Darkness, Sing Me a Song--A Holland Taylor Mystery

by David Housewright

  “Stay in your rooms, stay in your rooms.”

  I stopped running when I hit the staircase.

  I couldn’t see the shooter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see me. It didn’t mean Blevins wasn’t waiting.

  I descended the staircase cautiously, the Beretta leading the way.

  I was halfway down the staircase when I heard gunshots coming from outside.

  I dashed down the remaining steps and hit the glass door with my shoulder.

  The door flew open, and I found myself standing between two rows of parked cars. The sound of automatic rifle fire drew me toward the front of the resort.

  I started running through the parking lot.

  I could see a Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor with the words ARONA POLICE DEPARTMENT painted on the door blocking the exit.

  A woman dressed in sneakers, black Dockers, and a blue short-sleeve knit shirt was sprawled on the asphalt near the Interceptor’s open door. A nine-millimeter Glock was lying just inches from her hand.

  Curtis Blevins stood over her. He was carrying an AK-47.

  I screamed his name and started shooting as I ran at him.

  He never got the rifle up. To this day, I’m not sure he even saw me before I took half his head off.

  * * *

  I sat on the asphalt, my knees drawn up to my chest, my back resting against the front quarter panel of the Interceptor, and looked at her. Just looked. Sheriff deputies came and went, yet no one touched her body. Or Blevins’s body, either, for that matter. Finally the ME arrived, along with an army of techs. The sheriff stood next to me. Together, we watched them work.

  “What did I tell you about not carrying a gun in my county?” the sheriff asked.

  The sun was in my eyes when I looked up at him, and I had to shield them with the flat of my hand. I didn’t say anything, though. I returned my gaze to the body of Chief of Police Maureen McMahan.

  “You’re coming with me to Tintori Falls,” the sheriff said. “I have a lot of questions, and you’re going to answer every fucking one. Then the county prosecutor is going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer them, too.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can start by telling me why this Blevins character was trying to kill you.”

  “He thought I ratted out him and his militia to the ATF.”

  “Did you?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You’re saying you were involved in that raid they used my people for this morning.”

  “You need to talk to Special Agent Rachel Colgin.”

  “I’ll talk to the fucking ATF when I’m good and ready to talk to the fucking ATF. You act like you’re doing me a favor. You’re not doing anyone any favors.”

  “I know. I’ve been through this before.”

  “I bet you have. Every day and twice on goddamn fucking Sunday.”

  I kept my mouth shut and watched the techs and the ME working around the chief’s body.

  “She was a good cop,” the sheriff said.

  “She was a lousy cop,” I said. “She deserved better than this, though. She deserved better than what we gave her.”

  “What I gave her,” the sheriff said.

  “She was going after U.S. Sand. Tilting at windmills, I suppose.”

  “I heard.”

  “Now…”

  He surprised me by reaching down and gently squeezing my shoulder.

  “I have her files,” the sheriff said. “I’ll keep the investigation alive.”

  “In an election year? How’s that going to play?”

  “Don’t know,” he said. “Don’t think I much care.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Everything happened slowly after that. My endless interrogation in Tintori Falls. A telephone call and later a face-to-face meeting with David Helin that seemed to last longer. His subsequent conversations with Special Agent Colgin, the Kamin County sheriff, and finally Ramsey County Attorney Marianne Haukass. Three days passed before I was invited to yet another meeting with Helin at his office in the Wells Fargo Center in downtown Minneapolis.

  The door was solid oak, yet the walls were made of glass, so I could see inside as I approached. Helin was standing behind his opulent desk and leaning down to converse with someone using his speakerphone. Eleanor Barrington was sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk. Her skirt was too short and revealed more leg and thigh than Cynthia Grey would ever have. She looked bored.

  Helin saw me as I was about to knock on the door and waved me inside after first putting a finger against his lips, the universal sign for silence. I heard Marianne Haukass’s voice as I entered.

  “I will not be holding a press conference,” she said.

  “You gave yourself a lot of publicity when you accused my client of murder,” Helin said. “The least you can do is go before the cameras to admit she’s innocent.”

  “We don’t know that she’s innocent.”

  “Oh? Tell me, Marianne. What do you know?”

  “The press release will state that there is insufficient evidence to pursue charges against Mrs. Barrington at this time.”

  “You can do better than that.”

  “But we won’t.”

  “All we’re asking for is a simple apology.”

  “This office has conducted itself in a professional manner. We have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I guess we’ll hold our own press conference, then. Maybe we’ll announce a lawsuit for malicious prosecution.”

  “Go ahead, David. See what that gets you. Good-bye.”

  Haukass hung up her phone, and Helin pressed a button on the speaker to hang up his.

  “I didn’t think that would work,” he said.

  “Should we have a press conference?” Mrs. Barrington asked. “Should we sue?”

  “No to the first part. Once the media gets wind of this, they’ll be calling us. We can deal with them one at a time. Or I should say, I’ll deal with them. I don’t want you answering question one from here on in. If someone gets to you, just refer them to me.”

  “All right.”

  “As for part two—there’s nothing to be gained by a lawsuit. We’ll never win, and you don’t want to be put in a position where you’re forced to answer any question Marianne Haukass can think to ask. Taylor, you’re just in time to hear the news.”

  “I guess the CA dropped all charges,” I said.

  “Like a hot rock.”

  “I want to thank you, Taylor,” Mrs. Barrington said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. It’s because of you that that odious Curtis Blevins stands accused of Emily’s murder and I’m free to go. I should say Julie, but she’ll always be Emily to me and Joel. To Devon, too, I’m sure.”

  “All in a day’s work,” I said.

  “I’m paying David and his firm a hefty bonus for all of this, and I’ve left clear instructions that he’s to share with you.”

  “That’s good to hear. Thank you.”

  “Now, gentlemen, let me buy you lunch.”

  “Before you do, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Not now, Taylor,” Helin said.

  “Yes. Now.”

  “What, Taylor?” Mrs. Barrington said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “The person who really killed Emily. And Mayor Franson, too.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “She needs help, Eleanor. She needs a doctor’s care. Who knows, they might even be able to fix her. It’s been done before.”

  Mrs. Barrington stared at me for a few beats. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the subdued response she gave me.

  “When did you figure it out?” she asked.

  “When I saw her get out of your car at the coffeehouse, dressed like an adult, wearing her strawberry-blond hair down around her shoulders like you do. It wasn’t you that Professor Campbell saw that night. It was Devon. If the county investigators had thought to include Dev
on’s pic in the photo array instead of yours, it would have been her that the professor would have pointed at.”

  “Then you knew before I did. David, what’s my position here?”

  “You’re protected by attorney-client privilege. Anything you say—”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Mrs. Barrington pointed at me.

  “It extends to him, too,” Helin said. “Taylor, you have a legal obligation to keep quiet.”

  “I understand.”

  “No license holder shall divulge to anyone other than the employer, or as the employer may direct, except as required by law, any information acquired during an investigation.”

  “I know the rules, David. I quote them all the damn time.”

  “Only when they suit you.”

  “I don’t trust the law, and I stopped believing in real justice a long time ago. Eleanor, this is about your little girl. I’m not going to call the CA anonymously or otherwise. I’m not going to drop a dime on Devon. I just want to make sure she gets the care she needs. Eleanor, she murdered two people.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Barrington said. “I know that now. I didn’t—I didn’t know it at the time they arrested me, and later … the only thing I could think to do was wait and see what happened.”

  “You allowed yourself to be falsely accused of murder?”

  “I couldn’t give up my daughter.”

  For the first time, I found something to like about her.

  “Devon is so perfect most of the time,” Mrs. Barrington said. “Ninety-nine percent of the time she’s smart and beautiful and caring and fun and utterly fearless. That one percent, though … She has these moments of pure rage. Sometimes they last for only a second. I mean that literally. A second. Sometimes they last much longer. Yet she would always come back. It was like flicking a light switch.

  “I thought … I thought she would grow out of it, except … Ophira told me a year ago that Devon slid into one of her moods when she was down at Mereshack and took the car and disappeared for hours one night. Dev didn’t have a license, but she did have a learner’s permit. She was taking driver’s ed. When she returned, she was her happy-go-lucky self; she even brought ice cream home. I discovered later that Todd Franson was killed at about the same time that Devon went on her joyride. I didn’t put two and two together. Maybe I didn’t want to add up the numbers, at least until you told me that the same gun that killed Emily also was used to kill that blackmailing prick.

  “What happened, the asshole saw Joel and me together. Franson said he decided to drop by to discuss the land deal and saw us together through the windows of the downstairs bedroom when his car was at the top of the hill. He backed the car up and then the asshole snuck through the woods and took pictures. That was on Saturday night. On Sunday, he came back with his photographs and said he was going to go public with them, stick them on the internet, unless I consented to sell my property to the city. I told him to go fuck himself. I didn’t give a goddamn about him and his fucking pictures. I told him I would crush him like a fucking grape if he messed with me.

  “Only Dev … Devon must have overheard. She was still upset about what people had said after her father’s plane crashed with him and his whore inside, the jokes, and she … I shouldn’t have left. The next day Joel and I flew to New York for a business meeting while Devon remained at Mereshack with Ophira. I shouldn’t have left.”

  “What did you think when Emily was killed?” I asked.

  “I didn’t think, not at first. When the police came for me, I figured it was just that fucking bitch of a county attorney trying to make a name for herself. Later, after Joel went off the rails, I decided it was my comeuppance. It was me paying for my many, many sins. Then we couldn’t find my gun and I didn’t know why, and then you told me about the gun and then I knew why.”

  “Why did Devon kill Emily?”

  “I can only guess.”

  “Please do.”

  “That night Emily was with us in North Oaks, and she and Joel were talking about the future. Their future together. I kissed him. I kissed him in the most unmotherly-like way possible. I used my tongue and I used my hands just to show the bitch who was in charge. After I left the room, Emily and Joel had a discussion. It ended with her screaming at him and running out the door. Well, good riddance. Only Devon was upstairs at the time. She must have heard what was said. I know that she was devoted to her brother. My guess? She decided to protect her family one more time.”

  “Jesus.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Joel moved out while I was in jail.”

  “What about Devon?”

  “I was going to take the blame. I really was. I decided it was the least I could do for her considering everything I’ve done to her. Although…” Mrs. Barrington smiled the way she usually did, and my opinion of her slid back to where it started. “I knew you two would get me off. Now…”

  “Now you’re free to go,” Helin said.

  “What about Devon?” I asked again.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Mrs. Barrington said.

  “That’s not even close to good enough.”

  “Whatever I do, it’s none of your damn business.”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “Taylor, you are not to go anywhere near my daughter ever again, is that understood? I believe I have the legal right to make such a demand, do I not?”

  She directed that last part to Helin. He nodded.

  “So, gentlemen, where would you like to have lunch? My treat.”

  “I’ll pass,” I said.

  Mrs. Barrington directed her gaze on Helin.

  “I have far too much work to do,” he said.

  “Boys, boys,” Mrs. Barrington said. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. Devon is my daughter. I love her. I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.”

  Yet I did.

  * * *

  I decided I had had enough of being a private investigator for a while. Instead of returning to the office, I called Freddie and told him that I needed some mental health time.

  “Does that mean you’re going to see the professor?” he asked.

  “You just won’t quit, will you?”

  “I saw her photo, remember? I’m just sayin’ the lady looks like she could change a brother’s outlook on life.”

  “Listen to you. What would Echo say?”

  “She agrees with me. She said if you don’t do her, she will.”

  “She did not.”

  “Ask her.”

  “I’m not going to ask her. In fact, I don’t want to talk to either of you for at least three days.”

  “Is that because your mouth is gonna be busy?”

  “Good-bye, Freddie.”

  * * *

  I parked the Camry in front of my apartment building. Amanda Wedemeyer was kneeling on the sidewalk and drawing pictures with pieces of colored chalk the size of her fist. I stopped to admire an orange dragon breathing green fire.

  “Nice,” I said.

  An older woman was sitting in a folding lawn chair on the grass between the apartment building and the sidewalk. Her head came up and she leaned forward.

  “A man walked by earlier,” Amanda said. “He said that dragons weren’t orange. He said they were purple.”

  “Clearly he’s not from around here.” I leaned closer. “Who’s the woman in the chair?”

  Amanda whispered back. “My father’s aunt. She insists on keeping an eye on me while Mom is at work now that school is out for the summer. Yay.”

  “It’s nice that she’s willing to do that.”

  “She’s the only one on my father’s side of the family who still likes us.”

  “Introduce me.”

  Amanda stood up and brushed the chalk from her hands onto her jeans, which caused the woman in the chair to roll her eyes. The girl took me by the hand and led me across the lawn.

  “Aunt Florence,” she said. “This is my friend Taylor. He owns Ogi
lvy that he lets me play with.”

  Aunt Florence nodded her head as if she knew who I was all along. We shook hands.

  “I know of people who keep rabbits for pets,” Aunt Florence said. “Keep ’em in cages. I never knew of anyone who let them run around their house.”

  “Oh, they’re just like cats,” Amanda said. “Ogilvy has a litter box and everything. The only problem is he keeps chewing on computer cords and stuff, isn’t that right, Taylor?”

  “Not so much anymore,” I said. “I think he chewed on the wrong cord and was shocked to the point where he now avoids them. May I borrow Mandy for a minute?”

  “Of course,” Aunt Florence said. She then made a production out of looking at her watch as if she were timing me.

  I led Amanda to my apartment, unlocked the door, and held it open for her. I left it open and went to the kitchen counter, where I found a small package wrapped in red tissue paper and a blue ribbon. I gave it to the young girl.

  “For me?” she said.

  I half expected her to add “You shouldn’t have,” or words to that effect, before ripping open the package. Apparently only big girls say that.

  “Omigod, it’s a camera,” Amanda announced. “A Nikon. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But why?”

  “For taking care of Ogilvy while I was away. I would have paid you cash…”

  “No way Mom would let me take your money.”

  “There you go.”

  “You know, you could have paid me money and we wouldn’t have told Mom.”

  “No, honey. You and I—we keep no secrets from your mother, ever. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Speaking of secrets.”

  “Huh?”

  Assistant Chief Anne Scalasi stood in my doorway. She was in full uniform, although the buttons of her dark blue jacket were undone.

  “I called your office,” she said. “Freddie told me you were taking the rest of the day off.”

  “You remember my friend,” I said.

  I was speaking to Amanda, yet it was Anne who replied first.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “How are you, Amanda?”

  “I’m out of school for the summer.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Mandy,” I said, “why don’t you show your camera to your aunt Florence. I need to talk to Anne.”