34. Raised in Westport, CT. Single.
Education: BA in Anthropology, Cornell University
Occupation: Flight attendant, Delta Airlines
Criminal History: None
Costume: Geisha
Barbara Wolfe
Background: Age 28. Raised in Huntington, West Virginia. Single.
Education: Buffalo Middle School, Huntington, West Virginia. BA in French from Emory College. Masters in Archeology, University of Maryland
Occupation: Lecturer, University of MD. Visiting Archeology lecturer, Emory College
Criminal History: Unknown
Costume: Streetwalker
Eduardo Sanchez Jaury
Goddamn, Morrow thought. The guy Miles Rothenberg called before he died. Maybe we’ll catch a break after all.
Background: Age 59. Raised in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Widower.
Education: Instituto Universitario Nacional del Arte. Universidad de Buenos Aires
Occupation: Psychoanalyst. Tango instructor.
Criminal History: Unknown
He’d have to brief Jackson on what he’d learned about Sanchez’ Montonero past.
Costume: None
Antonia Blakeley
Background: Age 35. Raised in Seattle, Washington. Divorced.
Education: Garfield High School, Seattle, WA. BA in Biology, MFA in Dance, University of Washington. Studied tango in Berlin, New York City, and Buenos Aires
Occupation: Tango instructor
Criminal History: Unknown
Costume: Greek goddess
Christian Cookerly
Background: Age 18. Raised in Cincinnati. Single.
Education: Getting his BS in Mathematics and Computer Science at Georgia Tech.
Occupation: Part-time IT staff member at Georgia Tech.
Criminal History: Unknown
Costume: Wizard
Morrow consulted the floor plan. Jackson had left out the windows and mixed up East and West but had otherwise faithfully rendered the scene, noting the bloodstains on the armchair and ottoman in the bedroom, the shawl next to the sink in the kitchen, and the knife in the potted plant in the corner dining room.
According to Blakeley’s statement Shawna Muir owned the house and had found Nathalie LeFebre, so Morrow decided to take her next. Muir had been engaged to Guest, Morrow remembered. Had she broken it off or had he? If she’d dispatched Nathalie LeFebre to clear the way for a homecoming with her former lover she wouldn’t be the type to burst into song about it. He’d see what Shawna Muir volunteered about her relationship to Guest and the victim.
He returned to the porch and at first he didn’t recognize Muir in her getup. She was shivering and showing signs of going into shock—another point the first responders had missed. He moved her inside and into the library, sat her down, and finding an afghan hanging over the back of a wooden armchair, wrapped it around her shoulders. He saw she’d gone to the last detail in creating her role, making up the nape of her neck in the W shape that the Japanese were supposed to find so erotic. As he sat down in front of her he noted the traces of dried blood on her slender fingers, her hanhaba and the skirt of her yukata. He’d spent a fair amount of time in Japan and her costume looked like the real deal.
Shawna Muir rocked in her seat. Her black wig had shifted back on her head.
“We’ll need your house for a few days, I’m afraid. Is there someone you can stay with?”
She gazed out at him through the ravages of her geisha makeup and eventually nodded. “Antonia Blakeley.”
“Good. Are you warm enough? Able to answer some questions?”
She nodded.
He noted the date, time, and witness’ name in his notebook—11/1. 0328. Shawna Muir—and started the digital recorder. “Tell me how Nathalie LeFebre happened to be here tonight.”
“She came with one of the regular dancers in our community. Roland Guest.”
“And how well did you know her?”
“Did? Is she dead?” Shawna Muir pulled the afghan tighter around her. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Here it comes, he thought. Nice and easy.
“Roland and I were once engaged. I broke it off a few months ago because I found out he was seeing Nathalie.” She looked down at her hands which she’d clasped in her lap. “I just thought you should hear the facts from me instead of someone else.”
“Appreciate that, ma’am. Tell me what happened tonight.”
Shawna Muir looked away. At last she said, “Nathalie was complaining she didn’t feel well so we brought her—Roland, Bobby Glass and I—to lie down in my bedroom for a while. Bobby went back to look after Barbara and I asked Roland to get us some ice. I suppose I thought Nathalie might be overheated. It was still very hot.”
That puts her alone with the victim, Morrow thought. “How long was Roland gone before you noticed something was wrong with Nathalie?”
Muir hesitated. It was hard to read whether she was trying to be accurate, working up a lie, or calculating how her answer might hurt or help Guest. Amazing how many women shielded their exes.
“A minute, perhaps. He’ll kn
ow.”
“Did you leave the bedroom at all while Roland was in the kitchen?”
“No, of course not. I stayed with Nathalie.”
“Was she conscious?”
She grimaced, causing a new set of fissures to open in her makeup. “At first.” She bent forward and pressed her left hand to her stained hanhaba.
Morrow steadied her shoulder. “Put your head between your knees if you feel faint.”
“No!” Shawna Muir snapped upright in her chair. “I’ll be all right, thank you. I tried to loosen her shawl. I pulled it away and I felt something sticky,” she said, her voice rising. “There was a lot of blood. I … I suppose I lost my head. I remember screaming. I went to the dining room to get help. Then I went back to the kitchen for the … the f-first-aid kit.”
She pressed her lips together but they continued to tremble. She turned her face to the ceiling and shut her eyes. “But I couldn’t find it right away.” Fresh tears tumbled down her whitened face. “And I threw up.”
11/1. 0342. Roland Guest.
Morrow was pretty sure Guest didn’t remember him. No surprise there.
“I can’t think how it could have happened.” Guest sat with his legs slightly apart and his hands on his knees in the self-important posture of a gentleman sitting for a portrait, but the stained shirt and the scratches on his cheek painted another picture entirely. “It’s ridiculous to think someone would have attacked her like this. How is she?”
“I’m sorry, sir. She didn’t make it.”
Guest’s lips twitched briefly. He started to lift one hand up to his mouth but redirected it towards the back of his neck. “What a terrible tragedy.” Guest’s voice matched the unctuous tones of an undertaker. “We’d just announced our engagement. Who could have done this? She was so young, so beautiful. Everyone loved her.”
Give me a break, Morrow thought.
Guest went on to offer his version of the events leading up to Nathalie’s collapse which tracked with what Blakeley and Muir had described.
“How long were you in the kitchen?”
“Only a few seconds. Just long enough to get ice, as I said. I was with Shawna the whole time I was in the bedroom and with Antonia the whole time I was in the kitchen. I was never alone.”
