A Knife to Remember (19 page)

“But why did I think—?"

“
Quiet on the set!"
someone behind Jane bellowed.

At the same moment, the intern came plunging through between the pieces of scenery and said, "Butch—"

“
Rolling,"
the bullhorn announced.

The set was utterly silent. The intern froze in place and gestured to Butch. Butch responded with a quick movement of his fingers.

Jane put a hand over her mouth to keep from exclaiming. Hand signals! Signing! That's why she thought Jake was an ex-smoker. The way his hand kept fidgeting at lunch. But it wasn't nerves. It was signing! In complete silence, he'd been "talking" to someone.

The next couple of minutes seemed to last for hours. Jane's mind lurched and wheeled, circling memories, picking some, rejecting others, fitting pieces together, trying to make pieces fit that refused to.

“
Cut!”

Without another word to Butch, Jane leaped out of her lawn chair and sprinted to where she thought she'd seen Shelley standing a few minutes before. But Shelley was gone. "Maisie!" Jane said, spotting a familiar face. "Have you seen Shelley?"

“I think she's talking to somebody over by the props truck.”

Jane headed that way and met Shelley coming back. "Quick! We have to find Mel and talk to him. I just realized something!"

“He's at the dressing room trailer.”

He was interviewing someone and they had to wait a few minutes. "What is this?" Shelley asked in a whisper.

“Not here," Jane said. "Inside. Privately.”

An electrician emerged from the trailer and Jane darted inside. "Mel, I've got to talk to you. At my house where nobody else can hear us.”

She all but dragged him across the field.

Once they were all inside and well away from anyone who might overhear, Jane explained. "I don't know if anybody mentioned this to you, Mel, but Jake made his workers all learn to sign."

“You hauled me in here to tell me
that?"

“
Yes. It's important. He was doing it at that lunch the day he was killed. I noticed, but then I forgot about it. It was after he'd finished eating and he kept fidgeting his fingers, as if he were antsy for a cigarette to handle. I just figured he was a recently reformed smoker and didn't give it any more thought. But you see? He was giving someone a message!”

Mel wasn't convinced. "What if he was? We'll never know what it was. I don't see how it helps us—”

Jane had suddenly stepped back, her eyes wide! "But we might—! The tape!"

“Jane, have you gone over the edge," Shelley said. "What are you babbling about? What tape?"

“Somebody was taping the lunch! Roberto found out about it and had a fit. He ripped the tape out of the camcorder and gave it to me to throw away!"

“What did you do with it?" Mel asked, getting interested.

“I have no idea! Oh,
hell!
What did I do with it?"

“Don't get hysterical," Mel said sharply. "Just calm down and think it through. He handed you the tape and—?"

“He didn't really hand it to me, he sort of threw it at me. And I–I stuffed it into the big front pocket of the sweatshirt I was wearing. Then — then Lynette started that horrible story about her and Steve! I just don't know! Maybe I dropped it.”

She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the terrible memory of the next few minutes. "I came inside. Upstairs. I tried to talk to Mike, but he was mad and stomped out. I went in my room—”

She opened her eyes again and without a word turned and ran upstairs. A few seconds later, she came running back down with the tape cassette held high. "I kicked it under the bed. Shelley, turn on the television.”

She shoved the tape into the maw of the VCR. The three of them leaned forward, nearly ear to ear, watching as the luncheon replayed. It seemed endless. People came and went, passed the camera, blotting out the people at the table momentarily. Roberto's endless story went on and on.

“Fast forward the thing," Mel ordered. "No. Stop! There.”

The photographer had a good long shot of the table. Jake's hand was clearly visible.

“That's signing, all right," Mel said. "Hold it, I've got to call the office." He returned a minute later. "One of the secretaries signs. She's on her way over. You haven't cleaned your kitchen real well lately, have you?”

Jane looked at him with surprise. "Mel, I've got dust bunnies so old they're collecting social security. Of
course
I haven't cleaned my kitchen 'real well' lately. Why?"

“Because this tape may explain who was in your house and why."

“I don't get—"

“They were looking for this tape, Jane. Somebody knew what Jake had said and didn't want a record of it. They must have left fingerprints when they wrecked the place hunting."

“Or maybe Jake himself wanted it," Shelley said.

“Whoever it was, I'm going to have to fingerprint the kitchen and then start fingerprinting everybody out there. We hadn't done that because there weren't prints on the knife to compare to and the only ones on the tea mug were Harwell's and Longabach's, which were supposed to be on it. It's going to be a long afternoon, ladies. And we don't yet know if this damned tape will be any help at all.”

They ran the tape several times. The secretary Mel had summoned translated for them.

“He's talking to Lynette, of course," Jane said. "They go way back together and he must have known she had a brother who was deaf and assumed she'd understand the signing. It certainly explains Butch's medallion, doesn't it?"

“It might," Mel said. "But we can't be sure. It's not proof. Conjecture won't get me anyplace except pointed in the right direction."

“But you can find out whether what he was say- ing is true, can't you? Subpoena records—?" Jane asked.

Mel nodded. "But even then — maybe nobody cared that much if it was known."

“It doesn't look to me as if she's registering any acknowledgment of what he's saying," Shelley said.

“She was an actress. Putting expression in her face was her life's work. Maybe she's just as good at keeping it out," Jane replied.

“Maybe she didn't understand," Shelley said quietly. "Would someone that self-absorbed bother to 195 learn signing just so she could talk to her little brother? He probably lip-read, too.”

Jane looked at her. "I think you're probably right, Shelley. So, if she didn't get it, who did?"

“It could be anybody at or around that table," Shelley said. "What do we know about them? Lots of people can sign well enough to have gotten the gist of it. I'll bet you Katie knows the signing alphabet. There was quite a fad with the girls at school last year to learn it. They thought it was fun. Like a secret code.”

Mel said, "I've got my men asking around if any of the others at that table have anyone in their family with a hearing problem. But it still doesn't
prove
anything. It's possible that this has nothing to do with the murders. And even if it does, it's only a reason to kill Jake — and certainly not Lynette."

“I know," Jane said sadly.

“Jane, I appreciate your help. Really. It's not your fault this wasn't as useful as we'd all hoped."

“Mel, just rerun it one more time. I'm sure there's something there that will help.”

He obligingly rewound the tape and played it again. "Okay, who's able to see what he's doing?" Jane asked. "George is on his left. He might be able to see Jake's right hand. And Lynette is directly across from him acting like she doesn't notice either him or Olive standing behind her like a Secret Service agent. You can just see Butch at the edge of the frame, sitting on a folding chair with his lunch in his lap. But his face is out of the picture most of the time. We can't see what he's looking at."

“Cavagnari keeps looking Jake's way," Shelley said.

“Right, maybe because Jake's the only one who appears to be listening to him. Or maybe because he's 'listening' to Jake," Jane said.

“Angela and the intern are at the end of the table," Shelley went on. "It's hard to tell from this angle if they could see his right hand, what with all the drinking glasses that might have been in their line of sight."

“Angela must know signing," Jane said. "She was Jake's niece and it was one of his professional gimmicks. The intern had to learn it to work with him."

“The problem is, we have no way of knowing who else was just out of camera range," Shelley said. "No, the problem is that this gives Lynette a very slight, possible reason to have killed Jake, but nobody a reason to have killed Lynette," Mel said harshly. "I'm sorry, but it's really no help at all. Charlene, thanks for coming over so quickly," he added to the secretary.

She was a plump, pretty woman of about thirty. She sighed and picked up her purse and sweater. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help more. This is such a sad, sad thing, Lynette Harwell dying like that. I've sort of followed her career. Seen a couple of really bad movies just because she was in them and I kept hoping she'd be terrific again someday."

“Well, she was terrific yesterday," Jane said. "Shelley and I watched from a distance and really couldn't hear much, but everybody on the set said she gave her best performance ever."

“Well, at least she went out in style then," Charlene said. "Not all of us can lay claim to that much."

“I'm afraid that's true," Shelley said.

“And to think she was a—" Charlene stopped. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? She's got at least two really outstanding performances that will outlast her. Her family and friends and all her many fans will have to find a way to take comfort from that, I suppose. Mel, I've got some papers in the car for you. If you want to walk with me—”

They headed out through the kitchen, where two men were carefully taking fingerprints from every surface.

“Jane, I hope they clean up before they leave your house," Shelley said. "That black powder is making a mess. It's a good thing we had all the kids fingerprinted last year when they had the program at school. That way, you don't have to involve them any more than — Jane?"

“What?"

“I said — Jane, what's the matter with you?" "I think I know. It was what Charlene said." "Know what?"

“Everything. Why and who and even how!" She leaped up and ran after Mel. "Wait!" she shouted at him. "Come back. We have to talk!”

"All right, I'll admit you
could
be right," Mel said twenty minutes later.

“It all fits! What do you mean I 'could' be right?"

“It's all circumstantial, Jane."

“But the fingerprints in the kitchen will prove it, won't they?"

“The fingerprints will only prove that someone was in your kitchen. Not why or when or with what intent."

“But it's obvious! To find the tape and to pick up a handy weapon!"

“Jane, a trial lawyer would make mincemeat of that. He'd say his client just took an irrational, overwhelming dislike to you and trashed the kitchen as an expression of it. He'd say he was so sorry to have it brought out. It wasn't reasonable or nice to do, but still, we all do stupid, ugly things sometime in our lives and it doesn't make us murderers."

“Oh, Mel!" Jane felt like stamping her foot like a thwarted child. "Why are you countering everything I say?"

“Because I have to. If you can't even convince me a hundred-percent that this is the
only
possible explanation, how could I possibly convince a prosecutor to go to court with it? And if I don't know I can convince a prosecutor, I can't make an arrest. I don't dare!"

“Okay, okay. I see that. But Mel, just tell me unofficially, do you think I'm right?"

“I'm sure of it."

“So what are you going to do about it?"

“Everything I'm legally able to. Complete detailed questioning of all the suspects and witnesses, file a million reports, crawl over the evidence, look for new evidence to corroborate this theory — and hope for some damned good luck.”

Thelma was delighted at the prospect of having Katie and Todd spend the night with her. "I was going to call you anyway," she said. "I just saw on the noon news that that actress died practically in your yard. It's not a healthy environment for children.”

Jane couldn't imagine how Thelma could have heard about Lynette's death, still officially assumed to be a suicide, without also hearing about Jake's very definite murder the day before, but she cast her eyes heavenward and whispered, "Thanks."

“What was that?"

“Nothing. I'll bring them straight from school then. And pick them up in the morning?"

“Oh, Jane. Leave them all day. I want to take them shopping. I noticed that Todd's jeans are looking a tiny bit worn." That was Thelma's euphemism for "shabby." Jane didn't bother to tell her mother-in-law that Todd worked very hard at getting them that way.

“Then I'll pick them up around four.”

She got all their things together and headed out.

“Scott's got some little cousins visiting," Mike said when she got to the high school. "He promised to take them to the Museum of Science and Industry tomorrow, so it'll be an all-day thing. Give me my stuff and I'll just go home with him. Be back tomorrow for dinner unless I call first.”

That was when a couple of very disparate, but interlocked plans started to take shape in Jane's mind.

“Mom, don't you think you ought to go stay someplace else? A hotel or something?”

She smiled. "I'll be fine. Really fine. Don't worry about me. But if you call home and I'm not there, it's just because I decided to do that. In fact — oh, there's Scott's car. Here's your stuff.”

She checked that she had a credit card with her. made a couple of stops and smiled all the way home. She even smiled through a whole telephone conversation with Thelma. Then she went looking for Shelley to lay out her plan.