The Tree of Death

five

I couldn’t believe it. Even after I had talked to Lieutenant Kirk-giving him a detailed statement on everything that had happened from the time I got to work the day before to the time I picked up the phone and called the police-I still couldn’t believe it.

Frank, the lieutenant told me, had been hit on the head with a heavy object. The police hadn’t yet found out what it was. The tree of life had then been pushed over onto his body in a clumsy attempt to cover up the crime.

I had turned over my office to Lieutenant Kirk, so he could talk to each of us in private. As I left, Vic entered, giving me a comforting glance that somehow didn’t come off. I wandered out of the office wing. In the folk art gallery, the lab technicians were finishing up. Frank’s body had been removed, but there were chalk marks on the floor and the arbol de la vida and nearby display cases were covered with what I assumed was fingerprint powder. Mechanically I looked around the gallery to see if anything other than the tree had been damaged. The other displays looked all right, but I sensed something wrong. What? I couldn’t put my finger on it. What…?

Isabel came up behind me. “Elena?”

“Yes?”

“The phones are ringing constantly. Reporters. I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Just what I did-that we’ll call a press conference later. I have to talk to Carlos, and I’d better do that now.” We left the gallery and went back across the courtyard. “You take care of the phones,” I told Isabel and went into Frank’s office.

It was exactly as it had been the afternoon before. Sunlight slanted through the window, throwing the shadow of the iron bars across the clean desk. A tidy desk, in Frank’s case, had been no virtue. It was always like that and, more often than not, the padded leather chair was unoccupied.

I sat down and opened the center drawer of the desk. Nothing there but pens and pencils. The pencils were all pointed and sharp. In a side drawer I found the budget sheets Frank had said he was going to work on last night. I doubted that story; Vic prepared the budget, and Frank took his advice. He’d merely said that so I would think he was doing something.

I flipped through the ledger sheets. They were covered with Vic’s neat figures. The last one, however, was scrawled in Frank’s bolder hand. Maybe he had done some work after all. I scanned the sheet.

It was a list of names with numbers opposite them. The names were unfamiliar to me, and the numbers were much too large to have anything to do with the museum budget: $50,000; $61,500. If only we had that many grants of that amount!

So it must be a personal ledger sheet. What did it mean? Prices of houses Frank was looking at? He’d been talking about moving recently. No, they were much too low for Santa Barbara’s real estate. Debts? Surely Frank hadn’t been that far in the red. Gambling debts? Maybe he’d had a secret vice. The thought pleased me, but I shrugged and replaced the ledger sheets. It wasn’t my business, especially now that he was dead. Flipping through the desk calendar, I finally found the number of Carlos Bautista’s hotel in Acapulco and reached for the phone.

One of the buttons was lit and another flashing. Isabel was obviously having trouble keeping up with the calls. I punched the flashing button and said, “Museum of‘ Mexican Arts.”

“Elena? Is that you?” It was Susana Ibarra, Tony’s teen-aged bride. With a start, I remembered Tony hadn’t put in an appearance that morning.

“Yes, Susana.”

“What are you doing answering the phone?”

“Maria’s not here.”

“Is she sick?”

Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on the desk blotter. Susana was a silly girl, the perfect teenage vamp. She wore her skirts too short, her makeup too heavy, and her long dark hair extravagantly teased. She chewed gum constantly and, if given the opportunity, would babble on for hours, punctuating her conversation with shrill giggles. “No, Susana,” I said, “Maria’s not sick.”

“Well, that’s good because there’s something terrible going around. First I had it and now Tony. That is why I’m calling, to say Tony won’t be in to work today.”

That was nothing new. She frequently called in with excuses for Tony. He didn’t appear sickly, but he was out at least five days of every month.

“You haven’t heard the news, then,” I said.

“News?”

“Frank’s dead. Somebody murdered him in the folk art gallery.”

There was a gasp, then silence.

“Susana, are you there?”

“I am… here.”

“Maybe I better talk to Tony.”‘

“No! You can’t.”

“Why not? He is there, isn’t he?”

“Yes…he is… but he can’t come to the phone. He’s sick. That is, he’s throwing up and he can’t… I will have him call back.” She hung up.

I stared at the receiver for a moment, then replaced it. For the first time ever, something I had said had gotten through to Susana. I only hoped she’d be able to communicate it to Tony before she went off into babbling hysterics. I sighed, then direct-dialed Carlos Bautista’s hotel in Mexico.

Carlos, an amiable, shrewd-minded man who had made a fortune in oil, was shocked but calm. He told me to refer the press to the police for information; he would cut his vacation short and return tonight; we would hold a board meeting as soon as he arrived. “In the meantime,” he added, “I’m appointing you acting director. You can hold your press conference and tell them that, no more.”

“Me? Acting director?”‘

“Yes, you. Why not? You’re the only one there who appears to be doing anything.”

“Well, I’m honored, of course. Do you think perhaps we should cancel the Cinco de Mayo party?”

There was a pause. “No, I don’t. Vic tells me we’ve sold a large number of tickets for it. There will be almost as many more sold at the door. We can’t afford to cancel the party-or to lose the support and enthusiasm of those people. We’ll go ahead with it.”

“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

I hung up the phone, imagining a heavy weight descending onto my shoulders. Days ago I would have given anything to be running the museum. Now the thought of it just made me tired.

“What are you doing in here?” It was Lieutenant Kirk, and he looked furious.

“Calling our board chairman.”

“Don’t you know better than to mess with the deceased’s desk before I’ve had a chance to go through it?”

“All I did was use the phone!”

“That doesn’t matter. Come on. I need to talk to you anyway.”

I stood up, feeling even more tired. “I told you everything I know.”

He looked at me. Again, I couldn’t read his expression. “Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll go over it once more. Certain inconsistencies in your statement have come to light.”

Inconsistencies? What did that mean? I followed Kirk back to my own office.

The office smelled of cigarette smoke, and the ashtray was full of butts. A coffee cup sat on a stack of papers. Kirk certainly was making himself at home. The lieutenant plunked himself in my swivel chair, and I sat down across the desk from him, feeling displaced.

“What did your board chairman say?” he asked.

“That we’re to refer press questions to your department. I’ll tell them at the press conference.”

“Why have one at all?”

“I’m also to announce that I’ve been named acting director.”

“Acting director? Come up in the world, haven’t you?”

I looked sharply at him, but his face was blank.

“All right.”‘ He consulted a legal pad on the desk in front of him. “I see here that a couple of your people are not on the premises. Mr. Ibarra…”

“Tony’s at home sick. His wife called in. He’s supposed to call me back.”

Kirk nodded. “And Miss De La Cruz?”

“She and Mr. Herrera are at the De Palma home.”

“Mr. Herrera?”

“He’s an artist. Actually he isn’t on staff, but he was supposed to be here for the press preview. He’s one of our best known contemporary exhibitors.”

“You have home addresses for these people?”

“Yes.” I motioned at my Rolodex.

Again Kirk nodded.

“Lieutenant Kirk,” I said, “what about these inconsistencies you mentioned? I’d like to clear them up so I can get on with my work.”

“What work is that?”

“Well, the press conference. And notifying our other board members so they can schedule time for a meeting.”

“Taking charge rather quickly, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.

“Inconsistencies. Yes.” Kirk leafed through his legal pad. “Let’s see. You say the big tree of life arrived yesterday morning about eleven o’clock.”‘

“Yes.”

“And Mr. De Palma wanted it displayed for the press preview.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t, however.”

“If you mean I didn’t want it displayed, no.”

“Will you go over your reasons for that again, please.”

I took a breath. “The arbol de la vida is an ancient Mexican symbol. Some of them are quite beautiful. Most being created today, however, are a far cry from the originals. They are garish, unaesthetic. Tourists buy them, as they do those terrible paintings on velvet. They make a mockery of a sacred thing.”

“And you felt this particular tree was a mockery.”

“Yes.”

“How is it that Mrs. Cunningham presented this mockery to the museum?”

“Isabel meant well. She liked the tree. Some people do like them, you know.”

“But not you.”

“Most curators would have questioned the wisdom of displaying it.” What were these questions leading to?

“Then, what you’re saying, Miss Oliverez, is that Mrs. Cunningham has bad taste.”

“No.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “She’s not an art expert, that’s all. She didn’t realize it would reflect badly on our collections to include such a tree. But that doesn’t mean she has bad taste. If everyone were an art expert, we wouldn’t need curators. We’re here to select, to show the public the most definitive pieces… Oh, Por Dios!”

“What’s the matter?”

“This has nothing to do with Frank’s murder.”

“I’ll decide that, Miss Oliverez. If everyone were a crime expert, there wouldn’t be policemen.”

My temper flared. What right did he have to parody my statement about curators?

Kirk evidently saw the anger on my face. He smiled nastily. “You have quite a temper, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m pushed.”

He nodded and looked down at his paper. “All right. If this tree was such a mockery, as you put it, why would Mr. De Palma want to display it?”

“To please Isabel, of course.”

“Was he fond of Mrs. Cunningham?”

“I don’t understand.”

“He must have been fond of her, to want to please her by displaying an ugly tree of life.”

The man was baiting me, and that made me even more angry. “He was trying to please her because she has money. Surely you’ve heard of the influence of money, Lieutenant?”

He didn’t rise to that. Instead, he made a note on his legal pad and said, “What did you tell Mr. De Palma when he said you must display the tree?”

“I told him we shouldn’t.”

“And?”

“He insisted, so we put it on display.”

“Is that all you told him, Miss Oliverez?”

I felt a nervous tightening in my stomach. “There wasn’t anything else I could tell him. He was director here.”

Kirk paged through the pad. “Let me read to you from my notes on my interview with Mr. Leary: ‘Frank told Elena to do it, to set the tree up. She blew her top. She has quite a temper, but I’ve never seen her that mad. She called Frank a son of a bitch. She told him someone ought to kill him.” “ Kirk looked up. ”Is that what happened, Miss Oliverez?“ His mild brown eyes watched mine.

Oh, Vic! Why had he told Kirk about that? “It… happened,” I said.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“There’s nothing else to say. It happened. But I didn’t mean it. You say things in anger, but you don’t carry them out.”

He made a notation on the pad. “Let’s talk about the alarm system here. I take it you’re familiar with it.”

“Yes.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s a simple household system. If anyone opens any of the doors while it’s on, a loud bell rings.”

“What about the windows?”

“They’re not on the system. Since they’re all barred, it isn’t necessary.”

“How many doors are wired?”

“Three. The front, the loading dock, and the courtyard outside Frank’s office.”

Kirk frowned. “What about the doors to the central courtyard?”

“Not necessary. The only way into the courtyard is through the front door. The rear courtyard, the one outside Frank’s office, opens to the parking lot, as you’ve seen. The entry is protected by the padlocked gate.”

“All right.” He doodled on his pad. “How do you set the alarm?”

“Two ways. If you’re inside, there’s a toggle switch beside each door. Flipping it sets the alarm on all three doors. From the outside you have to use a key. That does the same thing-sets all three, no matter which door you use.”

“And the keys? Who has them?”

“There are only two. Mine and Frank’s.”

“And where is yours now?”

“With me.” I patted the pocket of my skirt.

“Have you had it with you all the time period we discussed, from yesterday morning to now?”

“Yes.”

“And Mr. De Palma’s key. Where is it, do you know?”

I paused, picturing Frank’s office. “On the hook on his office wall. Frank was absentminded, so he kept both the alarm key and the key to the courtyard-gate padlock on a large ring, which he hung up when he came to work.”

“You’re certain there are no other keys?”

“Yes. When we moved in here there was quite a… discussion about who should have keys. We decided, for safety’s sake, to limit the number.”

“What about copies? Could any have been made?”

“No. It’s not the type of key locksmiths have masters for. You have to go to the manufacturer, and they’ll provide them only on the request of specified people.”

“Who?”

“Which people, you mean? Me, Frank, and our board chairman, Carlos Bautista. We would all have had to okay the request.”

“And no such request has ever been made?”

“Never.”

Kirk leaned back in the desk chair-my desk chair-and looked at me silently. “All right. Let’s go over what happened when you left last night.”

I sighed. “I went to Frank’s office and asked if he was going to lock up or if I should do it. He told me to go ahead.”

“Where were his keys then?”

“On the hook.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I set the alarm and left.”

“There was no one else on the premises but Mr. De Palma?”

“No one. They’d all left at least fifteen minutes before.”

“So Mr. De Palma was locked in here alone?”

“Yes.”

Again Kirk was silent.

“Lieutenant Kirk, I don’t see why it matters what happened last night. Frank had already arrived here before I did this morning. Whoever killed him probably came in with him.”

Kirk leaned forward, his imperturbable brown eyes on mine. “The coroner’s man estimates that Mr. De Palma died early yesterday evening, possibly as early as five-thirty.”

“Oh.” An unpleasant realization was dawning on me. The silence lengthened.

Finally I said, “He told me he was going to work on the budget last night. But he never did that. It was Vic’s job. Maybe Frank just said that to get rid of me. Maybe he was going to meet someone here and needed to get me out of the way. Maybe he let that person in, and he or she killed him.”

Kirk regarded me thoughtfully.

“Well, he could have let someone in,” I said. “All he had to do was flip the toggle switch to shut off the alarm.”

The lieutenant paged through his legal pad. “From your earlier statement, Miss Oliverez: ‘When I arrived this morning, the alarm was set. Everything seemed normal. When I passed Frank’s office I saw his keys on the hook and realized he’d arrived here first, but I decided not to bother him. I went about my business, and the others showed up maybe twenty minutes later.” “

“What, do you take shorthand?” I asked. But my mind was busy with the possibilities.

He didn’t even acknowledge the question.

“So he let someone in last night and reset the alarm,” I said. “Then that person killed him and…”

“And what, Miss Oliverez?”

And what indeed? No one could have left, not without the keys to reset the alarm.

“What did this person do after killing Mr. De Palma?” Kirk repeated.

“Well, he… he could have-” Of course! “He could have hidden in the museum until I got here this morning and then sneaked out.”

“Wouldn’t you or Mr. Leary or Mrs. Cunningham and her volunteers have seen someone sneak out?”

“Not necessarily…”I stared down at my hands. They were clasped together, white-knuckled. I closed my eyes and saw with dismaying clarity the way the alarm switch had looked when I unlocked it this morning.

“Miss Oliverez?”

I looked up at Kirk, my lips parted in panic. “Someone did leave the museum, though. Someone left between the time I set the alarm and the time I opened up this morning.”

“How do you know that?”

“When I set the alarm last night, the lock was in the down position. But, this morning, it was up. That means someone left through one of the other two doors-the loading dock or Frank’s courtyard-and reset the alarm.”

“How, Miss Oliverez?”

I stared at him, thinking hard.

“How could anyone have done that when you, by your own admission, had one set of keys and the other was inside the museum when you arrived this morning?”

“Maybe-maybe someone sneaked in and replaced Frank’s keys on the hook after I opened up.”

“Oh, now we have someone sneaking in. But is that really possible, Miss Oliverez?”

“No.” I’d gone straight to Frank’s office and seen the keys. No one could have gotten there first.

“In other words,” Kirk said, “the only person who could have set that alarm was you. We have only your word for the fact that the alarm lock was in a different position this morning-the word of a person who had, as recently as yesterday, threatened Mr. De Palma’s life.”

“I didn’t threaten him!”

“What do you call it?”

“I-I was angry… I didn’t mean-”

“You appear to be an intelligent young woman, Miss Oliverez. If you were looking at the set of facts I have before me, what would you think?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Then let me tell you.” Kirk got up and leaned across the desk. His voice was soft and level. “That set of facts strongly suggests that you killed Frank De Palma.”