by B. T. Lord
“I’d rather tell you when I have more details.” She grabbed her clothes, then ran over and kissed him on the lips. “Trust me.” She then hurried out of the bedroom.
“Famous last words,” he said to the empty room.
As before, Dale slid into the front seat of the Ford and handed her a copy of the report. She read it, her brow creasing in concern.
“So this person was driving down Main Street at approximately 1:45 am and saw Harold jogging down the street. How credible is this witness?”
“It’s Dr. Walton. He was coming back from his shift at the hospital. He knows Northcott because he treated him not too long ago for a prostate issue.”
“It doesn’t say whether he saw Long.”
“He didn’t. He drove right past the Christmas tree, but didn’t notice anything. Then again, he wasn’t looking for anything.”
“I suppose if you’ve driven past the tree a thousand times, there comes a point where you really don’t take much notice of it.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Cammie bit her lip. Then looked up at Dale.
“I received a piece of information from my deputy.” She then told him what Rick and Emmy had uncovered. “I’ll text you a copy of the newspaper article when I leave here.”
“Wow. Good thinking on that. No one in the department, including me, would have thought to see if the two men knew each other at some point in their lives.”
“That’s not all. I have a confession to make.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw Harold coming up the stairs at 2:30 on the night Long was killed. I withheld the info because I didn’t like the way this case was being handled by Knowlton and I wanted to do my own under the radar investigation. I didn’t know if I could trust you not to follow the department line. I apologize, Dale. I should have told you.”
Dale puffed the air out of his cheeks. “I guess I understand. We really don’t know each other. Or at least didn’t at the time you saw him.” He paused, then asked, “How did he look?”
“I didn’t get a close look at him. But he looked tired and a bit beaten down.”
“But not like someone who’d just killed a man?”
She smiled. “No, nothing like that.” She looked down at the report again. “So Walton sees Harold jogging down the street at 1:45, yet he didn’t see Walter.”
“Maybe he hadn’t arrived yet.”
“You’d think if Harold was meeting him, he’d be jogging towards the Christmas tree, not away from it.” Cammie flipped through the pages of the report. When she came to the final pathology report, her heart sank. “This says Long ate some pizza at approximately midnight.”
Dale nodded. “I interviewed some people at the bank. He and two of his associates were working on a loan that kept them in the bank until at least 12:45 am. They sent out for a pizza around midnight and it got there at 12:15.”
“So the coroner now believes he was killed around 2 am.”
“That’s correct.”
Cammie closed the report and sat back in her seat. “The more we dig, the worse it looks for Harold. He makes a call to Long at 1 am. He’s seen jogging downtown at 1:45 am. And Walter is killed at 2 am.” She sighed. “He’s screwed.”
“I quietly went and talked to the neighbors. They confirmed your belief that Long was universally hated. Although they wouldn’t come right out and say it, I could tell most of them were happy he wasn’t coming back.”
“Did Knowlton ever talk to Debbi?” Dale nodded. “Did she bring up the affair she thought Walter was having with some married woman?”
“If she did, he didn’t say anything. However,” he smiled conspiratorially. “I spoke to her myself. I accidentally met her at the sandwich place across from the bank and struck up a conversation.”
Cammie met his smile. “Accidentally, huh?”
“Oh yeah. Purely. Of course I didn’t tell her I’d been waiting for at least an hour to see if and when she went out for lunch. Anyway, she told me that for a week leading up to the murder, he would close his door and spend the next twenty minutes or so talking on the phone. She thought it unusual because he’d never done that before. When he finished the call, he’d spend the rest of the afternoon with, as she said, a smug contentment. Like he was looking forward to something and couldn’t wait for the day to end.”
“Like sleeping with someone’s wife?” Cammie asked.
“Could be. On the morning of his murder, she said he closed the door and got on the phone. However, she suddenly heard him slam something down on his desk. She wasn’t sure if it was his fist or what. She then saw him storm out of his office, his face red with anger.”
“Was this before or after he went to the hardware store?”
“Just before. The incident in the store happened at 11 am. He stormed out of the bank at 10:45. She’s certain of the time because that’s when she normally goes to get her second cup of coffee.”
“How far is the hardware store from the bank?”
“It’s across the street about two stores down.”
“So let me get this straight. He spent a week talking on his landline?”
“That’s right. We requested the phone records for Long’s landline at the bank. That’s taking a bit longer to receive. So, whatever you have up your sleeve, you better make it quick. Now that we have Dr. Walton’s eye witness report, I think the chief is going to be making an arrest soon.”
“Lovely,” she murmured. She glanced at him. “Has all this changed your mind? Do you now think Harold is a murderer?”
Dale took his time answering. “It certainly looks that way. His neighbors loathed Walter, but I didn’t get the sense any of them would actually murder the guy. I’m curious to see what the bank’s phone records reveal. But right here, right now…” The expression on his face said it all. He looked at Cammie. “What about you?”
She looked out the windshield at the beach and the choppy seas beyond. “I honestly don’t know,” she finally admitted. “On paper it looks like a done deal. But…”
“Is it because he’s your boyfriend’s father?”
“Could be.”
Dale leaned slightly forward. “I’m sure you’ve considered the possibility that the married woman he was supposed to be sleeping with was Pamela Northcott? According to what your staff found, they had a history.”
“Yes, it has occurred to me.”
“Do you think she’s capable of murder?”
“When push comes to shove, who isn’t capable of murder?” She absently rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been great, Dale. Thank you for keeping me in the loop.”
“My pleasure. I’ll be sure to let you know if anything else comes up.”
“Thanks.”
As Cammie drove away, she felt a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. Several scenarios ran through her mind, each trying to exonerate Harold and/or Pamela. But in the end, she had to admit, he looked guilty as hell. They both did.
She sighed as she pulled up to the house. She turned off the engine and looked out at the decorations. The merry Santas, reindeer and snowmen looked like a mockery to how she was feeling. And how Jace would soon be feeling when she broke the news to him.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she muttered slowly as she climbed out of the truck and made her way into the house.
Harold was at his usual place in front of the television. Cammie hadn’t thought it possible, but he’d aged even more overnight. She said good-morning, which he disregarded. Aunt Pru nodded from the couch. She entered the kitchen and found Jace and his mother seated at the table, each sipping a cup of coffee. They looked up as she entered. She was struck by the dark rings under Pamela’s eyes and the hopelessness in her expression.
“Mom’s ready to talk to you,” Jace said quietly as he stood up. “I’ll make sure Dad and Aunt Pru don’t disturb you.”
He left, and Cammie slid into his seat. She didn’t feel she had much time, so she decided to forego the preliminar
ies.
“What happened at the hardware store the other day?”
Pamela stared down at her coffee mug. “It was all so very stupid.”
“Just begin at the very beginning. Why did you and Harold go to the hardware store in the first place?”
“We needed some more hooks and pieces of plywood to put up decorations that I’d bought last week. We really wanted to make this Christmas special because of Jace’s –” she paused, then continued, “—and your visit. You know, do it up with all the bells and whistles. And for Pru as well, considering what she’s going through.”
“Okay. So you went to the hardware store. What happened next?”
Pamela suddenly lifted her head and shot Cammie an angry look. “Why is this so important? We went to the damned hardware store where Harold and Mr. Long got into an argument. End of story.”
“Harold physically attacked Long. It took the store owner and one of his clerks to break up the fight.” Pamela’s face paled. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but it’s looking very bad for Harold. If you tell me what happened, maybe I can see something Knowlton can’t or won’t that will exonerate your husband.”
Pamela’s eyes suddenly watered as the air seemed to deflate from her lungs. She shrank back against her chair. “We—we stopped off to look at paint colors,” she whispered. “I’ve been thinking of repainting the living room. Harold went off to get the hooks and while I was there, I heard my name called. I turned and saw Mr. Long approaching.” She shuddered. “What a loathsome man he is – was.”
“What did he say?” The woman hesitated. “Pamela, please. Tell me.”
She shook her head several times. “I shouldn’t – I was just so upset. You didn’t know him, Cammie. He was incredibly sanctimonious. Carried himself as if he was better than everyone else. I knew when I first met him, he was trouble.”
“Where did you meet?”
“In college—” She suddenly stopped speaking, as if she’d said something she hadn’t meant to say.
“I know Walter grew up in Twin Ponds. I know he and Harold were friends for many years. I know they went to college together. I also know you dated him before you dated Harold. Was it because of you that their friendship imploded?”
The color flooded back into her cheeks. “There’s no point in talking about that. It’s ancient history.”
“Murder always has a starting point. Sometimes it takes years for it to flourish and explode. It just takes one spark to re-ignite the flame.”
Her eyes flashed. “Are you saying you believe Harold killed Walter?”
“I’m saying that if Knowlton hasn’t uncovered this information, he soon will to bolster his case against Harold. He’ll see this as the culmination of a feud that started years ago.”
Once again Pamela shrank back into her seat. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
“Why did you break up with Walter?”
“We both felt, that is, it was mutually agreed –”
At that moment, they were interrupted when Jace came back into the kitchen. His face was white, and he looked visibly shaken. “The police are here. They’re arresting Dad.”
Cammie jumped out of her chair as Pamela let out a small cry behind her. She hurried into the living room just in time to see Knowlton putting the handcuffs on Harold while Dale stood nearby.
“Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?” Knowlton asked as he finished reading Harold his Miranda rights. Harold looked stunned and unfocused. He slowly nodded. “Do you wish to say anything?” He shook his head.
Knowlton turned and led Harold out of the house. As he reached the front door he turned and gave Cammie a look which could only be described as triumphant. She felt her stomach clench in anger at his arrogance. They then left the house. Dale threw Cammie an inscrutable glance before he too left the house. Pru, who’d remained seated this whole time, shook her head to herself.
“Well, that’s that then.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, for chrissakes!” Pamela wailed. “He couldn’t find the decency to wait until after the holiday?” She covered her face and began to sob. Jace threw his arm around her and led her to the couch where he sat her down next to Pru. Together, the two of them did their best to comfort the distraught woman.
“Jace, does your dad have an attorney?” Cammie asked after a few moments. “You need to call him and let him know what happened.”
He nodded. Releasing his mother to her sister’s care, he went upstairs. Cammie followed and saw him enter his father’s study. She hadn’t been in the room before and saw a desk with a computer, a bureau against the wall that held books and the several framed pictures of the Northcott family. Everything was neat and tidy. Jace sat down in the chair with a thud and opened the desk where he withdrew an address book.
“Dad still does stuff the old-fashioned way,” he said in a dead voice as he flipped through it.
“I’m so sorry,” she replied as she saw the pain and strain he was under. He didn’t say anything as he found what he was looking for. He placed the call, then sat back.
“He’ll be at the station in ten minutes,” he answered. He raised his eyes until they met hers. “Is that why you left this morning? Is that when you found out they were going to arrest Dad?”
“I didn’t know when they’d be doing it, but I knew it would be soon.”
Jace rubbed his cheek with the palm of his hand. “He did it, didn’t he? Dad murdered Long.” Cammie didn’t respond. She wanted to pull him in her arms and tell him everything would be alright. But she couldn’t lie to him. Nor could she break through the wall of anguish he’d surrounded himself with. Just as she turned away, she saw Pamela coming up the stairs. She walked past Cammie as if she wasn’t there and went into her bedroom where she closed the door.
“Can you leave me alone for a few minutes?” Jace asked.
Cammie reluctantly nodded and let herself out, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the doorframe and heaved a heavy sigh.
Although she knew it was stupid, she felt guilty for not having done enough to prevent the arrest. Maybe if she’d tried harder, gone out on her own and investigated more witnesses, she could have cracked this. Maybe if she’d pushed Harold and Pamela to speak to her, she could have found something, anything that would prove either didn’t kill Long. By not asserting herself more, she’d let the family down. Worse, she’d let Jace down.
And that was the hardest part of all.
Cammie had never been a woe-is-me type of woman. She’d always taken responsibility for her actions and she’d pushed herself all her life to keep moving forward. But standing in that hallway, she felt deflated. And demoralized.
For the first time, she had no idea what to do next.
With a heavy heart, she made herself go downstairs where she found Pru still sitting on the couch. She had a photo album spread across her lap and was thoughtfully flipping through it. With nothing else to occupy her darkening thoughts, Cammie sat down next to her and saw photos of a much younger Harold, Pamela and a second man she guessed to be Walter looking back up at her. She inwardly gasped when she saw how beautiful Pamela had been in her younger days. She bore a striking resemblance to the actress Grace Kelley, albeit with dark hair, with a coquettish smile and a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
You must have had men falling all over themselves to get your attention.
“What a time we had,” Pru whispered as she touched the photo with her fingertip. “Sometimes it feels like a dream, that it never really happened.” Cammie frowned. She had no idea what Pru was talking about, but the old woman appeared to be lost in a world of long-ago memories. “Who would have thought it would end this way?”
“Is it true he and Walter were friends back in Twin Ponds?”
“They were what we used to call bosom buddies. You never saw one without the other.”
“Where did you meet them?”
“In college. I was two years ahead of the three of them.
But they were such fun, I didn’t mind being with them, though all my friends thought I was insane. You see, a senior never spent any time with mere sophomores. It just wasn’t done.” She chuckled.
“What happened to break up the group?”
Pru offered her a sad, lopsided smile. “What do you think happened? One beautiful woman and two handsome men. Only one would ultimately be chosen while the other would be rejected.”
Cammie glanced back down at the photo. Walter could certainly be considered handsome, with his wry grin and thick blonde hair. But even at 20 years of age, Harold still looked like a bookish accountant. A boyish looking accountant, but an accountant nevertheless.
“Is it true Pamela and Walter dated?”
Pru looked up and met Cammie’s eye. “Why do you think Harold hated Walter so much?” She shook her head. “And Pamela. Poor, poor Pam. The beautiful girl perpetually caught in the middle.”
Cammie felt her stomach clench as a terrible idea flitted through her mind. “Did Pamela start the argument in the hardware store?”
“I always told her to watch her temper. She got it from our father, you know. He’d fly off the handle over the smallest thing. She’s tried her best to control it over the years, but…” Pru shrugged. “Well, this is certainly going to be a Christmas to remember.”
“Pru, was Pamela sleeping with Walter?”
Pru gave her an inscrutable look. She then closed the album and placed it on the coffee table. “Love isn’t something you can turn on and off at a moment’s whim.” She slowly stood up. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to lie down a bit. It’s been quite the emotional day.”
As Cammie watched Pru walk up the stairs, she took note of how frail she looked. Grief over her husband’s death was sapping her energy, her life force. She wondered if the older woman would be one of those who hoped for, willed herself to die so she could join her beloved.
It was a depressing thought.
Now that she was alone, the depression increased, torturing her for what she did and didn’t do to help Harold. She went over everything she’d learned, desperately searching for something she may have missed – something she could use to march down to the police station and demand they release Harold. But there was nothing. No matter how hard she looked, she always came up empty.