File M For Murder

TWELVE

I was so startled by Laura’s words that I spit the mouthful of water back into the glass. My hand shook as I set the glass on the counter.

“Laura, where are you? Are you all right?” I had to get to her as quickly as possible.

Where did I put my keys?

There they were, on their hook by the door.

Laura was crying now. I had to ask her again where she was.

She managed to get out two words: “Connor’s place.”

“I’ll get there as fast I can, sweetheart. Now try to calm down and give me the address.” I jingled the keys in my hand, anxious to get to her.

I heard Laura draw a deep breath, then another. She managed to give me the address, and I recognized the street. She was only about five minutes away. “I’m on the way. Have you called 911 yet?”

“No, but I will now.” Laura sounded slightly stronger. She ended the call.

I turned to Justin. “No time to explain, but I need to go. Diesel, you can’t come with me.”

Diesel meowed, and Justin placed a hand on the cat’s head. “Don’t worry, Mr. Charlie, you go right ahead. I’ll keep Diesel company.”

“Thanks.” Then I was out the back door and scrambling to get into my car.

The address Laura gave me was for an apartment complex on the northeast side of the campus, about three miles away.

I parked in the first open spot I found. As I sprinted toward the complex, I heard a siren in the distance, coming ever closer. I entered through an open archway to an interior courtyard.

My heart pounded hard in my chest as I tried to focus with the late afternoon sun in my eyes. A few feet from me was a sign with apartment numbers affixed to the building. I followed the arrow in the direction indicated, checking the numbers on the doors as I sped by, frantic to reach my daughter.

Apartment 117 was a corner unit at the back, and as I approached it the door swung open. Cell phone clutched in one hand, Laura stumbled toward me. I hugged her tight to my chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.” I repeated those words several times, and Laura grew calmer.

She drew back, and her tear-stained face wrenched my heart. Suddenly she was twelve again, and I wanted to comfort her. But I had to ask one question I neglected to ask earlier. “Honey, did you check him? To be sure, I mean?”

“I freaked out when the 911 operator asked me to do it.” Laura regarded me with guilt-stricken eyes. “I just couldn’t touch him.”

“I’ll check.” I moved past her to the open door. “Where is he?”

“Right there in the living room.” Laura closed her eyes and began deep-breathing exercises.

I stepped inside, and I gagged at the smell of stale cigarette smoke and a couple of odors that hinted at death. I figured then it was probably too late, but I had to check anyway.

The door opened right into the living room. Connor lay sprawled on a couch a few feet away. His head rested against an arm of the couch, and his mouth stretched wide in an unsettling grimace, as if he died in pain. His bloodshot eyes bulged, and there were splotches of red on his face and neck. Did some kind of poison cause that?

Could he have killed himself? Maybe his death was the result of some kind of bizarre accident.

Another thought struck me. Those red splotches—weren’t they signs of suffocation?

I stepped close enough to feel for a pulse in his left arm, which dangled off the edge of the couch. His fingers brushed the floor, and I braced myself as I touched the inside of his wrist.

No pulse, skin cool to the touch. I’d seen him on stage at the college only a few hours ago. How long had he been dead?

I stepped back and, as I moved toward the door, I noted certain details about the room.

An empty bourbon bottle sat on the floor by the couch. On the side table nearby an ashtray overflowed with ash and cigarette butts. There was a desk in the corner, its surface littered with pens and scraps of paper. The chair sat with its back against the wall.

At the sound of voices outside I turned and hurried out the door.

Two Athena city police officers stood there with Laura, and they both frowned when they saw me. The older of the two started to speak, but stopped and stared at me.

I recognized him about the time he realized he knew me. “Hello, Officer Williams.” He was one of the policemen who’d responded to the call a few months ago when I’d found another dead body. The younger officer stepped past me and entered the apartment. He looked familiar, too. I thought his name was Grimes.

“Mr. Harris, isn’t it?” Williams didn’t look pleased to see me. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my daughter, Laura. She found the body and called me, and of course I came.” I put an arm around my daughter who was still shivering a little, despite the heat.

“You called your father first, Miss Harris? Not 911?” Williams frowned.

“Yes, sir.” Laura cleared her throat before she continued. “I’m sorry, I was so shaken by what I found I just wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“How long have you been here, Mr. Harris?” Williams focused his laser stare on me.

“Only a few minutes. I got here maybe two minutes ahead of you.”

Grimes popped out of the apartment then. He exchanged a look with Williams, and the two of them stepped to one side to confer in low voices.

I checked my daughter. Her normal color was back, and she was breathing more easily. These were good signs, but I wanted to get her away from here as soon as possible. I knew from experience, however, that we would be here for a while.

As I watched Laura, I saw the tears begin to well in her eyes. I pulled out my handkerchief and handed it to her, and she dabbed at her eyes. I opened my arms, and she leaned into them, resting her head against my shoulder. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. A muffled sob was her response.

“Mr. Harris, I need to ask your daughter some questions since she was first on the scene.” Williams spoke politely, but firmly. I held up a hand to stall him for a moment, and he nodded.

“Laura, do you feel like talking to the officer?” I kept my voice low and gentle. I felt Laura nod against my shoulder. She detached herself from my embrace and scrubbed her face with my handkerchief.

“Sorry, Officer, he was a friend of mine. Finding him like that was a shock.” Laura began with a quaver in her voice but finished sounding stronger.

“Can you tell us who he is, Miss Harris?” Williams regarded Laura with a neutral expression.

“Connor Lawton,” Laura said. “He’s a playwright. He’s—he was—here as writer-in-residence for the year at Athena College.”

Before he could continue his questioning, the clatter of approaching footsteps across the bricked courtyard alerted us to the presence of newcomers. I met the gaze of one of them, and my stomach started to knot up.

Accompanied by two deputies, Kanesha Berry marched toward us. Her grim expression did not bode well for either me or Laura.

Right behind Kanesha and her men came an ambulance crew. The deputies stepped aside to let the other group by. I kept my eyes mostly on Kanesha, and her gaze never wavered from mine.

I braced myself for the storm about to hit, praying that I could somehow protect my daughter from the worst of it.