Lethal Treasure: A Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery (Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries)

by Jane K. Cleland

  “And I’m to know this how?”

  “’Cause you know me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Do you have any real news, Wes?”

  “What about Scott? Do you think he’s guilty?”

  Of what? I wondered. Of killing Henri? Of breaking into my house? Of framing me for murder? “I don’t know. Is there any evidence? Regretting a divorce isn’t evidence. Lots of people regret getting divorced. Not having an alibi isn’t evidence, either. Lots of people lack alibis … like me.”

  “Good one, Josie! Catch ya later!”

  * * *

  I parked as close to the Rocky Point police station’s front door as I could, backing into the space. I didn’t plan on staying long, and I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Cathy told me Ellis wouldn’t be long. I sat on the wooden bench and shut my eyes, trying to figure out why Ellis had sounded so stiff, as if he were mad at me, as if he’d caught me in a lie. Ellis had no reason to sound stern. I was one of the good guys.

  Ellis stepped out of his office, his expression grave. “Josie?”

  I stood up.

  “This way,” he said.

  I felt Cathy’s eyes on me as I followed Ellis down the long corridor to Interview Room One. From his stiff stride and ongoing silence I knew something had happened, something that involved me, not in a good way. I couldn’t imagine what he’d learned, but my heart began thumping wildly nonetheless. I felt guilty for no reason.

  A police officer I’d met before was fussing with the video camera remote controls, pushing different buttons and watching what happened. His name was Darrell. He was young, new to the force, and eager. I sat in the same place as I had the last time I was in the room, with my back to the cage, facing one of the two cameras. Ellis sat across from me.

  “Before we turn on the video recorders,” Ellis said, “I want to say something to you semi off the record. The officer will listen in, but it won’t be part of our official conversation. We’re friends, Josie, you know that, right?”

  “Of course,” I said, shooting a look at Darrell. He was listening, but his eyes showed no emotion.

  “That we’re friends has no effect on how I do my job. If you did something, I’ll find out about it, and I’ll see that you’re charged for the crime.”

  “What are you talking about, Ellis?”

  “I will ensure you’re treated fairly.”

  “If you think I’m understanding you,” I said, “you’re wrong.”

  “Turn on the video recorders, Darrell,” Ellis said, his eyes on my face.

  “We’re recording, Chief,” Darrell said a moment later.

  “Thank you, Darrell.” Ellis looked into the camera mounted over my head straight-on. “This is an interview conducted by me, Police Chief Ellis Hunter, with Josie Prescott.” He gave Darrell’s name and the date and time, then said, “This is an official interview, Josie. I’m going to ask you some questions, and we’re going to record your answers. First, though, I want to read you your rights.”

  “What’s going on, Ellis?”

  He slid a single sheet of paper across the table as he rattled off the Miranda warning. “Please sign at the bottom indicating that you understand these rights.”

  I stared at the document but didn’t see it. Instead, I saw my father’s face. I was twelve, and I’d been about to sign a form he’d handed me when he stopped me.

  “Never sign anything you haven’t read, Josie. Never.”

  I laughed. “But you gave it to me, Dad. I trust you.”

  “And you can. Someday someone’s going to ask you to sign something you shouldn’t, though, and it may well be someone you trust.”

  “Jeez, Dad … that’s dark.”

  “It’s real. After you read the document, if you have any questions, any at all, refuse to sign it until you’ve consulted a lawyer. Don’t be intimidated. Don’t get defensive. Don’t feel any need to explain or justify your decision. Take your time. Think things through.”

  I looked up and saw Ellis’s poker face watching me, and the memory of my dad faded away. I read the pro forma document. I was familiar with it. I’d signed one just like it before. Ellis was waiting, patiently. The lights on both video cameras shone with pinprick-sized red dots.

  I pushed the paper away. “I want a lawyer,” I said.

  * * *

  An hour later, Max Bixby, the lawyer I called when only a lawyer would do, sat beside me at the wooden table. Over the years, his counsel had saved me money, time, and angst. The world always seemed less chaotic and frightening with him by my side. He was a rock of support, a fount of knowledge, and an ally in times of strife.

  Max was tall and thin and wore tweed jackets with leather patches on the elbows and bow ties. Today’s jacket was green with brown nubs. His tie was brown with green dots.

  He extracted a legal pad and squared it up to the table edge. He placed his pen, a brown and gold StarWalker, on the diagonal.

  “What do you know?” he asked me.

  “Nothing.” I blinked away an unexpected tear. “That’s why I called you. I asked, and Ellis didn’t answer. Up till now, he’s been all friendly and chatty, asking for my help. Now he’s acting like I’m his chief suspect.”

  “Let’s find out what’s up,” he said.

  He opened the door and nodded to someone in the corridor, then returned to his seat and patted my hand. I smiled at him in response and felt my lip tremble. Every nerve was hypersensitive, braced for bad news.

  Ellis and Darrell came in and resumed their places, Ellis across from us, Darrell manning the cameras, off to the side. Ellis laid a manila file on the table.

  Darrell announced the camera was rolling. Ellis repeated the information about who was present, adding that Max was with us, and stating the date and time. He asked me to sign the Miranda form, Max nodded his okay, and I did.

  “Thank you, Josie, for coming in today,” Ellis said, declaring my volunteer status for the record, a courtesy I noted and appreciated.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad to help in any way I can.”

  “The lab has finished testing the tire iron found in your trunk. I told you earlier that it looked like it was the murder weapon—that’s now been confirmed. I wanted to offer you another opportunity to explain how it got in your car.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could get a word out, Max held up his hand.

  “Excuse us a moment,” he said to Ellis. He moved his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his breath. “What is he referring to?”

  In hushed tones, I recounted the break-in, described my shock at seeing the tire iron in my trunk, and told him how I’d previously given a statement explaining that I had no idea how it got in my vehicle, adding that I still didn’t.

  “What else did you tell him?” Max asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Say you have nothing to add to your previous statement. I’m going to request a copy of your initial interview and the lab report. Remember that short, responsive answers are best. One-word answers are best of all.”

  I nodded at him, then turned to face Ellis.

  “I understand from Josie you’ve already discussed this issue,” Max said. “I’d like a copy of that recording.”

  “Certainly,” Ellis said.

  “And the lab report.”

  “All right.” He turned to me. “Josie?”

  “I have nothing to add to my previous statement,” I said.

  “Josie, it’s the murder weapon. We found it in your car. You have to know something.”

  “I found it in my car; you didn’t. And I immediately called you.”

  Max patted my hand. Calm down, the pat communicated. Chill.

  “I have nothing to add,” I repeated.

  “The lab report indicates that the tire iron was placed in the trunk at some point after the crime was committed, after the organic matter dried. The only related material found in your
vehicle appears to be bits that fell or rubbed off naturally.”

  “That’s great news, Ellis!” I said. “That’s consistent with someone sneaking it in the night of the break-in.”

  He shrugged. “Or you could have moved it yourself for some reason.”

  I leaned back, deflated. I didn’t speak. Words escaped me. I couldn’t think of how to reply, of how to explain that he was wrong, that he had to know he was wrong, that I didn’t do it.

  Ellis pursed his lips, thinking. “Please tell me about your relationship with Henri Dubois,” he said.

  Max held up his hand and leaned into my ear again. “Is there anything about your relationship I should know?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He nodded, indicating that I could continue.

  “Henri and I were friends and business associates,” I told Ellis.

  “What kind of friends?” Ellis asked, and from his oh-so-casual tone, I perceived quicksand looming in front of me.

  “Ty and I hung out with him and Leigh Ann. Not a lot. Sometimes.”

  “What sort of business association did you have?”

  “Henri and I were frequent friendly competitors at abandoned-storage-room auctions. I conducted several appraisals of antiques and collectibles on his behalf. I bought antiques and collectibles from him. He consigned objects to us as well.”

  “Did you ever spend time just with him?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Did you and Henri ever hang out, just the two of you?”

  Red warning lights flashed in my head. “No.”

  “Not even for coffee after an auction?”

  “No.”

  “Were you ever alone with him?”

  “Sure.”

  “Like when?” Ellis asked.

  “Like when Henri took me to the back room to show me an art book. Like when we visited one another’s storage units to see what the other guy got. Lots of times.”

  “I’m sorry, Josie, but I have to ask … were you and Henri having an affair?”

  “What?” I exclaimed, shocked to my booties, stunned nearly speechless. “Ellis!”

  “Were you?” he asked again.

  I stared into his eyes. Ellis knew me well. He knew I was over the moon about Ty. He knew I was honest to my toenails. I saw wisdom and empathy in his gaze. He thought my goose was cooked, that he had unassailable evidence against me. I recalled something else, a conversation Zoë and I had a few months back about love and romance. Ty and Ellis had been interested observers. Zoë thought philanderers should be summarily shot, whereas I thought there were sometimes extenuating circumstances. No one is exempt, I’d said that night, no one. When Cupid’s arrow strikes, you’re a goner. I believed it. I could hear Ellis’s thoughts as clearly as if he were speaking them aloud. He was remembering that conversation, too. He’d thought then that I was talking theoretically. Now he thought I’d been reporting on myself.

  Max touched my arm. “Were you?” he whispered.

  “No,” I said, turning to face him, my tone hushed. “God, no.”

  “Answer his question, then,” Max told me.

  I met Ellis’s eyes. “No,” I said. “I wasn’t involved in a romantic relationship with Henri.”

  “We have the e-mails, Josie.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We found Henri’s phone in the van, remember? You were there. We’ve reviewed his e-mails over the last three months. Henri maintained three e-mail accounts, one for business, one for personal, and one that he only used with you.”

  I felt my brow furrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an e-mail from him. When we arranged a time to meet or something, we spoke on the phone.”

  “We’ve got them, Josie. They were sent to your account.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Let’s take a look at your phone.”

  “No,” Max said, smiling.

  Ellis shot Max a look that left no doubt what he thought of lawyers refusing what he perceived to be a reasonable request.

  “Here’s a printout,” he said. “An example.”

  He opened a manila file folder, extracted a single sheet of paper, and pushed it toward me. Max fingered it toward himself, and we read it together. As I read, indignation fired from my heart and brain, and my blood began to boil. The messages comprised an e-mail thread allegedly exchanged between Henri and me, both issued from Gmail accounts, using e-mail addresses I’d never seen. Henri’s e-mail address listed his full name followed by 1746; mine was JosieAntiques, followed by 194. Henri’s e-mail began:

  Ma cherie, we must meet and soon.

  Now?

  Before I could say a word, Max whispered into my ear. “What do you know about this?”

  “Nothing,” I whispered back.

  “Is this your e-mail account?”

  “No.”

  “Is this his?”

  “If so, I don’t know it.”

  He pursed his lips. “We need to examine your phone, see if this account is on it.” To Ellis, he said, “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  “You want to examine the phone, right?” Ellis asked.

  “Right,” Max said.

  “Let’s do it together.”

  “No. We won’t be letting you look at the phone until we’ve had sufficient time to examine it ourselves.”

  “Is this e-mail account on your phone?” Ellis asked me.

  Max raised a palm to stop him. “I’ve instructed Josie not to answer any questions about what may or may not be on the phone.”

  “We have an expert standing by,” Ellis said.

  “Sorry.”

  “I can’t let you walk out of here with that phone. I can’t risk evidence being destroyed or tampered with.”

  “You can’t force us to hand over the phone, Ellis. We’re here voluntarily, remember?”

  “Detective Brownley is before a judge seeking an emergency court order. We need her phone, Max.”

  Max stood up and touched my arm. “Let’s go, Josie. We’re done here.”

  “Turn off the video, Darrell,” Ellis said, standing.

  Darrell tapped buttons, and the red lights disappeared.

  “I can arrest her as a material witness, Max,” Ellis said. “Don’t make me do that.”

  I felt my mouth fall open.

  Max leaned in close to my ear. “I think they’ll get their court order. We’ll score some minor points by cooperating, so I think we should. Let’s offer to let them search your place, for evidence of this alleged affair, too. Save him the need to get a search warrant. More points.”

  “I don’t want them searching my place!” I whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “Would you want the police pawing through your stuff?”

  “No, of course not. We need to be realistic, Josie. I don’t think we have a lot of options at this point. Let me try to negotiate an arrangement by which we get to observe them. My gut tells me that’s the best I’m going to be able to get.”

  “All right,” I said through gritted teeth, outraged.

  “You don’t have anything illicit, do you? Illegal drugs? Unregistered weapons? Child pornography? Anything like that?”

  “Of course not!” I said, feeling the world spin out of control.

  As Max and Ellis began their negotiation, I plunked down in my chair, more angry than offended. I hated everything about what was happening, and I was enraged thinking about the how and why of the situation. I was here enduring this affront because someone decided I was an easy mark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Rocky Point Police Department’s go-to technology guru was a beautiful blonde named Katie. She was younger than me by a lot and seemed both knowledgeable and articulate—a killer combination in an IT expert.

  Before I handed over my phone, I tapped the screen and brought up the Messaging folder. I showed Katie the two icons, one labeled TEXT MESS
AGING and the other listing my Prescott’s e-mail address.

  “See?” I said, pointing to the screen. “This is my only e-mail account. I use Prescott’s for everything.”

  She took the phone, slid her index finger across the screen, then tapped it and nodded.

  “Here it is,” she said. “It’s in the App folder. Let me see something else.” She slid her finger and tapped the screen several times. “Yup. Someone installed remote access software.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “That can’t be!”

  She looked at Ellis, her boss. “This program was installed directly on the device, not remotely, which means subsequent permission to access it isn’t required. Someone remoting in has to use a password, that’s all.”

  “How hard would it be to install that software?” Ellis asked.

  “Easy as pie. Bring up a browser, go to the software company’s Web site, and download it. Soup to nuts, you’re looking at ten to fifteen minutes. Keep in mind, this product is used in business all the time. Like if you have a sales force out on the road, you need your IT folks to be able to fix problems with their smart phones then and there. Say some guy’s phone is stolen. He can buy a replacement anywhere, and by installing the remote access software his company uses, the home office people can reload all his data and documents within minutes. My point is this is not an unusual app.”

  “Couldn’t I tell if someone was remoting in?” I asked.

  “Yes. The background changes color.”

  “I never saw that.”

  “Were any of the e-mails sent late at night?” Max asked.

  “Several were sent during overnight hours,” Ellis said, nodding his understanding, “when someone might expect that Josie would be asleep. Not all of them. More than a few were sent during business hours or early evening.”

  I shook my head, mystified. “Is the remote access software on Henri’s phone, too?”

  “Yes,” Ellis said. “Installed earlier on the same day as yours.”

  “Which was when?”

  “January twenty-sixth at 8:26 P.M. Henri’s was set up at 4:20 P.M. So the question is, who had access to your phone at 8:26 P.M. that evening?”