by Jack Grochot
“You know what they say about assume.” Kelly took the baseball from its stand again, but this time she dropped it into a desk drawer.
VII
Kelly and her dad stood in front of the large oak door at the Strong’s mansion. Kelly convinced the Chief of Detectives that another interview with the widow might prove helpful. If Mrs. Strong told the entire truth, perhaps she would remember something she missed during her period of grief, and, if she lied, perhaps she would slip up and contradict her earlier account.
“I’m surprised,” said Kelly as they waited, “that there were no security cameras here the day of the murder.”
“I told you Strong was old school…said his privacy was important and he didn’t want a bunch of cameras recording his every move.”
The door opened, and an older man in a white shirt and vest led them to a sitting room. Just as they were refusing an offer of something to drink, a beautiful lady with silver hair and immaculate make-up glided into the room.
“Mrs. Strong,” said Kelly’s dad, as he stood.
“Chief…ah…Locke, isn’t it?” she said with an easy smile. “Please be seated...and introduce me to your charming companion.” She took a seat across an ornate coffee table from them, straightening what Kelly recognized as a Vera Wang original.
“This is my daughter, Kelly. She’s a news person, and I thought she might provide some new insight into your husband’s death.”
“Poor David,” said Beth Strong, “in some ways his death seems so long ago and yet just yesterday.” She dropped her eyes momentarily. “I just don’t see what help I can be; I’ve told you all I know about that horrible day.”
“Mrs. Strong,” said Kelly. “I’m more interested in your husband’s company.” Since her earlier discussion with her dad, Kelly zeroed in on the murder weapon. Was it a weapon of opportunity, or did it hold some significance for the killer?
“Strong Industries was the brainchild of David and his best friend, Mason Mitchell. They grew up together, and even though David was of wealthy parents, while Mason’s family was of meager means, they were like brothers.”
“I don’t recall meeting a Mason Mitchell,” said Matt Locke.
“Oh, no,” Beth Strong said. “Poor Mason died years ago while on a business trip to Thailand.”
“So Mitchell helped found the company,” said Kelly.
“During those early years,” said Mrs. Strong, “some held that David was the money behind the venture while Mason was the brains.” The widow looked toward the ceiling-to-floor window across the room. “Mason’s death rocked us all.”
“Exactly when did he die?” asked Kelly.
“In 1975. Our company was barely three years old at the time.”
Matt Locke fingered the pages of a small notebook he pulled from his jacket pocket. “Didn’t you and Mr. Strong marry that same year?”
“I’ve always wondered if David and I ran to each other out of sorrow in the loss of such a dear friend.” Her eyes seemed to dampen a bit. “In any case, ours became a strong marriage that withstood the years.”
“Mother.” The trio looked toward the doorway to see a tall, muscular man, who Kelly thought could have stepped from the red carpet in Hollywood. “Howard told me we had guests.”
“Chief Locke, I believe you remember my son, Russell,” said Beth Strong. “Russell, let me introduce you to Chief Locke’s daughter, Kelly.”
The fortyish man nodded toward Matt. “Chief Locke.” As he walked behind his seated mother, Russell Strong looked directly at Kelly. “Ms. Locke, haven’t I seen you on one of our local television stations?”
“I do the six o’clock news for Channel 4.”
“Chief Locke and his daughter came out for some additional information concerning your father’s death,” said Beth Strong, glancing over her shoulder.
Russell Strong grimaced. “I’m not sure what else we can say. Chief Locke, have you made any headway?”
“I’m not at liberty to go into detail, but every day brings us a bit closer to a solution,” Matt lied.
“Mr. Strong,” Kelly interjected, “I guess you’re now running Strong Industries.”
“That’s what David always wanted,” Beth Strong said quickly.
“And what about your political career?” asked Kelly, remembering her earlier discussion with her dad.
Russell Strong seemed a little off balance. “How did you know—”
“We news people keep our ears to the ground,” said Kelly.
“Well,” said the younger Strong, “I have been putting out some feelers.” He looked down at his mother. “But as always the business comes first.”
Kelly thought she’d shake things up a bit. “Would Glenn Hall agree with that sentiment?”
Russell Strong’s face flushed ever so slightly.
“Chief Locke, have we given you the additional information you desire?” said Beth Strong, rising abruptly and turning toward the door.
Matt Locke looked at Kelly as they rose. “I guess we have what we need.”
As they walked toward their car, Kelly asked, “How old would you say Russell Strong is?”
“Don’t have to guess on that one; he’s thirty-eight.”
“Looks like 1975 was quite an important year for the Family Strong,” said Kelly, fitting a couple more pieces into the puzzle.
VIII
Matt Locke’s sedan pulled up in front of the Municipal Building downtown. “Hall’s office said he’d be in meetings till 11:00,” said Kelly’s dad, “so I thought we could catch him here.”
Kelly relished the chance to talk with Chopper Hall, but realized that she needed to get to the station to prepare for The Six O’Clock Report. After all, detective work was a sideline, and with her boss on the warpath, she wanted to assure her paycheck was not in danger.
As they exited the car, Kelly caught a glimpse of a short, shaved-headed figure coming down the steps of the columned building. She immediately thought of Michael Chicklis, one of her favorite television actors.
Matt Locke intercepted Hall before the suited figure could reach his limo. “Mr. Hall,” he said.
Glenn Hall waved off the huge driver, who was rounding the car in security mode. “Chief Locke, what can I do for the city’s finest today?”
“A couple of questions about the Strong murder,” said Kelly’s dad.
“I thought we were finished with all that,” said Hall. “Besides, I was not even in town when the tragedy occurred.”
“A man’s dead, and I intend to find his killer,” said Matt.
Hall noticed Kelly as she emerged from behind her dad. “And you are?”
“Kelly Locke,” said Kelly.
“My daughter,” said Matt.
“Look, Chief,” said Hall, “I have a full schedule today, so if you have a question, ask it…quickly.”
Kelly stepped in front of her dad. “Mr. Hall, we understand that you’ve been advising Russell Strong on a possible political career and that his father was not very pleased.”
“So?” said Hall.
“Didn’t you two have a little push-and-shove awhile back at the Dewey Ball?” asked Kelly.
“Nothing I haven’t done with any number of people with whom I had a difference of opinion. Look, Strong and I didn’t get along, but if anything, he had reason to kill me. Russell agreed to throw his hat in the ring for state senator. The last thing I wanted was for the old man to leave the business for his son to run. Now Russell’s getting cold feet and spouting his mantra, ‘The business comes first.’”
“Mr. Hall,” said Matt, “thanks for your time.”
As the driver opened the limo door, Hall turned to Matt Locke. “If I were you, I’d have a chat with Cotton Hazelwood. You know he and Strong wer
e struggling to get that government contract for drone production, and my Washington contacts tell me that one of them leaked some information that had the Senate ready to open an investigation.”
IX
Kelly shuffled through the papers on her desk as she tried to pull herself together for the newscast coming up in a little over an hour. She and her dad had been unsuccessful in their afternoon attempt to see Cotton Hazelwood, who was in London and wouldn’t return till the middle of the week.
On a hunch, she had placed a call to her brother, Myles, who was what some would call a “Washington Insider.” She hoped his behind-closed-door contacts could open some doors for her. Of course, she’d gotten the familiar leave-a-message response to her call, and knowing her brother, a response might never come.
She was skipping between thoughts of the Strong case and her own career and romantic dilemmas when her phone buzzed. “Kelly Locke,” she answered.
“Sis,” came the familiar voice. “Just got your message.”
“Myles, this sets the record for speed of response from you. Been playing any football lately?” asked Kelly, remembering a video she had seen of her brother enjoying the benefits of the high-tech advances she helped him acquire a few months earlier.
“Look, Sis, I realize I wasn’t exactly forthcoming with you about that technology and why I needed it, but be happy for me. I couldn’t walk unassisted before, and next month I’ll be running a marathon. I owe it all to my little sister.”
“Did you get a chance to look into my situation?”
“Didn’t have to. When it comes to things military, your big brother is always on the need-to-know A list.”
“So what about Strong and Hazelwood?” Kelly asked. “Did one of them leak damaging information on the other?”
“Whoever told you that had his wires crossed. In fact, Strong and Hazelwood were in the process of combining resources in order to fill the drone order from the military. All this is hush-hush, but those two needed each other. With Strong gone, the whole deal is in jeopardy.”
“So you don’t think Hazelwood had a motive to kill his old rival?”
“Far from it. Why do you think he’s in London as we speak? He’s hedging his bets, trying to form a coalition of smaller manufacturers to replace Strong Industries if the new Strong management backs out of the deal.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Myles, and I don’t think it’ll cost me anything this time.”
“You’ve grown so cynical, Sis. But seriously, I hope you and Dad can forgive me for my less-than-honest behavior.”
“Your help with this case is certainly a step in the right direction.”
As she clicked off her phone, Kelly thought, two down and one to go.
X
Kelly and her dad stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor of the downtown office tower. The night before, she made it through her newscast with Chuck Mann uneventfully, successfully avoided Bill Phillips, and sent a call from Paul to voice mail. Now, after her first good night’s sleep in days, her mind was clear, and she wanted to collect a few more pieces of the puzzle.
The duo stepped through the door marked Spasky Import-Export. The young receptionist looked up from her computer screen. “May I help you?”
“Chief Matthew Locke to see Mr. Spasky,” Kelly’s dad said in his most official voice.
The receptionist walked down a carpeted hall, then returned and ushered Kelly and her dad back to a large office adorned with what looked like original oil paintings and bronze sculptures.
“Chief Locke, we meet again,” said the hulking figure in a finely-tailored pinstripe suit. He held out a hand even larger than Matt’s. “Do I see a resemblance?” he continued, looking at Kelly.
“My daughter, Kelly.”
“I trust your visit has something to do with my old friend’s death.”
“Just a few more questions,” said Matt.
“Fire away,” he said, chuckling at his cleverness.
“Mr. Spasky,” said Kelly, “we understand that you and the late Mr. Strong were in conflict over the possible ownership of the Metros.”
“Chief Locke, has your lovely daughter decided to follow in your footsteps in law enforcement?”
Before Matt could speak, Kelly continued, “With Mr. Strong no longer in the picture, the field is open, so to speak, for you.”
“My dear, the field was open, as you put it, long before his untimely death. Records will reveal that my old friend bowed out of the competition well before he left this earth.”
“And why was that?” said Matt.
“Let’s just say the two of us had a long history, and he ended his pursuit of the team as a personal favor to me.”
“My read on Strong is that he wasn’t much into personal favors,” said Matt.
“It’s no secret that many years ago my old friend was instrumental in helping me immigrate from my native Russia and set up what has become a highly successful business. To harm such a benefactor would be a betrayal of all principle.”
“It seems as if your friendship with Mr. Strong was sort of unbalanced,” said Kelly. “He seemed to do the giving and you, the taking.”
Spasky sat down on the corner of his mammoth oak desk. “While I feel no real obligation to explain my friendship, I shall as one last thank-you to my old colleague. In the mid-70’s, 1975 to be exact, the newly-established Strong Industries sent a young executive named Mason Mitchell to Cambodia to negotiate a deal. At the time I was stationed there with the Soviet military. As you know, Cambodia was an extremely hostile place for Americans at the time, a place no individual with ties to the American war machine should have been. To make a rather lengthy story digestible, the executive, who was also the close friend of Mr. Strong, came into harm’s way. While I was ultimately unsuccessful in my attempt to protect him, Mr. Strong later rewarded my efforts with his, shall we call it, sponsorship.”
“So Mason Mitchell was killed in Cambodia?” said Kelly.
“Unfortunately,” said Spasky. “As I told Strong and his son shortly before his death, that arms deal he was working on with the Hazelwood group, like any venture of such magnitude, could have unintended consequences.”
As Kelly and her dad headed back to the ground floor, the puzzle was coming into sharper focus. Unintended consequences indeed, she thought. But she still had a few pieces to arrange.
XI
Matt Locke had been a bit hesitant to revisit the Strong mansion, but Kelly assured him that the trip would be worthwhile. Since the first time she had looked at the crime scene photos, something stuck in her mind: the books on the floor.
“Kelly,” said her dad, as Howard once again answered the door, “I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.”
“I just need to see Strong’s study.”
This time Beth Strong met them at the door. Again, she was dressed for the fashion runway in a floral gown with all the accessories. “Chief Locke, do I need to charge you rent?”
Kelly took the lead. “Mrs. Strong, we need to see your husband’s study.”
“Well, I guess there would be no harm. Come this way.”
The trio walked through several rooms straight out of Architectural Digest till they arrived at a large room lined with windows. “We haven’t been in here since that terrible day,” said Beth Strong.
Kelly walked immediately to a large bookcase between the door and the roll-top desk that dominated the far wall. “Dad, you said your theory on why Mr. Strong was found over here when he was struck at his desk was that he attempted to make it to the door to call for help.”
“That’s right.”
“When I saw the crime scene photos and noticed only a few books on the floor, I wondered if maybe he wasn’t headed for the door, but for the bookcase.”
“What in the world for?” said Beth Strong.
Kelly ran her fingers over the books. Three seemed out of place according to the simple historical arrangement.
“After the techs removed the body, they just stuck the books back in the case. I should have considered them possible evidence, but as you often say, Kelly, even Homer nods.”
One large book caught Kelly’s eye. The Works of John Dryden. As she pulled it from the shelf, she noticed a dark stain on the spine. Probably dried blood.
“What do you make of all this?” Matt asked.
“That semester in English Lit wasn’t a complete waste,” said Kelly. “Dryden gave us a very famous poem that has a particular relevance to this case.”
“And that would be?” questioned Matt.
“Absalom and Achitophel,” said Kelly. “It’s a narrative poem about the Biblical struggles between King David and his beloved son Absalom.”
Beth Strong steadied herself with the back of a leather wing chair.
Matt Locke looked at the now-pale widow. “Are you saying—”
“Mr. Strong left us a dying clue. In both the Biblical and Dryden’s accounts, David is indirectly responsible for his son’s death, but I think Mr. Strong’s intent was clear.”
Beth Strong collapsed into the chair, hands covering her face.
“What’s going on in here?” said Russell Strong, entering the room.
“Oh, Russell,” blurted out his mother, “they know.”
Russell Strong’s body stiffened. “Mother.”
Kelly held out the centuries-old volume. “I’d say your father told us, but that wouldn’t be exactly true, would it, Russell?”
“I’m not sure I’m following all this, Kelly,” said Matt.
Kelly looked at a sobbing Beth Strong. “Secrets can be deadly, and the longer they go untold, the worse the situation can become.”
Russell Strong bristled. “I think you two should leave. Clearly, you’re upsetting my mother.” He put his hands on Beth Strong’s shoulders.