I called Van Alst House from the original burner phone. If it got identified, I’d still have the second, unless, of course, I got all confused about which was which.
Vera picked up and snapped hello.
“Is everything all right?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Are the cops still there?”
“I’ve told you we will be dispensing with your services. The furnace is on its last legs, and you will not be getting our business with the new one.”
I figured as that was almost identical to what she’d said the last time that the police were still there and I had better find a place to hide out. But what would that place be?
I was out of places.
The police would be checking out motels and B and Bs and hotels in the area, such as they were. Anyone of my description checking in would get the sirens screaming down the road in minutes. Lance’s place was probably off-limits too.
What was going on? I had no idea, but I knew I was in big trouble, and apparently everyone I cared about was too.
I put in a call to Sammy, again on the old burner this time, in case. “Any chance you’d have a colleague who could represent my friend Lance? The cops are taking him in for questioning. He might need someone.”
“What for?” Sammy’s not big on small talk. Have I mentioned that?
“Don’t know. Uncle Mick’s got the cops at his door too. And Vera does.”
“Really?”
“It’s something big, and it must have to do with Chadwick Kauffman’s murder. What else could it be?”
“Keep a low profile. I’ll try to find out.”
“I will find somewhere to lie low.”
“Don’t check into a hotel. Don’t go on the highway in case they have roadblocks.”
“Roadblocks?” I may have yelped that. “Really?”
“Don’t take a chance.”
“Where should I—?”
“Don’t tell me.”
“Okay. But back to Lance. Uncle Mick got a Cory Corrigan for my Uncle Kevin and a Laurence Sternberger for Vera. Mick’s surrounded by cops now too, so I can’t rely on him.”
“You’re my client.”
“And Lance is my friend. He’s been my friend for a long time. He’s a good person. Did I mention he’s the reference librarian at the Harrison Falls Public Library? His experience with the police and being questioned is limited.”
“And?”
“And he’s in trouble!”
“And why would that matter?”
I wailed, “Because I care about him. The cops were all over the library and they marched him away. In handcuffs. That’s more than an interview.”
Sammy was silent for a bit longer than I would have expected.
I blurted, “It’s an arrest. Pretty sure of that.”
“Yup.”
“And if Lance has been arrested it is because he was helping me. I don’t know what’s happened, but it’s my fault.”
“Please don’t say that. You’re joking, right? Nothing is your fault. Never, never, never say that anything is your fault. ‘No comment,’ that’s what you say.”
“But I’m talking to you. You’re my lawyer!”
“No ‘buts.’ Maybe this Lance guy is innocent—”
“Not maybe. Is.”
“You are not at fault. Remember that. If he left in handcuffs, then he might be going through a very rough interrogation right now.”
I fought back panic. “You mean they’ll beat him up?”
“Hey, don’t shout. I mean emotionally rough. They’ll break him down.”
“Oh my God.”
“And they’ll make him turn on you.”
“He won’t.”
“Don’t be surprised.”
“This is so awful. But I know Lance isn’t going to turn on me. He’s—”
“All right, all right. But you’d better prepare yourself, because when they get you in there, they’ll try to convince you to turn on him.”
“He wasn’t even at Summerlea. He had nothing to do with it at all.”
Sammy said, “He never knew you were going?”
“What? Yes, he knew. He helped with my research and—”
“So he also knew about the Kauffman guy and the house where they lived?”
I swallowed. “Because I asked him. That’s the only reason.”
“But he knew. That’s what the cops will use to get to you, and then they’ll use you to get at him. Then when one of you rolls on the other, bingo.”
“We didn’t do anything. You are my lawyer. You have to believe me.”
“I have to defend you.”
I felt tears sting my eyes. I am not a crier. You don’t last long in the Kelly family if you’re inclined to be weepy. “I’m glad you are going to defend me. Lance is also innocent, and I don’t believe he’ll ever turn on me, and he needs a lawyer too.”
“I’ll try. Can he pay?”
“He was always pretty good at saving and he has a professional job and this isn’t an expensive area to live in. At least he can pay for the initial representation. After that, I’m sure they’ll let him go. Stop sighing, Sammy. It’s very unnerving. He won’t be going to jail.”
“The jails are full of innocent people, Jordan.”
“And guilty people too.”
“You’re right. A guy like Lance isn’t going to do well in the prison system.”
“I can’t let that happen to him. He needs a decent lawyer. I can tell them he had nothing to do with it. Do you think I should turn myself in?”
“Can’t hear you. You’re breaking up! What? What?”
Fine. I needed to think anyway. But my head felt all fuzzy. This thing with Lance was a big shock. And I’d been behind on my sleep since we found out about Chadwick Kauffman’s death. I was starting to shake. I needed to crash for a few hours before I could make a good decision about what to do next.
At the intersection ahead a police cruiser ran the red—roof lights flashing—heading for the on-ramp to the interstate, taking the shortcut to the far side of town. As far as I could tell every cop in town was on the move.
* * *
MY BURNER PHONE buzzed. I pulled over. Anyone who had this number was someone I wanted to talk to.
“Cherie? What is it?”
“Bad news.”
“If Shelby didn’t show up, it’s not the end of the world. What’s happening there now?”
“Couldn’t tell you. I had to move on. There are cops everywhere.”
“Cops? At Shelby’s?”
“Go figure. I learned some stuff about her, but first the cops. They are talking to everyone on the street. I moved to the next street and, from the pole, I could see quite a bit of action before I figured I’d better disappear.”
“Maybe they’ve figured out that she was involved with the killing.”
“Maybe. Whatever. I think it’s serious. Uh-oh. Too much heat in the area. Talk later.”
There was one place that no one would think to look for me. I stuck my hand in my deep-orange bag and felt around the smallest interior zipped pocket for the key. It fit the front and back doors to the residence of one person who wasn’t likely to be home anytime soon. Tyler Dekker.
* * *
MY HANDS SHOOK as I eased the Navigator out onto the street and headed for Tyler’s small, neat brick bungalow.
“So Walter,” I said, “at least we’ll look legit, you and me, going back to Tyler’s place.”
Walter cocked his head.
I assumed Tyler would not have told his neighbors he’d dumped his devoted girlfriend and her dog by text. “That’s us, Walter. We’ve been mistreated.”
I pulled the Navigator around the corner, and Walter and I sauntered, bush by bush, t
o the immaculate front entrance. Tyler was the neatest person I’d ever met.
We were greeted by Cobain, Tyler’s shaggy dog. Cobain was so excited he twirled and leapt and licked our faces. He may have accidentally left a small puddle in the entry before he and Walter raced through every room of the house, yipping with joy. They crashed into the small plant table that Tyler kept near the window. I wiped up the puddle, righted the table and rescued the plant before Cobain ate it. That dog would eat anything. I’d do a bit more sweeping after I slept for twenty minutes. I was so fatigued I could have missed large clumps of earth.
“Glad you’re having fun, boys,” I said. “Try not to break the furniture.” I yawned widely but decided to check what was happening on the news before I hit the mattress. Maybe they’d called off whatever they were doing and Tyler would come home to get a bit of sleep. That would not be good.
Tyler likes the local country station. No comment. And he leaves the radio on loud for Cobain.
Police in Harrison Falls are not commenting about the cause of a death that took place last night. The body of a twenty-eight-year-old woman was found in a patch of woods on the outskirts of Harrison Falls early this morning. Police received an anonymous tip about the body, which was discovered off Durham Road. The victim’s name has not been released, pending notification of next of kin.
I sat there openmouthed.
Was that woman Shelby? Dead?
That would account for the police presence that Cherie had spotted in front of Shelby’s parents’ house. Durham Road was less than half a mile from Van Alst House. That explained what Vera was trying to convey. Detectives must have put two and two together and gone to Van Alst House. Now I assumed they were looking for me. Was there evidence that tied me to Shelby? I had chased her from the gallery, but no one knew it was me. Or did they?
Police are holding twenty-eight-year-old Lance DeWitt, an employee of the Harrison Falls Public Library, as a suspect in the case.
Oh no. Poor Lance. He’d done nothing but try to help me. Even if the truth came out, could things ever be the same for him in the job he loved?
Aside from making sure that Sammy actually delivered and found someone good to represent Lance, there wasn’t much I could do at that moment that wouldn’t make things worse.
Sometimes I look to the characters in the mysteries I’m reading for insights into the situations I’m dealing with. I’d found Lord Peter Wimsey very helpful, and Harriet Vane, as well. Archie Goodwin could walk the walk and talk the talk, but none of them were of any help to me. I was up to my ears in Chief Inspector Roderick Alleyn, and if he’d been real and walked into Tyler’s house at that moment, he’d have had no choice but to arrest me.
My head was spinning. The prospect of life in prison after a night of little sleep can do that to a person. “Come on, dogs,” I said. “Let’s hit the hay.”
Ping! Another random text from Tiff came through.
I am on a floating boat to hell.
You and me both, sister. I didn’t bother replying. The cops would probably be able to locate me if I did. Instead, I let the idea of sleep set in. Cobain and Walter were more than delighted to leap onto Tyler’s immaculately made bed. I had a random thought about creases, but then darkness descended. Too bad it brought nightmares.
* * *
THE SNICK OF the lock turning woke me with a shock. Or maybe it was Cobain shooting off the bed with that massive leap. I sat up, and Walter snorted at me in irritation. He wasn’t finished napping.
Cobain galloped.
“Hey, boy.” My blood ran cold when I heard Tyler’s voice. Goldilocks must have felt it too when she was grilled about the porridge, chairs and beds.
“What you been doin’, Cobain? Looks like you tried to trash the place. I’m sorry I haven’t been home much, but I’ve been up against it. Big problems. I don’t even want to tell you what they are, because I know you won’t side with me.”
I assumed the thumping noise was Cobain’s tail.
There was no way I could escape through the small window in the bedroom. Ducking into the hallway would have been even riskier. La Casa Dekker was tiny.
Without a thing to lose, I rolled off the bed and took Walter with me. There wasn’t much headroom under Tyler’s bed, but if I’d been looking for an upside, it would have been that Tyler Dekker was an immaculate housekeeper and there wasn’t a single dust bunny to scare up a sneeze.
“Bear with me, boy,” he said, plunking himself on the bed.
Walter was making his snuffling noises. He’s very fond of Tyler Dekker, not having fully grasped what a total traitor and jerk he’d turned into.
Lucky for us fugitive felons, Cobain was making quite a racket whining and barking. It was enough to drown out Walter’s snuffling and my pounding heart.
Of course, Cobain was trying to tell Tyler that we were under the bed, but, smart as he was, Smiley didn’t speak dog as well as I did.
“Be a good guy and settle down, boy. I’ve got a call to make.”
Cobain did not settle, but we did. Turned out Smiley was checking in with Castellano. She had news for him.
He said, “So the girl has been identified as Shelby Church? . . . For sure? . . . Oh. The parents . . . Right. That’s that, then . . . I did follow up on that tip as you requested, and it seems that Shelby Church was last seen at an art installation thing in Grandville, last night. According to a witness, the artist whose work was on display, Poppy Lockwood-Jones, the victim was accosted by a weirdly attractive blond woman who chased her out the fire exit. No one saw much after that because the alarms went off and that caused some chaos. Martinis were spilt and some caviar was lost. There were quite a few critical remarks about the blonde’s outfit . . . No, ma’am, I’m not trying to be funny. I’m reporting back.
“We confirmed that the librarian, Lance DeWitt, was also there, asking about Shelby. He left before she did. That’s right. Shelby was spotted running from the gallery and jumping into a Lexus SUV and leaving the scene. Lance DeWitt and the blonde were seen pursuing the Lexus in a BMW . . . No one got a plate from either vehicle. They were both muddy, apparently.
“Yes, we were able to collect CCTV footage from the area.
“It appears that the same BMW, with DeWitt and the blonde, was seen in the vicinity of Shelby Church’s parents’ house at 41 Belleville Crescent in Grandville at around eleven last night. We’re canvassing door-to-door in the neighborhood, and we’ve learned that the BMW was joined by a Lincoln Navigator driven by a burly redheaded man in his fifties.
“At seven this morning, I went by with a photo of Michael Kelly, and at least one witness is certain it was him. Sorry? . . . No, it was definitely not Kevin Kelly, ma’am. I had pictures of both of them. Then the librarian and the large guy left with the Beamer and the blonde drove away in the Navigator. She may have had a small dog with her. The neighbors notice things like that, but they didn’t get any license plate numbers.
“The Navigator was observed by an avid birdwatcher living on the next street over. It was parked there all night. There is no reliable description of the woman in it. But several robins were seen, and there was talk of an early scarlet tanager.
“Sorry, ma’am, I do know this is a serious business . . . Yes, I realize that you are taking a chance on me as an investigator . . . No, I won’t screw up. So to continue, we’re not sure how Michael Kelly was involved with Shelby, but he seemed to be aiding DeWitt and the blonde. As far as the timing goes, they had left Belleview Crescent in plenty of time to have killed Shelby Church. But if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, I find it hard to believe that either of—Sorry, ma’am . . . Right, I’ll keep an open mind.
“Both Michael Kelly and Lance DeWitt are in custody. Kelly’s asked for his lawyer. We’re letting them cool their heels.
“I’ll be back at the station in a half hour. Yes, ma’am. I do
realize this is a murder case.
“To finish up, I was able to use the warrant to get the information you wanted from the library. We did turn up extensive searches for”—and here he paused a bit—“Jordan Bingham on the Kauffmans and their country home, Summerlea. We turned up evidence of a search on Shelby Church, and also we found a digital image of a group at the Country Club and Spa. Shelby is in that. The librarian has labeled her and made connections with other people in the photo. You’ll be interested to note that Chadwick Kauffman is also in the photo. Also labeled . . . Yes, ma’am. I brought it all in. It’s on your desk.”
I could hear Castellano squawking on the phone. Some phones make you sound like a deranged chicken when you’re on speaker.
“Ma’am? There could be a way to explain that. And there’s something I wanted to mention. You remember that Jordan Bingham and Vera Van Alst insisted that the people they met at Summerlea were not Chadwick Kauffman and his assistant, Lisa? . . . Yeah, I know that Kevin Kelly is in the wind and we ‘like’ him for the killing of Kauffman, but if you’ll hear me out, please. The dead woman, Shelby Church, fits the description of the woman they described at Summerlea . . . No, I’m not saying they killed her. I’m suggesting they would have wanted to talk to her. They would need her alive. Alive, she could confirm that they didn’t kill Chadwick. Dead, she’s—”
Another nail in our coffin, I thought. How’s that for a tired cliché? It had been a night of clichés, right down to hiding under a bed with someone sitting on top of it, like something out of I Love Lucy. Really, it might have been funny if I hadn’t been so close to getting arrested for something I hadn’t done.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“NO, MA’AM.” TYLER’S voice rose. “No. I don’t think the blonde was Jordan Bingham. Jordan has beaut— . . . long dark hair to her shoulders . . .Yes, I have heard of wigs . . . Someone recognized her? Was she caught on camera? . . . A tip? Just to clarify, was it an anonymous tip? . . . It was. I was wondering who is calling in these anonymous tips. What are they getting out of it? . . . No. No, ma’am, I’m not taking Jordan’s side . . . We aren’t together anymore . . . Yes, I did have some understanding that her uncles were, um, somewhat unorthodox, but, I checked, and Michael and Lucky Kelly have never been arrested, although we’ve been interested in them more than once. The word is that they don’t run any operations in our area. It’s all down South. Anyway, for your information, Jordan and I broke up. I haven’t had any contact with her at all . . . No, ma’am. I haven’t spoken to her except when I was on duty at Van Alst House . . . Yes, I’m sure. I have seen her from a distance, but that’s it. If you’re worried about it, you can always move me off the case. There’s always lots to d— . . . No, ma’am, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. I’m fine with whatever you— . . . Right. I understand that my opinion is of no importance at all . . . Yes, ma’am. You can believe me. I have not been in contact with her.
The Marsh Madness Page 21