File M For Murder

THIRTY-ONE

There were echoes of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in Lawton’s untitled play, but the characters Rafe and Maggie were distinctly their own and not pale imitations of George and Martha. This was distinctly a roman à clef, however. I easily recognized Ralph and Magda Johnston from Lawton’s vicious portrayal of them and their turbulent relationship, and I hardly knew them.

Had the playwright seriously thought he would be able to produce this play? Without being sued for libel?

Lawton was arrogant, as I well knew, but this was arrant stupidity.

Plus it was a solid motive for murder.

There were unflattering portraits of minor characters as well, including Sarabeth Conley, thinly disguised as Sally Conway, but Lawton directed most of his vitriol at the main characters.

Surely once Kanesha read this she would concentrate her investigation on the Johnstons. What more compelling motive could she find?

Then I remembered Damitra Vane.

What reason could the Johnstons have for killing her?

The obvious answer to that was that Damitra Vane either had known or seen something that could directly implicate either Ralph or Magda.

Had the Johnstons worked together on the murders? I figured Ralph would have to have killed Damitra Vane. I didn’t think Magda would be strong enough to cut Damitra’s throat, not without significant resistance.

Another sickening image forced itself into my head—Magda Johnston assisting her husband as he savagely wielded the knife.

For a moment I felt like I needed to throw up, but I focused on deep, centering breaths, and the feeling passed.

I pulled out my cell phone. I hesitated briefly but then speed-dialed the sheriff’s department. Kanesha would probably chew me up one side and down the other for calling her, but I had to be certain she read this, and soon.

I waited for the receptionist to put me through to Kanesha. Canned music played in my ear for almost four minutes before the chief deputy answered.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Harris? I’m extremely busy right now.”

Judging from her tone I was at the bottom of her list of favorite people right now, but I didn’t let that intimidate me.

“Have you had time to read any of Lawton’s files yet?”

Kanesha countered with “We know someone copied the contents of that drive before Miss Harris turned it over to me. I’m frankly surprised it took you this long to talk to me about it.”

There was no point to feeling chagrin, I decided. “I’m surprised, Deputy, that you didn’t threaten us with some kind of charge, when we talked earlier today.”

“I still might bring charges, Mr. Harris. The investigation is ongoing.”

The cool amusement in her tone deflated me a bit, although I should have expected her to say that. She had the upper hand and was enjoying it.

“Back to my question.” I tried not to sound impatient or irritated. “Have you read any of the files?”

“Yes, I’ve read some of them. What is it you want to direct my attention to?”

“His play, the work in progress that the students were workshopping.”

“What about it?” She still sounded amused.

Was she deliberately trying to make me lose my temper with her? After brief reflection I decided she probably was, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

“Laura told us that, during the last conversation she had with Lawton, he muttered something. A quotation from Shakespeare, actually: ‘The play’s the thing.’ It’s from Hamlet, and the full quotation is: ‘The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.’ “

“I’ve read Hamlet, Mr. Harris. In senior English class at Athena High School.”

“Then surely you see the significance. That play has to be important. It’s a clear motive for murder.” My temper was beginning to fray, despite my best intentions.

“I’m well aware of what that quote might mean. Matter of fact, I’ve read a few pages of the play, and I’m already considering how it fits into my investigation. Now, is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“No, that was it.” Score one for Team Berry, I decided. That’s me, firmly put in my place. “Thanks for your time.”

“The department is always happy to hear from the public.” The phone clicked in my ear as she ended the call.

I stuck my cell phone back in my pocket and glanced over at Diesel. Head raised, eyes blinking, he meowed at me.

“I’m an idiot, boy; you might as well realize that now. I never know when to leave well enough alone.” I sighed as I stroked the cat’s side. He meowed again and went into languorous stretch mode, shifting until he was on his back, head twisted at what looked to me like a painful angle. I decided it was the librarian in me, the part that always wanted to help people find the information they needed. I wasn’t a busybody, surely.

No point in going any further with that train of thought. I contemplated going to the kitchen for a snack, but when I considered the idea further, I knew I wasn’t really hungry. It was simply a response to stress.

I picked up the pages and read further. I had to suppress more than one yawn. The dull part of the play threatened to put me to sleep. I read through the bit I had seen onstage only two days ago and marveled at the sheer banality of it. I found it hard to reconcile the staggering difference in quality between the Rafe/Maggie part and the Ferris family saga.

The plot of the Ferris story centered around rage against the patriarch for his refusal to help his younger daughter Sadie out of trouble. The older daughter, Lisbeth, I discovered, was almost old enough to be her sister’s mother. She became so angry at her father that she actually began plotting his death. She discussed different methods with Sadie, who seemed to nurse a savage hatred of her father. There was another character, whose purpose I couldn’t fathom, a young child named Connie who flitted in and out. The Ferris section of the play ended before either Lisbeth or Sadie acted on one of their plans to murder old Mr. Ferris.

I laid the final piece of paper aside and leaned back on the sofa. My eyes were a bit tired from the reading, and I realized I was thirsty as well. At the moment, though, I couldn’t muster the energy to get up. My lack of sufficient sleep was catching up with me. I’d sit here for a few minutes and relax, then I would take care of my thirst before I tackled the rest of Lawton’s files.

I awoke some time later to the sounds of activity down the hall. I sat up and rubbed my neck, sore from having slept at an odd angle. I needed water and aspirin, in that order. Diesel still sprawled on the sofa beside me, but he stirred as I got up. He yawned, and then I couldn’t resist yawning myself.

“Come on, boy, let’s get something to drink.”

Diesel chirped, stretched, then stepped down from the sofa to follow me out of the room.

Sean and Laura were at the table drinking iced tea when Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. Laura looked tired, but relaxed, and I realized with a pang that I would have to upset that as I remembered the events of the day.

“Hey, Dad,” Sean said, half rising from the table. “Can I get you something?”

Laura greeted me as well, and I thanked Sean and said I’d take care of myself. Diesel, after pausing long enough to warble a welcome at them, disappeared in the direction of the utility room. Laura and Sean exchanged grins.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” I asked Laura as I poured myself a large glass of water from the pitcher we kept in the fridge. I was stalling, but the news could wait a bit longer.

“Tired, but otherwise fine.” Laura smiled before she had another sip of tea. “I’m not sure I accomplished much today. All my students wanted to talk about, of course, was Connor’s death.” She ran a hand through her hair and left it looking artfully disheveled.

“Only natural” was Sean’s comment. “Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened in their lives in a while.”

“That’s a pretty callous way to put it.” I sat down across the table from him.

“Plain fact.” Sean shrugged.

“Sadly, yes.” Laura rubbed her forefinger around the rim of her glass, seemingly mesmerized by the sight. “Connor didn’t do much to ingratiate himself with them.”

I found it hard to imagine Lawton taking the trouble to ingratiate himself with anyone—unless it was some woman he was trying to get into his bed.

I pulled up short mentally at that notion. Not a profitable train of thought, I realized, as I gazed at my daughter.

“What have you been up to today, Dad?” Sean asked.

“Dealing with the insurance agent and the contractor, to begin with.” I gave them a quick summary of those conversations. Then I decided I could no longer put off telling them about Damitra Vane. “Kanesha Berry came to talk to me.”

“More questions?” Laura looked up from fidgeting with her glass.

“Yes, but she also came by to share some news with me. Some pretty distressing news, in fact.” I hesitated. “It’s about Damitra Vane. She’s dead.”

Laura drew in a sharp breath and her hand jerked, knocking her glass over. There was little liquid left in it, and Sean quickly retrieved a paper towel to mop it up.

“How? How did she die?” Laura didn’t even seem to notice she’d spilled her tea. Her anguished gaze was focused on me.

“She was murdered,” I said as gently as I could. “Sometime last night, probably while we were in the midst of dealing with the fire.” I hoped neither she nor Sean pressed me for further details. I wanted to spare Laura as much as I could, at least for now.

Laura bowed her head, and Sean and I exchanged concerned glances. I reached across the table and clasped both her hands in mine. When she looked up at me, tears shone in her eyes. “She drove me crazy sometimes, but she didn’t deserve this.” Laura’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“No, she didn’t.” I squeezed her hands lightly. “I’m so sorry I had to give you such terrible news, sweetheart. It’s small comfort, I know, but Kanesha will find out who did it and that person will be punished.”

“She was a silly woman with not much self-esteem.” Sean’s words were a sad, but probably accurate, epitaph. “Still, she deserved better.”

Laura pulled her hands from mine, and Sean offered her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and then stood. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while, if you don’t mind.” She offered Sean his handkerchief back but he shook his head, so she tucked it into her pocket.

“Of course not. You get some rest, and we’ll call you for dinner.” I heard meowing and turned to see Diesel coming back from the utility room. “And here’s Diesel. Take him with you, why don’t you?”

The cat didn’t need any prompting. He went straight to Laura and rubbed against her legs. She smiled. “Let’s go upstairs, okay?” Diesel chirped and followed her out of the kitchen.

Sean sat with one ear cocked in the direction of the hall, his eyes on me. After a moment—perhaps after he was satisfied Laura was out of earshot—he said, “Okay, Dad, what didn’t you tell us? You were holding something back.”

I nodded. “I didn’t want to upset Laura any more than I had to. She’ll find out soon enough. The killer cut Damitra Vane’s throat according to Kanesha.” I grimaced when the image slid back into my head.

Sean looked as sick as I felt at that moment. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

“Maybe Laura should stay here in the house until this thing is over.” Sean’s hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke. “Or send her somewhere out of harm’s way, like Tierra del Fuego.”

“Can you imagine your sister consenting to do either of those things?” I shook my head. “As much as I agree with you, I know she’d never go along with it.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Sean sighed. “But one of us is going to have to stick with her every minute she’s out of the house.” He laughed, albeit grimly. “I even made her stand right outside the men’s room today, whenever I had to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t happy about that, I can tell you.”

“No, I imagine not. Maybe both of us should stay with her.”

“Either that, or flush out the killer somehow and end this thing as soon as possible.”