2 CATastrophe

by Chloe Kendrick

  That made sense to me, since I had been using that feature shamelessly during this investigation. I didn’t bother to tell him that since he had other people to act as his conscience in this matter.

  A sudden thought struck me. “Do you know anyone named Dr. Vires? He created apps –”

  “Do I know Vires? Who doesn’t? The man is a legend in the app field.” His voice sounded like he’d just mainlined some coffee. He was suddenly animated in his tone of voice.

  “What exactly did he do that made him a legend?” I thought this might be a good way to investigate while keeping some distance between me and people who had been hit by an earlier unsolved crime. This was just a friendly conversation, not an investigation of any kind.

  “He created one of the early GPS apps. It’s the basis for some of the GPS functions on your phone and the whole trend of putting GPS devices into everyone’s phones. This was just after 9/11, and he thought that tracing anyone would be a helpful thing to do. Little did he know.”

  “So he was a rich man?” Money was always a good motive for crimes, and I’d apparently found a mother lode of cash here.

  “He would have been if he’d lived. He was just on the edge of creating two or three apps based on the GPS technology, and he mysteriously died. No one ever knew exactly what happened. One day he was alive. The next day, he was supposed to have killed himself. I mean, I know that you don’t know what goes through someone’s mind or how they’re feeling at any moment, but it just felt off. The police doubted the story, but he was in a room by himself with the doors locked and the windows bolted. No one could get in or out. Just him and a gun, though if I remember correctly there was something off about the gun, which is why it wasn’t listed as just a suicide. But I don’t remember what exactly that was.”

  I was struck by the similarities to what I had just witnessed. They were eerily alike. Men killed in locked rooms, one labeled suicide, the other labeled unknown. Each from the same family, the same company, the same type of situation.

  Adam had given me three email addresses of people who had talked to him about the suicide, and I sent each person on my list an identical email. It said that with Miller’s death, there was renewed interest in the death of Dr. Vires and who the apps now belonged to. I mentioned that Adam Nelson of Advent had suggested I speak with them about the events surrounding the doctor’s death.

  With that done, I headed downtown. The cat angle of the crimes seemed much less invasive to me in my current mood, so I drove down to the area. I wasn’t surprised that there was no cat in the vicinity. As far as I knew, that cat was at the crime scene. I wasn’t sure how that would work. What would Mrs. Miller say when they came to drop off a second cat to her? The whole situation felt wrong. I wasn’t sure who had adopted the second cat, but it seemed almost as if someone was setting her up for a crime. The person most likely to want to see Miller dead and his current wife implicated would likely be the ex-wife. I wondered how I could find her.

  Only one woman was sitting on the curb now, and I approached her. I put a five dollar bill in her bag, hoping that would start up a conversation. She thanked me, and I held out another bill. I almost looked like a mime, creating an over-exaggerated expression of looking for the other woman. “Have you seen the woman who was here earlier?” I asked when she didn’t get my hint.

  “Who’s that?” she replied.

  “The woman who was here yesterday. She was sitting with you and an orange tabby.”

  She wrinkled up her forehead. Her eyes were dull and listless. I wasn’t sure if she was using something or if there were other reasons for the lack of comprehension. “Orange what? Tab, like the drink?”

  “No, a cat. An orange cat. It was here yesterday, but I don’t see it now.” I scanned the street as if to explain it to her. My conscience was even more upset by the fact that I was trying to trick this woman than it would have been by digging up someone else’s past. If she couldn’t answer this first question, I vowed to leave and not bother her again. I saw no use in agitating someone with these struggles.

  “Oh, you mean, Harold. No, he comes and goes. Sometimes he’s here for a few days, and then he goes away, but he always comes back. Do you want me to leave a message for him?”

  I smiled and declined her offer. Detective Green would have been disappointed that I didn’t leave messages for pets as well as just talk to them, but I figured that the message would be lost in translation. “Have you seen the other woman who was here yesterday? I thought you two were friends.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not her. She doesn’t talk much. She just sits there and minds her own business. I can’t talk to her for anything. It’s annoying. She was here yesterday and then left about 5pm. I knew it was then because that’s usually when the donations come in, all those businessmen coming home from work. She just up and left and missed all of the money. I did well for myself that day.”

  I nodded at her. “Do you think she’d be at any of the shelters? Is there one around here that would take her?” I admitted to myself that I had no idea about the resources for the homeless in Toledo. There could be 20 facilities or none, and I’d not know the difference. I thought about my habit of looking for Susan on the streets, but I’d never taken a step to look for her at a shelter, the next logical step. I wondered why, since I was obviously willing to do it for a stranger.

  “There are a few shelters around here, but there’s only one that she’d use. The others usually fill up early or they don’t let you come by until after dark. She left in the afternoon.”

  “Which one is that?” I felt guilty for taking this woman’s time, so I let the other five dollar bill drop from my hand into her container.

  She smiled at me. “It’s the Main Street Drop Inn.” She gave me some quick directions. “The woman’s name is Evie. She did tell me that once, but that’s about all I know.”

  I walked to Main Street and down the few blocks to the shelter. I found a volunteer near the front door, who seemed to be helping people find a place to eat and sleep for the evening. She was an older woman, perhaps in her late 50s, with broad hips and an oval body that seemed to always be in motion. She had a kind smile and was able to talk, listen and take care of small things all at the same time. I was impressed with her busyness.

  “This time of year, people want to get out of the sun. We fill up fast in the afternoons and evenings. We’re about there now,” she explained. I waited patiently until she’d told two more people where they could find food and lodgings.

  “What can I do to help you?” she asked.

  “I was looking for a woman named Evie. She usually is on Adams near the theater, but no one has seen her for a few days.”

  The woman scrunched up her face. “I wish I could help you, but it’s our policy not to talk about residents. There’s a liability issue if you are trying to find them to lock them up or injure them in some way.”

  Maybe Green was right. I did need to work on my image if this woman looked at me and saw someone creepy enough to prey on the homeless. “It’s not that. She had a cat named Harold, and she lost him. I found the cat, and I’m trying to return it.”

  The woman looked around, but of course, saw no cat since it was safely in police custody. “Sorry. We don’t allow pets here, so she wouldn’t have been able to stay with a cat. Other residents have allergies and other issues with animals. It’s best to have the clients alone. It’s probably better for the pet too, since someone will be taking care of them rather than feeding them scraps from whatever trash bin is around.”

  I nodded. If I couldn’t find the woman who had the cat, then I was going to have to find the organization that had adopted the cats to “Marsha Miller.” Brett had indicated that they’d come from a rescue organization, and I now had to call him back and learn more about the cats.

  No one answered the phone, so I left a message. I explained that “Marsha Miller” had adopted two cats from the shelter. She’d raved about how easy they
were to work with and how wonderful her cats were. I told the machine that I wanted to adopt a cat as well and had decided to take her recommendation.

  I checked my email, and one of the three emails regarding Dr. Vires had been returned as a bad address. A second email was waiting for me. The message gave me a phone number and a name.

  I called and a woman answered after only half a ring. I introduced myself and told her that I was a reporter working on an article about Dr. Vires’ death following the death of his former son-in-law. She introduced herself as Dana Cavanaugh.

  “Could you meet for coffee?” she suggested quickly. “I’d rather not get into this over the phone for obvious reasons.”

  I wasn’t sure what those reasons were, but I agreed to meet her at Starbucks in 20 minutes.

  I arrived first and waited to see who would enter. Dana Cavanaugh was not what I expected. She was an older woman, perhaps in her late 70s, with a pronounced limp. I remembered what I could of my manners and stood as she approached me. She smiled and sat down.

  “So you’re interested in Vires’ death, eh?” she said without even bothering to order a drink.

  “Yes, as I said, I’m working on an article about the similarities between his death and the death of James Miller.”

  She squinted at me. “The only thing they have in common is that Miller killed his father-in-law, plain and simple.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. I now understood the desire to meet in person. She didn’t want any chance of this conversation being recorded and used against her later. Her words were accusations, and even though Miller was dead, her words were hostile.

  “You heard me. I don’t know how, but I do know why. All you have to do is look at his pocketbook to know why.”

  “The apps?” I ventured.

  “The apps. He’s made a fortune selling those to various tech firms over the years. And what has he produced since his father-in-law’s death? Nothing. He hasn’t even produced a game in the past eight years.”

  “So you think that he took the credit and the cash from Dr. Vires?”

  “I know he did. I worked with him before that vulture moved in on him. Vires was working on some GPS apps back then. You can’t tell me that Miller walked in, figured out a better way to do things, and created the apps in less time than Vires had. The doctor was a genius when it came to seeing what people would need in the future. Miller was a leech who only wanted money and fame.”

  “Do you have any details on this? I’ve only heard the bare outline of the story. It would help if I could get a police report of the death or some other documentation.”

  She eyed me cautiously. “Are you going to do something about this matter? It’s about damned time someone cared about Vires and his death.”

  I wavered. “I’m not sure what I can do after all this time, but I plan on seeing what I can about the matter. That’s all I can tell you now.” I didn’t think that sharing the reasons why I was investigating this instead of Miller would inspire her to trust me.

  Dana Cavanaugh took a deep breath. “I’ll send you the medical examiner’s report. Essentially it was a fairly open-and-shut case of suicide, except for a few troubling details.”

  “The gunshot residue?” I asked, thinking of what Brett had told me earlier about the matter.

  She nodded. “He was tested, but there was no sign of it. From the wound, death would have been instantaneous, so he couldn’t have taken off gloves or washed his hands. That meant someone else had to be there.”

  “Was that the only discrepancy?” I asked.

  "That was the biggest one, but there were others as well. For starters, Dr. Vires didn’t own a gun. The police never were able to show that he’d purchased a gun or any weapon. They acted like it was a minor detail, but he didn’t like guns. He wouldn’t have bought a gun under any circumstances. They attempted to trace the weapon from its serial number, but it had been filed off clean. No remains of it for them to pull.”

  “So how did the killer get in or out if that was the case?” I couldn’t see a way around the locked door, which was the same issue that Detective Green was having with the current case. I wondered if perhaps if I solved this possible murder that it would provide a solution to Miller’s death. I could only hope.

  “I have no idea. I read up on this. These are called impossible crimes. The killer could not have entered or left the premises to kill someone, and yet they did. The theories on these cases are that the crime has to occur before the doors are locked, while the doors are locked or after the doors are unlocked.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That pretty much takes care of all the possible cases. All the timeperiods are covered.”

  “So by my inferences, the murderer would have to get out of the room after the murder was committed. So at least we can narrow down the types of crimes it could be.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked, feeling like a rather stupid Watson to her Holmes right now, because this was definitely an amateur production. The whole thing had a surreal quality to it. I was sitting in a Starbucks, surrounded by baristas, while listening to a lecture on how a murderer could escape from a locked room. Who else had this kind of life?

  “Two things. First, the gunshot residue wasn’t on his hands. That meant someone else shot Vires and left afterwards, since the police didn’t find the killer in the room. So he had to leave after the murder was committed.”

  “That makes sense,” I agreed. “What about the second thing?”

  “The room had two doors and two windows. I’ve been to visit that room. In reality, the murderer would only need to lock one door or window, not all four. So it would be easy for someone to manage to lock that door.” Her eyes sparkled with some emotion that I could not read, maybe excitement or perhaps revenge.

  I hated to rain on her denouement but this was not as easy as it sounded. “It’s not exactly easy to lock a door without the key. I don’t even know if a locksmith can do that.”

  “I’ve been to see the scene. Why don’t we go there now?” She stood to go.

  I was wary of following this stranger anywhere. The alarms in my head that warned me about abductions and going places with people I didn’t know all sounded loud. Perhaps something like this is what happened with my sister. She’d agreed to go with someone who had offered a plausible reason to get in a car.

  “Why don’t I drive myself?” I suggested. “I have an appointment after that, and I can just leave from there.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dana answered, not sounding like she was going to abduct me at all. She gave me an address, and I started when I heard it.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, suddenly suspicious of me. Finding common ground was difficult when no one trusted anyone else.

  “I know that address. Miller’s new business is that same building. I went there to ask questions about his business.”

  Dana snorted at me. “That can’t be coincidence. I’ll meet you there.”

  She picked up her venti latte and headed out to her car. Somehow, she’d stuck me with the bill, and I paid for both drinks before heading to the building.

  Chapter 5

  She was already in the parking lot when I arrived. Barely waiting for me, she stormed into the building. While Advent had been on the first floor, the offices of Dr. Vires had been on the third floor. We took the elevator in silence. When we got to our floor, Dana led me to a particular office suite which was presently vacant. “This is it.” She tried the door, but it was locked tight.

  I hunched down and looked at the lock. It was a sturdy lock in the knob variety with a keycard reader on the door jam. I studied the set-up, wondering if she expected me to figure out how Vires’ killer had done it. I talked to pets; I wasn’t a magician in any sense of the word. “What’s to stop the key card from being used?”

  “They just added that device three years ago when the previous tenant was here,” she said without batting an eye. I wondered how long she’d been pursuing t
his case.

  I studied the lock and the locking mechanism, but I didn’t see any way to easily lock the door from the outside without a key. “Couldn’t have someone have made a copy of the key and used that?”

  “It’s highly unlikely. Vires had this lock changed here a few days before he committed suicide. They gave him a key the day of his death, and that key was still on his key ring when they found him.”

  “Why would he want one lock changed? That feels suspicious to me.”

  Dana nodded and leaned down next to me. We stared at the locks as if we had a clue what we were looking at. “Either security was breached,” she replied, “or else he’d lost his key. In either case, it has to do with the locks here. Any thoughts?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I wish I could wrap this up and figure out what was going on, but I can’t. There are too many possible ways without being able to narrow it down to one or two most likely scenarios. If we had more information to go on, we might be able to find something, but I can’t just guess and hope it’s correct. The police will want more.”

  “There’s one more weird thing. Vires only had the front door’s lock changed. The back door operated with the old key and old lock. I’ve never been able to understand why Vires would want to change one of the locks, knowing perfectly well that anyone could still come in the back way. It’s asking for trouble, if there’s been a security breach. If he’d misplaced the key, then he’d never be able to use the backdoor. So why then would he want to change just one lock? The police shrugged it off, but I think it’s important.”

  We parted ways in the parking lot. I watched her drive off, and I wondered if I’d ever get to the bottom of these likely murders. My cases had been much easier when the crimes just centered on animals. Now I had computer apps, locked rooms, and cats following people around town. I didn’t know how I was expected to outwit the police, when they had the home court advantage.