AHMM, May 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Complicated, Bolt said. Potentially volatile. And there was a good chance one of these folks killed Atherton. I wasn't buying the burglary-gone-bad bit, and how many people outside this room would have a motive to murder a guy from Newark? To get through this, I'd have to rely on that legendary tact and sensitivity Bolt had talked about.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, hi, guys,” I said. “How's it going? I'm Lieutenant Johnson, and this is Sergeant Bolt. So, April. I hear you found the corpse. How'd that happen, exactly?"

  Meredith broke into sobs, and April looked ready to faint. Not quite as tactful and sensitive as I'd hoped, I thought, and tried again. “Look, April, maybe it'd be better if Sergeant Bolt and I talked to you privately. Let's go to the dining room and—"

  "No, you don't,” Jason broke in. “April's a minor. You can't question her without a parent present. I'm coming with you."

  Meredith stopped sobbing. “She should have a parent with her, but not you. She doesn't trust you—she stopped trusting you the day you left us. She'd rather have me with her. Wouldn't you, dear?"

  "She'd rather have someone steady and sensible,” Krista shot back. “You're too unstable to guide her in this situation. She needs her dad. Right, April?"

  "That's enough,” Otis said, decisively. “Lieutenant, I'll accompany April. She's as close to me as to either of her parents—at least as close. Come on, April. Let's go."

  April's face had gone completely white, her body completely rigid. Obviously, she didn't relish the idea of having to single one of these guys out as guardian-of-the-moment. Neither did I. “Or we can all stay here,” I said. “It's really not so hard, April. Just tell me what happened this morning—what you saw, what you did."

  April nodded—a quick, nervous nod. “Okay. Well, I spent the night at Dad and Krista's house. Then I came over right at eight—I always spend Saturdays with Grandpa, and today Andrew was making waffles, and then he was taking me to the mall to buy me an iPod. So I knocked, but no one answered, so I put down my suitcase and laptop, and I unlocked the door, and I came in, and I saw him."

  She paused, shaking visibly. “You're doing great,” I said. “Keep going."

  "I saw him,” she said, tearing up. “I knew he was dead. I wanted to run upstairs, to make sure Grandpa was okay, but I couldn't make myself do it. I was too scared."

  "That's all right,” Otis said, patting her hand. “I'm an old man—I've lived my life. I'm glad that you thought only of yourself, that you didn't worry about me."

  A tremor of sheer pain passed over her face. “I did worry about you—I was worried sick. But I was too scared to take another step into the house. So I ran outside and called 911 on my cell, and then I ran down the street to Mrs. Franklin's house."

  "Hold on,” I said. “Your mother lives next door, right? And your father lives on the other side? But you ran to a neighbor's house?"

  April nodded miserably. “I didn't know what else to do. See, on Saturdays I'm supposed to leave Dad's house by eight sharp, and I'm supposed to spend the day at Grandpa's, and I'm not supposed to go to Mom's house until eight o'clock Sunday morning. So I was afraid Mom would be mad if I went back to Dad's, and I was afraid Dad would be mad if I went to Mom's too early, so I ran to Mrs. Franklin's. She called Mom and Dad, and Mr. Franklin went to wake Grandpa up, and he called to let me know Grandpa was okay, and I was so relieved—but so awfully sad about Andrew.” She looked down at her hands, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

  I turned to Otis. “You slept through whatever happened here last night, sir?"

  "I'm a heavy sleeper,” he said. “And my hearing's not what it used to be.” He paused. “You should know we were all together last night. April was in a school play."

  "That's right,” Meredith said, with a brave little smile, directing a brave little beam of mild pride at her daughter. “And she was so nervous—I was afraid the pressure would be too much for her, and she wouldn't be able to step onstage at all. Luckily, she had a very small part, so she was able to remember all her lines."

  Jason gave a half-snort. “If you didn't think she could deal with stage fright, why didn't you let her go out for soccer? That'd do her more good than being in some stupid play. She needs more exercise. Obviously."

  Blushing, April hunched forward in her chair, as if trying to contract her body; Meredith reached out to take her hand. “April's very delicate. I will not have her participating in some roughneck sport. All the exertion, the injuries—"

  "Let's get back to last night,” I said. “What time was the play?"

  "It started at seven,” Otis said, “and ended around eight thirty. And I think April did an outstanding job.” He shot a warm glance at April, a triumphant one at Meredith.

  "What happened after the play?” I asked. “You all went to your homes?"

  "No,” Krista said, casting a sideways look at her husband. “Andrew surprised us all by inviting the cast members and their parents to a party at Pizza Pandemonium. He included Jason and me in the invitation too. It was a very friendly thing for him to do."

  "That's not what you said last night,” Meredith put in sharply. “You said he was grandstanding; Jason said he was trying to buy April's affection. Andrew had to beg you to come.” She turned to me. “That's the kind of man my Andrew was—so warmhearted, so generous. He was so nice to them, even though they—"

  "Cut the crap,” Jason said. “You weren't happy about the party either. You told Andrew he shouldn't have sprung the party on you without warning. And Otis was so mad he said hardly one word to anybody at the party. He fumed the whole time."

  "Odd that you can comment on how I acted the whole time,” Otis said, “since you and Krista left the party and didn't come back for nearly an hour, both smelling of gin."

  "Calm down, folks,” I said. “When did the party break up?"

  "Most people left around ten thirty,” April said quickly. I was surprised to hear her speak up. She looked around the room apprehensively, then went ahead. “But we were all there till almost eleven, because of the fight."

  "Fight! Oh, April!” Krista cried. “What a word to use! There was no fight."

  "No,” Jason said, “just a little disagreement. When the bill was brought out, Otis said he'd take care of it, and I offered to help. But Andrew said he wanted to pay the whole thing. We discussed it, and then we agreed to let Andrew pay. No big deal."

  "It seemed like a big deal to you,” Otis said. “You were shouting at Andrew—and swearing. Your language got so foul that I had to tell April to wait in the lobby."

  "The way I remember it,” Krista said, “you did most of the shouting and swearing, Otis—you and Meredith. I couldn't believe the things you called us."

  "Sounds like a fight to me,” I commented, and turned to April. “And that's how it sounded to you, too, huh? Tell me more."

  "Why should she?” Jason demanded. “It's none of your business. Andrew was killed by a burglar. How does that give you the right to ask personal questions?"

  "We don't know who killed him yet,” I said. “Until we do, I got the right to ask any questions I want. April, I hate to put you on the spot, but tell me what you heard."

  She stared at the floor. “Well, after Grandpa had me go to the lobby, I couldn't hear whole sentences, just words that were shouted especially loud, and most of them were words I'm not allowed to say. But I heard ‘drunk,’ and ‘trophy husband,’ and ‘control freak.'” She looked up at her mother. “Am I allowed to say ‘slut?’”

  "No more,” Otis said. “Lieutenant, all you need to know is that Jason was abusive to poor Andrew. At one point, he threatened to punch him. He even demanded that Andrew take back the locket he'd given April."

  At that, April gripped the locket she was wearing. “Is that the locket, Miss April?” Bolt said gently, speaking for the first time. “It looks lovely. May I see it?"

  April hesitated, then walked over to him. “It's a star,” she said shyly, “because Andrew said I was the
star of the show. It's solid gold, and it's got a ruby in the center."

  She held it out to him, then gasped as the ruby popped off and fell to the floor. Bolt bent down, scooped up the ruby, and leaned in for a closer look at the locket.

  "Don't worry,” he said. “I'm sure a jeweler can—oh. It seems the locket has already been repaired once. That looks like a speck of household glue in the center of the star. Did the stone come loose last night, Miss April?"

  "No.” April turned slowly to look at her father. “Not while I had it. See, before I went to bed, Dad had me give him the locket. He said it was too valuable for someone my age to keep. But this morning, he said he'd decided I could keep it after all."

  "Okay,” I said, getting impatient. Why was Bolt making such a fuss about a trinket? “So you left the restaurant around eleven, and you all went to your homes? What did you and Andrew do when you got here, Mr. Colchester?"

  "We went straight upstairs to our rooms,” Otis said. “It had been a long evening. I'm sure I was asleep by eleven thirty. Andrew probably was too."

  "No, he wasn't,” April said, taking me by surprise again. She blushed. “I couldn't sleep, so I got up around midnight and took out my laptop and went online, and I saw that Andrew had posted a message on my wall."

  "On your wall?” I said, confused. “A wall outside your father's house?"

  "She probably means Mr. Atherton posted a message on her MySpace page,” Bolt explained. “Is that right, Miss April? You see, sir, a ‘wall’ is a portion of a MySpace page on which friends post messages to the page's owner. It's unlike an e-mail message because all the owner's other friends can read it."

  How does Bolt keep up with this stuff? “What did the message say?” I asked.

  She blushed again. “He said I'd done a great job in the play and I was a star—like that. It made me feel so proud, knowing all my friends could read it. And now that he's gone, well, now I'll never take that message off my wall."

  The technical guy Bolt had been talking to earlier came to the door. “I need a word with you and the sergeant,” he said. “Dining room?"

  We followed him there. “I checked into those matters Sergeant Bolt asked about,” he said, “and there's no way anyone climbed in through that open window last night. The screen isn't bent back far enough, the window wasn't forced open from the outside, and there are no footprints in the flower bed right underneath."

  I was glad Bolt had had those things checked out—it would've taken me maybe another week to think to do that. “What about the cell phone found on the body?” I asked.

  "No prints,” he said. “Plus, deceased sent a text message at 2:12 this morning. Here—I copied it out for you."

  He handed me a slip of paper: “Krista—I see that your kitchen light's still on. It's silly to keep squabbling like this. Maybe you and I can be the peacemakers. Come over for a drink and we'll talk. Andrew."

  Well, that settled it. Andrew must have felt too restless to sleep after all the conflict. He saw Krista's light and figured maybe the stepmother and the stepfather-to-be could smooth things out, so he invited her over. She came, but not to smooth things out. Probably, it wasn't premeditated—they were talking in the library, she got mad, she stabbed him with the letter opener. He tried to crawl away, but she figured she couldn't leave him alive to incriminate her, so she finished him off with the award. Then she panicked, tried to fake a burglary, and ran home. Had she told her husband about it? Was he an accessory? Come to think of it, maybe Jason came to the house with her. Maybe he killed Andrew. For a minute, I'd thought we could settle this case quickly, but now I saw that tying up loose ends might be a lengthy process.

  Sighing, I handed the slip of paper to Bolt. “Looks like a long haul,” I said.

  He read the message, then tilted his head. “'Haul'—is that a new term for a text message? I must make a note of it. Yes, that is long. Text messages tend to be short—the tedium of the medium discourages verbosity—and many texters employ abbreviations; here, each word's written out. Yet Mr. Atherton seemed familiar with the technology favored by young people—MySpace, iPods—so one would think he'd be familiar with the shortcuts frequent texters use. Even so, it's possible he did in fact send the message, making Krista the probable murderer. So, sir! Which suspect will you question first?"

  Rats. I'd planned to start with Krista, but now I didn't feel up to it. “First,” I said, “I'll take a look at Andrew's room. Tell the family we'll question them one at a time."

  The guest room looked pretty basic—twin bed, small bureau, narrow desk. On the desk sat Andrew's laptop, with his e-mail still open. Skimming the last few messages, I saw one from April thanking him for the locket, one from an online wine vendor saying his credit card had been declined. Opening the closet, I saw designer-type suits, nice-looking shirts, shoes fresh from the kinds of stores I don't have the nerve to walk into. I was checking the labels when Bolt walked in.

  "They seemed dismayed to hear about the interrogations, sir,” he said. “And—oh, my! Are those Rockports?"

  "Yup,” I said. “His clothes look upscale too. But check his e-mail."

  While Bolt read the messages, I gazed at those suits and thought about the declined credit card. It looked like Andrew had been spending too freely. Spending—we'd have to be careful about that with another kid on the way. I'll admit it: Ellen and I sometimes haven't planned too well, and we've had to stretch to make it to the end of the month. But at least we don't indulge in luxuries, like Andrew had. When you get into the sort of fix he was evidently in, it's not just poor planning, and it's not just bad luck.

  "It's no accident when things come completely unglued,” I remarked to Bolt.

  "Excuse me?” he said, looking up from the laptop. “Oh—you mean the locket. I assure you, sir, you give me too much credit. It's sheer luck the ruby came unglued at such a convenient moment. But I'm still unclear about why the ruby had to be glued back on. How did the locket get damaged? By the way, sir, I found Miss April's MySpace page. Would you like to see the message Mr. Atherton posted at 12:07?"

  I leaned over to read: “April—great job in the play! Who knows? Maybe some day my special star will shine brightly in Hollywood.” Very sweet. But time to stop stalling. “Let's talk to Otis first,” I said. “It's his house, so he's the logical place to start."

  We decided to hold the interrogations in the library, hoping the bloody carpet would make the killer nervous, easier to crack. While Bolt fetched Otis, I strolled around, gazing at the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all jam packed. Otis had quite a collection, all right. I spotted a book called Childhood Psychosis and figured maybe it'd help me gear up for the new kid. The chapter titles were tough to decode, though, so I hadn't made it past the table of contents when Otis and Bolt walked in. I put the book on the desk.

  "No, I don't need my lawyer present,” Otis said after I'd read him his rights. “I have nothing to hide. I gather you don't think poor Andrew was killed by a burglar?"

  "Maybe not,” I said, cagily. “Then again, maybe. What do you think? Do you notice anything missing? Anything a burglar might have taken?"

  "I do notice one thing,” he said. “Many years ago, I won a tennis tournament—"

  "We know,” I cut in. “We saw the award on your mantel, in the living room."

  He looked a little startled. “But I don't keep the award, as you call it, in the living room. I've always kept it here in the library, on my desk. Why would a burglar move it?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, impatient to get to more important stuff. “Well, take a look around, see if you notice anything that's actually missing."

  He spent ten minutes at it. “I don't notice anything missing,” he said, “The fact is, I doubt a burglar would find much worth stealing here. I'm not poor, Lieutenant, but I'm no spendthrift, either. A good house, yes, and good investments, and a good stock of cash on hand for emergencies, but I've never squandered my money on jewelry and such. Those paintin
gs—they're prints. And if a burglar took them down in hopes of finding a safe, he was disappointed, as you see. I wouldn't put valuables into a hole in the wall, where any criminal with a stick of dynamite might empty that hole in minutes."

  Otis might not have realistic ideas about the methods house burglars use, but he was right: There wasn't much worth stealing in this room. “So, how well did you know Andrew?” I asked. “Was last night the first time you met him?"

  "Oh, no,” Otis said. “He's visited here several times. He and Meredith met about two years ago in Hawaii, at a convention for migraine sufferers. They ran into each other again a few months later in San Diego, at a conference for carpal tunnel victims. And he proposed perhaps a year ago, in Miami, at a rally for acid reflux survivors."

  "And he always stayed at your house,” I asked, “not Meredith's?"

  Otis's shoulders got stiffer. “Certainly. Meredith has a strong sense of propriety, Lieutenant. So do I—and so, I'm glad to say, did Andrew. None of us thought it would be proper for him to stay at her house until they were married. Andrew spoke of a spring wedding, but now poor Meredith is alone again."

  "We're sorry for her loss, sir,” Bolt said. “Could you tell us what Mr. Atherton did for a living?"

  He took a moment to answer. “He was an entrepreneur. He's had several ventures. Currently, he was freelancing as a Web page designer.” He paused again. “Jason and Krista may tell you Andrew had few assets. I have no reason to believe that was true."

  "Did you look into it?” I asked.

  "I didn't consider it my business,” he said. “Meredith's a grown woman. And though she's unfortunately not well enough to work, she's provided for. Her late mother, my ex-wife, left her a comfortable sum three years ago, and she'll get more when it's my turn to go. And her mortgage is paid, and I've made sure she's built a solid portfolio. So I had no worries about her finances, whomever she might marry."

  The next question was delicate. “Andrew was younger than your daughter, wasn't he? Maybe ten years?"

  "Twelve,” Otis said. “I see what you're getting at. Jason put it more bluntly last night. He said that now that Meredith has the inheritance from her mother, she could buy herself a younger husband. A ‘trophy husband'—that was his offensive phrase. He also said Andrew was lavishing gifts on April to win Meredith's favor. He even tried to force Andrew to take the locket back. That would have been cruel—April's so fond of it. I do hope it can be repaired. I was very sorry, and very surprised, to see it had been damaged."