Take a Dive for Murder (9 page)

A voice whispered forcefully in her ear, “Carrie, be quiet! It’s Charles! You’ll scare our intruder away. I’m going to move my hand away from your mouth. Do you understand?”

Carrie nodded her head in agreement.

“Charles? What are you doing here? You nearly scared me to death,” Carrie whispered, trying to catch her breath.

“I’m trying to
trap an intruder. Now stay put. I’m going over closer to the door.”

Charles headed to the door by cutting straight across the floor. Just at that moment the moon emerged from behind the clouds, and Charles was caught in the glow coming through the back window. As the intruder opened the door, he spotted Charles in the light. The intruder grabbed the trash can by the desk and tossed it in Charles’s path and then quickly exited and went back down the steps. The next thing Carrie heard was a crash
and a thud as Charles tripped over the trash can and hit the floor. Carrie first went to the door and looked cautiously down the steps, but saw no one. She closed and locked the door and then flipped on the light switch. The studio was now illuminated, and Charles was rolling on the floor, clutching his knee.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she knelt down to help him.

“Why did you turn on the lights?” was his first response.

“All the better to see you, my dear. Plus, I didn’t think both of us should lose the battle with the trash can.”

Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess the trash can did win this battle. What about the intruder?”

“He or she is gone, but what about your knee? Should I get some help?”

“I think it’s just bruised. Can you help me to a chair?”

Carrie grabbed the desk chair and rolled it over to Charles. With
her help, he used the chair to lift himself from the floor. He sat in the chair for a few minutes, rubbing his knee.

“What brought you to the studio tonight? I thought you worked in here this afternoon.”

“I did, but I remembered something and wanted to check it out before going to bed. What about you? It seems everyone has a key to this place.”

“What do you mean by that?” he snapped, assuming she was referring to him.

“Suzanne used her key this afternoon to enter the studio, and unless my ears deceived me, our intruder also used a key to open the door.”

“Hmm, you’re right
. Our intruder did use a key. As for me, just in case you were wondering, Jamie gave me a key.” He waited for a reaction, but Carrie said nothing. “I’ve had the feeling since Jamie’s death that someone was searching the studio. Two nights ago I was sure I saw a light out here. As a result, I thought I’d hide out tonight and see if anyone showed up. I didn’t want you to be in danger when you were working alone in here.”

“Charles, that’s sweet. It’s also…” She hesitated.

“You were about to say ‘stupid.’”

“Actually, I was going to say mighty brave. Since both of us agree there’s a chance Jamie’s death was murder, surprising an intruder could be very dangerous. Next time he might toss more than a trash can at you.
”

“I might do more than just surprise h
im.”

“Charles, are you carrying a gun?” she asked with surprise.

“I figured it was either carry a gun or have someone accuse me of being stupid.”

Carrie
chuckled. She never met someone so direct in his approach…except maybe Jamie.

Charles continued, “Could you get whatever you wanted in here so we can go? I think I should get some ice on this knee before it swells up.”

“We can go now. What I came to get isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? When did you have a chance to look?”

“When I first came in,” said Carrie.

“But all you did was reach around the back…
Oh, I get it, the secret hiding place on the back of the filing cabinet.”

“How did you know about that?” Carrie asked, surprised.

“When Jamie was recreating the newspaper office in the studio, he told me how the staff would leave messages for one another. I checked the pouch shortly after his death, hoping all the answers would be laid out for me in some secret message, but…”

“But…” Carrie prompted.

“No such luck. It was empty.”

“Do you think there was something in it?” asked Carrie.

“I don’t know if Jamie ever used it or just had it as a reminder of the past.” Charles started to stand.

“One more question,” Carrie asked, as she helped Charles to his feet. “Did Jamie keep a journal?”

“He did. In fact, he used a journal that I gave him as a Christmas present. It was a small, dark-green leather notebook, a little bigger than the three-by-five cards it holds. Is that what you thought might be in the pouch?”

“I wasn’t sure, but both you and Christopher have now confirmed that Jamie used this notebook. It might interest you to know that Suzanne denied the existence of the journal and said Jamie typed everything directly into the computer.”

They were on the landing, and even in the low light, Carrie could see the look on Charles’s face.

“I saw Jamie using the journal just a few days before his death, and Suzanne was in the room,” Charles said. “When I first met
her, I just thought she was stupid. Now I’m beginning to wonder if Suzanne is stupid like a fox.”

They were working their way slowly down the steps. “
Sounds like we need to concentrate more on Suzanne. Jamie didn’t talk about her to you?” Carrie asked.

“Very little. He said they were good friends and
he would like her to stay with us. Mother allowed Suzanne to stay, but in her own room, of course.”

“What did Jamie think of those arrangements?”

“Actually, much to everyone’s surprise, he was just fine with it. Somehow, it didn’t seem to be a close relationship. It was hard for us to understand what Jamie’s fascination was with Suzanne. She sure wasn’t like Emma, Jamie’s wife. With Emma, it was obvious from the beginning that they were meant for each other.” Charles realized he had slipped, and then he remembered something Jamie always said,
“Carrie is easy to talk to and very sharp. You find yourself telling her things you want to keep secret.”

When Charles mentioned the closeness of Jamie and Emma, Carrie felt a bit of sadness in her heart for what might have been. She shook off the feeling, knowing that Charles wasn’t being insensitive, but just stating the facts. She took a deep breath and said, “To hear Suzanne tell it, she and Jamie were inseparable.”

“Suzanne tells quite a few things differently from the world of reality. That’s why I’m glad she accepted our offer to stay after Jamie’s death. It gives me more time to find out why she attached herself to my brother. I told you I had Jonathan checking on her and I’m thinking I should check in with Jonathan tomorrow and see if he has any updates. I want to know what Suzanne did before Europe, what took her to Europe, and what she was doing before she met Jamie. It doesn’t seem logical that she conveniently appears in Europe and inserts herself into Jamie’s life.”

“
‘Insert’ is an unusual way of putting it, but certainly an accurate way of describing what happened,” added Carrie.

They reached the bottom step when Carrie’s foot kicked something. She had Charles lean against the wall of the garage while she turned on her flashlight to search the ground. On the grass was a Swiss Army knife. She picked it up and turned it over. The initials J.W. were engraved in the silver metal.

“What is it?” asked Charles.

“It’s a fancy knife. Come on, let’s get you inside, and I’ll show you.”

Carrie helped Charles inside the house. She felt comfortable as he leaned his weight against her. He was so close to her, she could smell his shaving lotion.

They stopped and got ice from the kitchen, and
Carrie guided him through the hallway toward the staircase. She was wondering how he would navigate the steps when Charles stopped midway down the hallway. He opened a door, revealing a small elevator.

Charles saw Carrie’s surprise. “The elevator was installed for Mother. She refuses to give up her room on the upper level, but all those steps were getting to be too much for her.” They entered and he pushed the button. The elevator was extremely quiet as it sailed to the second floor. When the elevator stopped, they were opposite Charles’s room. He hobbled across to the door and flung the bedroom door open.

His room was large, with a sleigh bed dominating the center of the room. An alcove in the corner provided a sitting area with a large bay window that faced the grounds at the back of the house. Carrie helped him across the room to a chair in front of the window.

“I’m fine now. I think I’m more bruised than injured. I’ll put this ice pack on my knee and take a couple of aspirins. I’ll be fine in the morning. H
ey, before you leave, can I see what you found?” Carrie showed Charles her discovery. Charles turned it over and saw the initials. “J.W. hmm…could this belong to our friend Joel?”

“It could and does. He showed it to me when we ate lunch. It looks like one mystery has been solved. Joel paid Jamie’s studio a visit tonight. Maybe it’s time you and I have a discussion with Joel,” Carrie offered.

“I like that idea, plus I like the idea we’ll be working together.”

“I have to admit we would have been more effective tonight if we went to the studio together. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Charles. Carrie had turned to leave when Charles added, “I think Jamie made the right decision when he selected you to handle his affairs. I’m glad you’re here.”

Carrie smiled and said, “Feel better in the morning.”

The next morning Carrie decided to visit the main branch of the public library and read the newspaper accounts of Jamie’s death. It was obvious from the first article she read that the papers couldn’t decide if the death was accidental. One of the dailies took the angle that alcohol played a part. The other daily thought it might have been a botched robbery and wrote a sidebar about increased robberies in the city. Carrie found only one of the smaller weekly papers that thought Jamie was
deliberately murdered. The reporter discovered what Carrie knew—Jamie was a champion swimmer, and therefore drowning didn’t make sense. The reporter also noted that Jamie worked for
News World
and suggested Jamie might have been researching a story.
While
Carrie agreed with the reporter’s theory, he provided no evidence to support his conclusions. Carrie continued to read the details.

Son of Prominent Publishing Family Found Floating in Harbor

The body of James Wesley Faraday, son of the prominent Faraday publishing family, was found floating in the water near Pier Seven in the harbor early this morning. The body was discovered around 2:00 a.m. by employees from the Admiral’s Saloon as they left work.

Preliminary results indicate that the cause of death was due to drowning. It was reported that Mr. Faraday was seen earlier in the evening at the bar in the Admiral’s Saloon. Alcohol has not been ruled out as a factor in his death.

The manager from the Admiral’s Saloon, Mr. John Kensington, stated that one of his bartenders engaged in a discussion with Mr. Faraday about his swimming. Several of Mr. Faraday’s swimming records remain unbroken at TriCity College, and Mr. Kensington offered this possibility: “Perhaps he jumped in the water to see if he could still swim the distance and hit his head by accident.”

H
eavy rains earlier in the day soaked the piers at the harbor, which also led to speculation that Mr. Faraday may have slipped on the pier.

James Faraday attended…

The article went on to give details of Jamie’s background and education. Carrie skipped through the next several paragraphs until she found the autopsy results.

Mr. Stephen Beeker, deputy medical examiner, stated, “Results of the autopsy indicate alcohol was present in his system, which may have been a factor. While the amount in his system was not over the legal limit, it is possible the alcohol contributed to Mr. Faraday losing his balance. If Mr. Faraday was unconscious when he hit the water, this would explain why an expert swimmer drowned.” Mr. Beeker ended his formal statement by indicating that the coroner’s office was classifying the death as “suspicious” at this time.

I guess I don’t have to ask Joel what happened to Stephen
, thought Carrie.
He’s right here in TriCity working in the coroner’s office
. Carrie left her table and asked the librarian for a phone book. Once she found the number, she stepped outside the building and used her cell phone to dial the morgue. She asked to speak to Stephen Beeker, and to her surprise was put right through.

“
Hello, Beeker here.” The voice sounded professional but friendly, exactly the same as she remembered from college.

“Hello, Stephen. It’s Carrie Kingsford.”

“Well, hello, Carrie, I wondered when I’d hear from you. Joel said you were coming back for Jamie’s funeral. I hoped I’d see you at the funeral, but then I had to miss it because of a case. Of course I already said my goodbyes to Jamie when he was here on the…” He was about to say “table,” but then quickly changed it to “in the office.”

“Stephen, the reason I’m calling is Jamie wrote me a letter before his death. He asked me to investigate, if his death was classified as anything other than by natural causes.”

“Good old Jamie, still controlling the story even from the great beyond. I guess you want me to tell you everything I know?”

“I’ve been reading the newspaper accounts, but anything you can add would be appreciated,” Carrie said. “I need more information in order to decide if
there’s anything to investigate.”

“Officially, I can’t tell you much more than what you saw in the papers. I can tell you as a friend that there are different ways to weigh the facts. Here’s the problem as I see it. There are three elements to Jamie’s death: the drowning, the alcohol, and the bump on the head.”

“I agree the papers all mention this same information, but are you saying there are different interpretations?”

“You got it. The reporters and even the police like a nice
, neat package.”

Carrie remembered Jamie’s wake. Simpson used the same phrase about nice
, neat packages.

Stephen continued, “One package is Jamie drank too much, lost his balance, hit his head on the pier, fell in the water, and drowned.”

“And how would you wrap the package?” Carrie asked.

“You and I know Jamie could always handle liquor. He could out
-drink anyone and then proceed to write a perfectly coherent story. Knowing this, I don’t believe the amount of alcohol in his system was sufficient to cause him to lose his balance. Did he hit his head on the pier diving in? I don’t think so. Have you seen Pier Seven, where he was found?”

“I’ll be checking out the pier next,” Carrie responded.

“When you see it, I think you’ll agree it’s not that easy to hit your head on the piling. It means the bump occurred first, and then he fell, or he was…”

“Pushed,” Carrie finished the sentence for him. “And that would make it murder or
, at the very least, manslaughter.”

“What I’ve told you is purely subjective because I knew the victim. It may be what I think, but I can’t prove it based on medical findings.”

“Knowing the victim and their habits often solves the crime. Stephen, I appreciate everything you’ve shared with me, and I promise before I leave TriCity, you and I will get together.”

“Sounds good to me
. And, Carrie…be careful. Make sure you have a backup for whatever you do, just in case Jamie’s death was a murder.”

Carrie returned to her table in the library and continued checking later editions of the papers, but there was no additional information. No witnesses came forward, no new pieces of evidence were discovered, and no reporter decided to do a follow-up. The story was front page for a couple of days, and then Jamie’s death not only disappeared from the front page, but entirely from the papers. Jamie’s killer was probably feeling confident that he
had gotten away with murder.

Carrie pushed herself away from the table and removed her glasses. She felt dissatisfied. There was too little information, but too many possibilities—the possibility of a robbery, the possibility of a swimming accident, the possibility of too much alcohol, the possibility that Jamie hit his head, the possibility that Jamie was pushed, and the possibility that Jamie was writing a story.

All these possibilities did clarify one thing for Carrie. She needed to see Pier Seven. She would return to the house and inform Mrs. Cavanaugh that she would be eating with friends. Hopefully, by the time Carrie finished talking with John Kensington and the other workers from the Admiral’s Saloon she would have some new friends.