File M For Murder

THIRTY-FIVE

The policeman on surveillance duty must have seen us the moment I opened the door, because he met us on the sidewalk a few feet from his patrol car.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Harris?” He held out a steadying hand as I rocked to a stop on the concrete. His nameplate read J. PERKINS.

“Letter bomb. Maybe.” I had to gasp the words out. The combination of exertion and fear had robbed me of breath. Diesel pushed hard against my legs, and I almost toppled over.

“Where is it?” The officer kept his hand on my arm, for which I was grateful.

“Just inside the front door.” I tried to slow and deepen my breathing.

“Right.” The officer dropped his hand from my arm and put in a call for backup. When he finished, he turned back to me. “You come with me.” I followed him to the squad car. He opened the back door and indicated that I should sit.

“Okay if my cat sits here, too?” I didn’t want Diesel out on the street, but I also knew the officer might object to having a cat in an official vehicle.

“Sure,” the officer said with a quick smile. He moved a few feet away to answer a call on his radio.

I put Diesel in first, then collapsed onto the seat beside him, finally feeling able to relax. Diesel crowded against me, obviously freaked out by the whole episode. I did my best to calm and reassure him while the officer waited near us for backup to arrive.

“You’re such a smart kitty,” I told him, pulling him against me for a hug. He chirped and began to settle down. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket to wipe the sweat from my brow and the back of my head. The air blasting from the front of the car was welcome as I began to cool down.

Moments later I heard a siren, and perhaps ten seconds after that two more squad cars arrived. Several officers got out, and Officer Perkins spoke to them. They conferred in undertones, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying. As I watched, Diesel still hunched against me, they headed up the walk to the open front door.

I heard another car pull up, this time behind the patrol car where Diesel and I rested. I turned to see Kanesha Berry and Deputy Bates climbing out of it. Bates nodded as he passed by, but Kanesha stopped by the open door and greeted me. “What’s going on, Mr. Harris?”

Her expression grimmer than usual, Kanesha listened without interruption as I related my discovery of the potential letter bomb and Diesel’s role in it.

Kanesha’s eyes flicked toward the cat several times as I talked. When I finished, her first comment was “He must have smelled something odd about that package.”

“Thank the Lord he did. He’s one smart feline.” I was fervent in praise of my cat, and for once Kanesha didn’t appear irritated or dismissive. “I shudder to think what could have happened if Laura had opened that thing.”

“We’ll soon find out if it’s dangerous.” Kanesha turned to watch the activity at my front door.

“What’s going to happen?”

She faced me again. “There’s an officer in the police department who has experience with incendiaries and bombs from when he was in the army. If it is a bomb, he’ll take it somewhere and destroy it—safely, of course.” She pulled out her notebook. “Tell me again what you observed about the envelope.”

I gave her the description again, and she jotted down the details. There was activity nearby, but it wasn’t until I finished talking that I realized that two of the squad cars were gone, and Officer Perkins waited nearby to speak to Kanesha.

She turned to Perkins as she put her notebook away. “You wanted me, Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Perkins nodded respectfully. “The suspicious parcel has been removed, and it’s okay for Mr. Harris to go back in his house, if he’s ready.”

“Thank you, Perkins.” Kanesha dismissed him with a curt nod before she spoke to me. “You feel like going back inside?”

“Yes,” I said, and Diesel added a meow to that.

A smile came and went quickly on Kanesha’s face as she stood aside to allow me room to get out of the squad car.

“Come on, boy,” I said, and Diesel hopped out.

Kanesha escorted us up the walk, and I decided to risk a question. “How is the investigation going?”

“About as well as could be expected.” Kanesha paused on the doorstep as Diesel and I entered the house.

When I realized the deputy hadn’t followed me inside, I turned back. “Won’t you come in for a minute?”

“Sorry, too much to do.” Kanesha regarded me with what I thought could actually be sympathy. “Be careful, Mr. Harris. You and your whole family. We’re going to keep a watch on your house, but if anything or anyone seems at all suspicious to you, call 911 immediately.”

“You will catch whoever is doing this, won’t you?” Those knots in my stomach were making a comeback.

“Yes, we will. I’m not going to tolerate this kind of crap in my county.” Kanesha’s firm certainty made me feel better. For a moment she reminded me of her mother. I had seen Azalea with that fierce expression numerous times, and I realized how much alike mother and daughter really were. That probably explained why they seemed to butt heads so often.

I doubted Kanesha would appreciate my pointing that out, however.

“Now, you’ll have to excuse me,” Kanesha said with a quick nod. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll let you know about the package as soon as I have more information.” She turned and headed down the walk.

“Of course. Thanks, Deputy.” I spoke to her rapidly retreating back. With a shake of the head, I stepped inside and shut the door.

Diesel rubbed against me, and I scratched his head. I told him again what a smart kitty he was. I told myself I’d feel foolish if the package turned out to be harmless, but I couldn’t forget Diesel’s behavior. That had to mean something was odd about the package. I prayed that no one was injured when they examined it further.

My head had begun to throb, and I figured I was a bit dehydrated. In the kitchen I poured myself a large glass of chilled water from the fridge, and after downing that I started to feel better. Diesel came back from a visit to the utility room as I was finishing my second glass. I decided he deserved a treat for his cleverness, and I rewarded him with a handful of the tidbits I stocked for that purpose. The moment he saw the package in my hand he started warbling, because he knew exactly what I was doing. He placed a large paw on my hand and pushed down as I bent over to put the treats on the floor for him.

I watched until he finished, and when he looked up, hopeful for more, I gave him a second handful. I made sure he saw me put the package away in the cabinet, however, when he finished his second round.

“That’s all for now, boy,” I told him. He gazed at me for a moment before he commenced washing his right front paw.

Time to get back to work, I decided. What had I been doing before Diesel alerted me to the presence of the strange envelope?

Ah, yes, I was reading the draft of Lawton’s play. I headed back to the den, this time with Diesel on my heels. We settled down on the sofa, me confined to a small portion of it on one end while Diesel stretched out to occupy the rest. He soon dozed off, curled on his back with his front paws in the air. I resumed my reading.

I didn’t spend much time on the portion of the play I thought was based on Ralph and Magda Johnston. There didn’t seem to be much new that I could glean from those pages. Instead I focused on the sections that featured the Ferris family. The more I thought about it, the more I figured it was obvious that the “Ferrises” were really the Norrises.

Based on Lawton’s notes and the articles from the two newspapers, I had to conclude that Lawton was deliberately writing about the real family, thinly disguised. But why? I kept coming back to that question.

How did Lawton know so much about the history of the Norrises? He had spent his early years in Athena, I knew, but hadn’t he left when he was only four or five? I thought that was what someone told me. So what was the connection?

Pictures of Connor Lawton flashed in my head—Lawton at the Theater Department party, both inside and outside the house. I had puzzled over his behavior at the time, and that might be the clue I needed.

On a hunch I got up and went to the desk and fired up my computer. I waited, not very patiently, for it to finish all the preliminary gyrations it had to go through before I could use it.

When it was ready I opened my browser and typed in the address to the public library website. From there I could link to the information I wanted: Athena County property tax records.

I wanted to follow a hunch to find out what, if any, property the Norris family might still own in Athena. Then I would try to find out where the Lawtons had lived in Athena when Connor Lawton was a child. The answer might be that simple, that the Norrises and the Lawtons were neighbors back then.

After I found the link I wanted, I clicked and was taken to the property tax database. I could search by parcel number or by name. Since I had no idea what the parcel number in question was, I put in the name Norris.

There were eight results, but none of the Norrises was Hubert or Levi or even Sarabeth. Nor were the addresses ones I expected.

Now what? I thought for a moment, then typed in Conley, Sarabeth’s married name.

This time there were seventeen results, Conley apparently being a more common name than Norris, at least in Athena.

I scanned the listings and then stopped at one for a Joseph Conley. The address was 1744 Rosemary Street. Why did that sound familiar?

I puzzled over it for a moment, then I had it—Ralph Johnston’s house, the site of the Theater Department party.

At least I had thought it was his house, but evidently it belonged to Sarabeth and her husband instead.

Lawton also had it in his notes, so it meant something to him.

I decided to follow my hunch further. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in the number for the public library. The very person I wanted to speak to answered. “Hi, Teresa, this is Charlie. How are you?”

We exchanged pleasantries, then I asked, “Are you really busy right now?”

“No, not terribly,” Teresa replied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to check something in one of the old phone books, if you wouldn’t mind. I could come down there and do it myself, but I’m too impatient.” I laughed.

“Not a problem. What year or years do you need?”

I did a quick calculation. “1982 or 1983 should do it.”

“I’m going to put you on hold while I go pull them. Be right back.” Soft music played in my ear.

The old phone books resided in cabinets in the same room with the microfilm, so I knew it would take Teresa a minute or two to retrieve the requested items.

I glanced over at the sofa. Diesel was still asleep. I smiled as I turned back to the computer.

Teresa came back on the line. “Got them both. What are you looking for?”

“A family named Lawton who might have lived on Rosemary Street back then.”

“Okay, I’ll check.” I heard Teresa put the phone down and begin to riffle through the pages.

Would my hunch pan out?