File M For Murder

FORTY

I wasn’t as surprised at Ray’s assessment of the murders as the others appeared to be. I had no idea whether he was right, of course, but he had picked up on something that had been bothering me.

“I believe that’s a valid point, Ray,” Sean said. “Murder is a violent crime, but there are levels of violence. I wonder what a profiler would make of the three murders, an assault, and a letter bomb?”

“A profiler might look for someone with a history of violence,” Ray replied. “Like Levi Norris. He’s been in and out of trouble since he was a kid. Increasingly violent trouble, including attempted rape.”

“We know about some of that,” Laura said. “Dad found references to it in the newspapers.”

“The police and the sheriff’s department know all about Levi’s history. He’s been pretty clean, as far as I know, for the past ten years or so. But it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he was behind the stabbing, the assault, and the letter bomb.”

“I want to put a stop to any more violence and protect my family.” I spoke in a fiercer tone that I intended, but I supposed my subconscious feelings of fear for my family’s safety came through. “Kanesha’s going to have to listen to me about all this.”

“That’s probably my cue to leave.” Ray Appleby stood and put his notebook and pen away. “She wouldn’t allow me to hang around anyway, even if she does agree to talk to you.” He glanced at Stewart in what I thought was a studiously casual manner. “Besides, dinner’s waiting for me at home.”

“How sweet.” Stewart arched both eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. “Who is it this week, Ray?”

The reporter’s face turned fiery red, and I thought he might stroke out right in front of us. Stewart offered an angelic smile, while Laura and Sean both turned their heads away. Ray stood there, silent a moment longer, and then the red faded away. He nodded to me. “I’ll check in with you later, after the sheriff’s department has issued some kind of statement. I really think you’re on to something with Sarabeth and Levi Norris.”

I escorted him to the front door, and when I returned to the kitchen the others were laughing. “I can’t believe how bratty you can be.” Laura shook her finger at Stewart. “That wasn’t a nice thing to do.” She grinned.

“A queen’s prerogative,” Stewart said with a smirk. “Sometime I’ll tell you the whole, boring story, darlin’, but let me just say that I have my reasons.” He batted his eyelashes at my daughter. “And they are good.” He drew the last word out until it sounded like it had five syllables.

Sean snorted. “Promise me you’ll give up the Jack McFarland routine one of these days before you drive us all nuts, okay?”

Stewart and Laura both sputtered with laughter in response.

I stood patiently until the hilarity died down, trying not to smile. When the three of them sobered enough to focus on me, I said, “Time to get serious, gang. I’m going to call Kanesha and try to get her to listen to me. We’ve put together an interesting scenario, but we have no idea what kind of evidence she has. Maybe all she needs is some of the information we have, maybe not. But I want this resolved as soon as possible, because I don’t like the notion of my family being under a threat of more violence.”

Diesel came up to me and rubbed against my legs, meowing as he did so. I knew he had picked up on the turmoil I was feeling, a mixture of excitement and dread. I scratched his head and murmured to him that everything was all right, and he stopped talking and relaxed against me.

“Of course, Dad,” Sean said. “Whatever you want us to do, just tell us.”

“Thanks, son. I know I can count on you.” I paused. “The main thing is to stick together and not let Levi or Sarabeth get close to any of us until this is over.”

“Are you convinced it’s them, and not the Johnstons?” Stewart put a restless Dante on the floor, and the dog ran toward the utility room and his water bowl.

“Yes, I am.” I scratched Diesel’s head because I could feel him getting skittish again. “Because of Hubert Norris, primarily. His death was too convenient. It has to be linked to the present.”

“I think you’re right,” Stewart said. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m hungry. That I can do something about. How about I get dinner started while Charlie calls Wonder Woman?”

“Good idea,” Laura said. “I’m hungry, too. I’ll help.”

“Me, too,” Sean said. “Unless you need me for something, Dad.”

“No, go ahead. I’m going to the den and call Kanesha from there.”

Diesel came along with me to the den. I sat at the desk, and he climbed onto the sofa and nestled into his afghan. He meowed a couple of times, as if inviting me to join him. I knew what he wanted, of course—back scratches and belly rubs, for which he would reward me with purring and warbling.

“In a minute, boy,” I said. “Have to make this phone call first.”

I didn’t relish the forthcoming talk with Kanesha. She might still be aggravated over the scene with her mother the other day. I couldn’t help being in the middle of it, but Kanesha wasn’t quite rational when it came to her mother. I wasn’t afraid of her. I simply didn’t like confrontation that much. Talking to her always felt more like confrontation than conversation.

Still, I had provided helpful information in two previous investigations, so maybe she’d be willing to listen to me this time.

I punched in the number that I knew all too well these days and waited for a response. “Could I speak to Chief Deputy Berry, please? It’s Charlie Harris, and I have some urgent news for her.”

The voice on the other end expressed regret that the chief deputy wasn’t available and I was welcome to leave a message and a callback number. With a distinct feeling of anticlimax, I repeated that my need to speak with her was urgent and gave my cell number. “She can call me at any time.”

I received further assurances that the message would be delivered, and that was that. I set my cell phone down and stared at the papers on the desk.

I didn’t know how long it would be before Kanesha returned my call. Minutes? Hours? It was frustrating not being able to unburden myself and turn it all over to her.

Sean interrupted my mental stewing. “Dad, can we talk a minute?”

I turned to see him entering the den. I nodded. “What is it?”

“Just got off the phone with Alexandra,” he said as he perched on the edge of the sofa. Diesel shifted position and pushed his hind paws against Sean’s leg—a clear signal that Sean was supposed to give him attention. Sean grinned and started rubbing the cat’s tummy. “She really needs me tomorrow morning. She has to take a deposition in Tupelo and wants me to go with her. Can you be Laura’s bodyguard until I get back, probably sometime after lunch?”

“Of course. I’ll call Melba first thing in the morning and let her know I won’t be in.”

“Sorry you have to miss work again.” Sean stood, and Diesel grumbled at the removal of the attentive hand on his stomach. “Have you talked to Kanesha yet?”

“Missing work isn’t a problem,” I said. “And no, I haven’t talked to Kanesha. She wasn’t available, and I had to leave a message.”

“Irritating,” Sean said with a sympathetic smile. He knew how impatient I could be in situations like this. “Dinner won’t be long. I’ll give you a holler when it’s ready.”

“Thanks.” As he left I turned back to the papers on my desk. Perhaps I should go through them and make my own set of notes, help me organize my thoughts for when I did talk to Kanesha.

I found a pen and a legal pad and started to work. A few minutes later I felt a large paw on my thigh, and then Diesel thrust his head under my right arm and pushed. I put down the pen and rubbed his head. “Sorry, boy, I know you want some attention. I’m distracted right now, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

Diesel responded with some plaintive meows, but continued attention to the area behind his ears turned the meows into happy warbles.

Sean called me for dinner before I could get back to my notes, and Diesel and I headed for the kitchen.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Kanesha had yet to return my call, and I had to use every ounce of self-restraint I possessed not to call the sheriff’s department every half hour. I could have tried to talk to someone else, at least to assuage some of my growing need to share this theory. But I knew that Kanesha was the one who would have to decide what to do with my information, so I might as well wait until I could tell her.

Sleep, when it came, was not particularly restful, and I wanted to take a baseball bat to my alarm when it went off the next morning. Diesel, who had been sleeping next to me, picked up on my grumpy mood and did what I referred to as his “adorable kitty routine.” Winsome looks and sympathetic chirps added to languorous stretches were all designed to soften me and make me say, “What a sweet/cute/adorable boy you are,” and thereby improve my mood.

Naturally I couldn’t resist this and did feel better by the time I went downstairs for breakfast. Thinking about the morning ahead and fretting over the lack of a return call from Kanesha, however, pushed my level of grumpiness right back up. I considered insisting that Laura stay home today, but I knew she would argue with me.

We made it to her office on campus a few minutes before nine, with Diesel in tow. He inspected her office while I settled in the only visitor’s chair. Laura booted her computer and prepared to read e-mail.

“There’s coffee down in the staff commons area,” Laura said.

“I’m fine.” I’d had my requisite two cups before we left home. “Don’t worry about me. You focus on your work, and I’ll sit here and read. Diesel will settle down in a few minutes after he’s smelled everything there is to smell in here.”

Laura smiled as she watched the cat for a moment. “He is definitely curious, isn’t he?” She turned back to her computer screen and soon became absorbed in her task.

I pulled a book out of my briefcase and settled down to read. In times of stress I tended to reread old favorites, and this morning I had pulled an old favorite off the shelf, Georgette Heyer’s The Grand Sophy. I was soon immersed in it and barely noticed when Diesel came to stretch out under my chair.

I’d read about twenty pages when the entrance of a visitor startled me.

“Good morning.” Sarabeth Conley stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”