by R J Fournier
“I can try. Where do you want to get together? Your house?”
“No. This isn’t a social visit. It’d be better if we go to his office. I get out of class at three. It will take me thirty, maybe forty minutes to drive there. Let’s say four o’clock”
Delyth dialed Josh’s cell number, bypassing the usual gatekeeper.
“Hey, you. What’s up?”
“I just got a strange call from Helen. She’s convinced Foley is the killer, and that Howard could be next.”
“Her imagination running riot again?”
“I don’t know, but she sounded dead serious about it, and sincerely scared for Howard. She wants to meet at four. At your office if that’s possible. Can you do it?”
“I told you, I can act only on concrete facts, not crazy speculation. And so far Keir Foley is not on my prime suspects list.”
Delyth recognized but didn’t mention the small lapse in Josh’s rule against sharing information; her call had a different purpose. “What can it hurt to listen? Besides, it wouldn’t look good if something happened to Howard, and it gets out that you didn’t have time to meet with someone who had pertinent information.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Of course I wouldn’t, but all kinds of information can get out, especially if you have Vickie Sullivan on the trail.” It was a weak threat. As far as Delyth could tell, Vickie wasn’t one to dig deeper than what police reports and her contacts told her. Still, one of those contacts just might figure it out.
Josh sighed over the phone. “Okay. But make sure you tell her I only have ten minutes to spare.”
◆◆◆
The entrance to the county sheriff’s office was a modern, glass-and-steel atrium; the two wings it conjoined were concrete, rectangular cuboids designed to withstand a siege. The waist-high, concrete cylinders in front, intended to impede vehicles trying to ram the building, were perfect for sitting while Delyth waited for Helen. The warmth of sun and slab seeped into muscles she hadn’t been aware were sore. She dropped her head forward, rocking it from side to side. Birds in a nearby tree kept up a constant ruckus. The air was soft and fragrant with some sweet blossoms she couldn’t identify. Her shoulders relaxed. Too soon Helen snapped her back to the present.
“Sorry I’m late,” Helen said, panting slightly, her hair uncharacteristically disheveled. “Jennifer waylaid me on the way out. She wants me to head a workshop for the newer teachers.”
Rousing herself from her perch, Delyth said, “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Jennifer is very into process. She can process the good out of anything. But I’ll withhold judgment until I get a chance to read through the material.”
Delyth held the door for her, then followed her in.
“I hope Josh doesn’t deduct my being late from our ten minutes.” Helen said as they crossed the lobby.
“Don’t worry. He was just being an officious pain in the backside.”
A female officer was sitting behind the desk that controlled the entrance to the sheriff’s offices, her khaki uniform shirt stiff and creased with military precision. When Delyth told her they were there to see Detective Griffin, she asked them to sign in while she made a call. She pushed two visitor badges, encased in plastic and attached to lanyards, across the desk. “Someone will be right out to escort you.”
The “someone” was Josh himself.
Helen rushed to say, “It’s my fault we’re late.”
“Don’t worry about it. Would you like coffee or a soda?” When they both said no, he asked, “Water?”
“That would be lovely,” Helen answered. “Being late makes me thirsty.”
He led them up a flight of stairs, down a corridor and through a doorway labeled “VIOLENT CRIMES.” Inside was a small room with desks in parallel alignment, several with deputies busy typing on laptops or talking on phones. Josh stopped at the break room where he took two bottles of water from a refrigerator. He held one toward Delyth with a questioning look. She shook her head. He handed it to Helen, and kept the other.
Once in his office, he sat behind his desk, his laptop closed directly in front of him and next to it a gooseneck lamp. Unscrewing his water, he studied Helen a moment as if unsure how he wanted to treat her. “So, why Keir Foley?”
“Did you tell him about what you found out at the county offices?” Helen asked Delyth.
“No.” She left a space for Helen to speak, but when she didn’t Delyth explained about the subdivision of the Duddas’ land from forty-nine.
Josh steepled his fingers as if interested, but didn’t open his laptop to take notes.
“So,” Helen burst in as if she’d barely been able to contain herself while Delyth was speaking. “It started me thinking. The problem we’ve been having was figuring out a motive for Ajnabee’s murder.” Delyth caught a crinkle in the corners of Josh’s eyes as if amused at Helen’s assumption that he didn’t know the motive behind the killing. “I mean, it was fun tossing around jealousy or the inheritance angle, but they were never convincing. Now we know the Duddas’ property could have real value to someone, except Karen Dudda would never sell her family farm.”
“Like I said,” Delyth put in, “if the murderer is after the Duddas’ property, why didn’t he kill Karen?”
“Because he’s very clever. He needed a way to point suspicion toward someone else. He knows about the ill will between Ajnabee and Jerzy, so he foments the feud. Maybe he poisons Ajnabee’s dog. Maybe the dog got into some poison mushrooms and the murderer seizes the opportunity. In either case, he takes advantage of the situation. I don’t know that he thought it through at the beginning. Maybe he started by killing the two dogs hoping Zad or Jerzy would kill the other. That would explain why the bullet that killed the dog didn’t come from Ajnabee’s rifle.”
“We don’t know the bullet you found was the one that killed the dog,” Josh objected.
“Okay. But it makes sense. Then, when killing the dog didn’t work, he had to come up with a plan that didn’t in any way implicate him. He kills Ajnabee using Jerzy’s rifle and puts it back so you’d find it. That way, he kills two birds with one stone.” She grimaced. “Poor choice of clichés. Anyway, he gets rid of Ajnabee who refused to sell his property and frames Jerzy forcing Karen to sell. He couldn’t have anticipated that on the very night he chose to kill Ajnabee, Jerzy’s little girl would eat peanuts and have to be taken to emergency, providing Karen and Jerzy Dudda with an alibi.”
Delyth was on Helen’s side, but her paralegal training led her to ask, “If the value is in the Duddas’ land, why does he want to buy Howard’s and Ajnabee’s places?”
“I’m only guessing here.”
Josh stifled a snigger. At least he tried.
Undeterred, Helen continued. “But he probably has some plan to develop the land. Maybe a gated community with a bunch of McMansions. More in a style to match his own home. The houses there now would be out of place and in the way.”
“Why would he bother?” Delyth asked. “He has more than enough money.”
“The rich can always be richer. You’re the one who said he sees his house as an investment. This way, he’s insuring his return.”
“Wait a minute,” Josh said. “Even if Jerzy is convicted, Karen still owns the land, and she wants to preserve her family’s farm. She could just hang on to it.”
“That was the weak link in the plan. Perhaps he thought Jerzy’s defense would cost so much that she’d have to sell. Or the shame of being married to a convicted murderer would drive her to leave. This is still a small town, remember, especially for the old families. But even if she stayed, he’d have gotten rid of Ajnabee without getting caught. He could deal with Karen later.”
Delyth took a moment to respond. “Don’t you think that’s an unnecessarily elaborate plan? I mean, kill one guy to get another guy’s land?”
“That’s exactly what convinced me it was Foley. It’s how his mind works. Look at what he did in Mexico
. He could have just hired someone to shoot his partner, but with him in line to inherit the partner’s share of a company that was about to be sold for five-hundred million, suspicion would naturally fall on him. It wouldn’t be good for business even if he got away with it. Instead, he kidnaps the partner and comes up with an elaborate scheme to appear as if he paid the ransom, making him the hero instead of the suspect.”
“But he had an alibi,” Delyth reminded her. “He was in the bar when the partner was kidnapped.”
“If he was resourceful enough to find someone to spike a drink, he could find someone to do the kidnapping.”
“We don’t know any of that even happened,” Josh objected with a hint of exasperation. On the other hand, he wasn’t asking them to leave because their ten minutes was up. “All we know is what some anonymous, Spanish-speaking guy said. It could all be made up to distract us from the real killer.”
Delyth stared at him. He has someone in mind. Someone involved with drugs—the other half of the investigation that Helen was ignoring?
“But it all fits,” Helen answered with more passion. “The killer would have to be someone familiar with the goings on along the road. He’d had to know about the feud between Jerzy and Ajnabee and where Jerzy’s rifle was kept. Foley got away with murder once.” She raised her hands palms up, as if that proved her point.
Still playing devil’s advocate, Delyth said, “Foley’s a tall guy, yet Bette Lee thought the person she saw in the doorway the night of the murder could be Suzanne Dussault who’s tall for a woman but definitely not over six feet.”
Helen waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “She was driving by and it was dark. She assumed it was Suzanne, and that affected what she thought she saw.”
Josh squeezed his forehead between the thumb and fingers of one hand then lowered his arm. “Well, that’s quite a theory,” he said. “Unfortunately, you don’t have a shred of proof.” He started to get up as if ready to escort them out.
“I know. You’re right. But I’m afraid he might do something desperate to Howard.” Josh sat again. “This is his last chance to implicate Ben Dudda before he returns to LA.”
“Why Ben?” Delyth asked.
“Karen’s been telling everyone that Jerzy was at the hospital, but she hasn’t said anything about Ben. Foley must have figured out that Ben could have done it. Since Ben isn’t under arrest, I’m assuming the case against him is circumstantial.” Josh neither confirmed nor denied anything. Helen went on. “That doesn’t mean Ben isn’t the prime suspect. If I came to that conclusion, I suspect Foley has as well.”
“But why Howard?” Delyth said. “He could kill anyone and frame Ben. Karen, for example. It’s clear Ben doesn’t get along with his mother-in-law. There’s a motive right there.”
“This way, he gets Howard’s property.”
“Howard doesn’t even own it,” Delyth persisted. “His daughter does. It wasn’t clear to me that she wouldn’t sell. Didn’t Howard say she needs money for her son’s college?”
“He suggested that as a possibility, but he didn’t say she decided to sell because of it. But even if she did, the key to everything is the Dudda's land, and Foley needs a way to force Karen's hand. Framing Ben is his best chance. Getting rid of Howard and framing Ben for it would make all the land available.”
“Why would Karen sell?” Josh asked. “Ben’s not her son. And even if she pays for his defense out of loyalty to her husband, she’d only have to sell one or two pieces of her land.”
“He’d just have to take care of Karen later.”
“All that blood spilled in one place,” Delyth said. “Wouldn’t people get suspicious?”
“Yes, but he’d have gotten away with two murders, maybe three if you count the partner. He’d feel confident he could do it again.” Helen turned toward Josh. “I know all this sounds a little out there, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.” She leaned forward. “And Howard could be next. We have to warn him. He’ll take it more seriously if it comes from you.”
TWENTY
While he’d listened politely the whole time she was trying to explain her theory of Ajnabee’s murder, Helen surmised Josh wasn’t taking her seriously. More groundless speculation, she could almost hear him saying. Even Delyth seemed skeptical, finding more faults than support. Helen kept her eyes fixed on Josh, willing him to believe her.
Josh sat for a minute, obviously thinking, then said, “Most of the murders I deal with are shabby affairs: domestic violence, gang violence, mental illness. I don’t have much experience with true premeditation. Your theory just sounds too… you’re right: it all sounds a little out there. A lot out there, really. It’s incredible. Yet there’s something. I can’t risk anything happening to a good guy, even if it is…” Helen suspected he was going to say something like ‘farfetched’ or ‘plain crazy’. He sat a moment as if undecided, then opened his laptop. The faint clicks of keystrokes. He pulled out his cell phone. The beeps of a number being entered. The muffled brr-rings from the phone held against his ear. Helen waited in suspense.
“Howard, this is Josh Griffin.” Pause. “Me too. Thanks. We had reports of suspicious activity out your way. Have you noticed anything unusual?” Pause. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Still, I might pop over just to check things out, if that’s okay?” Pause. “No, you’re safe where you are. If you want to be extra cautious, turn off the lights, lock the doors and pull down the shades.” Pause. “Call him and tell him to wait at the beginning of the drive until I get there. Oh, and Howard, if you see anyone suspicious—” Pause. “Anyone sneaking around in the shadows or someone trying the door, call 911.” Pause. “Don’t panic. This is probably all a false alarm, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.” Pause. “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
“Why are you going?” Delyth asked. “Wouldn’t it be faster to send a squad car?”
“I can’t imagine how I’d justify that to my boss.” He grabbed his laptop. “You wait here. I’ll be right back to show you out.”
Helen and Delyth looked at each other.
“Well, I didn’t expect that reaction,” Delyth said.
“Gratifying that he believed me at last.”
“I’m not sure he did believe you as much as he doesn’t want to take any chances.”
“Whatever it takes. I’d better call Frank and tell him I’ll be late.”
As he came back in, Josh was still twisting to get an arm through a sleeve of his suit jacket, revealing a pistol in a shoulder holster. Helen hadn’t thought about it before, but he was probably often, even usually armed. This time she was glad of it.
“I hate to rush you,” he said, “but I don’t think Howard bought my assurances. He’ll feel safer if I’m there.”
Helen and Delyth grabbed their coats and followed him out.
On the way down the stairs, he said, “I’ll call you later to let you know everything’s okay.”
Delyth, who was on the steps between Josh and Helen, said, “You don’t expect us not to go. We’re part of this.” Helen could have kissed her.
“I don’t have time to argue.” They were at the front desk. “If anything does happen, you’d be two more civilians I’ll need to protect. So, yes, I expect you to go home and wait for me to call.” With that, he rushed back through the door they’d just left and, Helen presumed, to a reserved parking lot and his car.
“What do you think?” Helen asked as they handed their visitor’s badges to the deputy and signed out. “He has a point.”
They were outside before Delyth answered. “I think he can’t stop us from visiting our good friend Suzanne Dussault. We’re smart enough to keep out heads down if anything happens.”
“Hasn’t she been evicted?”
“We’ll just have to go and find out.”
Without discussion, they walked to their respective cars and drove separately. On the way, Helen called Frank, putting her phone on speaker and balancing it on her lap while she d
rove.
“I’ll be a little late. Delyth and I are driving out to see the Duddas.”
“Is everything all right?” he asked in a preoccupied tone. He must still be in the studio and probably hadn’t noticed it was already past her usual time to be home.
“It’s Ben’s last night before he moves back to LA, so we want to talk to him before he goes.” It wasn’t a complete lie, and told so he wouldn’t worry. “I shouldn’t be long.”
“Should I start dinner?”
“No, you can keep working. I’ll buy a rotisserie chicken on the way home.”
The weather had turned cooler, indicating fog rolling in from the coast. It had already started to settle in low places along the road. She turned on her headlights and wipers. As she got closer, the fog grew dense everywhere. She slowed as she approached her turn.
A car was parked half on, half off the drive. Sam Crabo was standing next to it, waving his arms for her to stop. Helen lowered her window.
Sam leaned over and stuck his head in. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice pitched high with concern. “Howie left a message that I should wait here until Josh Griffin gets here.”
“Josh hasn’t gotten here yet?”
“I just got here myself.”
Delyth pulled up behind her.
“You probably missed him,” Helen told Sam. “Why don’t you get in and I’ll try to explain the situation?”
He ran around the front and got in on the passenger side. In caravan, the two cars inched down the road. The fog closed around them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Not able to avoid the potholes, Helen slowed even more.
“It’s complicated,” she said. “I can’t explain everything, but I think Keir Foley killed Ajnabee, and he might try to harm Howard.”
“What?” He jerked around in his seat so violently Helen feared he’d jump out and race ahead of the car to reach Howard.
“It’s just a theory. Josh doesn’t even buy into it completely, but he thought it best to make sure Howard is safe.”