by Joy Avon
“But I didn’t tell Quinn about the murder. I only wanted to know why he hadn’t told me that he knew more about the Monica Walker case. He led me to it for a reason. I need to understand why.”
Falk scoffed. “Money, a promotion at the paper. His name splashed across the front pages. Does it really matter?”
“What matters,” Peggy said, “is that you’re working on a case when you’re prejudiced! You never liked Quinn, and now you’re looking for ways to involve him and keep him here.”
“I don’t have to look for ways to involve him. He is involved. He went to Jamison’s house and talked to his wife. He needed information and he tried to get it from Jamison’s own family. How low is that? Then he tried to put pressure on Jamison via Callie. Taking her to the newspaper offices, mentioning the case was about to become hot property again. Jamison felt cornered. You told me that yourself.”
The latter was said to Callie.
She had to admit he was right about that. “Jamison was agitated, yes, and he did ask me to keep an eye on Quinn and find out what he was really after, but—”
“And you agreed to that?” Peggy exclaimed. “You let yourself be used that way? To spy on Quinn?”
She stepped back as if she couldn’t stand to be near Callie. “I understand perfectly now. I don’t have to expect anything of either of you. Goodbye!” And she marched off.
“Peggy!” Falk called after her. “Peggy, don’t be silly.”
But his sister had already walked out the door.
“I don’t want to know what she’s up to,” Falk said between gritted teeth. “I’m only glad I have Quinn here, and she can’t get into any trouble with him.”
“But if he’s not the killer,” Callie said, “and Peggy starts poking around … She just told me she wanted to find a way to clear Quinn of the murder charge.”
“What?” Falk ran to the doors. A few moments later he came back in, shaking his head. “She just drove off. I’ll leave a message on her phone. Meddling is dangerous.”
“So you don’t really believe Quinn’s the killer? You think he or she is still walking around free?” Callie asked.
“I just told you I’m going to check on some things that Quinn told me. Until I know more, I’m not drawing any kind of conclusion. I don’t even have an accurate time of death yet.”
“But the medical examiner will have told you whether Jamison was killed this morning or late at night. Surely he didn’t spend the entire night in his office, so it has to be one of those.”
Falk looked her over. “Clever,” he said in a cynical tone.
Callie pulled her shoulders back. “I just want to help. Jamison confided in me. He asked me to keep an eye on Quinn because he was worried. Now he’s dead. I feel like I let him down.”
“Nonsense. You did nothing wrong.”
“What about that map on his desk? Is it related to the Monica Walker case?”
“I’m not giving out any kind of case-related information. It’s too early. And even if I decide to do so at some later time, it will be to people who are supposed to know it. Not to a citizen who—”
“Is just a pain in the neck?” Callie added contritely.
Falk sighed. “Look, Callie, you did a good job in December. I admit I couldn’t have figured it out without some of the information you supplied to me. But this is different. It has nothing to do with any friends of yours like it did back then. You have no reason to get involved.”
“But I do. Peggy is set on defending Quinn. If she starts investigating on her own to clear his name, she might get into danger. I can keep an eye on her for you.”
Falk scoffed. “Is this some kind of emotional blackmail?”
Before Callie could say anything, he added, “If it is, it’s working. I can’t stand the idea of Peggy sticking her nose into this. It’s too dangerous. She has two small children to consider.”
“Right. So let me do the investigating. I can tell her I’ll share everything with her. Iphy will also agree it’s better that way. Come on. Please?”
Falk rubbed his face again, apparently none too eager to give her carte blanche.
Callie pleaded, “Look, I also have a ton of information about the Monica Walker case that people called in after my TV appearance yesterday. I think there are might be valuable bits and pieces in there that can help with the Jamison murder now. Provided both cases are connected, of course.”
She gave Falk a probing stare.
He looked away from her, then returned her gaze and sighed. “All right then. Yes, I do think they’re connected somehow. I don’t think that Jamison happened to die just as the cold case he once worked on was opened up again.”
“Good. That’s one thing we agree on. How about this deal? I’ll give you everything I know in exchange for an open mind on your part about Quinn. I’m personally mad at him for the way he used me and how he lied to me, even right before you arrived on the scene. He told me when I asked about it that he was no journalist. Then to you he suddenly admits he is.”
Falk shook his head. “There’s something about the whole story he gave me that doesn’t gel. That’s why I have to look into it.”
He pointed a finger at her. “You know what? You go to Book Tea and get all that information you claim to have. Then come back here. I should know a little bit more by then. We’ll sit down and talk about it. How does that sound?”
Callie was a little miffed about his word choice—“claim to have”—like she had lied about it or exaggerated its importance, but she nodded her assent readily enough.
This was her ticket into the investigation, and she intended to use it the best way she could.
Chapter Seven
At Book Tea, Callie was relieved to see Peggy’s car parked outside. As she came in via the back entrance, she already heard Peggy’s indignant voice explain to Iphy, “Callie is in cahoots with Ace. That’s the last thing I would have expected of her. I don’t know what to do now. I want to help Quinn. But if I can’t trust Callie, can I even trust you? Whose side are you on?”
Iphy responded in a calm tone, “I think you misunderstood Callie. And of course you can trust me. I liked Quinn from the first moment I laid eyes on him. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and while I think he was a bit furtive about a thing or two, I can’t picture him as a killer. I think we should help him—at least look into ways to brush up his image with your brother. So he can be released again.”
“Good. But how do we do that?”
Callie entered and said quietly, “I think I can help there.”
Both women turned to her, Iphy with a welcoming smile, Peggy with a hostile stare.
Callie quickly explained, “I’m here to pick up the notes collected after the public call for information yesterday and give them to Falk in exchange for an inside look at the investigation. It will give me some leverage to plead for Quinn.”
Peggy pursed her lips. “You don’t trust Quinn yourself.”
“Quinn lied to me. Several times. Or at least he twisted the truth. I want to know why. If we’re going to defend him against a murder charge, we’d better make sure we know we’re defending someone who’s truly innocent.”
Peggy seemed to want to protest, but Iphy nodded at her. “Well put.”
Peggy hesitated and considered Callie’s words. At last she said with a sour expression, “I suppose you’re right. We would look pretty stupid if he turned out to be guilty anyway. But I can’t see how he could be. Why would he kill Jamison?”
“We can’t know that,” Iphy said, “because we have no idea why Jamison was killed. I assume the murder was meant to silence him. He investigated the Monica Walker case at the time. The topic made him jumpy. That suggests he knew more than he ever told people.”
“But why?” Callie tilted her head. “Why keep your mouth shut about something for almost three decades? He was a journalist at the time, just starting his career. If he could have cracked a case that made waves, he could have
built his name fast. He might even have had a chance to go to New York or the West Coast. Why keep silent and stay here? I mean, I don’t want to demean his career, and it’s lovely he became editor-in-chief of the Herald, but it’s not exactly the résumé he must have dreamed of when he started out.”
“Not all people are quite that ambitious.” Iphy stared ahead thoughtfully. “Maybe he knew some facts that could be incriminating but weren’t vital to revealing Monica’s whereabouts. Maybe he decided he wasn’t up for a fight with the person who would be incriminated and could sue him for slander. Or maybe it wasn’t until he heard what Quinn was digging into that he put two and two together and saw a pattern, a clue that he hadn’t seen before. Maybe only then he started to suspect a certain concrete person of involvement in the old disappearance.”
“But,” Callie said, “if that person then came and killed him, we have to assume he or she is in Heart’s Harbor.”
“Indeed. So perhaps we’re dealing with a local who helped Monica disappear and who is now eager to keep that story under wraps.”
Callie stared at her. “When you say ‘disappear’, do you mean alive or … dead?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. When you first mentioned this case to me, I thought it was very possible she had sailed off to wedded bliss with a man she loved, leaving all of the pressure and paparazzi behind. But right now, I’m not so sure. Would it really matter after thirty years if we found out where Monica Walker is today? That is, if she’s still alive. If we found out that she had died and could even recover a dead body …”
Iphy clicked her tongue. “Then we’d have a case again, right? A murder case.”
“But even if someone feared that a new look at the events could turn up the fact that Monica died, why would he or she be worried that the cause of death and the perpetrator could still be established? I mean, after thirty years there can’t be much left of a body.”
“That depends.” Iphy frowned hard. “I think I read in the newspaper once that archaeologists had found a skeleton and could establish that the person had died an unnatural death. I don’t remember how exactly, but I can imagine that, for instance, damage to the skull can still be seen even after a body has mostly decayed.”
Callie nodded. “Yes, of course. Damage to the skeleton could give some indications. So you think that someone who knows how Monica died wanted to prevent a discovery of her body and an investigation into the cause of her death?”
Iphy spread her hands. “It’s a mere possibility. You never know how people will react to an unexpected turn of events. Maybe someone got upset about the call for information and agreed to meet Jamison at the newspaper building to talk about it. They got into an argument, and the unknown person killed Jamison. It doesn’t necessarily mean that whoever killed Jamison also killed Monica Walker.”
“Of course not. But why would someone be upset about the call for information if he or she wasn’t involved in Monica’s disappearance?”
“I have no idea. Maybe a local person knew some things at the time, and Jamison persuaded them to stay quiet about it? Maybe the person feels bad about it now and approached Jamison again? Or maybe a local saw something at the time that never made sense and suddenly saw the light? You don’t know how the human mind can work.”
Callie considered these options. “Either way we have to keep this in mind: if Quinn isn’t our killer, then the killer is still free. And if the killer is a local who is somehow connected to the Walker case from 1989, we have to be very careful about who we share any information with. Because if that person is really so eager to keep this all in the past …”
Peggy had listened in silence to their conjectures. Now she asked in awe, “You really think he or she might come after us too? To kill us?” Her eyes were wide.
Callie assured her. “You don’t need to do anything in this case. Falk would also rather—”
“Yes, of course.” Peggy’s eyes flashed. “I bet he told you to scare me out of my wits with the suggestion that there’s a murderer on the loose who might come after me, so I won’t help Quinn. But I’m no coward, and I’ll do anything to get Quinn released.”
“Peggy,” Iphy said in a soothing tone, “your shift is starting soon. The murder will be the talk of the town. Keep your ears open, and note everything you hear. In the previous case, gossip shared in Book Tea helped us along as well.”
Peggy looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Really.” Iphy smiled at her. “Let Callie go to Falk with the information she’s gathered already. She has more leeway with him than we do, you know.”
Callie’s cheeks flamed at her great-aunt’s semi-innocent tone, but she rushed up to go collect her information and return to the police station to exchange it for something hopefully worthwhile.
* * *
When Callie got back to the station, Falk informed his colleagues that he would be back soon and left the station with her. Having expected to talk in Falk’s office, Callie was quite stunned at this sudden turn of events. He ushered her to his car and drove off, taking a few dirt roads that seemed to lead nowhere. Then suddenly they were at a vantage point with a stunning view of the sea below. Falk produced a thermos and two cups and poured steaming coffee for them both.
“I need to clear my head every now and then. At the station there’s always calls coming in, people stopping by to complain about something, a colleague with a question or stacks of paperwork to fill out. If I want to have a breakthrough, I need the quiet to see the bigger picture, a perspective that I lack when I’m too close to the case. This is my hideout.”
Callie’s eyes were a little teary from the strong wind blowing in her face. At least she told herself that that was the reason and not the fact that Falk was showing her something personal, even though he had every reason to distrust her or even hate her for having rushed out to Quinn right after she had left the murder scene.
She knew she’d had her reasons, but considering objectively how it must have looked, she knew it seemed bad. And he should hate her for it.
But for some reason he was giving her coffee and sharing these private moments with her. It threw her off balance and made her forget she had wanted to be strong and bargain with what she held.
Falk said, “Quinn is no journalist.”
“What?”
“I said Quinn is no journalist. I have no idea why he claimed to me that he was while telling you he wasn’t, but he did tell you the truth. He’s no journalist, so his interest in the Monica Walker story isn’t professional.”
Falk sipped his coffee. “He tried to convince me of that all during the interrogation. He even claimed he had a wager with a colleague that he could turn up new evidence, something that would get him a lot of money.”
He glanced at her. “Sounded believable and was enough to get me even angrier at him and the trouble he’s caused in our town. For a bet? But a few phone calls proved that he’s not known at the newspaper or the websites he claimed to be working for. Not even as a freelancer. In fact, I can’t find any evidence anywhere online that he’s ever published anything. He doesn’t have a website or blog, doesn’t showcase his clippings anywhere, isn’t on networking sites either, so how on earth would people find him to hire him? Of course, he could still be writing a book or something that he’s keeping close to his chest. All I can establish is that he has no journalistic track record to speak of. Question is, of course, why would he be so eager to sell me this truckload of lies?”
“Because he has another reason for being here, and he doesn’t want you to find out about that. He must have believed you would readily accept the journalist angle and not check on it further.”
“Exactly. I checked his records, and I ran his fingerprints through the system. He isn’t known to us. So if he is a con man, he never got caught.”
“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
“Yes, of course, but the typical pattern is that they get caught or someone does fil
e charges, and they move on to another state. Quinn is in his forties already. Is it possible he would never have been caught? Can he have a clean record if he’s really a confidence trickster? I doubt it.”
“Maybe he had a nice job, got fired, and then started to make a new career out of using his charm.”
Falk looked at her. “Are you suddenly seeing the light about him or only trying to placate me?”
Callie shrugged. “We’re standing here together. Do I need to placate anymore?”
Falk laughed softly. “I don’t forget that easily, Callie. I don’t want to ruin this case with a prejudice. And I don’t want to invest all my energy into feeling cheated.”
“I didn’t do anything to deceive you. Honestly.” Suddenly Callie’s throat was tight. She had come here to Heart’s Harbor believing she and Falk were friends at the least and potentially even a lot more. He was the one who had been acting differently toward her since she’d returned, cold and distant. Acting like he didn’t remember how it had been between them at Christmas. It confused her and made her do things she might otherwise not have done. Oppose him, seek confrontation.
“If Quinn is a criminal,” Falk said, “we have no records of it. Nothing to hold him on. And as far as the Jamison case goes, Quinn’s prints are in the office, but you already told me that he was there, and he even told me that himself, so I can’t really use that. Next to Jamison’s body on the floor was a disposable paper tape measure, like handymen use. Of course those are quite common, but this one had Quinn’s fingerprints on it. If he lost it in Jamison’s office, it’s quite coincidental that it ended up right beside Jamison’s body.”
“Could it have been planted on purpose, to lead you to Quinn as the alleged killer?”
“It’s possible of course, but how would the killer have secured a tape measure with Quinn’s prints on it?”
“He did odd jobs for lots of local people.”
“True, but if someone had already snatched the tape measure when Quinn was doing a job at his home, they must have planned to kill Jamison ahead of time. No argument in the office, no blow struck in anger. Premeditation, going so far as to implicate an innocent man in the crime. Why?”
