Murder by the Book

by Lauren Elliott

  “Well, hello again, Miss Greyborne.” One of the women pressed her lips into a half smile. “Funny to see you out and about in the middle of the afternoon, Hilde and I were just talking about how much we like your shop and saying we should stop in there now.”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll look forward to seeing you later.” Addie smiled, trying to skirt around the women.

  “May I ask what hours you keep?” The corners of the second woman’s lips curled upward, but her eyes took on the look of a Cheshire cat.

  Addie sucked in a deep breath and matched the woman’s Cheshire grin. “You know, I’d love to stop and chat, but I’m already late for an appoint—” The sound of sirens filled the air. Addie turned just as Marc ran into the door of Fielding’s. “I have to go, sorry.” She turned away from the two women.

  “Well, I never,” one of the women gasped. “How rude.”

  Addie fled, not daring to look back at the two women she’d left with their mouths hanging open.

  When she reached the entrance to Fielding’s, the street was a sea of flashing red and blue lights. Addie tried to move to the front of the quickly forming crowd, but as more people crushed in, she was pushed back and couldn’t see what had caused the commotion. She boosted herself up on the raised base of the old gas streetlamp post.

  A woman’s shrill shrieks pierced the air. Whispers and sobs rippled through the crowd.

  “What is it?” Addie grabbed the shoulder of a man in front of her.

  He looked up at her, his eyes wild. “Blain Fielding’s been murdered.”

  The back of Addie’s throat tightened.

  A collective gasp carried through the onlookers as Marc ushered Serena to his patrol car, handcuffs glimmering in the sunlight.

  Addie jumped down from her perch and forced her way through the crowd. “Marc, wait. What’s going on?”

  Marc pushed Serena’s head down, ushering her into the back seat, and slammed the door. He looked at Addie, his eyes full of pain, but he only shook his head, got into his car, and drove over to the police station across the street.

  Addie raced across the road, weaving around the police cars and bystanders, and ran through the front entrance of the station. “Where’s Marc?” she shouted at the desk sergeant. “I need to see him now.” She slapped her hand on the desktop.

  Another officer came out from behind the desk, his hand firmly grasping the top of his side holster. “Is there a problem here?”

  “Yes, there is. Where is he, and where’s Serena Chandler? Get the chief. I need to talk to hi—”

  Marc came out of the back room as the second officer was unclipping his gun from the holster. “It’s okay, Jerry. I’ve got this.”

  “You sure, Chief?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine. Addie, come in.” He waved her past the desk and motioned toward his office door.

  They went in, and he slowly took his cap off, placed it on a coatrack by the door, and took a seat behind his desk. “What can I help you with?” He folded his hands on the desk.

  “What can you help me with?” She leaned across his desk. “I just heard Blain Fielding was killed, and then you arrested Serena, and I want to know why.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with you. Is there anything else?” He looked down and shuffled a stack of papers on his desk.

  “Anything else?” She gasped. “Anything else?” Her voice rose. “Yes, an explanation.”

  He glared at her, stood up, met her stance, and leaned toward her across the desk. “Sit down, Miss Greyborne.”

  She crossed her arms across her chest and huffed.

  “Now.”

  His hot breath lashed across her cheek. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak. His neck muscles bulged, and she slithered into the chair across the desk from him. “Okay, I’m sitting.”

  He sat down and raked his hands through his hair, his face tense.

  Her heart lurched out to him, but she bit the inside of her mouth, pressed her nails into her palms, and took a deep breath. “I know this is hard on you. She’s your sister and all, but”—she leaned forward, her voice softening—“she’s my friend, and I need to know what’s going on. Where is she?”

  “She’s being processed in lockup.”

  “But why? On what charge?”

  He picked up the pile of papers again and flipped through them, then threw them across the desk, sending them scattering across the floor.

  Addie took another deep breath and clenched her teeth. “What’s the charge?”

  He swiveled his chair around and stared out the window.

  “Marc, please. What’s going on?”

  “Murder.” His voice cracked. “Maybe even murder one.”

  “Murder?” Addie echoed. “Of who? Certainly you don’t think she killed Blain?”

  He sucked in a deep breath.

  “But, but that’s impossible.”

  “I only wish it was.” He turned and looked back at her. Tears moistened his dark eyes.

  “No, no, I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.” Her thoughts reeled. Disbelief clutched at her chest. “Serena wouldn’t. She couldn’t, no, never.”

  Marc pursed his lips. “I’m afraid the circumstantial evidence is too strong at this point to disregard it.”

  “Circumstantial evidence? What evidence could you possibly have on Serena?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t discuss it with you.”

  “But she’s your sister, and I’m her friend. I want to help if I can. I saw her just minutes before you arrested her. She couldn’t have had time to kill anyone.” She leaned closer to him. “Please. This is Serena we’re talking about. What evidence do you have?”

  His brow creased, and his eyes narrowed. “Someone will take your statement later, but for now, she’s booked on the . . . the evidence.” His glassy gaze turned toward the door.

  “But Marc, if I can prove she couldn’t have done it, then you can’t hold her.” She winced. “Can you?”

  “We can and will unless there’s overwhelming evidence to the contrary proving she couldn’t have done it.”

  “But I can prove it.”

  “I’m afraid anything you have to say would have to be substantiated by someone else . . . who isn’t a close friend. Otherwise, a good prosecutor could argue that you’re covering up for her to give her an alibi.” He sighed and rubbed his chin. “Anyway, bail will be set in the morning. Until then, there’s not much we can do.” He got up and walked to the window.

  “I don’t believe that. She’s your sister, and you’re the police chief.”

  “And that’s exactly why I can’t ignore the evidence.”

  She walked around the desk and laid her hand on his arm. “Then let’s go and find some witnesses, question everyone on the street and in the store. There has to be someone who saw her when she went in, and then you’ll see the timeline doesn’t work.”

  He shrugged off her hand and moved over to a file cabinet on the opposite wall. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

  “No, of course not. We just can’t give up.”

  “I’m not giving up. She’s my sister, for God’s sake.” He scowled at her. “Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Greyborne, I have police work to do.” He pulled open the top file drawer.

  Addie marched over and slammed the file drawer closed. “Stop it, Marc. Talk to me.”

  He snapped his hand back; the drawer had barely missed catching his fingers.

  “It’s probably just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What possible evidence could you have on Serena that a few questions wouldn’t clear up? Tell me.” She grabbed his arm and spun him toward her.

  Marc glared at her and stepped back. “She—she was found by Elaine and was standing over his body with a bloodied paperweight in her hand.”

  Chapter Nine

  Tender fingers lifted her hair, readjusting the cold cloth on the back of her neck. She took
deep, slow breaths and tried to stop her head from spinning.

  “You worried us. I think you may have blacked out for a minute,” Marc murmured. “Feeling better?”

  “Uh, I think so.” She sat upright in the chair, struggling to focus. “Thanks for catching me before I hit the floor.” She weakly smiled up at him standing over her, concern written across his face. “Your reflexes are amazing though.”

  “Just goes with the job, I guess.” He took the cloth off her neck.

  “No, seriously, I noticed it before when I slammed the drawer closed. God, I could have broken your hand. I’m sorry.”

  “You were upset, and I was, well, I was being a cop and not a friend. It’s me who should apologize.”

  “No, you were only doing your job and, and . . .” She frowned. “Can I please see Serena now?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He shook his head. “No visitors in the cells—especially not one who’s a witness and hasn’t given an official statement yet.”

  “Then let me give it and then let me see her. She must be scared stiff.”

  “I imagine she is, but rules are rules.”

  “You are so frustrating.” She flipped her hair and straightened her shoulders. “Every time I think I see a gentler side of you, you have to go all RoboCop on me.” She huffed. “Take my statement, then let me go see her.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  His face flushed and he leaned across the desk and hit the intercom button. “Jerry, can you come in here? Oh, and bring a notepad.” He clicked the phone off and stood back, his hands on his hips. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled shyly.

  Jerry came in with a yellow pad and sat across the desk from her, taking notes. She was aware of Marc’s expressionless eyes, which never left her face the entire time. However, when she stressed the short time Serena had been inside Fielding’s, she did notice his jaw tighten. When she had finished, read over the statement, and signed it, Marc waved Jerry out of the room.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Do you? Now can you see there is no way Serena could have had time to kill anyone?”

  “Well, we have to see what any other witnesses have to say. Remember, it’s not my job to judge; I just follow the evidence and present facts.”

  “Can’t you just take off your cop hat for once?” She leaned back and grasped the chair arms. “This is your sister we’re talking about, not some hardened, murderous criminal.”

  “I’m well aware of that, which makes it even more important for me to be impartial to all the evidence presented.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m trying, Addie. I really am.”

  “I know you are.” She dropped her head and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. What can I do to help now?”

  “Nothing. Officers are out collecting witness statements and examining the crime scene. So we wait and see what they turn up.”

  “Does that mean there’s still a chance she can be released tonight?” Addie rose to her feet. A slight smile curved the corners of her lips.

  “Well, not really. The circumstantial evidence is pretty strong, so unless something really contradictory surfaces, she’s here at least until the morning hearing.”

  Her face fell and she sat back down. “Then what?”

  “We present all the evidence to the DA’s office, and they decide based on that if they’re going to follow through with the initial charges.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then if they do . . . she goes to trial and is judged based on that.” He shrugged and leaned heavily on the desk.

  “But she’s not guilty,” she cried.

  “Then we have to prove it, and the only way to do that is to find enough evidence establishing, without a doubt, that she couldn’t have done it or find the person who did in the meantime.”

  “Then let’s get to work.” She beamed.

  He laughed. “Addie, you’re not a cop. Let us do our job.”

  She scowled at him.

  “Trust me. I won’t let my sister down. I’ll turn over every rock till I find out the truth.”

  “I know you will, but I can be of some help. My dad was a cop in New York City before my mom died, and David, my fiancé, was an antiquities insurance investigator. It’s in my blood, and I lived it.”

  Marc’s brow creased. “I thought Serena said your dad was a purchasing agent or something for private art and book collectors?”

  “He was a reclamation agent. It’s like a detective or bounty hunter of art and artifacts, you might say, but that wasn’t until after I was about two when my mom got really sick. The shift work of an NYPD detective, and being so far from my grandmother in Boston, wasn’t conducive to raising a little girl on his own. So he quit and transferred my mother to a Boston care center, and we moved there so my grandmother could help him with me. His first love had always been art, so he changed careers then for me.”

  Marc scratched his head. “Seem likes two opposite ends of the spectrum, the art world and police work, but I guess if he was happy . . .”

  “He loved it. In his job he had to use all his detective skills to research and track down the artwork or rare books. I grew up with dinner table discussions about who, where, and how. Lots of times he was dealing with fraud and, well, let’s just say some pretty shady types. He often told me it was the best of both worlds for him.”

  “But you were so young—didn’t he have to travel with work like that?”

  “At first he worked in local galleries, and trips were short. We lived with my nana, and she took care of me until she passed away. It wasn’t until I got older that he took on the position with the international firm, and then he was away a lot of the time.”

  Marc sat on the edge of the desk. “That must have been hard on you even when you were older.”

  “I met my fiancé through him.” She shrugged. “They had worked together on an a few art fraud cases and Dad thought we might hit it off, and we did.” She smiled, and then her face crumbled. She looked down at her hands, sitting lifeless in her lap.

  Marc cleared his throat. She looked up at him. Her eyes stung with tears she dare not release and she bit her lip. “The only reason why I told you all that was so you could see that I do know a thing or two about detective work. It was also part of my job as an acquisitions assistant. I researched, tracked, and put clues together. I know I can be of some help.”

  Marc got up, walked over to the file cabinet, and pulled out a large manila envelope. He leaned against the drawer and just stood there.

  “What is it, Marc? You look shaken.”

  He took a deep breath and turned toward her. “Hearing what your dad actually did makes me wonder now, too, if there wasn’t something else behind his accidental death.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He cringed. “But Serena mentioned that you had a lot of unanswered questions about your father’s accident, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the state police records myself—you know, fresh eyes on it and all.” He looked sheepishly at her.

  “No, of course I don’t mind. Thank you, I appreciate it. What did you find?” She leapt to her feet and reached for the envelope.

  He pulled it away. “Sit down. Please.”

  She flopped back into her chair, her eyes filled with questions, but Marc just stood there fumbling with the envelope in his hand. “You said the state police ruled it an unfortunate accident, which they did, but that they also brushed off some burning questions you had at the time, and that’s not in their official report.”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t expect those to be. They didn’t take me seriously.”

  “No, you’re right. And after reading the report and looking through the accident scene photos, I also had some questions for them, but the investigating patrol team brushed me off, too, and said it was all in the report.”

  “Like what? What questions?”

  He pulled photos out of the
envelope, laid them across the desk, and leaned over her shoulder. “Like the angle at which the car broke through the guardrail, and this second set of skid marks alongside your dad’s.” His finger stabbed at a set of three road photos. “See how both sets drift sideways, and then here’s the smashed guardrail, and the inside ones skid off by themselves. And this piece of metal—probably part of a bumper.” Excitement built in his voice. “But a different color than your dad’s car, by the way, here.” He pointed to another picture. “None of this was considered part of the investigation. They said the skid marks didn’t prove anything and could have been made anytime because it’s a well-traveled highway. Worst of all, they’d already ruled it an accident due to heavy fog and the speed he was traveling. They said he just lost control on the sharp curve.” Marc sighed heavily.

  Addie stared at him and then back at the pictures. Her stomach churned as her eyes floated over the images in front of her. “I had . . . had no idea.” She gasped and picked up one of the photos and looked up at him. Tears streamed down her burning cheeks.

  Marc’s face turned ashen. “You haven’t seen any of these before, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed.”

  “No, I’m glad you showed me. I always questioned their findings.”

  “I hate to speak poorly of fellow officers, but my gut tells me this was a pretty shoddy investigation from the start. They didn’t even really investigate as far as I can tell.”

  “That’s what I said, but they said there was no evidence to prove any foul play, so it was obviously an accident.”

  “Did you tell them what kind of work your father did?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t tell them why he was on that highway or prove any dealings had taken place before the accident. They did discover he had just left my great-aunt’s, but they didn’t feel it was important and showed no motive for anything other than what they ruled it as.”

  He stroked his chin. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a drive out there in the morning and see the scene for myself.”