Consider the Crows (23 page)

He nodded judiciously. “I believe that's going to be an interesting challenge.”

“Owen, would you give me an informed guess? From superficial examination, based on your years of experience and your expert knowledge, has she been dead for anywhere around four days?”

His eyebrows did their thing again, but amusement glinted briefly in his hooded eyes before they turned blandly thoughtful. “That seems possible,” he said.

All right. The two deaths were connected; they had to be. It was too much to believe two killers were roaming around this quiet little town with wide clean streets and conservative citizens. Why Audrey? She knew something about Lynnelle's death? What, for God's sake? And how did she know it?

“After the autopsy,” Dr. Fisher said, “I might be able to tell you something.” Pathologists never liked to commit themselves until after cutting, peering, snipping and prodding. Even then, it was only within a set of limits, never unequivically on the nose.

Snow was still falling when she left the hospital and meandered through the dark streets on the north side of campus. They were mostly deserted, the good citizens probably preparing for the ten o'clock news before retiring to bed. Except at the Kalazars. She hoped Keith and Julie were able to give some comfort to each other.

On Victoria Street, she pulled up in front of David McKinnon's two-story white shingle, pleased to see lights still on inside. When she slid from the truck, the cold hit her and she hugged her trenchcoat around her, plowed through drifts to the porch, slipping slightly on the steps. She poked the doorbell.

The porch light blinked on and David opened the door. “Susan,” he said with surprise. “Looking for a port in a storm?”

“Something like that. May I come in?”

“Of course.” He took her coat and hung it in a closet, then led her into the living room.

“You've been eating salami,” she said. The garlic smelled wonderful after what she'd just left.

“Leftover pizza. Marvelous things, microwaves. Would you like some?”

She hesitated only a moment. The last solid food she'd eaten was the cheeseburger six hours ago. When she nodded, he set off for the kitchen and she settled on the couch, long and low, of a deep blue color, new since the last time she'd been here. For months there'd been only a card table and two folding chairs, as though he were camping out. Now the place looked like somebody had moved in. It was warm and pleasant with polished wood floors and oriental rugs in ivory and blues, Impressionist prints on the walls, silver candlesticks on a dining room table.

He set a plate on the oak coffee table in front of her, two generous slices of pizza, piled with salami and dripping cheese.

“Beer?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Ah,” he said. “Business then, and not pleasure.”

“Don't be so smart.”

“Designer water? Coffee?”

“Instant will do. You don't need to grind exotic beans and brew up excellence.”

“Your education has been sadly lacking in some areas.”

“Hey, I'm only a dumb cop.”

The coffee appeared, boiling hot. He fetched a bottle of beer, took a long swallow and sprawled in the easy chair, which gave a soft sigh. She felt like sighing too. The adrenaline jazzing through her system ever since they'd opened the well ran out, leaving her with all the energy of a large rock. Ridiculous thoughts skated across the surface of her mind. He looked good, even in faded jeans and old gray sweatshirt. Why not hurl herself in his lap and run her fingers through his blond curls?

The thought startled her. Not since Daniel died had a thought like that come to her. She wrapped both hands around the cup and took a sip. Too hot. Risk ruining a good friendship? Get a grip on yourself. And remember you're here on business.

Carefully, she approached a slice of pizza, trying to keep control over long strings of cheese. She chewed and swallowed. “Dr. Egersund came to see you,” she said.

“She did.”

“She tell you she was Lynnelle's mother?”

He smiled. “Is that what this is about? You know I can't tell you what she said.”

“Good old privileged information. Just thought I'd give it a try.”

“Now that's out of the way, would you like a beer? No? So why have you come?” His tone more than the words hinted at cozy possibilities.

Didn't seem like such a bad idea. Must be unused hormones. She picked out a disk of salami and poked it in her mouth. Getting involved was too open to pain. Never again.

She could hear her father's approval—just the kind of man you should be with. That was enough right there to make her turn away. Stupid leftover from childhood, this perverse instinct to mutiny.

Her father was an attorney, had wanted her to be one. She graduated from law school and passed the bar exam, all according to his plan; then became a cop because she was afraid she'd never be good enough, never measure up to his standards.

“We found Audrey Kalazar's body,” she said.

“Body? She was killed?”

“She was indeed.”

“Where?”

“Where killed? I don't know yet. Where found? Abandoned well. On your property. Did Lynnelle ever mention it?”

“A well? Of course not. Why would she?”

“We also found something else in the well.” She watched him for a reaction; if he gave any, she couldn't see it.

He waited, enquiring look on his face, took a swallow of beer. “You going to tell me?”

Why not? She was too tired to set little verbal traps and pounce when he fell in. It had been a long day, the room was too warm and her mind was too soggy. He was too sharp for traps anyway. “Bonds.”

“Bonds?” He plunked the bottle down and stared at her.

“When did you get this annoying habit of repeating what you're told? Bearer bonds. Sealed in mortar between bricks in that well. Several packets, apparently. We don't know yet how many. More thorough investigation in the morning.”

“Bonds,” he said as though they were something he'd never heard of before.

“There you go again.”

“I'll be damned. You found old Uncle Howie's fortune.”

“You knew nothing about them?”

“Come on, Susan. Do I look like the kind of man who'd leave bonds in a well?”

No, he didn't.

“Howie went sort of nutty after Lowell died.”

“Lowell?” Now she was doing it.

“Howie's son. Committed suicide.”

Oh, yeah. George had told her about that.

“Well, well. Small wonder nobody ever found anything.”

“Lynnelle ever give any indication she had found them?”

He shook his head. “She couldn't have. What would she be doing in the well?”

Stealing bonds. Though how she'd know they were there to steal was a good question. How many people examine abandoned wells just on the off chance? Someone killed her to get greedy hands on them? They were legally David's, although he might have a hard time proving it if someone else had possession.

“Whoever killed Lynnelle killed Audrey Kalazar?” he asked.

“Anything you can tell me to help?”

“I wish I could,” he said.

What did that mean? He wished he had information? Or he wished he could tell her information he did have?

She sipped coffee that was finally cool enough and tore off a bite of pizza. She chewed slowly and swallowed. “You called me this afternoon. What did you want?”

For a moment, he looked blank. “Oh that. Dr. Egersund started me thinking.”

He paused long enough that she prodded him. “About what?”

“That old house.” His eyes seemed focused inward.

“Why did talking with Egersund make you think of that?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Just remembering stuff from years ago.”

“What stuff?” she prodded again. The warmth and the food and the comfortable couch were making her drowsy; her mind wanted to drift, not ask questions.

“I worked for Howie a summer when I was a kid.”

Her mind snapped alert. “When would that have been?”

“Twenty years, maybe more.”

“Did you know Carena Egersund then?”

“No.” He shook his head, started to say something, then changed his mind. “No, nothing like that and now I think about it, it's probably not important. You probably already know about the kitchen cabinet.”

“What about it?”

“Tall narrow cabinet by the stove. The floor boards lift out and there's a space underneath. Secret compartment,” he added with a smile.

“How do you know this?”

His smile grew broader. “Do I assume from your tart tone that you didn't find it? I happened to see Lowell replacing the boards one time. He was such a funny kid, and it was obviously something he didn't want anybody to know about that I never mentioned it. I forgot all about it until this afternoon.”

“Funny in what way?”

He thought for a moment. “Troubled. I don't really know. I was only a kid myself and I just thought he was weird. I didn't know how to talk to him so I left him alone.”

Buried treasure, secret compartments. What next?

18

“A
NY OTHER LITTLE
items of interest you can tell me?” she asked.

“Nope. No more pizza either.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin, balled it up and tossed it on the fire. “More coffee?”

She looked at her watch. After eleven. “May I use your phone?”

“It's in the kitchen.”

The bright overhead light gleamed on white ceramic tiles and white porcelain appliances. Either he was very tidy or he had some efficient person keeping things clean. Maybe she should ask him; her own kitchen could use this kind of attention. The phone sat on the corner of a cabinet and she picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

“Yeah,” Parkhurst said, sounding irritated. Eleven o'clock on Thursday night. Had she interrupted something?

“It's Susan. I'm headed for the Creighton place. I'll come by and pick you up in ten minutes.”

“Why?”

David came in with a stack of dirty dishes and put them in the sink.

“I'll explain later,” she said to Parkhurst and hung up.

“I don't suppose I can convince you to stay awhile,” David said.

“Sorry,” she said, mind back on track, the investigation taking over.

“Always the cop.” He got her coat and held it while she slid her arms in the sleeves.

*   *   *

Parkhurst lived on Walnut Street in a neat brick Tudor tucked in behind two large bare-limbed trees. He stood on the curb, breathing steam, and he yanked open the door as she pulled up. “What's going on?” he said as he slid in.

“I've been talking with David McKinnon.” She told him about the false floor in the kitchen cabinet.

Snow sparkled under the headlights when they left Hampstead behind and rolled along the unmarked country road, snow tires biting in with a solid grip.

Parkhurst snugged up the seat belt. “Why didn't he tell us this earlier?”

“He only just remembered.”

“What's his motive for telling us now?”

“He only just remembered.”

“Ha.”

“You think he had some ulterior motive?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

White teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Not apparent. Anything else he just remembered?”

Like he fathered a child twenty-one years ago? “No.” She gave a brief recap of their conversation.

Arms folded, he glared through the windshield. She darted a glance at him. He seemed angry, fogging up the windows with it. She pushed on the defroster. The pickup plowed through virgin snow at what she felt was reasonable speed given the darkness and road conditions, but it did slide once or twice on the curves. Each time he tensed and caught his breath. At the long driveway up to the house, she made the turn too tight and the pickup skidded. She overcorrected, then straightened and got it under control and plowed on.

“Stop!”

Automatically, her foot hit the brake, the pickup slewed in a half-circle. “What the hell—”

He hit the door handle and took off.

“Parkhurst—”

For a moment, she sat stupidly staring through the open door at the falling snow. Goddamn it. He just teetered over the edge? He's trying to say something about my driving?

Reaching across the seat, she punched open the glove box and retrieved the flashlight, then got out. Cold wind pinched her face and she tucked her chin in her collar, cinched her trenchcoat and plowed through snow, flicking the light back and forth over his footprints, rapidly filling with snow, leading across the open field toward the woods. She floundered, sliding on hidden weeds and uneven areas. At the edge of the trees, she hesitated. Somehow she'd lost the trail. She cast the light around. Under the trees, the snow was less dense, but if there were prints she couldn't spot them. Hearing the crunch of a foot against snow, she switched off the light and stood motionless.

“You don't need to stand there in the dark.”

She flicked on the light and shined it in Parkhurst's face. “You mind telling me what that was all about?”

“I saw someone.”

“Who?”

“Thought I saw someone.”

“You can see in the dark through a blizzard?”

“No.” His teeth flashed white in a wolfish grin. “But whoever I was chasing could. Disappeared in a wink. Didn't make any noise either.”

“Police! Stay where you are! Put your hands up!”

“Chief Wren,” she said and briefly held the light pointed up to illuminate her face.

“Oh geez, Chief, ma'am. I'm sorry.” Officer White, dressed like an Eskimo, holstered his gun with a rather shaky hand. “I heard somebody running and then I heard voices.”

“Anything been happening out here?” Parkhurst asked.

“No, sir.”