Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Wilcox was easier on me than usual, even gentle. “He could have gotten to you, Britt.”

  I stared into the distance, my eyes empty black holes. “He expected me to find this.”

  “You’re lucky he wasn’t ready to stop toying with you.” He pointed to a deputy waiting in the driveway. “He’ll take you to get your car, wherever you stashed it. Then he’ll follow you to the hospital. Do not go anywhere by yourself.”

  Depleted, I said, “Whatever you say.”

  He hesitated. “We won’t stop until we find this guy.”

  It was nearly light when Erik’s car turned into the driveway. He’d stay with Thor. The big Swede would scare anyone away. He had the temperament of a puppy but whoever was out there wouldn’t know that.

  Wilcox’s tires threw gravel when he left. The deputy walked over to me. “We should go.”

  “Give me a minute.” I tracked down Thor at the back of the cabin. “Has any evidence shown up this time?”

  She frowned. “I found Marlboro cigarette butts outside Little’s when I was collecting evidence on the window graffiti and those heads. They belonged to that woman from the writers’ group. She smokes out there before she goes in to meet the group, but others do too.” She pointed to the woods. “I found her brand of cigarette butts in those trees. Wilcox will want to check her out.”

  My brain buzzed with that information. I said a quick goodbye and got into the deputy’s car. He looked like a teenager. I didn’t ask his name. “My SUV’s near Olafson’s.

  When he pulled up next to my car, I said, “I’ll follow you.”

  The deputy didn’t argue. I stayed with him through town keeping as far behind as possible without causing suspicion, then made a quick left and shot down the shortcut to Winter’s Resort. Patty was just opening the office as I pulled up next to her. “Hi Patty, what cabin is Anke staying in?”

  Patty’s expression told me I’d better tone it down. I lowered my voice. “I just wanted to ask her a quick question.”

  “Anke’s in Birch.” She pointed to a cabin but I was already moving. Patty called out, “She’s probably not awake yet.”

  I banged on the door until the woman opened it. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me, the first actual expression I’d seen on her face.

  Now that we were standing together, I realized she was taller and bigger than me. I said, “You smoke Marlboros in front of Little’s, right?”

  She pushed the hair back from her face. “I have the right to smoke outside the restaurant.”

  I stuck my face inches from hers. “But not outside my cabin. What were you doing there?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to see where you live.”

  Wary, I stepped back. “Because?”

  “I like your photography. I learned from the Internet you have won Pulitzers.” Still unruffled, she said, “I take photos too.”

  The woman was a fan of my work? I wasn’t buying it, not with everything that had been happening. I snarled. “Did you take my dogs?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Why would I want your dogs?” She tilted her chin toward the camera hanging from my neck. “Is that your favorite kind of camera?”

  The quick change of subject momentarily derailed me. Tires braked on gravel and Anke and I both turned as the deputy’s car pulled up next to mine.

  I backed down the steps with a parting shot to Anke. “Stay away from my cabin.”

  Before getting into my SUV, I leaned into the deputy’s window. “Would you consider not telling Wilcox about this?”

  His ears were pink and I doubted it was reflection from the rising sun. “What do you think? This time I’ll follow you.”

  On the drive to Branson I was too numb and sad to think clearly about Anke. If she was interested in my photography, why not ask me? Why the skulking around?

  I pulled into the hospital lot, squinting from the sun. Little would be awake and worried. The deputy behind me shot me a sour look and pulled away. Little hadn’t texted me last night. He’d probably fallen asleep in the chair next to Lars.

  But Little wasn’t with Lars. He sat in the waiting room staring unseeing at a magazine. I hurried to him. “Is he okay?”

  He spoke in a monotone. “The doctor’s with him now. They attempted to bring him out of the coma, but he’s not waking up.” His eyes squeezed shut. “I really thought I would get Lars back today.”

  “What did Fromm say?”

  “They need to give him more time.”

  “He’ll come out of it when he’s ready. You can’t lose faith now, Little.”

  He focused on me. “I know you didn’t go to Edgar’s. Where were you?”

  “Let’s go to the cafeteria and get breakfast and I’ll fill you in.”

  We ate our pancakes and syrup. Fork to mouth, chew, swallow. Sip of coffee. Repeat. When we’d finished, I told him about the wooden RIP headstone. He wouldn’t have been able to eat if I’d done it sooner.

  He took the news with less of an outburst than I expected, already too full of grief to consume any more. His voice sounded far away. “Rock is really gone?”

  My cell rang and I motioned to him. “I need to take the call.”

  I went over to stand by the window. Ben’s voice sounded weary as he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier. We’ve been tracking this guy all night, but he slipped away again. Is everything okay?”

  It was no easier to get the words out this morning.

  His voice rough, he said, “What kind of sick shit is this guy into?”

  “I’m so sorry, Ben. Gert left Rock for me to protect. He was my responsibility and my friend. Knute didn’t deserve to go like that either.”

  He said, “Don’t think like that. And be careful. I’m coming as soon as I can, but it might be a couple of days.”

  I nodded at the phone.

  His voice gentle, he said, “I need to talk to Wilcox. I’ll call you later.”

  Little and I stayed with Lars until Sarah returned midafternoon to take over. She tried to smile at us. “I’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

  We would come back for the night shift after a nap in Spirit Lake. Little would not allow Lars to be alone at the hospital. He believed Lars knew we were there, and I did too.

  We went to Spirit Lake but only stayed in the restaurant for a few minutes before heading to their apartment at the back. Chloe stopped us to ask if there had been any word on Rock and Knute. “Not yet,” I said.

  Little’s breathing changed almost the minute his head hit the pillow. I stretched out on the sofa, the SIG Sauer next to me under a cushion, and closed my eyes trying not to imagine what it would be like never to ruffle Rock’s fur again. No black and white blur keeping me company on my hikes. My eyes closed and with Little’s gentle snoring in the background, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  My phone rang. Disoriented, I checked the time, two p.m. Only two hours had passed. Wilcox barked into the phone. He wanted Little and me to meet him in thirty minutes at an attorney’s office in Cooper. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  “Just get here.” The line went dead.

  Chapter 17

  The Law Office of Martin A. Anderson, a converted cottage, was on a side street off the main drag near the First National Bank of Cooper. Little and I walked up the steps, shooting puzzled looks at each other.

  Wilcox met us at the door, led us to a small room and indicated two chairs. Wordless, he set his recorder on a table and sat down across from us. I would have said something sarcastic but he was already in a foul mood.

  He waggled a finger in our faces. “I don’t know what you two are playing at, but withholding information from an investigation will land your asses in jail.”

  I stood up, ready to tear into him.

  He pointed at the chair. “Sit down.”

  I did as ordered, not sure I wanted to tangle with him after all.

  Little cleared his throat. “We don’t know what you’re talk
ing about, Sheriff.”

  “If that’s the way you want to do this.” Wilcox turned on the recorder and reeled off the preliminary date, time, location and who was present info into it. Steely eyes trained on us, he said, “Tell me what your connection is to the person calling himself Charles Patterson.”

  Little and I talked at the same time, insisting we weren’t withholding anything. He grilled us on specific details about every comment we’d made to him about Charley, and when he was satisfied, he turned off the recorder and stood up. “Follow me.”

  We stepped back into the lobby. He tapped on an office door, opened it and ushered us in. A man in his early fifties with hair curling over his shirt collar came forward. “I’m Martin Anderson.”

  Wilcox said, “Marty is handling Rob Jenkins’ clients.”

  Switching from being hammered by Wilcox to talking about Rob threw me. I scratched my head.

  The attorney shook our hands. “Rob and I were good friends. He was getting ready to retire and we’d already arranged for me to take over his clients.”

  Little darted a dazed look at me, and I shrugged. Little said, “We’re so sorry about Rob’s death.”

  My confusion turned to impatience. “Why are we here, Mr. Anderson?”

  “Please, it’s Marty.” He indicated three chairs across from his desk. Little and I took two next to each other and Wilcox sat on the end, his cowboy hat in his lap.

  Marty faced us from across the desk and opened a packet of papers. After several minutes of lawyer-speak, he said something I understood.

  “Charles Patterson left his home, land and savings to both of you.” He pointed to a sheet of paper with numbers totaling close to a million dollars. “His plant business prospered over the years and he invested well.”

  We said, “Why us?”

  Marty clasped his hands on his desk. “Charley originally left all his worldly possessions to your grandfather, Rolf Johansson, and when Rolf died, Charley changed the will and named your father as beneficiary. When your father died eighteen years ago, Charley changed the will once again, naming you two as beneficiaries.”

  Our mouths hung open.

  Marty said, “Rob added notations that he’d spoken to Charley on the phone a few times over the years, but their last documented meeting was when Charley went to Rob’s office to change the will, with you two as beneficiaries.”

  Wilcox cleared his throat, his eyes boring into Little first, then me. “You have no idea why he would leave everything to your family?”

  I said, “We told you, he was our dad’s friend, kind of a loner. He didn’t join us for holiday dinners or anything.”

  Little said, “I made sure he had healthy meals in the winter. He was getting pretty old to be staying alone. I do that for a few old-timers.”

  Wondering why Wilcox wanted to hash over all this again, I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Our grandfather died from a stroke before I was born. Maybe they were friends and Charley got to know our dad through him. People leave their possessions to their pets, all kinds of strange things. Why do you think we’re lying, Sheriff?”

  Marty glanced at Wilcox and turned back to us. “Rob’s notes said additional information was contained in a safe deposit box at the First National Bank here in Cooper.”

  I jumped up, ready to race across the street to the bank when it hit me. I faced the sheriff. “You went to the bank and opened the box, didn’t you? What did you find?”

  Wilcox shook his head. “It was empty.”

  Marty lifted his hand. “If you’ll allow me to continue.”

  We returned our attention to the attorney.

  “As a courtesy, because I’d soon be taking over Rob’s clients, he digitized all his files and saved them on an external drive that I kept at my place. After Rob died, I went through the files to familiarize myself with the people who were now my clients.” He leaned back in his chair. “When I read Charles Patterson’s file this morning, I contacted the sheriff.”

  Wilcox pointed toward a pile of papers on the attorney’s desk. “Marty found the information about the safe deposit box. We got a warrant and had the bank open it earlier today.”

  My eyebrow shot up. “Sheriff, shouldn’t we have been included since it technically belongs to us now?”

  He snapped. “It’s a murder investigation.” He spoke to Little. “The bank checked their records. An old gentleman using Charley’s identification had a key and took whatever was in it.”

  Little asked, “When?”

  “Two days before Britt found Charley.”

  Marty scrolled through a file on his computer. “It’s probable Charley hadn’t been to the bank in years. He hadn’t checked the safe deposit box since he opened his account forty years ago. No one would know him there.”

  I stood at the window and watched two women cross the street, deep in conversation. “Sheriff, you’re saying Rob’s and Charley’s murders were connected? Was Charley killed for the key to the safe deposit box? Thor had told me she found evidence of torture.

  Wilcox joined me and we watched the street activity as if that’s where we’d find answers. He said, “That’s what we’re thinking. Then someone posed as Charley and took the contents.”

  Little grimaced. “That’s revolting. You’re saying Rob’s office was burned down and he was killed so no one could find the will and information about the safe deposit box.”

  I faced the sheriff. “How exactly did Rob die? You must have the forensics report by now.”

  “He was dead before the fire started. Someone bashed in his skull, most likely while Rob was still working that evening, left and came back to set the fire before dawn.”

  We all looked away from each other. Rob Jenkins was collateral damage.

  I stood up. “This has been a lot to digest. My brother and I have to talk.”

  Little checked his watch. “Right now, I need to get back to Lars.”

  Marty gave me the keys to Charley’s house, we signed papers and left. Little and I were too bewildered to talk about Charley and his will on the drive back to the hospital other than to agree that one of us should call our mother.

  Wilcox followed us to Branson and came into the hospital with us. I overheard him at the desk asking the nursing staff to report any unusual activity to Seth. They nodded and went on about their work.

  I overtook him as he walked toward the door. “Did you honestly think we murdered Charley so we could get his inheritance? He was past ninety. Why would we do it now? Why would anybody have done it now?”

  He slapped his hat against his thigh. “I didn’t think you murdered him but I had to find out for sure you weren’t keeping information from us.” He walked away, then turned back. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t enjoy being rough on you after last night, even after that stunt you pulled ditching my deputy.”

  “Have you talked to Anke? She said she’s interested in my photography but she’s never asked to meet me.”

  “We brought her in for questioning. I’m going over there now.” He left with another warning not to go anywhere alone.

  Little and Sarah were together in the waiting room when I came in. He said, “Sarah’s got to go back to Chicago for a while.”

  She tugged at her scarf, agitated. “I hate to leave but my boss wants me to attend a big client presentation. It’s my client.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to lose my job and Dr. Fromm said it’s impossible to tell how long Lars will be in the coma.”

  Little put his hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Sarah. Do what you have to do.”

  She tapped at a screen on her phone. “My plane leaves in an hour. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my connecting flight in Minneapolis.”

  I said, “I’ll take you to the airport.”

  Little hugged her and hurried to Lars. His entire life was in the hospital room down the hall from the waiting area. Talking to him about Charley’s will was not a priority for him.

  I parked outside the hotel while
Sarah ran in to get her suitcase and check out. At the tiny Branson airport, I said, “Don’t stress, Sarah. You’ll be the first to know if there are any changes.”

  “I’ll come back as soon as possible.” She kissed my cheek and hurried inside.

  Instead of returning to the hospital, I drove back to Spirit Lake. Guilt sat on my shoulders but I shrugged it off. When I’d said I wouldn’t go anywhere alone, I hadn’t had any place to go. Charley’s will changed that.

  ***

  The stake was gone from his garden but the mess of rotting flowers took me back to the morning I’d found him. I’d never again be able to be in the same room with a rhododendron.

  Before losing my nerve, I used the key Marty gave me and opened the front door. I touched the SIG Sauer in my pocket to reassure myself even though I hadn’t practiced with it in six months.

  The other time I’d been inside Charley’s home, I’d been looking for clues to his murderer—this time I’d look for his connection to our family.

  They’d had a crew in to clear out the debris. A round table and three chairs separated the kitchen from the living room. The hate message on the wall had been removed. A sofa and one upholstered brown recliner faced an old television. There were no pictures on the walls or end tables. Gardening catalogs were stacked on the floor. The smashed coffee table was gone.

  A double bed was centered against the west wall in one bedroom with a worn comforter and two pillows on it. One bedside table held a lamp, clock and nothing else. No family photos in this room either. Flannel shirts, jeans, one suit and a heavy coat with gloves tucked in the pockets hung in the closet. My hand trailed down a red and blue plaid scarf on a hook. On the floor were winter boots, gym shoes and one pair of dress shoes. No suitcase. I pulled out all the dresser drawers and ran my hands along the undersides to see if anything was hidden behind them. I riffled through a few handkerchiefs, socks, underwear and t-shirts that half-filled the drawers. Another time I’d bag the clothes and other items for the church rummage sale. The other bedroom was empty.

  The only mirror was in the bathroom. On the vanity, brush, comb and toiletries were lined up on a tidy tray. Charley lived a Spartan life. He’d been here forty years and it might as well have been a hotel for all the personal touches.