Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream (25 page)

Finally, we came to a large flat-topped rock and I climbed up and spread my arms wide to the sky, then hugged myself.

Nick watched and I wondered if he saw more than I suspected. He hopped up. We sat together on the rock overlooking the calm waters of the lake where Nick Renzo swam in the summer and skated in the winter, where he had brought me as summer headed into autumn.

“One of the few things I remember my great-grandmother telling me when I was a kid was that autumn made her sad,” I said. “She considered it a dying time, a time when things come to an end, leaves, flowers, all of it. At some point every autumn, I remember her telling me that.”

I swallowed hard.

“You’re not good at keeping things bottled up inside, Nora. Some people are very private, hold things close to the vest. Like me. You’re not like that though,” Nick said.

My first impulse was to deny the truth of what he’d said. I didn’t want to seem weak in his eyes, wimpy, or needy. I assured myself that I was strong. Sorrow was not tantamount to weakness.

It was several minutes before I replied. “Sometimes, if I can’t share, I think I’ll explode.”

He accepted this quietly, but didn’t take the opportunity to probe.

I told him what I’d found in the box, about my relatives, about my father. I finished by saying, “I can’t find the real murderer, can’t clear my dad’s name. It all happened too many years ago.”

“Do you want this all kept secret, or are you willing to open it up? Possibly reopen old wounds?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can check into the cold case files, see if anything was overlooked. Murder cases have no statute of limitations. I can find out the name of the cop in charge and everyyone else on the case. Get their take. If I start asking around, other people will find out we’re looking into it. They might wonder about your father’s guilt. Would that bother you?”

“I don’t care who knows. If there’s a chance… .”

Before I finished speaking he pulled out his cell phone and hit a number.

“Miller, everything quiet?”

He listened. “Good. Do me a favor and check out some old records on the Kendall murder. Kendall, senior.” He gave Miller the information. “Find out who had the case, who took the initial call. Get back to me ASAP.”

The longer I knew this man, the more he pleased me. He was a man of action, a man who got to the heart of things, minus all the fanfare.

To me he said, “Most likely, the cop would be retired now. But if we’re lucky he may be able to tell us things that aren’t in the file.” He set the phone next to him. “Are you angry at your family?” he asked before I could thank him.

“No. What Hannah did balances it out. She lied for him, put herself in jeopardy. She could have been arrested for giving false information in a murder case.” I stopped suddenly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that part. Could she still be arrested?”

He took my hand. “Hannah won’t be arrested. You have my word.”

Relieved, I continued, “About what you asked … if I hold a grudge, I’ll be recreating the feelings that existed back then and I don’t want to do that. My father threw away family relationships, and I don’t intend to walk in his footsteps on that one.”

“The Lassiters are good people.”

“I know that.”

After a while I said, “Thank you for making that call. I would never have thought of contacting the cop who handled the case.”

He smiled and kissed me. “That’s because you’re not a cop.”

I nudged his shoulder, and hopped off the rock.

We headed back.

“How’s the Collins’ investigation coming?” I asked as I teetered my way across a series of rocks. “You haven’t told me much lately.”

“I’ve interviewed everyone connected with him that I know of, and several people who knew him casually. Al Collins lived in Silver Stream all his life. Went to school here. Many hint at a shady side, but claim not to know much about it. For the most part, I believe them. But some are reluctant to talk because they know he was into something illegal and they don’t want their names tied to it. Maybe they were involved, too. Who knows?”

“You have any idea of what the illegal part was?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out. Could be related to cars. Drugs are a possibility, too. Can’t rule either out.”

“Drugs?”

Rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, he stopped and looked at me. “Because of his involvement with cars, cars would be the logical choice. But my gut feeling tells me drugs.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Easier to move. Big money. He wasn’t hurting for money, that’s for damn sure. The inside of his house looks like Donald Trump’s decorator let loose.”

JT’s, too, I thought, but didn’t say anything.

“Could marijuana be involved?” I asked, recalling what Ida had said about pot farms.

“It’s a strong possibility. I’m looking into it.”

We continued up the slight incline toward the parking lot.

“Miles and miles of woods to check,” he commented as we crested the hill. “If that’s the direction we’re going, I’ll need more help than I have now. The Maine DEA usually handles this, but they don’t concentrate on marijuana much any more. Arrests and seizures are down. Not the supply though. They have limited resources, and have had to reallocate to investigations involving other drugs.”

“You think those names with the numbers are drug contacts?”

“Could be. We’ve checked them out. Nothing so far. Several people with those names in the country, but no reason to suspect any of them. The names don’t add up.”

“You watching Percy?” I asked.

He smiled at me. “Yes,
Detective
Lassiter. We’re watching Percy and a few other folks.”

“Surveillance. Good. What other folks?”

“I have guys on overtime,” he told me as we sidestepped a fallen branch. “They’re watching the Auto Mart and JT’s Auto Repair. If I had more help, I’d also watch the women.”

“The Marla maybes?

“Yup.”

“Want me to watch?”

“Nope.”

“I should have known better than to ask,” I said. I should just do, not say. Mentioning the ladies, made me remember something I wanted to ask.

“I went to see Vivian and her dogs. She hinted that her neighbor Verney was into things. Like pot parties or something.”

“Yes, I know about that.”

Nick took my hand as we headed for his SUV. It felt good. There was something solid about him. I felt safe, which was a mild surprise because I hadn’t been aware of feeling unsafe.

“Verney’s not a bad sort,” he said. “Last winter things got kinda loud by his house. Bunch of his hunting buddies were high one night and they took to the clearing to skeet shoot. Florescent skeets. They’d painted them. Vivian called it in. She heard the racket and wanted Verney’s ass in jail. For life, I think. She would have been okay with the death penalty, too. The woman wants him drawn and quartered, the real reason being that she thinks he poisoned one of her dogs.”

“Sounds like the Vivian I met.”

We got into the SUV and I said, “Did you question Verney about Collins’ murder?”

“Yep. He’s clear. Alibi checks out.”

“And Vivian?”

“Clear, too. She was at a dog show when Collins was shot.”

One down and two to go. Margaret and Amy. Three, if you counted Ellie.

“Can you find out the middle names of Amy and Margaret?”

“Already know them.”

I waited. Nothing.

“So?” I prompted. “You going to share?”

“Margaret Mary and Allison Mary.”

“Or Mar. Both close to Marla,” I said. “How about Vivian?” No way was I going to ask about Ellie. I could find that myself.

“Vivian’s middle name’s Joyce.”

* * *

We were driving back to town when Nick’s cell phone rang. Unlike mine, his had a nice normal ring.

He activated the speaker so I could hear.

“Chief, about that case you wanted me to check out?” Miller said. “Lieutenant Duncan was first on the scene, and he was in charge throughout.”

“Thanks.” He clicked off and made a U-turn. “He’s retired. Lives about ten miles past Kendall’s place.”

We drove until the road forked, then followed a bend where it narrowed. Overhead, dense trees canopied the road, blocking the last of the late-day sun. It was like driving through a scenic version of the Queens Midtown Tunnel.  Unlike this stunning view, the Tunnel, with its grungy tile, always reminded me of someone’s dirty bathroom.

“Think he’ll remember the case?” I asked.

“Only murder in Silver Stream on his watch.”

* * *

Duncan, a ruddy-complexioned man in his late sixties, early seventies, was hanging laundry on a makeshift clothesline strung from the side of the house to a nearby tree.

He set the last clothespin on a pair of striped boxers and turned to greet us.

“Hey there. Nick.” He looked to me, and Nick introduced us.

“This is Nora Lassiter. Her father was Tom Lassiter. Used to live in these parts years back.”

“I remember him. This about Tom?” He was wearing a plaid work shirt and faded jeans that looked like they had been new about thirty years ago. The words
good ole boy
ran through my head like a mantra. I didn’t like myself much for judging so quickly and on such shallow evidence, but there it was.

“Well, I was going to say howdy and how’s it going first,” Nick said, “but yes, it’s about Tom.”

“Sit. Have a beer.” Duncan gestured toward the small deck off the back of the house.

“Sounds good,” Nick said.

I didn’t want a beer. I wanted to hear what he had to say about my dad, and leave, but I smiled and went along.

“Damn dryer broke,” Duncan said as he tossed the bag of clothespins onto a chair.

We sat in Adirondack chairs and waited while he got the beers. Nick seemed at ease. I whispered, “Did you work for this guy?”

“Yes.”

“He a good cop?”

Nick said, “Listen to him. Tell me what you think.”

I smirked. “A straight answer would be good here.”

The guy returned and handed us each a can of beer. He gave me a glass. It was clean. No dog hairs, a point in his favor.

Nick explained what we were interested in, and ended by saying, “I haven’t read your report on the murder yet, but I was out this way and decided to stop. See if you could recall anything, get your feel for the case. I know it was a long time ago.”

“Never did find the killer and I regret that. Everyone figured it was Lassiter. That was stupid. He didn’t do it.”

That set me back on my heels.

“A lot of people thought he was guilty,” I said. “Why didn’t you?”

“Two days before the murder, Tom decks Kendall. Most folks put two and two together and come up with five. Bad blood between them, they say. He must’ve gone back and killed the guy. Dumbass thinking. That’s the exact reason Tom wasn’t guilty. He’d had his revenge. He didn’t need to go back. That would’ve been overkill.”

Duncan chuckled at his own morbid pun and so did Nick. Cop humor.

Duncan continued. “‘Course, Lassiter had an alibi. Don’t know how good it was. One of his aunts. Probably covering for him. If I’d thought the guy did it, that wouldn’t have stopped me. Never did find anyone who knew what the hell had gone on between him and Kendall. The wife, your mother, I mean, said she didn’t know. Probably had to do with her working there and leaving so quickly. My best guess? Percy fired her ass and Tom couldn’t accept the reason, whatever that was. Must have been very personal. Don’t suppose we’ll ever know now, unless she’s willing to talk.” He looked at me. “Hasn’t she told you?”

“No. But I don’t have to ask her now,” I said, relieved by what he’d told me. “I know she wasn’t fired. She quit. Sexual harassment.”

My opinion of the old cop had done a one-eighty. He wasn’t a good ole boy, but a thinker in backwoods clothing. He suspected Hannah’s alibi was trumped up, yet hadn’t called her on it because he believed my father was innocent. Technically, not good police procedure. Can’t tell a book by its cover.

“Kendall was after her?” he said, leaning forward.

“Yes. That’s what I heard.”

“That fits with your dad’s reaction. That occurred to me, but since your Mom and Dad didn’t press charges, I figured I was wrong. I mean, why wouldn’t they press charges?”

As we were getting into the SUV, I turned and gave Nick a quick kiss, startling him. “Thanks,” I said. “I feel better knowing he didn’t think Dad was guilty. He was a good cop, wasn’t he?”

“Kiss me again and I’ll tell you.”

TWENTY-SIX

All the aunts were at the house when I got back, sitting in the front room having tea. I guessed they’d been talking about me. Maybe wondering how I was holding up since they’d last seen me. Ida hopped up immediately. “I’ll get you a blueberry turnover. A dollop of cream?”