The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Steve Cheshire.”

  “Well, you found him. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Jim Mackenzie. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Oh, yes. Dr. Mackenzie, about Ginny Forbes.”

  “Yes. I was hoping you could tell me what you told her, about the tampering.”

  “Sure.” The technician picked up a skate boot and showed Jim how the blade is normally mounted. “We mark the location, then drill holes, then put a drop of glue in, then screw in the screws, and let it dry. Sometimes I add waterproofing.”

  Jim watched, noticing he used a metal device to hold the boot in place as he worked. “Is that a clamp?”

  Steve nodded. “It’s a mounting stand. It will hold the blade still relative to the sole of the boot. I use it when I have to drill new holes, like when I’m mounting a blade on a new pair of skates.” He picked up an obviously older skate and held it out so Jim could see. “But if the holes are the same and I’m just switching out the blade, or replacing one that came off for some reason, I can do it this way.” He demonstrated.

  “You put your hand inside the boot.”

  “Yes.” Steve set the second skate boot down, glanced at his fingers, then wiped some excess glue off his hands onto his pants.

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. He was beginning to get an idea. “Do you ever get glue inside the boot?”

  “I try not to. It’s epoxy, which bonds really well to the leather. If I get some inside, I’ll have to clean it out. The skaters need a clean, smooth surface inside.”

  “A clean, smooth surface.”

  “Right, so it won’t raise a blister.”

  Jim drew in a deep breath. Yes. That was definitely an idea. He held out his hand. “Thank you very much. This has been a real help.”

  Jim made his way from there to the edge of the Rink B ice surface and leaned over the railing. It was easy to see where she had gone down. There were still pylons up around the impact zone. The police must have finished their investigation, though, because someone with a chisel was busy gouging the blood out of the surface of the ice. Jim felt an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was her blood being tossed into a bucket to be carted off and disposed of elsewhere. He watched for a moment, then turned and made his way back up the ramp and out into the parking lot.

  * * *

  “Ginny?” Her mother’s voice penetrated the light doze and brought her to consciousness.

  “Ummm?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, dear, but there’s a detective here to see you. Shall I send her away?”

  Ginny pushed herself up.

  “No, I’d better see her.”

  Detective Tran eyed Ginny for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been studying those spreadsheets you and Dr. Mackenzie put together. They are,” she hesitated for a moment, “interesting.”

  “In what way?”

  “Where did you get your information, please?”

  “From the CDC and from the Internet.”

  “I see.” The Detective sat without speaking for another long moment, then seemed to make up her mind about something. “You would have made a good detective.”

  “Thank you.” Ginny wasn’t quite up to feeling irritated, but it was just one more example of the general ignorance that surrounded her profession. “It’s what I do, at work, and in my hobby.”

  “I see.” Silence again.

  “What may I do for you, Detective?”

  The older woman shifted in the chair, her face unreadable. “The work is incomplete.”

  Ginny’s mouth twitched. “I was interrupted.”

  Detective Tran smiled. “Yes. I wonder if you feel well enough to continue?”

  Ginny blinked. Her discharge instructions had been extensive and explicit. Dr. Armstrong wanted her to avoid computer work until he saw her again next week. No sports, no driving, nothing that strained her eyes or raised her blood pressure. She frowned slightly. “My doctor said I was not to do anything other than sleep until next week.”

  Detective Tran’s frown matched Ginny’s. “I am afraid there may be some urgency.”

  Ginny met her eyes. “You think he may try again.”

  She nodded.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “There is a note that the time frame for the attack on Professor Craig has not been clarified. Would you explain, please?”

  By way of answer, Ginny picked up her phone and dialed Alex. She posed the question.

  “Yes,” he said. “It checks out.”

  “Thank you.” She hung up. “The CDC has now confirmed the calculations made by Dr. Mackenzie are reliable.” She set the phone down and closed her eyes. Jim had been right.

  “So the Professor was attacked on Wednesday afternoon while he was at the library, in full view of the patrons and staff?”

  “Not in full view. Based on where the lancet was found, he was in the stacks, so the shelves and books would have been between him and any casual observers. You’d need to be peering down the aisle to see what happened.”

  “I think it is time to check alibis.”

  Ginny looked at the detective. “That’s your department.”

  “Yes, it is.” She pulled a notebook from her pocket and consulted it. “You were not in the library that day.”

  Ginny’s eyebrows rose. It was a question, albeit a very discreet one.

  “I was not.”

  “You were at the convention center.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there anyone you are aware of who left the convention center and went to the library?”

  Ginny blinked. “I have no idea.”

  The detective held her gaze for a moment longer than seemed necessary.

  “You and Dr. Mackenzie collected the ‘sign-in sheets’ I believe they are called?”

  “Chip Galloway took them as part of the CDC investigation. I don’t know if he returned them or not. He also had the attendance records from the convention.”

  Detective Tran nodded, flipping over a page in her notebook. “Dr. Mackenzie visited the library on Tuesday and was asking for information on who was present on the previous Wednesday, correct?”

  “So he told me.”

  Detective Tran pulled something else from her pocket and unfolded it, looked at it a moment, then regarded Ginny. “In your spreadsheet,” she indicated the papers in her hand, “you eliminated potential suspects on the grounds they were not present at the library during that window of opportunity.”

  “Yes.”

  The detective held Ginny’s eye for a long moment. What on earth was she fishing for, Ginny wondered?

  “There is an error in your spreadsheet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mrs. Campbell was present. She was on the surveillance tapes from the garage for that afternoon.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Hal had said so. Ginny blinked. “But—”

  “Yes?”

  Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “She had no access to my skates.”

  “The two incidents may be unrelated.”

  Ginny nodded slowly. Maybe. But she didn’t believe it. “Maybe you should ask her about it.”

  “We have.”

  Ginny’s head was beginning to hurt. “Then how can I help you, Detective?”

  “Think, Ginny. Who else left the convention center that afternoon?”

  “Hundreds of people were coming and going. And there must have been dozens who went to the library. It was part of the package.” She looked at the older woman. “Is there someone in particular you’re thinking of?”

  “I am not at liberty to say. If you remember something, it might provide evidence to either include or exclude a specific individual.”

  The doorbell rang and Ginny heard her mother answer it, then enter a debate with the new visitor.

  “I will try,” Ginny said to the detective, “but I don’t think I can add anything to what I’ve already told you.”


  There was a knock on her door. “I apologize for interrupting you,” Mrs. Forbes said, “but there’s someone here to see Detective Tran.”

  “Me?”

  “He said the station told him you were here.”

  “And who is this man?”

  Mrs. Forbes glanced over at Ginny, then back to the detective. “Dr. Mackenzie.”

  Detective Tran rose. “I will come down.” She gathered up her purse and notebook, then faced Ginny.

  “I would be most grateful if you would let me know if you think of anything. I will be available all weekend. You have my number.”

  * * *

  Chapter 42

  Friday

  Ginny leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes. The interview had stirred up a headache and she laid her arm across her forehead. The skin was cool and felt good against her eyelids.

  She could hear the voices, two female, one male, a rather deep male. The sound rumbled. An urgent rumble. He was trying to persuade them of something. She couldn’t hear the words, just the tone. Then she heard the creak of the stairs. Someone was coming up. Her mother, no doubt, to report on the visit. There was a tap on her door.

  “Come in.”

  She still had her eyes closed, her arm resting across her forehead in the classic damsel in distress pose. When no one spoke, Ginny pulled her arm away and looked over at the door. He stood just inside the room, his eyes on her, her mother hovering behind him.

  She saw him swallow.

  “How are you, Ginny?”

  She took a breath, feeling the cracked ribs ache. “Fine, thank you.”

  He smiled at that. “You are a very bad liar.”

  Ginny sighed, looking at her mother. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?”

  She smiled. “Because it’s true.”

  Jim had walked across the room and now stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her. He seemed tense, keyed up. He took a breath. “I would be very grateful if you’d let me look you over.”

  Ginny glanced at her mother before nodding. With a chaperone in the room and a police detective downstairs, what could it hurt? If he tried anything, her mother was perfectly capable of braining him with the sherry decanter.

  He bent down to examine the dressings on her head, then her pupils, then the bruises on her neck, which brought his fingers into contact with the talisman.

  “What’s this?”

  “Nothing.”

  He looked at her for a moment, then held out his hands.

  “Squeeze my fingers.” She tried to squeeze hard enough to push the blood out, but he just smiled at her. “No trouble walking?”

  “No, nor speaking. No deficits, no droops, no vision disturbances.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Where is your stethoscope?”

  Ginny pointed to her nursing bag. He tucked the earpieces in place then positioned the diaphragm against her chest. “Breathe for me.”

  When he was done, he set the stethoscope aside. “You’ve got fluid in both bases and under the cracked ribs. Are you coughing anything up?”

  “I was told not to, because of my head.”

  Jim frowned. “Any fever?”

  “No.” Not yet anyway.

  “I’ll talk to Armstrong about it.”

  She nodded. At some point she was going to have to walk the fine line between increasing intracranial pressure and incipient pneumonia.

  “When are you scheduled to see him?”

  “Monday.”

  Jim nodded. “Okay.” He glanced over at Mrs. Forbes, then back down at Ginny and smiled. “I’m off this weekend. I don’t normally make house calls, but for you I’ll make an exception. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  He made his way across the room and let Mrs. Forbes escort him out.

  Ginny was not surprised when her mother came back upstairs and sat down in the chair vacated by Detective Tran.

  “What did he want?” Ginny asked.

  “Other than to see you?”

  “Yes, Mother. What else?”

  “He’s had an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  Mrs. Forbes nodded. “He thinks there may be a fingerprint inside your skate boot that escaped being wiped off. Detective Tran has agreed to suggest it to the crime lab, but she says we won’t hear anything either way until at least Monday afternoon.”

  “How did he come up with that?”

  “He talked to Steve Cheshire.”

  Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “He drove out to the rink? That was a long way to go and how did he even know—” Ginny gave her mother a suspicious look. “You told him.”

  Mrs. Forbes nodded serenely.

  “Mother, what are you up to?”

  “He’s the Laird’s grandson. It was mere politeness to answer his question.”

  “You know he’s on the Suspects list.”

  “I know.”

  Ginny shook her head at her mother. “I will be so glad when this is over.”

  Her mother rose. “I’m very impressed with Detective Tran. I have a feeling it won’t be much longer. In the meantime, sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

  * * *

  Jim’s feet hardly touched the ground between Ginny’s door and his car. Not only had he been listened to by Detective Tran, who seemed to think his idea worth exploring, but Ginny had let him examine her, let him reassure himself she was all right. Her mind was clear, her nerve function intact, the bruises weren’t spreading, and the road rash and the dressing over the stitches were both dry. He’d have to follow up on the fluid in her lungs, of course, but the important thing was that she had let him look.

  He had the hardest time keeping his eyes open on the way home. At one point, he nearly ran off the road during a jaw-cracking yawn. When he got back to his apartment, he locked the door, threw his keys on the table, fell into bed, and was instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Ginny was lying in bed, her eyes closed. She would rather have been reading, but, at the moment, her head didn’t hurt and she wanted to keep it that way. She opened her eyes at the tap on the door.

  “Would you like to speak to Mark Craig?” her mother asked. “He’s on the phone.”

  Ginny smiled and picked up the extension.

  “Ginny? It’s Mark. I’m calling because I thought you might like to hear what we found out about those antique Japanese prints.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You were right about the origin and age. They all came out of what’s known as a Pillow Book and the work has been dated as twelfth century.”

  “Really!”

  “Uh huh. It turns out he didn’t buy them, though. They were a gift, well a series of gifts actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “It seems Uncle Don made a friend, years ago, on one of his trips. A woman.”

  “Oh!”

  Mark laughed. “Yes! Anyway, she sent those prints, one a year, on his birthday, for as long as the supply lasted.”

  Ginny’s nose twitched. She was dying to ask if there was a reason for these gifts, but just didn’t quite dare. “Er, how did you find out?”

  “The auction house tracked down the owner. She’s still alive and was willing to provide the provenance.” Ginny could hear the note of amusement in his voice.

  “She was also able to produce love letters from him to her.”

  “Love letters! Professor Craig?”

  The amusement broke out into frank laughter. “Yes! It doesn’t seem likely, does it? The two of them conducting a long-distance affair, but I’ve seen the letters. They are definitely in his handwriting.”

  “Why didn’t they get married?”

  “Apparently she was already betrothed and had no way to escape the arrangement.”

  “But they loved each other their whole lives, even though parted by forces beyond their control. What a romantic story. Um, does she want the prints back?”

  “No. She wrote a charmin
g little note to me and Terry, telling us how much she enjoyed Uncle Don’s friendship over the years, how sorry she was to hear he was dead, and hoping we shared his appreciation for antiques. I felt so guilty I’ve decided we have to keep one of them. Terry gets to choose which.”

  Ginny smiled at the thought. “Is there one she won’t burn behind your back?”

  “There’s one showing a couple embracing in a garden, no nudity, just the suggestion of what is to come. It must have been the frontispiece of the book.”

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you for letting me know.”

  “Ginny, you won’t tell anybody?”

  Ginny smothered a laugh. “It’s such a wonderful story. Straight out of the fairy tale books.”

  “Well, true, but it was his little secret.”

  Ginny sighed. “All right. I promise, but it’s going to be really hard to keep that one.”

  Mark laughed. “You must come to dinner one evening next week. Terry would love to see you again.”

  “I’d like that. As soon as my doctor lets me.”

  “Doctor? What happened? Are you all right?” She could hear the sudden concern in his voice.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little accident at the ice rink.”

  “An accident? Are you sure it was an accident?”

  Ginny grew suddenly still. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, because of the fire, you know, and you coming over to the house to help us hunt for whatever it was. You might have been seen.”

  “Seen? What are you talking about?”

  “You met Officer Michel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well he may not have told you. The reason the fire department got here so quickly was because someone was watching the arsonist set the fire.”

  Ginny caught her breath. “Who?”

  “There were three boys camping out in their backyard across the alley from us on the night of the fire. They were supposed to be asleep, but were actually prowling around the neighborhood, the way boys do when they escape adult supervision.”

  “Yes.”

  “One of them was up a tree and had some kiddie version of night vision goggles. He says he saw the whole thing.”