by J A Whiting
“I think Perry did. I think he was too busy to have a steady girlfriend,” Mary said.
The three people discussed the difficulties of trying to sustain a relationship while working or studying in a demanding field.
“Did Perry ever date Megan?” Mr. Finch asked. “She seems like a very nice young woman.”
Mary leaned forward again and lowered her voice. “You know, Megan had a crush on Perry. Don’t tell her I said this. She and I get along great. We share a lot about our lives. I felt bad for her. Megan is a sweetheart. She really fell for Perry, but he didn’t return her feelings.”
“How did she handle the rejection?” Finch asked.
“I know it hurt her terribly, but Megan is a determined person,” Mary said. “I don’t think she’d given up on winning Perry over.” The woman’s eyes turned sad. “Now it’s too late for her.”
“Did you ever see Perry inject himself with medication?” Angie asked.
Mary eyed Angie. “He wasn’t a drug addict.”
“Oh, we know that he wasn’t,” Angie said apologetically. “We think Perry may have used an injectable drug to combat his headaches.”
Mary bit her lower lip, quickly shifting her eyes around the room, and then said softly, “Sometimes he did.”
Angie wondered why Mary told her earlier that she didn’t know if Perry took other meds besides pills for his head pain. “Did he tell you this?”
“I saw him do it. A couple of times, I filled the syringe for him because he couldn’t manage it, his headache was so bad.”
“How did you know how to fill a syringe?” Finch asked.
“My dog was diabetic. I had to give him insulin injections twice a day,” Mary said.
“What drug was Perry using to help with his pain?” Angie questioned.
Mary scrunched up her forehead in thought. “I don’t remember. It was something … caine. Caine was the last part of the word. I don’t recall what the first part was.” The woman’s eyes flashed and she said forcefully, “Perry wasn’t a drug addict. Don’t go getting the idea he was. He used medication appropriately for his problem, and only when he had a problem.”
“Did the injections help?” Finch asked.
Mary said, “A lot of the time, but the degree of help was not consistent. There were times the medication completely took the headache away, and other times, it only made a dent in the pain.”
Angie sat straight in her chair. “Did you fill the syringe the night Perry died?”
Mary’s face turned to stone. “I did not.”
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier that Perry used something besides pills to manage his headaches?” Angie asked with a curious tone so as not to seem accusatory.
Mary wrung her hands again in her lap. “I didn’t want you to think Perry was a drug abuser. If you thought he abused drugs, then maybe you’d tell Chief Martin and then law enforcement might stop the investigation into his death. I want them to figure this mess out. I want to know what happened to Perry. I want to be able to sleep at night.”
When Angie and Finch were about to leave, they shook hands with Mary and thanked her for speaking with them, and once outside, Angie asked the older man a question.
“When you shook hands with Mary, did you sense anything?”
Finch took Angie’s arm and held his cane in the other hand. “I have a feeling Mrs. Bishop did not share everything she knows with us.”
Exactly.
15
When eighty-two-year old Roger Winthrop stepped onto the side porch of the Victorian and knocked at the door of the bake shop, Angie answered and greeted him.
“Thank you for coming,” she told Roger with a smile. “Would you like to sit inside or out here on the porch?”
Roger eyed the table and chairs set up on the porch with the flower boxes on the railing and the pots of colorful blooms. “Outside would be nice. It’s not as hot today as it has been. Is the shop closed for the day or do you need to be inside?”
“We closed at 3pm. I’ll text Mr. Finch. He’s going to join us.” Angie asked Roger to take a seat and told him she’d bring out some refreshments.
Once the three were settled, they talked about her sisters and their businesses, the Victorian mansion and how Angie came to inherit it, and how Mr. Finch had become an honorary member of the family.
“It’s all fascinating,” Roger said as he sipped his lemonade cooler and took a sugar cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “You’re very lucky, Mr. Finch.”
“Please call me Victor. And you’re quite right. I am a very lucky man.”
“That’s why I moved into the boarding house,” Roger said. “I was tired of living alone and I certainly didn’t want to move to California to live with my son. Too far away. Too much change. I didn’t want to leave everything I know. I’ve lived two towns over from Sweet Cove all of my life. This area is my home.”
“That’s understandable,” Finch said.
“Tell me,” Roger began, “why did the police ask me to speak with you?”
Angie cleared her throat. “We have experience as consultants to the police doing interviews and research for them. We help out when they need a hand.”
“I see.” Roger didn’t look like he understood any better why Angie and Finch were interviewing him, but he didn’t ask any more about it.
Finch asked, “What did you do for work?”
“I had my own business selling medical supplies, did it for over fifty years before I finally retired,” Roger said. “My wife died five years ago. I lived alone for two years, then had enough of that and moved into Maribeth’s boarding house.”
“How do you like it there?” Angie asked.
“I’m glad I did it. I have my privacy when I want it and there are people to talk with when I want that. I like the mixed ages in the house, it’s not just a bunch of old people waiting around to die.”
Angie smiled inwardly at Roger’s bluntness.
“You must have known Perry fairly well since you and he had been at the house the longest,” Angie said.
“Megan has lived there almost as long as Perry and there was the other woman who lived there until recently. She left for a nursing home. Agnes had been at the house since Maribeth opened the place to lessees. Someone new has signed a lease for that suite of rooms. It’s another older woman in her early seventies.”
“Maribeth doesn’t lack for renters,” Finch noted. “The house has a good reputation.”
“Maribeth had some concern that people wouldn’t want to live there after what happened to Perry,” Angie said.
Roger made a huffing noise. “Folks aren’t that sensitive. I could see renters staying away if all of us were being murdered one by one by some nut. That’s not the case. A young man passed away. It happens.”
“The police are considering that Perry may have been murdered,” Angie said.
“It’s their job to look into every possibility,” Roger said.
“You don’t think foul play was involved?” Finch asked.
“I don’t think so. Either Perry had a condition that caused him to pass away or perhaps he took too much medication and overdosed.”
“I believe the police have determined an overdose was the reason the young man died,” Finch said. “Do you think it might have been intentional?”
“You mean did Perry kill himself?” Roger’s eyes widened. “If he did overdose, it was an accident. Perry wouldn’t take his own life. He just wouldn’t.”
“What makes you say that?” Angie questioned.
“The guy had plans, goals. He worked hard to reach them. Sure, he had bad headaches. Lots of people have things they have to deal with. Perry wasn’t hopeless or tormented or feeling lost. No, he didn’t try to end his life. He had too much to live for.”
“Do you think he could have hidden his true feelings from everyone?” Angie asked.
“No, I don’t. Perry was a serious student, but he had fun. He worked hard, bu
t he was able to enjoy himself, too. He’d watch movies with us, play cards, cook, go out. He had a friend named Charles, another medical student. They did things together on occasion.”
“Did you get to know Charles?” Finch asked.
“I didn’t. I met him in passing. He visited with Perry in his room sometimes, or they went out.”
“What do you think of Andy Hobbs?”
“Andy is on the gruff side. He has a smart mouth. I think that is an attempt to hide an inferiority complex,” Roger said.
Angie added the rest of her seltzer from the can to her glass. “You think he doesn’t feel good about himself?”
“No, I don’t think he does,” Roger shook his head. “Bluster, bullying, antagonizing others … that behavior often has roots in feelings of low self-esteem.”
“Did Andy get along with Perry?” Angie asked.
“He didn’t. I think Andy was jealous of Perry because he was going to be a physician. There was no reason for such thinking, but there it was. Andy strikes me as a very intelligent and capable man. If being a doctor was that important to him, he should have applied to medical school.”
“Maybe he didn’t get in,” Finch suggested.
Roger said, “I don’t think that’s the case. I don’t think Andy applied. I think he’s the kind of person who won’t put himself out there for fear of failure and then takes his disappointment out on other people.”
“Did Andy and Perry argue?”
“No, nothing like that. From what I saw, they mostly avoided each other.”
“Do you know what medication Perry took for his headaches?” Angie asked.
Roger looked surprised that Angie and Finch would think he knew such a thing. “I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Did anyone in the house help Perry when he had the headaches?”
Roger’s eyebrows went up as he thought about the question. “I think Megan Milton would make him tea or get him a glass of water or a cold pack for his head. Mary Bishop would check on him. She’d make him some toast or soup sometimes. My room was upstairs on the second floor so I was either up there or I was in the common areas. I didn’t go down the hall to Perry’s and Megan’s rooms very often. I had no reason to.”
“Did you ever see Perry inject himself with medication?” Angie watched for the older man’s reaction.
Roger blinked and his face flushed. “You know what? Your question brought a memory forward. I did see Perry with a syringe about a year ago. Huh. I’d forgotten about that. His door was open. When I walked past, I saw Perry sitting in his easy chair. He was holding a syringe and a small vial of something. I kept walking. I thought it had something to do with his medical training.”
Angie leaned forward a little. “Was Perry alone in the room?”
“No, he wasn’t. Mary Bishop was with him.”
“What was she doing?”
“She was sitting opposite Perry. I nodded to them and went to the kitchen.”
“Do you and Mary get along?” Angie asked.
“Sure we do. Mary’s a nice woman … smart, a good conversationalist. She knows a good deal about many subjects. Of course, sometimes we disagree on things and well, we both know we won’t change the others’ mind so we agree to disagree. We are vocal about what we think and things might seem heated when we’re discussing certain topics, but we are always respectful of one another.” Roger winked. “Some people might think we don’t like each other at all. That’s not the case.”
“Did you know Perry’s former girlfriend, Maura Norris?” Finch brought up the woman Perry had a relationship with.
“Yes, I knew her. I didn’t care for her. She and Perry were not a good match. Maura wanted a serious relationship. Perry did not.”
“Did Perry tell you this?”
“Megan told me.”
“Did Megan ever tell you that she would like to have a relationship with Perry?”
“She didn’t, but I could tell by the way she looked at Perry that she liked him.”
Finch adjusted his black-framed eyeglasses. “If the police determined that Perry had been murdered and they asked you to name a suspect, who would you name?”
Roger set his glass down. “Maura. Charles. Megan.”
Angie tilted her head. “Why those three?”
“Maura was a woman scorned. Charles seemed odd to me. Megan suffered unrequited love.”
“Why was Charles odd?” Finch asked.
“He was moody, sullen, distant, argumentative. He seemed like he could be a loner. I wondered why Perry was friendly with Charles. Maybe he was being kind. I heard Charles arguing with Perry occasionally.”
“Do you know what the arguments were about?”
“No idea.”
“The three people you named may have had motivation to hurt Perry,” Angie said. “But of the three, do you think any of them could really be capable of murder?”
Roger stared at the tabletop and then lifted his eyes to Finch and Angie. “Maura and Charles.”
“Why those two?”
Roger shrugged. “Because something important seems to be missing inside of them.”
16
“That’s what he said,” Angie told Chief Martin and Courtney as they headed into the glass and brick building that housed several of the university’s academic departments. “He said there’s something missing inside of them.”
“What does Roger Winthrop mean by that?” Courtney asked. “Like Maura and Charles are missing something that makes them human? Like they’re lacking something inside that would stop them from killing someone?”
Angie said, “I asked him to elaborate and that is exactly what he meant. He thinks Charles and Maura might have the capacity to kill someone. It was a shocking statement to hear. I didn’t get that impression from Maura when I talked to her a few days ago, but that’s how Roger sees her.”
“We spoke with Perry’s friend, Charles Conte,” the chief said. “He seemed a little odd, but highly intelligent and well-spoken. As I told you, Charles claimed he went by Perry’s place on the night of the death to pick up a book and then he left and went home.”
“What time did he say he was at Perry’s?” Courtney asked.
“He didn’t remember,” the chief said.
Courtney rolled her eyes. “How convenient. Did Charles give a window of time when he might have been there?”
“He wouldn’t commit. He said he gets engrossed in his work and doesn’t bother to look at the time.”
“Right,” Courtney said with a disbelieving tone. “If he really is like that, how will he manage to get to the operating room on time when he’s a full-fledged doctor? How does he get to his classes or meetings on time if he’s so unaware of time? I don’t buy it.”
“We’ll be speaking with him again in two days,” the chief said. “Maybe you can sit in on the interview.”
“I’d love to.” Courtney’s face was serious. “When Charles went to get the book, did he notice anything wrong with Perry? Was Perry feeling okay? Did he seem normal?”
Chief Martin held the door open for the young women. “Charles didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”
Courtney shook her head and kidded, “I can see that Charles is our star witness.”
Angie changed the subject as they stepped inside the multi-story building.
“How did you find the woman we’re going to meet?”
Chief Martin led the way down the hall to the linguistics department. “I called around looking for an expert in this area and was directed to Dr. Elizabeth Lincoln who is a forensic linguist.”
“And that means she is able to tell if someone is likely to have written something?” Angie asked.
“It’s complicated,” Chief Martin said. “I gave her several examples of Perry’s writing that we found on his laptop. A paper for a course he took, some emails, the suicide note. She’s been studying them and now she’s ready to tell us her conclusion.”
Arriving at t
he secretary’s desk, the receptionist made a call and escorted them to Dr. Lincoln’s office where a tall, thin, woman with shoulder-length, light brown hair wearing black slacks, a light blue blouse, and a blue jacket waited for them at her door. A broad smile crossed her face when she greeted them.
“Please come in.” Dr. Lincoln’s office was spacious with a large desk covered with papers and books, bookshelves lining three walls, and a sofa and two chairs set in front of the big windows looking out over the campus. “Have a seat.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to see us,” Chief Martin said.
“I’ve worked with law enforcement on similar tasks as the one you presented me with,” Dr. Lincoln said. “It takes some time to analyze the information and make a determination.”
The chief asked, “And you’ve come to a conclusion about Perry Wildwood’s communications?”
“I have.” Dr. Lincoln opened her laptop and projected two articles side by side onto the white board against the far wall. “An academic paper would obviously be a more formal piece of writing than would be someone’s email correspondence so when doing the analysis, it is important to keep that in mind. Most people write and speak using formal or familiar language depending on the audience. When I give a presentation to my peers, I use more formal syntax and higher level vocabulary than I would if I was speaking with friends when out at a bar for a few drinks.”
Angie asked, “Are you able to see enough similarities in language when looking at both formal and informal communication in order to decide that the same person wrote them?”
“Often, yes,” Dr. Lincoln said.
“Were you able to do that in Perry’s case?” Courtney asked.
“I’ll show you.” Dr. Lincoln used a laser pointer to focus Angie’s, Courtney’s, and Chief Martin’s attention on certain sections of the correspondence shown on the white board. The woman spoke about word choice and form, sentence construction, word order, syntax. “We’re able to see patterns within the formal and informal communication modes that link together and point to whether or not the same person created the written pieces.”