The Cantaloupe Thief (32 page)

“Well, yeah, since you were asking about that baseball cap. A couple of years later, I was in my parents' attic, looking for an old baseball mitt I wanted in New York. I found the mitt in a trunk. And it was with my old NYU Law hat.”

“The one you lost at the party?”

“I presume so. Sure looked like it anyway.”

“Did you ask your parents about it?”

“I asked Dad. He didn't know anything. So I took it with me. Didn't hurt to have two.”

“Okay. Thank you so much, Mr Brissey. I hope I won't have to bother you again.”

“No bother at all.”

Branigan hung up and tried to make sense of the conversation. A hat that Heath had taken from Ben Jr later showed up in Amanda's attic. Heath was getting cut from his mother's will. Amanda was hiding something. Was she protecting Heath? She'd been pretty open about revealing her mother's intention to cut him from the will, but equally insistent that he didn't know.

I'd make a lousy detective,
Branigan realized. Amanda had probably seen the hat at her mother's house the morning after the party and tossed it in her suitcase.

She picked up the phone again, feeling like some insane Lieutenant Columbo. “I really apologize. One last question.”

Ben Jr was clearly puzzled. “Okay.”

“Did you tell your mom that you'd lost the NYU hat?”

“Yeah, on our ride back to Atlanta. I told her I'd been at the college store in Grambling trying to buy one.”

“What'd she say?”

“She reminded me of the place in Atlanta where I could replace it.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Do you mind telling me what my hat has to do with your story?”

“Probably nothing,” she told him honestly. “Thanks again.”

So Amanda had the NYU hat and chose not to give it back to Ben Jr. There could be a logical explanation for such behavior. Or illogical and uninteresting. But it had occurred in a house that was the scene of a brutal murder. That's when illogical became interesting.

Amanda didn't return the cap to the son who was looking for it. Instead, she hid it in her attic.

Like she was hiding something else.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“Dad?”

Liam waved his son into his office as he finished a phone conversation with Detective Scovoy. The detective checked in several times a day from an office down the hall. Liam couldn't tell if he was making progress, but his officers had interviewed the entire staff and were now talking to volunteers.

He turned to his son with relief. “I'm glad to see you.” He took a chair across from Chan. “What brings you in?”

“Mom said you might not get home 'til late, with the police here and all.”

“She's right about that.”

Chan looked troubled — in fact, to Liam's mind, had looked troubled for weeks. At first Liam thought it was nervousness about going off to college. Now he wasn't sure. The boy was acting strange, alternately distant and needy. Liam and Liz had discussed it before everything blew up with this morning's
Rambler
story about the church van running down Vesuvius and Rita. He'd been on the phone much of the morning with fellow clergy and friends from sister agencies. Rather than the suspicion he'd expected, he'd received everything from prayers to offers of vehicle loans from other churches. He was in the middle of organizing a prayer service for the weekend.

But seeing Chan's worried face banished everything else from his mind.

“I don't know how to ask you this,” Chan started. “Because I don't want you and Mom to think I'm anything but grateful for sending me to Furman. For everything really.”

Liam had a sinking feeling. But he tried to mask it. “You know you can ask me anything.”

“It's about my adoption.”

“I wondered if that might be it.”

“Might be what?”

“Well, Mom and I have noticed that you've not been yourself.”

“Oh. Well, you know, I've never been... curious before.” Chan looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at Liam. “But now that I'll be... living away, I thought maybe it's time for us to talk about it.” He stopped and looked for a reaction.

“You're absolutely right,” Liam said. “Past time. And that's my fault. I've wanted to protect you.”

“Can we do it tonight?”

“The thing is, Chan, your biological father has gotten in touch with us. He wants to be in on the discussion, because there are... things he wants you to know. Things you
need
to know before going to Furman. Genetics and such. I think he can do it this weekend.”

“He's in Grambling now?”

“Yes.”

“And he told you he'd tell me this weekend?”

“Well, no, but I think we can push it up since you've brought it up.”

Chan released a long sigh. “And you're not mad?”

“No! How could I be mad?”

“Maybe that's the wrong word. You're not... hurt? Is Mom?”

“No, Chandler. You are our son and nothing will ever, ever change that. Obviously your biological parents had problems, or they wouldn't have given you up. And it's time, it's
past
time, that you knew about it. It's you we've worried about hurting.”

Chan smiled in relief. “I'm ready if you are.”

Liam stood and grabbed him in a tight hug. “Deal.”

Outside Liam's office a figure finished sweeping. He straightened his ball cap over his dreadlocks and glided away, unseen, unheard, unnoticed.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Tan offered to bring in sandwiches if the reporters didn't want to stop working.

“That would be great,” Branigan told him. She needed to start writing so she could see where the holes were.

Marjorie was working on a story on homelessness in Grambling, and especially how street dwellers interacted with Jericho Road.

Jody was following the police investigation into the Jericho Road van that killed two of them.

Branigan was working on the anniversary story of Alberta Resnick's murder and how it intersected at several points with Grambling's homeless — with Vesuvius and Rita, certainly, but also with Max. All three of the reporters' stories needed to stand alone, but there would be cross-referencing. It was going to take an experienced editor to keep it all straight. Tan seemed disinclined to hand it over to an underling, so Branigan assumed he'd edit it with some serious fact-checking from Julie and the copy desk.

Branigan was creating a timeline of July 5, the last day of Mrs Resnick's life, when her cell phone buzzed. It was Liam.

“Branigan, when's the last time you talked to Davison?”

“Tuesday night. There was so much going on last night that I missed the window to call him.”

“Chan is asking questions, so Liz and I want to move our conversation with Davison to this weekend. Can he do that?”

“I guess so. He has a twelve-hour pass on Saturday. You want me to call him?”

“No, that's okay. I'll do it.”

“Do you want Mom and Dad there?”

“No, let's start with Liz and me and Davison. And maybe you and Charlie.”

“I'll try, but I may be working on this story.”

“Okay. I'm thinking I want you there to remind Chan that you and I have the same genes as Davison and Shauna. I want him to know that addiction's not a given.”

“I understand. I'll do everything I can to be there. Call me back when you know what time you want me.”

“Will do. And Brani G? Thanks for everything. I'm looking forward to getting this over with.”

She set an alert on her laptop to signal her at 8 p.m. so she wouldn't forget to call Davison. Then she arranged the cardboard boxes of police files on the floor around her desk for easy access, and stacked her notebooks neatly beside her computer, with colored tabs marking the names of interviewees: Ramsey, Amanda, Heath, Caroline, Ashley, Ben Jr, Liam, Dontegan, Jess, Malachi, Detective Scovoy. At times like this her rigid organization paid off.

Julie brought her a cup of coffee from the canteen, with a whispered, “Looks like you can use this.”

Branigan smiled her thanks. Then she dug in. The writing flowed more easily than she'd anticipated, probably because she'd lived inside the story for the past two weeks. By 5 p.m. she had a roughly sketched piece and a fresh list of questions on a pad.

The first one concerned that pesky NYU hat. She called Amanda's cell, figuring she'd be back at the lake house.

“No,” Amanda said, “I took the opportunity to do some shopping. I've been at the mall all day.”

“Can I meet you there?” Branigan asked. “I have a few more questions.”

“I've already pulled out. What more can you possibly have to ask me?”

Branigan deliberately dodged the question. “A lot of times you have to start writing before you figure out what's missing. That's where I am now.”

“Very well. I'm near downtown.”

“Perfect. Let's meet at Bea's on Main in ten minutes.”

 

* * * 

 

Branigan took the opportunity to walk in the late afternoon heat. It felt good to get out of the chilly office, and even better to stretch her muscles after a day crouched over a laptop. As she walked, she called her mother, who said that Uncle Bobby had overseen the installation of an alarm system at the farmhouse and had already activated it. She gave Branigan the code she'd need to deactivate it when she got inside. Branigan thanked her and told her she would spend the night at the farm.

Amanda was already seated in a booth when Branigan arrived. She looked tired. Branigan ordered yet another coffee, and slid in across from her.

“This is going to sound strange,” she began. “But I want to ask you about something Ben Jr said.”

Amanda didn't move, but a muscle beneath her left eye twitched.

“In following the family's movements on July 5, the police knew that Ben drove to the University Shoppe on the Eastside around noon or so. A clerk identified his picture and Ben confirmed he was there.”

Amanda merely nodded.

“He told me he went to replace an NYU Law School baseball cap.” She watched Amanda closely. “He was headed to law school there.”

“Anybody can buy one,” Amanda said.

“Right. But as it turns out, Ben didn't need another one. He found his hat in your attic.”

Amanda had a terrible poker face. She turned a water bottle round and round in her hands. “No,” she said. “He bought another hat in Atlanta.”

“Yes.
Another
hat. Because he lost one at your mother's house. And you took it and hid it in your attic. I want to know why.”

“How could you possibly know that? Have you been in my attic?”

“I didn't have to. Ben said he found it there when he went looking for a baseball mitt, years later.”

Amanda looked bewildered. “No, that's impossible. Why didn't Ben say anything?”

“I think he did. To your husband.”

“Bennett never mentioned it to me.”

“He probably didn't think it was important,” Branigan pressed. “Only you did. Why did you think the hat was important enough to hide?”

Amanda's eyes skittered away. “You don't have children, do you, Branigan?”

“No.”

“Things change when you're a mother. I don't believe I should answer any more questions.”

“Where did you find the hat? Were you at the murder scene?”

“I don't believe I should answer any more questions,” Amanda repeated.

“You do understand I have to give this information to the police, don't you?”

She looked at Branigan beseechingly. Then her eyes fell. “I suppose.”

“Okay. But I think there's one more thing you should know.”

“What is that?” she asked wearily.

“Ben Jr said that your brother Heath was kidding around and took his NYU hat the night of the party. That's how he lost it.”

Amanda's head popped up. The weariness vanished from her face and shoulders as she looked at Branigan with widening eyes. And then she did something unexpected. She started to laugh, loud enough to draw glances from the diners behind them, long enough to unsettle Branigan. Her laughter had a shrill edge, veering toward hysteria.

“Mrs Brissey?”

“Heath was wearing Ben's hat? Oh, that is rich. All these years. All these years.” Amanda was shaking her head and wiping her eyes.

Gradually, her laughter died away, though the tears still ran down her face. Her head shook from side to side, as if she couldn't quite take in this turn of events. “All these years,” she whispered again.

She placed a hand over one of Branigan's.

“My dear girl,” she said. “I think you've found your murderer.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Branigan followed Amanda Brissey to the police station a few blocks away, and waited with her while Detective Scovoy was summoned from his makeshift office at Jericho Road. When he arrived, he placed Amanda in a room for questioning, then guided Branigan to his office. She filled him in on Amanda's evidence tampering, pointing out that she was willing to confess, now that she understood the evidence to point to her brother, not her son.

Branigan also told the detective about Ben Brissey Jr and Rita Mae Jones smoking crack at the Fourth of July party. She added, “When I told Heath Resnick that the homeless Rita killed by the Jericho Road van was the same Rita Mae who'd been a party guest, he seemed genuinely surprised. But you probably know when people are lying better than I do.”

“I'm beginning to wonder about that,” Scovoy said. “Nice work on the baseball cap. We knew Amanda Brissey was holding out on us, but we had no idea about what.”

“The question now,” she said, “is whether Heath Resnick had access to the church van. Was he trying to keep Rita and Vesuvius quiet? And Max, for that matter?”