Killer Listing (27 page)

Not like me
, Jack thought regretfully.
I barely remember Kyle’s funeral
… The realization sent a sharp stab of pain through his midsection and he nearly doubled over from fresh grief.

It was a week since her death. A week, and the police were still no closer to finding Kyle’s killer. And now Candy was gone, struck down in an alley with only her dog as a witness.

He gripped the side of his car with both hands. His legs wobbled and he felt as if he would vomit. He wanted to run, run from Marco and the trays of finger sandwiches, run from Candy’s family now starting to gather at the Church of the Sacred Heart in Bradenton, run as far as he could from death, pain, and loss. Instead he took a deep breath, steadied his thoughts, and climbed into his vehicle.

_____

Darby waited anxiously while Hideki Kobayashi dialed Japan, hoping to reach the elderly scientist who had once worked with her grandfather. She heard him speak in rapid Japanese, and then he stopped and put his hand over the receiver.

“This is Dr. Sato. His English is excellent, but his voice may be a little hard to understand. Just ask me for help if you are having trouble.”

Darby nodded. She took the phone from Hideki Kobayashi and introduced herself as the granddaughter of Tokutaro Sugiyama.

“It is a pleasure to speak with you,” he said, his voice quaking slightly. “I had the good fortune of working with Tokutaro Sugiyama when I was young and just starting my career at Genkei Pharmaceuticals. I found him to be an honorable and intelligent man.”

Darby swallowed. “Thank you.” She chose her words carefully. “I wonder if you ever heard anything about his involvement in China during WWII. I’m speaking of the atrocities of Unit 731.” Her heart was beating fast. She looked over at Mr. Kobayashi who nodded very slightly, as if in encouragement.

“Yes, I did hear of those allegations. All of us at the company were shocked as there were a number of Genkei men named in the book.”

“Did you ever speak with my grandfather about the book?”

“No. He was no longer working at that time, and his—” He paused. “His mind was not good.”

“Can you tell me anything about his involvement in China? Did he ever talk about his work as part of the unit?”

“I can tell you that he once described to me a toxin so terrible it would poison an entire city. When I asked him how he knew of this substance, he hung his head in shame. He said he was sent to Manchukuo during the war. That was all he would tell me.”

Manchukuo.
Darby remembered it was the puppet state created by the Japanese government where Unit 731’s leaders had built their biological weapons facility. Her heart sank. She had hoped her grandfather had not even been present.

She tried to thank Dr. Sato for the information, but the old man gently interrupted. “I must tell you as well that your grandfather spent his life helping others, trying to make up for whatever bad things he may have done there.” He cleared his throat; his voice was growing fainter. “It is the same thing I told your mother.”

“You spoke to her?”

“We had one phone conversation. She said she had found something in your grandfather’s papers. I don’t know, but I assume it was about the war.”

Again Darby thanked the man for his time and information. She hung up and turned to Hideki Kobayashi.

“Was the conversation helpful, or did it cause you more torment?” he asked gently.

“It was very helpful, and I thank you for setting it up.”

He bowed, and Darby thought she detected a look of concern on his normally placid face. “I shall leave you. Tomorrow we will meet at St. Andrew’s Isle for the property inspection. Tell me, if all goes well with that, may I purchase the property sooner?”

“I should think so,” said Darby. “But we’ll check with Tag Gunnerson and make sure.”

“Fine.” He bowed again and left the office.

Darby stood for a moment thinking about the phone call. Her grandfather had been a participant, however unwilling, in the inhumane actions of Unit 731. His daughter had discovered this, but something else as well. Some piece of information in her grandfather’s papers …

A journal entry? Lab reports? Darby could only guess. Had her mother truly abandoned her quest upon falling in love with John Farr? Or had she continued to search for the truth once they had settled in Maine?

With difficulty, Darby pulled herself back to the present. She called Tag Gunnerson’s assistant, Bernie Schultz, and asked him to find out whether Tag was interested in selling St. Andrew’s Isle sooner. Then she hung up, grabbed her pocketbook, and headed out the door to Candy Sutton’s service.

_____

Less is more
, Darby thought, sitting in the stark chapel where three dozen or so mourners had come to celebrate the life of the Bradenton businesswoman. It was a far cry from the lavish memorial service held at Casa Cameron for Kyle, but as Darby looked around at the bare walls and simple beauty of the chapel, she felt sure Candy Sutton would have approved.

Someone tapped on her shoulder. She turned and saw that Jonas Briggs was sitting behind her. He lifted his chin slightly in a greeting.

The pews were filling up with more people. Marco was in the front row with Jack Cameron; Alexandra, her hair pulled in a demure bun, sat behind him. An attractive older woman held a tissue and smiled bravely at other adults seated in the front row. From her striking good looks, Darby guessed her to be Candy’s mother.

A young priest entered from a side door while soft music played. A noise at the back of the church caused Darby to look discreetly behind her. Just as the priest began to speak, Foster McFarlin stepped into the chapel and took a seat in the back.

_____

Jonas Briggs leaned forward as the service’s postlude wound down. “Are you going to the little tea?”

Darby nodded. “Definitely. Do you really think Candy’s killer could be out there?”

“Let’s hope.” He looked around. “Who’s that guy?” He jerked his head toward Marty Glickman.

“He’s the one who runs Barnaby’s. Surely you questioned him about Kyle’s death?”

Briggs nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I thought he looked familiar. Dave DiNunzio was the one who actually grilled him.” He pointed at another man. “What about him?”

Darby peered at the young man nodding to Alexandra Cameron. “Justin Fleischman. He works for Tag Gunnerson.”

Briggs stood up and put a hand on Darby’s shoulder. “You do some talking, see what you can find out. I’m going to hang back and observe.”

Darby followed the crowd to a small room that had been added on to the main building, probably in the 1960s. Tables with small sandwiches and drinks had been set up, and Darby realized she was starving. She was sampling a crabmeat roll-up when Peter Janssen came up next to her.

“Lovely service, wasn’t it?” He picked up a small cookie from a platter. “Ginger tea cakes. I haven’t had one of these in years.” He took a bite and looked around the room. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, Darby. Maybe I shouldn’t be so obviously enjoying a cookie at a funeral.”

“Jack Cameron supplied the food and I’m sure he’ll be happy to know someone likes it.” She scrutinized the pile of cookies as Peter took another and promptly bit into it. “Tell me what is so special about these tea cakes.”

“They’re an old Southern treat, made with molasses, ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. I love the taste, but they’re special for me because of the memories they evoke of an old family friend, Genevieve Walker.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “She worked for my family the whole time I was growing up, and my sisters and I all loved her.” He looked down at the platter and smiled. “She knew these were my favorite treats. I’d come home from school and she’d have a plateful waiting.” He took another and bit into it. “The peppery taste is the same, although she frosted hers with a mixture of heavy cream and powdered sugar. I can still see her setting them out on sheets of wax paper, and then putting them in this big square tin when the frosting was hard.”

Darby took a cookie and put it on her plate. “You’ve sold me, Peter. I’ve got to try one of Genevieve’s famous cookies.”

He grinned. “I’ll mention it when I see her.”

“She’s still alive?”

“No. I help take care of the small African-American cemetery where she is buried. And when I’m there, I talk to her.” He laughed. “I’ll admit it is weird. It’s become kind of a meditation for me.”

“That’s kind of you to keep up the old graveyard.”

“I enjoy it. Pine Grove is tucked in a very quiet corner of Sarasota, sort of a place that time forgot. Back in the city’s segregated days, it was one of the few cemeteries where African-Americans could be buried.” He thought a moment. “I read about it sliding into disrepair—must have been about ten years ago. I offered to start working on it. One day I was out there weeding and discovered Genevieve’s grave.”

“You didn’t know she’d been buried there?”

He shook his head. “I’d always wondered what happened to her. And when I saw her grave stone, it made the whole thing more important to me. I convinced the city-wide cemetery association to fund a part-time gardener, and we really started to clean the place up.”

“Are people still being buried there?”

“No.” He took another cookie. “It’s a small place, but, like Genevieve herself, very special.” He started to smile, but then his face colored and he looked downward.

“Hello,” Marty Glickman said. His voice was smooth and silky. “You must really love these cookies, Peter. Have you eaten a dozen yet?”

Peter Janssen slid his eyes away and mumbled something. Darby looked at Marty Glickman and thought,
You’re a bully.
She forced herself to make her voice neutral. “Was Candy Sutton a friend of yours?”

“She was a Barnaby’s client, so I thought I should come.” He suppressed a yawn. Obviously all of this was just a big waste of time for him. He shook his head as if to stay awake. “Candy was working with Kyle to find a house.” He looked at Peter once more. “Refresh my memory. Did you ever work with Candy, or did you know her through another connection?”

Peter’s face was nearly purple from embarrassment. “I didn’t really know her,” he stammered. “I’m here to support a friend.”

“Now just who would that be?” Marty Glickman glanced around the reception room.

“Well, I’m—”

“Here with me.” Darby had had enough of Glickman’s badgering of his flustered employee. “It was kind of you to keep me company, Peter. I think I’ll be heading back to check on Helen now.”

Marty Glickman gave an amused smirk. “Keeping you company, huh?” He frowned and turned on his heel. Darby and Peter watched him exit the reception room.

“Whew, talk about obnoxious. Is he always like that?”

Peter gave a shaky chuckle. “I just ignore him, but I know he drove Kyle crazy. She couldn’t stand working for him. I was happy when she said she was leaving to work with Helen.”

“She told you that?”

He nodded. “She told me lots of things. In strictest confidence, of course.”

Darby remembered Sam Wilson saying Kyle had been bothered by phone calls. Had Marty Glickman crossed the line from being obnoxious to dangerous?

“I think that Kyle was getting phone calls from Marty. Calls she described to a friend as ‘creepy.’”

Peter looked upset. “She didn’t mention that. I’m sure Glickman would deny ever badgering her, but I’m not surprised.” He frowned and lowered his voice. “Marty is unpleasant, that’s true, but do you really think he’s a murderer?”

Darby didn’t answer. She was asking herself the same question.

_____

“Glickman’s alibi checks out,” Jonas Briggs said, his voice tired and edgy. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, regarding Darby from behind the chipped china cup. They were seated in a coffee shop a block away from the Church of the Sacred Heart where Candy’s service had just concluded. “I’m starting to rethink the whole thing.”

“What do you mean?” Darby regarded the rumpled man before her. Circles beneath his eyes attested to how little sleep Jonas Briggs was getting.

“Say that Candy and Kyle’s murders are not related. Candy’s is an act of random violence, having nothing to do with who she was or what she may have known about Kyle Cameron. And Kyle’s murder—hers is the work of some sicko imitating the Kondo Killer. Again, nothing to do with who she is, other than a real estate agent who happened to be having an open house.” He made a tent of his fingers and leaned against them.

“If Kyle’s murder was the work of a wannabe Kondo Killer,” asked Darby, “Then isn’t that person likely to strike again? At another open house?”

Briggs nodded. “Definitely. That’s what worries me.”

_____

Jack opened Kyle’s condominium and heard the door click softly behind him. He removed his shoes and placed them on the sisal mat. Kyle had always been a stickler about things like that, wanting to keep her environments as clean as possible. He glanced at the living room, where her pile of books on Poland still remained next to her favorite reading spot. He walked to the hallway, to the carved table where Buddy and the crystal bowl had been, but they were gone.
Good
, thought Jack.
Someone is taking care of him
.