Requiem for Innocence

by BV Lawson

  “For you, no I wouldn’t. But I’m not sure this is a good time. Winthrop, for instance—“

  “Is going to be gone most of the afternoon.”

  It wasn’t often playing the piano made him feel like he was engaging in an affair. The way she leaned forward in the curve of the piano, looking at him with an emotional hunger, was as raw as any physical desire. Had he misinterpreted Vesta Mae’s invitation? Darcie had invited him to her house months ago under a similar pretext; only her ulterior motives were most definitely physical.

  Wanting something short and peppy to shake her out of her mood, he thought Chopin was the ticket. But his arm was hurting, and he didn’t have any warm water to soak his right arm in first. So he chose Chopin’s first etude from Op. 25, arranged by Godowsky for the left hand.

  Vesta Mae was half-smiling when he finished. She came over to him and put out a hand as if to lay it on his shoulder, then moved past him and sat on a chair near one of the windows.

  “I didn’t ask you here to have you perform for me.” She bit her lip at the choice of words. “I’m always the last to hear what’s going on in the world. I didn’t learn of Beth Sterling’s death until days after the fact.”

  “I was at the hospital when she died. With Reece Wable and the Harstons.”

  Vesta Mae closed her eyes for a moment. She was a woman whose emotions were so cut and sore they broke open at the slightest touch. Her voice trembled. “Her loss was a shock. Yet I’ve heard so little of what happened. I hoped you could fill in the details.”

  This is why she wanted him to come. To discuss Beth. “It was a car accident, a collision with a tree. Beth survived a few hours, but her injuries were too severe.”

  “I overheard my husband say you and the sheriff think her death wasn’t an accident. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

  Maybe not so much “can’t” imagine as “don’t want to.” Drayco watched Vesta Mae’s thumbs twiddling above her tightly laced hands, and said, “We’re investigating all options. Murder is a possibility.”

  “There’s so much evil in the world today. So much hatred and greed.”

  “There’s a lot of good, too.”

  “I want to believe that.” A small smile crept across her face. “Do you miss playing the piano for a living? You’re so good at it.”

  “Life is a maze. You have to wander down a lot of wrong paths before you find the right one.”

  “What if you never find the right path and are trapped inside the maze?”

  “Some people are more comfortable where they are and don’t need what’s outside.”

  The smile faded from her face. “And some people die trying.”

  For the first time, he thought he saw glimpses of the real Vesta Mae. Not depressed or hysterical or delicate. The sadness of her words was deep, real, and reflected in the fogged mirrors of her eyes. Was she referring to Beth or to herself? She didn’t seem suicidal, more like someone resigned to a rusted-gate reality, decay eating away at the shiny optimism of her early marriage.

  That made him think of Winthrop, and Drayco checked his watch. The man of the house said he was going to be gone all afternoon, but what if he had a change of plans? “I should be going. I don’t want to cause any trouble between you and your husband. Did I answer your questions?”

  She rose as he did and walked him to the door. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  He offered his hand, and she took it. She held onto him for several seconds, closing her eyes briefly again. When she opened them, her face had an expression like the Mona Lisa, with whatever demons she was fighting hidden behind a painted mask of rouge and riddles.

  44

  “Who was it that said all families are dysfunctional? Cole Harston’s would make a textbook example.” Sheriff Sailor pushed a cup of coffee across the desk toward Drayco. “Here, compliments of the house. Don’t tell the city council.”

  Drayco took the un-doctored java gratefully, knowing the sheriff wasn’t exaggerating by much—the council was threatening to cut funding for yet another deputy position. “So you’ve been in contact with Cole’s sister.”

  “Eileen Pankow. Lives in Alabama. Their parents were divorced and neither wanted the kids, but the mother got stuck with them. Both Cole and Eileen got out on their own as soon as the law would allow. Cole, who’s the older of the two, disapproved of Eileen’s marriage to her husband. Felt the guy was too wild due to his flirtations with drugs and youthful arrests for petty theft. Ironically, she says her husband is now a pillar of their community and a member of their chamber of commerce. While poor Cole died from his alcoholism.”

  “Hooray for the pillar. Did you tell her about Virginia?”

  “She’s sorry to hear it, but not ready to reestablish ties. Doesn’t have the slightest idea why someone would do such a thing.”

  “Anything else in Cole’s background other than he was an unloved child?”

  “She knew he worked for AB Chorengel Construction for years, but that’s it. I had Tyler call Chorengel. Cole did various jobs for them all over the place, none in D.C., though. Had a spotless work record. Guess he kept his drinking to after hours.”

  “Maida said Cole was away on one of those construction jobs when Virginia was born. Do you have a list of dates and places from Chorengel?”

  “They faxed a copy.”

  Drayco took the list and scanned the notations. Lots of areas in the mid-Atlantic, as one would expect. A few farther afield, all within three hundred miles. Drayco concentrated on the jobs twelve years ago. “Nothing in December to coincide with Virginia’s birthdate.”

  Sailor grabbed the paper and double-checked. “You’re right. Might be an oversight. I’ll give ’em a call.”

  “The sister emphasized Cole had a spotless work record. No mention of a spotless personal life. Makes me think the sister had dirt on her brother.”

  “She says he had a gambling problem, which he tried to hide from her and Lucy. And he blew a good chunk of the money he earned.”

  The sheriff grabbed his hat from the desk and tipped it in Drayco’s direction. “You can be a bulldog, can’t you? Well, it paid off. After you harassed the attorneys in town to check their records, I got a call from Hank Plumridge, Esquire. When you mentioned he should check Beth’s maiden name of Elizabeth Perlee, it jogged his memory. His recently deceased partner, Harper Underwood, joined him ten years ago, bringing his clients with him, which Plumridge inherited. One of his secretaries mistakenly filed Beth’s papers under her maiden name. And since Plumridge wasn’t the guy who drew up the Will, Beth’s death didn’t ring any bells.”

  From the grin on Sailor’s face, Drayco guessed that this discovery hadn’t been a waste of time. “Let me guess—she left everything to the sheriff’s department.”

  “Considering the sum involved, I can dream.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Seven bank accounts, each of which held a hundred grand at one time. She was drawing some off. That’s what that ledger we found in her office shows. With interest, she still had half a million total.”

  “That must have been one hell of a lottery win.”

  “Funny thing that. Still haven’t found any lottery that will claim her.”

  Drayco stared into his coffee cup, the grains of salt Sailor had sprinkled in for him swirling to the bottom like stars disappearing down a black hole. “That’s too bad. It’s a much happier scenario than what I suspect we’re going to find.”

  He settled in the chair and planted his feet in front of him, just missing the briefcase he’d set on the floor when he arrived. “Okay, now that I’m sitting down you can give me the other bit of news. Who were Beth’s beneficiaries?”

  “Not Arnold Sterling. No mention of him whatsoever. Nor the brother-in-law. Only two names, matter of fact. Each gets half unless the other dies, in which case the survivor gets everything. And the winners are—Barry Farland and Virginia Harston.”

  If Drayco
had stretched his imagination, he’d have predicted this. Beth didn’t have any children, and Barry and Virginia were the closest thing. She couldn’t trust Arnold with the money. Still, this didn’t look good for Barry.

  The sheriff said, “I had our department’s mechanic check both Sterling wrecks. Barry was right that the brake fluid was drained on each, and the throttle stuck due to a dislodged cruise control cable. But Barry’s an expert mechanic. It’d be easy work to do himself.”

  “Barry wasn’t shy volunteering the information. It’s not like he was trying to hide anything.”

  “Half a million dollars makes people do strange things. Might make an actor out of you.”

  Drayco had been wrong about people before, but Barry’s friendship toward Virginia was no act. “If neither Lucy nor Virginia knew of the Will, or even the brother-in-law, then how would Barry have found out? Why would Beth tell him and no one else? If Beth’s attorney was an ethical man, he wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone. We’ll need the names of the two witnesses.”

  “One is deceased. The other is a current Plumridge secretary who he swears is so tight-lipped she could keep a secret from the devil. That leaves two people who could have told Barry, Beth, and the second witness. Since both are dead, that leaves the question open.”

  “There is another alternative. If Beth or this second witness mentioned it to Freaky Farland.”

  “Or Barry already knew and told Freaky. A father and son team project.”

  “You make it sound like they were earning merit badges.”

  “Don’t think the scouts have one for murder yet. By the way, Freaky the hermit doesn’t have much in the way of alibis, either.”

  Drayco took several gulps of the coffee which was disgustingly lukewarm. He had to admit that Sailor had a point. Freaky’s behavior had been more bizarre lately. Grief over the loss of Beth might be the culprit. Or fear for his son if he thought he was involved. Then there was the potential guilty conscience of a murderer.

  The sheriff refilled Drayco’s coffee. “You’re going to need another shot after this next tidbit.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “There was another twist in Beth’s Will. If Barry and Virginia were no longer alive, then Beth’s estate would go to a children’s charity.”

  “Let me guess. The one Quintier allegedly embezzled from.”

  “Got it in one.”

  “That gives him a motive for killing Virginia. If he’s planning on more embezzling, that is.”

  “Yet no one’s tried to kill Barry. So that puts the motive monkey back on Barry’s shoulders.”

  Drayco drummed his fingers on the armrest. Sailor pointed it out, adding, “You should switch to decaf.”

  Drayco smiled. “It’s not caffeine. It’s Chopin.”

  “If you say so. How you can puzzle out mysteries while playing the piano as you say you do is beyond me.”

  Drayco pulled the deck of cards out of his pocket and cut them over and over with his right hand. Sailor watched him for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Speaking of puzzles, Drayco, I’ve told the deputies to keep an eye out for that diary of Beth’s. No joy so far.”

  Sailor took the stack of papers on his desk, opened a drawer, and dropped them in. “Okay, since we’ve gone over my little gems, tell me your big news—you said you had a break in the D.C. case. Spill.”

  “I came to Cape Unity wondering if my D.C. case and Virginia’s were connected. Maybe a part of me even hoped they were because that would tie everything up in one nice, pretty handcuffed bow.”

  “So they’re not?”

  “Not directly. But coming to Cape Unity did help me solve the other case. You had a hand in it, in a way. As did Darcie and Virginia.”

  Sailor crossed his arms over his chest as Drayco continued, “You and Darcie both mentioned eugenics. And Virginia told me the only thing she was afraid of was needles, which set the background wheels twirling in my brain.”

  “Needles and eugenics. Not seeing the connection.”

  “The four victims used the same social services agency. We’d checked that but didn’t find anything suspicious. However, the agency did arrange for all four victims to get flu shots at the same medical clinic. There wasn’t any hint of criminal behavior, and three different nurses administered those shots. So that line of investigation was dropped.”

  “You found a tie-in?”

  “A male nurse who worked there had the middle name of Galton, which is the same name as Francis Galton, the father of eugenics. Perhaps our nurse’s name was a tribute to his parents who wrote a pamphlet on the subject. The nurse’s car had a vanity license plate that spelled out D4MGENE, which happens to be identical to a user name in an online hate group devoted to eugenics. I tracked down that user to D.C. That’s when I called up the Metro Police for them to investigate further.”

  “From the Cheshire Cat grin on your face, they were successful?”

  “They brought the nurse in for questioning, knowing they’d have to dig deeper into the guy’s background, track his movements, get subpoenas for evidence. He cracked wide open on the spot. Confessed and gave details on all four murders only the killer would know. Confessed is the wrong word—bragged, as he was quite proud of himself. Get this—he’s never been to the Eastern Shore.”

  Sailor leaned back in his perpetually squeaking chair. “Sounds like Arnold Sterling’s case was a copycat, after all.”

  “You had that one nailed fairly on, Sheriff. I should have listened.”

  Sailor grinned. “Hope you learned your lesson. Youngsters never listen to their elders.”

  Drayco rose to stretch out his sore back. “Thanks for the government-issue coffee. Guess it’ll have to make up for the tax refund I didn’t get this year. You said earlier you had some video entertainment lined up. Does popcorn come with the coffee?”

  “You’ll have to ask Tyler since she’s the projectionist. Room 10B, down the hall and to your left. And keep your hands to yourself—we’re not running an adult entertainment business here.”

  His words were joking, but there was a bite behind them. “Deputy Tyler hardly needs a bodyguard, Sheriff. She can take care of herself.”

  “Physically, yes.”

  As Drayco headed down the hall, the sheriff’s words poked at him like a flat piano key. Drayco was having second thoughts about his tryst with Darcie. Had he taken advantage of her vulnerability in the face of her troubled marriage—even if it was soon to be a bad memory? If relationships were the songs of life, then his were elegies. Darcie’s entanglements weren’t much better. Maybe they did deserve each other.

  He’d called Brock with news of the nurse’s arrest. His father had a unique way of making compliments sound like offhand asides. The compliment got through, nonetheless, and made him smile as Drayco recalled it. His smile soon faded in light of the sheriff’s admonishment and the looming door plate for 10B. Just part of the job.

  Before entering, he parked on a bench next to a water fountain with an Out of Order sign on it and pulled out a faxed document from his briefcase. Detective Skiles sent along highlights of the transcript from the nurse’s confession with a promise to show Drayco the video when he returned to Washington.

  The nurse, Lukas Galton Bissell, answered questions at first in a rational, clinical tone. When the questioning turned to motive, he exploded in an expletive-laced tirade over “the fuckin’ crippleds” who centuries ago would be left out to die rather than put back together with modern medical hocus-pocus. A burden on the taxpayers. As to why he picked adult wheelchair patients instead of other disabled groups, he said simply, “They were easy targets.”

  In Bissell’s car, the police found a list of potential victims he was going to start on next. Detective Skiles had signed the bottom of the fax, “I don’t owe you a steak dinner, Drayco, I owe you a whole side of beef.”

  It was gratifying to close a case like Marcus Laessig’s murder. Maybe not gratifying—that sounded too s
ugar-coated. These things were part detective work, part lucky breaks.

  But it did mean he could leave Cape Unity at any time, return to his sauna of a townhouse, and wait for the inevitable new case to arrive on his doorstep. He tossed the fax into the briefcase, locked it, and continued his interrupted journey down the hall to 10B and the waiting Deputy Tyler.

  45

  Nelia pointed to an area on the computer screen in front of them where several people were dancing to music. “Keep watching,” she said.

  What the local band hired for the Wednesday on the Water festival lacked in talent, they made up for in volume. The cluster of enthusiastic dancers didn’t mind, jiggling to the beat as best they could, considering there was hardly an inch of space between them. That all changed when the explosive pops sounded, and wisps of smoke curled through the air, scattering the panicked partiers.

  Nelia fiddled with the software. “If you slow the speed down second by second, you still can’t make out who set off the firecrackers. By the time the dancers jumped out of the way, all that was left was debris. Listen closely.”

  She cranked up the volume and scrubbed the image back and forth so that the audio cycled backward and forward. “Sure sounds like someone is saying ‘he’s got a gun’ to me. The two hard G’s are the same. The voice isn’t familiar.”

  “I can tell by the distorted shapes, it’s a man attempting a bad Spanish accent.”

  “Huh? Distorted shapes? How can you tell an accent from movement blur in a video?”

  “Not the video. Audio. Different accents have different-shaped shells that the voices fit within. When someone attempts an accent badly, that shell shape is distorted. And that distortion stands out to me like a plaid tie on a tuxedo.”

  Tyler’s jaw went slack. “Synesthesia must be a strange world to live in.”

  Drayco said, “It has its uses. Did one of the other deputies shoot this video?”

  “It’s a camcorder operated by the ten-year-old son of one of our deputies. Hence the POV.”

  Drayco grinned. “I was wondering why it looked like midriff-cam.”