by Lisa Fernow
They’d search Cookerly’s place when the search warrant arrived and interview him if and when he came to. Until then the only way to help Christian and Antonia was to work Nathalie’s murder. The best use of his time at this point was to return to the dead woman’s home to help Jackson with the search. Jackson had been at it off and on for two days, going through her papers.
Nathalie LeFebre’s apartment was the sort of place that any normal man would run from. White carpeting, couch, chairs. Fancy draperies dragging on the floor. He found Jackson in the living room crammed into a chair at the dead woman’s desk; a spindly, feminine affair of white and gold painted wood. Jackson had evidently made progress, judging by the neatly sorted stacks of file folders and the bemused look on his face.
“Anything interesting?”
Jackson extricated himself and stood up. “Miss LeFebre saved everything and I mean ever-y-thing. Kept her love letters in manila file folders like it was a business.”
“That’s cold.”
“You know that’s right. She was writing to all of them: Guest, Sanchez and Cookerly.”
“Playing them off each other, no doubt.”
“The dates from Guest’s e-mails overlap when he was engaged to Miss Muir. He was two-timing her with Miss LeFebre.”
“That all fits.”
Jackson opened one of the folders and handed him a letter. Morrow scanned its contents. What Guest lacked in originality he more than made up for with specificity. “Whew.”
“Porno, if you ask me, sir. Christian Cookerly sent her poems. At least I think they’re poems. They don’t make much sense.”
“Really?”
“See for yourself.” Jackson handed him a second manila folder. Morrow opened the file, selected the top page, and read:
Locked inside,
My passions are declared to no one
You hold the key to my heart
If only you knew how I see you.
Remote and beautiful,
You are the lodestar I steer by
But I am a fearful navigator
If I follow
Where will you take me?
Be there dragons?
“Dragons?”
Jackson shrugged. “Wait till you see what she wrote.”
The dead woman’s e-mails to Christian Cookerly had started out flirtatiously but they didn’t stay that way. The young man’s replies expressed the usual sad arc of hope, desperation, disillusionment and anger.
Nathalie’s final communication to Cookerly, dated the afternoon of the party, read,
You’re deluded. Stay away from me.
Christian’s retort was heartfelt and to the point.
See you in hell.
Nathalie LeFebre had led Cookerly on and then skewered him. And he’d tortured himself at the Halloween party by watching her flaunt her triumph with Guest.
“Here’s a couple from Eduardo Sanchez you’ll want to see.” Jackson handed him two sheets of heavy stationery. Each carried the Argentine’s initials engraved at the top of the page. Morrow picked out one of the lines:
Be on that plane, my beloved, my infuriating darling, or I will send someone to collect you. I will not wait any longer. Your devoted Eduardo.
The second one, written in early October, had changed tone. The letter ended:
Querida, if I ever find you have betrayed me with another man, I will kill you both.
Morrow refolded the letter and passed it back. “What do you make of that?”
Jackson gingerly lowered himself into an upholstered chair that looked too delicate to support his weight. He shook his head. “Motive is great but like you said we have to prove means and opportunity. If he’s the bad guy he couldn’t have planned it because he didn’t know Miss LeFebre and Roland Guest had, uh, gotten together until the night of the party. As far as we know,” he amended. “Do you think he meant what he wrote, or was he just showing off?”
“Good question. My experience? It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch.”
“If that’s true then Christian Cookerly—”
“He’s out. According to Antonia Blakeley Cookerly left her house before the bottle went missing.”
“You believe her?”
“This time? Yes. In any case we’ll ask Sanchez to corroborate.” Of course someone could easily have doubled back and snuck in. Antonia’s house was one big security leak.
“So that dog won’t hunt. Why do you suppose Miss LeFebre did this, sir?”
“Ego, maybe. Scalp collecting. Bargaining power. What’d you get on the financial front?”
“She didn’t seem to need money. She paid her bills on time and didn’t have any overdrafts or anything.”
“What’s the word on the autopsy?”
“Should be finished today or tomorrow.”
Morrow pushed aside the cushions on the couch to make a place for himself and sat down across from his partner. He sorted through the neatly stacked magazines on the glass coffee table. Martha Stewart Living. Town and Country. Elegant Bride. “Ever read these things?”
“Well sir, my wife likes Martha Stewart for the recipes. Last week she made me those little square cakes. ‘Petty fours,’ she says.”
“Three months of bridal magazines here. Looks like she was planning her wedding without the groom.”
“Do you think she was, maybe, hoping?”
Morrow flipped through the most recent issue. Ads for wedding gowns, engagement rings, honeymoon resorts and breast-enhancing tablets cluttered the pages. “You should broaden your horizons.”
Jackson scratched his ear, looking sheepish.
Morrow turned the page expecting to find one of the usual tipped-in postcards and instead found two pieces of paper folded in half. The first was a handwritten invoice in Spanish from Klement Antiquedades in Buenos Aires, Argentina, recording the sale of a Regency mahogany and ebony drum table to Roland Guest of Rothenberg Guest European and Asian Acquisitions, Atlanta, Georgia, USA. The second invoice, from the same shop, described a Colombian emerald, also sold to Roland Guest. In feminine handwriting someone had converted the pesos to U.S. dollars. Ooh-rah. He passed the invoices to Jackson. “Is that Nathalie LeFebre’s handwriting?”
“It sure does look like it, sir. Rothenberg called these guys before he died. This could tie her to the Rothenberg case.” Jackson bobbed up and down in his seat. “But how did she get the invoices in the first place?”
“She had a key to Guest’s place on her key ring. Maybe she went through his desk when he wasn’t home.”
“Do you think she was in on some sort of conspiracy?”
“Or wanted something on him. Why do you think she filed these in a bridal magazine?”
“Hiding them from Roland Guest?”
“What woman would leave bridal magazines around for her intended husband to fall over?” Of course Nathalie LeFebre might have gotten her kicks from hiding Guest’s invoices in plain sight. Knowing his fear of commitment she could count on him not to leaf through her bridal magazines.
“Maybe the invoices were her hold on him?”
“Blackmail in exchange for marriage? Could be. No sign here of anything made out of mahogany and ebony. Any emeralds running around loose?”
“No safe, but there’s a jewelry box in the bedroom.” Jackson trotted out of the living room and returned with a miniature silver casket. He opened it and laid its contents out on the coffee table. “My wife has five times more stuff than this. First it was a birthstone ring. Then it was earrings. Now she’s at me to buy her an eternity bracelet.”
Morrow picked up one of the earrings and examined it. “This is costume jewelry. Where do people hide their real stuff?”
“Sock drawer, cereal boxes, draperies—oh.” Jackson went to the window, knelt and patted down the hem of the dead woman’s curtains. “Got it.” He drew out a silk drawstring pouch. Pulling it open he produced a gold chain, a pair of gold earrings, and a tiny zip-lock bag containing a green gemsto
ne.
“Now we’re cooking.”
“You know that’s right. Think this is the same emerald?”
Morrow held it up to the light. “We’ll have to authenticate it. Either way we’ve got enough for a warrant.” His cell phone rang. He took the call. “Yes?”
“The trash was empty but it was in the recently accessed files.” Antonia, who he’d foolishly trusted to be safely stowed was, instead, on the line. “You have to come over right now. How soon can you get here?”
“Hey, slow down. You’re going fifty in a twenty-five zone. Where are you?” He mouthed to Jackson, “Antonia Blakeley.” Jackson edged his chair closer to the couch and Morrow held the phone away from his ear so Jackson could hear her end of the conversation.
“Someone tried to erase it,” Antonia continued, acting like she hadn’t heard his question. “But they didn’t realize, or maybe they forgot, the computer tracks the last few web pages, and I found it.”
Computer? Christ on a stick. “Where are you?” By that point the question was rhetorical.
There was a hesitation at the other end of the line and then she answered in an aggrieved tone, “I didn’t break in, I have my own key.”
“Didn’t I tell you we needed a search warrant to take the computer?”
“You said you needed one. I know what that meant. You wanted me to go. You practically begged me to.”
Morrow tried to keep his voice level. “You realize you’ve just destroyed evidence.”
“I just got evidence, if you’ll just listen.”
“Which we’ll be unable to use in court, thanks to you.” The fact that she’d touched the keyboard and obliterated any other fingerprints had obviously not occurred to the woman. He signaled to Jackson to bring him a pencil and paper from the desk. “Tell me exactly what you found.”
“I told you, someone erased a martial arts site. I think it might have been Shawna.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because she uses Christian’s computer all the time and there’s a fan on the site like the one she had at Halloween.” She gave him the URL.
“Why would she bother to erase it?”
“Because it’s got Japanese weapons on it. Shawna was carrying a Japanese fighting fan that night.”
He said, “A cheap tourist imitation.”
“How do you know?”
He said, “I wrote a short monograph on them.”
“There’s no need to get sarcastic with me.”
“Antonia, anyone could have erased that site—even you. As far as the legal system is concerned it’s inadmissible now. And the only way anyone could have killed Nathalie LeFebre with that fan would have been to conk her on the head.”
That seemed to sink in because she went quiet. He heard her exhale noisily into the phone. Then she said in a slightly calmer tone, “I’m going to ask Shawna if the site is hers, and if it is, maybe she has some idea why someone wouldn’t want us to see it.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“You don’t think this is helpful? Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to iron my dress with my butt waiting for you to do your job.”
CHAPTER 44
Forgiveness
SO OKAY, ANTONIA THOUGHT. I touched Christian’s computer and maybe I ruined Morrow’s chance to use it as evidence, and maybe he was right and the website erasure didn’t mean anything, but Christian’s life is at stake. One thing’s for sure, if I could turn back time I’d break into Christian’s apartment all over again. I just wish I didn’t have to be on the receiving end of Morrow’s acid reflux.
The best course of action, she decided, would be to return to the hospital, guard Christian, and get him to come to.
Her cell phone rang as she was pulling into the visitors’ parking lot. It turned out to be Shawna wanting to know why she had called. When Antonia filled her in on what had happened to Christian, leaving out the part about having temporarily suspected her, of course, Shawna insisted on joining her.
Antonia waited in the main lobby, checking out the portraits of the serious-minded white men who’d founded and supervised the hospital over its history. Shawna arrived a few minutes later wearing a pair of Antonia’s army pants and a fresh Braves sweatshirt, carrying her purse and an overnight bag. Antonia was touched to see the concern in her friend’s face.
Shawna hugged her. “How is he?”
“Nobody knows. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Shawna handed her the overnight bag. “I thought you might want to stay over.”
Antonia led Shawna up to Christian’s ward and convinced the nurse to let Shawna into his room by making her a fictitious sister.
Antonia pushed open the door and drew back the privacy curtain. She approached the bed and kissed Christian’s forehead. “Hey Christian,” she said softly. “I’m back. I brought Shawna.” She saw no response but at least his color looked better.
Shawna tiptoed into the room and peered at him from the end of the bed. “How’s he doing?” she whispered.
Antonia pulled out a paperback she had taken from Christian’s apartment. Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth hadn’t been much of a choice but it was better than a technical manual. “He hasn’t come to yet. I thought I’d read to him.”
“Can he hear us?”
“I don’t know. But I have to do something or I’ll go crazy. Have a seat.”
The hospital staff had arranged for a rollaway cot to be set up at the far side of the room. Shawna placed her purse down on it and sat. “I’ve been praying.”
“Me too, but more as insurance.” Antonia plunged in, feeling like Judas. “I went to Christian’s apartment to see if I could find a reason for someone to try to poison him. I found a website that had been recently erased. A martial arts site. I thought it might be yours. Any idea why someone might have erased it?” She gave Shawna the site name, watching to see if it prompted any reaction.
Shawna combed a stray hair back into place behind her ear. “That’s probably the site I bought my fan on, the one I used for my Halloween costume. I remember at the beginning of the summer I was looking at a set of shuriken—ninja stars—for my collection and I bought the fan. I thought it would make a good decorative accent, but it didn’t. But it turned out to be perfect for my costume.”
Shawna hadn’t even known Nathalie then. The explanation was so innocent. Antonia cracked up. “I’m sorry.” In between bouts of laughter she managed to get out, “You’re going to think I’m a complete lunatic. For a second I thought maybe you’d bought it to use on Nathalie and didn’t want anyone to know when you’d placed the order.”
Shawna worked her jaw like she’d taken a sucker punch. “What?”
“I’m sorry. It was a stupid thought. Never mind.”
Shawna stood up. Her freckled face was flushed as if she’d been running. “I can prove when I bought it.”
“That’s okay, I believe you.”
“I was the one to break it off with Roland, if you remember.”
“I swear, I believe you. Christian said he was going to rebuild his hard drive. He probably erased the site himself.”
Shawna said, “Well then, who do you think tried to poison Christian?”
Antonia didn’t have to think twice. Roland was the obvious choice. He’d been connected to two deaths in one year, and the whole business with Miles Rothenberg falling into a river had never felt completely right. And Morrow had followed Roland to El Abrazo. Maybe it hadn’t felt right to him, either. Could Roland have snuck back into the house and taken the pill bottle?
Shawna said, quietly, “You don’t have to answer that.” Antonia saw the pain in her eyes and knew her friend must be missing Roland; not the louse he turned out to be but the husband he might have been.
Shawna drifted over to the window. A box of purple latex gloves had been left on the sill. She tugged at one of the gloves and drew it out. She took the index finger of the glove and pulled it like it was a rubber ba
nd, then tossed the glove onto the cot. “Ah, well, it doesn’t matter now.”
“I’m really sorry, Shawna. About everything.”
“So am I.” Shawna gathered her purse and swept out of the room.
Not knowing what else to do Antonia pulled up a chair, opened Bucky Fuller, and started to read. Apparently in a shipwreck a piano top worked as a life preserver, but that wasn’t to say the best way to design a life preserver was in the form of a piano top.
A piano top in a shipwreck, Antonia thought. That’s what I am.
CHAPTER 45
Loose Ends
OAKLAND CEMETERY WAS QUIETER than it had been the last time Morrow had visited. The mockingbird that had sung during Rothenberg’s funeral was nowhere to be heard. Only the occasional MARTA train rumbling in the background interrupted the stillness of the burial ground.
After paying his respects at Miles Rothenberg’s grave, Morrow made himself comfortable on the wrought iron bench facing the Lion of Atlanta memorial where the stone lion lay dying on a Confederate battle flag. Soldiers’ graves, simply marked with the name of each of the honored dead, dotted the lawn in orderly rows. No mystery as to how or why they had died.
Earlier in the day he’d tasked Jackson with a few loose ends: find out if the Japanese company sold a weapon to any of the suspects, find out where each suspect had traveled in the past year, and fill in their criminal history. Jackson had delivered.
The Japanese website Antonia had found on Cookerly’s computer was in fact Shawna Muir’s but the company confirmed she’d ordered her ersatz fighting fan in June, before Nathalie had appeared on the scene at El Abrazo.
Robert “Bobby” Glass
Travel: Sabbatical at Oxford University, UK (previous year) and field trip to Morocco (March)
Criminal History: None
Roland Guest
Travel: United Arab Emirates (February), Italy (March), France (March) with Shawna Muir, Italy (May), Argentina (January, June, and August - twice), Colombia (September)
Criminal History: None
Shawna Muir
Travel: France (March) with Guest
