Touch-Me-Not

by Cynthia Riggs

  “Where is Jerry Sparks now?” asked Victoria.

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Howland. “Never met the guy.”

  Casey swiveled her chair. “How long will it take you to bring the videos up on my computer?”

  Howland got up from his chair again. “No time at all.”

  LeRoy left Beany’s with no clue as to the whereabouts of Jerry Sparks’s computer except that the guy who’d bought it drove a white Volvo station wagon. LeRoy got back into his van. He had to find that computer before the police did. Sparks had lied about downloading the videos onto his cell phone, but LeRoy couldn’t take a chance that Sparks had also lied about downloading those pictures onto his computer.

  When LeRoy called Victoria Trumbull, the answering machine kicked in with a message from her granddaughter. He told the machine he was on the way and would take a look at the upstairs outlet.

  When he got to Victoria’s, no one was home. He knocked several times on her kitchen door, then went upstairs to the guest room, where he checked the blackened outlet and the smoky patch on the wall above it. He’d have to come back later when he had more time. It was a wonder Mrs. Trumbull hadn’t burned her house down long ago.

  He finished rewiring what he could with the tools he’d brought with him, making her house somewhat safer. Since he’d stashed the Taser cartridge in his toolbox, he decided to leave it at Victoria’s, where no one was likely to discover it. Even if she did look inside, she wouldn’t recognize a spent Taser cartridge. That way, he could dispose of the cartridge later. He kept out a couple of tools he might need in the meantime, a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. A wrench. A flashlight.

  He then went downstairs and left Victoria a note on the kitchen table, telling her he’d made temporary repairs to the outlet but not to use it. After that, he went outside and stood at the top of her stone steps, thinking.

  Banks of lilacs—not mere shrubs, but tall trees—surrounded Victoria’s weathered house, and the branches were heavy with blossoms. He breathed in deeply and thought about his life before the death of Jerry Sparks.

  He was so tired. His eyes felt scratchy and his clothes were rumpled. If only he could go back in time and redo that confrontation. He hadn’t meant to kill Jerry Sparks. Tasers weren’t supposed to kill. That’s why he’d bought one. Guns killed people, not Tasers. He’d never wanted a gun around that his kids might play with.

  Why did he have to be the one in hundreds or thousands to kill with a Taser?

  The Taser. Would an autopsy determine how Sparks had died? He didn’t think the tiny darts had penetrated the skin. They didn’t need to. Perhaps the medical examiner would conclude that Jerry died of a heart attack, which was probably what had happened. Too many drugs, not eating right, that’s what they’d think. He had to get rid of the damned cartridge as soon as he could. No one would find it at Mrs. Trumbull’s, and if, by some chance, she looked into his toolbox, she’d think it was some piece of electrical equipment. Which it was, in a way. The Taser itself, he’d left in the top file drawer. God, how his stomach hurt.

  Before he did anything, he had to find that computer.

  He’d parked his van in Victoria’s drive. The gold lettering on the side was dusty, and he wiped it with his handkerchief before he got in.

  As he passed the West Tisbury police station, he saw a white Volvo station wagon parked out front. Could this be the guy who’d bought the computer? A lot of Volvos in the village, but not many white ones. Did he dare meet the owner face-to-face, in the police station, of all places?

  Best defense is a good offense, he thought, and made a U-turn around the triangle at Brandy Brow and pulled into the parking area, stopping next to the white Volvo.

  He went to the back of his van for his toolbox, then remembered he’d left it at Victoria’s. Lucky he’d thought to keep out a couple of tools. He put the screwdriver and pliers in his shirt pocket, brushed past the ducks squatting on the oyster shells, and went up the steps and into the station house.

  Chief O’Neill was at her desk, talking with Victoria Trumbull. A distinguished-looking guy stood up when LeRoy came in. The chief stood, too, and held out her hand.

  “Mr. Watts,” she said. “You know my deputy, Victoria Trumbull, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I was just at your house, Mrs. Trumbull.”

  “Were you able to fix the problem?”

  “I’ll have to come back when I have more time. It’s going to take some work.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “By the way, I left my toolbox there. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.” Victoria nodded and said to Casey, “LeRoy and Jerry Sparks worked for me in the past.”

  Jerry Sparks, thought LeRoy. Jerry Sparks, Jerry Sparks!

  “I understand he’s not with you any longer,” said Casey. “I’m sorry about that. He seemed to do good work.” She turned to Howland. “By the way, Mr. Watts, do you know Howland Atherton?”

  “How’re you doin’?” LeRoy held out his hand.

  Howland shook hands. “The owner of Watts Electrical?”

  “Yes, sir,” said LeRoy.

  “How can we help you?” asked Casey.

  “I was driving past, Chief, thought I’d stop in to see if the work Sparks did is okay.”

  “You know where the breaker box is,” said Casey.

  She sat down again, as did Howland. LeRoy went to the far wall and opened the metal circuit-breaker box. He checked the breakers and listened to the conversation.

  “Where did you get the computer?” he heard Casey ask.

  “Saw an ad posted on the bulletin board outside Cronig’s,” said Howland. “The guy I bought it from got it from Sparks. He couldn’t make it work, so he sold it.”

  LeRoy dropped the screwdriver and it rolled on the linoleum floor in a half circle, making a clicking sound.

  Casey called over her shoulder, “How does it look?”

  “Everything looks fine.” LeRoy bent over and picked up the screwdriver and put it into his pocket. “Mr. Atherton, did I hear you say you’d bought Jerry Sparks’s computer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been trying to track it down. I didn’t realize he’d sold it.” LeRoy closed the breaker box. “I gave him the old office computer when I bought a new one for Maureen. Then after I let Sparks go, I wondered if he had work-related stuff on it.”

  “Be glad to let you check it out. It’s in my car. I was taking it to The Computer Lab for a tune-up.”

  “Kind of presumptuous of me, but any chance I can borrow it for a few hours? I’ll bring it right back.”

  “No problem,” said Howland.

  “And, Mrs. Trumbull, I’ll stop by later this week and work on that outlet. Don’t use the electricity in that room until I take care of it.”

  “Thank you,” said Victoria.

  Howland and LeRoy went out to the parking area, past the ducks, which moved aside to make way for them, and LeRoy transferred Howland’s newly acquired computer to the back of his van.

  “Appreciate this, Mr. Atherton,” said LeRoy.

  Casey stood in the doorway. “Again, thanks, LeRoy.”

  “Part of the service.” LeRoy wiped his hands on his handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry you had to let Sparks go,” Casey added.

  “He’d been a good worker before he got into drugs.”

  “It’s a serious problem.” Casey shook her head.

  LeRoy said, “Thanks for letting me borrow your computer, Mr. Atherton. Want me to return it here to the police station when I’m done?”

  “Sure. That would be fine.”

  “Be seeing you, then,” and Leroy took off.

  CHAPTER 11

  Around 9:30 that same morning, Monday, the phone rang at the Watts’s house. Sarah figured it was that woman caller again, so she let it ring. Or maybe it was Roy. Well, he can wait. Wonder where he spent last night? On the fifth ring, before the answering machine kick
ed in, she set down her knitting and picked up the phone, ready to tell either her or him a thing or two.

  “Well?” she answered.

  “Mrs. Watts? This is Joanne, the secretary at the West Tisbury school.”

  Sarah immediately readjusted her thinking. “The twins? Has something happened to the twins?”

  “The boys are fine, but you need to come in right away. We tried to reach Mr. Watts, but he was out of the office and his office manager didn’t seem to know how to reach him. Shall we say twenty minutes or so?”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “Of course. What’s the matter?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Watts. I can’t discuss it over the phone,” and Joanne disconnected.

  Sarah dialed LeRoy’s office. The answering machine kicked in. “You’ve reached Watts Electrical. . . .” She slammed down the phone. Maureen must be away from the shop.

  She went into the bedroom and changed quickly from her sweats to jeans and a long-sleeved blouse with an old-lady floral print. She dabbed on lip gloss, which she seldom used, ran a comb through her thick hair, curled tightly in the humidity. She tied it back with a black ribbon so she would look more serious, then decided to change out of her jeans and into black slacks. She tried calling LeRoy’s cell phone, got the robotic voice that told her to leave a message, asked LeRoy to call the school, and darted out the side door. She started up the Volkswagen and flew over the speed bumps toward Old County Road and the school.

  What on earth had the boys done that would cause the school to demand to see her and LeRoy? And right away.

  She parked, walked quickly to the office, and followed the secretary to the principal’s office. Mrs. Parkinson, the principal, stood up as Sarah entered.

  “My boys?” Sarah blurted out. “Where are my boys?”

  Casey and Howland went back into the station house after LeRoy left with Howland’s new computer.

  “You wouldn’t find an off-Island electrician making sure stuff was done right like that,” said Casey.

  Victoria looked thoughtful.

  “Is something bothering you, Victoria?” Casey asked.

  “LeRoy’s usually so tidy. This morning, he was disheveled and hadn’t even shaved.”

  “I bet he’s been busy since he let Sparks go.” Casey moved papers off her desk. “Let’s check out the videos.”

  Howland took the lanyard with the dangling metal piece from around his neck. “I downloaded the videos onto this and, without thinking, deleted them from Sparks’s computer.” He rubbed his nose. “Stupid of me. I know better.”

  “Oh?” said Victoria. “You have the copy, don’t you?”

  “If we ever apprehend the guy who made the videos, I’ve destroyed evidence that might be important. My copies will never hold up in court.” He turned away from the desk and paced the few steps to the window, and looked out at the pond. “I was too eager to delete the damned things.”

  Casey moved away from her desk to give Howland room.

  Howland sat in her chair and inserted the thumb drive into her computer, tapped keys, and the videos, complete with sound, popped up onto the screen.

  The first was of a young woman taking a shower. She faced the camera, which was somewhere above her. Clearly unaware of being watched, she soaped herself and held her head up to the spray, eyes closed, hands cupping her breasts. She was singing.

  The screen went blank for a second. Then there was a second scene of a different young woman. And then another scene and yet another.

  “Enough!” said Casey. “I’ve seen enough. He’s got to be stopped.” She picked up the phone. “Sparks lives in Oak Bluffs. Since it’s out of my jurisdiction, I’ll have to call the OB police.”

  “Why does LeRoy need to check Jerry Sparks’s personal computer?” asked Victoria. “You wouldn’t think Jerry would have business files on it.”

  “He didn’t,” said Howland. “All personal stuff, including those videos. At least one good thing came of my deleting the files—Watts won’t have to view them.”

  When LeRoy got back to his office with the computer, Maureen was on the phone. She glanced up as he pushed the back door open with his hip, holding the operating unit against his stomach. The computer still had the flower stickers that Maureen had attached in an attempt to make the machine look less formidable.

  She finished her call and disconnected. “Isn’t that my old computer? I thought you gave it to Jerry Sparks.”

  LeRoy grunted and set the operating unit on the floor.

  Maureen studied him. “You look just awful, Mr. Watts. You haven’t even shaved. Go home and make yourself some hot lemonade with honey and get to bed.”

  “I’ve got to check something out.”

  “You worked much too hard last week, Mr. Watts. It’s going to catch up with you one of these days.” She straightened papers on her desk. “By the way, the school called while you were out. They want you to call back.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take care of that later.”

  “It sounded important, Mr. Watts.”

  “Right,” said LeRoy.

  He unplugged wires from his computer and attached them to the unit he’d borrowed from Howland, and booted it up.

  “Can I help you with something, Mr. Watts?”

  “No, that’s okay,” said LeRoy. “Why don’t you take off for lunch now. I’ll be around the office for the next couple of hours to take any calls.”

  “It’s only eleven o’clock.”

  “Take a couple of hours, then,” said LeRoy. “Go shopping or something.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Take your time,” said LeRoy.

  “Don’t forget to call the school, Mr. Watts,” and with that, Maureen left.

  He went through the files and menus on the computer that had belonged to Jerry Sparks, checked everything that Jerry could possibly have copied from his, LeRoy’s, computer, and found nothing. He went into the washroom and shaved, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and combed his hair. He was a different man.

  Maureen returned a little after 12:30.

  “No calls,” said LeRoy.

  “Did you take care of Mrs. Trumbull’s outlet?”

  “I looked at it. I’ll need to spend a couple of hours. It’s a wonder she didn’t have a fire. Old wiring.”

  Maureen examined him. “You look better, Mr. Watts. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.” She turned before she got as far as the hot-water maker. “Did you call the school?”

  “I will. Tea sounds good.” He checked the files once more. Nothing. Nothing at all. Sparks’s personal stuff, period. Sparks had lied to him. He’d bluffed. LeRoy felt a surge of relief. He’d panicked over nothing.

  Maureen brought him a mug of strong tea with sugar, which he didn’t usually take, but he drank it anyway and his spirits lifted. He’d wasted time worrying about those damned videos, and he needn’t have.

  “Almost forgot. Isn’t tomorrow your birthday?”

  “Thank you for asking, Mr. Watts. Actually, it’s the day after tomorrow. My daughter and her husband and my two grandbabies are coming tomorrow. I was going to ask you if I might take two days off.”

  “What a cad I am!” LeRoy smacked his hand on his forehead. “I should have remembered. Of course you can take off both days. Thursday, too.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Watts, but I really should get those bills out no later than Thursday.”

  “The bills can wait another day. Have a great birthday. Relax. We’ll see you on Friday, then.”

  “Two full days of grandbabies is enough. I’ll be back on Thursday.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. How old are the grandkids now?”

  “One’s two and the other’s six months.”

  “Time flies,” said LeRoy. He unplugged all the wires so he could return the unit to Howland Atherton, who must be wondering why he was so concerned about the computer.

  Maureen laid some papers on his desk and smiled at him. “You look much better, Mr. Watts. Not
hing like a cup of strong, hot tea.”

  “You’re a gem, Maureen,” said LeRoy. “I appreciate all you do for me.” He waited until she’d gone back to her desk and was on the phone before he opened the top file drawer to take out the Taser.

  The Taser didn’t seem to be in the top drawer. Had he put it in a lower drawer? He opened the second, then the third drawer. Not there. Not in the bottom drawer, where Jerry Sparks’s cell phone lay like a dead mouse. He felt the blood drain out of his face.

  Maureen finished her call, set the phone down, and it rang immediately. “Watts Electrical Supply,” Maureen answered. “Just a moment, please.” She pushed the hold button and set the phone down. “It’s the school again, Mr. Watts.” She glanced over at him. “Oh my Lord, Mr. Watts! What’s happened? You look awful!” She put her hands up to her mouth.

  LeRoy, wild-eyed and deathly pale, leaped up from his chair and dashed out the back door. The door slammed behind him.

  Maureen followed him to the door. “Mr. Watts, the school has to see you right away! Mr. Watts . . .”

  LeRoy scrambled into his van and tore out of the parking area.

  What had he done with the damned Taser? Where had he put it? He had to find it, and now. Right now.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Your boys are with a teaching aide in the faculty room, Mrs. Watts,” said Mrs. Parkinson. The principal was an imposing figure in a tailored gray suit and white silk shirt. Her silver hair was perfectly coifed and she wore pale pink lipstick and matching pink nail polish.

  “I’ve called the police. Chief O’Neill should be here momentarily with Mrs. Trumbull. I wanted to speak to you and your husband privately.”

  “The police!” Sarah gasped. “What happened?”

  “Please, sit down,” said Mrs. Parkinson.

  Sarah continued to stand. “Tell me what’s going on!”

  Mrs. Parkinson, still standing, pointed to the chair in front of her desk. “I think you’d better sit down.”