The Art of Death (12 page)

Amber Wilkins was nervous. Almost two weeks after Kimmie’s death, she’d finally called the Police Department, saying she might have information about the murder at the cemetery. She wasn’t sure the text she’d received from her friend really meant much, she didn’t want to take up the police’s valuable time, but if she could be of help . . . . She was assured she wasn’t wasting anyone’s time.

Now, she was meeting Detective Dave Powers at headquarters. She had hesitated to go to the police not because she was afraid of them but because she was concerned that her cellphone might be confiscated as evidence. Her father assured her that that wouldn’t happen, but if it did, he’d buy her a new one.

Detective Powers was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt rather than a uniform and he had a friendly face, though his firm handshake, piercing black eyes, and strong voice suggested he didn’t waste time or tolerate evasions. After stumbling through an introduction about who she was and why she’d finally decided to contact the police, Amber handed him her cellphone. “Here’s the text Kimmie sent me Sunday night.”

2MOR I’m meeting Capt Ahab F2F. He’s been following M. AFAIUI, he has 411 on the Dunes. FNE eyes, deep tan, monotone voice, big gut, dressed like ship capt. IDR, wooden leg? SUITM. BFN

Dave looked up with a rueful smile. His 13-year-old son texted in the same argot, but he had yet to decipher all the mysteries. “Translation?”

Amber didn’t even retrieve the phone to look at the screen. She’d memorized the message. “‘Tomorrow I’m meeting Captain Ahab face to face. He’s been following Mattie. As far as I understand it, he has information on the Dunes. Funny eyes, deep tan, monotone voice, big gut, dressed like ship captain. I wonder, wooden leg? See you in the morning. Bye for now.’ That’s what she’s saying.”

“How do you know ‘M’ stands for Mattie rather than, say, ‘me,’ meaning herself, or someone else?”

“That’s how she always referred to Mattie.”

“And who is Mattie?”

“Madeleine. You know, the other girl at the Dunes when their friend drowned all those years ago. I hear Mattie’s some kind of artist now.”

“What information did your friend think this man had?”

“Kimmie told me . . . .” Amber looked away. “Should I repeat what she said? I don’t know if it’s true and it’s definitely not nice.”

“When I’m investigating a crime, most of what I hear isn’t nice. It won’t go beyond this room, at least not with your name attached.”

“She claimed that Mattie wasn’t a hero at all but actually did something to injure the girl who drowned. Reading between the lines, since Captain Ahab was following Mattie, I think Kimmie must have thought he knew the truth and saw what she saw. She always hoped someone would come forward to back her up.”

“Why? I mean, after all these years, why did your friend care?”

“Why? Gosh, I don’t know. But she was having flashbacks about the accident ever since she saw that drawing in the paper showing that the skull they found was Nicole’s. Mattie did that reconstruction.”

“So the information Kimberly Swartz hoped to hear from this man was that Mattie was a bad actor, not a hero. Is that right?”

“Just a guess.”

“After the accident at the Dunes, what was the relationship of Kimberly and Madeleine?”

“I don’t know about their school years. But for the last few years, on Sundays, Kimmie went out to the farm where Mattie lives with her father so she wouldn’t have to go into a salon for massages and facials and stuff like that. But I don’t think they were really friends.”  

“What’s the wooden leg about?”

“No idea.”

“You ever hear the name Captain Ahab before?”

“No.”

“Did you reply to this text?”

“No, not to this text. See the time it was sent? Almost midnight Sunday. By that time I’d been asleep for over an hour and besides I’d turned my phone off. I read the message Monday morning but since Kimmie said I’d see her at work, I didn’t reply. When she didn’t show up at the salon for her first appointment -- .”

“Which was when?”

“Nine o’clock. Anyway, I texted Kimmie then, reminding her she was late and asking her where she was. When she didn’t call or text, I called her mother, but she didn’t know where her daughter was either. Kimmie was never late, never skipped work, so I knew something was up. Not murder, of course. I thought maybe she’d gotten stung by a bee or something. She was very allergic to bees. It was afternoon before we found out” -- Amber shivered -- “what really happened. Nobody could believe it.”

“Did Kimmie have any enemies that you know of?”

“I was afraid you’d ask that,” Amber whispered.

“Why?”

Amber hesitated. Instead of answering, she asked a question herself. “Have you found Kimmie’s cellphone yet? The paper said it was missing.”

“No, we haven’t found it.”

“Well, if you do, you’ll probably see what I’m talking about because she said she’d texted her psychiatrist demanding that he apologize for what he did to her when she was very young.”

“What did he do to her?”

Amber closed her eyes. “Had sex with her. Gave her cocaine. That’s what she claimed.”

“Did you believe her? I mean, did you believe the sex and drugs had actually happened when she was young and then recently she threatened him?”

Amber opened her eyes but looked down at the detective’s desk, not at his face. “I didn’t see the text but I believe she sent it because when I saw her for lunch, she kept glancing at her phone, waiting for the doctor to reply. That’s why I asked if you have her cellphone. I told her it was dumb what she did.”

Dave tilted his head inquiringly.

“It was dumb because she said he either had to apologize or she’d tell somebody about what he’d done. She didn’t give the man a way out, so I told her he was bound to get mad. I told her, it’s like shooting at the king and missing, so she’d better prepare for war.”  

“Does this psychiatrist have a name?”

“Beltrami.”

Dave kept his face as impassive as possible. “Anthony Beltrami?”

“I don’t think I ever heard his first name. She always called him Dr. Beltrami.”

“Was your friend still seeing a psychiatrist the last you knew?”

“Oh, yes, and you’ll never guess who it was.”

“The way you say that, I can guess.”

“Beltrami.”

Dave tapped his pen on the desk. “Do you know why she was still seeing him if he’d done the terrible things she claimed?”

“That’s a puzzle, isn’t it? She said he quit doing the bad things before she graduated from high school, so that’s why she kept seeing him up until a few weeks ago. I don’t think she saw the doctor after she sent the text demanding an apology.”

“So the sex and drugs weren’t recent?”

“Not according to her. When she was in high school, she said she finally complained one day about the sex and the drugs, but he had an answer.”

“Which was?”

“They were part of classic German therapy and the sex and drugs made her stronger. He said she should stop living in the past or she’d never get well. . . . And he threatened her too.”

“How?”

“Maybe ‘threat’ is the wrong word. He just warned her that she’d get in a lot of trouble if she ever told anybody about the therapy.”

“Do you think she was stronger as a result of the therapy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. She had a regular job, supported herself, didn’t do bad things, so maybe it did help. Pretty normal, don’t you think?”

“If she was normal, why did she still need therapy as an adult?”

“Well, at least, two times that I know about, she tried to kill herself, so she needed help with that. That makes sense, right? She was obsessed with what she saw at the Dunes and the wrongs she thought Dr. Beltrami did to her.”

“All the time you knew her she was obsessed?”

Amber looked down in thought. “After she saw that poor drowned girl’s face in the paper -- the one Mattie reconstructed -- that’s when she got a little crazy. And then Dr. Beltrami put her back on medication.”

“Do you know what it was?”

“Antidepressants. Over the years she’d had Xanax, Zoloft, Paxil, things like that. She’d go on, then off. I don’t know what she was on before she -- before she died. Her family doctor wouldn’t prescribe antidepressants, saying a psychiatrist should do it. But really . . . I thought it was odd too that she didn’t switch therapists. The only reason I can come up with is Kimmie didn’t like change, not of any kind. Everything with her was a habit. Jigsaw puzzles, bike riding, tuna fish and Gatorade for lunch. She did almost everything alone -- no new friends, no dating -- and she did each thing according to some rigid schedule in her head. You want me to tell you a little about her family?”

“Please do.”

Suddenly, Amber grew silent. “It just occurred to me. What I’ve told you is dangerous.”

Dave waited for her to explain.

“You didn’t know about Mattie or Dr. Beltrami, right?”

Dave shrugged.

Amber waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, she continued. “You asked me if Kimmie had enemies. Well, I suppose Mattie and Dr. Beltrami could be seen as her enemies. I don’t want them to know I talked to you.”

“They won’t, but why are you concerned?” Dave could guess, but he wanted to hear it from Amber’s mouth.

“Kimmie was afraid of both of them. I know that sounds ridiculous because she still gave Mattie special spa services and she was still seeing the doctor. But, believe me, she was afraid of both. I’m not saying they’d do anything to me if they knew what I’ve told you, but . . . .”

“But you’re not sure.”

“I just don’t want them to know I’ve been here.”

“They won’t.” Dave looked at the cellphone screen again. “Your friend describes the man’s eyes and voice and so forth. I take it she met him.”

“She never said so.”

“Then how would she know what he looked like? Did he send her a picture of himself?”

“No idea.”

“Did Madeleine tell her what he looked like?”

“Again, I don’t know. I never heard of Captain Ahab before I saw this text.”

An hour later, Amber left the police station, believing she might have done the right thing but wondering if it had been smart. At least her cellphone hadn’t been confiscated as evidence.