I knew I’d be doing some outdoor shots so I changed into flannel-lined jeans, a warm, cuddly, pink cashmere turtleneck, and thigh-high boots and topped it off with a white quilted jacket and pink and white knit hat. I packed my index cards, notebook. and the copy of Hickory Dickory Dock as well as the program from the play along with keys, wallet, and phone into my big handbag. There’d undoubtedly be time between assignments to do some note taking and maybe even some deep thinking—some hooking things together so that they make sense.
I stopped off at Aunt Ibby’s kitchen on my way out. O’Ryan had already beat me to it and was busy emptying his red bowl—and wearing a new red ribbon with bell attached. “Leaving for work,” I said. “I’m covering the boat parade so I’ll be home late.”
“Maybe you’ll see me motoring by,” she said. “I’ll be on one of the decorated boats. Rupert arranged it. Isn’t he sweet? A limo for the play and now a ride on a yacht! He’s being very attentive lately.”
Maybe Francine is right. Rupert is jealous of Nigel! That’s so cute.
“You’re worth it,” I assured her. “He’s very fond of you. Do you know the name of the yacht you’ll be on? I’ll be sure Francine gets a good shot of it.”
“I don’t,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ll be filming from the seawall behind the station. Wave to me when you go by!”
“I will. You look lovely in pink.”
“Thanks. I don’t know why they say redheads shouldn’t wear it. See you later, by land or by sea.” O’Ryan escorted me to the doorway and sat on the back steps watching as I backed out of the garage. I waved to him as I moved onto Oliver Street, but by then he’d turned his attention to the Winter Street side of the yard.
Is he still watching—waiting—for what?
I’d just parked and started walking across the WICH-TV lot when the mobile unit with Francine at the wheel pulled up in front of the building. She rolled down her window as I approached. “Just warming up the van,” she said. “Rhonda already has a couple of assignments for us. You pick ’em up from her. I’ll wait right here.” I gave her a quick salute and hurried up the steps to the lower lobby, crossed the black and white tile floor, and pushed the Up button for the elevator.
I was pleased that Rhonda had something for us to do. Maybe it would be something newsworthy. Decorations and puppies and chocolates and dancing cops are fine, I told myself as the aged elevator clanked its way upward, but I’d always thought field reporters got to cover more hard news.
I’d covered a murder and a near suicide along with the candy dipping and the Santa parade! How much excitement did I expect in this job anyway?
I heard Aunt Ibby’s voice in my head as I stepped off the elevator onto turquoise carpet. “ Be careful what you wish for,” she often said. “You might get it.”
Rhonda greeted me with the usual neatly typed assignment sheet. “Got a couple of places for you guys to hit this morning, and you already have the info on the boat parade tonight, right?”
“I think so.” I studied the sheet. “What’s up at the hotel?“
“The manager there has released some new videos that he says were taken the morning that Mr. E. died. The detective in charge is going to share the tapes and then walk the press through the exact path that they think the suspect took. They’re going to announce a reward for information too.”
“Sounds encouraging. Maybe they’ll get an ID from someone this time.” I flipped over to the second sheet. “Back to the Community Center? What’s up with that?”
“Mrs. Jeffry asked for you especially. Sounds like a run-of-the-mill promo for the Christmas Belles.”
“That’ll be fun. I’m sure she has everything perfectly organized for the concert. She’s wicked efficient—and nice at the same time.”
“Mr. E.’s secretary, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. She was pretty broken up when we found that he was dead,” I said, remembering how she’d felt for his pulse. “Poor woman thought he’d been working on his books ever since she’d arrived for work that day. And he’d been dead the whole time.”
“Bummer,” Rhonda said. “She’s a strong woman though. Already been on the horn with Doan trying to get him to do a big Christmas telethon fund-raiser to get money for the Historical Charities—especially the woman’s shelter, toys for kids, and all that.”
“Good causes,” I said. “I wonder if he’ll do it.”
“I’ll be surprised if he does,” she said. “Doan doesn’t like to give away free air time. Well, back to the scene of the crime for you and Francine. They plan to show the videos at ten and I guess the stroll down the perp’s path will be right after. Shoot the material right back to us. Therese will edit and we’ll try for the eleven o’clock breaking news spot. Better get going.”
“You’ve got us down for the boat parade for sure, right?”
“Sure do. The Doans got invited to go on some big yacht, but Buffy gets seasick so they turned it down.”
“My aunt was invited to be aboard a yacht too. She’s excited. We’ll get this stuff right back to you, then we’ll go straight on down to the Community Center.”
“Have fun.” Rhonda gave a little pinky wave and turned her attention to the TV monitor above her desk. (It was tuned to a rival station which meant that Mr. Doan was not on the premises.)
I hurried down the stairs because that way is actually faster than the elevator, then out the front door to the waiting van. I waved to Nick who stood with his camo kettle a little way down the street. He saw me and waved back. Fastening my seat belt, I read aloud to Francine from the assignment sheet. “Go to the hotel and wait there for Detective Sergeant Rouse. She’ll give a brief statement, then we’ll run some new time stamped videos from private surveillance cameras that Salem PD has already sent over. You will then follow Rouse’s directions and proceed to record details of the path the person in the new video took. We are hoping this will encourage anyone who may have seen the person in that vicinity to come forward.”
“New videos, huh? Sound to you like they’re getting close to making an arrest?”
“Not really,” I admitted “But maybe they’re at least getting closer to finding out who the video guy is.”
“Hope they figure it out soon. Having a murderer on the loose is bad for the whole city.” She parked the van on the hotel’s overflow lot and we carried the equipment we’d need to the lobby of the hotel where we were directed to one of the private conference rooms. Joyce Rouse was already there standing beside a TV monitor. I recognized one reporter from the Salem News, and the newswoman from WESX-Radio.
“Looks like this one is for local media only,” I whispered.
“Sure,” Francine answered. “Can’t have every Tom, Dick, and Harry tramping all over everything.”
“Thanks for coming, everybody.” Joyce didn’t use a mic. “This is kind of informal, I know. Please don’t begin filming until we go outside. We’ve already sent the new video to your respective media. We’ve sent stills to the paper as well. I’m going to run the new video for you. These clips came from several home security devices. Quality varies, but some are quite good. We still don’t have a good shot at facial features. His hat is pulled low and a scarf covers the lower half of his face. I can slow it down or pause it if you want.” She turned on the set. “I’ll answer your questions when we walk along the path that these new videos seem to indicate our person of interest took that morning.” She pressed a remote control and the screen came to life.
The man approached a row of store fronts from the far left of the screen. I recognized an antique shop on the opposite side of the hotel. “We’re parked close to there,” Francine whispered.
I moved closer to the screen. “Now this is creepy,” and it was. The figure grew more distinct as it approached the center. The large suitcase was plainly visible in his left hand, and in this sequence, unlike the earlier ones we’d seen, the hand motion Vinnie had described was obvious. Th
e man extended his right arm, and lifted his hand, palm up, moving it toward himself as though he was signaling someone else to join him.
“Maybe we’re looking for more than one person,” the News reporter said to no one in particular.
The screen went black for a few seconds, then we viewed the man walking more slowly along the sidewalk across from the tree lot. His hand motions appeared more urgent. “Oh yeah,” the WESX reporter said. “For sure he has a partner.”
“If he even has anything to do with the murder,” Francine chimed in. “What if he’s just some innocent guy looking for his car?”
No one replied.
There was one more segment showing the man from the back, walking briskly along the boulevard. It was daylight. He no longer carried the suitcase and he seemed to be retracing his steps back toward the hotel parking lot. His clothing was different. He wore light-colored pants and a dark raincoat that looked too big for him. He still wore the same baseball cap pulled low and his collar was turned up so we still couldn’t make out his face.
CHAPTER 35
“Well, that was interesting,” the News reporter said, “but maybe Francine is right. What if he’s just some guy trying to get his girlfriend to catch up with him?”
“She’s probably carrying the rest of the luggage,” the WESX woman suggested. “The heavy stuff.”
“Right,” Francine agreed. “Isn’t that just like a man! Maybe the police are wasting time on this jerk while the real killer is long gone.”
At this point I thought Joyce was probably wondering why she’d even planned this effort to identify the one actual person of interest they had. “It might be useful though to figure out who he is before we worry about his imaginary girlfriend struggling along with a steamer trunk on her back,” I said, laughing. “Even if he isn’t a killer, we know he was somewhere in the vicinity of a killing. I’ll bet he knows something the police can use.”
“You’re probably right,” Francine agreed. “I like my version better, but still—you’re probably right.”
“All right then,” Joyce said. “We’ll start from the point where he was first recorded, in the hotel’s overflow lot. Then we’ll cross Essex Street onto the boulevard and pick him up just north of the antique store. Pass the statue of Hawthorne and pick him up again across from the Christmas tree lot. We see him once more heading in the direction of Derby Street. Then we see him retracing his steps—without his suitcase—and lose him again just before he gets to the hotel. Notice that we pick him up once more on his way back toward the hotel than we did in the first videos.” She opened the door and motioned for us to follow. “Please take photos, stills, and video. Make notes. Stay alert to every possibility. At the same time, try not to draw attention to yourselves. This is a little unorthodox I know. It’s kind of a brainstorming session. We’ll appreciate every bit of help we can get. Sometimes a pair of fresh eyes, especially reporters’ and photographers’ eyes, may pick up something we’ve missed.”
So, off we went on a brainstorming adventure. Certainly unorthodox, as Joyce had pointed out, but maybe by using reporters’ and photographers’ eyes, so accustomed to looking for detail, something useful might develop.
We followed the detective and found ourselves walking along behind her single file like kids on a field trip—or, as Francine pointed out—like ducklings. We were last in line. The newswoman from the radio station videoed the walk and recorded her spoken observations. The representative from the newspaper photographed virtually every step. It looked to me as though he’d focused on everything from cracks in the sidewalk to the facade of each building we passed.
Francine used her shoulder-mounted camera and I used a handheld mic, and we transmitted directly to Marty at the station for editing later.
“This is Lee Barrett reporting from the eastern end of downtown Salem. You’ve seen the latest videos showing a person of interest in the murder of Albert Eldridge. This footage was obtained from several surveillance cameras positioned along the route this person walked during the minutes following the time of Mr. Eldridge’s death. The newer footage from later the same day shows what appears to be the same person returning to the vicinity of the hotel.” I paused while Francine panned the camera in a full 360 so that the viewers would know exactly where we were. “Salem police are hoping that someone will recognize the person in the pictures you’ve seen. We’ll be showing them frequently here on WICH-TV. This person is not considered a suspect at this time, but a person of interest—someone who may have knowledge of what happened at the Historical Charities of Salem on the morning of December first.”
I’d become so accustomed to the music coming from the tree lot, that I barely noticed it until we approached the source. “We Three Kings of Orient Are” blared from speakers across the boulevard from where we maintained our slow pace. “You can hear Christmas carols in the background, ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “Such peaceful music, accompanying the search for a cold-blooded killer during this holy season seems so incongruous, doesn’t it?”
I noticed that Francine had turned her camera toward a low brick wall surrounding a house with a tree-filled yard, set well back from the street. She signaled for me to mute the mic. “Look at this,” she whispered. “This isn’t far from the spot where they lost him. This yard cuts through all the way to Union Street. I know because I lived in this neighborhood when I was a kid. We used to cut through here all the time. Shortcut.” She smiled. “The trees weren’t here then and the people who lived there finally put up a ‘no trespassing sign.’ It’s gone now. Maybe the jerk—I mean the suspect—hopped this fence and came out on the next street.”
“I get it,” I said. “Maybe they haven’t checked for cameras over there.” We hurried to catch up with the group, who’d already reached the corner of Derby Street.
At the head of the line, the detective held up her hand. “If we turn around here and head back the way we came, we’ll be taking the approximate route of the person’s daylight return in the direction of the hotel, this time without his suitcase. He was observed by one new camera along the way but not at all in the parking lot where we first saw him. Viewing that footage, you’ll note that he’s not wearing a scarf, still wearing a baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes. His collar is turned up, still effectively masking most of his face.”
Again, we followed single file, not quite so slowly this time. I didn’t include Francine’s observation about the shortcut in my narration. I wanted to run the idea by Detective Rouse though, for sure.
The five of us gathered once again in the hotel’s conference room. No recorders, no cameras. Joyce faced us from the front of the room. “I’m going to ask each of you to write down your impressions during this—should I call it an ‘experiment?’—before you share anything but the bare facts with your readers and viewers. If you noticed anything, however small, you feel might be useful to the investigation, I’d appreciate it if you’d share it with me privately, in person, or by e-mail or phone. Thank you all for coming.”
I poked Francine’s arm. “You’ve got to tell her about that house with the trees in the yard.”
“It’s probably nothing,” she said. “I mean the property might not even go clear through to the next street anymore.”
“If you don’t I’ll have to,” I insisted. “And it’s your catch. You should get the credit for it.”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s a reward, remember? For information leading to the arrest?” I gave her a push in Joyce’s direction.
“All right, all right. I’m going. Come with me?”
I followed close behind as she approached the detective. “This might not be important,” Francine began. “I mean it was a long time ago, when I was a kid.”
She had Joyce’s attention. “You recognize the man from somewhere, Francine?”
“Oh, no. Not the man. The yard. The trees weren’t there though”
Joyce threw me a helpless look. “Trees?
”
“I think Francine noticed something on the man’s route.” I explained. “There’s a house we passed about a block after where we lost sight of him.”
Joyce nodded. “We checked every house and business on that side of the street for surveillance cameras.”
“It’s a house set back from the street. Lots of trees.”
“Oh yes. I remember it. They don’t have any cameras at all.”
“You probably can’t tell because of the trees, but that property goes all the way through to Union Street,” Francine said. “At least it used to. What if the guy ducked through there and out the other side?”
Joyce pulled a phone from her utility belt. “Thank you, Francine. That might be helpful. If you think of anything else, anything at all, please contact me right away.” She lowered her voice and turning away from us, spoke into her phone.
We gathered up our gear and headed for the mobile van. “You think my tip about cutting through that old yard could be important?” Francine asked.
“If I was a detective, I’d sure be in a hurry to check it out,” I told her. “Looked to me as though she phoned it right in.”
“I hope it helps them find that creep. I can’t forget about how Mr. E. looked when—you know.” She unlocked the van. “Well, on to the next place on the sheet. The Community Center.”
“Right. Rhonda said it’s something about promoting the Christmas Belles concert.”
“That’s worth promoting.” Francine wheeled the van through the entrance of the center’s gated parking lot. “Everybody loves the Belles.”
“That’s for sure,” I agreed. “Hey! Look at that.” I pointed to a sleek black Lexus moving toward the exit gate.
“Yeah,” she said. “Nice car.”
“No, I mean I know who that is. Richard McNally. What’s he doing here?”
CHAPTER 36
Lillian Jeffry waved to us from the glass cubicle where I’d met with her earlier, then stepped out into the corridor to meet us. “Lee, Francine! You girls are right on time. You know I like to do things in a timely manner.”
Bells, Spells, and Murders Page 21