Demanding answers from anyone in law enforcement was bound to be frustrating. Liss knew the type—they didn’t like to tell civilians anything. Above all else, she was determined to spare her aunt any further distress. “Why don’t you let me talk to the probation officer for you?”
Margaret’s bleak expression broke her heart. “Don’t you think I’m up to it?”
“You’re one of the strongest women I know,” Liss told her truthfully, “but why put yourself through what’s certain to be a wrenching interview when I can handle it in your stead?”
“Will you yell at him for me? Because right now I am very angry with him, whoever he is. What right did he have to turn Ned loose without telling me? Ned was my son!”
Liss hoisted herself up onto the stool next to her aunt’s. “I don’t think the probation officer is the one who decided to let Ned go. From what Gordon told me, he wouldn’t have had any choice about whether or not to notify family members, either.”
“I don’t see why not. Victims of violent offenders are given advance warning when the criminals complete their sentences. I read that in the newspaper just a few weeks ago. That case down to Three Cities, I think.”
“And sometimes victims of violent offenders can argue against a felon’s early release,” Liss agreed, “but that wasn’t the situation with Ned.”
The irony wasn’t lost on her. If she’d pressed charges, she would have been advised beforehand when Ned was about to be set free. She might even have been asked for input ahead of time, to help the powers that be decide if he was truly rehabilitated and no longer a danger to her. But what good did it do to speculate? She wasn’t really sure how such things worked and what did it matter now anyway? Ned had been let out of jail. Then someone had killed him. Nothing could change those two facts.
“I’ll find out everything I can about where Ned went after his release and what he was up to,” Liss promised. If it would help Margaret come to terms with her son’s death, that was the least she could do for her.
Margaret folded her hand over Liss’s as if Liss was the one who needed comfort. They sat that way for a few moments in silence. Liss watched her aunt’s face. Margaret’s eyes were unfocused at first, but after a bit she pulled herself together. She looked down at her empty cup, then up at the kitchen clock.
“I should get going,” she murmured. As she slid off the stool, her gaze roved over the rest of the kitchen. Without warning, she froze, staring at the door that was the back entrance to the apartment.
Alarmed, Liss swiveled in that direction. Someone was standing just on the other side, on the small landing at the top of the flight of stairs that ran up the outside of the building. All Liss could see clearly were eyes shaded by gloved hands and a nose pressed right up against the glass. Moving fast, she crossed the kitchen and tried to jerk open the door. Unfortunately, it was locked. By the time she twisted the deadbolt, the peeping Tom had reached ground level and was sprinting away. Liss watched him until he was out of sight. There was no need to give chase. She knew where to find him.
“Was that a reporter?” In her robe and slippers, Margaret lacked her accustomed air of self-confidence. Her graying hair hung in scraggly clumps. Her hands were trembling.
“No. No, it was just . . . it was nobody.” Liss shut the door firmly and once more engaged the lock.
Margaret inhaled deeply. Then she did it again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not usually like this.”
“You’ve had a terrible shock. You’re entitled to be off your game.”
“The only thing I’m entitled to is information.”
That sounded more like the Margaret MacCrimmon Boyd Liss knew and loved. “And you’ll get it. Only I don’t think we’ll have any luck getting hold of a state employee on a Sunday. First thing tomorrow, though—”
“That’s not what I meant.” Aunt Margaret was sounding more and more like herself. She crossed the kitchen to peer out through the small window in the door. “Who was that, Liss? Most of my neighbors would have stuck around until you had the door open and then come in for a minute or two.”
“Not this neighbor,” Liss muttered.
“Liss. . . .”
“Okay. Okay. It was Boxer Snipes.”
For a moment Margaret looked blank. Then her lower lip began to tremble. “That boy? That boy I met out at the Chadwick mansion? The one who was playing hooky?”
“Right.”
“I . . . I didn’t realize he was a Snipes.”
“Oh, not you, too! Just because his cousins are troublemakers, it doesn’t necessarily follow that—”
Margaret held up a hand to halt Liss’s automatic defense of the boy, her expression closed. “I didn’t mean that.”
Liss had no idea what she was thinking.
“Is he Hilary’s son?”
Liss nodded and waited for her aunt to say more. When she didn’t, Liss asked, “Is that why you thought he looked familiar?” She imagined that Margaret had seen Boxer around town with his mother.
Margaret busied herself measuring coffee into the pot. “Yes, I suppose it is.” Her movements were uncharacteristically clumsy, but when Liss offered to help, Margaret shooed her away. “Go home to Dan. And first thing tomorrow, you go down to Fallstown and talk to that probation officer.”
Liss gave her aunt a mock salute, but it did not produce the hoped-for smile. Discouraged, she exited through the outer door, descending slowly so that she could scan the surrounding area.
Boxer was sitting on the steps that led to the front porch of her old house. Without comment, she joined him there. Together they stared out across the town square. It was quiet, now. All signs of the bonfire had been cleared away. There was no longer any trace of Gloria’s press conference, either.
“So what did you want with my aunt?” she asked after a while.
“I just wanted to make sure the old lady was okay. It was her son that got killed, right?”
Old lady? Well, Liss supposed, someone in her early sixties was old to a boy of twelve.
“That’s right. Did you ever see Ned Boyd out at the mansion, Boxer?” She slanted a glance sideways, but he had his head down. She couldn’t make out his facial expression.
“I didn’t see nothin’ at all,” he mumbled. “Dead guy’s got nothin’ to do with me.”
“Well, that’s that then.” She made a production of looking at her watch. “It’s getting on toward suppertime. I’ve got to go. You’d better head home, too.”
Boxer got reluctantly to his feet. Liss had the feeling there might be more he wanted to say to her.
“I don’t know where you live,” she said aloud. “Do you need a ride?”
“Naw. It’s not far.” Now he seemed anxious to be off, and before Liss could think of a way to coax him into divulging more information, he bolted.
She stared after him, puzzled, then shrugged. One mystery at a time.
Liss entered the town square. Instead of veering right to go home to Dan and the meal she’d left simmering in the slow cooker, she went straight, which took her to the municipal building. Circling it, she entered through the back entrance, the one directly outside Moosetookalook’s police department.
Chapter Eight
The office at the Moosetookalook Police Department was a single inner room containing the bare necessities—two desks, chairs, filing cabinets, and the computer, printer, and other electronic gadgets essential to modern law enforcement. Sherri, seated in a creaky wooden swivel chair, glanced up when she heard Liss enter the waiting room from the hallway. Under her steady gaze, Liss covered the rest of the distance at a fast clip and plunked herself down in the bright red plastic chair reserved for visitors. It had never been intended to be comfortable, but rather to encourage those with complaints not to linger.
“I want to talk to Ned’s probation officer,” Liss announced.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Better me than Aunt Margaret.�
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“No argument there, but no matter who talks to him, you won’t get any answers. Under the law, a probation officer can only give a civilian, even a relative, information that’s already part of the public record. That pretty much amounts to telling you when Ned went to prison and why and when he got out. Nothing else.”
“I know I’ll be beating my head against a stone wall,” Liss admitted, “but if I don’t talk to him, then Aunt Margaret will insist on confronting him herself. At the very least, she wants to give him a piece of her mind for letting Ned go free without telling her.”
Before Sherri could get a word in, Liss went on. “I know. I know. Not his call. I told her that, too. But I promised I’d try to find out everything I could. I get that a civilian isn’t going to learn anything from a probation officer, but what if the person asking for information is a duly appointed officer of the law?”
Sherri sighed. “You’d still have the same problem. Assuming he’d even answer me, I’m not supposed to repeat anything I learn from Chase Forster.”
“Forster’s the probation officer?”
Sherri nodded. “He’s a good man. He’s been in the job for what seems like forever and, believe me, he would have been keeping an eye on Ned. He holds regular reporting days, when everyone on his caseload has to go in to Chase’s office in Fallstown and tell him what they’ve been up to, where they’re living, and whether or not they’ve got a job. If there are conditions of probation, like no drinking or no contact with minors, then the probation officer also makes spot checks at the client’s home.”
“Client?”
“That’s the PC term for it. You don’t need to know the others.”
“So, this Chase Forster would have known where Ned was living?” Liss slid forward in her chair to lean her elbows on Sherri’s desk.
“Ned would have given him an address, which might not be the same thing. He’d only been free for a short time. Chase probably hadn’t paid him a home visit yet. Huh.”
“What?”
“Probably nothing. I just remembered something that makes me wonder if Ned ever did report in.”
“Wouldn’t some action have been taken if he hadn’t?”
“Oh, sure. He’d end up back in jail . . . if he was caught. That’s the thing. There was this other guy on probation with Chase, back maybe six or eight months ago. He didn’t show up when he was supposed to. That’s how I met Chase. He stopped by to leave a copy of the warrant, so we could make an arrest if we spotted his missing man. I imagine he supplied the same information to every department in the county.”
“But you didn’t get a warrant for Ned?” Liss asked, wanting to bring the conversation back where it belonged.
“No. But maybe it’s just too soon. In any case, it gives me a legitimate question to ask Chase.”
“You’ll call him?” At Sherri’s nod, Liss leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. “Great. And will you ask him what address Ned gave him? Please, Sherri. I think it may be important. Ned didn’t come home to his family, but he must have gone somewhere after he got out of prison.”
“Liss, I don’t—”
Liss talked right over her protest. “The more I think about this, the more likely it seems to me that Ned was up to no good. Why else would he keep his release from prison a secret? And if he was the ‘ghost’ at the Chadwick mansion—”
“Why would Ned haunt the place?” Sherri gave her head a decisive shake. “It makes no sense. It has to be mere coincidence that he was released at around the same time the lights and other pranks started.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Liss was back to perching on the edge of the red plastic seat. “That’s a pretty darned big coincidence!”
Sherri heaved a deep sigh. “Okay. Okay. You’re right. Ned was probably up to something shady.”
“And he must have had an accomplice. Or, at the least, someone to drive him as far as Moosetookalook. Can you ask his probation officer about that, too?”
“I’ll ask. But I still won’t be able to repeat anything Chase tells me.” Having looked up the number while they were talking, Sherri reached for the phone.
Liss watched her friend punch in the digits for a call to Fallstown. When she heard the phone begin to ring, she leaned across the desk and pushed the button to activate the speaker. Sherri either didn’t notice or pretended not to.
On the second ring, somewhat belatedly, Liss remembered that it was still Sunday. Not only that, but it was close to suppertime. “You’re calling him at home?”
“Probation officers are on call twenty-four seven.” Sherri gestured toward Moosetookalook’s single closet-sized holding cell, currently empty. “If I arrest someone on Chase’s caseload, I’m supposed to contact him ASAP so he can give instructions about whether to hold the guy on a probation violation or not. If he puts a hold on someone, that someone stays put until Chase gives the okay to allow bail. Sometimes the guy gets out again. Sometimes he doesn’t.” She grinned. “Don’t you watch the news? Half the people law enforcement arrests for major crimes in this state are already in jail on probation violations.”
An answering machine picked up on the sixth ring.
“He screens calls,” Sherri said while Chase’s brief message ran. It consisted of little more than confirmation of his phone number and instructions to wait until after the beep to leave a message.
Sherri identified herself to the machine. “I just have a quick question,” she continued. “I’d appreciate a callback when you—”
“Hold on a sec.” The voice that cut Sherri off was decidedly feminine. “Chase will be right with you.”
In the background, Liss heard the sounds of a football game on TV, probably the same one Dan was watching. She quashed any feelings of guilt over disturbing the probation officer at home. It wasn’t as if the Pats were playing.
Speaking in a deep, pleasant voice, Chase Forster came on the line. “Officer Campbell? You’re with the Moosetookalook PD?”
“That’s right,” Sherri said. “We met briefly a few months ago. I was in the office when you stopped by to talk to Jeff Thibodeau.”
“You’re married to Deputy Campbell, right?” The county jail and sheriff’s office were located in Fallstown, as were the county courthouse and Chase Forster’s office. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Ned—that is, Edward—Boyd. I assume the state police have already contacted you about his death?”
“They have.” He didn’t volunteer more and Liss understood why. Once the state police took over a murder investigation, local law enforcement personnel were generally left out of the loop.
“I’d really appreciate it if you could provide me with a few more details,” Sherri said into the phone. “None of his family even knew he was out of prison. As you can imagine, his murder has been a terrible shock to them. To the whole community, really. I do understand that everything not in the public record is confidential, but—”
“That’s right,” Chase interrupted. “The rest is not for public consumption.”
“I understand that,” Sherri repeated, careful to avoid meeting Liss’s eyes, “but it would really help me out if I knew how he got back to town in the first place.”
“No idea. Sorry. Boyd only reported to me once. During that initial meeting, I took his photo for my files, gave him the standard lecture, and told him to come in or phone me, without fail, the second Tuesday of every month.”
Sherri flipped her desk calendar back to October. “So that was on the fourteenth?”
“Right.”
“He’d been out of prison almost a month by then,” Sherri observed. “What about an address? He must have told you how to reach him. Where was he living? By rights, it should have been at his mother’s place on Pine Street here in Moosetookalook.”
“Hold on a sec.” Liss heard the faint clatter of keys on a laptop. “Well, he had moved back to Moosetookalook, but the street address I have is 134 Raglan Road.”
“That’s where he was killed,” Sherri said into the phone, “but no one was supposed to be living there. It’s an old, abandoned house.”
After a few more keystroke sounds, Chase Forster said, “He gave the same address as his destination when he was released.”
“Doesn’t anyone check these things?”
“Not so you’d notice,” Chase muttered, sounding as disgruntled as Liss felt.
After Sherri thanked Chase and disconnected, she and Liss sat in silence for a few minutes. The probation officer hadn’t told them anything new, except that Ned planned on living in the Chadwick mansion. Or rather on hiding in the house.
“Did Gordon find a panic room?” Liss asked.
Sherri shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard.”
“Did he even look? Or did he just decide that the whole idea of an old fashioned priest hole was too reminiscent of a third-rate Gothic novel to be real? You’d think that after we told Gordon about the tunnel into the basement, he’d realize it wouldn’t be all that far-fetched to think the mansion might also have a hidden room.”
Sherri spread her hands wide. “You’ll have to ask him that.”
“Then I will.” Before she could think better of it, Liss grabbed the phone and punched in Gordon’s cell number. In the not-so-distant past, she’d had occasion to memorize it. There had been a time when she’d thought Gordon might even ask her to marry him.
He sounded distracted when he answered, but Liss plowed ahead. “Have you found a panic room yet?”
Silence answered her.
She waited. He knew who she was and why she was asking. If he hung up on her, she’d just call him back. He knew that, too.
“We had a few other things to do that took priority,” Gordon finally said.
“Ned had to be hiding somewhere.”
“It’s a big house. Maybe he just stayed ahead of you. Or was up in the attic. And just who is supposed to have built this panic room? That’s a pretty modern concept for an old house.”
“Blackie O’Hare’s house,” Liss reminded him. She had the feeling he counted to ten before he answered her.
Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery) Page 10