Death of A Raven
By Louise Guardino
This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters, and events portrayed used in this novella are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright ｩ 2018 Louise Guardino
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 1
Detective Serengi Palmer was looking out the patio door when Frank Dotson, CCBI Field Investigator, entered the room. Serengi remained silent, his hands in his pockets. Sunlight streamed in through the sliding glass doors, bouncing off the piano, and edging towards the fireplace. In the sunlight's haze, the pictures on the opposite wall were indistinct.
Frank squinted. He took a few minutes to survey the crime scene. A thick-tufted black carpet covered the floor. To his left was Serengi and the glare from the sun. To his right, two white urns, their beige ferns lifeless, flanked a stone chess table. Arranged before him were plump white sofas and chairs, embossed with black oriental strokes. Black-framed line drawings decorated the near wall. A patch of sun streaked across the floor from the left to be absorbed into the deep black rug. Frank was hypnotized. The glare from the white walls and the white and black furniture played havoc with his senses.
The spattered blood on the wall opposite, near the fireplace, was the only splash of color. A dark blotch ran down the wall, surrounded unevenly by blackish spots; as if someone had used a spatula to distribute the drops.
"Pretty sight isn't it?" Serengi said to the City County Bureau of Identification man without turning around.
"Like a dream," Frank replied, pulling on his gloves. "This guy, Raven, he fall down the rabbit hole or somethin'? Who could live in a place like this?"
"He could. John Raven." Serengi pointed to the victim lying, broken, beneath the stain.
Frank waited until another investigator had vacuumed a path towards the victim. The fibers collected would be preserved as evidence for later analysis. Frank approached the body. The victim was lying face-up, arms flung out, crumpled by the fireplace. His sightless eyes were open. Except for the bloody blotch on his neck and the small smear of blackish blood on the crisp white shirt-front just visible beneath the jacket, the man was immaculate. He wore a navy suit, matching navy and gold tie, and shoes polished enough to reflect the devil's face. Would that they held the shooter's reflection, thought Frank, seeing no gun lying nearby.
"You take pictures?" Frank called over to Serengi.
"Yeah."
Frank took his own set of photos from multiple angles of the victim and the blood spattered wall. He'd take measurements later. Another agent took video of the body and room. Frank squatted and quickly chalked the outline of the body before inspecting the body itself. The man looked to have been in his late-fifties. The expressionless face was pale and cool to the touch. The sour smell of decaying flesh and lost body fluids hovered above. Frank peered at the chest wound. No gunshot residue was evident but the autopsy would better determine this. After noting that the victim wasn't stiff with rigor mortis, Frank rolled the upper body and inspected the wider wound evident beneath the damaged jacket back. He checked the rug underneath the body. Seeing nothing of note, he looked more closely at the skin at the back of the neck. It was a deep purple where the blood had settled.
He touched the neck with a gloved finger. The color didn't change. He let the body return to rest. Frank pulled a notepad from his jumpsuit and jotted a few lines. He stood up. "My guess? I'd say he's been like this at least thirty-six hours, maybe forty to forty-five. Definite lividity evident on the underside and rigor has come and gone."
"Thirty-six would put us back to Saturday night around nine. So, right now we've got a range of maybe 9 A.M. to 9 P.M. Saturday."
Serengi left the room, careful of where he stepped, and went outside. He inhaled the sweet spring smell of new mown grass and gazed at the wispy clouds gliding above. The dew was almost gone as the day edged beyond ten-thirty. In the distance, where the driveway met the street, there was quiet. Monday residential traffic was light. The house itself was sheltered from street view by numerous Virginia pines and magnolia trees.
He was working this one alone while his partner, Jim Deevers, was out of town on family leave. Jim's parents had been in a serious auto accident and it was touch and go. The other detectives in Homicide were already tied up in various drug related homicides. He missed Jim's insight. He stood there, recalling his initial impression prior to the arrival of the CCBI crime scene unit.
The uniformed officer who had secured the crime scene had greeted him and told him that there was only one witness, now waiting in the kitchen.
Like Frank Dotson later, he surveyed the room without entering. Sensing more than thinking. The sense of order was marred by mail and magazines lying in disarray around the base of a table near the doorway. Two envelopes still perched near the edge of the table, as if reluctant to fall. A struggle, hurried exit, or purposeful swipe?
No apparent exterior dirt led into the room from the closed, and unbroken, windows or patio doors. North Carolina clay-based soil when wet would be easily seen if tracked across a deep black rug. Though it hadn't rained in the past few days, it was possible that the plantings adjacent to entry portals might have been watered. Something to be checked. If the soil had been dry then traces of the hard packed dirt might not be as easily seen. A closer inspection would be needed.
A neatly placed magazine, open, and a half-empty cup of coffee rested on a low table in front of a sofa. The liquid was scummed. A morning's pleasure or an evening's quiet interrupted?
The violence that had happened here jarred the orderly atmosphere. Serengi had a sense of the man who had died, but not yet a sense of the killer. That would come.
Chapter 2
The housekeeper who had found John Raven had last been at the house the preceding Thursday, having left by six P.M., before Raven arrived home.
Serengi found the woman, BettyAnn Briar, in the kitchen, sitting at the table. She was wearing black slacks and loose pullover. He judged the brunette to be in her late twenties.
"Miss Briar? I'm Detective Palmer. May I have a few minutes of your time?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." Her hand stopped twiddling with the coffee cup before her.
"Ah, coffee. Did you just make that?"
"Earlier. After I called." She revolved the cup. "There wasn't any waiting this morning."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"No coffee. Weren't no coffee made when I got here. I mean, how could there be with Mr. Raven already dead, the way he was?"
"Did he usually have coffee before you arrived?"
"Yes. The pot'd be off, but there'd still be some left. I'd warm it." She glanced over at the automatic coffee maker. "I think he set it up before bed every night. Mr. Raven is very organized."
"May I sit down?" At her nod, Serengi pulled out a white chair and sat at the black kitchen table.
"Would you like a cup of coffee? I can make another cup. You don't mind instant, do you?" BettyAnn's chair scraped as she moved to get up.
Serengi motioned her down. "No, thank you." He pulled out a small
voice-activated tape recorder and placed it on the table. "I'd like to record our talk if it's okay with you. You might remember something now, while it's still fresh in your mind that, later, you might not. If I miss it, the recording will have it. Is that okay?"
BettyAnn glanced nervously at the black object. "I guess so, though I'm not right happy about it."
"Thanks. You'll forget that's it's there, I promise. As I understand it, you come here twice a week?"
"That's right. Monday and Thursday. Mr. Raven don't need much cleaning up, living alone as he does. Sometimes, if he's having a party or something, he calls me in."
"Uh huh." He smiled at her, noticing her clasped hands. "If you could, would you walk through what you encountered here today?" He saw her fingers tighten. "It's okay if you forget things. Just tell it like you would tell a friend. When you arrived and what you noticed."
BettyAnn took a deep breath. "I got here at nine and came in. I didn't see nothing strange. I walked to the kitchen and took off my sweater," she gestured to the sweater draped over the chair back. "Then I went to get some coffee and that's when I knew something was different."
During this, Serengi had been making single word notes on a small note pad. He gave her a moment to continue, when she didn't, he prompted. "Because...?"
"Because there weren't any. Coffee, I mean. That's the first time that's happened. So I thought maybe Mr. Raven had gone away for the weekend or something. So I put some water on to make instant and began cleaning the sink and counters." She hesitated. "But then I noticed the smell. Like somethin' rotten." She wrinkled her nose. "I thought it was in the fridge, but I checked everything in there and nothin' was bad. You know how you get used to a smell?" She looked at him, seeking affirmation.
He nodded.
"Yeah, well, it went away. So I went outside for a minute," BettyAnn motioned towards the back door, "then came back in. Now I could smell it again. And I remembered somethin' was odd when I came in the front door. Musta been the smell. So I went lookin'. The smell was stronger by the living room. So I went in. I didn't see him right away, but I saw the blood." She wrapped her hands around her arms. "Any way, that's when I called 911."
"Which phone did you use?"
"The one in here. I wasn't gonna stay in there. This was closer than getting my cell."
"Did you happen to pick up anything or notice anything unusual?"
"No. I went into the room only far enough to see him. He looked dead. Then I got out of there."
"How about the kitchen? You mentioned cleaning up. Were there any cups or glasses or kitchenware out?"
"No. It looked the same as when I was here last."
"Did you go through the rest of the house?"
"Uh uh."
Serengi glanced at his notes. "You mentioned you let yourself in. The door was locked, then, when you arrived?"
"Uh huh."
"You have a key?"
"Yes. Through the agency."
"Anyone else in your agency have one?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"So, let's see if I have it right. You arrived around nine this morning." BettyAnn nodded. Serengi repeated what she had told him. "Have I got it right?"
"Yes."
"Good. By the way, you mentioned you thought he may have gone away for the weekend. Had he mentioned he might?"
"No. I just figured..."
"I see. How about relatives? Do you know or have you met his family?"
"He's got kids. I've seen their pictures around. But, no, I don't know them. I rarely see Mr. Raven, 'cept for when I come in on a weekend."
"Okay. Thanks BettyAnn. I've no more questions for now. Here's my card," Serengi said as he passed his card to her. "If you think of anything else..."
"I know. Call." She smiled.
"Right."
He’d let BettyAnn leave before the arrival of Dodson's Crime Scene people.
Serengi was done here for now. Not until he got back into his car and sat back did he begin to feel the tension leave his shoulders. He gazed at the blossoming Carolina silverbell, small and white against the green backdrop of trees. Life renewing itself. He left the driveway without a backwards glance.
Chapter 3
A call to John Raven's office connected Serengi to an anxious secretary. He identified himself and requested the names and phone numbers of Raven's relatives and lawyer.
The woman protested and wanted to know where Mr. Raven was; he had an important client waiting and it was unlike him not to be there. Certainly not without notifying the office of his whereabouts.
Serengi informed her only that he knew where Mr. Raven was and not to expect him in the office today. Eventually she provided him with the phone numbers of the Raven's lawyer in Raleigh, his daughter, also in Raleigh, and a son in Wilmington.
It was Serengi's task to inform the daughter, Virginia Raven-Howland, that her father was dead. Arriving at Mrs. Howland's home in the Oakwood section of Raleigh, he could see that she'd spent much time and money in restoring the stately Victorian home. On a corner, surrounded by a well maintained wrought-iron fence, the wide porch beckoned him towards the stained-glass-paneled front door. He spotted the inconspicuous camera mounted on the inner edge of the porch and the spotlights, painted white to blend in, strategically placed around the frame.
He rang the doorbell, noting the freshly swept porch and plump glider-couch. It was approaching mid-day. No one answered. He rang again.
The sound of the deadbolt unlocking alerted him to the turning of the brass knob. The door opened quietly to reveal a fresh-faced young woman in pressed slacks and shirt.
"Mrs. Howland?"
"No, I'm Regina Evans. Mrs. Howland is resting. How may I help you?"
"Miss Evans, I'm Detective Serengi Palmer," he flipped his coat aside so she could see his badge, "I'm with the Raleigh police department. Is it possible for me to speak with Mrs. Howland?"
"Detective?" At his nod, she hesitated as if searching for what to say next. "Is it really important? She's just now gone to lie down for an hour or so."
"Yes, I'm afraid it is."
"All right. Come in then and I'll get her for you." She stepped aside to let him enter, then took him into the parlor and directed him to have a seat.
The inside of the house looked to be in mint condition, obviously restored to resemble its Victorian past but with a lighter touch. Sand-toned area rugs and pastel shaded lamps offset the otherwise heavy Victorian ornateness of the wall moldings. Everything in the room was tidy and sparkling.
At the sound of low voices, Serengi stood and looked towards the hallway. The woman accompanying the Evans woman into the room would have been striking if not for the aura of tiredness that emanated from her. She couldn't have been more than thirty, Serengi estimated, but she had the moves of a woman more than double her age. She held out her hand and gave Serengi a weak smile.
"Detective, is it?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Detective Palmer of the Raleigh police."
"Please, Detective, sit down, won't you?" She motioned to a couch.
The two women sat down across from him. Mrs. Howland leaned back, resting her hands in her lap.
The only way Serengi could do this was straight up front. "Mrs. Howland, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your father, John Raven, has been killed."
The woman's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. The Evans woman reached out to put her hand on Howland's arm.
"But how can this be, Detective? What has happened? Why are you the one telling me this and not Ron?"
"You're the first we've come to because you're the nearest relative. Your father was shot sometime this weekend."
"Shot? But who would do such a thing?" Her hand grasped that of Regina Evans, but she gaped back at him. "Oh, my God! Did he suffer? Did they hurt him?"
"I think it was very quick. There's no way of knowing for sure until we've done more investigation.
Can you think of any one who might want to harm your father or who might have held a grudge against him?"
Mrs. Howland's eyes welled with unbidden tears. She blinked them back and, with effort, sat up straighter. "No, not offhand, I can't. My father wasn't a criminal lawyer. He handled estates and corporate law. Nothing that would cause someone to want to kill him.
"As for enemies, I doubt it. He wasn't a passionate man. He didn't get deeply involved in issues. No," she shook her head, "I don't know of any enemies."
No one ever does, thought Serengi. "I understand. Did you see him this weekend?"
"No, but we spoke on the phone Saturday."
"About when was that?"
"Oh, I guess around three or so."
"And how did he seem to you? Do you know how he planned to spend the rest of the day?"
"He was fine. Nothing was bothering him that I could tell. We spoke for about a half hour. I don't know what he planned to do after that. He'd been to see me on Friday so it wasn't as if we had a lot to talk about."
"How was his mood?
She shrugged. "Okay."
"And Friday? How did he seem then?"
"Worried, but not about anything that would concern you."
"Why don't you tell me, anyway?" Serengi leaned back hoping to put Mrs. Howland more at ease.
She glanced down at her hands now clutched together in her lap. A long minute went by.
She sighed. "I'm sick, Detective." Now she looked up, her eyes clearer. "My father was worried about me."
Serengi nodded to himself. That explained much. "I'm sorry to hear that." He let a moment pass. "Is there anything else he might have been concerned about? Did he mention talking to anyone or meeting with someone?"
"No."
Serengi stood. "I understand you have a brother, Ron?"
She nodded. "Yes. He lives in Wilmington. Does he know?" Her voice wavered.
"I haven't spoken to him, but I plan to. Maybe he can shed some light on your father's recent activities. I expect he'll be coming to Raleigh after you contact him?"
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