“What is it?” Sean’s impatient question brought me out of my reverie.
“A way to murder someone and probably get away with it, because it would look like an accident.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“What is this method?”
Once again I’d fallen silent, picturing what I’d read in my mind, and Sean’s question prompted me to explain aloud.
“I can’t remember which book I read it in,” I said. “But what you do if you want to kill someone in the bathtub is grab him or her by the ankles and pull up until the victim’s head is underwater.”
Laura frowned. “That sounds horrible, but surely the person in the tub can lift himself up or jerk his legs loose.”
I shook my head. “That’s what I would have thought too, but evidently it’s not the case. Particularly if the person pulling the legs up is strong.”
“And in this case we’re talking about an elderly man who’d been drinking.” Sean shrugged. “He probably didn’t have much upper body strength anyway. Pretty quick method to get rid of someone in your way.”
“Definitely,” I said. Visualizing it, however, made me a little sick to my stomach.
“But how can you find out more about the Norris case?” Sean pointed out an obstacle. “Unless you can convince Kanesha Berry to open the files and let you see the autopsy.”
“She might end up having to do that,” I said. “Not necessarily letting me see it, of course, but reopening the case.” I shook my head as I pictured telling all this to Kanesha. “I have another way to find out about the case. Ray Appleby.”
“Who’s that?” Laura asked. “The name sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Reporter for the local paper,” Sean explained to her. “Thanks to Dad’s so-called career as an amateur sleuth, he’s encountered Appleby a few times.” He turned to me. “Was he a reporter back then?”
“He was,” I confirmed. “His name was in Connor’s notes, and I’m willing to bet Connor talked to him about the Norris case. I’m going to call him myself and probably ask him some of the same questions.”
“Will he talk to you?” Laura asked.
“Yes,” I said with confidence. “Particularly if it’s connected to the other murders. He’d be the first person to break the story, and any reporter worth his beans would go for it.” I stood and glanced at my watch—almost five-fifteen. “Even though he might have gone home for the day, I’m going to call the Register offices. I’ll ask them to get a message to him, and I bet he’ll call back right away.”
I pulled the local phone book out of a cabinet drawer and looked up the number. Before I could punch it in, however, Laura stopped me with a question.
“Dad, how did Connor die, do you think?”
I thought about that for a moment as I regarded her. I remembered the red splotches I had noticed on Connor’s face and neck. Splotches that indicated he could have been suffocated.
Reluctantly, because I didn’t want to cause her further pain, I offered my conclusion.
She averted her eyes for a moment when I finished, but then she met my gaze again. “Suffocated. Drowning is a form of suffocation, isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Good point.” Sean shot his sister an approving look. “So both old Mr. Norris and Connor died from being suffocated to death.”
When Laura winced, Sean immediately appeared contrite. “Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean it to sound so clinical.”
Laura responded with a wan smile. “I know you didn’t. I’m okay.”
“Kanesha will have to confirm all of this,” I said.
“It could simply be coincidence,” Laura pointed out.
“Yeah, it could,” Sean said with obvious reluctance. “But both victims liked to drink. We don’t know that Mr. Norris was a heavy drinker, but that might be something Ray Appleby can tell us.”
I nodded. “I’ll certainly ask him.” I turned back to the phone book, located the number again, and punched it into the phone.
When a woman answered, I asked for Ray Appleby and was told I had just missed him. “I have something urgent to talk to him about. Could be a big story,” I said, laying it on thick. “I know he’ll want to talk to me, so can you get a message to him right away?” I gave her my name and number. “Remember, this is really big.”
She assured me she’d see that Appleby received my message as soon as possible, and I hung up and leaned against the counter.
Sean and Laura watched me while I kept my eyes on my watch. Be available, I thought. Be available.
One minute and twenty-three seconds after I hung up the phone, it rang.
I snatched it up and said hello.
“Mr. Harris? Ray Appleby here. You have a big story for me?”
I heard a touch of skepticism in his tone, but he knew I’d been involved in two previous murder cases. “Yes, I’m pretty sure I do. It has to do with the death of the playwright Connor Lawton.”
“Got you,” Appleby said, and by those two syllables I knew I’d captured his interest. “Can I come over and talk to you right now?”
“Please do,” I said. “You remember the address?”
After assuring me he did, he concluded with, “Be there in ten or less.” The phone clicked in my ear, and I hung up.
I repeated the reporter’s side of the conversation for Laura and Sean. While we were discussing the questions we wanted to ask Appleby, I heard the front door open and steps in the hallway. For a moment I tensed, then I remembered the front door was locked, and whoever just came in had a key.
Moments later Dante bounced into the room, barking to announce his arrival. He made a beeline for Diesel, still at my side, while Stewart entered the room in more leisurely fashion.
“Howdy, everyone,” he drawled. “How nice of you all to be here to greet me.” He grinned. “So what kind of family confab are you having?”
Sean spoke first. “We’re waiting for that reporter, Ray Appleby. He’s on his way over.”
“Dante, calm down,” Stewart said as his eyes glinted with interest. The poodle was still barking at Diesel, who was studiously ignoring him. At Stewart’s command, however, the dog shut up and trotted over to his master. “Good boy. Now, what’s Ray coming here for?” He pulled out a chair next to Laura and sat, and Dante hopped into his lap and snuggled down.
I explained the situation to him as briefly as I could. The doorbell rang as I was finishing. Sean went to answer it.
He walked into the kitchen with our visitor moments later. He introduced Laura and was about to introduce Stewart, when Stewart interrupted him.
“Oh, Ray and I go way back, don’t we, Ray?” Stewart arched one eyebrow as he regarded the reporter.
Appleby, who appeared to be about my age, reddened slightly at Stewart’s flirtatious tone. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Now, Ray, is that any way to talk about me?” Stewart grinned.
This was intriguing. From Stewart’s behavior I gathered that he and Appleby knew each other in a way I hadn’t expected. Laura and I exchanged bemused glances. Stewart rarely spoke about the men he dated, at least to me, and here was one in the flesh.
“You’re a pain in the derriere, Stewart, and you know it.” The reporter flashed a quick grin. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“I live here,” Stewart said.
Appleby glanced at Sean and back again at Stewart, and the meaning of his gesture was obvious. Stewart laughed. “I only wish,” he said. “No, I’m a boarder, plain and simple.”
“Nothing plain and simple about you,” Appleby retorted.
“Why, Ray, what a sweet thing to say.” Stewart batted his eyelashes, and Laura and Sean burst out laughing. I had to join in.
Appleby rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drop everything and come over here to rake up the past with you.” He turned to me. “What is it you have to tell me about Connor Lawton, Mr. Harris?”
“Have a seat, why don’t you?” I gestured to an empty chair across fr
om Laura and Stewart.
Appleby complied as Sean resumed his own seat.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” I asked.
The reporter shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.” He was clearly impatient for me to get on with it. He kept darting glances across the table at Stewart, but I pretended not to notice.
“This is all related to the death of Connor Lawton,” I began. “But we think the roots of it may go back to 1984.”
Appleby appeared intrigued. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What happened in 1984 that’s possibly relevant?”
“The death of former mayor Hubert Norris.” I paused to gauge the effect. Appleby was definitely surprised.
“How are the two connected?” he asked.
“Connor was born here in Athena, Mr. Appleby,” Laura said. “He lived here with his parents until he was about five, I think. That would have been in 1984.”
“Call me Ray.” Appleby nodded. “Yeah, I knew Lawton was born here, but I still don’t see the connection.”
“The Lawtons lived next door to the Norris family,” Sean said.
“Okay,” Appleby said. “But what’s the connection?”
I realized then that I had never fully articulated my idea. Mainly because there was a piece still missing, one last, vital link that needed to be uncovered. But what was it? There was something I wasn’t getting. But what?
Then I had it. The kitchen cabinet.
But Appleby and the others were staring at me, waiting for an answer to the question.
“I’ll get to that,” I said. “First, let me ask you some questions, Mr. Appleby.”
“Ray,” he said. “Shoot.”
“Okay, Ray.” I nodded. “You covered Hubert Norris’s death and the investigation into it for the Register.”
“Yeah, it was my first big assignment,” the reporter said. “I’d been with the paper about a year then.”
“Why did the investigation drag on for three months?” I asked. “It sounded pretty straightforward to me. Accidental death of an elderly man in his bathtub.”
“On the surface, that’s exactly what it seemed like.” Ray nodded. “Old man Norris was a pretty heavy drinker, and his wife swore up and down that he liked to soak in the tub and drink.”
“That much was in the paper, more or less.” I said. “Is there more to it, then?”
“I always thought so. Norris had a lot of money, and he was notoriously tightfisted with it. There was a son, a teenager. Yeah, Levi, that’s his name. Anyway, he was always in trouble of some kind. Shoplifting, joyriding, you name it, and the old man was always paying someone off to keep the brat out of jail.” The reporter paused. “A couple of weeks before Norris died, Levi had finally landed in jail. A hit-and-run in which a child was badly injured. Norris refused to post bail, from what I recall.”
“What happened to his money when he died?” Sean asked.
“The wife got it all,” Ray replied. “And not long after the old man died, his wife posted bail for Levi. She must have paid off the family whose child was injured, because it never went to court.”
“This child who was injured,” Laura said slowly. “It wasn’t Connor, was it?”
“No,” Ray said. “I forget the name, but it wasn’t Lawton.”
“Hubert Norris’s death turned out to be pretty convenient for his son, wouldn’t you say?” Stewart regarded Ray with a knowing expression.
“Sure did,” Ray replied. “I believe the police thought so, too. Norris had soaked in the tub, drinking, hundreds of times before, so why did he fall asleep and allegedly drown this time? Too convenient.”
I remembered Connor’s notes and the word bruises. “Was there anything to indicate that it might not have been an accident?”
Ray frowned. “The only thing I can recall is that Norris apparently had a bruise on one ankle. The family couldn’t explain it, and I think the police eventually just had to drop it and let it go as an accident.”
“But you think there was more to it.” I felt certain I was right about that.
“The whole thing was odd,” Ray said. “I spoke to the widow and the daughter a couple of times. I never got the impression that anyone was grieving over the old man’s death. The daughter seemed almost happy, frankly.”
“That’s really sad.” Laura frowned.
“Back to my original question.” Ray tapped his notebook with his pen. “What’s the connection with Lawton?”
All eyes turned to me, and even Diesel—who had been unusually quiet until now—sat up and warbled.
I took a deep breath and hoped what I was about to tell them didn’t sound completely far-fetched.
“It all has to do with a little boy and a kitchen cabinet.”
THIRTY-NINE
As I expected, they all looked puzzled by my statement. Even Diesel meowed.
“Bear with me,” I said. “This is going to take a few minutes to explain. First off, we know that Sarabeth Norris, now Conley, used to babysit Connor. Evidently he would stay with the Norrises when his parents went out of town.”
Ray was scribbling in his notebook.
“In fact,” I continued, “Sarabeth was my babysitter too, although quite a few years earlier.”
Sean and Laura smiled at that.
“Now, jump forward almost thirty years, to a party held not long ago in Sarabeth’s house, the house that belonged to her parents. I was sitting alone in the kitchen, not feeling much inclined to rejoin the party. I was over in the corner, out of sight, when Connor came in to get something to drink.”
“I sort of abandoned you, didn’t I?” Laura frowned. “Sorry about that, Dad.”
“I was fine.” I smiled. “Anyway, there I sat, drinking my wine, when Connor came in and got himself a beer. He leaned against the counter and lit a cigarette. While he drank and smoked, he was staring at something in the kitchen. Then he went over and squatted in front of a cabinet in the wall and opened the door. He looked inside, and then he said, ‘Not so nuts after all.’”
“What a strange thing to say.” Stewart scratched Dante’s back, and the poodle whimpered with pleasure. “What the heck did it mean, though?”
“That cabinet obviously held some kind of memory for him. In his notes he even wrote the word cabinet. All kind of strange, but then when you add to it another odd remark he made to Laura, it starts to make more sense.” I paused to let Laura speak.
She looked puzzled for a moment, and then I could see that she figured out what I was talking about. “Yes, he said something about a fat woman. That she ‘may think she can shut me in like she used to, but I’m too big now.’ Do you think he was talking about someone who shut him up inside a cabinet?”
I nodded. “I think he was. I think Sarabeth might have put him inside that cabinet, probably to punish him. I imagine he was a pretty rambunctious child.”
“He was also a little claustrophobic,” Laura said. “Maybe that’s why.”
“That’s all interesting speculation,” Ray said. “But how does that connect with Norris’s death?”
Stewart snorted. “Come on, Ray, don’t be so dense. Remember the old saying, ‘Little pitchers have big ears’?” He shook his head. “They probably locked the kid in the cabinet and forgot he was there. No telling what he might have heard.”
“There was a child in the play,” Laura said. “A child named Connie. I thought Connie was a girl.”
“But Connie could be a nickname for Connor,” Sean said. “He could have called himself that, or something close to it. I remember I had trouble with Laura when I was small.” He smiled at his sister. “I called you Lah-wuh until I was five or six.”
“What’s this about the play?” Ray looked puzzled, and I couldn’t really blame him. He didn’t have all the details that we did.
I hastened to explain. “There are scenes in the play that are reminiscent of what happened in the Norris family. In fact, the family in the play is named Ferris.
Not that different from Norris.”
“So you think the play Lawton was writing was based on his childhood memories?” Ray scribbled some more in his notebook. “Fascinating.”
“Repressed memory, isn’t that what it’s called?” Stewart asked.
“Yes,” I said. “According to Laura, Connor didn’t remember much about his life in Athena until he came back here. Then, slowly, memories started to surface.”
“That’s when he totally changed the focus of the play.” Laura ran a hand through her hair a couple of times. “At first he probably wasn’t aware of what he was doing. The story was just there, in his subconscious, and out it came. The more he wrote, the more he saw of people and places here, the more memories that surfaced.”
“That’s exactly what I think happened.” I nodded approvingly at my daughter.
“So, basically what you’re telling me is this.” Ray fixed his gaze on me. “Sarabeth Norris drowned her father in the bathtub because the old man refused to help her brother. Lawton overheard something potentially incriminating when he was possibly locked inside the kitchen cabinet. Then, nearly thirty years later, he comes back to Athena and starts writing a play, and that play is about what happened to the Norris family.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” Sean nodded. “Then Sarabeth, or maybe her brother, killed Lawton because they wanted to stop the play. They were probably afraid that people would remember their father’s death once they saw the play and start connecting the two.”
“Seems kind of far-fetched to me,” Appleby said. “Like something out of Agatha Christie.” He shook his head. “But it’s just oddball enough to be true. What do you expect me to do?”
“Nothing, for the moment,” I said. “This is all speculative. The only thing to do is to lay all this in front of Kanesha Berry and let her handle it.”
“Are there any other suspects? She hasn’t had much to say to the press about the investigation so far, simply the standard comments about following up leads.” Ray sounded disgruntled.
File M for Murder Page 23