CHAPTER 19
I had two questions. The first was simple to ask, difficult to answer: Why? The second required an immediate answer: Did Lesley have Stuart’s help?
“I believe Stuart knew Lesley was going to die that night,” I said. “When I think back on everything he said about traps and cheese, it’s the only thing that makes sense. That party was for Lesley. It was his gift to her. The gift of revenge.”
“Revenge against who?” Holly asked.
“Everyone who was there. Except me, I suppose. I didn’t know them.”
“He wanted you to be there,” Gilroy said. “He wanted you to see the insects struggling to free themselves.” He wandered to the window, gazing out at the street, wearing that expression I’d come to know so well. His wheels were turning. He was putting the pieces together.
The door opened again, and this time Royce Putnam strolled into the lobby, his voice booming. “So this is where everyone is! Chief Gilroy, I’m glad to see you here. Has our child mayor come to his senses?”
Julia put a hand on Royce’s arm. “He hasn’t, but he will. We think Lesley planned to die at her party, and Stuart probably helped her.”
Royce ran a hand through this hair. “That’s a new twist. Puts things in a new light.”
I stole a peek at Turner. He seemed okay with Royce. At least he wasn’t scowling at him. Turner was the forgiving type.
“When I think about what Stuart might have done to his guests,” Julia said. “He could have poisoned some of the food. Thank goodness he never got a chance at his revenge.”
“But he did get his chance,” I said. “His party was his revenge. He insulted his guests, had them arguing, had them present at the murder of his wife, caused them to be questioned and suspected by the police, dragged them all into a future trial. That’s revenge.”
“What did they do that was so terrible?” Julia asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not that. I don’t think it’s anything specific they did, though they’re all inconsiderate, to put it mildly. But Stuart strikes me as the kind of person who magnifies every word and action against him. He’s an innocent Venus flytrap, and everyone he meets is an insect trodding on his leaves until finally he has to snap.”
“Huh?” Turner said.
“Maybe he hasn’t always been that way,” I continued, “probably not or he would have lost it long before now. But when Lesley got sick, he saw everyone, the whole world, as being against him. His last act as a husband was to defend his wife. Everyone at the party had hurt her, not him.”
“Except the chief,” Underhill pointed out.
“Not except me.” Gilroy turned away from the window. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been thinking about it. As police chief, I have responsibilities, and Mrs. Hunter believed I wasn’t carrying them out. She was wrong, but she was ill, not thinking clearly, and that’s what she believed.”
“What responsibilities?” Underhill asked.
Realization dawned in Turner’s eyes. “That?” he breathed.
Every other eye turned his way.
“It’s not your fault,” Gilroy said. “It has nothing to do with you. It has to do with me.”
Turner’s eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t . . .”
“I know you didn’t,” Gilroy said.
“It was stupid.”
“We all say stupid things.”
“I was aggravated.” Turner rubbed his hand along his temple. “She kept parking in handicap spaces. Now I know she was sick, but she never said. I told her to stop parking illegally. Told her I’d given her three warnings and that was all she’d get. She got angry with me.” Turner frowned, puzzled by the memory. “Said I had a weird haircut.”
“You do,” Underhill said.
“Then I told her if she was going to wear such an expensive wig, she might want to check for loose gray hairs ’cause they were sticking out the side,” Turner said.
“Oh, dear,” Holly said.
“I didn’t know she was sick,” he repeated. “I’d forgotten all about saying it. It was wrong, but I didn’t think it was such a big deal, and it was two months ago. I thought the donuts were a peace offering. She was all smiles when she brought them in.”
“Mr. Hunter wanted me to fire you,” Gilroy said. He was still talking to Turner, trying to reassure him. “Or barring that, take severe disciplinary action. I explained you were new and I’d have a talk with you, but I never did. That’s on me.”
“Chief . . .” Turner said.
“I’d forgotten about it too,” Gilroy said. “It was an unprofessional comment, but other than that it wasn’t worth remembering.”
“Yeah, but Chief—”
“It’s so not worth remembering, Turner, that I can’t say for sure if it’s the reason Mr. Hunter invited me to his revenge party. But it’s all I can come up with. In any case, I’m not going to fire one of my officers for a bad-judgment slip of the tongue, and that’s what Hunter wanted.”
I was steaming, for Gilroy and Turner. The young officer, ordinarily both kind and intelligent, was looking like he and his mouth had started World War III. “Lesley was insane,” I said, refusing to curb my language or anger. “You’ve been friends with the Hunters for years. She frames you for murder because of that, that”—my hands became fists—“that meaningless nothing of a comment that wasn’t even yours?”
“Stuart was in on it too, don’t forget,” Julia said. “The two of them were.”
I threw my head back, gaping heavenward. “That’s why she called your name! Not for help. She wanted everyone to think you attacked her, and that’s exactly what they thought. It was all deliberate. I don’t believe it!”
“She allowed herself to be stabbed to death for revenge?” Underhill said, his tone one of disgust mingled with disbelief.
“She didn’t stab herself,” Gilroy said. “At first the medical examiner thought she might have, but he called me after he finished a more complete examination. It’s his opinion that it wasn’t self-inflicted because of the depth of the wound, its sharp upward angle, and the force required to make it from that angle.” He made a stabbing motion with his hands. “It’s harder to pull in than to push out.”
“When was he going to tell us this?” Underhill said.
“He called me half an hour ago.” Gilroy pointed at the phone. “I tried to tell you.”
“We have to get that phone fixed,” Underhill said. “Turner, put that on the to-do list.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On the other hand,” Gilroy continued, “Mrs. Hunter probably made the shallow wound in her hand. The one we thought was a defense wound. The angle was wrong, and it didn’t come close to the force of the chest wound.”
“She didn’t want to live anymore,” Holly said quietly. “Imagine that being your last act on earth. Leaving a legacy of lies.”
Yes, imagine, I thought. I walked over to the desk and leaned heavily on it, looking at the crime scene photos spread like playing cards over the desktop. There was the close-up of a few blood drops on the carpet, probably from Lesley’s hand. “She put a dagger into her own hand,” I said.
“I’ll bet while her husband encouraged her,” Underhill said. “Or helped.”
“In spite of all his nasty comments, he was weirdly cheerful that night,” I said. “To think that all the while he knew what was about to happen.”
“It’s too horrible,” Julia said, shaking her head as though trying to erase the crime’s brutality. “That a man would do such a thing to his wife.”
“We don’t know that,” Gilroy said. “All we think we know is that he was complicit in her murder.”
“Lesley was cheerful, too,” I said to Gilroy, “as soon as she saw you, she perked up. I guess she was pleased all the insects had assembled and the trap could go on as planned.”
I saw a photo of the lapel pin against a leg of the display case and angled it my way.
“That was taken before we talked,” Turne
r said to me.
“I see.” I pulled another photo my way, this one of a pair of daggers, by the looks of them reproductions. And a photo of the cross in the bedroom drawer. The cross Kip had taken.
“Stuart Hunter isn’t innocent,” Underhill said.
“I didn’t say he was,” Gilroy answered.
I once more turned my attention to Gilroy. “Stuart said he invited you to his party because you’re a cop.”
“Given what we know now,” Holly said as she circled around Julia and sidled up to me, “that’s not a strange thing to say.” She drew one of the photos her way, studying it.
“Because in Stuart’s mind, I didn’t do my job as a cop,” Gilroy said. “I was another in a long line of people deserting his wife when she most needed support. Every guest at the party was. They were all last straws.”
“The Hunters, both of them,” Underhill said, his mouth drawn in a hard line. “I’m glad I never knew them.”
“They were different once,” Gilroy said. “Before Lesley got sick.”
I snatched up the photo of the cross in the drawer. “Underhill, do you remember your interview with Kip?”
“The one you said was masterful?”
“Funny. Remember when you told him the cross was worth about three hundred dollars?”
“Sure. He was shocked. He thought he could get a lot more for it.”
“No, he didn’t.” I held up the photo. “Crosses like these are a dime a dozen. I did some research. Small crosses are common artifacts at medieval archaeological sites. Some of them are worth no more than a hundred dollars.”
Gilroy strode to the desk and took hold of the photo. “The question is, did Mr. Dempster know that?”
“At first I thought not,” I said. “Now I know he did. Stuart slipped up just now. He said Kip was interested in the medieval period. He said Kip couldn’t stop talking and reading about medieval archaeological digs. If I can find out the value of a bronze cross after five minutes on the Internet, surely Kip knew.”
“What does that mean?” Julia asked.
“It means that cross was never going to be stolen,” I answered.
Gilroy started to sift through the photos. “Where’s my drawing of the Hunter’s house?”
“Here.” Turner reached behind him, seized the drawing from atop a stack of folders, and handed it to Gilroy.
“All he had to do was walk across the hall to the spare bedroom,” Gilroy said, staring down at his sketch of the Hunters’ second floor.
I tapped the drawing where Gilroy had made two Xs. “Maurice was in the library, his nose in the books, and Jova was in the restroom, hiding out, as she put it. Neither of them would have seen Kip go from the collections room to the spare bedroom.”
Gilroy nodded. “We heard Mrs. Hunter call everyone to the collections room, Stuart asking for champagne, Mrs. Dillman asking where the restroom was, and then silence.”
“Then Stuart shouted about someone stealing something,” I said. “Right after that, before Lesley screamed, we heard Brynne say the house was huge. I’ll bet she was making her way up the stairs.”
“And Stuart began to make his way down.”
He’d figured it out, and without talking to Brynne. I grinned. “That’s what Brynne told me. She started up the stairs as Stuart was coming down the stairs.”
“Then when was Lesley stabbed?” Holly said.
“Right after Brynne spoke,” Gilroy said.
“And Maurice said ‘cheese,’” I chimed in. “At the time he sounded like he was close to the top of the stairs, and he was. The library’s the first door on the right.”
Gilroy looked from Underhill to Turner, using his drawing to make his point. “After seeing that the hall was empty, Stuart made his way downstairs. Then Kip quickly did what he was told to do. Or more likely, hired to do.”
“I thought Brynne was a better suspect than Kip,” Underhill said.
“Brynne was busy trying to figure out what to do with a jade carving,” I said. “When she heard Lesley scream, she ran for the back stairs. She told me it was only three or four feet behind her. Stuart was already on the last step, heading downstairs. If he were forty years younger and could leap down four steps at a time, he still couldn’t have killed Lesley and made it back to the last step in time to run into Brynne.”
“Folks?” Royce said.
We turned in unison.
“In plain English, what are we saying here?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“I’m suggesting Kip stabbed Mrs. Hunter,” Gilroy said. “The cross Rachel found in the spare bedroom was his alibi, proving his attention was elsewhere when he murdered her.”
“Diabolical,” Julia said.
“That’s why he fought the charges, even when there was no doubt he’d taken it,” Turner said. “It kept us focused on the theft.”
Royce gave Julia’s shoulder a gentle pat and then maneuvered his way from the back of our little crowd to the desk. “Chief Gilroy,” he began, “it may interest you to know that on my way here I saw Stuart and Kip shaking hands before they went in separate directions. They looked very friendly and content. Satisfied, you might say.”
“Right,” Underhill said. Reflexively, he checked his weapon.
“Mayor at three o’clock,” Holly warned.
The door swung open. “What’s going on here?” McDermott said, scanning the lobby. “Gilroy? You’re not supposed to be in the station. I’ve got your badge. Want to lose it permanently?”
Gilroy acknowledged McDermott’s presence with a raised chin. “Mr. Mayor, you can fire me if you want, but not until I’ve made my arrests. Underhill, Turner, with me.”
“What arrests?” McDermott said.
Gilroy made his way to the door, straight-arming it open.
“Anything you do isn’t legal,” McDermott shouted.
“It is when my officers are with me,” Gilroy called back.
As he exited the station, Turner spun back momentarily, a huge grin on his face.
CHAPTER 20
Julia kept a lookout at the bakery door while Holly piped “Welcome Back!” in blue icing on the biggest chocolate cake I’d ever seen. Triple-tiered, swimming in chocolate cream, the size of a small microwave oven.
“Did you bake that in a lasagna pan?” I asked.
Holly finished the exclamation point, set the icing bag on the counter next to the real microwave, and grinned at me. “I used three rectangular roasting pans.” She motioned at the crowd that had gathered in Holly’s Sweets. “People would kill me if they didn’t get a slice.”
Underhill drew close, peering at the cake over my shoulder.
“Are you sure he’ll come?” I asked him.
“He’s got to be wondering where we are,” he said, sticking out a finger, moving in to swipe a glob of frosting.
“Not on your life,” Holly said. “Want to lose that finger? I thought I saw Turner here too.”
“Turner’s here,” Underhill said, wisely backing off. “We left the station when the chief ran out to Grove Coffee. Finally he gets how bad the station coffee is. Now even he can’t stomach it.”
“He’ll be sitting at the station, wondering where you are,” Holly said. “His first full day back at work.”
“Yesterday was wonderful,” I said, smiling at the memory. “Wasn’t it great seeing Stuart and Kip hauled to the station in handcuffs?”
“I enjoyed it myself,” Underhill said. “But listen, if worse comes to worse, I’ll tell the chief there’s big trouble at the bakery, like a croissant riot, and we need all hands on deck.”
Holly planted a hand on her hip. “You will not. He’ll have to grab his weapon.”
“That’s all right.”
“It could be dangerous,” Holly said with a grin. “Think about it. He might run into McDermott.”
Underhill jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I might run into him. Turner might run into him.”
“Julia might,” I
said, looking over my shoulder at the door, where Julia was still keeping her watch for Gilroy. “She’s angry, and she’s not going to cool off anytime soon. Last night she talked about assembling a crowd at the mayor’s office, complete with pitchforks and torches.”
“Strictly speaking, McDermott wasn’t involved in the murder or conspiracy,” Holly said. “Or at least that’s what he claims.”
“I don’t like the man, but I believe him,” Underhill said. “After we arrested Stuart, he said McDermott told him about the pin right after it was presented to the chief. The mayor was whining about it, saying the chief wasn’t a serious cop, all because he didn’t put the pin on. He dropped it in a desk drawer.”
“Of course he did,” I said. “Can you picture Gilroy wearing a fancy lapel pin?”
Holly laughed. “Even his cowboy boots are plain.”
“So more than two years later, Stuart remembered the conversation,” Underhill said, shaking his head in amazement. “He filed it away in that strange mind of his.”
“He knew Gilroy well,” I said. “He was sure that pin would still be in the desk drawer, where Gilroy dropped it that day. Or at least he figured there was a good chance it would still be there, and it was worth Lesley having a look.”
A frown crossed Holly’s face. “Hold on. We’re forgetting something. Who told McDermott that the lapel pin was found at the crime scene?”
“Lesley,” Underhill said. “Technically, anyway. She made a recording before she died, and Stuart played the recording over a throwaway cell phone. No caller ID, no tracing possible. Stuart told us about it on our way to pick up Kip.”
“That’s right,” I said. “McDermott claimed it was a woman’s voice, but it sounded like it was filtered electronically.”
“Playing a recording over a phone will give that impression,” Underhill said.
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