Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  Chapter 17

  The director of the Plaine Museum leaned forward and tented her fingers. “Believe me, Lieutenant, I have every intention of cooperating with your investigation,” she said.

  “Thank you, Director. That’s very comforting.”

  “I can’t help saying I’m shocked by this. Dr. Earl has been nothing but a model employee these last five years. I personally recommended her for the assistant directorship.”

  “I see.” Lieutenant Donovan reached into her jacket for a notepad. She wished she could light up a cigarette, but the Plaine Museum was strictly non-smoking and the director didn’t look like the type to bend the rules. “You’ve never noticed anything odd about her behavior?”

  “Nothing at all, but then my personal interactions with Emma were somewhat limited.”

  “But you recommended her for the assistant directorship?”

  “Yes, of course. Her performance as head of the geology department was exemplary. She increased productivity, maximized efficiency, and saved the museum thousands of dollars. I would have been a fool not to give her the job.”

  “So from everything you saw, there was nothing odd about her?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” The director leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. You can be assured that we will cooperate to make sure justice is done.”

  “Thank you. You won’t mind if I talk to some of her coworkers?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Lieutenant Donovan shook the director’s hand; she found it cold and firm, like a piece of rock. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Emma Earl’s coworkers waited in a conference room on the third floor. One-by-one Lieutenant Donovan planned to bring them to a separate conference room—one wired with recording devices—to interview them, to draw out any details that might shed light on why Earl might have killed Lois Early. Ordinarily she might have left some of these interviews up to a subordinate, but not in this case. For this one she planned to handle everything personally, to make sure no mistakes were made, no details missed.

  Leslie Mills was the first to be interviewed. As Earl’s secretary for the last five years, she would be in the best position to know if there was anything off about her boss. The older woman sat delicately on a chair and then composed herself to stare right at Lieutenant Donovan.

  “You’ve been Dr. Earl’s secretary for the last five years, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since she became head of the geology department.”

  “Correct.”

  “After Ian MacGregor died.”

  “Yes, I regret to say.”

  “Did you find that odd?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Lieutenant.”

  “Well, she was only in the department for a couple of weeks and then MacGregor kills himself and she takes over.”

  “Dr. MacGregor’s family was murdered. He was distraught. As any of us would be.”

  “I see. So you think it was a suicide?”

  “That is what your department determined, as I recall.”

  “Yes, it is. You agree with that?”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t think Dr. Earl might have killed him and made it look like a suicide so she could pave the way for her advancement?”

  “No, ma’am. Dr. Earl would never do anything like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “In the five years I’ve worked for her, Dr. Earl has never once raised her voice to me or anyone else to come into the office.”

  “Not once?”

  “Never.”

  “You think that means she’s incapable of killing anyone?”

  “That’s my impression.”

  Lieutenant Donovan checked her notes on the secretary. “You’ve worked here for over fifteen years. Before that you worked at the Louvre. Fancy place. Tell me, Ms. Mills, why would you leave a high-profile job like that?”

  “I don’t see how that is pertinent to this investigation.”

  “Consider me curious. Why would you leave the most famous museum in the world to come here?”

  “The Plaine Museum is a fine institution. I’m proud to work here.”

  “Yes, of course you are. But why did you come to work here?”

  “If you must know, Lieutenant, I needed a change of scenery.”

  ‘“A change of scenery.’ I see. Why’s that?”

  Mills’s face turned red. For the first time she looked down at her feet. Her voice turned quiet and soft, like that of a child. “There was a man. I loved him. He didn’t feel the same.”

  “Well, Paris is the city of lovers. So you came here to get away from him?”

  “Yes.”

  Lieutenant Donovan reached over to pat the woman on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Ms. Mills. Do you need a tissue or anything?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You can go.”

  The next ones up were those geologists Earl had worked with as head of the department. They didn’t have anything different to say than Mills. All of them praised Earl’s work ethic; they described her as the first one to arrive and last to leave. Like Mills, they couldn’t remember Earl ever losing her temper. The closest to a defect was one employee described her as often tired. “She works herself hard,” one said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “She had a lot to live up to, being so young. She wanted to prove she could do it.”

  Lieutenant Donovan sat alone in the conference room after the last employee left. She tapped a pencil against her lip as she thought back to shortly after Emma Earl had arrived at the Plaine Museum. Not long after MacGregor’s wife and child had been murdered, Lieutenant Donovan had interviewed Earl for the case. Then came the bombing of the geology department—the very one Earl worked in.

  The lieutenant had come to the same conclusion as Earl’s coworkers. The woman seemed so sweet and innocent, more like a girl than a woman. Could it all be an act? There was one person who might have the answer.

  ***

  Lieutenant Donovan waited at the front door of the colonial house. The place looked in terrible shape with chipped white paint, cracked steps, and tangled hedges. From Lieutenant Donovan’s notes, she knew Becky Beech and her fiancé Steve Scherr—now deceased—had bought the house only a few days before their tragic wedding. Despite that, there was no sign in front of the house to put it up for sale.

  Beech opened the front door; her plump face looked haggard and drawn. She tried to brighten up when she smiled, but couldn’t pull it off. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Beech.”

  “Mrs. Scherr.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you here about Steve’s murder?”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m here about a different murder. Officer Lois Early. She was killed in the park a couple of days ago.”

  “You think Emma did it.”

  “She’s our prime suspect at the moment.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that.”

  “I see. Well, if you’re looking for Emma she’s not here.”

  Lieutenant Donovan tried to peer around Beech’s wide frame, but couldn’t. “Would you mind if I took a look around?”

  “Not at all. There’s not much to see, though.”

  Beech was right about that. All of the furniture was still wrapped in plastic and scattered haphazardly. Boxes sat in the closet; most of them belonged to Steve Scherr. Lieutenant Donovan wondered why Beech hadn’t donated these to Goodwill, but she supposed it was too soon.

  Out of due diligence, Lieutenant Donovan checked the attic and basement. There was no sign of Emma Earl, only spider webs and mouse turds. They ended the tour in the living room; Beech collapsed with a weary sigh on the couch. Lieutenant Donovan took a chair across from her.

  “You’ve known Emma longer than anyone, haven’t you?”

  “We’ve be
en friends since she was four.”

  “And you’ve been together ever since?”

  “Not exactly. I couldn’t go with her to college. I was still in high school.”

  “I see. But you are her best friend, the one who knows her best?”

  “Yes.” Beech sighed again. “I can’t tell you anything about her.”

  “Can’t or won’t? If you’d like to discuss this downtown—”

  “I can’t. There’s nothing to tell. Emma is perfect. She always has been. She’s the type who helps old ladies across the street, never tips less than twenty percent, and reports everything on her taxes. If she was Catholic and performed a couple of miracles she could be a saint.”

  “Have you ever seen her lose her temper?”

  “No. Wait—” Beech rubbed her temples as she thought. “There was this one time in third grade. Jimmy Gates. He was the class bully. He was always stealing our lunch money and stuff. One day we were reading under the slide like we usually did and he started to pick on her. And then she snapped.”

  “Snapped?”

  “She knocked him over and started whaling on him. Scared me shitless. I ran to get the teacher before she did something crazy.”

  “You think she would have killed him?”

  “Emma? No. Not a chance. But she did have this look in her eye I’d never seen before. It was like seeing someone else. A whole other person.”

  Lieutenant Donovan nodded as she wrote this down in her notebook. She made a note to locate this Jimmy Gates if possible to corroborate the story. “What happened?”

  “He eventually knocked her off of him and pulled a knife. Cut off a chunk of her hair. He might have done worse if I hadn’t got the teacher.”

  “That’s the only time you remember seeing her act like that?”

  “Yes. I guess with what all has happened to her that’s kind of a surprise.”

  “You mean her parents?”

  “Well sure. They were murdered right in front of her. If I’d seen that happen I think I might have snapped completely. But not her. She’s made of sterner stuff.”

  Lieutenant Donovan flipped the notebook shut. “Thank you, Mrs. Scherr. You’ve been very helpful. If you hear anything from Emma, I hope you’ll let me know. She’s only making things worse by disappearing.” Lieutenant Donovan showed herself to the door. She paused there to look back at Beech. “I don’t suppose you’d have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “Not really. She doesn’t have any favorite hangouts other than that museum. Unless—did you check her old house in Parkdale?”

  “We have a car from the Parkdale police watching the house. There’s no sign of her there. But we’ll keep looking. Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  “Afternoon, Lieutenant.” The door closed sharply behind Lieutenant Donovan. She didn’t hurry back to the car, waiting to see if Beech might watch her go. There was no sign of anyone looking out the window. Maybe Beech had run to the nearest phone to call her friend and warn her the police were closing in. The lieutenant paused to jot a note to ask for a warrant to tap Beech’s phone. If Earl did call her best friend, then they would be able to move in for the kill.

  ***

  That night Lieutenant Donovan sat on the edge of the band shelter stage and idly smoked a cigarette. She had used the band shelter in Robinson Park many times before as her meeting place for the Scarlet Knight. Not that she expected the Scarlet Knight—Emma Earl—to show up here, despite the Email Lieutenant Donovan had sent to offer a truce so she could explain her side of things. The woman was definitely not stupid enough to walk into an obvious trap. Still, there was a first for everything.

  In case Earl was that stupid, Lieutenant Donovan had stationed the SWAT team outside the park. She wasn’t sure how much good they would be against that magic armor, but it was better than nothing. Lieutenant Donovan tossed her cigarette away to light another.

  It had been a long day. First the interviews at the Plaine Museum, then at Beech’s house, and finally a side trip to Hamilton Maximum Security Prison. It had taken a bit of doing to arrange the visit on such short notice, but the warden was a former RCPD detective and thus sympathetic to the lieutenant’s cause. He arranged for the clearances in record time.

  James Edward Gates hadn’t stopped at cutting off a little girl’s pigtail. After a stint in juvenile hall he moved on to bigger and better things like auto theft, drug dealing, and assault on deadbeat customers. He didn’t work for Don Vendetta or any of the other major syndicates. Gates was only a minor player, part of a small-time operation. That explained why he was in prison and not still free thanks to the don’s expensive lawyers.

  It wasn’t hard to see the nasty little boy in the man guards escorted into the meeting room. He still had the same arrogant grin and haughty bounce in his step. “You’re the cop who wants to see me? You’re better looking than any cop I’ve seen.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” She looked over at the guards. “You can leave us alone. I can handle him.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Gates said.

  “You want to find out?” Their eyes met, which initiated a staring contest like between two dogs. Gates looked away first.

  “What do you want? I ain’t done nothing since I been in here.”

  “I’m sure. I’m not here about you. Do you remember a girl named Emma Earl back in the third grade?”

  “Which third grade?” Gates laughed at his own joke. He whistled as he tried to think back. “Dorky Storky!”

  “What?”

  “Dorky Storky. That’s what I called her. She was this little beanpole, walked around like one of those birds—a stork. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure. You got into a fight with her?”

  “Oh yeah. I kicked her little ass. Snatched one of her pigtails too. I wanted to keep it for a souvenir, a scalp like the Indians, but that bitch teacher took it away from me.”

  “How disappointing.” The lieutenant consulted her notes. “From what I hear, she got in a few good licks on you.”

  “Little fucker took me by surprise. That’s all. I still got her.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Gates seemed like the type of moron who would be proud to beat up a girl younger and smaller than him. She considered a little police brutality to teach him a lesson. But then she supposed enough people in Hamilton already did that for her. “Would you describe her as a violent person typically?”

  “Shit no. She was just some wimpy kid.”

  “When she took you by surprise, did you notice anything unusual about her?”

  “I guess. She had this crazy look in her eyes.” Gates lowered his voice. His face took on a dreamy quality. “When I was in juvie I used to think about her on top of me with that look and beat off. For all that goody-goodness of hers, there was something wild in there. Like one of those jungle cats you see on TV.”

  “You think it’s possible she could kill someone?”

  “We all could kill someone. Law of the jungle and shit.”

  “Right.” Lieutenant Donovan closed her notebook. “Well, I guess that’s it. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Sure. You going to put a good word in for me with the AG? Maybe knock a couple of years off my sentence?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lieutenant Donovan said, though she had no intention to follow through. Someone like Gates deserved to be locked up; the word ‘rehabilitation’ meant nothing to him.

  She had driven back from Hamilton to the office, where she sent the Email to the anonymous account and then waited. It was past midnight now, well past when the Scarlet Knight usually showed up. She threw a last cigarette to the ground and then started back for her car. “Let’s pack it up,” she said into her radio. “She ain’t coming.”

  Later, alone in her apartment, Lieutenant Donovan lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling as she tried to imagine that little girl pummeling Jimmy Gates. Maybe the idiot was right and there was something inside the girl; m
aybe there was something inside everyone that made them capable of violence. The only way to find out would be to track down Earl and look into those eyes herself.

  Chapter 18

  She awoke to a weight on her chest. She opened her eyes and screamed. The foot-long rat scurried off into the darkness. A cacophony of shrieks erupted as Emma sat up.

  She looked down and saw the tattered remains of her suit stained with blood, mud, and sewage. Sewage. She thought back to those last moments of consciousness. The Dragoon had somehow gotten to the Sanctuary to surprise her and Mr. Graves. Poor Mr. Graves. He had been stabbed in the chest, but somehow he had survived long enough to hurl the Sword of Justice and ward off the Black Dragoon. The Dragoon had triggered some kind of firebomb. She had barely managed to crawl down the hatch—into the sewers.

  There was something else on her suit: a bandage over her left shoulder. From the slimy walls, the rats, and the smell she knew she was still in the sewers. That could only mean the Sewer Rat had found her and applied the bandage. The rat who had sat on her chest must be one of his followers.

  As if on cue, a humanoid figure clad in a fur coat emerged from the shadows. His red-brown eyes, sharp nose, and buck teeth added to the impression that he was more rat than man—all he needed was the tail. “You awake,” he said in a hiss that sounded like that of a rat.

  “Yes. You found me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anyone else?”

  “He got away.”

  “No, I don’t mean the Dragoon. There was an old man up there with me. Did you find him down here too?”

  “No.”

  Emma closed her eyes and thought back to those last moments again. A wave of flame had coursed through the Sanctuary—yes, of course he was dead. There was no way he could have crawled out of there in time. Mr. Graves was dead.

  “He you friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “He dead?”

  “Yes.” She held back the tears, but just barely. There would be plenty of time to mourn for Mr. Graves later. For now she had to retrieve the red armor and find a way to stop the Black Dragoon. She said the magic words that caused the case to appear at her feet, which scattered the Sewer Rat’s friends again.