Written into the Grave

by Vivian Conroy

  “Good.” Vicky leaned back in the seat. “But consider this: if the café is as busy as the owner claimed before, he’ll see so many people. How can he be sure about identifying anybody from a newspaper picture? I don’t think if I had just seen somebody in a photo and I saw him pass in real life I’d recognize him right away.”

  Cash grunted. “This guy might even know these people, personally. I mean, they’re all locals.”

  “Except for Trevor, who was only here for the summer.”

  Cash waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t you go spoiling my good feeling about it. I think I finally have a case that will be easy to solve.”

  “Murder is never easy to solve. I mean, think of the hurt you have to feel to really go out and wait for someone and shoot them. Not an argument gone wrong, a moment where you lose control and lash out at somebody and they take an unlucky fall and die. That happens too, you know. But this was premeditated. Cold-blooded. I try to imagine how the killer felt when he or she prepared it all. Nervous, anxious, doubtful even? Or confident and happy that it would soon be done? The newspaper piece had a certain tone to it. Almost triumphant.”

  Vicky frowned as she tried to describe what she had sensed while reading it. “And the way in which Goodridge was described: as a vain man, who jogged to brag about it but who wasn’t in shape at all. There was a certain spiteful undertone to it all. As if the writer considered Goodridge a pathetic man, someone who played the part of successful businessman but who was really a failure. Don’t you wonder who would feel that way about him?”

  “Too deep for me,” Cash said. “The circumstances and the killer’s reasons are for the lawyers to sort out.”

  “But aren’t you intrigued by what drives people to murder? It seems so drastic. And the chances for success so small. I mean, sooner or later you make some kind of mistake that gets you in trouble.”

  Cash glanced at her. “So you say. I think most murderers are pretty confident that they can pull it off. Maybe they even have some tendencies that make them immune to a normal sense of guilt. They believe the victim deserved to die.”

  Vicky stared out of the window.

  Yes, that might have been the killer’s argument in this case.

  That Goodridge had deserved to die.

  And that his death should also be broadcast to the world …

  ***

  The computer café lay along the coastal road, away from it, half hidden behind an ugly metal shoe-box construction housing a furniture chain and a bed and bedding specialist. ‘Buy one mattress, get one for free,’ it said in huge letters on the roof.

  Cash parked his Jeep in a free spot on the parking lot and walked with Vicky across the lot to where a modest sign pointed out the computer café. Two elderly ladies were just entering, talking excitedly.

  Inside more ladies were waiting, greeting the new arrivals with exclamations and hugs.

  A young man with a beard looked up in annoyance as Cash introduced himself. “Look, Sheriff, I got a whole group here right now. Just let me get them started and I can talk to you, OK? Ladies, this way please.”

  The senior citizens took their places at a long row of computers, looking a little daunted. The bearded young man called something around a door in the back. A few moments later a girl appeared, dressed in an apricot T-shirt and close-fitting jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A few locks escaped and fell over her forehead, suggesting she had had a fringe but was growing it again. She smiled warmly at the ladies. “Hello. All here? Then we can get started.”

  The bearded young man came back to Cash and Vicky. “I told you over the phone this whole exercise is pointless. I won’t recognize nobody from some grainy picture.”

  “This one’s clear enough,” Cash said tightly, producing the newspaper clipping from his pocket. He folded it open and handed it to the bearded young man.

  He glanced at it. “Look, I see loads of people in here …”

  “Take a good look. Try to remember. Last night. Around seven.”

  The bearded man sighed but looked harder. He frowned. “I think I see her in here sometimes.” His index finger circled Marge. “But it wasn’t last night.”

  Vicky exhaled in relief. She knew that Marge had nothing to do with it of course, but what if Cash thought he had to follow up on all leads?

  “I never saw the others before.” The bearded man returned the clipping to Cash. “I run a computer café here, you know. I’m not a private investigator.” And with that, he returned to the desk in the corner and leaned over the computer that stood there.

  Cash exhaled slowly. “And which one of these computers was used to send the email with the killer story?”

  The bearded man looked at him. “You honestly want me to go look up all the IP addresses of the computers I’ve got here?”

  “Yes, please.” Cash held his gaze.

  The bearded man sighed. “Even if we can identify which computer it was, it won’t do you no good. I can’t tell you who worked at it. There’s no camera footage, no prints you can use. Just a ton of smudges. So why are you even bugging me, taking my time?”

  “Just tell me which computer it was.”

  The bearded man shook his head but looked for a file folder on the shelf along the wall.

  Cash turned to Vicky and said, “Do you ever come here?”

  Vicky shook her head. “I don’t have to. I use my computer at home, the laptop, or if I want to look up something fast, my cell phone.”

  “Right.” Cash folded the clipping, then seemed to get an idea. He went straight for the girl helping the elderly ladies and held the paper out to her. “Do you know any of these people?”

  The girl looked down and then turned a fiery red in the face. “Yes. Of course. Those are the members of my writing group. How come?”

  “Your writing group?” Cash echoed. “You’re in the writing group that meets at Glen Cove’s library? Run by Marge Fisher?”

  “Yes. That’s Marge.” The girl pointed at the clipping.

  Cash looked her over. “But you’re not partaking in the serial?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Then how come you’re not in this picture?”

  “But I am.” The girl seemed to suppress laughter. “That’s me.”

  Cash tore the paper from her hand and stared. “With the curls? You look thirty there while now …” He fell silent in bewilderment.

  “I wanted to look good for the picture in the paper. Everybody would see it.” The girl straightened up. “Besides, I’m a model. I can change my appearance any way I want. Even my own father doesn’t recognize me in some shots.”

  There was a challenging tone to her voice.

  Vicky came over quickly. “So you’re … Kaylee Goodridge.”

  Cash sucked in breath audibly.

  Vicky said, “Has your stepmother been able to reach you?”

  Kaylee shook her head. “I turn off my phone when I work here. Calls are distracting.” She glanced at the bearded man as if to indicate that was his opinion, not hers.

  Vicky said, “So you don’t know yet.”

  “Know what?”

  Cash said, “If you could come outside with us for a minute, it would be better.”

  Kaylee looked from one to the other. “Why? What’s wrong? Has something happened to Gunhild?”

  Vicky said, “Just come with us now. We’ll explain everything.”

  The girl followed them outside. The wind breathed across the parking lot, carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and the cries of the gulls above. Here the birds also looked for food tossed away by visitors.

  Kaylee was pale. “Is it serious?”

  Cash said, “Your father had an accident. While jogging this morning.”

  Vicky asked, “You live with him, at the house?”

  “No, not anymore. We … fell out.” Kaylee’s expression was tight. “Is he all right? Was he hurt?”

&nb
sp; “He … died.” Cash pulled off his hat and raked his hand through his curls. “He fell down the cliffs.”

  Kaylee stared at him. “That can’t be. My father is a great runner. He wouldn’t just make a mistake and fall down the cliffs.”

  “He didn’t fall just like that. He was shot in the chest. The impact propelled him over the edge.”

  “Shot? In the chest? But …” Kaylee fell silent. She stared ahead with a blank expression as if she was suddenly lost to the world.

  Vicky touched her arm. “I’m sorry you have to hear it like this. But we’re here to find out more about the situation. You work here at the computer café?”

  “Yes. When I left the house, my father stopped my allowance. I got this job …” Kaylee’s voice trembled. “We never agreed about anything. But I guess … that’s over now.”

  Vicky said, “Did you work here last night?”

  “Yes. I take all the hours I can get.”

  “Around seven?” Cash pressed.

  Kaylee nodded. “I stayed until eleven. Why? You said he died this morning, right? Dad always ran in the mornings.”

  “You knew his routine? What way he took and how long it took him to reach the cliffs?”

  “Of course, he liked his routine. He always did the same thing. Dad was like that. Do the same thing that worked before, then you’ll be successful. He never liked new things. Challenges.” It sounded resentful.

  Cash said, “Did you know Trevor was to send in his contribution for the serial to appear in the paper today?”

  “Yes.” Kaylee suddenly flushed again. “But I didn’t read it. And if you have questions about it, you shouldn’t ask me. I’ve got nothing to say about it.”

  She pulled back her narrow shoulders.

  Cash said, “I’ll have to ask about it. It might be related to the murder.”

  “Trevor’s ideas are Trevor’s business. He always thought he could make things better, but he just made them worse. I didn’t want him to do it, OK? I didn’t.” Kaylee hugged her shoulders and stared down to the parking lot’s concrete.

  “You knew about it?” Cash pounced.

  “He showed me the piece. But I said it was dumb and would just cause trouble.”

  “You could say that again,” Cash said sourly. “Look, this is awkward and all as you have the ladies in there waiting for your explanations about the computer stuff, but I’ll have to take you to the station. You’re an accomplice in a murder case.”

  “Accomplice?” Kaylee shrieked. “Are you crazy?”

  “You just admitted you knew about the piece in the paper. That Trevor shared his plans with you before he put them into action. You should have reported that to the police. You didn’t and now …”

  “Reported to the police? That he wanted to have a little piece printed about a girl modeling and her father not agreeing? He was just embarrassing me, making me look stupid in front of the entire town. I can’t show my face anymore if people realize it’s about me. I just want to hide in this café forever.” Kaylee waved her hands emphatically. “I didn’t want him to do it but he never listened. He’s a stupid ass, OK?”

  Vicky raised a hand. “One moment. You’re referring to the piece Trevor wrote about a girl modeling and her father not agreeing? He showed you that as his contribution to the serial and you didn’t agree that he should submit it?”

  “Right,” Kaylee said, “but he submitted it anyway I bet. I didn’t look at the paper this morning, afraid of what it would say. Trevor just never listens.”

  Vicky studied her expression closely, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. “Trevor didn’t tell you about another piece? Describing a killer lying in wait and shooting a man on the cliffs jogging?”

  “No.” Kaylee’s fiery red face suddenly paled again. Her posture froze as if she had difficulty moving. “He wrote that? A story about the way my father died?”

  “Yes, it was all over Glen Cove this morning in the Gazette. Did you know he planned that?”

  “No, of course not.” Kaylee’s eyes were wide and panicky. “If he had said anything like it, I would have told him not to be so stupid. My father … He couldn’t have killed my father. Trevor is just … a kid.”

  Cash said, “But your father’s dead, Miss Goodridge, and somebody did shoot him. Now we know the piece for the newspaper describing the crime in detail was sent to the Gazette from a computer in this computer café.” He pointed at the storefront behind them. “And since you worked here last night around the time when the piece was sent we were wondering …”

  Kaylee raised both hands. “No, you can’t mean that. My father’s dead, and you think that … I knew about it? That I agreed to it?” Her voice pitched.

  “You fought with your father,” Cash said. “You left the house; he cut off your allowance.”

  Kaylee scoffed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t kill him for that. Now I’ll never get a dime again. He’ll have left it all to that blonde bitch Gunhild. His Norwegian dream as he calls her.”

  Kaylee’s voice was bitter. “He only has eyes for her. Since they married, I don’t exist anymore. I’m sure that she puts the ideas into his head for everything he hates about my life and my choices. I hate her.”

  Kaylee pushed her hands into fists, her eyes sparkling. “I tell you, Sheriff: if somebody should have been shot and dropped down those cliffs, it’s my stepmother!”

  Cash blinked at the violence in the girl’s words.

  Vicky felt uncomfortable herself, but teens could be volatile in their emotions, raging against the people who had authority over them. It was clear Kaylee felt her stepmother had stolen her father away from her and she couldn’t accept that, especially not now she had learned her father was dead and she could never make up again for the last fight they had.

  It was understandable and didn’t prove Kaylee’s guilt in the killing.

  Cash said, “I have to ask you anyway to come with me to the station and make a statement. I want to know exactly how much you knew about Trevor’s contribution to the serial and how he planned to go about it. I also want to know what you and your father fought about before you left the house and why he cut off your allowance.”

  Kaylee crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s easy enough. He wanted me to stop modeling. That bitch Gunhild had told him that it was bad for me. I bet she was only jealous because I’m prettier than her. She’d never get a modeling job. She’s ancient.”Vicky remembered the beautiful face of the Scandinavian woman, the care she obviously took to look her best, and could imagine she didn’t appreciate her stepdaughter’s crude remarks about her age.

  Kaylee said, “Gunhild turned my father against me. He never liked anything I did. He wanted me to go back to college and get my degree. But if I can model, I don’t need a degree. I want to travel, go to Paris and work there. He didn’t want me to. But I’m grown up now. I can do what I want.”

  “You can certainly do what you want now that your father’s dead,” Cash said.

  “That’s mean!” Kaylee burst into tears.

  Vicky put a hand on her shoulder and gave Cash a reproachful look. Even if he didn’t like the girl’s attitude, or considered her a party in her father’s killing, he could try and put it more … diplomatically.

  Then tact had never been Cash’s strong suit.

  Cash said he wanted to ask the computer café’s owner how he was getting on with the IP address and that he would report Kaylee wasn’t working the rest of today.

  “What about my group?” Kaylee sobbed. “They need me to explain everything to them.”

  “Your boss can do that.” Cash barged off.

  “Bully!” Kaylee shouted after him. Her shoulders sagged, and she cried again, her face hidden in her hands.

  Vicky said, “Look, Kaylee, with you working in the café from which the email was sent, Cash has to talk to you. You should try to remember everything you know and tell it to him. It can’
t hurt as long as you tell him the truth.”

  “Can’t hurt?” Kaylee looked at her with wide eyes. “My father and I fought before I left. Half the town knows that. Now that he’s dead, people will start whispering I’m happy about it. But that’s a lie. I never wanted him to die.” Her voice cracked.

  Vicky squeezed her arm. “You have to be strong now. Pull yourself together and tell Cash what you know. Nobody’s going to accuse you of anything out of the blue. You just have to cooperate.”

  “And what questions did the sheriff ask my stepmother?” Kaylee’s eyes sparkled. “Was he tough with her? No, I bet he was kind and considerate and didn’t even ask her a thing. Because she’s a poor widow now. But she isn’t. She isn’t a poor widow; she’s a very rich widow. He should have asked her just how much money became hers when those bullets hit my father’s chest. Just ask her.”

  Vicky didn’t respond. Of course an inheritance was an excellent motive for murder. Cash would have to look into Archibald Goodridge’s will as soon as possible.

  Cash came back to them from the computer café. “Your boss will take care of your group. You can come with me.” Cash held out a thin coat and a purse. “He gave these to me to give to you.”

  “Thanks.” Kaylee rolled her eyes as she accepted the items. “You just cost me my job. Do you think I can go back and work there now that he knows you suspect me of something? I can forget about ever setting foot there again. Thanks a lot.”

  With angry, jerky movements she put on her coat and then got into the police Jeep.

  Cash looked at Vicky and said in a low voice, “I don’t think he’ll just fire her. He looked really concerned when I told him she had to come along for a statement. He carried her things over like a puppy. Maybe he’s in love with her? That makes his testimony worthless. He could be covering for her to ensure it doesn’t get out that she’s involved in her father’s death.”

  “Are you sure about all that? I didn’t see anything particular in his behavior when I was in there.”

  “He didn’t identify her when I showed him the picture. As her boss would he not recognize her?”

  “You didn’t recognize her either.”