MASS MURDER

by Lynn Bohart

  “Did you confront her about the rejection?”

  “Why should I? A writer gets used to rejection. It comes with the territory.”

  Giorgio pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Marsh.

  “Because, it seems she wasn’t very kind.”

  Marsh glanced at the document and blanched. “I see you’ve done your homework, Detective.”

  “It’s what I get paid for. Are all agents so blunt?”

  “She was particularly cruel. I don’t know why.”

  “Cruel enough for retaliation?”

  Marsh looked up in surprise. “Of course not. I’m not that small.” His lip twitched. “I consider the source. Many agents are themselves frustrated writers.”

  “And you didn’t let this enter into the argument you had with her Saturday night?”

  “I doubt she even knew who I was.”

  “But she would have known your name.”

  “These agents read material from hundreds of writers every year. They don’t remember names. Especially those they’ve rejected.” He tossed the paper back to Giorgio. “I don’t think she even suspected who I was.”

  “Why did you lie about knowing her?”

  “I didn’t want to be connected to her. Do you blame me? Besides, there were probably several other writers at the conference who had been rejected by her.”

  “We’ll check into that.” Giorgio glanced at the ashtray. “What kind of cigarettes do you smoke?”

  The question caught Marsh off guard. “What?”

  “Cigarettes. What kind?”

  Marsh looked confused. “Lucky Strike. Why?”

  “What can you tell me about Jeff Dorman?”

  “Who?”

  “He was a guest at the conference.”

  Marsh looked truly lost. “I don’t think I met him. Why? Did he have something to do with Ms. Olsen?”

  Giorgio stood to leave. “I wouldn’t leave town, Mr. Marsh.”

  “I assure you, Detective, I didn’t kill that woman.”

  “Then it’s probably in your best interests to be completely honest from now on.”

  Giorgio moved toward the door and Marsh followed.

  “Oh,” Giorgio said, stopping short. “One more thing. You left during the dinner. Why is that?”

  Marsh’s eyes grew wide and he stuttered, “I… needed to use the restroom.”

  “Is that all?”

  The poor man had begun to sweat, and his jaw moved as if it had just been oiled. Finally, he answered.

  “I had to make a phone call.”

  Giorgio thought his manner unconvincing and asked, “Who did you call?”

  “My brother in Los Angeles.”

  His eyes shifted, and Giorgio decided to call his bluff.

  “Well, that’s easily checked.” Giorgio turned again to leave.

  “No,” Marsh choked out. “He wasn’t home. I couldn’t get through.” He sounded almost relieved.

  Giorgio stared back at him. The man seemed to have trouble breathing. Finally he forced out, “I took a walk. Just to get some fresh air.”

  Giorgio’s antenna went up. “Where did you go?”

  “I walked out front, out to the fountain.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “No. I was upset. It hadn’t been such a good day. I struck out with two agents that afternoon. After the exchange with Ms. Olsen, I just needed some fresh air. Even if she didn’t remember me, I remembered that rejection letter. I was determined not to let it interfere with the conference, but I needed to talk myself down. I did not kill her though.”

  “Lying during an investigation is a serious offense. I’d be more careful.”

  Giorgio left Marsh looking even more disheveled than when he arrived. Giorgio would be surprised if Marsh was the killer, but there was no reason to take him off the list, yet. He may be an unlikely suspect, but Giorgio knew from experience to never make assumptions.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After leaving Marsh, Giorgio returned to the monastery. Rocky’s truck was parked out front along with one of the squad cars. Giorgio assumed they were still conducting interviews, so he went directly to the tool shed thinking perhaps Dorman’s killer might have placed the flashlight there in an attempt to hide it in plain sight. The sun had finally emerged, causing steam to rise off the corn rows like something out of a Stephen King movie.

  Giorgio nodded to the officer still standing guard and then moved to the dilapidated old building. The shed door creaked open exposing a flurry of dust mites. Giorgio stepped inside and shoved things aside, moved buckets off shelves, and poked behind everything on the floor. But no flashlight.

  He made a cursory search of the area around the makeshift grave, the corn stalks, and the surrounding woods. Discouraged and sweating, he finally called Grosvner back from where he’d chased a squirrel up a tree and descended the path. He turned toward the kitchen when he heard his name called. Rocky emerged from the backside of the building. Giorgio doubled back to meet him near the statue of Mary.

  “I just finished interviewing Father O’Leary,” Rocky informed him. “They have a small infirmary here. Just a few beds. O’Leary went to the infirmary before the nine o’clock prayer the night of the murder. I guess he only felt well enough to talk to anyone in depth today. He’s quite a character.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The two brothers began to wander along the path in the direction of the kitchen.

  “O’Leary has lived here since the beginning of time, I guess, and has a reputation for making up outlandish stories. I was told no one can tell the difference between his truth and fabrication. Anyway, when Father Damian arrived about four years ago he tried to put a stop to it. I guess Damian thought it was sacrilegious for a monk to talk about ghosts and secret passageways. Anyway, no one believes the old guy, but…”

  “What ghosts?” Giorgio had stopped short, staring at his brother.

  “What?” Rocky stopped and looked back over his shoulder at Giorgio.

  “You said stories about ghosts.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t ask him to tell me any,” Rocky shrugged.

  Giorgio suddenly grabbed Rocky’s arm. “Wait a minute.”

  “What is it with you?” Rocky said, gruffly.

  “Did you say O’Leary talked about secret passages?”

  “Yeah, but like I said, nobody believes him.”

  “Yes, but what did he say?”

  Rocky shrugged again. “According to O’Leary, several secret tunnels were created as a means of escape because of the war. But remember, he also said ghosts roamed the hallways at night. If you ask me, the guy’s a little nuts.”

  Giorgio’s face betrayed an inner thought. “When I was hit on the head last night, I heard something just before I passed out. It didn’t register until just now. I heard a door close.” When Rocky didn’t respond, he encouraged him. “Don’t you see? There’s no door in that stairwell.”

  “There’s a door to the outside.”

  “That’s a heavy metal door. What I heard was a wooden door.”

  Without warning, Giorgio turned on his heels and started back to the north door. “Follow me.”

  Giorgio reached the door and flung it open leaving Rocky to hold the door for Grosvner. When the door closed behind them, there was the distinctive sound of metal against metal.

  “You see,” Giorgio said, pointing at the door. He glanced around the stairwell and then stepped forward to the underside of the staircase. There was a small door tucked into the shadows. “I thought so.” He opened the door to find a narrow storage closet with a ceiling that followed the slant of the staircase overhead. He stepped inside and began running his hands over bare walls.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for a lever.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding? You think there’s a secret passage in there?”

  Giorgio turned to his brother with a stern look. “I heard this
door close. So if someone went in here, how did they get out?”

  “They could’ve gone down one of the hallways.”

  “No one went down the hallway.”

  “How do you know, you were out cold?”

  Giorgio pulled on coat hooks and protruding nails, but nothing moved. Rocky leaned against the door jam with a smug look on his face.

  “Damn!” Giorgio cursed, pushing his way past his brother. “When I followed the monk into the stairwell, I looked down both those hallways and up the staircase. I came back in here and stopped to think, right here. That’s when someone stepped out of nowhere and nailed me from behind. They had to be hiding under there. But why?” he said looking around the staircase for clues to this new mystery, “I think they ducked in here to use some secret passage, but had to wait until I left because I would have heard them.”

  “Was this door open or closed?” Rocky pointed to the door to the closet.

  “I’m not sure. It was too dark.”

  As he said this, the outside door opened. Father Damian entered carrying a stack of books. He looked surprised to see the two policemen and the dog.

  “Detective! What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to solve a puzzle. Father, can I get my hands on the original plans to the monastery?”

  Father Damian glanced at Rocky and back to Giorgio. “Yes.” He hesitated. “We have a copy in the safe, but what are you looking for?”

  “I just need a footprint of the building,” Giorgio replied, feeling the need to be deceptive. “It will help us plot where the two bodies were found and any connecting possibilities.”

  “I see. Well, follow me. I’ll get them for you.”

  The abbot led them to his office where he went to the large painting of Christ and the Last Supper. He pulled the painting away from the wall, and with a few flicks of the wrist, opened a hidden wall safe. A moment later he handed Giorgio a roll of yellowed paper.

  “Please be very careful. These are very old.”

  “We handle all potential evidence carefully,” Giorgio clipped.

  The brothers walked out to their cars where Giorgio rolled out the drawings on the hood of his sedan. Grosvner relieved himself on a nearby azalea bush. The two men studied the huge sheets of paper, running their fingers along the defining lines of the building, looking for something that might indicate a hidden passageway. They found nothing.

  “Damn,” Giorgio exclaimed again.

  “Well, what did you expect − big arrows pointing to a sign that said ‘Secret Passage Here?’ I think you’ve starred in too many mystery plays.”

  Giorgio ignored him and started to roll up the plans when Rocky stopped him. He pointed to the lower right corner. “Applebaum is a fairly common name in this area isn’t it?”

  Giorgio looked up. “What?”

  “The name of the architect. Joseph Applebaum.” Rocky was pointing to where the architect’s name was printed in block letters at the bottom. “Maybe his relatives still live here.”

  Giorgio’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re right. Maybe I can track down a direct descendent.”

  “It’s a long shot,” Rocky warned.

  “Right now, anything seems like a long shot.” Giorgio rolled the oversized papers back up. “Listen, thanks for your help.”

  “I’ll type up my notes and get them over to you tomorrow,” Rocky offered. “Let me know if you find anything. I’m going home to catch a nap.”

  They said goodbye, and Giorgio climbed into the sedan with Grosvner on the seat beside him. He always carried a current phone book in his car and found it under the seat. He looked up Applebaum and was dismayed to find six names, all living in Sierra Madre or Pasadena. He got out his cell phone and began making calls. After the first three, he hit pay dirt. The woman who answered was Joseph Applebaum’s daughter and said she would see him the next day.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Giorgio spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through 3 X 5 cards, studying the file on Mallery Olsen, and following-up on leads. Olsen’s boyfriend had been found and claimed he’d only heard about the murder that day. He and some friends had just returned from a long weekend on Catalina Island, giving him an airtight alibi.

  Giorgio checked in with the coroner to clarify a few details and called Angie to tell her he’d be home around six o’clock. At six-fifteen however, he was immersed in drawing a fishbone diagram, matching individuals with facts about the case. As he rifled through papers on his desk, he found a phone message tucked between two sheets of paper. Apparently Father O’Leary had called earlier that afternoon. Giorgio reached for the phone, but felt a twinge of panic when he realized he was already late for dinner. The good Father would have to wait until morning.

  He arrived home just as Angie was finishing the dishes. She was dressed in gray slacks and a lavender cashmere sweater, renewing Giorgio’s hope that perhaps her mood had changed.

  “You’re late,” she snapped, barely turning from the sink. “I already put dinner away.”

  He stopped as the temperature in the room plummeted.

  “I’ll just make a sandwich then.”

  He reached for the refrigerator door, grabbed a carton of milk and a package of ham, and went to the counter where he made a dry sandwich. Angie wiped down the sink as he wasn’t even in the room.

  “Where are the kids?” he finally asked, pouring himself a glass of milk.

  “Doing homework.”

  She placed a last cup into the dishwasher, poured in the liquid soap and shut the door. The motor roared into action while she wiped her hands on a towel. Giorgio waited, wondering what word or gesture would finally melt her cold demeanor. A honk startled him, and he got up to look out the kitchen window. A Honda Accord sat at the curb with its headlights on and motor running. Angie didn’t seem surprised and turned to him, hands on her hips.

  “You should probably check on the children. I’ll be home by nine-thirty.”

  “What?” But she was already in the front entry. He followed, sandwich in hand. “Angie, I have to go back to work.”

  “It’ll have to wait, unless you can get Rocky to come over and baby-sit. I have a class that starts at seven.” With that, she settled her coat around her shoulders, grabbed her purse and started for the door.

  “What do you mean, you have a class?”

  “I signed up for it today.” She stepped outside, heading for the waiting car. He stood in the doorframe, staring dumbly after her.

  “What class?” he repeated to her retreating back. “Angie!” he yelled. “I have to go back to work!”

  “Then hire a nanny,” she snarled as she got into the car.

  The car pulled away from the curb leaving the head of the household trying to make sense of the last few minutes. He returned to the kitchen and dropped his sandwich onto the table before grabbing the phone to call Rocky in the hopes he really could come over and watch the kids. When no one answered, Giorgio slammed down the receiver feeling betrayed by yet a second member of his own family. When he reached for the sandwich again, it was gone.

  His mouth dropped open in surprise, until he turned in Grosvner’s direction. The dog couldn’t help swiping his long tongue from one side of his muzzle to the other. That, and the few crumbs on the floor next to the web-sized feet, told the whole story.

  “You ate the whole thing didn’t you?” Giorgio blurted. “No, you didn’t eat it! You inhaled it! I mean, why eat a sandwich when you can inhale it whole?” He paced in front of the table, venting his frustration. “Why have a conversation with your husband when you can run off to a class and avoid confrontation?”

  Grosvner cowered, his snout nearly touching the floor. Giorgio stopped, feeling ashamed. He took a deep breath, patted Grosvner on the head and went to the living room where he plopped into his favorite chair. Grosvner came and sat next to him, his droopy eyes imploring Giorgio for some attention. Giorgio leaned over and rubbed him around the neck.

  “Why is
Angie so mad at me?”

  Grosvner gave the back of his hand a good lick, as if apologizing for eating the sandwich.

  “She can’t be mad about you. Jeez, look at that face,” he said, reaching out and cupping Grosvner’s chin in his hand. “How could anybody resist that face?”

  Grosvner threw his head back and wiggled happily as if he knew how cute he could be. A noise like the infantry landing at Normandy Beach announced the arrival of Tony and Marie.

  “Where did mom go?”

  Tony reached the dog first and was already throwing his arms around him. Grosvner reacted as if he’d just been released from jail.

  “She had a class,” Giorgio replied tight lipped.

  “I think she’s mad at you.” Marie had come to sit in her father’s lap.

  He settled her against his chest, smelling something fruity as she leaned against him.

  “Yeah,” Tony agreed. “I heard her talking to Marianne’s mom. She said you could just stay home and baby-sit tonight.”

  Tony had draped himself over Grosvner’s back. The dog rolled over so that his feet stuck straight up in the air, his genitals flopping out in the open. Marie turned her face away in a sneer.

  “What’d you do, dad?” Marie had the same look of reproach he often saw on Angie’s face.

  Just then, Tony burst out laughing as he wrestled with the dog.

  “Don’t you kids have homework?” he said, hoping to avoid any further reference to the disintegrating relationship with his wife.

  “You know you could just call Mrs. Greenspan to come over, Dad.”

  Giorgio looked at Marie for a moment as if she might be teasing him.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Mrs. Greenspan loves to snoop through mom’s cupboards. I bet she could be here in ten minutes.”

  “I do have work to do.”

  Tony scratched Grosvner’s stomach causing his leg to kick as if he was trying to kick start a motorbike. The dog whined in ecstasy.

  “Dad, it’ll be fine.” Marie seemed so grown up. “Mrs. Greenspan has come over before. She smells like garlic and onions all the time, but we’ll be okay.”