Setting the Stage for Murder

by Robert W. Gregg

  Kevin took his beer with him and went into the study to check his e-mail messages. He realized as soon as he entered the room that his laptop wasn’t in its accustomed place on the desk. He stopped, looking puzzled. It was always on the desk. Right in the middle of the desk, directly in front of the desk chair. Well, not always. Occasionally he took it out onto the deck when he was working on an article. But he couldn’t recall doing that for weeks. He hadn’t been writing an article; it was something his dean would ask him about when he got back to the city and attended the first faculty meeting of the fall semester. He started to formulate the excuse he would offer, but immediately set that thought aside and refocused on the laptop.

  It wouldn’t be there, but he would have to look. Kevin went out onto the deck where, as he knew would be the case, there was no laptop. There was no point in checking the other rooms, but he did it anyway. The laptop was gone. He was not usually a forgetful person, and he could not imagine what he might have done with the laptop in a rare forgetful moment. He finally faced the fact that he would have to consider the possibility of theft.

  For as long as he had been coming to Crooked Lake, Kevin could not recall a single reported case of theft. None of his neighbors and acquaintances locked their doors. At first Kevin had reflexively locked the cottage at night and whenever he left to run errands. After all, he was a city boy, and no one in the city would dream of leaving doors unlocked, a standing invitation to thieves. But gradually he had adopted the more casual habits of the locals. His doors, front and back, had not only been unlocked when he set off for his meeting with Sandy Temple in Latham; the backdoor had not even been closed.

  Once Kevin had admitted to himself that theft, no matter how unlikely, was still possible, he began to think about what else might have been taken. This necessitated a careful scrutiny of the contents of the several rooms of the cottage. A missing laptop suggested an interest in electronic equipment. But his stereo and CD player were where they always were. So was his recently purchased high definition flat screen television. He turned to the shelves where he kept his collection of CDs and DVDs. Nothing had been disturbed.

  What else was of value? His books were in place. He had no jewelry and his watch, a cheap Fossil, was on his wrist. He quickly went through his desk drawers. The only thing that might have attracted attention was his checkbook, and it was right where he had left it after his last trip to the bank.

  The sight of the checkbook reminded him that the most accurate record of his finances was on his Quicken program, but that had disappeared with the laptop. Was it possible that someone wanted access to data on his several accounts? He couldn’t imagine why. Could there be someone who wanted to steal something he was writing and publish it under his own name? If so, that person would be very disappointed.

  Kevin soon gave up this unproductive speculation and dialed the sheriff’s office to report the theft of the laptop. He could have waited until Carol arrived, but what if the thief had been breaking into a number of houses along the lake? Carol’s people would want to get started on the search for the thief right away. Besides, he didn’t want her to arrive for a swim and dinner and immediately have to turn her attention to a law enforcement issue.

  She pulled in around 5:30 and headed immediately for the bedroom to get into her bathing suit. There was a lot to talk about, but it would have to wait until they had enjoyed a refreshing dip in the lake. Now that Carol was spending her nights at the cottage again, the evening swim had become something of a ritual. Except, of course, for those rare days when they took the canoe out. They had created rules about this. Rule number one was no discussion of the Gerlach case while swimming. There would be time later for that. But they were to put everything out of their minds except the pleasure of sharing a few moments in the lake waters, which even in the heat of late August were typically at least ten to fifteen degrees cooler than the air.

  A half an hour later they were sitting on the deck, still wearing their bathing suits, nursing a glass of Chardonnay. For awhile they said little, enjoying instead the sight of flags flapping limply on their poles at the end of nearby docks and the sound of small waves lapping at the beach. It was relatively quiet, the only other sound coming from the occasional boat moving up or down the lake.

  “I hate to break the mood,” Kevin said, “but we’re going to have to call out for pizza. Unless that is you want to try that roast we ruined last night. I’m trying to clean out the fridge, not add more to it before I have to leave.”

  The thought of his leaving was difficult for both of them, and neither wanted to talk about it. Kevin had brought it up, but quickly changed the subject.

  “As your staff will tell you when you get to the office tomorrow, I’ve been visited by a thief. Someone stole my laptop while I was out this afternoon.”

  “You’re serious?” Carol sounded as if she was more likely to hear about a drive-by shooting than a common, garden-variety theft.

  “Afraid so. No need to talk about it. Your man, I think it was Barrett, said he’d get on it right away. It’s not the end of the world. But you may have to rethink the conventional wisdom that Crooked Lake is free of thieves.”

  “You’re forgetting that break-in at Gerlach’s,” Carol said.

  “That wasn’t theft. Nothing was stolen.”

  “A technicality. So you lost your laptop,” she mused. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “That’s odd, don’t you think? Sounds like whoever it was isn’t the usual thief. Somebody who was specifically interested in your computer. Any idea why?”

  “None. I’ve been all over this. It’s a real mystery.”

  Carol suddenly straightened up and turned toward him. Kevin admired the way the movement showed off her figure to good advantage. He realized that he’d fallen in love with her before ever seeing her in a bathing suit, much less with no clothes on, but he felt a small thrill of pleasure to be reminded of what a great body she had. Almost as good as her mind.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “I’ve got an idea. Thieves don’t usually make off with just one item when there are other goodies lying around. Not unless that one item is what they’re after. If you rule that out—meaning the laptop wasn’t the reason for the theft, how about somebody stealing it to cover up the real reason for the theft?”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  “Think,” she said. It sounded like an order. “Is there anything here that someone might want, something you’d not think to look for because you’re focused on the laptop? On a conventional theft?”

  “Not that I know of. I’ve been over everything.”

  “Probably not everything, Kevin. Remember up at Gerlach’s house the other night you took a biography of Berlioz out of his bookcase. If it were your house, you might not even think to look for that particular book after a burglary because you wouldn’t know that the thief broke into the house for one reason only: to steal Berlioz.”

  “What you’re saying is that my thief took the laptop to confuse me. Which maybe he did. Maybe he was after something else.”

  “Right. Something that he was sure was in your cottage, something you wouldn’t think to look for when you discovered the theft of the laptop.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “I don’t know. But think about it.”

  “I’m thinking, and nothing comes to mind.”

  Suddenly it was Kevin’s turn to straighten up in his chair.

  “Go back a minute. You mentioned Berlioz and Gerlach’s cottage. You meant it as an example, but we did steal something besides the Berlioz biography. Well, we didn’t really steal it. But we took it with us. Remember? Gerlach’s harem album.”

  “Yes, but that’s in my office, not your cottage.”

  “No it isn’t. I borrowed it from your office when I went to visit the Helman woman, the one I bumped into at the supermarket. I knew right away that she was one of the women in the album,
and I wanted to show her the picture, get her to admit she’d had an affair with Gerlach.”

  “Are you telling me you still have the album?” Carol did not sound pleased.

  “I intended to bring it right back, but—”

  “No buts, Kevin. That album could turn out to be important evidence. Where is it?”

  “I tucked it into a shelf in that bookcase in the living room. Over by my stereo.”

  They both came out of their chairs at the same time, bumping into each other as they hurried through the door into the living room.

  “Which shelf?” Carol asked as she knelt in front of the bookcase.

  “The bottom one, I think. Not sure.”

  In a matter of less than a minute all of the books and assorted files had been pulled from the bookcase and strewn across the floor. The album with photos of Harley Gerlach and the women in his life was not among them.

  “Maybe you put it in another bookcase. Maybe you were even clever enough to put it under lock and key in a file cabinet.”

  “My file cabinet doesn’t have a lock and key,” Kevin said, acutely aware that Carol was being sarcastic. “And I’m sure it was this bookcase.”

  “We’d better look in the study anyway.”

  By the time Kevin finally placed his call for pizza, they had reluctantly acknowledged that Gerlach’s harem album was no longer in the cottage.

  CHAPTER 38

  There was more to talk about than a stolen laptop and Gerlach’s photos of his conquests. A lot more. They both realized that nothing would be gained by indulging in recriminations over the missing photo album, and by mutual agreement they focused on other matters over their pizza. Those other matters included Sandy Temple’s unsolicited defense of Arthur Conklin and Sonia Pederson’s tale of Janet Myers’ second thoughts about her divorce from Harley Gerlach. Not to mention Carol’s report on her meeting with Marcia Kane. Thursday had been a busy day.

  The one thing about which they were in complete agreement was that it was way too soon to cross Conklin and Myers off the list of suspects. They both thought it interesting that Temple and Pederson had come forward on the same day to proclaim the innocence of two members of Kevin’s opera company. But Carol, who was notoriously skeptical of coincidences, was prepared to accept the fact that in this case there was no other explanation for it.

  Temple’s defense of Conklin had been based on nothing more than her conviction that he was a nice man who had been devastated by his wife’s infidelity and death. Appearing and sounding devastated could be a calculated act as well as a deeply felt response to a crisis in his life. Myers’ case was somewhat different. Carol had no reason to believe that Pederson had fabricated the story of Janet’s ambivalence about Gerlach, but the old college friend obviously did not know whether Myers had discussed her feelings with her first husband, and if so, how he had reacted. What if he had laughed in her face?

  She had known that she would have to speak with Janet Myers again. Now she would have to talk with Sandy Temple as well. And she had yet to discuss with the Geneva police their investigation of Helen Conklin’s death. Was their suspicion of her husband simply a matter of routine procedure, as Temple had assumed, or was there something in the circumstances surrounding her death that raised a red flag?

  There didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day to deal with all of these issues, she thought.

  They had spent more time discussing Mercedes Redman. In spite of the ‘remember Gerlach’ note, Carol was of the opinion that Sean Carpenter had had nothing to do with Redman’s death. Indeed, there was no reason to think that she died from other than natural causes. Carol would wait until the autopsy report came in before questioning Carpenter again. If it confirmed that there had been no foul play, she might simply let the matter of the threatening note drop. But she would have to pursue with him the issue of his failed effort to join the Metropolitan Opera chorus. Was his rejection due to Gerlach? If so, when had he learned about it and from whom?

  They talked about Marcia Kane and Carol’s suspicion that she might have had a physical altercation with Redman. Hopefully the autopsy would answer that question. But that was a matter for the Ithaca police to deal with, not the Cumberland County sheriff’s department. Carol fervently hoped that neither the autopsy nor Chief Owens’ investigation would produce evidence that Sean Carpenter was in any way involved in Redman’s death. Bad enough that he was under suspicion for Gerlach’s murder.

  They had been kicking these issues around for a couple of hours when Carol yawned and admitted to being tired.

  “What time is it anyway?” she asked, suddenly aware that she didn’t have her watch on. It was then that she was reminded that they had never changed out of their bathing suits. They had gradually dried in the warm evening air, and both Carol and Kevin had become so preoccupied with their dissection of new developments in the Gerlach case that they hadn’t thought to change.

  Kevin looked at his blue trunks.

  “I guess murder has a way of taking your mind off your wardrobe,” he said. “Oh, and by the way, to answer your question, it’s not much after nine o’clock.”

  “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I call it a night,” Carol said. She stood up and started toward the bedroom. “Just gotta change into my nightgown.”

  As he watched her, Kevin experienced a sensation in his chest so strong it could have been mistaken for angina. He was contemplating the end of summer, just days away, and another eight months of separation from Carol.

  “Wait,” he said as he, too, got to his feet. “You can do whatever you like, but I’m going to change into nothing.”

  He calmly stepped out of his trunks.

  “Nice,” Carol said, her face breaking into a smile. “But don’t you think you ought to turn off that light? I like the show, but you do have neighbors, you know.”

  As she said it, she started to peel off her bathing suit. They came together in a tight embrace, all worries about Harley Gerlach’s murder and the missing harem album temporarily forgotten.

  CHAPTER 39

  Sam Bridges made sure his coffee was secure in the cup holder, backed out of his drive, and set off for the Cumberland County sheriff’s office. It was 7:35 on a warm and humid Friday morning in late August. The drive was one Sam had made hundreds of times; barring a disaster the like of which he could not remember in all of his 43 years, it would take no more than ten minutes. He made a bet with himself that he’d arrive before the sheriff did. When Carol Kelleher became sheriff of Cumberland County four years earlier, she had made it a practice to come in early and stay late. Rare was the day when she was not already at her desk when the first of her fellow officers drove into the parking lot. Even rarer was the day when she was not the last to leave. It had taken only a few days before Sam and his colleagues got the message and adjusted their schedules in an effort to look as conscientious as their new boss.

  But in recent weeks, and more particularly in recent days, the sheriff had taken to arriving later and leaving earlier. And everyone in the department knew that she was arriving from the cottage of Professor Kevin Whitman, where she had spent the night, and leaving to return to that cottage, where she would spend yet another night. No one, least of all Bridges, was prepared to argue that she was shirking her duty. But some of the men were worried that she might be losing her focus.

  Sam knew she wasn’t losing her focus. What he was worried about was that she was letting Whitman become a de facto member of the force, the person she turned to when it came time to brainstorm a problem. Which might have been all right if she did not already have a deputy sheriff. His name was Sam Bridges.

  Sam had not been particularly happy with an assignment he had been given on the Gerlach case. He had been told to check out the local restaurants and find out which ones had served spaghetti and meatballs for lunch on the day that Gerlach had been killed. Apparently the autopsy had determined that that had been the victim’s lunch before he was strangled. Sam kne
w that it made a certain amount of sense to find out where he had dined. But a couple of the men had kidded him about his meatball assignment, and he had come to see it as a demeaning task. Nor was that all. Ever since he had reported the contents of Wayne Hall’s bathroom wastebasket, he had spent an inordinate amount of time talking to the various members of the opera company. Who had started to write a note and then tossed it away unfinished? Who wore hearing aids? Who chewed gum? Which of the women had been having her period? He understood the potential importance of the note. But why did he have to discover who had tossed out a hearing-aid battery or a gum wrapper, or who had disposed of a used maxi-pad?

  It wasn’t that these were difficult assignments. Well, locating the author of the unfinished note had proved impossible. But he now knew who had hearing problems and who chewed gum, and he felt that he had invaded the privacy of a couple of the women in the company. He also knew where in the area you could get a meal of spaghetti and meatballs. And in the meanwhile, Kelleher and her friend Whitman had no doubt been occupied with more important aspects of the case.

  It was roughly eight and a half minutes after leaving home that Sam pulled into the small parking lot behind the building which housed the sheriff’s department. To his surprise, the sheriff’s car was there. He touched its hood as he walked past it. It was slightly warm, but not hot. She had obviously arrived at least ten minutes before he arrived. What did this earlier than usual arrival portend? Had Sam been a fan of Sherlock Holmes, he might have said to himself that perhaps the game was afoot. In any event, he shoved aside his thoughts about the sheriff and her lover, or whatever Whitman was, and hurried into the building.

  Carol approached the usual morning meeting in a businesslike manner. She willed herself not to think about the pleasures of the night before, just as she had willed herself to get up early and leave Kevin to eat breakfast alone. She was already on her second cup of coffee when the last of her team strolled into the squad room.