Murder Actually

by Stephanie McCarthy

“What’s wrong with you?” I felt a sudden frisson of fear, and slowly turned and followed the direction of her hand.

  My knees went weak.

  Crispin Wickford lay on the floor, his tongue lolling grotesquely from his mouth and his face an unhealthy shade of black. A large brick lay next to him, covered in blood.

  I stepped back onto Julia’s foot. “Ouch, careful.”

  “Call the police!”

  Julia took out her cell phone and called the number that was becoming distressingly familiar. I listened to the one-sided conversation with the dispatcher.

  “Hello, Jackie? It’s Julia Berry. Yes, as a matter of a fact it is bad news. I’m down at the Gazette office with Elspeth Gray. We’ve found Crispin Wickford, he’s dead. Dead. Yes, very sure. He’s dead, murdered. Murdered. It looks like he’s been strangled with something. Yes, strangled. No, we haven’t touched anything. No, we aren’t going anywhere. Okay, we’ll be here.”

  She hung up and looked at me in resignation. “Jackie is calling Liddell. She said Sergeant Jack will be here in a few minutes.”

  I sat back and raised a shaky hand to my mouth. Poor Crispin…dead. And such a way to die. Crispin, who was always so fastidious in appearance, looking like that. It was almost too much, and I cursed myself for not moving faster. A few minutes might’ve made all the difference to poor Crispin.

  Julia rummaged through her handbag and produced a small compact.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Elspeth, make-up is my defense mechanism, give me a break.”

  I watched as she applied lip gloss with a shaky hand and then reluctantly approached the body. Crispin was lying on his back with his head facing the front doorway. He was wearing the same slacks and vest from the faculty party, and I knelt down by his side and felt for a pulse.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “Well, he’s definitely dead.”

  “No duh, look at his tongue! I mean do you see any clues?”

  “You don’t have to whisper, Julia. I told you, he’s dead.”

  “Do you see anything?” she asked in a normal voice.

  “Not yet.”

  I crawled on my hands and knees along the floor, peering under the desk and cabinets and trying to ignore the body lying a few feet away from me. I was finally rewarded when I saw something glistening under the bookshelf.

  I stood up quickly. “There’s something under that bookshelf.”

  “What is it?”

  “Give me a tissue!”

  I wrapped the small item and drew it out into the light. “It’s an earring.”

  It was exquisite. It was a small black pearl, perfectly shaped and luminous in the light of the office.

  Julia gasped. “A pearl earring! That’s the same clue from Deadly Harbor! Betts,” she said solemnly. “This is getting spooky.”

  I agreed with her on many levels. “Do you recognize it? For some reason it looks familiar.”

  “You’re right, I’ve seen someone wearing earrings like that, but I can’t remember who it was.”

  I carefully replaced the earring where I found it and stood up to brush my hands. “I don’t see anything else.”

  “What exactly did he say on the phone?”

  “He mentioned something about his camera…something about a picture…” My voice trailed away as I looked over the mess on his desk and stepped forward to grab another tissue.

  “Maybe there’s something here.”

  There were a dozen or so photographs on Crispin’s desk and I scanned through them rapidly. Nothing caught my eye, so I went through again, this time more slowly.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea what he could’ve seen. It’s just a bunch of photos of the best and brightest of All Hallows.”

  “Maybe he marked one of them? Check the back.”

  I went through again and shook my head. “No, nothing.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and began taking pictures of the photographs. My copies wouldn’t be the best, but maybe I would see what Crispin had seen.

  I finished just as the front door rattled and I quickly stepped into the center of the room.

  “Police! Are you girls in there?”

  “Jack!” Julia opened the door and threw herself into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “Hello, ladies.” Jack set Julia aside. He was followed closely by Chief Liddell, who stopped just in the doorway and eyed the scene in disgust.

  “Has anyone ever told the two of you that you’re bad luck?”

  “Not me, but I’m sure Julia’s heard it before.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I explained again about the message on my machine and Crispin’s mention of his camera.

  “Have you touched anything?”

  I shook my head. “Just checked him for a pulse.”

  He turned to Julia and scowled. “How about you?”

  Her face turned even more pale and I noticed Sergeant Jack step forward protectively.

  “No, I didn’t touch anything,” she said.

  Liddell knelt by the body and Jack joined him. “Déjà vu all over again, huh Jack?”

  “Looks that way, sir. Deceased appears to have been hit with the brick and then strangled with a length of wire. There are some signs of a struggle, the picture knocked off the wall and the papers on the desk messed about…” Jack felt Crispin again. “He’s still warm. He can’t have been dead for long.”

  Liddell gave his fingers a quick sniff and then turned to look up at us. “What time did you get here?”

  “Around eleven,” I said. “I thought I saw someone in the alley.”

  “Did you recognize them?”

  “No, it was too dark. I couldn’t even tell you if it was a man or a woman.”

  Liddell turned to Julia. “What about you?”

  She cleared her throat nervously. “I got here a little after Elspeth. She called me and told me she needed back-up.”

  Liddell snorted. “Back-up,” he said disgustedly. He turned to me. “What exactly did Mr. Wickford tell you on the phone?”

  “He said he remembered something from the night of the book reading, something about a photograph. He was very excited.”

  “Did he say anything else? Mention any names?”

  “No, but I think he said ‘she’.”

  “She?”

  “Yes, Crispin used the term ‘she’ in reference to someone in the photographs.”

  “Did you leave the message on your machine?”

  “Yes, I came right over. I was worried about him.” I cleared my throat nervously. “I think I should tell you, we both saw Crispin earlier tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “We were attending a faculty function at Essex University.”

  “Mr. Wickford was there?”

  “Yes, he was taking photographs for the Gazette, you know, the Out and About column.”

  Liddell grunted. “Did he mention anything at this party? Did he talk about anyone?”

  I shook my head and tried to remember our conversation. “Just something about his pictures from the book reading.”

  Liddell glanced around the room. “Find his camera, Jack.”

  Jack obediently began rooting through the mess of papers on the floor, and I swallowed bravely. “I probably should also tell you that Julia and I found a clue.” I crouched down and pointed out the earring under the bookshelf.

  Sergeant Jack carefully placed the earring in a baggie and labeled it with the date and location.

  Liddell turned back to me. “Do you recognize it?”

  “No, it’s not mine.”

  “Or mine,” Julia chimed.

  Liddell scowled. “Okay, that narrows it down to a few thousand. Was anyone at the book reading
also at this party you attended tonight? Anyone with a connection to Jasper Ware or Violet Ambler?”

  “Well, Crispin was there, but we can probably rule him out as a suspect at this point. Professor Sabrina Elliott was there with her sister, Rose. Also, Coco and Alex Ware were there.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Well, Julia and I were both there.”

  “Yes, I know. Believe me; I haven’t finished with you ladies yet.”

  I felt like I had just been grounded and suppressed a sigh.

  “Was Nora Ware at this party?” he demanded.

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  Liddell glanced around the office and scowled. “How did you get in here? Was the back door unlocked?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “The front door?”

  “No.”

  There was a tense silence. “I’m not sure I want to know, but how did you get in here?”

  I told him.

  “Breaking and entering,” he pronounced grimly. “You’re lucky I don’t take the two of you down to the station right now.”

  “But, Chief,” I protested. “We were worried about Mr. Wickford. And if we hadn’t come down here you probably wouldn’t have known he was dead until tomorrow morning! This way you can get right to work…”

  I’d expected a bit of gratitude for getting Liddell on the case so quickly, but realized he was in no mood to acknowledge my skills. I was relieved when Doctor Lewis appeared with his medical bag.

  “Evening, everyone. What’s all the excitement here?” He glanced down at the body and shook his head. “This town is turning into a bloodbath. It never used to be this way.” He gave me a morose look; as if I’d single-handedly Quentin Tarantino-ed All Hallows.

  He bent over Crispin’s body and examined him for a few minutes, then stood up again. “I can’t tell until I do the post-mortem, but right now it looks like the deceased was killed with a thin wire. Very thin. Probably home improvement wire or even craft wire.”

  “Craft?”

  “Flower arranging or picture hanging. It appears to be common household wire. It was wrapped around the neck at least five or six times and then tightened into a garrote.”

  “Time of death?”

  “Within the last hour. No later than that.”

  Liddell jerked his head towards the door. “You two can go…for now. Don’t go far!”

  We got outside and stood for a moment on the boardwalk. There were more officers arriving every minute. The stillness of the evening was broken.

  “Whew, that was something, huh Betts?”

  I shook my head. “I’m becoming hardened; I only felt a little like puking this time around. Poor Crispin. I would’ve sworn he had no idea what I was talking about tonight when I mentioned that blackmail note; I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s one thing that’s bothering me, though. There was no sign of any forced entry at the Gazette. That means Crispin must’ve opened the door for his murderer. So it had to be someone he knew… and trusted.” I sighed. “I’m going home. I’ve had enough intrigue and violence for one night and I’m sure Liddell is going to want a sworn statement sooner rather than later.”

  We said goodnight and I walked the short distance to my cottage on Point Savage. I was relieved I’d left a light burning and Blue was waiting for me in the window. I went inside and picked him up, ignoring his squirms of displeasure. I let him down and went to the answering machine.

  Crispin’s excited voice filled the room again, eerily alive in the cozy space.

  “Elspeth, listen to me, it’s Crispin. I have something to tell you. I remembered something from that night, something about my camera and those photographs. I’d totally forgotten about it at the time, but I’m pretty sure it was…it’s crazy…there’s no way she could have…never mind...it’s just too incredible. Call me… I’m at the office.”

  The machine beeped and the voice stopped.

  I shivered and looked around, almost as if I had conjured up the spirit of Crispin Wickford.

  I poured a glass of wine and scanned through the pictures of the photographs from Crispin’s office.

  What had Crispin seen?

  Or who?

  I glanced through the photos again and shook my head. From what I could tell they were just old photographs from the Bracebridge Festival. I couldn’t find anything in them that would be of the slightest interest to a serial killer.

  I finished my wine and picked up Blue. I wished for the thousandth time I wasn’t alone. I was in such a sorry state I even wished Grant was with me. I locked the front and back door and checked the windows before I went to bed.

  That night I dreamt of Crispin Wickford. We were at the Gazette office going through the piles of photographs on his desk. The stacks were nightmarishly high; towering over us like skyscrapers. Blue was under the desk, batting around a pearl earring, and as I watched his fur change to pure snowy white. Crispin’s red bowtie was askew and his tongue swollen as he turned to talk to me.

  The picture, Elspeth.

  You have to find the picture.

  Chapter 21

  News of Crispin’s death spread quickly, and soon I was inundated with phone calls and unsolicited advice. Mr. Bickleton the butcher advised me to just stay inside: “It seems like wherever you and Julia go there’s a dead body,” and Angus Clark at Lovejoy’s Pub told me I’d never get a man if I was involved in a police investigation. Marshall Spright told me he’d never met a person with worse luck, and Charlotte Whipple told me Edgar Archer didn’t like girls who smoked (I wasn’t sure about the last one; I guess someone told her the stress of finding bodies made me take up cigarettes).

  I was actually looking forward to church that Sunday so I could meditate in peace.

  There were four churches in All Hallows: Catholic, Methodist, Lutheran and one of those New-Agey born again places in a shopping mall off Highway 9. I regarded the last place with a certain amount of interest and dread; it seemed so wrong to worship in a shopping mall, but it would certainly save time if you wanted to pick up a few things after church.

  Julia and I belonged to St. Anne’s Catholic church, and our services were quite a social event.

  First of all, Father Foy wasn’t your typical minister. He had a penchant for boleros and Old Spice, and his sermons were highly colorful events focusing on the book of Revelation and rambling references to harlots, beasts, and dragons. I enjoyed them immensely and thought the sweat that poured down his face added to the authenticity of these torments. It was good as it gets, in the ecumenical sense.

  Our service started at nine, but I got there early to think about my sins and see what people were wearing. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed Edgar Archer sitting alone and looking somber. He was Catholic! I thought exultantly. Or he was church shopping, but either way we had something in common; I liked shopping as well. I resolved to corner him after the service and then let myself lapse into my favorite church daydream (cream-filled doughnuts coated in powdered sugar) just as Father Foy delivered his opening volley.

  “The waters which you saw where the harlot sits, are peoples and multitudes and nations and tongues...”

  I sat back and made myself comfortable. I believed in most of the tenets of the church, but my personal faith was largely my own creation, a comfortable amalgamation of creeds, prayers, Bible stories, and cautionary tales featuring a Buena Vista Technicolor God flanked by doves and cherubs. Over the years I’d added some progressive ideas regarding neighborly love and a healthy respect for Old Testament signs and portents. These various beliefs were tumbled together into a thick, religious salve that I found useful for dealing with most of life’s cuts and bruises. For the deeper wounds, I combined the salve with wine. It was remarkably effective.

  “For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her fo
rnication, and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth are waxed rich through the abundance of her delicacies…”

  Father Foy seemed to take our sin very personally. I tried not to sin, really tried, and I tried to help my neighbor and be a good person. I prayed before meals and helped poor people by giving them money. Guilt was a predominant feature of my faith, but it was so quickly followed by the possibility of redemption that sometimes the latter subsumed the former.

  “And cinnamon, and odours, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour, and wheat…”

  My tummy grumbled angrily and Julia poked me in the ribs. Like I could help it. Father was on a roll today. Mmmm, jelly roll. I felt my stomach grumble again and thought if I skipped lunch I could have two doughnuts after the service, maybe even three if I’d been planning on having fast food, which I might’ve been.

  The church was cozy, only about twelve pews deep, so everyone pretended not to notice when Nora Ware slipped in twenty minutes late. She caught my eye and motioned for me to follow her. I left as quietly as possible and noticed she was headed down into the church hall. The space was painted a particularly repellant blue-green, and carried that odor unique to church basements: a heady combination of old cherry tobacco, incense and toilet cleaner. I saw Nora go into the kitchen and followed her.

  “I have news,” she said excitedly. “I was going through Jasper’s car and I found this.”

  ‘This’ was a list. A list of book titles: Wednesday’s Child, One for the Money, and Hotel Rwanda.

  I looked at Nora. “Where was it?”

  “In the passenger seat cushion. It was wedged pretty deep. I remembered what you said about the book list that was next to Jasper so I thought it might be important.”

  I put the list in my bag and regarded her closely. “I had a talk with Mrs. Jennings.”

  Nora nodded. “Yes, she told me.”

  “I also talked to Alex.”

  She flushed crimson and looked away.

  “Nora, are you having an affair with Alex Ware?”

  She returned my gaze, her own expression shocked. “What a question! And in church, too!”