by Susan Cory
“Oh, yeah. Those were the days. He had a key to Dunster House and we used to sneak onto their squash courts late at night.”
“I remember hearing about those games. So you guys didn’t stay in touch?”
“Wait. Wait. He called last weekend to try to set up a match with me for Sunday, but I was dead to the world by then.”
“When did he call?”
“I think it was… Saturday. That’s right, Saturday afternoon.”
“Did he say anything about Will being killed?”
“Now that you mention it, he didn’t—just asked if I was up for squash. Why are you asking all these questions about Adam? He’s not involved in this, is he?”
“I have no idea. I was just looking for him on Sunday and Alyssa told me that he was playing squash with you. When you said you’d been sick, I wondered why she had told me that. Maybe he needed a break from her. Who knows? Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Iris nestled the phone in her shoulder. Now she had her chip to trade. “Give me a call if you get up to Cambridge. Oh, and Arturo? If you talk to Adam again please don’t mention that I was asking about the squash, okay?”
“No problem. Now I’ve got a question for you. I had this message on my desk when I got back to work today. A Cambridge cop named Malone left it. Do you know what that’s about? I haven’t called him yet.”
“He’s just calling about that squash game. I’ll tell him. I need to talk to him anyway.”
So Adam hadn’t been playing squash when Norman was murdered. And he had lied about it—or Alyssa had lied for him. This information felt hot. It felt too dangerous to keep to herself. Someone had already tried to silence her. She flicked the button for a dial tone, then punched in the now-familiar number.
The detective told her to meet him at police headquarters in an hour.
***
When a uniformed cop escorted her up to his office on the third floor, Malone was talking on the phone, but motioned for her to sit down. Iris had never seen such an impersonal office—no family photos, no pictures on the wall, no knick-knacks, not even a coffee mug with his first name revealed—he might as well be in the Witness Protection Program. His desk was the desk of a workaholic—covered with files piled around a computer. She wondered if there was a file on her.
His voice was flat, professional. “So they’re all gonna be there? Good. I want Corso to take the detail. Yeah, I’ll be there too. Okay, good.” He hung up and swiveled in his chair to face her.
“Ms. Reid, hello again. You’ve got some information for me?”
“Yes, I think I may have figured out how Adam Lincoln is a link between Will Reynolds and Norman Meeker.”
“Go on,” He sounded unimpressed.
She told him everything she knew or suspected. She also laid out the loose ends. Then she asked, “Since Adam’s alibi for Sunday was bogus, isn’t it possible the one for Friday was also faked—with or without his wife’s help?”
Detective Malone pressed his palms together prayer-like at his mouth, the personification of close-mouthed. After a few long minutes, he came out of his reverie. “No, he got cash from an ATM at around three at a Mobil station in Connecticut, and both of them were on the security video.”
“So even though Adam lied about his whereabouts on Sunday, even though he may have sold Norman a murdered classmate’s notebook of inventions, you can’t link him to Norman’s murder?”
“It’s like this, Ms. Reid. There’s this pesky little detail that the District Attorney tells us we need to pay attention to called proof. Besides, Mr. Lincoln’s alibi for Friday is solid and it’s highly unlikely that we have two separate murderers running around using the identical method. Still, you’ve given us some information that may be useful. I’m glad you came to me instead of trying to confront Mr. Lincoln directly.”
“I haven’t been trying to confront these people! It’s not my fault that Norman called me to his house or that I got a letter bomb. People call me and give me information because I’m someone they know. I’m passing this information along to you. I’m desperate for you to arrest the murderer before he succeeds in killing me… or Ellie.”
“Calm down Ms. Reid. I appreciate that you have access to information people withhold from us and that you’re reporting it to us. But if there’s some way of getting people to talk to us directly, it would be safer for you.”
“I’ve told C.C. to speak to you directly about the ‘leverage’ discussion with Will.”
“Good. While we’re discussing keeping a low profile, were you intending to go to Mr. Meeker’s funeral tomorrow?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Would it be dangerous to go?”
“I’m gonna be there with back-up, so it should be safe enough. I learned from Mr. Meeker’s assistant that…” he squinted at his computer, “C.C., Adam, Alyssa, and Professor Broussard plan to be there too.”
“I’m thinking I probably should go and pay my respects. I did just finish designing a house for him.”
“Is that why his lawyer says he left you the Porsche?”
Chapter 39
Louise was humming as she set the tables for the Friday night dinner crowd, working her way around the one where her boss sat huddled in deep discussion.
“So Adam was really stealing Carey’s notebook, not the backpack, so he could sell it to Norman.” Iris explained.
Ellie pried open a pistachio and asked, “But did Adam just happen to be there when Carey fell and then decide to take advantage of the accident, or was it murder from the start?”
Luc continued, “How could Adam have known that Norman would be willing to pay him a lot of money for the notebook? Or were they in it together? Maybe Norman put him up to stealing it.”
“I called Carey’s friend Patty this afternoon.” Iris said. “At the reunion picnic, I had asked her if she knew of any connection between Carey and Will. This time I asked about a link between Carey and Norman. She remembered overhearing Norman offer Carey a job toward the end of our last semester. Carey turned him down, but Adam might have overheard this exchange and figured that Norman would be willing to pay for Carey’s ideas if he couldn’t hire the inventor himself.”
“Still, Adam wouldn’t necessarily have had to kill Carey to get the notebook,” Luc pointed out as he refilled their glasses from a bottle of Meursault. “He could have just stolen it.”
“But then Carey might have recognized some of his inventions after Norman started manufacturing them,” Iris said. “Also, I’ll bet that that weasel, Adam, just wanted to see Carey making a fool of himself for a change instead of making others feel like fools at their crits. Maybe Adam thought that he’d have time to retrieve the notebook while Carey came down off his high. Then again, maybe he couldn’t resist giving him a shove when the two of them were alone on the balcony, in retaliation for Carey so easily designing circles around him,” Iris conjectured.
“Okay, I see a link between Carey, Adam and Norman,” Ellie said, “but how did Will fit into the picture? Why was he killed?”
“He was in Carey’s studio so he might have overheard Norman’s job offer too. He also saw Carey’s backpack in Adam’s room. Maybe he figured out the connection and let something drop about what he knew. Wait a minute. That must be the leverage he thought he had over Norman. He was planning on threatening to expose the source of Norman’s business success unless Norman backed his condo deal.”
“But Adam would be the only one who would be threatened enough by exposure to go on to murder Will. And that would only be true if Adam had pushed Carey and there was evidence to prove it. But Adam supposedly has a cast-iron alibi for the time of Will’s murder,” Ellie groaned. “This thing is a conundrum. It just keeps going round and round.”
“We’ve got to be getting close to something. We’ve linked all four of them. We only need to break through Adam’s damn alibi. By the way, Detective Malone said that Adam and Alyssa will be at the funeral tomorrow.”
“Have you told Luc about th
at other thing—what Detective Malone said?”
“Uh, evidently Norman left me the Porsche in his will.”
“You’re kidding—why?” Luc raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I know he loved your design for his house. Was it gratitude, do you think?”
“It might be a kind of joke. I had told him I’d take it instead of my architectural fee. His attorney told the police it was a recent bequest. But Norman wasn’t intending to die anytime soon. I imagine he thought he’d live another 40 years. I can’t figure out what went on in his head. The car’s a real beauty. It’s a 1995 black 928, s-model, the hot one.”
“I hope you’ll give me a ride in it.” Luc leaned slowly across the table. “Maybe I can get Arnold to come in early tomorrow so I can come with you to Norman’s funeral. The murderer isn’t locked up yet. It might still be dangerous for you to be there alone.”
“I wish I could go too,” Ellie said, “but we told Mack’s mother that we’d be on the ten o’clock ferry to the Vineyard for the week-end. You’d better not get in any trouble while I’m gone.”
“I’ll be fine. How much trouble can I get into with two policemen standing guard?”
Ellie gave her a stern look. “You forget that I know you.”
Chapter 40
On Saturday morning Iris sat at her kitchen table, dressed in a navy linen dress appropriate for a summer funeral. There was still half an hour before she had to leave. She had finished scanning the Boston Globe—nothing much there. Her eyes lighted on the turkish-taffy pink boom box that Ellie had retrieved from Raven’s room on their walk home the night before. Okay, now she was curious. What the hell was on this cassette? She popped it in.
Scratchy sounds, then… “I’m telling you, Adam, I’m making a recording of this.” That sounded like Norman. “It’s my life insurance policy.”
“What the hell, Norman. I never agreed to this.” Adam’s voice.
Iris sat up straight at the sound of the familiar voices.
“You don’t have a choice. I saw you push Carey over the handrail, so what’s to keep you from killing me too? I’m putting this in a safe place in case anything happens to me.”
“You agreed to keep quiet if I’d get you Carey’s notebook. That’s our deal. I’m sure you’ll use it to make a fortune.”
“By keeping quiet about what you did I’m risking being an accessory to murder. I don’t even know what’s in the damn notebook. Carey may have been drawing cartoons for all I know.”
“Oh, it’s not cartoons. You get 2 minutes to look through it… starting now!”
O… MY… GOD, Iris thought. I’ve got to call Detective Malone NOW!
“Okay. This is good stuff. I can work with this. Here’s the money. You get ten thousand cash, and no more.” That’s all that Adam made off of this? “We have a stand-off now,” Norman went on. “We both have a big interest in keeping this hushed up. So from now on, we have no more communication. The police are investigating Carey’s death. I don’t think anyone was paying any attention to who was where at the party. But if the police do figure out that you killed him, our deal is that you leave me out of it. I just followed the two of you to make one last try to get Carey to come work for me.”
“All right, fine. You keep your mouth closed, and you make your fortune off of Carey’s wacko ideas. You say anything to the cops, and I drag you down with me.”
“You get my silence and ten grand in your pocket. Don’t even think about hitting me up for more later.”
“Adios, amigo.” Sound of chairs scraping and then… nothing.
Iris was dialing Detective Malone’s cell phone number before the tape ended.
Damn. The answering machine message.
“Detective Malone, it’s Iris Reid. You need to arrest Adam Lincoln immediately. I have a cassette tape that Norman made that got mixed in with some of his paperwork. I just played it and it’s Norman saying that Adam killed our classmate twenty years ago. Adam must have killed him because Norman was going to expose him. I’m not sure exactly why he’d do that now, but you need to arrest Adam. He’s supposed to be at the funeral this morning. Please call me on my cell phone.”
She slipped the cassette into its envelope, then put that inside a ziploc bag, trying to minimize fingerprints like she’d seen on TV.
Did she have time to call Ellie to tell her what was on the tape? Consulting her watch, she grabbed her keys instead and headed out the door. She didn’t want to be late for this funeral.
Chapter 41
Stopped at a red light a block from the cemetery entrance, Iris fished in her purse for the map and instructions Claire had e-mailed her. Norman, unsurprisingly, had arranged to be buried in one of the oldest and most significant cemeteries in the United States. Mount Auburn Cemetery sat on 175 acres on the western edge of Cambridge, well known for its plantings, birds, and its interesting crypts as much as for its renowned inhabitants. How many people can be buried in a National Historic Landmark? Strangely enough, she knew of two. The last time she’d been here had been for Carey’s funeral.
Norman had done his research so that he could be surrounded in perpetuity by Cabots and Lodges, not to mention Longfellow, Hawthorne, and Buckminster Fuller. Iris had a feeling that many of the attendees would be there to see, and be seen in, the magnificent setting more than to pay homage to Norman Meeker. In all her years passing it on her way to the nearby Shaw’s Market, this was only the second time Iris had ever been inside the cemetery’s imposing granite gates. But, this morning, she didn’t have time to focus on its historic import. Her priority was to find Detective Malone quickly.
A little before ten, she pulled in through the north entrance and navigated up the hill toward Bigelow Chapel, following Claire’s map. This place was Disney World for landscape architects, the grounds punctuated with topiaries, obelisks, statues and mausoleums resembling garden follies. The instructions said to park on any street without a green line down the middle, but this would not be easy. There was quite a crowd already assembled. She drove past the Chapel, a Gothic Revival mini-cathedral, and made a right-hand turn down Pine Avenue, finally spotting a space just big enough for the Jeep.
As she trotted back up the hill to Chapel Avenue, she saw a black BMW station wagon with New York plates. She clutched her purse, with the cassette tape inside it but something lured her over to peer into the car. Of course nothing incriminating was left out in plain sight. She bent down to study the rear tire. The tiny pieces of pea gravel stuck in the tread didn’t prove anything because they had driven this car up Norman’s driveway to the Friday night dinner.
“What are you doing? Get away from our car, Iris!” She heard that unmistakable voice.
“I’m thinking of getting one of these. Does it get good gas mileage?”
Alyssa made a disgusted “Tsk” as she opened the car door, grabbed a sweater, beeped the auto-lock, and stood there, hands on hips, waiting for Iris to leave.
Iris tried to look nonchalant as she headed up the hill toward the chapel. She was relieved to see Detective Malone and Connors huddled together by a conspicuously unmarked car and rushed over.
“Did you get my message on your cell? I’ve brought the cassette tape. You’ve got to listen to it.” She produced the ziploc bag.
Detective Malone held it up and examined it through the plastic. He smiled wryly. “We will, and I have some questions about how it came into your possession. If you could come down to the station after the service, I’ll take your statement.”
Iris groaned. She was spending way too much time at that station for an innocent bystander. “Just be sure to arrest Adam before he gets away. He’s the murderer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Was he being sarcastic? She shot a narrow-eyed look at his back. At least she’d gotten rid of the hot potato. Now she’d be out of danger. She caught sight of C.C. planted on a bench across from the chapel staring at a large granite sphinx. Iris hadn’t had time to absorb the full impact of the cassett
e tape, but it had to mean that C.C. was off their suspect list. Iris walked over and sank down next to her. “So, you came. Wild place—huh?”
“I feel like a marker in a giant board game and I’ve been moved from the Egyptian Gate to the Towering Linden Tree to the Gothic Chapel to the Sphinx.” C.C. said just before a screech of bagpipe music assaulted their ears.
“And now you’ve rolled ‘Back 1 space to the Gothic Chapel,’” Iris shouted. “It’s show time!”
A nondescript man and two adolescent boys stood stiffly on the chapel steps. From their uncomfortable downcast expressions and general resemblance to Norman, the boys must be the sons, brought home from school by Barb after all. The man, dressed in a somber suit, wore a look of professional sympathy and propriety—probably charged by the funeral home with tending to Norman’s only family. Iris couldn’t believe that Barb hadn’t come along, at least to give her sons moral support. All three wore white lilies in their lapels, and they looked rooted there as if stuck in a receiving line. Unsure of the etiquette, Iris shook the boys’ hands and mumbled something sympathetic. C.C. followed suit.
The chapel consisted of a single nave, without side aisles or transept, leading up to a large, gaudily colored stained glass window in front. An awful thought occurred to Iris. Oh, God, this had better not be an open coffin. She couldn’t face those leaden eyes again.
A large, heavily polished mahogany casket rested on a stand in the chancel, its lid, mercifully, closed. Iris and C.C. slid into a pew on the left—the bride’s side. She twisted around and saw Detective Connors sitting in the back row with another man, telegraphing ‘cop’ despite their formal dark suits. G.B. sat half-way down the pews, his head bowed in a prayerful pose. She noticed Alyssa in the second row near Claire, but no sign of Adam. Detective Malone must have already taken him off to the station. Why hadn’t Alyssa gone with him? Maybe she hadn’t seen him taken away and assumed that Adam was still outside. Or maybe he hadn’t come after all. The two dozen or so other mourners were probably from Meeker Enterprises, earning their overtime by fleshing out the crowd.