Price of Innocence

by Patricia McLinn

  It was a good first question. And a much more specific one than the global ones Belichek started with in his own mind. Like how could anyone see murder as the solution?

  There were no satisfactory answers he’d ever found for that.

  Or, the ones it would take the entire investigation to answer, like why had Jamison Chancellor been murdered and who had done it?

  Landis’ question had an answer. One both he and Landis knew. Didn’t matter. It was the posing and answering of the question that got them started.

  Belichek played his role. “Like Maggie said, Jamison Chancellor was supposed to leave for a month.”

  “Left and came back? Or never left?”

  “Never left, pending more information. Or she came back almost immediately, based on the decomp.” Even with no AC, that didn’t happen in a couple days. “Car’s in the garage.”

  The building off the back patio was so small it looked as if it had been built around the compact. A spill of potting soil churned the floor near the driver’s door, probably from somebody trying to get in.

  “She could have gone train, plane, hitched, got a ride—”

  “Not to the mountains. But we’ll have to cross it off. Find out where she was supposed to be and get with authorities there, too.”

  Crossing off possibilities, even improbabilities, was a substantial part of their job.

  Landis nodded. “Everybody thought she was away. Nothing looked wrong. Mail, newspaper, all stopped. Lights scheduled and a neighborhood kid taking care of the back garden. It wasn’t until the neighbor with a spare key came by this evening — yesterday evening—” he corrected in acknowledgment of the arrival of another day, “to borrow a book that they found the body. Looks like she never got out of here.”

  Belichek looked between the uprights of the open railing. Some painter had a picture of kids sitting like this on steps, peeking out at the grownups’ party. Norman Rockwell maybe.

  No party here. The pro cleaners who came in after crimes would have plenty to do, even though the forensic team had taken the grossly stained rug from the front hall off to the lab, along with cartons of other carefully transported evidence.

  “Then where’s her purse and phone?” His turn to ask a question.

  “Killer took the purse with the phone in it.”

  “What’s the fourth key to?” In a pocket, the victim had four keys on a ring. One checked to the garage, a second to the car, a third to the front door. The fourth didn’t fit anywhere, including the Sunshine Foundation, which they’d checked in the past hour. “And why take the purse? He took the time to check out the rest of the house, take what he wanted. He had time to go through the purse and take only what he wanted.”

  “First question’s no good. Do use speculating without more intel. As for the purse, he might have gotten interrupted,” suggested Landis. “He didn’t touch the third-floor office — computer, printer. So, he grabbed the purse on the way out.”

  “They usually start with the purse. Cash, credit cards — and why not take the car? Not a luxury vehicle, but not junk.”

  “A specialist. Computer stuff not on his list, couldn’t be bothered with the car. Pressed for time. Or rattled after killing the homeowner.”

  “You think the mess was from being rattled? Feels dismissive. Going after specific things by the most direct route possible.”

  “Okay. This burglar wasn’t as organized as most and he forgot to start with the purse, had to grab it on his way out. Maybe interrupted by Jamison Chancellor.”

  “That’s a big one — killed first? Or surprised the burglary in progress?”

  “Trick question,” Landis objected.

  Murderers trying to look like a burglar rarely looked like burglars panicked into murder. Landis knew the signs as well as he did. Not to mention the body’s position right where it would be if someone fired from just inside the doorway. As if the victim opened the door to someone with a gun and backed up or heard someone at the door, headed that way, only to be met by the intruder who’d let themselves in.

  Landis kept going. “Maybe the killer wanted something in the purse and it was easier to grab the whole thing.”

  “Something that gave away the identity of the killer? Or something the killer needed and killed her to get?” Belichek expected no answers, so he asked another question. “Something to do with her work?”

  “Doesn’t seem likely.” Landis’ view of partnership was full-time devil’s advocate. He did the job damn well. “What could she have done at the Sunshine Foundation to get herself killed? Not smile enough?”

  The organization gave funding, training, and support to struggling low-income families, with its definition of family open-minded.

  “Have proof of embezzling, misuse of funds, sexual misconduct, illegal political contributions, drug smuggling, laundering money for the mob—”

  “Whoa, Belichek. Remember, these are the people who’re determined to make lemonade out of the lemons the world dishes up. Help the unfortunate.”

  “Can you think of people more vulnerable to being exposed doing something nasty or a group that’d be a better front for bad guys?”

  “Okay, okay, Mr. Optimism. But before we get too deep down that road, it’s my turn. Why didn’t anybody hear the shot — or shots?”

  “Corner lot, so no neighbor on one side. According to Schmidt, next door says he had acoustic insulation put in during recent renovations and nothing from outside is heard inside. Something to check. The old lady behind is across the alley and… well, old lady. Also, possibly shot during the day when most people are at work and kids at school.”

  “She was supposed to have left Labor Day weekend when people were home, so more likely to have heard.”

  “People away for the weekend. Or she was shot during the Fairlington Labor Day fireworks.”

  Landis groaned. “Perfectly timed? If it’s one of those, I’m handing the whole thing over to Terrington.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not. We need to work this timeline. We’ll get her phone records. Talk to people at her work. Confirm the timeline by more than the old lady neighbor who found her and said she talked to her the Friday evening of Labor Day weekend. It’s still going to be a bitch to pin down this long after.

  “You know what the homicide detective’s gold mine is?” Landis didn’t expect an answer. “Twenty-four hours before the victim dies and twenty-four hours after. And it looks like we don’t have a single second of those forty-eight hours. Not a nugget, not a trace of dust. Nobody saw anything, heard anything, suspected anything. Jamison Chancellor had no enemies, never did a bad thing in her life, those who benefit financially from her death don’t want it, and the ME says no sexual assault.

  “On top of which, Jamison Chancellor apparently spends the twenty-four hours before getting dead alone, packing for a trip, talking to nobody, seeing nobody. And we don’t come on the scene until three weeks after she dies. That trail isn’t cold, it’s Duluth in January.”

  “We build it slowly—”

  “Not the pebble and mountain stuff again. We’ve got nothing there, either.”

  “Knowing what’s not part of the mountain is also important.”

  “Well, we’ve got one hell of a discard pile, but nothing else.”

  Landis drained the last of his coffee and levered himself off the step. His shirt still looked white, unwrinkled. Belichek’s shirts never looked that good, even when he first put them on, that’s why he’d taken to wearing dark shirts.

  Landis said, “Starting phone records tomorrow — actually, later today. Right now, I’m going to the office, check with the team that made notification, get a couple hours’ sleep, then get started. How about you?”

  “Think I’ll stick around a while, look through papers in the upstairs office.”

  They’d seen neat, undisturbed files in the third-floor office on their first survey.

  Unlike the small room on the firs
t floor with the antique desk, the upstairs office was clearly where she worked. The computer setup. A broad expanse of built-in desktop in front of a large window facing the back. An upholstered chair with a knit throw on it, bracketed by bookcases.

  And oddly, almost eerily, untouched.

  “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything hot. When you come in to the office, we’ll go to the Sunshine Foundation.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  From where he sat, Ford Belichek could see through the office’s entryway to the living room and the back of the photograph still angled on the bookcase.

  He’d asked for it to be fingerprinted. The tech returned it to the same position.

  That photograph bothered him.

  The cousins were adults or nearly so — too old for it to have been taken before their aunt’s murder.

  He also wondered about the way it was turned. As if someone meant to pivot it — so they didn’t have to look at it or so it didn’t look at them? — but didn’t finish the job.

  He chewed on that a minute before he rose from the step and headed upstairs.

  Another, narrower set of stairs came up from the back door, through a back hall off the kitchen. Probably originally servants’ stairs, from a time when lots of people had servants or were servants.

  He didn’t pause at the second floor, with its two bedrooms and 1950s bathroom, but went directly to the third floor, where the slanted roof and bump-out window created an office, with a bathroom beside it, decades younger but smaller than the one below.

  First, he prowled the office, looking at book titles and studying photographs of smiling faces, blooming flowers, and blazing Christmas trees.

  He took the desk chair, drew on gloves and pulled open the drawer with files marked “bills” and “financial statements.” These files were too thin to have everything. Most likely backups. The tech guys had the computer, which likely had the up-to-date information. He might get to these files eventually, but first he’d check material that didn’t duplicate.

  He let the drawer’s own weight slide it closed.

  He got up and returned to the bookcase. Crouching before it, he pulled out several photo albums and six bound books filled with writing. He selected the most current and went to the end. It ended in August. The handwriting was slanted, with dots trailing the i’s and crossbars displaced from the t’s. But it was surprisingly readable.

  He dropped into the cushioned chair with a matching ottoman, flipped back to the start of that journal and started reading the soul of Jamison Chancellor.

  DAY ONE

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Shock didn’t last forever.

  It couldn’t. Humans adjusted. Accepted. Moved on.

  Hendrickson York had seen it many times.

  He’d done it himself once before with Vivian.

  He’d do it again.

  He just had to control the situation.

  He stood at the side of Jamie’s desk in the modest offices of the Sunshine Foundation. The top of her desk was cleared of its usual neat but ever-proliferating piles because of her hiatus to write another book.

  There’d be no sense moving to this office to mark his ascendence in the Sunshine Foundation, because it had been one of Jamie’s conceits to have all the offices the same size. The ones on this side of the hallway each had the same low half-circle window.

  It all looked a little strange at this early hour.

  But he hadn’t been able to return to sleep after the police came to his door with the news, so he’d come here.

  Maybe he’d move the foundation headquarters. Somewhere polished, where donors could visit.

  He stooped slightly to look out the window from this angle. He’d seen the view from the numerous guest chairs, of course, but not from the chair behind the desk.

  If anything, he believed the view from his desk was better.

  That would have been typical of Jamie.

  Who was dead now.

  He needed to remember that.

  To continue thinking things through, so he said the right things.

  Shock wouldn’t last. He’d adjust, accept, move on.

  Especially with what he’d learned from Jamie.

  And he had learned from her, as young, as inexperienced, even naïve as she’d been, especially at the start.

  Ah, the start. So unlike the more recent years.

  Those early days of the Sunshine Foundation, when Jamie’s youth and inexperience had been the charm, the key to unlock donations, when each dollar had seemed a miracle, rather than a pittance. And she had so looked up to him. That couldn’t last forever, either.

  Nothing did.

  Not even shock.

  He’d already gone a long way toward adjusting.

  Fairlington County Police Department News Conference

  Good afternoon. I’m Public Affairs Officer Elliott Kepler. That’s E-L-L-I-O-T-T. K-E-P-L-E-R. This will be a brief update at this time, with further updates as circumstances call for them. First, we will have a statement from Chief of Detectives Wilson Palery. That’s W-I-L-S-O-N P-A-L-E-R-Y. Then I will take a limited number of questions. All inquiries will come through my office. You all have my contact information. Now, Fairlington County Police Chief of Detectives Palery. Chief Palery.

  Chief Palery: Thank you, Officer Kepler.

  Ladies and gentlemen, the Fairlington County Police Department was called to a residence on Red Hill Street in the Old Town area of Fairlington at eleven thirty-seven last night. A person was found deceased within that residence.

  The call originated from a neighbor who obtained entrance to the residence with a key known to have been shared by the homeowner.

  We are not releasing the identity of the deceased or other matters pertaining to the investigation, pending official identification of the victim and notification of next of kin.

  We ask the media’s cooperation and professionalism in not speculating on the identity of the deceased to avoid potentially causing distress to family members. We will share the identity when it is confirmed.

  Public Information Officer (PIO) Kepler: Thank you, Chief.

  Chief of Detectives Palery leaves the room.

  PIO Kepler: Now, I’ll take a few questions.

  Washington Post: That residence, the one where there was police activity last night, is the home of — is listed as the property of Jamison Chancellor, founder of the Sunshine Foundation. Do you have any reason to think the victim is not Jamison Chancellor?

  PIO Kepler: We are not speculating on who the deceased is or who it is not. When we have ascertained the identity of the deceased and in accordance with the pursuit of our investigation, we will release that information.

  WTOP Radio: Why has the identity not been established?

  PIO Kepler: That is an aspect of the investigation which we will not go into at this time.

  Washington Post: Will you confirm Jamison Chancellor owns and has been known to live at that property.

  PIO Kepler: We are not speculating on the identity of the owner of that property.

  WTOP Radio: It’s not speculation. It’s on the tax records and—

  PIO Kepler: We are not speculating. If you have no other questions…

  Unidentified Media: (shouting)

  PIO Kepler: ABC.

  ABC: Has the family been notified of the identity of the deceased?

  PIO Kepler: We are not commenting on identity or family connections of the deceased. Ted, your question.

  Fairlington Leader: What about the connection to Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney Margaret Frye? Why was she at the scene?

  PIO Kepler: Members of the Commonwealth’s Attorney frequently go to crime scenes. Ms. Frye, in particular, works closely with our department—

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: Yeah, real closely.

  Unidentified Media: Shut up, Zeedyk.

  PIO Kepler: — in making sure our investigation leads to the conviction of the perpetrator.

  Fair
lington Leader: What was the cause of death?

  PIO Kepler: That will be determined by the medical examiner.

  NBC: When will the cause of death be released?

  PIO Kepler: You’ll have to ask the ME’s office its likely timeline for making that determination.

  Washington Post: How is the investigation proceeding without the victim’s identity?

  PIO Kepler: There are many avenues to pursue.

  Washington Post: Including the official identity?

  PIO Kepler: Of course.

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: What about the detectives on this case? Why aren’t they here?

  PIO Kepler: They are pursuing the investigation.

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: That’s Tanner Landis as lead and Ford Belichek as second? Why isn’t Detective Terrington the secondary? He was originally, wasn’t he? And Belichek was supposed to be on vacation.

  Fairlington Leader to Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: Hey, you had that on your podcast this morning. How do you know—?

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: Found sources. Try it, you might like it. Does the department not have confidence in Detective Terrington? Is that why he was pulled off? Was Belichek called back from vacation?

  PIO Kepler: The Fairlington County Police Department does not discuss personnel matters publicly. The entire department is working as a team to investigate this situation. All—

  Death, Murder, Violence Podcast: Yeah, yeah, but it’s clear the higher ups didn’t have confidence in Terrington or why stop Belichek from going on vacation? Or is it Landis they don’t—?

  PIO Kepler: The Fairlington County Police Department has confidence in all its detectives or they would not be detectives. That’s it for now, everyone. I’ll let you know when we have more information to share.

  ~~ End news conference transcript ~~

  CHAPTER EIGHT