The Sense of Death: An Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel (The Ann Kinnear Suspense Novels Book 1)

by Matty Dalrymple

  Joe nodded. “It’s not getting much news coverage, I’m guessing that Morgan Firth and Bob Dormand have something to do with that.”

  “Must be nice to be loaded.” Harry put his glass on a table topped with an enormous floral arrangement. “I’m going to take a walk around, see who is here,” he said, and wandered off through the crowd.

  Joe looked at his watch, wondering how much longer they would need to stay, and when he looked up Elizabeth Firth’s parents stood in front of him. Bob Dormand, in his early sixties, was thin like his daughter but tall, with a narrow, almost gaunt face, his skin stretched tight over prominent cheekbones, and grey hair cut in a crew cut. He had a sharp beak of a nose and icy blue eyes. Joe had learned he had been on a record-breaking rowing team when he had been at Penn and now spent many of his weekends doing competitive ocean sailing. In other circumstances, even if one had not known of his prominence in the Philadelphia business community, one would have recognized him as a man to be reckoned with but now he was just a grieving father, his eyes shot with red, his face haggard.

  Where Elizabeth had inherited her whip thinness from her father, she had inherited her beauty from her mother. Amelia Dormand was of medium height with a softer, more rounded figure than her daughter but with a sense of athleticism one didn’t get at a gym—Joe knew she spent most of her days in the barn of the Dormands’ Chester County horse farm. She was in her late fifties and up close Joe could see the tiny lines of crow’s feet at her eyes and a slight loosening of the skin at her throat, but from a distance—and not a very great distance—one could easily have mistaken Amelia for Elizabeth’s taller, shapelier sister. During the entire investigation Joe had never seen her cry, but the tautness of her mouth and her rigid posture reflected a pain as great as did her husband’s bloodshot eyes. She carried a seemingly untouched glass of red wine. Bob Dormand released her elbow to extend his hand to Joe.

  “Good of you to come,” he said. “Official business, I know, but even so ...”

  Joe shook his hand and nodded an acknowledgement, then turned to his wife. “Mrs. Dormand.”

  She nodded back. “Detective.”

  “Any news from the analysis of the ...” Dormand’s voice trailed off. “... of what they found?”

  “Nothing yet,” said Joe. “These things can take some time.”

  Dormand sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It’s been so long now that she’s been gone. I suppose all the trails are cold by now.”

  “It does get more difficult the more time that goes by but we haven’t thrown in the towel yet, there are still leads to follow up on.” Joe hoped Dormand wouldn’t ask him what those leads were.

  Dormand took a sip of his drink—it looked like a Manhattan—and said, “Yes, I appreciate all the time the police department has put into the case.” Joe scanned his face for a sign of sarcasm but the man just looked very, very tired.

  Over Dormand’s shoulder, Joe saw Biden and Morgan Firth making their way toward them, Biden in the lead and Morgan walking beside him and whispering angrily to his son. As they reached the group, Morgan stepped back, looking tense and aggravated as Biden reached out to touch Amelia Dormand’s shoulder.

  Amelia turned and, when she saw who stood next to her, her entire body jerked back, sloshing wine onto her dress and onto Biden’s shoes. Her expression never changed but the blood drained from her face, leaving her skin looking almost white against the blackness of her dress.

  Biden himself stepped back at Amelia’s reaction and after a moment stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you—”

  “You didn’t startle me,” said Amelia, staring into his face. The guests who stood near the group had noticed the incident and there was a pocket of silence around them.

  “Come on, Biden,” said Morgan Firth, “they’re obviously having a conversation with Mr. Booth ...”

  One of the waiters had noticed the incident and held out a small stack of cocktail napkins to Amelia. Instead of taking them she handed the waiter her glass. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said and, turning from the group, left the room.

  Biden Firth stood looking after her with his mouth open. The waiter turned to him to offer the napkins but Biden gestured him away. “What did I do?” he asked.

  “You startled her, Biden,” said Morgan, taking his son’s elbow. “We’ve got to be going anyway.” He handed his glass—scotch on the rocks to Joe’s eyes—to the waiter who was still hovering nearby with Amelia’s abandoned wine glass in his hand then turned to Bob Dormand. “Nice service, Bob,” he said. “Just what Elizabeth would have wanted.”

  “Thanks,” said Dormand, looking after his wife—he seemed to be still processing the incident and Joe realized he had probably had several drinks already.

  Morgan Firth nodded to Joe and, still grasping Biden’s elbow, steered him toward the door through which Amelia had left.

  Bob Dormand shook his head and, evidently having forgotten Joe, made his way to the bar. Joe handed his glass of tonic water to the waiter, who was now having some trouble juggling the glasses he was collecting, and followed Amelia and the Firths into the lobby. He arrived just in time to see Morgan Firth propel his son out the door and raise his hand to flag down one of the valets. He wondered how Scottie Firth was going to be getting home.

  Joe assumed that Amelia had gone into the ladies’ room off the lobby and stood for a minute so that he could keep an eye on the door. Then, realizing she was hardly likely to turn fugitive, he began wandering around the lobby and down the hallways that led off it. He was passing the restaurant—the Green Room—which had emptied of the lunch crowd and was not yet open for dinner when he caught a glimpse of one black-clothed figure sitting at a table by the windows, her back to him. He stepped into the restaurant. A maître d’ who was examining the reservation book looked up from his desk. “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t open for dinner until six—”

  “I was looking for the lady,” said Joe.

  “I don’t believe she wants company,” began the maître d’ but Joe flipped open his badge and, after glancing at it, the man shrugged and gestured him into the restaurant.

  Amelia sat at a table set for four, her hand resting on the base of a water glass, looking out the window. Joe circled toward her so that he wouldn’t come up on her from behind but she still gave a start when she realized she wasn’t alone.

  “May I?” asked Joe, gesturing to one of the other chairs. She hesitated then nodded. He sat down and looked out the window onto the Wilmington street.

  “They said I could sit in here for a few minutes,” said Amelia. “They brought me some water.”

  “That was nice. It’s a beautiful room,” said Joe.

  “Yes,” said Amelia, looking around disinterestedly. She lifted the glass of water to take a sip and the ice in the glass chattered loudly in the empty room and she put the glass down and clasped her hands under the table.

  “You’re cold,” said Joe, rising and starting to take off his jacket.

  “Oh, no, thank you, I’m fine,” said Amelia. “It’s just ...” She turned to look out the window again.

  Joe waited and, when she didn’t continue, said, “Just what?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. They sat in silence for some time, her shivering not abating, and eventually she said, “Perhaps I will borrow your jacket after all.”

  Joe stood up, removed his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What happened?” said Joe.

  Amelia didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “I can’t be around him anymore,” she said. “I tried to make it clear that I would prefer that he not attend the service and certainly not the reception, but he was her husband ...” She grasped the water glass again and took a sip, the ice cubes chattering again. “I arranged not to have anyone speak at the service because I couldn’t very well exclude him, could I?”

  “Why can’t you be around him anymore?” asked Joe.
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  Amelia looked at him directly for the first time. “Because he killed her.” Joe was silent and in a moment she looked away. “There’s no evidence of that. Of course you know that. It’s just what I believe.”

  “Why?”

  “They weren’t a good match,” said Amelia. “I knew there would be trouble eventually.”

  “Well, there’s trouble and then there’s murder—” said Joe.

  “Yes, I know,” said Amelia impatiently, although whether she was impatient with Joe or with herself, he couldn’t tell. “As I said, there’s no evidence, it’s just ...” she paused and a small, sad smile came to her face “... mother’s intuition.”

  “Well, I can’t arrest a man based on intuition,” said Joe, “but I don’t discount it either. Oftentimes what seems like a hunch turns out to have some logic behind it, it’s just that the logic is hidden, even from the person with the hunch.”

  Amelia looked at him again. “Yes. I think that’s true,” she said. She thought for a time, running her finger across the condensation on the outside of her water glass. Finally she said, “I never loved anyone the way I loved my daughter. She was so beautiful and smart and strong. But no one ever made me as mad as she did.” Again the small smile came to her face. “Does every parent say that about their child? But she could be very willful and there were times when it took every ounce of my self-control not to over-react. And I consider myself to be a very self-controlled person. But Biden is not self-controlled. He’s ...” she searched for a word, “... outwardly controlled. Controlled by his environment, by the people around him. I think Elizabeth prodded him one too many times and he snapped.” She looked over at Joe. “But as you say, it’s not exactly grounds for arrest.”

  “No,” said Joe, “but I appreciate you telling me this. Every bit of information—or intuition—helps.” They sat in silence for a minute. “Were there times you recall seeing him angry with Elizabeth?” Joe asked. “Especially in the months before she disappeared?”

  “There’s one time I’ve thought about a lot,” she said immediately. “Biden took us—Elizabeth, me, Bob, Morgan, and Scottie—to the Fountain for dinner.” Joe nodded. He had never eaten in the Fountain Restaurant in the Four Seasons Hotel but he had once arrested a suspect in an embezzlement case in the hotel lobby. “I remember it was January, about a month before Elizabeth disappeared, because Biden kept ordering bottles of expensive champagne and telling us how this year was going to be his year. He got pretty drunk and I could tell Elizabeth was getting angry with him. Bob thought it was funny, he kept egging Biden on, getting him to say things that made him sound foolish. Anyhow, the check came and all the men got out their wallets but Biden said it was his dinner and his treat ... but they rejected his credit card. It turned out later that it was just some administrative mix-up with the credit card company but you can imagine how embarrassing it was for him, especially with the way he had been acting.” Amelia took a sip of water. “Well, no one knew what to do. I think Bob and Morgan both thought it would look even worse for them to try to pay again after Biden had rejected their initial offers. But then Elizabeth got her purse out and handed her credit card to the waiter and when the waiter was gone she said, ‘My God, Biden.’ She said it with ... contempt. She wasn’t even looking at him, which somehow made it even worse. And she didn’t say it loud but everyone at the table heard her. Everyone was very embarrassed. Bob and Morgan started talking about sports and Scottie started sorting through her purse for something but I was looking at Biden and he gave Elizabeth a look ...” She shook her head slowly. “I thought at the time that if he had still had his steak knife he would have stabbed her, he looked that furious.”

  “Did Elizabeth ever say she had felt threatened by Biden?” Joe had of course asked this question before but he wanted to see if he got the same answer.

  Amelia sighed. “No, she never felt threatened.”

  “Would she have told you if she did?”

  “She wouldn’t have had to. If she had felt threatened she would have left him. And taken Sophia.”

  “Do you feel that Sophia is in any danger?”

  Amelia laughed bitterly. “Not until she’s old enough to talk back to him,” she said, then glanced at Joe. “I’m sorry. It’s not something to joke about. No, I don’t think she’s in danger. But at the same time I don’t like the idea of him having her. Now that we know Elizabeth is gone I plan to start looking into ways we can have Sophia live with us. It’s what Elizabeth wants.”

  “Wants?” asked Joe.

  Amelia blushed. “Would have wanted.”

  “But you said ‘wants,’” pressed Joe.

  Amelia for the first time Joe had known her seemed uncertain, her usual composure rattled. “You’ll think I’m even more foolish that you must already think,” she said.

  “There aren’t many words that I would be less likely to apply to you than ‘foolish,’” said Joe.

  She glanced at him with that wan smile then looked back at her water glass. “Sometimes when Biden isn’t home, when it’s just Joan there, I’ll go over to see Sophia. I’ll play with her, I’ll watch her if Joan needs to run out for something. Sometimes I’ll just sit in her room with her when she’s napping. A couple of those times, when it’s quiet ...”

  She was silent so long that finally Joe said, “Yes?”

  “I hear her. She tells me to take care of Sophia.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. It’s not exactly like I can hear her talking. But it seems very clear what she’s trying to tell me.”

  “Always about taking care of Sophia?”

  “Yes.” Amelia gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “You’d think she might at least tell me she misses me—” and then she gave a little hiccupping gasp as tears came to her eyes. She picked up one of the napkins from the table and quickly dabbed her eyes. “Good heavens, where did that come from?”

  “You miss your daughter,” said Joe.

  “Yes. Yes, I do,” said Amelia, composing herself. After a moment she folded the napkin and placed it next to the water glass then leaned forward and rested her hand, still cold from the glass, on Joe’s. “I appreciate you listening,” she said. She removed her hand and stood up, shrugging Joe’s coat off in a graceful gesture. She smoothed it and handed it to him. “I hope you prove who killed Elizabeth and I hope the bastard goes to jail and dies there.”

  Amelia Dormand walked to the entrance of the restaurant, acknowledging a small bow from the maître d’ and leaving Joe standing with his coat over his arm and the feel of her fingers still on his hand.

  Chapter 14

  The following Tuesday, Ann was scheduled to fly from her home in the Adirondacks down to West Chester for another engagement for the Van Dykes. Ann would be visiting two locations—one a house near Kennett Square in southern Chester County and the other a townhouse near Rittenhouse Square in Center City Philadelphia. Mavis, who was always solicitous about not overtaxing Ann, had proposed looking at the Kennett Square house on Tuesday and the Center City house on Wednesday. On Tuesday morning at 7:30, Ann pulled into the small parking lot of Adirondack Regional Airport to meet up with Walt Federman.

  Walt was a retired welder who did a variety of odd jobs around the Tupper Lake area to fund his obsession with flying, including ferrying Ann to engagements in the Northeast in his 1979 four seat Piper Arrow. Walt especially liked flights to the Brandywine Airport in West Chester—not far from Ann and Mike’s childhood home and Mike’s current home—because it was within walking distance of Turk’s Head Books where, if the stop in West Chester was only a few hours, he could pass the time stocking up on books (mainly history) and reading in the bookstore café. Today, since it was an overnight visit, Walt would be renting a car and staying at the Microtel. Mike and his partner, Scott Pate, always extended an invitation to Walt to stay at Mike’s West Chester townhouse but Walt always declined, saying he didn’t want to intrude.

  Aside from the radio communi
cation required by the flight, Walt rarely said more than a few dozen words during their excursions. Being a quiet person herself, Ann liked Walt’s taciturn nature but hadn’t fully appreciated how well she and Walt suited each other until, for one engagement a few months before, Walt had been stricken at the last minute by a virulent stomach virus and Mike had had to arrange alternate transportation for her. That engagement had been unpopular with Mike since the only plane available to charter was considerably more expensive than Walt’s and eliminated most of the profit from the engagement; it had been unpopular with Ann because the pilot, who had read an article about her a few weeks before, plied her with questions during the entire trip and Ann arrived at the engagement tired and irritable and knew she had not done her best work for the clients.

  The flight from Adirondack Regional to Brandywine Airport took about two hours through cloudless April skies. Mavis Van Dyke was waiting for her in the small passenger terminal, a rental car for Walt waiting in the parking lot.

  Normally Mavis would contact Mike when she had located a house she wanted Ann to visit but the Kennett Square house was an exception. Mike had been contacted by the owner, Flora Soderlund, whose children were encouraging her to sell the family home which she had shared with them and her husband, Harold, for almost 50 years until the children had moved away and Harold had died two years ago. Flora had seen a rebroadcast of a History Channel show that had featured Ann and wanted to engage Ann to give her advice on what to do. Her primary concern was that her dead husband would be angry if she sold the house and moved away. Mike had explained that Ann did not converse with spirits but Flora had been sure Ann could help her.

  When Mike quoted the standard rate for such a service, Flora let out a quickly suppressed squawk and sheepishly apologized for wasting Mike’s time. Mike briefly considered dropping the rate—although he hated to set a precedent—but then came up with an alternative he was quite pleased with. Both Ann and Mavis would visit Flora’s house, with Mavis paying half the fee for what Mike thought was a high probability of being able to experience a sensing, although she was sworn to silence throughout the proceedings. Mike himself would sit out the visit since three people descending on Flora’s house seemed excessive. Flora quickly accepted the proposal.