Murder Past Due (23 page)

What kind of contract had X signed?
I wondered. Godfrey had only too obviously taken advantage of X’s naivete and lack of experience, but this sounded bad, even for Godfrey.

There was a mention of contracts in the inventory, but I suspected that there wouldn’t be a copy of the contract with X. Even Godfrey wouldn’t be arrogant enough—or stupid enough—to include something that potentially damaging with the rest of his papers.

That contract, however, could be the key to everything. Had X finally become so enraged over the unfairness and decided that Godfrey had to die? If only I could find it—or figure out some way of discovering who X was.

The answer might be in the box of disks. All it would take was time.

Stopping long enough only to walk home for a quick lunch, I spent most of the day at the computer, going through every disk in the box.

I found a few more letters, some of them filled with X’s anger over Godfrey’s behavior, others with a tone of resignation. Occasionally X mentioned the increasing profits the books brought. X apparently had no complaints there.

That was another point to consider. Godfrey had made millions from these books. Even I had read some of the articles in magazines about his lifestyle. X must have made some pretty significant money as well.

Was there someone in Athena living beyond his or her apparent means? Had X resisted the temptation to spend conspicuously? That would be something Kanesha could check better than I—once one of us could put a name to X, that is.

After all the time spent with the disks, I had no solid clue to the identity of X. X had obviously known Godfrey a long time, but there were plenty of people in Athena and elsewhere who had.

There was the mention of a group—probably a writers’ group—but there were such groups all over the place.

I believed there was a local connection, though. It was at least a place to start. I could talk to one of the librarians who had been at the public library for nearly thirty years. If there was a writers’ group in the area, she would know about it.

I finished printing copies of the letters on the disks and arranged them chronologically. I made sure the disks were organized in their containers as well.

Time to quit stalling
, I told myself. I couldn’t put it off any longer, though I wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable explosion.

I went back to my desk, noticing Diesel once again asleep on the windowsill. I picked up the phone and called the sheriff’s department.

When Kanesha Berry walked into my office, I could see the thunderclouds forming. “What is so urgent? I don’t have time for some amateur interfering in this investigation, Mr. Harris.”

“I understand that, Deputy,” I said. “If I didn’t think this was significant, I wouldn’t have called you away from what you were doing.”

She did not appear mollified by my placatory tone. I gestured to the chair by my desk. “Please, have a seat, and let me tell you what I’ve found.”

Behind me on the windowsill, Diesel stirred. He always reacted to a harsh tone of voice, and Kanesha had disturbed him.

The deputy took the proffered seat, but her glare did not diminish.

Before I sat down I handed her a folder of the letters I had printed out for her.

“What’s this?” She accepted the folder but didn’t open it.

“It could be evidence of a strong motive for Godfrey Priest’s murder,” I said. “Let me tell you about what I found, and I think you’ll agree this is serious.”

Kanesha nodded before glancing pointedly at her watch.

“When Godfrey showed up in my office three days ago, he told me he wanted to donate his papers to the college archive,” I said. “What I didn’t know at the time was that he had already made arrangements to ship his papers here. They arrived the day after his death.”

“And you waited two days to tell me about this?” The intensity of Kanesha’s glare sharpened.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “Godfrey’s papers basically belong to the college now. In a letter that came with the papers Godfrey pretty much assigns ownership to the college.”

“That may be,” Kanesha said. “But that doesn’t mean you can suppress information that could be relevant to this case. I have a good mind to charge you with interfering with an official investigation.”

“I’m not suppressing it, and I’m not trying to interfere,” I said. “There was simply a delay in telling you about them. I realize that’s not an excuse, but as the person who will have to process the collection at some point, I wanted a chance to see what it contained. A lot of the content won’t be of any use to your investigation whatsoever.”

“It’s kind of you to make that judgment for me,” Kanesha said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. “And how do I know you haven’t already destroyed anything in these papers that might link you to the crime? Or link someone else, like Julia or Justin Wardlaw?”

“You don’t,” I said with what I hoped was a disarming smile. “And if you want to charge me with anything, go right ahead. But first, at least let me tell you what I did find. I think it might be the key to Godfrey’s murder.”

“Go ahead,” Kanesha said. “I’ll listen.”
But not for long
, her expression told me.

I picked up the inventory of the papers and handed it to her. “This is the inventory that came with all the boxes. It’s very general, which is unfortunate. But the interesting thing is that there is an extra box.”

“What do you mean?” Kanesha was scanning the inventory.

“All the boxes were numbered except one. And the numbers match the inventory. The unnumbered box contains computer disks.”

“You think that box wasn’t meant to be included?” Kanesha handed the inventory back to me.

“Judging by what I found on some of the disks, no, I don’t think Godfrey wanted anyone else to see them. I don’t know why he kept them, other than his unbelievable arrogance. He probably figured no one would ever see them and he would be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Kanesha glanced at her watch again.

“From the letters I found on some of the disks.” I pointed to the folder I gave her earlier. “They’re all there in chronological order. Take a look at them, and I think you’ll see very quickly.”

She still thought I was wasting her time. I could see it in her face. She was also angry that I hadn’t let her know about the boxes sooner. But after clenching and unclenching her jaw for a moment, she opened the folder and began to read.

I watched. She read quickly, and after the second letter she glanced up at me with a frown. I maintained a bland expression, and she went back to the letters. I believe I had finally piqued her curiosity.

Eight minutes later—I timed her—she was done. She closed the folder and looked at me, her expression thoughtful.

“He basically paid someone else to write the books for him,” she said. “And whoever he paid wasn’t happy over the terms of the contract.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I think X—that’s what I’ve been calling the unknown writer—might finally have become so incensed over Godfrey’s treatment that he—or she—killed him.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. She handed the folder back to me. “If X was so unhappy about the contract, why didn’t he or she hire a lawyer and take Mr. Priest to court?”

“Not knowing what the contract stipulated,” I said, “I don’t have a solid answer for that. But reading between the lines, I figure that the contract between Godfrey and X must have bound X to complete secrecy, otherwise the deal was off.”

“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Kanesha said. “But what’s at stake here? Mr. Priest’s reputation, of course, but what about money? How much could he make from the books?”

“While I was waiting for you to arrive, I did some research on the Internet,” I said. “I found an article published a little over a year ago that ranked the top-selling American writers by their projected annual incomes. Godfrey was in the top ten. According to the article, his annual earnings were in the neighborhood of twenty million dollars.”

Kanesha wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes popped wide open. “That’s significant money,” she said. “How could he make so much?”

“For one thing, the books are published in something like thirty languages, and they apparently sell really well all over Europe, and in Japan, too. Then there are the movie adaptations. If Godfrey had a cut of the profits, that could add up to a lot of money, too. Several of the films based on the books have been big hits, both domestically and in foreign countries.”

“Twenty million dollars a year.” Kanesha shook her head as if she still couldn’t take it in.

“X had to know the books were generating huge income,” I said. “And what if his cut was small compared to what Godfrey was raking in? Add to that the fact that he’s not getting any credit for his work, and he might have become more and more frustrated every year.”

“It’s possible,” Kanesha said. “I grant you that. And it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve been able to discover. But how the heck am I going to figure out who X is? I don’t even know where X lives.”

“I think X lives in Athena,” I said. I explained my reasoning, and Kanesha picked up the folder again and glanced through the letters.

“It makes sense,” she said when she finished. “Now all I have to do is track down some writers’ group that X belonged to.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about looking for needles in haystacks.”

“I can help with that,” I said. “There’s a librarian at the public library who’s been there for about thirty years. If anyone would know about local writers’ groups, she would. Her name is Teresa Farmer.”

“I know her,” Kanesha said. “She does the summer reading program for kids.”

“That’s her,” I said. I tapped the inventory list on my desk. “We can also look in the boxes that contain contracts. There might be some information there. And you can always talk to Godfrey’s agent. She’s supposed to be here for the memorial service tomorrow.”

Kanesha nodded a couple of times. “I already have an appointment with her. She gets into Memphis late tonight and is driving down tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” I said.

“Why are you doing all this?” Kanesha regarded me, her eyes narrowed.

“You mean poking my nose into your investigation?” I said, trying not to sound too flippant.

Kanesha nodded.

“Natural instincts, I suppose.” I shrugged. “Librarians are trained to help find answers, and the identity of Godfrey’s killer is an important question. Plus I find myself involved because of Justin and Julia Wardlaw. I can’t believe that either of them killed Godfrey, and I want to do what I can for their sakes.”

I wanted to add—but knew I didn’t dare—
And because your mother asked me to, and I couldn’t figure out a way to say no
.

“If anything you’ve done compromises my investigation in any way, you are going to be in a lot of trouble. Are you clear on that?”

I resisted the urge to salute. Kanesha sounded like a drill sergeant dealing with a bunch of raw recruits fresh out of the cotton patch. I hadn’t expected her to turn suddenly effusive with gratitude, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised she was taking a dim view of my “interference.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “But let me ask you this: If I had called you the minute these boxes of papers arrived, what would you have done? Would you have rushed over and impounded them, or whatever the term is, for your investigation? And would you have gone through those disks the way I did? Do you even have a computer that can handle old floppy disks?”

“Whoa.” She held up a hand. I had gotten a bit carried away. “You might have saved me some time on these disks, but I still can’t be sure that you haven’t destroyed other evidence. Frankly, how can I even be sure that you didn’t create this stuff about X yourself as a smoke screen?”

Aghast, I stared at her. Never would I have thought she’d react this way. I didn’t know what to say.

“By not letting me know the minute these papers arrived, you basically tainted the evidence—if any of this could be called evidence. If I could have been assured that the contents of these boxes were untouched once they arrived here, I’d feel a lot more comfortable with all this. But you took it on yourself to investigate, and now I’m left with a difficult situation.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally managed to say. I had never thought about any of this, and I realized I had goofed big time. “I really don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry.”

“Where are the disks?”

They were still in the box back by the other computer. I retrieved them without a word and handed the box to Kanesha. She looked inside.

“I see what you mean about old disks,” she said.

If that was some kind of olive branch, I’d accept it.

“I’ll take them,” she said. “If you can make out a receipt, I’ll sign it. But these need to go with me.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. “But what about the rest of Godfrey’s papers?” I realized suddenly that I should tell her about the unauthorized person who had been in my office Wednesday night. She was going to be even happier with me.

“Where are the rest of the boxes?” she asked.

“In a storeroom down the hall,” I said.

“Is it secure?”

“It is now,” I said. “I have something else I need to tell you.”

“Go ahead.” She had one of those pained
What now?
looks on her face.

As briefly as I could, I related the facts about the unauthorized visitor.

“And you still didn’t call me.” She examined me like I was an exotic insect that she found distasteful.

“No,” I said. “But I made sure the locks were changed that day. There are only three sets of keys. I have one, of course. Melba Gilley, the library director’s assistant, has a set, and Rick Tackett, the head of operations for the library, has the other set.”

Kanesha continued to regard me like a specimen.