A Crossword to Die For

by Nero Blanc

  “I don’t know if I can be of any help, Mike, but I’m happy to stop in and talk to them. I used to be with a metro force up in Massachusetts.”

  “That’s what I’d heard … I appreciate the offer, but that car will turn up. This is a small burg. Everyone knows everyone’s business.”

  “Well, the offer’s out there.” Rosco looked toward the Volsay house while he searched for words. “Belle was really grateful for your help down in Florida.”

  Mike shrugged. “All in the line of duty.”

  “Have you met her yet? In Mrs. Volsay’s home?”

  Mike shook his head. “I saw you down here, and I—”

  “Right … It makes sense to be careful—even in a quiet place like this. Well, Belle will be really glad to meet you … I was waiting for her down here. Apparently Mrs. Volsay doesn’t like PIs.”

  Another smile briefly transformed Mike’s somber face. “Deb’s aunt can be a tough one. She has her favorites. I’m military, so in her book, I’m the golden boy …”

  Rosco and Mike both dropped their hands into their pockets and began walking back to the house. Mike was the first to resume the conversation, although his friendly tone had vanished.

  “Rachel said that Belle had some crazy idea that Deb’s accident might be connected to her father’s death … that it might not have been an accident.”

  Rosco paused before speaking. “I know this is hard for you to consider, Mike, but yes, Belle and I—as well as the Newcastle Police Department—are considering homicide in the case of Professor Graham.”

  Mike didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his words sounded forced and jerky. “But why would anyone want to kill him? Or Deb?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “I don’t know everything Professor Graham was into. I didn’t know him all that well. But I did know my wife. And I’ll tell you, Rosco, she wasn’t a secretive person. Not in the least. If she learned something—even a little thing like how a flower got its name, or when whales calf—I’d have to learn it too … If Deb was worried over something, she would have told me.”

  By now the two men had reached the Volsay yard. Rosco hung back, remaining at the curb near his car. “I’ll wait for Belle out here. She shouldn’t be much longer. Mrs. Volsay has an appointment.”

  “Yes. We’re due at the funeral home in a couple of minutes.” Mike glanced at the fender of Rosco’s Jeep; another gently smile appeared on his face. “So you’re a Sox fan, huh?”

  Rosco also attempted a light approach, “Sort of.”

  “You know, it ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

  “I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately.”

  The front door of the Volsay house opened, and Belle and Rachel stepped out. “Good,” Rachel said. “Right on time.” Her glance swept past Rosco and returned to Mike while Belle walked toward him and extended her hand.

  “All our deepest sympathy … to you and Debbie’s aunt … To all your family.”

  Mike took Belle’s hand and held it. Tears had welled up in his eyes. “Thanks,” he managed. “Thanks.” Then he dropped his hands to his sides, and looked at Rachel. “I guess we’d better get going.”

  Rachel nodded, then turned back to Belle, squaring her shoulders as if making a momentous decision. “You’re welcome to attend Deb’s service tomorrow. You and your husband—”

  Belle’s posture went through the same seismic shift as Rachel’s. “Thank you, Mrs. Volsay. Thank you … Of course, we’ll be there … And thank you for speaking with me this morning.” Then she walked toward Rosco in order to give Mike Hurley and his wife’s aunt some private time before facing the ordeal of the funeral home.

  Rosco began retracing the route back toward the town of Kings Creek. Belle sat beside him as the Jeep rolled up Oak Lane, turned left, then left again. “Where to?” he finally asked.

  “The hospital.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “The hospital should be about two miles past the gas station.” Belle looked intently through the Jeep’s windshield as she spoke.

  Rosco glanced at his wife. “Mind telling me what this is all about?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Mrs. Volsay finally admitted that my father went to Mercy Hospital after he visited her home. He wanted to meet with a Dr. Edwards. Apparently, he knew Debbie very well; he’s the physician who first treated her sister. I called the hospital. He’s in. He’s expecting us.”

  “Let it not be said that you’re not a woman of action.” Rosco smiled while Belle turned to face him. Her eyes were animated and bright.

  “Debbie’s aunt also confirmed the existence of the blue box.”

  “That’s important news … Did she have any idea what it contained?”

  “No.” Belle thought for a moment. “But she did tell me my father seemed ‘quite worried about it.’”

  “So, are you thinking Edwards was your dad’s contact? The person he was supposed to deliver the valise to … i.e., he came up here on the pretext of visiting Rachel Volsay when in fact—?”

  “I’m not sure what to think. All I know is that Debbie Hurley must have been very deeply involved in all of this. What her role entailed, I can’t even guess—”

  Rosco interrupted. “Do I have time to tank up before we see Dr. Edwards? We’re riding on fumes here.”

  Belle glanced at her watch. “Well, we certainly don’t want to be stranded in the wilds of New Jersey.”

  Rosco angled into the USAV•AN•TELL•ALL gas station, pulled up to a pump, got out, and removed the Jeep’s gas cap.

  “Sir,” the attendant said as he trotted over, “you can’t pump your own.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Not in this state, it’s against the law. I’ll get it.”

  “Fine … Go for it—all the same price.”

  The attendant perused Rosco’s front bumper as he attached the nozzle to the Jeep. “Sox fan, huh?”

  Rosco smiled. “I know: It ain’t over ‘til it’s over.”

  “You said it, buddy, not me.”

  Belle was so engrossed in staring at the gas station sign that she didn’t stir when Rosco climbed back into the driver’s seat. “Look over there.” She pointed to the large red and blue plastic billboard that hung out over Route 206. “What do you see?”

  “Other than a garish blight on the landscape?”

  “Well, there is that … but what else do you notice?”

  “That gas is a lot cheaper in New Jersey than it is in Massachusetts?”

  Belle shook her head. “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “Just study the sign for a minute, and tell me if you make any unusual connections.”

  Rosco did as he was directed while Belle continued to speak:

  “Take the four Ls and the A off the end of “USAV•AN•TELL•ALL, and the—”

  “—U off of the front.”

  “Exactly.”

  Rosco spelled it out. “S-A-V-A-N-T-E. Savante.” He cocked his head, stepped from the Jeep, and looked closely at the fine print on the gas pump. “Owned and operated by the Savante Group, Inc.,” he read aloud. “Well, what do you know? One big happy family.”

  “It looks like Carl Oclen has some business interests right here in Debbie Hurley’s backyard.”

  Rosco handed his credit card to the attendant, waited for the transaction to be completed, pocketed his receipt, and returned to the Jeep. His face was creased in a frown. He looked at Belle, noting the sudden change in her expression.

  “Wait a minute!” she burst out. “I figured it out! Debbie’s sister died of cancer … Rachel mentioned the Tolliver family had been hit, too … supposedly a genetic ‘predisposition’ to the disease … OCLEN in the crossword … ECOLOGICAL STAIN running across the puzzle’s diagonal …” Belle paused, her absolute focus making her sit taller and straighter. “Is it possible my father’s death had nothing to do with covert operations or international
intrigue?” She turned toward Rosco. “He confronted Oclen, right? Our assumption was that he was concerned about pollution in the Gulf of Mexico … But is it possible that it’s right here in Kings Creek? Is it possible we’re sitting on top of it?”

  “A gas station?” Rosco passed his band over his brow, then slowly shook his head from side to side. “But what about the skulls and Marie-Claude—?”

  “And her missing husband, and the entire Central American connection … Yes, I know … But someone sent us to her, Rosco … Someone is guiding—almost masterminding—our investigation.”

  “Unless coming to Kings Creek is a wild-goose chase.”

  “Then what was my father doing here?”

  Rosco put the Jeep in gear. “Dr. Edwards?”

  “Dr. Edwards,” was Belle determined response.

  Mercy Hospital was small, the size of a large clinic rather than a suburban hospital. There was an ambulance entrance, but the parking lot was large enough for only fifteen or twenty vehicles, and Rosco guessed that the ten or so cars in the lot probably belonged to employees rather than patients. They pulled in beside a late-model Ford, strolled across the lot, and entered the hospital’s main entrance, where an admission nurse directed them down a well-lit corridor with an efficient: “Dr. Edwards’s office is on the last door on the left. He’ll be right with you.” The statement was correct. Edwards stepped into the room a scant two minutes later.

  He was in his forties with jet black hair and a meticulously trimmed mustache. He wore a pressed white hospital jacket with his name clearly embroidered in red on the left-hand pocket. However, despite the clinical garb and rather fussy appearance, he exuded the air of an attentive and sympathetic listener, a conscientious healer. After introductions, Belle said, “It was good of you to take the time to meet with us, Doctor.”

  “As I told you on the phone, I enjoyed talking with your father … I’ve got to admit that the news of his passing comes as a shock. He appeared to be a very healthy individual … But heart disease is an insidious enemy—”

  “A heart attack was the medical examiner’s original assumption,” was Belle’s careful reply.

  Edwards studied her, then he looked at Rosco. He seemed to be entering into some private and complex inner dialogue. Finally he redirected his attention to Belle. “Do you, or the examiner, have cause to believe your father did not suffer from a heart condition?”

  Belle nodded.

  Again, Edwards paused. When he spoke again, his tone was as cautious as Belle’s. “Are we talking about a possible homicide?”

  It was Rosco who answered. “What makes you ask that?”

  In answer, the physician tapped the tips of his fingers together and stared up at the ceiling. “Whew … That’s very … that’s very disturbing … Especially given the nature of the conversation I had with him …” He tapped his fingers together again, then drew in a long and steadying breath. “I’d better start at the beginning,” he said at length. “I’ll lead you through what I know—”

  Belle touched Edwards’s sleeve. “You may be putting yourself at risk, Doctor.”

  “Yes … Yes, I realize that. And I won’t say it doesn’t worry me … But I will tell you that in the brief hour I spent with your dad, I was inspired by his compassion, his sense of justice. He seemed on a mission to right the wrongs of the world … We’d be a different place if we had more committed people like him on this planet … As his daughter, you’re undoubtedly well acquainted with those traits …”

  Belle lowered her gaze. Despite the warmth of the room, she felt utterly chilled—and utterly worthless.

  “You’re aware, I assume, that both Debbie Hurley’s mother and sister died of cancer?”

  Belle nodded.

  “When your dad came to see me, he was attempting to discover a connection between the deaths of four women who lived in the Oak Lane area of Kings Creek. All four had succumbed to cancer, and the timing of their illnesses was, well, let us say: curious.”

  “Was one of them Rosa Tolliver?” Rosco asked.

  Dr. Edwards looked at him. “As a matter of fact, yes. Did you know her?”

  “I saw her name on a bench at the foot of the street.”

  Edwards nodded gravely, and resumed his story. “According to Professor Graham, he’d begun to suspect the existence of some type of contaminant—a carcinogen—in the Oak Lane region. Of course, he requested that I keep our discussion in the strictest confidence. He didn’t want to alarm Debbie or her aunt until he had some hard evidence.”

  “The four women in question, were they your patients?” Rosco asked.

  “I’m a general practitioner here in Kings Creek, but yes, they were my patients. Initially. Once I determined the seriousness of their conditions, I referred them to an oncology team in Trenton.”

  “But what kind of ‘hard evidence’ did my father hope to find?”

  Edwards took a breath. “He’d become convinced that the tanks at a USAV•AN•TELL•ALL gas station in the proximity of Oak Lane were leaching gasoline into the ground … He’d collected tap water from the Volsay house as well as random samples from the stream. Those findings were kept in sterilized bottles—”

  Rosco interrupted. “That he carried in a blue case?”

  Edwards nodded agreement. “I believe that would describe the equipment he brought with him.”

  “We stopped at the service station in question,” Rosco interjected. “It’s fairly new, from the looks of it … Did Belle’s dad think those tanks were already having problems?”

  “I’ve lived in this area for fifteen years now, and I think that’s the fifth time that particular station has changed hands. Prior to Savante, the present owner, the operators were smaller independents. As soon as one company failed, a new one moved in. They’d spiff up the building’s exterior, put in new pumps, glossy signage, et cetera, but who knows whether appropriate maintenance checks were made on the underground tanks.”

  “So my father was hoping to find the presence of gasoline in—?”

  “Not gasoline itself, but an element known as MTBE.”

  “MTBE?”

  “Methyl tertiary butyl ether. The oil companies have been using it as an additive since the 1970s. Theoretically, it makes unleaded gasoline burn cleaner—as well as increasing the octane rating. However, some states are beginning to outlaw the use of MTBE. It’s a known animal carcinogen, although tests on humans have been inconclusive.”

  Belle considered the statement. “The assumption would be that humans and animals don’t share similar physical traits? Or that humans don’t matter? Aren’t we all animals?”

  Edwards raised an eyebrow. “Your father had the same reaction, Belle … At any rate, MTBE is water soluble and moves very quickly underground.”

  “Meaning it can enter the water table and contaminate private wells?” Belle asked.

  “Exactly … After my conversation with your dad, I did some sleuthing on my own and discovered a similar situation—also in New Jersey, also involving a service station, and a report that was ‘misplaced’ for well over a year. In that instance the tested wells showed levels of MTBE that were between 180 and 545 parts per billion. In one case the level was 940 PPB … According to the state’s Department of Environmental Protection, the safe drinking level is 20 PPB. New York State has also has problems, one in particular involves an elementary and middle school—”

  “Wow,” Belle murmured while Rosco posed another question:

  “And what did Professor Graham’s samples show?”

  “That’s what I meant when I said I wasn’t much help. I told him our lab wasn’t equipped for that type of testing, and that he needed to seek the services of a specialized facility.”

  “And?” Belle asked.

  Edwards looked at Rosco. “He’d told me he planned to take them to you.”

  “Me?”

  “He said, ‘My new son-in-law is a private detective. He’ll know exactly how to handle this.
’ He seemed very impressed with you.”

  “But … He never met me,” Rosco stammered while Belle’s face crinkled in sorrow. After a long moment, she said:

  “Those water samples have disappeared.”

  “Collect some more,” was Edwards’s decisive reply. “It’s easy enough to do … I’ll help in any way I can, because I think your dad was on to something. And if your suspicion of homicide proves correct, it may be something very big.”

  CHAPTER 34

  “Five hundred and forty-five parts per billion of water … nine hundred and forty … I can’t believe those numbers, Rosco …”

  They’d left Mercy Hospital, and were returning to the Volsay home. Beyond them the countryside looked radiant and green—and exuberantly healthy.

  “And private wells again, how many did Dr. Edwards say were involved?” Rosco asked.

  “Two hundred and seventy-seven in one New Jersey county alone—with another fifty-five cases of leaked diesel fuel.” Belle shook her head from side to side as she perused the notes Edwards had lent her. “What’s scary is the level of secrecy … leaks from old tanks that could have been prevented with appropriate monitoring … filtration systems that were never installed … bureaucratic delays in obtaining scientific testing—”

  “Especially when you consider this one report Edwards quotes—the one where New York State residents were warned not to drink from their wells—or even cook or shower at home. That tells me the DEP’s really concerned.”

  She remained quiet for several moments. “I think we’ve opened a very unwholesome can of worms, Rosco.”

  “It was your dad who wielded the opener, Belle.”

  “Yes,” she finally added. “Yes. He did.” Her voice contained more than a little pride. And a good measure of awe.

  Rosco squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I never met him,” he finally said.

  “So am I.”

  After another few minutes of silence, Rosco spoke again. “Okay … Given the seriousness of what we’ve picked up—as well as a strong probability of major criminal activity in repressing your father’s concerns, I think we need to again address this issue of exhuming his body.”