Sketch Me If You Can (27 page)

She was on her way home when BB called. “The hair and blood on the wallpaper are definitely Gail’s, but the prints are not.”

“The prints aren’t in the system either,” she said.

“Well, at least you’ll be able to use them as evidence when you find the killer,” he pointed out.

Rory sighed. “Don’t you mean
if
I find the killer?”

“Not at all. The glass is always half full, winter always surrenders to spring, and the Yankees will beat the Red Sox and take the series this year.”

W
hen Rory called Jeremy to set up a meeting, he suggested the pond in Hecksher Park at six. She arrived first, after stopping off at Starbucks to buy two frappachinos. Since it was the dinner hour, the park was quiet. The last few mothers were shepherding reluctant children out of the playground. Some of the ducks and swans had already settled in for the night, their bills tucked neatly under their wings.

Rory chose a bench in the shade. The day had been hot and humid, but as the afternoon had worn on, a welcome breeze had come through, chasing a flock of billowing clouds toward the horizon. She sat and sipped one of the iced coffee drinks while she waited.

Jeremy was ten minutes late and armed with excuses. There’d been an accident and road work, and he’d had to wait at the railroad crossing for not one, but two commuter trains to go by.

Rory assured him she didn’t mind. She didn’t want him to start off on the defensive. She handed him the other frappachino, apologizing because the whipped cream had deflated since she’d bought it. Jeremy was thrilled to have it; he’d been on the go all day and hadn’t even had time for lunch. They drank and talked about how the investigation was going.

When Rory told him about the wallpaper she’d found in the Dumpster, he seemed interested, not concerned. When she said they’d found Gail’s hair and blood on it, he seemed genuinely perplexed.

“On the wallpaper in the bathroom?” he repeated. “But then why did they find her at the bottom of the stairs?”

“We can’t be sure at this point, but there are a couple of theories that would fit the facts as we know them. And best of all, we also found a set of fingerprints on the same piece of wallpaper.”

“Gail’s?” he asked.

“No, we’ve been able to rule that out. And it’s actually good news, because they may very well belong to her killer. I ran them through the system, but unfortunately they didn’t match anyone with a record either.”

“If the killer doesn’t have a record, then there’s no way to identify him with those prints.”

“Well, not until we arrest someone,” Rory said, thinking that Jeremy was pretty knowledgeable about the subject for an English teacher. But then there were so many TV shows these days about crime scene investigators, that the public had become savvier.

Jeremy finished the last of his iced coffee and set the empty container on the bench between them. “Despite all your hard work,” he said, sighing, “it doesn’t sound as if we’re really any closer to finding out who killed my sister.” If he was the murderer, he was doing a fine job of appearing disheartened.

“You shouldn’t lose hope,” Rory said. “Every day I find out something new about the case. It’s only a matter of time before all the bits and pieces fall into place. In fact, you may even have some of the bits and pieces we need.”

Jeremy shrugged. “I told you everything I know about it.”

“You said the last time you saw Gail was a week before her death.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see her or talk to her after that?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Jeremy regarded her suspiciously.

“The evidence report lists all the calls she made and received from her cell phone. You called her three times the day before she died and then again on the afternoon of her death.” Rory finally saw something flash in his eyes, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or sheer surprise about where her questions were going.

“That’s old news,” he said, recovering quickly. “I already told the police we’d been playing telephone tag. She had so many clients and meetings; it was hard to get a hold of her. It happened a lot. What are you getting at?”

“I think you went to find your sister when she didn’t return your calls,” Rory said, watching him closely.

Jeremy met her gaze and when he spoke, his voice was honed to a sharper edge. “I was worried about her. It never took that long for her to call me back before.”

“But you were a little anxious too, weren’t you?” Rory pressed him. “You’d racked up another big gambling debt, and she’d refused to help you out this time. I think you wanted a chance to plead your case again.”

Jeremy shifted his position as if the bench had suddenly become uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s no big deal. I figured she’d change her mind if I made it clear how much danger I was in. When she didn’t call me back by the end of the day, I called her office and her secretary told me she’d gone out to the house on Pheasant Lane. I found her car in the driveway, but when I rang the bell she didn’t answer. I thought maybe she’d gone out to dinner with someone and was planning to come back for the car later. I didn’t know she was lying dead inside there.” His voice caught and tears welled up in his eyes.

Rory hated doing this to him, but she couldn’t allow sympathy to get in the way of finding out what really happened. Too many murders were committed in the heat of the moment. Jeremy’s tears could simply be for the loss of his sister, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility that they could also be tears of regret and anguish for having killed her.

“You never told the police you went there,” she said.

“When I heard she’d been found dead in that house, I was afraid to tell them. I was afraid they’d think
I
killed her.”

“At some point you must have felt like killing her,” Rory said evenly, so that Jeremy would be reacting to her words and not her tone. “Especially after she threatened to tell your mother you were still gambling.”

“That’s a lie,” he replied hotly. “Who told you that—the piece of crap Gail married or the shark he’s already engaged to?”

“It doesn’t matter where I heard it first, because I didn’t put much stock in it. At least not until I spoke to your mother.”

“You’ve been questioning my mother?!” Jeremy’s face was flushed, his nostrils flared. “She’s old and sick, for God’s sakes. She has days when she thinks my father’s still alive and Reagan is president. Ask Anna or her nurse if you don’t believe me. And losing my sister has taken a terrible toll on her. You had no right to bother her.”

“She didn’t seem particularly bothered. In fact we enjoyed a glass of raspberry iced tea together. And in the course of our conversation, she mentioned that she’d threatened to cut you out of her will if you didn’t stop gambling.”

Jeremy stood up, too enraged to stay seated. “You think you have all the answers? Then tell me why I hired your uncle to find the killer after the police closed the case. And why in hell did I beg you to continue the investigation?”

“Maybe your mother said she thought the police had it all wrong. Maybe you needed to prove to her that you couldn’t possibly have been involved in Gail’s death.”

“You’re off this case,” Jeremy sputtered. “You’re fired. And I want you to stay the hell away from my mother.”

“You know,” Rory said, “that’s the beauty of not actually working for you. I wasn’t getting paid anyway.”

Jeremy stormed off before she finished speaking. Rory waited until he was out of sight. Then she picked up his empty container and placed it in the plastic bag she’d brought along in her purse. She tossed her own container into the trash can she passed on her way out of the park.

R
ory drove home, still amazed by how easy it had been to get Jeremy’s prints. His anger had made him vulnerable and careless. She wondered if it occurred to him later that he’d left the empty cup behind. If so, had he rushed back to the park in a panic, hoping to find it still sitting there?

The entire meeting had gone better than she’d had any right to expect, being something of a novice and all. The only problem was that Reggie was away at a conference and wouldn’t be back until Friday. She’d drop off the cup in the morning, but it would probably be Monday before she’d learn if the prints matched the ones he’d found on the discarded wallpaper. It was going to be a long four days.

When Zeke went looking for her an hour after she returned home, he found her in the narrow laundry room that had been annexed onto the kitchen when Mac remodeled the house. She was transferring a load of wet towels from the washer to the dryer.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get that pretty little head of yours blown off,” he said grimly after Rory finished telling him about the meeting with Jeremy. “You don’t go accusin’ a man of murder, unless you have your gun on him and you intend to arrest him right then and there.”

Rory set the dials on the dryer and hit the “start” switch without saying a word. She didn’t want to argue with him. As far as she was concerned, she’d handled everything just fine. When she left the laundry room, Zeke moved back to give her room to pass.

“You overplayed your hand,” he said as she went by him. “You as much as told him you think he’s guilty. I’d be surprised if he waits around for the police to come knockin’ at his door.”

“Look,” Rory said, unable to stay silent any longer, “if I keep pussyfooting around, I’ll be old and gray by the time I solve this case.” She unlocked the back door and yanked it open. Despite her determination to hang on to her good mood, Zeke had managed to drive a wedge of doubt into her mind. What if Jeremy did decide to run? No, he was a gambler in need of money and the money was right here in his mother’s hands. And even if he
were
capable of premeditated murder, which she doubted, Grace was never alone. He’d have to go in there with an Uzi and take them all out.

She went outside, letting the screen door slam shut behind her like an exclamation point. She turned on the outdoor faucet and picked up the hose attached to it. After the heat of the day, the petunias and impatiens that bordered the brick patio looked wilted and thirsty. Zeke watched through the screen door as she made her way around the patio, giving them a good soaking.

“You know, Marshal,” she said, raising her voice over the sound of the water, “you talk a good game, but I don’t for a minute believe that you were always so careful to tow the line yourself.” She didn’t add that if he’d followed his own rules, he might not be stuck here haunting her house.

Zeke waited until she was back inside to continue the conversation. “I don’t understand why you’re so sure that Jeremy is the killer,” he said.

Rory was at the sink washing off her hands. “If you had been there, you’d be just as sure. His anger was completely irrational.”

“Innocent people get angry too.”

“But it all fits.” She turned around to face him. “He had a dandy motive and he
admitted
that he went there to see her that day.”

“I think that’s what’s botherin’ me,” Zeke said. “I don’t think a guilty man would’ve been so quick to admit that. I think a guilty man would have gone and hired himself a lawyer and maybe even charged you with harassment. It’s not like you were on official police business, you know.”

As much as Rory hated to admit it, what Zeke said made sense. Maybe she
was
guilty of rushing to judgment. “Okay then,” she challenged him, “who do you think did it?”

Zeke ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, there are plenty of other suspects,” he said, detouring around her question. “Each one of them had a good enough motive, and I doubt the opportunity would have been all that hard to come by.”

Rory sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, her high spirits gone, as if they’d been a soap bubble punctured by Zeke’s logic. Monday suddenly seemed even further away.

After Zeke said good night, she consoled herself with the remnants of the rum raisin ice cream she found in the freezer, read the newspaper without absorbing it and climbed into bed, both exhausted and unable to sleep.

T
he house on Pheasant Lane was finally under contract. When Vince called early Saturday morning to say that he had a meeting with the buyer and the realtor at five ’clock, Rory assured him she didn’t mind if they postponed their date for another day. Vince wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to celebrate. His good mood was hear of it. He wanted to celebrate. His good mood was so infectious that she agreed to meet him at the house at seven for a dinner reservation in nearby Port Jefferson.

Zeke didn’t make an appearance all day, until, with some very suspect timing, he popped up shortly before she was to head out for her date. She didn’t bother asking what he’d been up to earlier, since questions about how he spent his time were often answered in vague terms that sounded as if he was making them up as he went along. She had a feeling that he just enjoyed playing with her head.

“When will you be back?” he asked, having immediately noticed that she was dressed to go out.

“When I’m back,” Rory replied. Why should she have to account for her time? “As I recall, women were emancipated back in 1920.”

“So I’ve heard,” Zeke said wryly, a grin tweaking at the corners of his mouth. “And just look where that insanity got us.”

Having braced herself for a debate, she found his remark twice as funny. She started laughing and couldn’t stop until her sides ached and tears were running down her cheeks. The only person who’d ever been able to make her laugh like that was Mac. It seemed that he’d rubbed off some on the marshal during their time together.

Zeke laughed along with her, which only made her laugh harder. She was gasping to catch her breath when the phone rang.

“Rory girl?” BB said. “Sounds like you’re having fun there. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”