Murder Among Crows

by B. T. Lord

  They remained quiet on the way to his house. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; rather it was a silence borne of a friendship that went back many years. They trusted each other, although Cammie’s heart was threatening to burst through her chest at the thought of what she wanted to say, of what she needed to say. She had to exorcise this fear that wouldn’t let go. Harry was the only one who could help her do that.

  They arrived at his tiny cottage. As he bustled about to build a fire in the wood stove in order to heat the place, Cammie walked back to the desk where she’d found the scrapbook and where this emotional odyssey had started. It wasn’t there anymore; she was both relieved and saddened. Relieved she wouldn’t have to keep looking at the painful photographs, while at the same time sad that she wasn’t able to look upon her mother’s young face – when she’d been happy and not burdened by her husband’s darkness.

  Because of the smallness of the cottage, it didn’t take long for the room to heat up. Harry disappeared into the kitchen while Cammie took off her jacket and sat on the couch. Or rather, she fell into the couch, amazed that it was lumpier than the one she’d just gotten rid of. After struggling for several moments, she finally managed to pull herself out from the grip of the cushions. She perched herself carefully on the edge, afraid she’d need a rope to get her out if she fell in again. Harry appeared with two mugs of steaming tea and handed her one. He pulled up the chair from his writing desk and sat opposite her.

  “I prithee gentle friend, let thy fair wisdom, not thy passions, sway.”

  “I’ll try my best.” She took a sip of the lemon tea and noticed he’d sweetened it with honey, just the way she liked it. Her heart was now hammering in her ears as she gathered her courage to ask the question she needed to ask, and to prepare herself for the answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. She took a deep breath, felt the words forming on her tongue, but swallowed them when her courage faltered. She knew she was wasting time, wasting minutes.

  Just get on with it!

  She took one more deep breath, then forced herself to meet Harry’s eyes.

  “Are you my father?”

  The expression on his face terrified her. It was gentle, it was compassionate. And it was sad. So very, very sad.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “I would have been so proud to call you my daughter,” he said in a voice devoid of its usual poetic cadence, aware of how serious this moment was. “But no, Cammie, I’m not your father.”

  Cammie let her breath out slowly. “I had to be sure.” He didn’t ask, but she knew he wanted to know why she’d been compelled to ask such a question. She took another sip of the tea, preparing herself to open a door she thought she’d locked up forever a long time ago.

  “I have memories when I was young, of my father taking me on fishing trips every weekend. Of helping me build snowmen and sledding down Crow Mountain with me holding onto the back of his coat for dear life. He’d tuck me in at night and read to me.” She chuckled. “Mom thought he was reading me children’s stories, but what he was actually reading from was history books. I got through third grade on Gibbons Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.”

  Harry smiled. “You always were a smart child.”

  “When I was ten, everything suddenly changed. He became distant. He no longer wanted to fish, or build snowmen or go sledding. At first I thought it was just Mom he was trying to stay away from. But then I realized it was me as well. I couldn’t figure it out. I wanted to ask Mom what was going on. What had I done to cause this? Had she done something to cause this rift? Each time I tried to question her, the pain on her face and the tears in her eyes made me feel hollow. And horrible. So I stopped asking. Then he built the cabin on Mkazawi Pond and it was as though we didn’t exist anymore. He never came by, never called. I finally got up the courage to go over there. Sometimes I even pretended to fall asleep on the couch so I could stay. But it was so obvious, even to a young kid like me, that he didn’t want me there. That he wanted to be left alone. The questions came up again - had I done something to make him turn his back on me? Had I suddenly become a disappointment to him? I never found out. I just pushed that ball of emotional goo deep inside to a spot I thought I’d never have to visit again. Paul Langevin helped me through a lot of it, but he could never totally erase all of the pain and confusion. I learned to live with it, like the scars I got when I played hockey. Then I saw the scrapbook on your desk. And it brought it all back. All the pain, the loneliness, the guilt that it was my fault he’d left. It also brought up a fear so deep, sometimes I felt it would suffocate me.” She looked up at Harry. “Was it possible that when I was ten years old, he discovered that he wasn’t my father? That you were my Dad instead of him? I admit, it threw me for a complete loop. But at the same time, it made so much sense. It would explain why he left.”

  Harry reached out and placed his age-gnarled hand on hers. “For the first ten years of your life, you kept his darkness at bay. You were his light. His candle in the night. His chance at holding onto reality. But that was too much of a burden to put on a young girl’s shoulders. You couldn’t keep his demons away forever. They slowly crept back in until it was all he could do to get up every morning and face each day. Facing people however, was too much.”

  “Was it the war that gave him his demons?” Cammie whispered.

  “Yes. He wasn’t the same when he came back. No one was. No one could be. In the end, it was easier for him to live in the woods, away from a world he could never trust again.”

  “And Mom never stopped loving him?”

  Harry smiled sadly. “Your mother had a heart large enough to love the universe. I was blessed to have spent time in that love, though it was only a touch compared to the love she had for your father. She understood him in a way no one else did. Which is why she allowed him to separate himself from her. From you.”

  “Even though it ultimately killed her.”

  “It was her choice, Cammie. She loved not wisely, but too well.” He paused. “I worried about you, you know. I was afraid you’d choose never to love after seeing what love did to your mother.”

  “I didn’t for a very long time. You saw what love did to me when I was with Eli. But you know Jace. How can you not love that guy?” They laughed. Then she grew serious. “Did my mom love you?”

  “I’d like to think she did. I know she loved the poetry I was always able to recite at a moment’s notice. But what I believe she loved most about me was the fact that I was an uncomplicated individual. I think she was attracted to that, especially after living with your father’s deep complexities. I was a respite, a shelter along the road she chose to walk. I knew that’s all I’d ever be. But I was happy and she was happy while it lasted.”

  “What about your wife Doris?”

  Harry smacked his lips. “My God, that woman was never happy.” He drew his fingers through his hair and his voice grew softer. “I regret causing her pain. I should have simply ended it. As it turned out, she had more courage than I ever did and ended it for the both of us.”

  “I’m glad Mom was able to find some measure of happiness in the midst of Dad’s drama. She deserved it.”

  “And you deserve the happiness you now have with Jace.”

  She sipped her tea. “And what about you? Don’t you deserve some happiness as well?”

  Harry spread his arms out. “Why, I am happy! I have a roof over my head, a few jobs that allow me to buy what I need. I’m in the woods that give me peace.” He lowered his arms and smiled at her. “That’s all I’ve really ever wanted from life, Cammie. Peace and serenity. I found it here. So you bet I’m happy.”

  She finished her tea and stood up. “I know this may sound like a silly question, but I need to know. Did you give me all those chances on the Night Hawks because of your relationship with my mom?”

  Harry stood up and faced her. “I gave you those chances because you were the best hockey player I’d ever seen.” He leaned in and whispered, “Even
better than Eli Kelley.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Harry.”

  His eyes unexpectedly watered. “No, Cammie. Thank you.”

  She ran through their conversation on the way home. She smiled when she realized that what made him happy was what made her happy. After years of wandering and searching, they’d both found peace and serenity. Right back where they’d started. And she was grateful for it.

  Arriving at the cabin, she walked in, took off her jacket, threw her arms around Jace’s neck and kissed him deeply. She then took his hand and led him into the bedroom where they both found a deep sense of peace and serenity that lasted for much of the night.

  The next day Cammie busied herself combing the Poppie Beresford case file, trying to find anything that could link Aubrey to her murder. She and Rick poured over the paperwork, the crime scene photos, Doc’s autopsy report, transcripts of the various interrogations, anything and everything they had to see if perhaps they’d missed something.

  Cammie spread the crime scene photos on the floor of her office and studied them again for what seemed like the hundredth time. Rick sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes.

  “If I look at those one more time, my eyes are going to fall out of my head. Let’s face it, Cam, if Aubrey is guilty, he planned it very well. No one was around. Poppie was busy looking through the binoculars for the white crow. It’s almost certain she didn’t hear him come up behind her. He took the shot and fled, leaving no trace of his presence behind. If it had rained, we might have gotten shoe marks, but it didn’t. Colin and his group couldn’t even pick up any tire tracks from the parking lot. It was chock full of leaf peepers checking out the foliage. I hate to say this, but if that hair doesn’t pan out--”

  “It has to pan out,” she answered tersely as her eyes roamed the photos.

  Rick knew Cammie was one of those investigators who never gave up. She really was the human equivalent of a terrier with a bone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to nail Aubrey – he’d grown to dislike the man as much as his boss did. Yet it was hard to conceive that he was being the realistic one here. As he’d observed when Poppie was first murdered, there was something about this case that had wrapped itself around Cammie and wouldn’t let go. Now she was driving the both of them crazy looking for a tidbit, some infinitesimal shred of evidence that would blow this case wide open. His fear was that they wouldn’t find it. What then? Could she walk away from this? Could she let Aubrey waltz away if no evidence came to light? He doubted it. And that scared him.

  He’d heard over the years there was usually one case that didn’t leave the investigator alone. That haunted and tortured them whether it was solved or not. He had yet to encounter that case for himself, but he wondered if this was going to be that case for Cammie. The only consolation he could take was that Meredith was going to get what she deserved for her part in creating the Calico series. Cammie would at least make sure of that.

  However, was Cammie blinding herself to the fact that it could very well have been Meredith who killed Poppie? Sure, there didn’t seem to be any motive for it. But people were unpredictable. And nuts half the time. Despite what they’d heard, it was always possible that Aubrey made a play for Poppie. Which would have pissed off Meredith. She admitted herself she was still in love with the snake. Put all of that together and voila! A crime of passion.

  He quietly made the decision that while Cammie focused on Aubrey, he was going to keep a sharp out eye for anything that might point the investigation in the direction of the mad woman of the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn.

  He sighed as his stomach started to gurgle. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost noon-time. He was hungry, but looking over to Cammie, she was so intent on a photograph she held in her hand, he knew the last thing she’d want to do was break for lunch. The only way she’d let him eat was if he brought back the sandwich to her office and ate in front of her while he pretended to look over the Beresford paperwork. For the bazillionth time. It was worth a shot.

  “Say Cam, I’m going to have Emmy get us some lunch. Why don’t you--” He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her desk phone.

  “Can you get that?” she asked as she continued to study the photograph.

  “Sure.” He reached over and grabbed the receiver. “Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department,” he answered. He listened then turned to her. “It’s Colin.”

  Before he could blink, she was at his side. She took the phone from him and said, “Hey Colin, tell me you’ve identified the hair.”

  “We have. Thankfully his DNA was in the data base. It’s a perfect match.”

  “Fantastic! Hold on, I’ve got Rick here. I’m putting you on speaker. I know he’ll want to hear this.” She pressed the button and put down the phone. “You don’t know how happy this makes me. I’ve spent the morning going through the files trying to find anything that will let me nail that son of a bitch. Your findings will now allow me to do that.”

  “Glad that I made your day,” Colin responded.

  “Day? You’ve made my month! I can’t wait to see Aubrey Gardiner’s face when I tell him I’m arresting him for the murder of Poppie Beresford.” She pumped the air with her arm as she laughed with glee.

  “Hold on there, Cammie!” Colin repeated her name several times until he got her attention. “Look, I’m sorry, but this hair doesn’t belong to Gardiner.”

  She abruptly stopped laughing and stared in shock at the phone. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Wish I was. But the DNA tests don’t lie. It belongs to a Kevin Baker. We also found his fingerprints on the strap of the victim’s handbag as well. He was arrested several years ago on suspicion of embezzling funds from his company. He was cleared, but his DNA profile was in the database. That’s how I was able to trace it back to him.” Cammie and Rick exchanged shocked looks. “You still there?” Colin asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, still stunned by the news.

  “Do you know Kevin Baker?”

  “We do. He was a friend of the victim.”

  “Well, it looks as though he had contact with her before she died. I’m not sure the hair would have survived being packed and unpacked in a suitcase. It was resting on the front right shoulder of her sweater, as if this Baker guy had hugged or grabbed her.” She heard the rustling of paper before he continued. “Looking at Doc’s autopsy photos and notes, he believes the bruising on the side of the victim’s throat happened when the perp pulled the strap of the bag that was lying against her neck. He says the bruising was fresh when the body was discovered. With Baker’s fingerprints on the strap, I’d say he’s the guy who yanked it. And most likely did the killing. I’ll email you the full report.”

  “Sure,” she mumbled as she hung up. She leaned over her desk and pushed her hand through her hair. “Talk about a kick in the stomach.”

  “We really have to talk to Rodney Novak,” Rick exclaimed. “He’s the only one who can back up or destroy Kevin’s alibi.”

  “Like Colin says, the DNA doesn’t lie.”

  “I know. But it’s a loose end. We might as well clear it up.”

  “The neighbor said he should be returning today. If we don’t hear from him by this afternoon, I’m heading up there.” She left her office and went over to Emmy’s desk. “Can you do your magic on the computer and get me Kevin Baker’s cell phone records for the day prior and the day of Poppie’s murder.”

  “Sure, Sheriff. I’ll get on it right now.”

  They were just finishing up their lunch when Cammie’s cell rang.

  “Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department.”

  “I’d like to speak to Sheriff Cammie Farnsworth.”

  “You’re speaking to her.”

  “This is Rodney Novak. I have several voice mail messages from a Deputy Belleveau. My neighbor also gave me your business card and told me to call you ASAP. What is this all about?”

  “Mr. Novak, we need you to confirm a meeting you had with Ke
vin Baker.”

  “Kevin? Is everything alright?”

  “Yes. Can you tell me where you were on the morning of Tuesday, September 27th at approximately 8 am?”

  “Hold on. I need to check my appointment book.” There was a lull on the phone. Then Rodney said, “You said this is about a meeting with Kevin?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, you’ve got the dates wrong. I didn’t meet with him that Tuesday. I was supposed to, but I’d forgotten I had a dentist appointment that day, so we agreed to move it to the 28th.”

  “We’re going to need to confirm your dental appointment.”

  “What is this all about?” he asked, his voice tinged with fear and concern.

  “These are simply routine questions in an investigation we’re conducting into the death of Poppie Beresford.”

  “I heard about that down at the local grocer’s. You don’t think Kevin had anything to do with that?”

  “As I said earlier, these are routine questions. Just to reiterate, you met with Kevin on Wednesday, September 28th?” Cammie repeated.

  “That’s right. I swung by at 8:30 in the morning. I even brought the coffee and donuts. I’d commissioned a cedar chest as a wedding gift for my daughter and was picking it up that day.”

  “I’m going to have my deputy take a statement from you. Please hold on. And thank you for your help.”

  While Rick went off to his desk to take Novak’s statement, Emmy poked her head in.

  “I found what you were looking for,” she announced as she put a piece of paper down in front of Cammie.

  The sheriff read it, her mouth settling into a thin line. “Looks like we didn’t need Novak’s call after all,” she said. “This is proof positive Kevin killed Poppie.”

  They were Kevin’s cell phone records. Emmy highlighted the information that showed his phone pinging on the morning of Poppie’s death at the Berks Bluff cellphone tower at 7:30 am, only a few miles from the murder scene.