“Yes. I promise.”
“They never proved for sure that it was murder,” he mused, almost to himself. “It was a wealthy couple from Arizona, visiting family in Michigan. Room 112. I can’t believe I still remember that.”
“Oh my God. What happened? There was a double murder at Mitten Inn?” Savanna tucked one leg underneath her on the park bench, hanging on every word.
King looked at her. “Not double. The husband. I wish I could recall the name, but I guess it doesn’t matter. The husband was found dead in their hotel room the morning they were supposed to check out. He drowned in the bathtub.”
Savanna shook her head. “What? How does that even happen? They thought someone, what, held him under until he died?”
“There were fresh bruises on his chest and arms. The authorities put the time of death between midnight and three in the morning, a few hours before his wife discovered him. There was a half-full bottle of gin on the bathroom floor.”
“Where was his wife while he was drowning in the bathtub?”
“That was part of the problem. She was gone for a good portion of that window of death. She had a valet ticket for a club in Grand Rapids; she didn’t get back to Mitten Inn that night until after two a.m. She said she entered the room and went straight to bed, not wanting to wake her husband.”
“Okay. Well…her husband is drunk, falls asleep in the bathtub, and drowns. It’s sad, but it doesn’t sound like murder.”
“Right, right. But then the wife finds all of their prescriptions missing, along with the cash they had in the room safe. All things they’d logged when they checked in.”
“Did they do a tox screen?” Savanna caught Landon King’s look. “My sister’s a lawyer, and I watch way too much Columbo.”
He laughed. “They did. Other than the alcohol, it was clear, and the blood alcohol level was pretty nominal. There was a room service delivery at twelve-thirty a.m., a half hour after the kitchen had closed. The concierge was gone for the night, and probably most of the kitchen staff by then. Mia’s son Remington delivered the food.”
“And that’s what led the authorities to believe Mia’s son was the killer?”
“He was the only one who had contact with the guest during the time of death window.”
“Besides the man’s wife, in the last hour of the time frame,” Savanna added.
“There is that,” King acknowledged. “But apparently the woman’s phone call that morning, and her condition when medical responders arrived, left no doubt that she was truly shocked to find her husband dead in the bathtub.”
“So Mia James got Remy’s father involved—Councilman Bellamy. Maybe she thought John would have some pull with the prosecutor or the sheriff’s department?”
“I’m sure that was Mia’s thought process. But it backfired. Bellamy did the opposite: he provided the investigation team with Remy’s juvenile records detailing a history of petty theft. I’m not sure if the councilman was also the one who tipped them off on the assault at knifepoint when Remy was living in Paris for culinary school, but once they got hold of that incident, things unraveled from there.”
“All right, slow down. Assault? At knifepoint? Remy has a record?”
“Officially? I’m not sure. But you can’t escape your past.”
Savanna shook her head. “Wow. So, Remy James was arrested, but it never went to trial. What happened?”
“Mia hired Jillian Black.”
Savanna looked at him blankly.
“Jillian Black of Black, Jones and Sydowski. The parent firm for your sister’s branch, Michigan’s largest legal firm. Jillian Black is a barracuda. She got the charges dropped and the case tossed out.”
Landon King was tough to read. Savanna studied his expression, unable to discern what he wasn’t saying, the thoughts between the lines. “What do you think? Do you think Remy did it?”
King sighed. “I’m still not sure. I know Mia James never for a moment believed her son was guilty. But isn’t that a mother’s job? To protect her son? I also know Bellamy seemed convinced Remy was bad news. Listen,” he stared at Savanna intently, frowning. “I can see how deeply involved in all of this you are. Don’t underestimate the gravity of the things you’re working to uncover. Be careful around Remy James.”
Even after Landon King had gone, Savanna remained on the park bench, her mind reeling. She watched Fonzie playing without really seeing him as she tried to imagine the events that unfolded at Mitten Inn four years ago. There were too many possibilities. She dug around in her purse, coming up with the sparkly pink notebook she kept her Art in the Park notes in. She flipped it open to the last page and began jotting notes, hoping to clear her thoughts.
Savanna spent the evening on her laptop, clicking through one hundred and seventy-six photos on the flash drive King had given her. She dragged a handful of photos to a separate folder on her screen, wanting to take a closer look at them. In one, in the doorway of the kitchen, Chef Joe was having an animated conversation with his sous chef Remy; in true Joe Fratelli fashion, his hands were caught mid-motion in the air as he made his point. In the background of another, Mayor Greenwood and John Bellamy stood not ten feet apart, each holding a drink and facing opposite directions despite no one else being in the frame.
There were far too many photos of people going in and out of the kitchen. She didn’t know why she’d thought that would be the missing piece in the puzzle. Had she expected to find a photo of the killer leaving the kitchen carrying the large chef’s knife? At various points in the evening, the waitstaff, Chef Joe, Remy James, Talia DeVries, Yvonne, Mayor Greenwood and his wife, Paul Stevens, John Bellamy, and Mia James had all entered or exited the kitchen, mostly in the backgrounds of the photographer’s photos. They seemed to be in order of the evening’s events, judging by the food and empty dishes on trays caught here and there. Savanna flipped between the series of photos, zooming in on the one of Mayor Greenwood too many times, and another with a profile view of Mia James walking away from the kitchen.
Wednesday morning, walking to the Carson Village police station, Savanna typed a short to-do list into her phone:
Pick up festival decorations.
Lunch with Mom.
Stop at Giuseppe’s and finalize catering order.
Visit Chef Joe.
She planned to ask Skylar if it’d be okay to go talk with him. He’d be able to tell them why so many people had been in and out of the kitchen the night of the banquet. She had a twinge as she remembered that even she had popped into the kitchen at the beginning of the night, and then she’d sent Sydney in briefly toward the end to ask for more tarts to be brought out. Maybe it wasn’t so odd.
“Savanna!”
She stopped on the sidewalk and turned to see her real estate agent climbing out of his car. Carson Community Homes was right across the street from the police station. “Hey, Mike! How are you?”
“I’m great! I was going to call you. I know you’ve hit pause for a bit, but I have the perfect house for you. No exaggeration. It just went on the market. Lake view, huge yard, nice Cape Cod style. A bit of a fixer-upper, but it has your name all over it.”
She laughed. “Okay. I believe you. I’ll make some time and get in touch! Try not to show anyone else, okay?”
He took his briefcase from the back seat. “No promises! Call me. It’s not going to last long.”
Savanna bounced into the police station, unable to keep the grin off her face. So far, the ones Mike had shown her were either not at all what she hoped to end up in, or perfect—and way out of her price range. She stopped short a few feet from the desk sergeant, taking a moment to add to her to-do list: Call Mike!
Skylar waved to her from down the hallway, and Savanna joined her outside Detective Jordan’s office.
“Syd isn’t with you?” She carried a Vernors this morning, making S
avanna smile; she’d been listening when Sydney had suggested it.
“Nope. She was still out last night when I went to bed, and gone already this morning. She’s probably teaching a crack-of-dawn yoga class. I’m sure she’ll be here.”
“It’s fine. Come on.” She gave two quick knocks on Detective Jordan’s door and opened it, holding it for Savanna.
When they were seated across from him, Savanna asked, “Detective, did you get the screenshot of that social media post showing the destroyed statue? I sent it yesterday.”
He nodded, tapping a few keys on his computer. “Got it. Alan James Stevens. Thanks for that. My partner is up there this morning having a talk with young Mr. Stevens and his father.”
“We met with Paul Stevens on Monday. He was hosting his wife’s birthday party the night the councilman was killed.”
Detective Jordan raised a single eyebrow at her. “That’s helpful. You know there’s a process for this, right?”
“I do know, yes. But Dr. Gallager and I took a drive. It’s so pretty up in Grand Pier, and then I thought since we were already there, why not stop at the bistro for dinner? We just happened to run into Mr. Stevens.”
“Mm-hmm. That was convenient. And he happened to mention his whereabouts the night in question.” The detective’s tone was dry.
“He did, actually.” Savanna smiled. “But while we were there, we, uh, learned that they’ve been having a little trouble with their son. Which is how I ended up finding that picture on social media. Well, Sydney found it.”
Skylar pulled a yellow legal pad and a sheaf of papers from her briefcase. “So, while the connection between the Jessamina incident and Paul Stevens’ kid is interesting, I don’t believe it’s relevant to Joe Fratelli’s case. But we do have some information that is.”
The detective pulled his own notepad over in front of him, looking at Skylar. “Good morning to you, Counselor.”
Skylar glanced up from her papers. “Morning, Jordan. How’s things?”
“Oh, you know. Murder, vandalism. The usual. All right, hit me. What do you have?”
She slid a micro-SD card in a tiny plastic case across the desk. “Traffic cam footage from the intersection cameras the night before Bellamy was killed. It shows a pretty heated argument between the councilman and Roger Greenwood. While you get that up and running, I’d like to hear about the findings from Savanna’s discovery in John’s home office.”
Detective Jordan met Skylar’s gaze. “I was waiting for evidence to finish up on that. I planned to email you.”
“Would you mind checking to see if the results are back? You can speak freely in front of my sister—she’s working for the firm as my research assistant on Joe Fratelli’s case.”
A hint of a smile played around Nick Jordan’s lips as he looked from Skylar to Savanna. “Of course.” He turned his attention to his computer, typing and browsing through websites that required him to enter and re-enter clearance passwords, all in a protected view.
Skylar sat back in her chair while they waited.
“We’ve got a hit from IAFIS on the prints pulled from the broken door of the safe. They match the fingerprints on the picture frame you noticed was crooked, the—what did you call it?” Detective Jordan glanced up at Savanna.
“Red Tree. The Piet Mondrian painting,” she said, thrilled they’d uncovered evidence as a result of her find. She sat forward. “What’s IAFIS? Does it tell you who the fingerprints belong to?”
“It’s a federal database, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It matches evidence collected at crime scenes to any possible existing data in the system.”
“So the person who broke into the safe, are they in the system?”
The detective nodded. “Yes. We still don’t have a definitive answer, though.” He looked at Skylar. “The findings raise more questions than they answer. The prints on the safe and the frame of the Mondrian painting are a match for Remington James.”
Savanna nearly jumped out of her seat. “Remy?” She stared wide-eyed at Skylar.
“Hold on.” Jordan looked from his screen to the two of them. “There were two sets of prints on and around that safe, not including Bellamy’s. One set is still unidentified. And listen. Remington James’ prints are nowhere to be found on the point of entry, the cellar door. They’re unknown, which means whoever broke into Bellamy’s house the night he was killed isn’t in the database.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Savanna.” Detective Jordan leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “How certain are you that the painting was moved after the night of the murder? Isn’t it possible you missed it that night? You fainted, didn’t you?”
Savanna recalled her impression from that night—nothing was out of place, which was the norm for him. She was positive she’d have noticed if the painting had already been crooked. And she’d noticed the state of his office well before she’d nearly fainted. “I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I’m certain the painting hadn’t been tampered with the night John was killed. Because when we went back, it jumped out at me. Like, I couldn’t not see it.”
“Maybe you saw it that Sunday night too, but you were too stressed to register it. Is that possible?”
“No.” She waffled. “I really don’t think so. I looked at the painting the night John was killed; I remember admiring how the frame coordinated so well with his desk.”
Skylar spoke. “Jordan, don’t the prints speak for themselves? What does it matter when the painting was tampered with? Perhaps the killer came back. You know that happens. A frazzled murderer, not getting to complete what he came there to do. People return to the scene of their crime all the time.”
Detective Jordan sat back and his chair creaked. “Sometimes. But if that’s what happened, why not retrieve whatever was in the safe after killing the councilman?”
Skylar shrugged. “Who knows. A neighbor stopped by? Savanna rang the bell? Someone startled him, and he took off prematurely.”
“It doesn’t explain the other set of prints on the frame and safe, or the unidentified set of prints on the cellar door. If Remington James is the killer, he had help.”
“Mia,” Savanna said.
Detective Jordan and Skylar both stared at her.
Savanna put a hand up. “I know it sounds crazy. But what if John’s ex-wife was with Remy? What if they went there that night, hoping to get something from John’s safe? Everyone knows their split wasn’t amicable, and John and Remy were estranged. Heck, John and Mia were estranged too. I’m sure after the Mitten Inn incident, there was no love lost between them. Mia and Remy went to John’s house, and things took a bad turn. Maybe they fled before getting what they came for. Then they came back later on to get something out of the safe.”
“All right,” Detective Jordan said. “So Remy does the stabbing. He’d have had the easiest access to Joe Fratelli’s knife. He’s wearing gloves, and he’s careful with his grip, making sure enough of Fratelli’s prints will still appear on the handle. Why frame Joe Fratelli? And what about the other set of prints that isn’t in the database?”
“And,” Skylar added, frowning now at Savanna, “who have you been getting information from about the Mitten Inn incident? Those records are sealed. Remy James was exonerated.”
Savanna ignored her sister for a moment. “Maybe Remy didn’t have a reason to frame Chef Joe, but he knew he’d be scrutinized, with the history between him and his father. He had to somehow get suspicion cast elsewhere; Chef Joe would’ve been the easiest target. He could get his knife, and he probably knew Chef Joe’s routine, no alibi that night. Could the unidentified fingerprints belong to John himself? Or Mia. I assume she probably isn’t in the system?”
Detective Jordan laced his fingers into a steeple under his chin. He had no quick response this time.
“Do you think it’s possible?
” Skylar sat forward.
“We’ve already done elimination prints on Bellamy. We know the prints aren’t his. But we’ll bring James in for questioning. Remy,” he clarified. “We’ve got no cause to look at Mia at this point.”
“Other than the fact she’d have motive, after how John treated Remy before,” Savanna offered.
“So she waited four years to exact her revenge?” Jordan cocked an eyebrow at her.
“No. I mean, not exactly,” Savanna said. Now she wasn’t sure about her theory. “But I think she’d do whatever she had to, to protect Remy. She did before.” Skylar cleared her throat, and Savanna deliberately avoided looking at her; she knew she’d have to answer her sister’s question at some point.
Detective Jordan hit a key on his computer and played the black-and-white footage from the SD card Skylar had given him. He watched in silence, and then clicked a few keys and replayed it twice more before letting the screen go black. “Well, this is something.”
“That’s what we thought,” Skylar said coolly.
Savanna marveled at her sister’s restraint. If the detective thought the video was significant, it had to be. But what about her Remy and Mia James murder-team theory?
“Have you said anything to Greenwood?” the detective asked Skylar. “Does he know you have this?”
“Of course not.”
“Do we run our village officials through IAFIS?” Detective Jordan mused aloud. “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t know, either,” Skylar said.
“But who would kill over a political seat?” Savanna asked. “I mean, are we really thinking Mayor Greenwood would’ve killed John Bellamy just so he could run unopposed? To be mayor of a town most people have never even heard of?”
“Mayoral offices are often stepping stones to bigger goals,” Skylar said.
Savanna nodded. “True. Well, you can rule out the mayor as one of those fingerprint sets, if it turns out our officials are registered in the system, right?”
Behind the Frame Page 17