“We have that in common. What did you do?”
“A little contract work for the government.”
The look on Elliot’s face was the sort Hector was familiar with in the Armed Forces. Officer-to-officer, Elliot Marks would say no more about what sort of contract work he did for the government and Hector wouldn’t ask. The ‘work’ was classified.
Hector nodded his understanding and leaned back in his chair. Elliot Marks just became a lot more interesting. They ordered Earl Grey tea and Marks nibbled on a butter and honey scone. Every bite was examined and puzzled over before it landed in his mouth.
“I guess we don’t really need the books now though. Everyone will appreciate the gesture, but the murder club has come to a dead stop. The central character in all of this won’t speak to us and there’s no way to break him that I can see.” Hector took a sip of tea, examining his companion covertly. “Unless you can think of a way, given your experience...?”
A ghost of a smile played over his lips and then faded and Marks was back to his usual intense, fidgety self. “We know from Avery and Helen’s talk with Karen Haggerty that she would do anything for Duncan Carmichael. The central question I have, is what went wrong with persuading Jenny Blake that he was the good guy?”
“Does it matter what it was? He could’ve flown into a jealous rage over Jesse Sutcliffe. The main thing we’re up against is Karen is Duncan’s alibi. She hasn’t changed her story in forty-four years. Either he has some kind of hold over her or—”
“Or she’s telling the truth.” Elliot sighed. “Yes, I thought of that too.”
“Why does this case matter to you, my friend? Compared to the missions you must have had in your intelligence career—purely speculating, of course.” Hector winked. “Why are you devoting your leisure hours to solving a case with such a low profile?”
Elliot closed his eyes, seeming to think over the question, or perhaps he was questioning the wisdom of answering it.
“The large answer is that the unsolved murder of a seventeen-year-old girl in 1975 becomes a crack in the foundation of law enforcement that weakens the whole structure.” His eyes fluttered open and he smiled. It was a tight smile that gave Hector pause. “The small answer—the personal one—is that I don’t like messes where I live.”
Hector was beginning to realize that Elliot Marks was a dangerous man. Not to him or to members of the murder club, but to any individual in St. Ives who believed that he or she had gotten away with murder. Elliot Marks was a highly skilled intelligence operative who gave every appearance of being anything but—and he was coming for them.
Chapter Eleven
SOLOMON BRICE was approaching them from across the street, head down, scrolling through his phone. His long lanky stride reminded Hector of a new recruit. They’re all elbows and knees at that age. Unkempt hair and no sense of themselves, he thought, watching the young reporter’s approach. That’s why Brice went after Elliot in that embarrassing way at the meeting. Trying to make a name for himself. He did that all right.
“Hey there—Solly Brice!” Hector waved him down. “Hold up. We’re trying to figure something out. You’re just the guy to help.”
Solomon started in surprise. He looked up from his phone, saw Hector and Elliot sitting at a table in front of the book store, and veered in their direction. Hector expected him to make an excuse for why he couldn’t stop but surprisingly, the boy plunked himself down and flung his head back to clear the hair from his eyes.
“I saw your wife just now,” he said to Hector. “She’s directing Annie Get Your Gun, right? I was covering the rehearsal. She’s got a ton of cred with the cast. The play is going to be a hit.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the compliment along. She’s been having second thoughts about the choice of a musical for an amateur group. Worried they won’t pull it off.”
“Oh, she shouldn’t. They’re great. Very polished. She’s done an amazing job.” The boy looked at them expectantly. “You said you were trying to figure something out. What is it?”
“We’re trying to find a way to get at Duncan Carmichael. He’s blocked us from talking to him. Maybe the paper could profile him before his run-up to mayor? We could feed you the questions.”
“Can’t. We’ve been blackballed. Pearl’s quitting the paper.”
Elliot looked up from the scone he’d been examining. “Whatever for?”
“Councilman Carmichael is putting the screws to her father to force her to quit.” Solomon scowled. “This is pure retaliation for Pearl going to the police about the Blake murder. Intimidation of the press is what this is. Denton thought we were there on behalf of the Herald because we used our credentials to gain access. We all know that was a smokescreen. Pearl can’t fight back without exposing the murder club and Briggs doesn’t know what’s going on. I wasn’t going to tell him until I had a story to file.”
“Jesse Sutcliffe warned us Carmichael was dangerous.” Hector shot a look at Elliot. “It appears Pearl is the first casualty of our little octet.”
Elliot didn’t respond. Staring off into space as usual.
“Captain, oh my captain,” Hector declaimed. “What are we going to do? We can’t let Carmichael force poor Pearl out of a job because she helped us.”
“Denton must’ve called him and he got spooked,” Solomon said miserably. “She’s only a kid, the bastard.”
Hector suppressed a grin at Solomon Brice calling Pearl a kid. Was the boy even shaving yet? Still, it was good to hear some righteous indignation out of him at last. That pose of weary cynicism he’d adopted was wearing thin.
Marks sat in his chair as still as a statue. His tea cooled in his cup, his scone went dry on his plate. The late September day rose and fell around him like a breath.
“We’ll pull a con,” he said at last. “That’s how we’ll break him. Duncan Carmichael doesn’t know what we know. We tell him what we believe happened that night but we’ll frame it as fact. We tell him we have proof if he gives us trouble. He’s scared of something coming out or he wouldn’t have shown his hand this way. He’s hiding something and he’ll talk to us if he thinks we know what it is he’s hiding. He’ll want to control the narrative.”
“How do we get into see him? He’s not going to let us in the door.”
“We’re taxpayers. He has no choice if we’re coming to complain about the potholes on our street. Once inside, he’ll hear what we have to say.”
The longer they talked over the plan, the more Hector wondered if Elliot had been pulling a con on them all along. The stutter, the hitching gait, the walking stick, even the sickly little boy persona began to feel like a ruse as he watched Marks’ mind at work.
✽✽✽
ELLIOT LEANED heavily on his walking stick, offering his hand and a shamefaced smile as he introduced Hector and stated their business. “It’s about the p-potholes, Councillor. The damage to tire rims when we drive over one of those things is awful.”
Carmichael bid them sit down, a polished smile on his face. Offices in old buildings all looked the same unless they’d been given a facelift. This one hadn’t. Not large, nevertheless, it had two stately windows facing King Street, dark panelled walls and a marble fireplace that Hector doubted was functioning. Carmichael moved behind a desk that was positioned between the windows and stood at his chair, facing the door. His assistant was on the other side and Hector knew she was waiting for the signal to end the meeting with an ‘urgent call’.
“We know you’re b-busy, Councillor and we don’t want to take up much of your time. We’ll make this b-brief.”
Hector witnessed the change in the man’s demeanour. Carmichael’s smile broadened and he waved off Elliot’s apology. “Nonsense. I love meeting with my constituents. That’s the part of the job I like best,” he chuckled. “Now, I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll take a look at the road crew’s schedule and see if I can pull some strings to get them on your street by next week.”
&nbs
p; Hector thought it would be best to go slow. Build trust. Let the man think he had the upper hand. Elliot Marks had other ideas.
“That’s wonderful. Since we have you here, Councillor—is Imogene Haggerty your daughter?”
Carmichael’s friendly expression changed dramatically. “What kind of question is that? Who are you guys?”
“We belong to a book club and believe it or not, we’re here to help,” Hector said hurriedly. “We think you might have a blackmailer. It’s in your best interest to answer the question.”
“A blackmailer?” His handsome features sagged. “Frank Zwick is Imogene’s father. I ought to know. He was my best friend at the time, and he’s the guy named on the birth certificate. Karen married him before Imogene was born.” Duncan stood up, all six-foot-three of him, and leaned across the polished oak desk. “What’s this all about?”
“Jenny Blake,” Elliot said bluntly. “The girl who was murdered the same night you slept with Karen Haggerty. We have information that Jenny was your girlfriend at the time.”
Duncan Carmichael’s ruddy face lost colour. He sat down heavily, the palms of his hands still planted on his desk as if needing the support.
“I ask again,” said Elliot. “Are you the father of Imogene? According to your testimony, you were in bed with Karen at the time of the murder. Mrs Haggerty is your alibi and continues to be. Is that because you fathered her child?”
“No! Nothing happened!”
Carmichael regained control of his emotions. His smooth civility returned. “Nothing happened because we never got that far. I’m not proud of the way I conducted myself that night. It’s not something I like to talk about or even remember. Jenny walked in on us. It was terrible. The whole thing shook me up pretty badly. I wasn’t used to being in that situation. I got dressed to go after her and try to explain but Karen stopped me. She said it’d be better coming from a woman. She’d go after her and talk it all out, tell her nothing happened. It seemed like the best way to handle it so I waited in the bedroom for them to come back.”
“But they never did.”
“Karen did. Jenny wasn’t with her.”
“You could have left the room at any time. You have no alibi.”
Carmichael’s face hardened. “We knew that’s what you’d think! We knew that’s what they would all think! From the moment Jenny’s body was found, we knew what was going to happen if we didn’t take steps to make sure that it didn’t. Karen is my alibi,” he said forcefully. “And you’ll never break her.”
“She’s still in love with you after all these years.”
“I guess you could call it that.”
“Does your wife know?” Elliot asked.
Duncan lost colour and then became enraged. “Is that a threat?”
“Not at all. A woman is in love with you enough to protect you for decades. Is your wife aware of the danger?”
He blanched. “What danger? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sharing a bond with another woman, a bond that your wife is completely in the dark about, could be dangerous. As Mr Mandela said, there is the threat of blackmail. I meant no disrespect either to you or your wife. Being a lifelong bachelor, I don’t understand the inner workings of marriage.”
Duncan sat back with a loud groan. “I can’t believe this. My wife doesn’t know anything about this and I’m not planning to tell her. You know who’s the real danger—you know who’s duped everyone—Jesse Sutcliffe, that’s who.”
Elliot shook his head, quite firmly for him, Hector thought.
“Mr Sutcliffe has an alibi. He was at the Haggerty house at the time of the murder. He was responding to a call from Miss Blake. A witness has come forward who can place him at the house at the time Jenny was being strangled in the Abbey. He couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“What a load of bull!” Carmichael barked. “A witness suddenly decides to speak up after more than forty years? Sounds like Sutcliffe bought someone off.”
“Sutcliffe isn’t in a position to buy anyone off,” Hector retorted.
Duncan sat back with a caustic laugh. “He’s suckered everyone with his so-called innocence and now he’s suckered you. Sutcliffe didn’t find her there—he put her there! Did it occur to you that he could’ve met her on her way home, killed her and then looked in at the party to give himself an alibi? But no, take his word for all of it. The cops should’ve charged him when they had the chance. They claimed there was not enough evidence or they couldn’t make the conviction stick. The whole justice system is broken. No justice for Jenny, that’s for sure.”
“Was she wearing a puka shell necklace that night?” Hector heard the question come out of his mouth but couldn’t believe he was the one asking it.
“What?” Duncan rose to his feet again, his brow furrowing. “What did you say?”
“A puka shell necklace,” Elliot clarified. “Was Jenny wearing one the night of the party?”
Carmichael was utterly thrown off his game. “I-I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“I think you do,” Marks said, leaning forward. “In fact, I know you do. Come now, Mr Carmichael. What difference does it make to you if you tell us what she was wearing that night?”
“Wait,” he said, his face clearing. “Wait. It doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t affect me or change anything. Yes, Jenny was wearing a puka shell necklace that night. I bought it for her when she got the lifeguard job. I remember she was wearing it because after she caught me in bed with Karen, she took it off and flung it at me.”
“And then what happened?”
“She ran out of the room. I can’t remember anything more than I’ve already told you. I waited in the bedroom for the girls to come back. When Karen returned, she told me she overheard Jenny on the phone and it sounded like she was leaving the party to meet Jesse. That was the end of it. Karen was still up for sex, but I wasn’t in the mood. I was pretty damned angry if you want to know the truth. I tucked in my shirt and went down to the party to get drunk.”
“When was that?”
“It’s in the police report. I rejoined the party a few minutes before eleven.”
The phone rang and Duncan snatched it up, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “I got to take this. Gentlemen, you may show yourselves out.”
The consummate politician, Hector thought as Duncan seamlessly switched gears to discussing golf scores with whoever it was on the phone, making it clear to them he’d said as much as he intended to say.
“He’s not our killer,” Elliot said when they were out on the street.
Hector protested. “He gave Jenny the necklace! He had motive. He had opportunity. Why is he not the killer?
“Psychologically speaking, Duncan Carmichael is all wrong. I knew it as soon as we were introduced. Carmichael is too confident of his powers of persuasion to feel the need to kill.”
“That is pure conjecture.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. I have no proof. But Carmichael didn’t do it. I have a theory of who did—a sound theory—but a sound theory is not enough to take to the police.”
“Who?” Hector asked curiously.
“No. Not yet. It’ll be proven right or wrong in a few days. I don’t want to say anything that’ll influence the opinion of the others. Having been in the service, you’re not as susceptible to persuasion as civilians. Can we leave it there with the understanding that I’ll tell you in good time? Whether I’m right or wrong, I’ll tell you who I believe killed Jenny Blake and why.”
Hector nodded. “I can wait. I trust you.” The odd thing was that he did. “That performance in there,” he began, “you fooled Carmichael into underestimating you. Was that the idea?”
Elliot appeared baffled for a moment. “What performance? Oh, the stammer. It comes and goes, and not always at convenient times. I assure you, Mandela, I am as you see me—a stuttering, lame, aging man with too much time on his hands. This time my speech impediment was useful. Ca
rmichael revealed more than he was aware of. It’s often the way with the guilty that they conceal the unimportant and spill the significant.”
“If you say so,” Hector muttered. He didn’t hear anything significant in what Carmichael had said.
“My great fear at the moment is that there’ll be another murder,” said Elliot.
The announcement was so startling that Hector stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“That’s the trouble with our method. Theories have to be proven first and backed by material evidence and we may never get that far. But we are close, very close to solving the puzzle, and if my theory is correct, we’re racing the clock with a killer.”
Hector was slightly taken aback. “Whose life is in danger, Marks?”
But he would only shake his head with a deep frown.
Chapter Twelve
AVERY SAT in her favourite Muskoka chair with a glass of red wine and watched the Indian summer sun sink slowly behind the trees. The orb was a glimmer between the dark limbs of the fiery maples and russet oaks.
Autumn. Her favourite time of year.
She had a lot of favourites just now, she mused. Too many. Not one word had been added to her work-in-progress. What was she doing with her time? A whole day had somehow dissolved and she was at a loss to explain it.
The derailment began early that morning with Helen and Josie stopping by to say they were going to the library. Dennis was going to talk to Jesse again in light of the new information he’d gathered from Hector and Elliot after their meeting with Duncan Carmichael yesterday.
“Ida Greb is the librarian. Graduated Class of ’75. She’s in the yearbook,” Helen said. “We’re going to talk to her. She might know something. She might not.”
“I think a lot can be learned from those who were not in Jenny Blake’s inner circle,” Josie added. “They were in the Explorers Club together. She saw Jenny in different circumstances. Her impression of the victim could shed some light on why she was murdered. One thing I’ve felt all along is that we don’t know who this girl is. And if we don’t know who she is, we can’t know why she was killed.”
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