Murder Among Crows

by B. T. Lord

  Emmy saw Cammie’s downcast face. “At least you know who the murderer is. Now you and Rick can arrest him.”

  She nodded silently. Emmy quietly backed out of the office, knowing her boss well enough to know she needed to be alone for a while to process this startling piece of information.

  Cammie swung her chair around to her computer. Instead of typing, she stared at the screen, her lunch sitting like a stone in the pit of her stomach.

  How could she have been so wrong about Aubrey? She’d been convinced he was the killer. Had she done what no self-respecting law officer should ever do? Had she allowed her personal feelings about the writer to blind her to the possibility that he might not have killed Poppie? Damn it, she’d been so hell bent on throwing his ass in jail, she’d come this close to wrecking the entire investigation when it turned out he was innocent.

  She couldn’t believe her own stupidity. It sat heavily on her as she forced herself to write up her report. She could never remember a time when she’d gone off like this and she hated herself for it. Somewhere along the line, her desire for justice had turned into a desire for revenge. For what he’d done to Meredith.

  She rubbed her chin with the back of her hand. This entire case had taken a hold on her like no other case ever had. Even the investigation into Eli Kelley’s murder the year before hadn’t affected her like this one had. Why? Because of the way Poppie’s life had turned out? Because of the way her daughter continued to revile her, even in death? Because she’d tried to find redemption for what happened to Willow and failed? Because she’d tried to find forgiveness, not only from Hannah, but from herself? And failed miserably?

  Cammie’s eyes strayed across her desk, resting on the photograph she’d been holding when Colin had called. She pulled it to her and stared at the remains of the white crow. She’d been inexplicably drawn to that photo all morning. Now, as she sat and stared at it, feeling angry and disgusted at herself, Professor Bodmin’s words about the white crow came back to her. Black crows avoided the white crow because they knew it was different. Believing it was sick, they had the capability to peck it to death in order to save themselves from predators.

  She caught her breath as she realized the irony of it all. Poppie Beresford died searching for the white crow. A bird she unwittingly resembled in so many ways. Her behavior had caused others to avoid her. To ostracize her from the family she’d once been a member of. Her daughter and ex-husband had in effect, symbolically pecked her to death by refusing to have anything to do with her. They’d unwittingly consigned her to a living death. No, that wasn’t true. She’d consigned herself to a living death because she could not rid herself of the taint of what she’d done. It was Kevin Baker who consigned her to a real death. Why? Because she’d refused his attempts to bring their friendship to the next level? Was this a case of if he couldn’t have her, nobody could? Had the two had words before she left Mategwas? He knew about the trip to Twin Ponds. Had their argument festered inside of him until he couldn’t stand it anymore? The GPS on his phone showed he’d travelled to Twin Ponds that morning. Had he had one last confrontation in the woods with Poppie? Had he tried to kiss her, leaving his hair on her sweater? Had he tried to yank her back into his arms with the strap of her bag when she pulled away, leaving the mark on her neck? When she finally and categorically refused him and turned back to bird watching, had he lost it completely and killed her?

  Cammie called Emmy back into her office. “Could you find a photograph of Kevin Baker and fax it to Tudor? Ask him if he saw Baker at the inn at the time Poppie was staying there?”

  “Will do, Sheriff.”

  While Emmy went off to carry out Cammie’s request, Rick returned to her office. She handed him the cell phone report.

  “Holy crap!” he exclaimed. “Baker lied to us.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Rick plopped down on the edge of the chair, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how wrong we were. I was convinced Aubrey was the killer.”

  “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect.”

  He caught the tone of her voice, saw the expression on her face and kicked himself for saying aloud what she was feeling. And, knowing her, shredding herself over. He opened his mouth to offer comfort, but decided for once to keep his mouth shut.

  A few minutes later, Emmy came back. “I heard back from Mr. Montgomery. He says he doesn’t recognize the picture.”

  “Thank you, Emmy. I’m going to get the arrest warrant from Judge Drury. Then Rick and I are going to Mategwas to arrest Kevin Baker for the murder of Poppie Beresford.”

  The weather was sunny, a perfect late autumn day, unlike the last time they’d driven up. The rain had slowed them down then, but now they zipped up the highway, making it in record time.

  Pulling into Kevin’s driveway, they saw his truck parked near the side door. They knocked and rang the doorbell, but received no answer. As they’d done on their previous visit, they walked around to the barn, expecting to find him working on one of his projects. However, the barn was silent. And empty. Both officers noticed Kevin’s tools neatly put away, the air filled with the sharp scent of cleaning solutions.

  “Do you think he found out we were coming for him and hightailed it out of here?” Rick asked.

  “I don’t remember seeing a second vehicle when we were here before, but maybe he grabbed another car to keep us off his trail,” Cammie responded.

  While Rick returned to the front door and began to bang on it, Cammie went to the Explorer where she opened the back door and withdrew a small case. She came back to the front door and kneeling down, opened the case, removing what looked like a thin crochet hook. She put it into the lock, gave it a twist and the door unlocked.

  “You’re really going to have to show me how to do that,” Rick remarked as she swung the door open.

  She unsnapped her pistol, though she kept it holstered. “Kevin, it’s Sheriff Farnsworth and Deputy Belleveau. We need to speak with you,” she called out. There was no response. “Rick, go around to the back door in case he tries to escape that way.” As Rick took off, Cammie cautiously entered the premises. “We only want to ask you some questions,” she said as she walked further into the living room.

  There was a stillness to the air that put her on alert. As if something or someone were lurking, hiding, waiting. She lowered her hand to her pistol and slowly took it out of its holster. She continued to walk through the living room and kitchen, once again taking in the scent of cleaner. Had Baker actually cleaned his house and barn before fleeing? That’s certainly what it looked like as Cammie took in the spotless countertops and empty dish strainer.

  She unlocked the kitchen door and let Rick in. “I’m going to check the bedrooms. Stay here.”

  He nodded as he too took out his revolver.

  Moving very slowly, Cammie made her way down the corridor. She peeked in the bathroom. The smell of cleaner was stronger here. The shower curtains were open so she didn’t need to worry that he’d jumped out at her when her back was turned. The first bedroom looked to be a guest room. Glancing about, she saw it was empty. She entered and cautiously opened the closet. There was what appeared to be Kevin’s summer wardrobe hanging inside. But there was no sign of him. Re-entering the corridor, she saw there was one bedroom left, its door open at the end of the hallway.

  If he wasn’t in there, they’d have to check the basement. And if he wasn’t there either, it meant he’d escaped.

  She pushed all this aside as she approached the bedroom. As she drew closer, a new scent assailed her nostrils – a scent she knew all too well.

  Oh no, oh no, oh no.

  She had to make sure this wasn’t a trap. Coming up to the door, she took a deep breath before jumping into the room in what she called the fighting stance – square to the target with her firing foot slightly behind her support foot in order to give herself more maneuverability in case Kevin was in the room and armed.

  “Come out, Kevin!” she yelled, th
e all too familiar smell clogging her nostrils. There was no answer. She quickly checked the closet. It was filled with his winter clothes. As she came around to the side of the bed, she slowly brought her revolver down. And cursed under her breath.

  The man she was searching for was sitting propped up against the wall. Across his body lay a shotgun. The blue wall behind his head was stained with blood and brain matter.

  Kevin Baker had killed himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “All clear, Rick,” she called out as her eyes roamed the room in search of a suicide note. She heard Rick’s steps hurrying down the corridor. When he came up to her, he took one look at what remained of Kevin’s head and barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up his lunch.

  He looked embarrassed when he returned a few minutes later. His face was a ghostly white as he avoided Cammie’s eye.

  “I think maybe the mayo on my turkey club was bad,” he mumbled as he made sure not to look at Kevin’s body.

  “The mayo’s always bad when it’s your first suicide by shotgun,” Cammie responded. “Don’t be embarrassed. You should have seen me when it was my first. Not only did I vomit, but I couldn’t eat for two days. Great for my waistline, bad for my dreams.”

  “How do you ever get used to it?”

  “Don’t have a choice, do we? It’s either keep doing a job you love, but don’t always like. Or hand in your badge and become a farmer where the only shit you have to deal with comes from a cow or a chicken.”

  “Or a horse,” he tried to smile.

  “Or a horse.” Cammie looked about. “Why don’t you check the living room and kitchen for a suicide note? I’ll check the guest bedroom. Also, keep an eye out for Poppie’s pearl earring. If he took it as a trophy, it has to be around here somewhere.”

  “So you think it is suicide?”

  “Doc and the Forensics team will have to back me up, but right now, I’d say yes.”

  “But why?”

  She looked up at Rick. “Because he guessed we were closing in on him for murdering Poppie.”

  He met her eye, then looked away. She gave him a pair of latex gloves which he slipped on. He then went off to try and find a suicide note while Cammie called Forensics and Doc. She shoved the cell back in her pocket, slipped on her own pair of latex gloves and gave the room a thorough search. Finding nothing, she went into the second bedroom, but came up empty as well.

  She was about to check how Rick was doing when he appeared at the top of the corridor. “I didn’t find a note, but I found a notation on his calendar that he had an appointment this morning with a Dr. Sawyer at 10:30 am.”

  “See if you can track down an address for Sawyer. I’d like to know why Kevin went to see him.”

  While Rick checked the internet, Cammie continued to poke around the living room, in search of anything that might point to why he killed himself but, more importantly, why he’d killed Poppie. So far, she could only guess that he’d killed her in a rage because she’d turned him down yet again. If she’d driven two hours only to be rejected, she might be a little ticked as well. But was that enough to cause him to take her life?

  “What made you snap?” she asked under her breath as she opened drawers in the kitchen, hoping to find some sort of clue to his mental state.

  “I’ve got Sawyer’s address,” Rick called out. “His office is about 10 minutes from here.”

  “As soon as Doc and the Forensics team arrive, you and I are going to pay a visit to Dr. Sawyer.”

  They spent the next two hours taking photographs of Kevin and his house and combing the rooms, but they found nothing that could give them a definitive motive for Kevin killing both Poppie and himself. When Doc and his team arrived, he was not in the best of moods.

  “I was soaking in my tub, enjoying a glass of merlot, accompanied by the stirring voice of Luciano Pavarotti when I was unceremoniously yanked from a sublime reverie by a phone call from you,” he harrumphed as he entered the house.

  “You can blame Kevin Baker,” Cammie responded.

  “And who is Kevin Baker?”

  “The man who shot his brains out with a shotgun. And who ended the life of Poppie Beresford.”

  Doc blinked at her. “Crudely expressed, but you made your point.”

  “He’s in the back.” She led him down the corridor and into the bedroom. Doc immediately knelt down beside the body and began a cursory examination. “I’m thinking he killed himself.”

  “So far it looks that way. Have you found out why?”

  “Forensics found a strand on his hair on Poppie Beresford’s sweater and his fingerprints on the strap of her handbag.” Doc turned his head towards her.

  “You were so sure it was Aubrey Gardiner.”

  “I screwed up,” she snapped. Doc raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Instead, he turned back to the body.

  Embarrassed by her outburst, Cammie attempted to dispel the tension in the room. “What I think happened is that Kevin tried one last time to get Poppie to see him as someone other than a friend. He knew she and Meredith were going to Twin Ponds. He may have even known they were staying at the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn. As part of the bird watching group, he’d have to know that Meredith was not an early riser, but Poppie was. So he drove down to the inn. Maybe he saw her leaving and told her he’d driven down to see if he could find the white crow, or maybe he saw her driving off and followed her. In any case, they were in the woods together. It was just getting light and they were alone. He tried to convince her to give him a chance. He may have taken her in his arms, since his hair was found on her shoulder. She pulled away and he tried to pull her back by yanking on her shoulder strap which explains the bruise you found on her neck. This angered her and she told him to beat it. To leave her alone. Maybe she told him she never wanted to see him again. He started to walk away. In order to calm herself, she turned her attention to the woods to try and spot the white crow. She didn’t know how upset Kevin was. She may not have even cared. That was her fatal mistake. The more he thought about it, the more enraged he became. How dare she tell him to leave her alone? Didn’t she understand how much he loved her? Incensed, he decided if he couldn’t have her, no one would. So he snuck back to where she was. She was so engrossed in finding the crow that she didn’t hear him. He stood between the two trees and shot her.”

  “What made him shoot himself?” Doc asked.

  “Guilt? Remorse? Horror that he’d killed the woman he loved? Fear that we’d figure it out and he’d spend the rest of his life in jail? He managed to walk away from an embezzlement charge a number of years ago. He had to know he wasn’t going to walk away so easily from this one.”

  “Sounds plausible to me.” He stood up. “Looks like you’ve solved this,” he remarked as he went out to tell his team to bag the body.

  It looked like she had.

  So why did she feel so out of sorts about it?

  Forensics showed up a half hour later. While Colin and his team went about their work, she and Rick drove to Dr. Sawyer’s office.

  It was a large white clapboard house nestled among a group of small Craftsman bungalows. The two officers walked in and showed their badges to the receptionist. They were immediately shown to Sawyer’s office which looked to have once been the library. There were built in book shelves lining the walls, filled with medical books. Ten minutes later, Dr. Sawyer entered. He looked to be in his early forties, average height with a shock of black hair that was starting to show gray strands. His expression was one of curiosity.

  “I’ve never been visited by the police before,” he admitted. “I can’t think of any stop signs I may have run lately.”

  “We’re actually here about a patient of yours,” Cammie explained.

  “Oh?” he asked as he leaned against his desk.

  “Yes. We know Kevin Baker came to see you this morning. We’d like to know why.”

  “May I ask what this pertains to?”

  “We be
lieve he’s responsible for the death of Poppie Beresford.”

  Sawyer’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Hair fibers and fingerprints belonging to Mr. Baker were found on Ms. Beresford’s clothing and handbag.”

  Sawyer reached out for a chair and plopped down, his face showing his surprise. “I – I can’t believe it. I’ve known Kevin for years. He’d never hurt anyone. There must be some mistake.” He looked up at Cammie. “Have you arrested him?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Doctor, but we discovered Mr. Baker’s body in his home this afternoon. It appears he committed suicide.”

  “Oh dear God,” Sawyer whispered.

  “I know this is a shock, but we need to know why he came to see you today.”

  The doctor passed a trembling hand over his mouth. “You believe he killed himself because he was about to be arrested?” he suddenly asked.

  Cammie frowned at the question. “Is there another reason, Doctor?”

  He nodded. “Kevin had been feeling off for a few months. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He finally came to see me and we ran some tests. I gave him the results this morning.” He looked first to Cammie, then to Rick. “He was in the beginnings of Stage 4 Alzheimer’s. He was devastated by the diagnosis.”

  “Don’t they have medication for that now?” Rick asked.

  “There is, but it only delays the symptoms from getting worse for a limited time.”

  “So, are you saying you believe Mr. Baker killed himself because of his diagnosis?” Cammie asked.

  “That was my first thought when you told me. He had no family. The thought of being placed in a home was horrifying to him. He was scheduled to come back to see me at the end of the week so we could discuss a treatment plan.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor Kevin. He just couldn’t face his brilliant mind fading away.”

  “Would his illness have impaired his judgment in any way? Or created havoc with his emotions?”