“So there was no one else with you besides your wife and children. How old are they?”
“My wife is—”
“Your children.”
“Five, three, and one.”
“Too young to be witnesses,” said Jackson.
“Jacob, Detective Calid mentioned a straight razor he says you purchased a few days before Mr. Marschalk was killed.”
“That’s right. A gift for my grandfather. He’s old-fashioned, likes to shave with it.”
“You gave it to your grandfather?”
“No. I mean, I got it to give to him but I lost it the day I bought it.”
“Lost it?”
“Disappeared. I think it might have fallen out of my pocket when I was at work.”
“At the inn?”
“Yes. I forgot to leave it home and had it in my jacket along with a lot of other stuff. I lost something else, too, a key chain.”
I turned to Jackson, who’d been listening intently. “If the police didn’t find the razor,” I said, “why would they consider it the murder weapon?”
“They’re making assumptions, all circumstantial, Mrs. Fletcher. They found out Jacob bought the razor, got the record of the sale from the shop-keeper, and decided that was sufficient to use as evidence.”
“Surely you could have that thrown out of court,” I said.
“Depends upon the judge, Mrs. Fletcher. Nothing’s for sure in a court.”
I returned my attention to Jacob. “Do you know who might have killed Walter Marschalk?” I asked.
“Plenty of people. Like I said, he was hated by just about everybody. And his business was being investigated. The whole island knows that. It was on the front page of the newspaper, for God’s sake. It could have been anybody. But, for some reason, they picked me.”
The female officer came to the cell and said, “Time is running out.” I raised five fingers to her. “Okay,” she said.
“Jacob, there’s got to be someone, perhaps a neighbor who saw you at home that night. Maybe through the window. Think hard.”
“Nobody,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “That’s what is so unfair about this. What responsible family man with three kids do you know who has an alibi at midnight? I was home with my kids and wife like I’m supposed to be.”
The officer appeared again. “I’m afraid we’ll have to be leaving,” Luther Z. Jackson said, standing.
“Yes,” I said. “There’s nothing else you can tell me?” I asked Jacob, who remained seated, his chin resting on crossed arms.
A grunt was his answer.
“By the way, how is your daughter doing now?” I asked. “Have you been able to speak with your wife?”
“Mr. Jackson arranged for me to make a phone call. My daughter’s doing better. We called the doctor that night, and he told us to give her a bath with cool water. I did, and the fever came way down. We all finally got some sleep. My wife brought her to the doctor the next morning, and he put her on an antibiotic.” He’d come alive as he spoke of his children. I’d remember that the next time we met as a good way to get him to open up.
The guard unlocked the door, and Jackson and I stepped into the hallway. “I’ll be back, Jacob,” I said over my shoulder as we proceeded in the direction of the reception area. We’d almost reached it when I stopped, asked permission to say one final thing to him, and without waiting for an answer, quickly retraced my steps, past the prisoner who repeated his sexual slurs to me and to Jacob’s cell. “Jacob, listen to me,” I said slowly and deliberately through the bars. “You said you spoke to the doctor and he told you to give your daughter a cool bath to bring the fever down. When did you speak to the doctor?”
“Late that night. About midnight. I woke him up, but he was nice about it. He said—”
“About midnight,” I repeated.
“Yeah. About midnight.”
It was his first smile since we’d arrived, and it said many things, all of them positive.
Chapter 14
Attorney Luther Z. Jackson and I lingered outside the jail after leaving his client. “I feel sorry for him,” I said.
“You believe him then.”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“I want to. I have to if I’m to defend him. But I’ve seen seemingly nice, believable people do not very nice, unbelievable things to others. I’m heartened at his having spoken with Doc Silber that night at the time the murder took place.”
“He’s a pediatrician?” I said.
Jackson laughed. “Hardly. Silber’s an old-timer, a family-type doctor. I haven’t seen him in a long time. The only time I do run into him is when I have a case that involves him.”
“A case? Malpractice cases?”
“No. Murder, mostly. He’s the island’s medical examiner. Actually, it’s more an honorary position. There’s not much murder on St. Thomas, so Doc doesn’t have much to do. He’s a character actually.”
“I just hope he keeps a telephone log, or records his calls,” I said. “I’m disturbed at what Jacob said about Walter Marschalk. Walter and I were good friends when he lived in Cabot Cove. That’s in Maine. Walter and his wife, Laurie, were neighbors. We spent a lot of time together. I never realized Walter was disliked by so many people.”
“Based upon what Jacob said?”
“No. That was just a confirmation of what I’ve been hearing from many other people. Did you have any dealings with Walter Marschalk?”
“No, although I’ve heard talk about him. A few local merchants have complained that he doesn’t pay his bills promptly. Sometimes not at all.”
I sighed. “Well, Mr. Jackson, thank you for allowing me to see Jacob this morning.”
“Happy to oblige. And if you come up with any useful thoughts that might help in his defense, please call. You obviously have a head for crime.” I wasn’t sure I should take his remark as a compliment, but thanked him anyway. He handed me his card on which he’d added his home telephone number, looked up at the sky, and said, “I’d say we’re in for rain today.”
“Spoken as a lawyer or a weatherman?”
He laughed. “Spoken as a man with an arthritic knee, Mrs. Fletcher. Stay in touch.”
I hailed a taxi parked just up the street from the jail and asked to be taken to Lover’s Lagoon Inn. The driver’s expression was off-putting. “Is there a problem?” I asked.
“I would say so,” he said, starting the engine. “The inn is closed.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m a guest and still there.”
“I brought a couple from Lover’s Lagoon to the airport this morning,” he said. “They told me it was closed. That was why they were leaving. Very angry people.”
“The Simses.”
“That was their name. Not happy staying in a place all alone and with a bloodstained beach outside their window.” He slipped the Toyota van into gear and eased into the flow of traffic.
Although I was silent during the trip back, my mind was hardly idle. If the Simses had left, that meant I was the only remaining guest. Surely, Laurie would close the inn and ask me to leave. I would expect no less.
But the truth was I didn’t want to leave. I’d become consumed with the players and events surrounding Walter’s murder, and wanted to be there to witness firsthand the denouement. Have a hand in it if possible. There was a limit, of course, as to how long I could stay. I’d arrived on Sunday, and here it was Wednesday morning. I’d planned to stay two weeks, which left me another ten days. Whether the murder would be resolved in that time was conjecture. I knew one thing. I would do everything I could to hasten the process.
Jackson had been right. The rain started as we came over the last mountain, a gentle shower at first, a deluge by the time we pulled up in front of Lover’s Lagoon Inn’s main entrance. I paid and thanked him for a pleasant ride.
“You might consider staying at another place,” the driver suggested. “My cousin owns a very respectable boardinghouse in Christia
nsted, on St. Croix. Very pretty view of the harbor.” Before I could say that I intended to remain a guest at Lover’s Lagoon Inn, he handed me a card with a small color photo of his cousin’s guest house, and pertinent information. He wrote his name on it. “You go there, you tell her I sent you. Make you a good deal.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The lobby was deserted, as I expected it to be, with the exception of Maria, the young woman who manned the desk during the day. She was reading a book when I entered, quickly stood, and came to me. “Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Marschalk was worried about you.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said. “Where is Mrs. Marschalk?”
“In the kitchen preparing lunch.”
“For whom?” I didn’t mean it to sound as sarcastic as it came out.
“Staff—what’s left of it—and you, of course.”
“I understand the Simses have left.”
“Yes, and in quite a huff. They demanded their money back. We’ll be sending it to them.”
“How unfortunate. Well, excuse me. I want to see Mrs. Marschalk.”
Laurie was busy stirring something in a bowl in the large, state-of-the-art kitchen when I pushed through the swinging doors. She glanced up, smiled, continued her chore as she asked, “Where have you been?”
“In jail.”
She abruptly stopped her mixing, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and exhaled. “In jail? Whatever for?”
“I went to visit Jacob Austin.”
“Visit? Jacob? Jess, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“But why?”
“Curiosity, that’s all. Detective Calid called me with the news of the arrest, and I couldn’t resist. It’s in these genes, I guess.”
My reply had been lighthearted, but her face was serious. No. Stern and disapproving was a better description.
“I suppose I should have told you I was going, but I left early to meet Jacob’s attorney, a public defender named Jackson.”
Laurie sat on a tall metal stool. She seemed unable to formulate her next words. Finally, she said in slow, measured tones, “Jess, that young man murdered my husband. Slit his throat.”
“I don’t think he did, Laurie.”
“You—don’t—think—he—did!”
“No. His child was sick that night and—”
“I know full well, Jess, that you write wonderful murder mysteries. But I didn’t know you were a trained police investigator. Detective Calid is.” I tried to respond but she continued. “He’s studied all over the world: Paris, London, the Soviet Union, or whatever it’s called these days. Jacob Austin is a ruthless killer. I don’t care about his sick child. I don’t care about anything except that he be brought to justice.” Another attempt by me to speak was summarily dismissed. “Did you know that Jacob made sexual advances to me?”
“No.”
“Well, he did. Walter was furious. Add that to the fact that he was lazy, surly to guests, and hated Walter, even threatened him, and you have your murderer.”
I knew it was futile to attempt to refute what Laurie had said. And so I didn’t. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It was silly of me to visit the jail.”
“And I’m sorry, too, Jess, for blowing off. I suppose I’m feeling more pressure than I’m willing to admit.” She hopped off the stool and picked up the bowl in which she’d been mixing ingredients. “Taste?” she asked, extending the bowl to me.
“What is it?”
“Crab cakes. For lunch. You’ll join us, I assume.”
“Yes, thank you.” I tried a spoon of the delicately seasoned crab and bread crumbs. “Delicious,” I announced.
“And lobster for dinner,” Laurie said. “Spinach salad with mandarin oranges and a special dressing, watermelon sorbet for dessert.”
“An ambitious menu for so few people,” I said.
“So few—? Oh, I forgot. I’m hosting a small dinner party this evening. Right here. The inn may be short of guests, but it is my home after all. Please join us.”
“I’d be delighted. Who’s coming?”
“Some friends. Chris Webb. Senator Jensen. Former Senator Jensen. He resigned, you know.”
“Yes, I heard. I thought he’d left the island.”
“He’s back to tie up his legal and financial affairs. There’ll be a couple of travel writers, too, who knew Walter. They happen to be next door at Diamond Reef for a conference. They might dredge up tearful memories, but I can handle it.”
“Who are they?”
“Travel writers.”
“I mean, their names. I met a few of them.”
“You did? Oh. Well, there’s a woman named Jennifer Fletcher—” She laughed. “Funny, I never thought about you and her having the same last name.”
“That is a coincidence.”
“And a few others I’m sure you don’t know. Cocktails at seven on the patio. We’ll have the dining room to ourselves.”
“I’ll be on time.”
“The Simses left this morning. Did you meet them?”
“No, just saw them.”
“Unpleasant couple. Almost came to blows with Maria at the desk.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Glad they’re gone. Well, back to work, Jess. See you in the dining room in an hour?”
“Yes.”
“And Jess, the offer still holds for you to move into the main house. Frankly, having you all alone at the far end of the villas makes me a little nervous.”
I smiled. “I haven’t felt nervous—yet. But if I do, I’ll be here in a flash, my bags packed.”
“Good. If you decide to do that, just call for Thomas.”
I’d no sooner settled into Villa Number Ten, when Thomas arrived carrying a small telephone answering machine.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Mrs. Marschalk wanted you to have it, Mrs. Fletcher. There’s no one at the switchboard now that all the guests—the other guests—have gone. I’ll hook it up to your phone so you won’t miss any messages.”
“That’s very thoughtful, Thomas. Thank you.”
It took him only a minute to make the connections. As he was leaving, he asked, “A drink?”
“A little too early for me, but thank you. I’ll wait for lunch.”
I opened the top of the answering machine and read the abbreviated instructions on how to record an outgoing message. Confident I understood, I held down a button labeled “ANNC.,” and after a tone sounded, said in as formal a voice as I could muster: “This is J. B. Fletcher. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave a message following the tone and I’ll get back to you.” I released the button and heard a faint beep. I tapped the “ANNC.” button as instructed and heard my voice played back. Not destined to win me an announcer’s job but good enough.
I closed the machine’s top and took a shower. The phone rang while I was in the bathroom, but there wasn’t any need for me to pick up on the bathroom extension. If I’d programmed the answering machine properly, the message would be waiting when I got out.
Sure enough, the message light was flashing when I came to the living room. I pressed “PLAY” and listened: “This is Maria at the desk, Mrs. Fletcher. I didn’t know you’d brought an answering machine with you.” She giggled. “It startled me. Anyway, I forgot to give you a message before. It’s from a Dr. Seth Hazlitt. Please call him.” The number she gave was not Seth’s home or office in Cabot Cove. There was no area code. It sounded familiar for some reason. Then I realized it was the main number at Diamond Reef.
Seth at Diamond Reef?
Impossible.
I called and asked the operator if a Dr. Hazlitt was registered as a guest. Her answer was to put me through to his room. “Dr. Hazlitt here,” he said.
“Seth? It’s Jessica.”
“Hello.”
“What are you doing in St. Thomas?”
“Escapin’ some bad weather back
home,” he said. “Been cold as a dog, and the wind northeast ever since you left.”
I smiled. It was good to hear someone talking “Yankee” again. I also had my doubts about his stated reason for having come to the Caribbean.
“So, Jessica,” he said, “I thought a few days in the sun would warm these bones.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Considered stayin’ with the Marschalks, but ‘cause ’a the trouble there I thought it might be best to stay out of Laurie’s hair. Spoke with Jilly, and she recommended this place.” Jilly was Cabot Cove’s best travel agent.
Somehow, I couldn’t picture my slightly corpulent friend fitting in next door with its heavy concentration of tall, tan, young, and lovely singles. Not Seth’s style, but he was adaptable to most situations. “Mort with you?” I asked. Usually, when Seth ventured from Cabot Cove, he was accompanied by our sheriff, Morton Metzger. They were best of friends.
“Gorry, no,” he said. “Asked him to come along but he couldn’t get away. Just me, Jessica.”
“Well, this is a surprise, Seth.”
“And I promise you I’ll stay out ’a your hair, too. What’s new with Walter’s murder?”
“A few things. I’ll fill you in when I see you. When will I see you?”
“Whenever you say. I plan to sit about here, get some sun, read the books I brought along with me. You just give a call, and I’ll be there.”
I considered suggesting he join Laurie and me for lunch, but realized that would be presumptuous. Then I thought of that night’s dinner party. I’d tell Laurie that Seth was on the island and see if she wanted to include him in the guest list. “I’m tied up most of the day, Seth. In fact, I have to run out right now but—”
“Sounds like you’re a mite busy, Jess. Thought you came down here for a vacation.”
“And I’m enjoying my vacation. I have some shopping to do. Tell you what. I’ll give you a call later this afternoon. Maybe we can catch up for dinner.”
“Ayah. I’ll be waiting.”
I hung up, went to the terrace, and looked down over Lover’s Lagoon. A large, flat barge came into view as it rounded a spit of land and chugged slowly into the lagoon itself. I fetched a small pair of binoculars I always carry with me on trips in the event there’s time, and opportunity for bird watching, and focused on the barge. A dozen men were onboard, some wearing the uniform of St. Thomas police, others dressed in diving gear. The craft came to a stop and preparations began that soon led to three divers going over the side. I surmised they were in search of the weapon used to kill Walter Marschalk, something I was surprised hadn’t happened earlier.
Rum and Razors Page 13