Dead By Midnight

Chapter Seven

“We’ll go in the main entrance.” Officer Harrison gestured for them to follow. She strode swiftly along the drive to the front yard and shepherded them up the steps to the verandah of the Jamison house. She opened the door and held it wide.

In the hallway, Officer Coley Benson, lean and trim in his khaki uniform, greeted Annie and Max with a friendly hello, then assumed a stoic professional manner. His magnificent tenor voice was known across the island from his church choir and high school musicals. After college, he had returned to the island to become the youngest member of the Broward’s Rock police force. “Everyone who may be able to help in the investigation is waiting in there.” He gestured toward the open doors to the living room.

Annie gripped Max’s hand as they stepped into a spacious room that contained period furniture. The silence was broken only by the resonant tick of an elaborate blue-and-gold Louis XV–style French clock that sat on the mantel between two blue Delft jars with iron lions on the lids. The soft cream of an American Chippendale sofa was echoed in the worn Tabriz carpet. Cypress paneling original to the house gleamed a soft russet.

Three people stared at Annie and Max without a flicker of recognition or understanding.

Annie knew them from the photographs in Max’s Jamison file. A wan and trembling Kit Jamison huddled in a flower-patterned small Queen Anne wing chair on one side of the fireplace. Her dark-haired sister, Laura, stood, one hand gripping the mantel. Glen Jamison’s cousin Richard was sprawled on a sofa. His sunburned face could have been hewn from a block of wood. Sitting a little distant from the family, Edna Graham nodded to Max. She looked doleful and shaken.

Their blank stares told Annie they were unwelcome intruders in a room heavy with grief and fear. She and Max were outsiders and had no place among those who were distraught over Glen Jamison’s death.

“Who are you?” The emphasis was on the personal pronoun. Kit’s voice was sharp with an undertone of hysteria. Her thin face was pale and drawn, her pale blue eyes strained.

Max was bland. “Max Darling. This is my wife, Annie. We were told to wait here to see Chief Cameron.”

“Why do you want to talk to him? Do you know something about my dad?” Kit’s voice was shrill.

“Miss, please.” Officer Benson stepped into the drawing room. “Everyone is requested to remain silent until Chief Cameron speaks with you.”

Kit came to her feet, stared at Annie and Max with her face working, her long, thin fingers clenching. “Do you know what happened to Dad? No one tells us anything. I want to see him.”

Officer Benson moved toward her. “Police procedure forbids communication among witnesses.”

Kit whirled toward Richard. “You have to tell us. You said Dad’s dead and you called the police and locked the study door. You have to tell us what happened.”

Coley Benson’s face stiffened. “Miss, please be quiet.”

Richard pushed up from the sofa and walked across the room to stand in front of Officer Benson. “Ask the police chief to come.” He was polite, but his tone was firm. “The family needs information.” He gestured at Kit and the tears sliding down her pale face. “Her dad’s dead. She has a right.”

“So do I.” Laura was too thin in a soft tee and a denim skirt. She glared at Richard. “You pounded on my door to tell me Dad was dead, that he’d been killed.” She turned angrily toward the officer. “Now you won’t let us know anything. We have a right to know what’s happened.”

Edna Graham nodded in agreement, her strong face grim.

Benson yanked his cell from his belt, punched. “Chief, the family’s upset and wanting to know details.”

“Now.” Kit’s voice rose in a wail. “I want to know now.”

Laura clasped her hands tightly. “We have every right to know what happened.”

The officer clicked off his phone. “Chief Cameron will be here shortly.”

Kit took two quick strides to face Richard. “You found Dad. What did you see?”

Richard’s face was suddenly haunted. “You don’t want to know, Kit. Remember your dad alive.”

Billy Cameron strode into the drawing room. The burly police chief brought with him a sense of solidity, order, and calm. A step behind him was Frank Saulter, the former police chief who often volunteered assistance when a major crime occurred. Saulter’s bony face was more lined than when he and Annie had first met, his dark hair now peppered with gray. He still moved with authority. He looked gravely around the room.

Kit jerked away from Richard. She lunged toward Billy. “What happened to my dad? Why are you keeping us here? Where is Dad? Where’s my aunt?” She jabbed a finger toward Officer Benson. “He won’t let me use my cell. I need to find my aunt and my little brother.”

Annie felt a quiver of apprehension. She’d seen Elaine’s car leave. That must have been shortly before ten. But Elaine wasn’t the only missing family member. Where was Tommy?

Billy spoke quietly. “I understand that you are upset, Miss Jamison. We are still trying to determine what occurred this morning. Mr. Jamison”—Billy nodded toward Richard—“placed a 911 call at ten-fifteen. We arrived on the scene to find the deceased in the study. The victim was identified as Glen Jamison by Mr. Richard Jamison. The medical examiner has now determined that death resulted from multiple gunshot wounds.”

Kit lifted her hands to her face. Tears streamed down her ashen cheeks. “Somebody shot Daddy?”

Laura hurried to her sister and they clung to each other. Her face empty and sick, Laura looked at Billy. “Have you found anybody? Why would somebody shoot Dad?”

“Our investigation has just begun. We have very little knowledge—”

A door slammed and running feet sounded in the hallway. Tommy Jamison thudded into the living room. His sandy hair was tousled. A blondish stubble marked his face. He was breathing hard. He looked at his sister. “What’s going on? Why are the police cars here?” His blue eyes were wide and staring. A too-tight green-and-orange-striped polo stretched across his husky shoulders and exposed his abdomen. Ragged khaki shorts sagged low on his hips. He wore worn leather sandals.

Kit moved toward him. “Tommy, Daddy’s dead. Someone shot him.”

The teenager stepped back as if he had been struck. He looked at Billy Cameron in his khaki uniform. “Dad?”

Billy’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, son. Your father was found dead in his study shortly before ten-fifteen this morning. You are Tommy Jamison?”

“Yes, sir.” The burly teenager struggled to answer, his voice shaking.

Billy gestured toward the sofa. “We’ve asked family members for their cooperation as we attempt to find out the circumstances. Were you at home this morning?” Billy spoke quietly, but his gaze at Tommy was searching.

Kit stood by her brother, faced Billy. “He spent the night with a friend.”

Billy looked at the teenager. “Where were you?”

“At Buddy Crawford’s house. He lives over on Heron Point.”

“When did you leave the Crawford house?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Tommy’s eyes shifted away. “A while ago. I went by the beach.” He looked around the room. “Where’s Elaine?”

Kit massaged one temple. “She isn’t here. She doesn’t know yet.”

Tommy’s face suddenly screwed up into misery. “Dad . . .” He turned and bolted toward the door. The pounding of his feet on the staircase was loud and sad.

Kit started for the hall.

Billy lifted a big hand. “Miss Jamison, we need for everyone to remain here until we can speak with you.”

She stopped, glaring. “His father’s dead. He’s just a kid. I’m going up to him. You can come and see us upstairs when you want to.” She moved swiftly into the hall.

Laura ran after them.

Billy’s face folded in a frown.

Richard spoke quietly. “Chief, we all want to help. I’ll get Kit and Laura and Tommy when you are ready for them.”

Billy acquiesced. “We’ll be as quick and brief as possible. Former police chief Frank Saulter”—he gestured toward the older man who looked authoritative despite his informal dress, a cream polo and khaki slacks—“has agreed to help us. He will take individual statements and share what information we have at this point. When the statements are done, I would appreciate all of you remaining in the house in case we need to speak with you further. However, once you have given your statement, you are free to go. The room where the crime occurred may not be entered until we have completed our preliminary investigation.” Billy looked from face to face. His gaze stopped when it reached Annie. He glanced at Max, then back to Annie. “What,” and his voice had all the warmth of cracked ice, “are you two doing here?”

Max gave her an encouraging nod.

Annie took a deep breath. “I was in the garden here this morning.”

Billy waited for Annie and Max to precede him, then closed the swinging door.

The old-fashioned kitchen was an odd backdrop for a conference with Billy. The avocado-green electric range, white refrigerator, and green-tiled counters evoked the mid-twentieth century and under different circumstances might have seemed homey and comforting. Annie couldn’t picture Cleo in that kitchen. Elaine, yes; Cleo, no.

Dishes were stacked in the sink. The scent of bacon and coffee hung in the air. On the white wooden kitchen table, a sports section of yesterday afternoon’s Gazette lay next to a box of cornflakes. Soggy cereal remained in a bowl half filled with milk.

Billy frowned at Annie. “Why were you in the Jamison garden?”

Annie was defiant. “You wouldn’t come and see about the picture in Pat’s BlackBerry. That’s why I drove straight here after I saw you. I found where Pat took that photograph—the gazebo. The color of the wood there matches the picture. A pattern on the left side of the picture turned out to be part of a lattice.”

“I don’t care about Pat Merridew and her BlackBerry right now.” Billy was dismissive. “That photograph and Pat Merridew have no connection to Glen Jamison being shot to death. We will never be able to prove how Pat Merridew died, whether it was suicide, accident, or murder, but we know for sure she didn’t die from a gunshot. Give her death a rest, Annie. Right now I’m dealing with a homicide. Tell me what you saw this morning.”

Annie wished she hadn’t hurried to the gazebo this morning. She wished she didn’t have to speak now. But she had come to the Jamison yard and she had seen what she had seen. “I was in the gazebo. When I realized Pat took that odd photo there, I decided to ask Elaine if she happened to hear or see anything the night the picture was taken. Before I could reach the gazebo steps, Elaine came out of her cottage.”

Billy looked intent. “The time?”

“A few minutes before ten.”

Annie saw intense interest in his eyes. The 911 call had been made at ten-fifteen.

Billy pulled a notebook from his pocket, held a pen ready. “You arrived at the gazebo a few minutes before ten?”

“Yes.” Her excitement at discovering the background for Pat’s BlackBerry photo seemed several lifetimes ago.

“Did you look toward the house?”

“Yes, but the terrace was screened by palmettos.” Annie felt a tightening in her throat. “When was he shot?”

Billy looked impatient. “Please answer my questions. What did you see when you arrived?”

“I wasn’t thinking about the house. I went straight to the gazebo and found the place where the picture had been taken. Then I looked toward the house, but I couldn’t see it. I saw a yardman. He was near a flower bed with a leaf blower. I turned toward Elaine Jamison’s cottage. That’s when she came outside.”

“Did you talk to her?”

Annie’s hands clenched. She didn’t like the picture she had in her mind, Elaine with her face pale and strained, darting a hunted look around the garden, whirling to run to the path. “I didn’t have a chance to call out to her. She rushed down the steps and took a path toward the marsh.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “What was her demeanor?”

Of all the questions he might have asked, this was the most deadly for Elaine, but Annie would not mislead Billy. He had been their friend, their champion, Max’s rescuer when Max had been enmeshed in an ugly crime fashioned to incriminate him. “Elaine was upset.”

Billy pounced. “How did you know she was upset?”

Annie spoke quietly, all the while feeling as if she personally were dropping a noose around Elaine’s neck. “Her face was flattened, stiff. She was breathing fast. She looked around the yard, then hurried to the path to the marsh. She was carrying a lumpy blue cloth pressed against her chest. She went around a hedge, and I lost sight of her. I hesitated to follow her. I had no business being there and I didn’t think she would want to see me. Still, I hated to go away without making sure she was all right. I cut across the yard and pulled apart some cane stalks. She was standing on the bank of the marsh.” Annie’s voice dropped. “I think she had thrown something into the marsh. Her upraised right arm was coming down. She held a blue cloth in her left hand. She turned and ran behind her cottage and in a moment her car left.”

Annie stood to one side of the stand of cane. The late-morning sun felt warm on her face. On the bank of the marsh, a blue heron perched on one elegant leg, neck craned, ready to pounce on an unwary frog or lizard. From the swath of greenish waving grass, a clapper rail cackled. The sulfurish scent of the marsh was comforting and familiar in contrast to the scene on the bank.

Annie called out. “A little more to your left.”

Officer Harrison obediently edged to her left.

“Stop there.”

The slender policewoman stood still.

Annie nodded approval. “Turn toward that big hummock.” A raccoon stood on a hump of greenery about forty feet out in the marsh. “The one with the raccoon.”

Officer Harrison faced the marsh. She was very near the spot where Elaine Jamison had stood earlier that morning.

“That’s it.”

Billy lifted his voice. “Stay where you are, Officer.” He nodded at Annie. “You didn’t see what she threw?”

“I didn’t see her throw anything.” Annie emphasized the verb. “When I looked around the cane, her arm was coming down.” Annie raised her arm above her head, began a downward sweep. “Her arm was here.” Her elbow slightly bent, she lowered her arm until it was level with her shoulder. “As I watched, her arm came down to her side.”

Billy’s cell phone rang. He lifted it, spoke fast. “Right. Yellow Corolla. Check the ferry. Send Officer Portman to make sure the car doesn’t leave the island. As soon as she’s found, inform her that the police would like to speak with her.” He clipped the phone to his belt, nodded at Annie. “Thank you for your assistance.” Billy started to turn away.

Annie blurted, “Whoever killed Glen Jamison killed Pat Merridew.”

The police chief stopped, looked toward her, his impatience scarcely concealed. “This investigation has just begun, but I might point out, even assuming the Merridew death was homicide, that there is no apparent connection between the two deaths, including the fact that the manner of death is different. However, I will keep your suggestion in mind.” This time he moved purposefully away.

Clearly, she and Max had been dismissed. “Billy,” she called after him. She asked what she knew must be asked: “Did you find a gun in the study?”

He paused, looked over his shoulder. “No weapon has been discovered. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He strode swiftly toward the marsh.

Max touched Annie’s arm. “Billy’s finished with us.”

Annie pointed toward the lagoon. “Let’s see what they find.” She knew what they were seeking, a missing murder weapon.

Billy reached the bank and spoke with Officer Harrison. Lou Pirelli, a stocky, baseball-loving police officer, swung down from the crime van and strode toward the marsh. He carried a pair of waders in one hand and a chunk of brick in the other. A cane fishing pole rode in the crook of one arm and a plastic-handled landing net dangled from a wrist strap. Dark-haired, handsome Lou was always good-humored. He helped coach baseball at the island youth center, where Max taught tennis and golf. Lou handed the chunk of brick to Hyla Harrison, then stepped a few feet away to pull on the black rubber hip waders.

Annie and Max joined Marian Kenyon behind crime-scene tape strung across the path between a live oak and a palmetto.

The classical round lens hood of the reporter’s M8 Leica gleamed in the sunlight. Marian held a pen poised above a notepad. She practically quivered with excitement. “Fill me in. Why’s Hyla standing on the bank after you choreographed her?”

Annie looked at the dark-haired reporter. Marian was as persistent as a Lowcountry mosquito and just as hard to evade. “Let’s watch and find out.”

Marian scowled. She spoke to Annie, though she didn’t take her gaze away from police clustered on the bank of the lagoon. Lou pulled on plastic gloves. Marian’s tone was cool. “Why the brush-off ?”

Max was placating. “Give Annie a break. If she told you, you couldn’t use it. Vince is pretty particular about libel.”

“Oooh.” Marian made a note on her pad. “Don’t think I’m going to forget.” She took a step nearer the tape and stared at the lagoon. “What’s up now? Why’s Hyla clutching that piece of brick?”

Billy Cameron’s voice carried well. “Officer, pretend the brick’s a gun. You want to get rid of it pronto. Heave it as hard as you can.”

“I like that. Very cunning.” Marian made quick notes. “For a little while there, I thought maybe our uniformed best planned to play skip-a-rock for a little R and R.”

As they watched, Officer Harrison threw. The chunk of brick splashed into the marsh midway between the bank and the big hammock. The raccoon whirled and disappeared into a thicket of greenery.

Using a cane pole to test the squishy bottom, Lou slogged through marsh water. The tide was running out, exposing the mudflats. Fiddler crabs moved swiftly like small herds of thundering bison. Lou moved on a steady slant toward the big hummock, though his progress through the mushy mud was clearly an effort. Several times he stumbled, possibly hooking the toe of a boot into submerged roots.

Max shook his head. “Finding anything in that glop is as likely as picking a diamond out of broken glass mired in muck. And that would be if you could see what you’re doing. Lou can’t see a thing in the silt-filled water. The pole will strike either mud, reeds, or roots. If he bangs something hard, it could be a gun or a root. I’d say this is an exercise in futility.”

“About there,” Hyla shouted.

Lou poked the pole in delicate jabs, going a few inches at a time as he explored the brown water in front of him. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Two steps forward. Tap, tap . . . Lou raised the pole, returned it toward the same spot with the same angle.

A car’s motor sounded. Dust boiled up as a yellow Corolla jolted to a stop in the dusty drive near the cottage. The driver’s door was flung open. Elaine Jamison rushed across the uneven ground with its clumps of wire grass amid open patches of sandy soil.

She came to the bank, stared at the uniformed police. “What’s going on here?”

Billy eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you can tell us, Miss Jamison.”

She was abruptly wary, her narrow face intent, questioning. “Who are you?”

“Police Chief Billy Cameron.”

“A little more to the left,” Hyla called.

Elaine looked out at the marsh. She might have been a lovely woman in expensive casual summer wear, a terra-cotta linen blouse, white cropped slacks, rose-red sandals—except for the tautness of her body.

“Like she’s up close and personal with Dracula,” Marian breathed. She lifted her camera, adjusted the lens, clicked several times. The reporter’s inelegant comment was utterly apt.

Elaine lifted a hand to the open throat of her blouse. “Chief Cameron, why are you here?”

“We are investigating a crime.”

She waited, her eyes fixed on his face.

Annie felt as if she was watching a large cat toy with a cornered mouse. “Cruel.” The word, scarcely audible, fell between her and Max.

He slid an arm around her shoulders. “He suspects her. He’s trying to make her come out into the open. That’s fair enough, Annie.”

“Better than The Shield,” Marian observed.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Elaine’s voice rose.

Billy was brusque. “We responded to a 911 call at ten-fifteen this morning. Suspected homicide. The victim has been identified as Glen Jamison.”

“Glen.” Her voice shook. “Where was he found?”

“At the house. By Richard Jamison.”

“They need me. The children . . .” She turned away.

“Hey, Chief.” Lou’s shout was robust. “I found something.” He lifted the pole out of the water, stuck it in the mud a foot to his left. He gripped the landing net and eased the net down into the water. He made a scooping motion, lifted. Water sprayed from the net. Lou held the net aloft. A broken whiskey bottle dangled above the water. With a shake of his head, Lou used the net like a jai alai player and the bottle splashed twenty feet away. He grabbed the pole and resumed his slow exploration.

“Miss Jamison.” Billy’s voice was heavy.

Annie could see Elaine clearly, more clearly than she would have wished.

Elaine’s face was stiff and pale, her eyes empty.

Billy took several steps, stood perhaps a foot from her. He stared down, his gaze intent and measuring. “You were observed this morning. What did you throw in the marsh?”

“I have nothing to say. I am going to the house now.” She spoke wearily, as if she’d run a hard race and all her strength was gone. “I must see about the children. And about Glen.” She took a deep, ragged breath.

Billy’s voice was hard. “I can take you to the station for questioning.”

“I don’t know anything that will help you. Let me see about the children.” Her control crumbled. She choked back a sob. “They’ve lost their father. I’ll be there if you want me.”

Billy watched in silence as she started, head down, for the verandah. He jerked his head toward Officer Harrison. “Stay with her. See what she says.” He shouted to Lou, “Keep looking.” He turned and strode toward the house.

Marian called out, “Do you have a person of interest?”

He ignored her call.

As he climbed the back steps and moved toward an open French window, Marian was sanguine. “I didn’t think he’d commit this early, but it’s pretty clear where he’s going. Lawyer shot to death. Witness sees sister toss something, think firearm, into the muck. One plus one equals two.”

Annie swung toward Marian. “I didn’t see her throw anything.”

Marian arched a dark brow. “You don’t like being the finger, but that’s the way killers get caught. Of course, Lou will have to have a shamrock on his shoulder to find anything out there.” She gestured toward the marsh. “Although I’d be the last to pick Elaine Jamison to pull the trigger of anything deadlier than a perfume atomizer. Shows how much I know. Anyway, it’s going to make a big-time story, even if I have to be careful how I play it.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of, I got less than twenty minutes before deadline.” She whirled and broke into a steady trot toward the road.

Max touched Annie’s arm lightly. “Come on, Annie. I don’t think there’s anything we can do here.”

“I’ve done enough, haven’t I?” Her voice was shaky.

“You did what you had to do.” He didn’t go on to say that Elaine Jamison was digging her own grave by her lack of cooperation, but his eyes told her.

Annie swallowed hard. “I was here a few days ago and talked to Elaine. She was so open about Glen and the problems in the family. She would never have told me any of that if she’d intended to shoot him. She made it clear that she loved Glen. She said he wasn’t at fault. She blamed everything on Cleo.”

Max looked thoughtful. “Maybe it was Cleo’s fault that Glen made his kids mad, but you said Elaine was furious that they were unhappy.”

Oyster shells crackled beneath their shoes. They came out from beneath the shadow of a live oak and started across the rough lawn toward the car.

Annie made no answer. She couldn’t disagree. Elaine had been angry with her brother over his treatment of Laura, Kit, and Tommy. Someone shot Glen Jamison in his study, which argued a killer near at hand. Elaine’s distraught appearance this morning was suspicious. Moreover, the movement of her arm as she stood on the bank of the marsh indicated she had thrown something, and no murder weapon had been found in Glen’s study.

Annie’s steps slowed as they reached the front yard. She stopped and looked toward the steps to the wide verandah. “I have to go inside.”

She walked swiftly toward the porch. Max didn’t call after her. Thank you, Max, thank you for understanding, thank you for knowing I have to be honest. Steeling herself, she ran lightly up the steps.

The front door was unlocked, of course. So many were going in and out as part of the investigation. With a quick breath, Annie opened the screen door and stepped into the central hallway. A soft murmur of voices sounded from the drawing room.

Officer Harrison stood in the open doorway to the drawing room. She turned at the squeak of the hinges. She looked at Annie, unhooked the cell from her belt, flipped up the cover.

Annie moved as though she were confident of her reception. She lifted her voice, the better to be heard in the living room. “I have to speak to Elaine Jamison.”

Hyla punched the cell. “Mrs. Darling wants to talk to Elaine Jamison.”

Footsteps sounded. Elaine stood in the doorway. “Annie, we have great trouble.”

“That’s why I’ve come.” Annie walked past the police officer, who listened, then pocketed the cell.

Apparently, Billy didn’t mind Annie’s presence as long as Hyla heard every word.

Annie glanced around the room. Obviously, Frank Saulter had finished taking the family members’ statements because now they were all here. Kit Jamison huddled, knees to her chin, in a side chair. Laura and her brother, Tommy, shared a small sofa. Annie’s gaze paused at Tommy. He’d combed his hair and changed into a larger shirt that fit him much better than the earlier tight polo. Richard Jamison stood by the window. His glance at Annie was quizzical.

Annie took a deep breath. Elaine deserved the truth. “I was in your backyard this morning. I told the police that I saw you come out of your cottage.”

The silence in the living room was taut and stressed. Every face turned toward the doorway where Elaine and Annie stood.

Elaine raised a hand as if to ward off Annie’s words.

Annie continued, her voice thin, her eyes meeting Elaine’s stricken gaze. “You walked on the path toward the marsh. You were carrying a bunched-up blue cloth. I lost sight of you. I crossed the yard and looked around the cane. You were lowering your arm. I assumed that you had thrown something. However, I did not”—she emphasized the negative—“see you throw anything.” If a gun wasn’t found, they would have no physical evidence to link to Elaine. “You still held the cloth. You turned and ran behind your cottage and in a moment you drove out in your car.”

Annie looked deep into pale blue eyes that held despair, not resentment.

Laura Jamison’s voice shook. “Did you see anyone else?”

“The yardman.” Annie continued to look at Elaine. “If Max and I can help you, call us.” She waited for an instant, but Elaine’s face registered nothing. Slowly, Annie turned away.

Voices rose. “What’s this all about, Elaine?” “What’s she talking about?” “Who is she?”

Annie walked away.

Elaine’s voice sounded dull. “Annie Darling. I don’t know why she came. What I did this morning doesn’t matter. I didn’t go up to the house. I didn’t see Glen. I don’t know what happened to him. I saw him last night. He was fine.” Her voice broke, ended in a sob.

Annie pushed out the front door and hurried across the grass to find solace in Max’s embrace.