Digging Too Deep (10 page)

“Mother, the detective only needs the relevant facts.”

“Distance is very relevant, especially in crime scenes.” Tosca turned her attention back to Parnell. “Isn’t that right, chief inspector?”

“It’s detective, ma’am. Please continue.”

“A young woman was jogging toward me,” said Tosca. “Such long legs American girls have. Before she got close I saw her suddenly veer onto the beach toward a small boat that was pulled up there. The woman beckoned me over.”

Tosca paused to drink her tea.

“Please go on, Mrs. Trevant,” said Parnell.

“Well, when she called out to me, she was laughing. ‘You have to see this,’ she said when I approached. ‘Someone went to bed drunk and forgot to tuck themselves completely in.’ And with that she took off jogging again.”

“Yes. Did you get her name?”

“No, she ran off. I told you that. Anyway, I went right up to the boat to see what she was talking about, because of course I didn’t want to seem stand-offish, especially since she’d turned around to see if I’d gone to take a look.”

“Not,” interjected J.J., “that my mother needs any encouragement to be nosy. She’s a gossip columnist, after all.”

Parnell ignored the daughter. “Please go on, Mrs. Trevant. Tell me again what you saw.”

“The boat had a canvas cover.”

“Yes, yes, but I need you to elaborate. Go on!” said Parnell.

“Elaborate? You want details? Certainly. The boat cover on this rowboat was brown canvas with white stitching. Badly sewn, obviously a rush job. You’d never see that in England, you know.”

Detective Parnell winced. The next time the Brits went to war they could darned well watch out for themselves. “Please continue,” he said.

“I saw the lower part of a bare leg hanging over the side of the boat from under the boat cover. The leg obviously belonged to someone wearing boat shoes, and I would certainly hope he was wearing shorts. I supposed the jogger was correct. It was just some drunk college kid or perhaps a homeless person looking for a bed, poor thing.”

Parnell saw Tosca look at J.J., who was scowling back at her mother. Was the woman hiding something? She sure looked guilty.

“Then what did you do?” asked Parnell.

“I closed my parasol and put it carefully down on the sand. It’s from China. You know, I thought that the leg looked pale, even bluish. I’ve seen dead bodies before, and this looked like it could be one. I decided to pull the canvas cover back to take a look, but when I crouched down to do that the leg started swinging, and the person’s foot came around, knocking my sunglasses off. Yes, I know it was early in the morning, but Brits are not used to such dazzling sunlight, you see.”

The detective suppressed a smile. He’d have given a lot to have been there. “Please go on, ma’am.”

“Anyway, after the shoe hit me it came off his foot and dropped onto the sand right in front of me. The shoe fell on its side, and a shiny silver coin rolled out.”

Tosca went on to describe how she’d finally got the cover off the boat and seen the body, its head covered in blood.

“So I immediately got out my mobile, my iPhone, and called 911. But then the jogger came back, saw me still standing next to the boat and came over. As soon as she saw the blood, she took out her phone, too. I hope she wasn’t calling the tabloids. Not that calling the press is a bad thing. I work for a tabloid myself, you know, but it’s in England. Have you ever heard of ‘Tiara Tittle-Tattle?’”

Parnell shook his head. He felt like laughing, but murder was a serious business, and according to the medical examiner’s initial evaluation the kid had been hit with a metal bar or something similar. Judging by the amount of blood from the head wound on the boardwalk outside the door of the ferry office, that’s where the killing had occurred.

However, the head injury wasn’t responsible for his death. The coroner had already determined the cause to be strangulation. Bruises in the shape of fingers were evident on the victim’s neck. Parnell knew that the thyroid gland in Todd’s neck would have ruptured, collapsing the carotid artery. Meaning, he thought, that the killer has strong hands. He knew that if the artery is closed for between eight and fourteen seconds, unconsciousness and death occurs. Squeezing a healthy young man’s neck for that period of time took strength and endurance, someone with a powerful grip. There were no scratches on the neck, indicating that the murderer’s nails were probably clipped short.

Parnell looked again at the investigating team leader’s report.

“Let’s get back to the silver coin you found. Was it just one?” he said.

“Yes,” said Tosca, her guilty expression returning. “A single coin. I gave it to the other detective. The lettering on it is Greek. I’m sure you know that. Obviously the dead person was hiding the coin in his shoe.

“Why didn’t you leave it there?”

“Because, my man, it rolled out onto the sand as the shoe fell off the foot. Two seagulls were poking around nearby. One tried to grab the coin with his beak, but I beat him to it. American gulls are very aggressive, aren’t they? But very clean. I thought the coin was a dime at first. I just love your money, it’s so much lighter than ours.”

Used to be worth a whole lot more than yours, too, thought Parnell sourly. “Are you aware you are not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene, or worse still, remove anything?”

“Officer, I expect to be promoted to crime reporter when I return to England, so of course I know the rules.”

“Then why did you pick it up?”

If she gives me one more of those guileless gazes of hers I swear I’ll take her in, Parnell decided. “Well, ma’am?”

“I thought the seagull was going to swallow it, poor thing. They’ll eat anything, you know. “

Sure thinks quick on her feet, I’ll give her that, he thought. But seagulls aren’t stupid enough to eat metal.

“Was it checked for fingerprints?” said Tosca.

“Oh yes, we found fingerprints on the coin, as well as on the side of the boat and the shoe. Did you touch anything else, ma’am?”

“Of course not. So whose prints were they?”

“Yours, of course.” He watched a slow blush cover Tosca’s cheeks.

“No one else’s?”

“No, ma’am, your prints pretty much obliterated our chances of finding any others.”

Back at the police station Parnell opened one of the file cabinets in the Records Department and pulled out a thin folder under the name Gustave Vernays. The detective knew the Swiss coin dealer had a reputation for being on the fringe of the world’s small group of superstar fences although, in spite of rumors to the contrary, he’d never been actually caught receiving or selling stolen goods.

Known to Interpol as a top numismatist and one they’d like to arrest for dealing in ancient coins stolen from museums and archeological sites, Vernays managed to slip through their fingers at every turn, as the agency acknowledged.

For his part Parnell knew that the Swiss man did not consider himself a common fence but more of a broker of high-end merchandise that had historic connections. Moreover, many of his transactions were legitimate, and occasionally he was consulted by law enforcement authorities to authenticate items they had collected as evidence in criminal cases they were pursuing. Fortunately for us, the detective mused, he’s local, and we have him right here. He’s sure to be able to identify this Greek thing. A visit was in order. After checking Vernays’ address, he drove north to Anaheim Hills.

“Definitely Greek but maybe not an original,” Gustave Vernays told Parnell, staring at the coin encased in a small see-through evidence bag. He delicately turned the bag over to study the other side as the detective watched the man’s face for any hint that he recognized the coin that had fallen from the boy’s shoe.

Parnell asked if they could sit at the small dining table, and the two sat down. The detective produced a notebook and pen.

“I need to clear up a couple of things, Mr. Vernays. The kid’s parents are devastated, of course. They arrived from Minnesota today. We’ve talked to his friends and a few fellow students at Saddleback College, as well as his roommate and others. We thought he might be a coin collector, but that was not the case.”

“If his parents want to meet me, I’m agreeable.”

“No, no,” Parnell said quickly. “I doubt that will be necessary. However, I need to get one or two specifics from you. For instance, do you know anyone local who might have owned this coin? How about giving me a list of your collectors who buy Greek coins?”

Vernays reacted as if hit. “Names? Detective, I cannot possibly provide that confidential information. I’m like a doctor, a lawyer. My clients would have my head if I revealed who they are. Public knowledge of their valuable collections would put them at risk. No, Detective Parnell, out of the question.”

“You forget, sir, that this is a murder investigation. We can easily get a warrant.”

“All right. I can ask my clients if they would agree to talk to you, but most of them live in other countries, and what could they know?”

The afternoon sun filtered through the ivory silk chiffon curtains, casting a soft light onto everything it touched. Sumptuous quarters, Parnell thought. Lucky guy to be able to work at home. Guess he keeps his merchandise in a safe, but there’s no sign of one in this room—in fact, no sign that any business at all is conducted here. Pretty high-class décor. He looked around at the oil paintings and the small bronze sculptures sitting in lighted alcoves. The aura of wealth was palpable. Why, Parnell wondered, doesn’t this guy move to exclusive Newport Coast or the quiet wealth of Dana Point? Anaheim Hills had its pricey enclaves, sure, but it wasn’t his idea of splendor, way inland and hot as hell in the summer. If it were me, I’d be living right down at beachside next to the ocean.

“Where did you get it?” Vernay’s words cut into Parnell’s thoughts.

“Can’t tell you that, sir, but it could be involved in the case.” If this guy knows anything about the murder on Isabel Island and can tell me who the coin belonged to, he’s hiding it well, thought the detective. The dealer’s face was expressionless.

“Silver, of course,” he said. “It’s an aegina, one of the first European coins to be struck in the seventh century B.C. I can remove it from the bag, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” said Parnell.

After Vernays took the coin out his fingertips gently caressed the slightly raised, worn-down design. “You can barely see it, but that’s a turtle on this side, which was later replaced by a tortoise.”

Parnell’s gaze sharpened. Did the man know the history of this particular coin? Could he have been conducting a midnight sale at the beach and dropped it? Hardly likely, and he sure isn’t a surfer, though he was lean enough.

“Really?” said the detective. “This is my first hands-on introduction to the world of precious coins, and you’ve captured my curiosity. Why a turtle first, then a tortoise?”

“One theory is that the turtle symbolized the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite, so the coin design paid homage to her. Chinese scholars, however, claim the first minted coins copied the shells of turtles and tortoises and were used as currency in parts of China.”

“Aphrodite? I thought Venus was the goddess of love,” said Parnell.

“Venus is the Roman version of Aphrodite. In other parts of the world she was known as Ishtar and Astarte, not very beautiful names.”

“So what else can you tell me about this coin? Who would have owned it? Is it worth big bucks? Was it stolen? Would someone kill to possess it?”

The detective could see that Vernays was in a quandary. Admit to its value and origin, such as a museum, and Interpol could become involved.

“I’ve no idea who may have owned it,” Vernays told the detective. “A collector most likely, I suppose, but none of my acquaintance. But then, there are collectors who are very secretive. As to its value, that’s hard to say. It looks ancient, yes, but it could be a copy, in which case no one would dream of killing for it. Leave it with me, detective, and I’ll run some tests on it.”

Parnell snatched up the coin. “No, thanks, sir, We can do our own tests. Appreciate your help. Let us know if anything occurs to you regarding a possible owner and provenance.”

The detective returned the small coin to its evidence bag and said goodbye. Downstairs, he got back into his squad car and drove to Isabel Island. Much as he disliked the idea, he realized he needed another session with the woman who’d found the aegina, congratulating himself for remembering how to pronounce its name.

Parnell phoned Tosca from his squad car and said he’d like to stop by.

“What, again? Officer, sheriff, chief, detective, whichever you are, I really don’t think there’s anything more I can tell you,” said Tosca. “We’ve talked twice already.”

“Mrs. Trevant, you’ve probably forgotten a few details. That’s understandable with anyone finding a dead body. It must have been pretty shocking for someone like you who has just arrived here, but the first twenty-four hours are crucial to our investigation. I won’t keep you long.” He quickly ended the call and within ten minutes was at her house.

The top half of the door was open, and he saw her on the sofa, working on a laptop and surrounded by piles of paper. At the sound of the chimes, she looked up, smiled, set aside the computer and came to the door, opening the lower half.

“Do come in.”

Seated again with the detective facing her in an armchair, she inquired as to the progress of the investigation.

“The victim has been identified,” said Parnell, “but we’ve hit a wall for a suspect or suspects. It could have been a robbery gone wrong. That’s one possibility as the day’s takings were found in a bank bag on the floor of the ferry office. Maybe the murderer was interrupted before he could grab the bag.”

“If that were the case,” said Tosca, “why take the time to hide the body in the boat? Why not just flee the scene?”

“We believe the killer came back later to do that.”

“Yes,” said Tosca, “pretty obvious. I noticed the trail of blood leading to the boat was fresher than the stain on the boardwalk, indicating that the body had lain where it had fallen before being moved. I assume he was a student?”