A Perfect Case of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  He was grateful Cammie had sacrificed her time to go down to Boston with him. He knew she was slowly rebuilding her relationship with Jace, and the time away had been difficult for both of them. He’d been especially grateful for her keen, investigative eye. There were still questions swirling about over what had really happened to Helen. Despite Mantree’s arrest of Henry Harding, Doc knew there was more under the surface.

  Did he have the courage to go looking for those small pieces that still didn’t quite fit? Wouldn’t it be easier to just let everything stand where they were? God knows, he had no desire to pick up the rock of his life and expose more of the shadowy, slithering secrets that preferred the darkness in order to survive. To disturb. To haunt.

  Before he could stop himself, he was overcome with one such haunting memory. It took hold of him, refusing to relinquish its grasp on his fatigued mind. He longed to pull away, the shattering pain already gripping his heart as he watched, like the reel of a movie playing before his mind’s eye, an image of himself in his late teens. But he didn’t have the energy to resist. He was just too tired. He had no choice but to let the memory of that awful day play itself out.

  It was the day he’d decided to kill himself.

  No one knew; he’d never shared that with anyone. It was heartbreaking now to even remember how low he’d been, how desperate to escape the misery of his life. How ironic that he had chosen life because his friend had chosen death.

  He hadn’t thought of Oliver in a long time. The man he’d gone to school with – the man, if Doc was completely honest with himself – that had been his first and most passionate love, was always kept behind locked doors, rattling around with all those other harrowing memories, his features faded with the years.

  It was Oliver who’d made him face his sexuality. They’d never had a physical relationship; neither possessed the courage to take that step. But he remembered the happiness and joy he’d felt whenever they were together. As if, in a remarkable, unexpected twist of destiny, he’d found his other half. They spent hours sharing their aspirations, their dreams, their desires for the kind of life they envisioned for themselves. Thinking back on it, Doc regretted that they’d never mentioned the possibility of sharing that life. It was there, just beneath the surface. Waiting, hoping, wanting to be expressed.

  But it never was.

  Then Oliver killed himself.

  There was never any note, nothing to point to the reasons he’d hung himself in his bedroom one day.

  But Doc knew. It was the same reasons he’d contemplated doing the same thing himself.

  His friend bore the soul of a deeply sensitive poet. He couldn’t face living a life of lies, of facing down the condemnation of his family. As the only son, there were so many responsibilities weighing down on him. In the end, death seemed the easier route for him to take, his secrets and desires buried with him in the family crypt.

  Doc went to the funeral, witnessing the hypocrisy of the family who supposedly mourned him while delicately tiptoeing around why he’d died. Had they known the real reason? Did it matter? They swept it all under the rug, telling others and themselves Oliver had died as a result of a terrible accident.

  He’d left the funeral saddened, angered, enraged and a host of other emotions he couldn’t give voice to. He’d wanted to stand up and shout out to the throng, “You killed him! You put that rope around his neck! How dare you snivel and cry over a man you condemned to death because he couldn’t be what you insisted he be?”

  Later, when he’d finally calmed down, he realized how theatrical he’d been. It was Oliver who had killed himself. It was Oliver who had slipped the rope around his own neck. No one else but Oliver. Because he couldn’t find it within himself to tell his family to go to hell and take all that you believe with you.

  That was the day Doc changed. He’d been so close to doing what Oliver had done. For the very same reasons. Yet, he saw firsthand that suicide wasn’t the magic pill to make the truth go away. Instead of granting peace, it left a tsunami of emotional destruction in its wake.

  He did learn a valuable lesson, however. One that he carried still. He determined that no one would ever make him feel guilty for who he was. He would never allow anyone to make him feel less than human. Most importantly, he would never allow another human being to have so much power over him that he would willingly give up his life in order to find that elusive sense of peace. He realized with a clarity that left him reeling, that what he’d been doing for most of his life was seeking validation from Eliot. For God only knows, he’d felt he needed Eliot’s approval, his respect – his love. Yet, he couldn’t fathom why. It didn’t make him less of a man, less of a human being because Eliot didn’t approve of him. It didn’t make him less of deserving respect because Eliot didn’t love him.

  It had been a huge revelation to recognize his own stupidity in looking to someone else to make him feel worthy.

  It was the most freeing moment he’d ever experienced.

  If only Oliver had experienced the same epiphany in time to save himself.

  However, now, looking out his window at the dark forest and stars blinking back at him from their canopy in the night sky, had it all been an illusion? Was he an illusion? Was he like the lead character is one of his favorite books – The Great Gatsby? Gatsby was famous for re-inventing himself. It was part of the American Dream – you could become whatever you wanted. He’d done that to a certain degree. To the world, he was the successful, refined, erudite doctor.

  This trip to Boston however, showed that in reality he hadn’t come very far at all. With one look, one disdainful word, he’d allowed Eliot to fling him back to his days of uncertainty, of feeling less than, of turning himself into a pretzel to please a man that would never be pleased.

  It was depressing to think how easily he’d allowed Eliot to do that to him. It was also depressing to see that, despite thinking of how far he’d travelled, at the end of the day, he was just like Eliot. He’d been cruel, insensitive. He’d finally achieved his childhood dream of being on the same playing field as Eliot – nose to nose.

  And he hated himself for it.

  He let out a long breath, then turned away from the window. Tomorrow, he would go back to being the re-invented Samuel Westerfield. He’d be the successful, sophisticated doctor once more. Tonight though, he’d drink a small toast to Oliver. To the man he’d loved. To the only man he’d ever allowed so deeply into his heart that still, to this day, he could think of no other who had even come close to penetrating his wall of protection. To the man who’d saved his life by sacrificing his own. Then he would carefully place him back into that small compartment in his soul where the strong, confident doctor didn’t need to look. Where the illusions of who he now was didn’t reach.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cammie had sunk into an oblivion of sleep so deep, when she awoke, she was shocked to see it was nearly 10:30 in the morning. Jace had already left for work, leaving her a pot of coffee to help her wake up. She quickly showered and changed into her uniform.

  Rather than go straight to the office, however, she swung by Doc’s. To her relief, she saw his driveway filled with cars. It was exactly what he needed. Taking care of patients would keep him occupied and, at least during the day, keep the darker thoughts from playing with his mind and emotions.

  It was noon-time by the time she made it into HQ. She’d already decided what she would and would not share with, not only her staff, but with Jace as well. She didn’t feel comfortable revealing the truth about Doc’s parentage, nor the fact that he was now worth $200 million. She knew him enough to know that he’d loathe being treated differently because of his wealth. And people would treat him differently.

  She therefore gave an abbreviated version of the events as she, Rick and Emmy ate sandwiches from Zee’s in her office. When she was done, Rick whistled under his breath.

  “Man, I’ve always heard the rich are different from us. Now I know why. They are i
nsane!”

  “Not all of them. Some were quite normal.”

  “No wonder Doc moved all the way up here,” Emmy replied. “At least in Twin Ponds he’s appreciated.”

  “When do you think you’ll be heading back up to Allagash?” Rick asked.

  “It’s really up to Doc.”

  “Do you think this Lily chick had anything to do with her mother’s murder, or her ex-husband’s disappearance?”

  Cammie shrugged. “She may have been the most unpleasant person I’ve ever met, but to say she’s capable of murder…?”

  Rick popped a potato chip in his mouth. “Like you said, it could have been anyone who gave the charity the money. They’re probably the kind that like to give away money, but don’t want people knowing about it so they don’t have to deal with every joker knocking on their door looking for a handout.”

  “If we don’t find anything in Helen’s financial papers, I have a feeling Doc will just let it go. I think he’s ready to move on with his life and leave all this behind.”

  That night after a reunion that almost melted the roof off of their cabin, Cammie shared with Jace what she’d shared with her staff. When she was done, he smiled.

  “I kind of like the idea of going to London. The furthest from Twin Ponds I’ve ever gone is Providence, Rhode Island. It might be fun to meet the Royals.” Cammie looked at him and saw the wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. She playfully punched him in the arm. “I do think I should go with you however when you go up to Allagash.”

  “Jealous I’m spending so much time in Doc’s company?” she teased.

  He guffawed. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to see Allagash. And,” he added as he leaned over and kissed her. “I’m not about to let you disappear on me for another week.”

  “What about the garage? You usually have a line a mile long of customers.”

  “They can get along without me for a few days. Besides, I took some accounting courses in school. I know my way around a balance sheet and income statement. Maybe I can find this money trail you and Doc are looking for.”

  “Sounds great. Maybe your presence will cheer Doc up. He’s probably sick of seeing my face.”

  “And it has nothing to do with the fact that he loves hockey players?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, there is that too.”

  It was nearly two weeks before Doc finally found the courage to go back up to Allagash. His decision was helped by Jace’s desire to tag along. Cammie quickly saw the impact her boyfriend’s presence had on Doc. He was chipper, more lighthearted, behavior she could totally understand. Jace had a calmness that helped diffuse any difficult situation, while at the same time his sharp intelligence and quiet confidence made others feel safe in his presence.

  The two men spent the entire trip discussing everything from politics to art to the Royals again. Cammie drove and she quietly rolled her eyes as she listened to Doc extolling the virtues of London, and how much he’d enjoy introducing them around to his friends, the Duke of this and the Duchess of that. He was shamelessly namedropping, but if it made him happy, who was she to argue with that?

  When they finally arrived at Helen’s cabin, Doc and Cammie held their breath, afraid that someone might have gotten inside and stolen more of Helen’s articles. To their relief, everything remained untouched from the last time they’d been there. Jace whistled under his breath as he took in the damage and destruction.

  “Jeez, somebody was really pissed off at her,” he whispered to Cammie when they were out of earshot of Doc.

  “I’m guessing Helen had a safe somewhere where she kept her financial information,” Doc said as he did his best to ignore the shredded portrait. Cammie saw his face and gestured to Jace to help her take it down. They then turned it towards the wall.

  “Why don’t you look for that? Jace and I are going to go through all these papers. There might be something of interest.”

  While Doc went upstairs, Jace turned a puzzled eye to Cammie. “Besides the financials, is there anything in particular I’m looking for?”

  “Anything that looks interesting.”

  “That’s a lot of help.”

  She shrugged. “I trust you’ll know when you find it.”

  He grunted, but nevertheless began to go through the papers strewn all over the floor on the right side of the living room while Cammie took care of the papers on the floor on the left side of the living room. They heard the sounds of furniture moving upstairs, then a cry of victory. “I found it!” followed by an angry “Damn it!”

  Cammie and Jace looked at each other and burst out in silent laughter. “Let me guess,” she called out. “It’s locked and you either don’t have the key or the combination.”

  “Very good, Sherlock,” came the reply.

  Cammie went upstairs and found Doc standing in front of a wall safe which had been hidden behind a painting of Helen’s cabin and barn. By the bold strokes of paint, she guessed it had been painted by Abby.

  She stood and stared at the safe. “I don’t suppose you have any clue where she might have put the combination?”

  He threw her an exasperated look. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you. I’d be sitting on that bed and looking at the financials which I’m sure are in there.”

  “Do you have your stethoscope?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Why? Do you think the safe is having heart palpitations?”

  “Only if it knows I’m about to break into it.” Doc eyed her keenly. “You can continue to give me the stink eye or you can get your stethoscope.” Shaking his head, he went out to the Navigator and soon returned with his medical bag from which he withdrew his stethoscope. Cammie placed the ear pieces in, then slowly and methodically began to listen for the tumblers.

  “You must have had quite the interesting childhood,” Doc interrupted as he stood too close to her shoulder and breathed on her neck.

  “I learned this in Boston. Now please shut up for two seconds so I can hear the tumblers.”

  “Humph,” he groused, but did as she asked. It took a few more minutes, but she finally swung the safe open.

  “Voila!” she announced.

  “You scare me sometimes.”

  She stepped aside as Doc began to withdraw documents.

  “Hey guys,” Jace called up from downstairs. “I think I found something you may want to see.”

  With Cammie and Doc each holding several manila folders, the two returned downstairs where they found Jace sitting on the floor in the middle of several stacks of paper he’d begun creating as he went through the scattered documents still strewn about. He handed one of those documents to Cammie. She took one look at it and whistled under her breath.

  “What is it?” Doc asked.

  “It’s a bill for a private investigator out of Boston by the name of Jay Barry.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Doc’s eyes widened as he took the paper and looked at it. “This is dated three months ago.”

  “It doesn’t say what the services were, but whatever he did, he charged a pretty penny for it,” Cammie commented. “Are there any other bills from Mr. Barry?”

  Jace shook his head. “If there are, I haven’t found them yet.”

  They systemically went through the remaining papers, but after forty five minutes, they found nothing more. Sitting on the floor, Cammie stretched her legs out as she leaned back on her hands. “Do you have any idea why she would have hired a PI?”

  “She said absolutely nothing to me.”

  “Could she have been investigating Westerfield?” Jace asked.

  Doc shrugged. “It’s possible she wanted to make sure he really was as insolvent as he claimed to be.”

  “That doesn’t make sense though,” Cammie spoke up. “Vance told us Helen had been supporting him for about 4-1/2 years. Why would she suddenly have him investigated this year? What happened between them to make her do such a thing?”

  “Maybe your aunt
was investigating the guy who was suing her?” Jace suggested. Doc cocked an eyebrow at Cammie, surprised and somewhat pleased that she hadn’t shared the truth about his parentage. She met his eye with a slight smile.

  “Rather than spin our wheels, I think there’s one person who may be able to help us out.” She grabbed her sweater and stepped outside.

  “You know, we could just call Barry,” Doc said aloud after she’d gone out.

  Jace chuckled. “That would be too easy.”

  “She does enjoy the cloak and dagger, doesn’t she?”

  “If you only knew.”

  Outside on Helen’s front porch, Cammie hit speed dial on her cell and waited for the call to go through. Once again she was taken by the beauty of the meadow and the stream running through it. She glanced back up at the cemetery and wondered, once more, what Helen had been doing up there. A thought flitted through her mind, but before she could grab it, she heard a familiar voice with a thick Boston accent answer.

  “Yeah?” the voice boomed.

  “Hey Sean, it’s Cammie.”

  “Well, bust my balls. Two phone calls within a few months. Am I blessed or what?”

  Sean Carney had been a friend of Cammie during her years as a private investigator in Boston. He knew everything that went on in what he considered his city, both legally and illegally. He’d assisted her with her most recent case and she was hoping he could once again help her out.

  “I need your help checking out someone for me.”

  “After that fantastic all expenses paid weekend you arranged for me down in Mohegan Sun, I’m yours baby.”

  “What can you tell me about a man called Jay Barry? He’s a private investigator with an office down on Federal Street.” She rattled off the address she remembered from the bill.

  “I’ll check it out and call you right back.”

  “By the way Sean, did you win anything down in Mohegan Sun?”

  He chuckled. “I scored big, baby. Not only on the slots but in the love department. I’ll tell you about her some other day. I can tell you want this info ASAP.”