File M For Murder

THIRTY

“Dead?” I repeated the word as I tried to make sense of it. Beside me, Diesel warbled. The sudden tension made him uneasy, and I patted his head. “Murdered?”

Kanesha nodded. “No doubt this time.”

I stared at her for a moment. Then I wheeled toward the kitchen. “I need to sit down.” Diesel trotted with me. I didn’t look back to see whether Kanesha followed.

As I sat I realized my legs were shaky. Diesel hunched up close against my legs, and I stroked his back and murmured to him. All the while my brain was trying to digest the murder of that poor woman.

“What’s going on here?” Azalea’s voice intruded on my self-absorption. “What you done said to Mr. Charlie?”

Another time I might have been amused at seeing Azalea glaring at her daughter and Kanesha looking guilty and irritated at the same time.

“I’m here on official business, Mama.” Kanesha met her mother’s accusing gaze head-on now. “This is between Mr. Harris and me.”

Azalea snorted in derisory fashion. “Still don’t mean you come in here and upset a man. Look how pale he be.” Her tone turned solicitous. “You need something to buck you up, Mr. Charlie? You still got some of that brandy from Christmas.”

I smiled, hoping to ease the situation. “Thank you, Azalea, I’m okay. Kanesha’s—I mean, Deputy Berry’s—news startled me, that’s all.” Diesel was scrunched under the table now, his head on my feet. Poor kitty. I almost wished I could join him. Being the bone of contention between these two women was no fun.

“I need to speak to Mr. Harris alone.” Kanesha waited, but Azalea didn’t budge. “Please, Mama.”

“You holler if you need anything.” Azalea shot me a pointed glance before she left the kitchen. Moments later I heard her moving heavily up the stairs.

I didn’t dare look at Kanesha for a few minutes. I actually felt sorry for her. Having to deal with her mother under these circumstances had to be humiliating. Azalea had, not so long ago, confided in me that she didn’t think police work was a suitable job for her daughter. She had wanted Kanesha to go to medical school instead. Her daughter, however, was determined to follow her own path.

At the time I’d wondered idly whether Kanesha might have gone to medical school or even law school on her own if her mother hadn’t tried to push her in a particular direction. Azalea was one of the most forceful personalities I’d ever encountered. Had she grown up under different conditions she probably would have been at the helm of a Fortune 500 company by now.

Kanesha was every bit as stubborn and opinionated as her mother from everything I’d seen. Their relationship had to be uneasy at best.

I risked a glance at Kanesha. Her expression was as stony as ever.

“Please sit down, Deputy.” I gestured to a chair. “What do you need from me? Or did you come simply to inform me of Miss Vane’s death?”

Kanesha sat before she answered. She pulled a notebook and pen from her pocket. “Give me a timetable of what happened here last night.”

I could have refrigerated meat by putting it next to her right now, I decided. It wouldn’t do to annoy her.

I nodded, then took a moment to organize my thoughts before I responded. Under the table, Diesel muttered and shifted position. I tried to reassure him by rubbing his side with my foot. He quieted.

“I went to bed before the others, except for Laura, I think. Sean went out to the porch to have a cigar and fell asleep there after he finished it.” I narrated the rest of the events while Kanesha jotted notes. She didn’t look at me the entire time.

When I finished, she stared at her notebook for a moment. “I still have facts to verify, but I’d say y’all are in the clear. At least in Miss Vane’s death.”

Did she throw that last statement in just to be spiteful? “Surely the same person is responsible for both her murder and Lawton’s.” It didn’t make any sense otherwise.

Now she looked at me, and I didn’t bother to suppress a scowl. “It’s likely, but the methods were entirely different. Miss Vane’s throat was cut.”

A gruesome image bloomed in my mind, and I shook my head in a vain effort to dispel it. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes, it was.” Kanesha stood.

I stared up at her. “Why do you say we’re in the clear in her murder?”

“By the time the maid found her around nine this morning, she’d been dead about seven hours, give or take an hour, according to the preliminary estimate.”

“While we were all in the midst of dealing with the fire department and the police,” I said.

Kanesha nodded. “It’s possible someone slipped away during the confusion. The hotel’s only a few minutes from here, especially running. But I don’t think that happened. Whoever did it would have had blood on him or would have to change clothes. Did you notice anything like that?”

“Certainly not.” Even in my dazed state I would have noticed if a member of the household disappeared for that long. Besides, we were all together—and stayed together—shortly after the fire department arrived, first out in the front yard and then in the kitchen. I repeated that aloud to Kanesha.

She nodded again and turned to go, but I had a question for her. “Did your computer expert find any evidence of tampering with Lawton’s thumb drive?”

Slowly she faced me, her expression unreadable. “No.” She turned and left the kitchen. I didn’t bother to see her to the door.

Frustrating woman. I sighed and wondered how this would all have played out had I talked to her at the sheriff’s department instead. Easier on the nerves, I decided, both hers and mine.

I deplored the murder of poor Damitra Vane, but I was happy that Kanesha didn’t consider any of us a suspect—and that the thumb drive was clean, so to speak.

I didn’t look forward to telling Laura about the death of her erstwhile colleague and former rival. She hadn’t liked the woman, but I knew she would be badly upset by the news.

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly two, and I didn’t expect Laura—and Sean—home until after five. The news could wait till then. I doubted they would hear it from another source before they came home.

Before they left this morning Sean told me he had finished printing the contents of Lawton’s files and left the papers in the den for me. I decided now was a good time to delve further into them for more evidence. With Damitra Vane out of the picture—I winced at the unintentional pun—Ralph and Magda Johnston were definitely center stage.

“Come on, boy.” Diesel crawled out from under the table and gazed up at me. He meowed, and I patted his head. “I know, sweet boy, things were tense there for a while. But she’s gone now, and we can go have some nice quiet time to ourselves.”

I realized he still wore his harness, and I removed it before we headed for the den. He chirped to thank me.

The den, the room next to the living room and down the hall, was as much my personal library as anything. Bookshelves lined all the walls. A few of them were in place before I moved back to Athena. The rest I added—or rather, my contractor classmate’s crew did. This room was my refuge, and I came in here when I wanted to surround myself with the warm and contented feeling my books gave me.

Diesel liked the room as much as I did. He had his special place here—an old afghan, knitted by my late wife, spread on an old leather sofa. He would stretch out and snooze at one end while I sat at the other, my feet on a hassock, and read or—increasingly often, I had to admit—napped.

While Diesel rooted around in the afghan and arranged it to his satisfaction, I turned on a couple of lamps and then went to the desk to examine the stacks of paper Sean had left.

One pile appeared to contain more letters and probably e-mails as well. A second one was obviously the play Lawton was working on when he died. A third group, and much the smallest, seemed to be notes on various things. I glanced at them, but they didn’t catch my interest.

Suddenly I recalled what Laura had revealed about Lawton’s strange comment to her. “The play’s the thing.”

How could I have forgotten that?

I carried that stack to the sofa with me. Diesel was settled in, already stretched out, drowsing, when I got comfortable on the bit of sofa left for me and began to read. Diesel’s hind feet and tail twitched against me from time to time, but I was used to this. It stopped when he fell asleep.

I read for perhaps half an hour, trying to make sense of the play. Though the scenes and acts were labeled in sequence, they seemed disconnected to me, almost as if Lawton had been writing two plays rather than one. The quality of the writing was erratic as well. In some of it I saw the brilliance that Laura kept insisting Lawton possessed. In other parts, well, the kindest word I could think of was dull. How Lawton got from dull to brilliant I had no idea.

The brilliant scenes captured my attention for an even more important reason than their quality. If Ralph or Magda Johnston had read any of this, they might well have killed Lawton to keep the play from ever being read, let alone produced.