Witness (14 page)

“Yes.”

“I wish you’d stay at the hotel and—”

She held up a hand. “You know what? I agree.”

He stared at her. “Really?”

“Yes. After last night, I don’t want to stay at my house alone again. But it’s only for one night. I talked to my supervisor at work, and I have a week’s vacation left. She wasn’t happy about it, but she agrees my contract says I can take it next week. That means tomorrow’s my last day at the hospital.”

“Excellent.”

She frowned and bent her head to one side. “It’s not ideal. I feel guilty because I know they’re short-staffed in the E.R. But things are getting so creepy, I just don’t want to stay another week. So after my shift tomorrow, I’m going to Waterville. The real estate agent will deal with the house.”

“That’s great. I know you’re not doing it for me, but thank you.”

“I’ll be so glad when all of this is over. I didn’t want to take this whole mess with me to Bethany and Keilah.”

Joe set his tray down. “Why haven’t you told them?”

“I didn’t want them to worry.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure I buy that.”

“What?” His expression hurt her as much as his words.

“You know they’re sensible women. They’d do anything they could to help you. And I think it would be a relief to you if you could talk to them about it.”

Petra studied his serious face. His square chin and deep brown eyes had become dear to her, and she could no longer disregard anything he said.

“Maybe…” The thought that came to her was hard to accept, but it wouldn’t go away. “Maybe it’s pride.”

Joe’s lips flattened as he considered that. “Think so?”

Petra gazed at the stone wall that bordered the garden. “From the start I was afraid they wouldn’t believe me. What if they’d told me I didn’t know what I was talking about?” She looked at him with a shrug. “The police told me that. It was too much like…like the way I felt when Danny yelled at me and told me how stupid I was.”

“Danny?”

“My…fiancé. You know.”

He nodded. “But we have proof now. The car was there, on Harwood’s street. That’s one solid fact we have. But even without any evidence, Bethany and Keilah would have believed you.”

She looked down at her food container. “Probably. I…hadn’t been around them much for years until they moved to Waterville. They’d both lived in other states for years. I wasn’t sure how they’d react to a lot of things. I felt like a stranger to them. But once I started seeing more of them, that went away. I was a sister again, and I could see that they loved me, no matter what. You know how it is when you’re a kid and you think your siblings hate you? But when you grow up, you know that’s silly and…”

Joe shook his head, and his eyes held a look of incomprehension. Petra stopped. How could you express the feeling of sisterhood to an only child—an only son at that?

Joe’s chin lifted and he smiled as he looked along the narrow garden toward the street. She followed his gaze. Nick Wyatt came down the steps that led up to street level.

“Hey, Joseph!” He nodded at Petra. “Nice to see you again, Miss Wilson.”

She smiled and looked to Joe for a cue.

Joe stood and reached to shake Nick’s hand. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I’m all set, thanks.”

“You got anything new?” Joe asked.

Nick nodded. “I think we’re on our way, thanks to the lead you gave me this morning.” He looked at Petra and included them both in his announcement. “This is breaking. We confirmed what you suspected, Joe. The owner of the car abandoned at the airport was Rex Harwood’s stepsister, Harriet Foster.”

Joe exhaled heavily. “What do you know? And nobody’s seen her since her trip to Portland.”

“That’s right. Seems she didn’t tell anyone in Nova Scotia that she was coming.”

“I wonder if the professor knew,” Joe mused.

“I’m thinking about interviewing Mrs. Harwood again.” Nick and Joe sat. “But first we’ll go see that auctioneer you told me about.”

“Why don’t you just pick Rex up and ask him about his stepsister?” Petra asked.

Nick bobbed his head and smiled. “I want a little more evidence first. Enough so we can hold him. I don’t want to have to go after him twice.”

“Yeah, we want an ironclad case.” Joe started closing up the food containers. “Think you can get a match on that hair?”

“The Halifax police are sending us some of Mrs. Foster’s hair that her family let them take from her hairbrush. We should have it today. It will take a while to do DNA, but they may be able to match the two hair samples fairly conclusively. And I talked to the stepbrother in California.”

Petra glanced at her watch. “Quick. I need to get back to work. What did he say?”

Nick shrugged. “Said Rex was a little twerp, and he couldn’t stand him. He admitted he and his brother used to pick on him a lot. He never got along with the stepfather—that’s Ernest Harwood, Rex’s father. As soon as Robert turned seventeen, he got his mother to sign for him so he could join the navy.”

“Has he kept in contact with Rex’s side of the family?” Joe asked.

“Nope. I guess the sister has somewhat. Rex notified Harriet when his father died, and she came over for Ernest Harwood’s funeral. Robert—that’s the older brother—said as far as he knew, that was the last time Harriet saw Rex. He opted not to attend the funeral, since his mother was already dead and he had no use for Ernest or Rex.”

“Did you tell him his sister is missing now?” Petra asked. She felt sorry for Nick, having that job.

“Yeah. He asked us to let him know as soon as we find out anything. He’ll check into flights, but I told him it was early to come back here. When we’ve got something solid…”

“I hope that’s soon.” Petra stood and picked up her purse. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop, guys.”

Joe jumped up. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Pretty girl,” Nick said, as they watched Petra drive away. “Is she going to the Sox game with us?”

Joe grinned. “I forgot to ask her.”

“There’s time.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They decided to ride together to the auction hall, which was ten miles away. Joe snagged his briefcase from his own car and climbed into Nick’s unmarked cruiser.

“You know, I got a copy of Ernest Harwood’s will this morning. Stopped at the Cumberland County courthouse before I met Petra for lunch.”

“And?” Nick asked.

“He left everything to Rex.”

“Nothing to the stepkids?”

Joe shook his head. “Nope. So that makes me wonder…”

Nick eyed him critically and pulled out into traffic. “Yeah?”

“I think we should take a look at Mrs. Harwood’s will. Rex’s stepmother, I mean. She had money and she bought antiques. Don’t you think she’d have left something to her own children? Her husband left his estate to his own son, not her kids. She may have done the same.”

Nick frowned. “You think they had a prenup?”

Joe thought about that. “Those were pretty new at the time they were married. But they could have made an agreement—my money goes to my kids, yours goes to your son.”

“But Rex had the Toby jug that belonged to her.” Nick hit the brake as the light ahead of them turned red.

“My point exactly. His stepsister came over from Halifax unannounced, and the two of them wound up arguing over an antique that had belonged to her mother. Mrs. Harwood told me that piece had belonged to her mother-in-law—Rex’s stepmother.”

“Worth looking into.”

They arrived at the auction hall half an hour later, after fighting noon-hour traffic all the way. Joe banished all thoughts of the last night he served as a patrolman in Portland, though they battered at the edges of his mind as they crawled through the streets he’d worked with Nick.

Before they entered the building, Joe consulted the copied obituary in his briefcase and waited for Nick to make a call to his detective sergeant, requesting that an officer be sent to the courthouse for a copy of Laura Harwood’s will.

“You’re joking,” Nick said into his phone. His face went all stiff and shocked. Joe stepped closer, into Nick’s line of vision. “All right, thanks, Sarge.” Nick put his phone away and took a deep breath. “Things are happening fast, Joe, my man.”

“What is it?”

“A body.”

J
oe’s adrenaline surged. “Where did they find the body?”

“Durham,” Nick replied. “Just north of Freeport. A woman. Middle-aged, they think. Off the road a little ways in the woods, barely covered with dirt.”

“What was she wearing?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Call back and ask him.”

Nick looked doubtful. “I don’t think the sergeant has the details yet. Come on. We’ll talk to this auction guy, then I’ll touch base with the state police. It may not be our victim.”

Joe ground his teeth and followed Nick inside. The hall and its owner were more sophisticated than the ones Joe had visited farther north. A woman greeted them as they entered and led them to an office near the front of the building. Joe got a glimpse into the large, open room where the auctions were held and estimated two hundred chairs filled it.

Nick made the introductions, blurring the lines of Joe’s involvement, as he showed the man his badge. “Hi, I’m Detective Nick Wyatt with the Portland P.D., and this is Detective Joe Tarleton.”

Joe didn’t enlighten anyone as to his unofficial status. Calvin Gillespie rose to shake hands. Joe judged him to be in his fifties, with graying hair and glasses. His neat gray slacks and light blue dress shirt gave him a more professional air than most antique dealers. Apparently he ran his business from this crowded but well-organized room.

“Sir, we’re here about a sale you conducted three years ago,” Nick said.

Joe edged forward and slid the catalog with a colorful cover photo of a Toby jug onto the man’s desk.

“Oh, the Tobys?” Gillespie picked up the catalog and nodded. “That was a good sale.”

“How much did it bring?” Nick asked.

“I’d have to look up the records to be sure. Close to two hundred thousand, I think.”

“And who was the seller?”

Gillespie hesitated. “I’m bound to keep that information confidential.”

“This is part of a murder investigation,” Nick said.

“Well, I…suppose you can get a warrant.”

“We can if we have to.” Nick eyed him carefully. “You can speed things up a bit by cooperating here, sir.”

Gillespie sighed and went to a file cabinet. “Here.” He pulled out a manila folder and plunked it in Nick’s hand. Nick opened it, and Joe read over his shoulder.

“That’s our guy,” Joe said softly.

Nick nodded. “Could you please ask your secretary to make a copy of this folder for the police, sir?”

“Sure.” The auctioneer took the folder.

“The catalog says there were about thirty pieces in the collection of Toby jugs,” Joe said.

Gillespie nodded. “All pristine. You know, in this business, condition is everything. And all of those were great pieces.” He glanced inside the folder. “One hundred, eighty-five thousand dollars gross. That was top dollar, but selling it as a collection enhanced the price.”

“You’re saying you got more for the collection than you would have separately?” Nick asked.

“Yes, I believe so. That happens sometimes, especially when the seller has handpicked the items over a period of time to complement each other. And good Toby jugs are getting scarce.” Gillespie walked to the door and said to the secretary, “Andrea, would you please make a copy of everything in this folder for the gentlemen? Not the catalog. They have that.”

Joe went outside and paced the parking lot while he waited for Nick to get the copies and finish up with Gillespie. At last Nick came out, handed him the sheaf of papers and got behind the wheel. As his friend drove, Joe skimmed the information and then put the papers in his briefcase. He closed the latches just as Nick pulled into the parking garage at the police station.

“Why don’t you come inside with me?” Nick asked.

“You sure?”

Nick shrugged. “The sarge knows you’re an alumnus of this place and that we’re breaking a murder case largely thanks to you. No problem.”

“Okay.” Even so, Joe’s adrenaline kicked up a notch as they entered the police station. He hadn’t been inside since the day he turned in his badge. Officers greeted Nick every few steps, but Joe didn’t recognize any of them.

Nick took him directly to the detectives’ area and nodded toward a chair facing his desk. Joe sat, still looking around uneasily. He had once aspired to earning the rank of detective in this department. From outside, he’d been able to congratulate Nick and feel satisfaction and a bit of pride in his former partner. Now he wondered if he’d been rash to quit when he did. He could have a desk across the aisle from Nick and wear the badge with the confidence the city’s authority gave.

A uniformed officer approached Nick and handed him a large envelope. Nick opened it. “Oh, good. Here’s the will you wanted.” He handed it to Joe.

Letting him take the first look at it surprised and pleased Joe as he pulled out the document and scanned it. Vindication and apprehension struggled in his heart as he made sense of the legalese. He glanced up and saw that Nick had leaned back, waiting for him to share anything pertinent to the case.

“Laura Harwood left ten thousand dollars to each of her two sons, and all of her dishes to her daughter, Harriet Foster.”

“Dishes.” Nick frowned so hard the front lock of his blond hair covered his sandy eyebrows. “Are those Toby jugs considered dishes?”

“You betcha.” Joe continued to read silently, more and more certain that he had found the key to the murder. “Anything else left in her estate went to her husband. This is your motive.”

“Rex had already got the money from the auction before he murdered the sister.”

“Yes, he sold the collection that was rightfully Harriet’s. She wanted it, and he killed her so she wouldn’t turn him in for stealing it.”

“Maybe.” Nick relaxed, limp, in his padded chair, staring off toward the door of the break room. Joe had seen the skeptical look on his face hundreds of times before.

“Nicky, you know people have killed for a lot less.”

The phone on the desk rang and Nick leaned forward to grab the receiver.

“Detective Wyatt. Yes. Uh-huh.” He scribbled notes on a scrap of paper. “Got it.” He hung up and met Joe’s inquiring gaze straight-on. “The body they found in Durham.”

Joe’s pulse quickened. “Yeah?”

“It matches the description Petra gave of the woman Harwood strangled. Black slacks and knit top. Red scarf.”

Petra strode across the parking lot toward her car, glad once again to be leaving work in full daylight. She wondered how much progress Joe and Nick had made. With both of them actively pursuing the truth, the case would soon be solved. Rex Harwood would be locked up, and she could breathe easily once more.

She hit the remote button to unlock her door and slipped into the driver’s seat. The car was warm inside, but not stifling. The sun dipped westward and the heat of the day was past. After starting the engine, she turned the fan on low.

She edged out of the lot into traffic and headed home. She would stop at home for supper and her overnight bag, then drive to her hotel before dark.

The hairs on the back of her neck tickled and she stiffened. A sound? No, a sense of movement behind her. She looked at the rearview mirror but saw nothing. She glanced over her shoulder, and almost ran off the road. On the floor in the backseat she saw legs and a man’s brown leather shoe. She stomped on the brake, her heart lurching, and felt movement against the back of the seat as she looked forward to avoid running into anyone.

“Keep driving,” a deep voice behind her said.

Nick and Joe sat in the unmarked car watching Rex Harwood’s driveway. The warrant for Rex’s arrest stuck out of Nick’s breast pocket, and half a dozen officers kept their posts, concealed around the neighborhood. A female patrol officer was in the house with Mrs. Harwood, explaining the situation to her and making sure she did nothing to notify the professor of his impending arrest.

Joe looked at his watch for the twelfth time. “He should be here by now. It’s five-thirty.” He raised his binoculars and peered across the yard of the Harwoods’ next-door neighbor. Through the foliage he could see just a bit of Acton Street and had been watching for Petra’s red Avalon to glide into her driveway.

“Maybe he had to run an errand.” Nick tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. His cell phone rang and he fished it from his pocket. “Detective Wyatt.” His chin jerked up, and Joe instantly came alert. “Yes, ma’am, I remember. Yes, ma’am. And when did this happen?”

When he hung up, he turned to Joe, his face betraying his chagrin.

“Who was it?” Joe asked.

“That Eileen McAdams, down the street. The whiz kid’s mother.”

Joe nodded. “You told her to call you if she had anything. What’s up?”

Nick looked away and winced. “She had a chat with Mrs. Harwood this afternoon.”

“Oh, boy.”

“They talked about Eileen’s kids and the Harwoods’ grandchildren and lilac bushes and detectives asking about cars from Nova Scotia.”

“Just what we need.”

“Yeah. If Mrs. H. put two and two together and asked her husband if anyone from Nova Scotia came around while she was visiting her sister in Millinocket last month…”

Joe nodded. “And right about then Rex recalled he had to run over to his office on campus this afternoon.”

“His wife said he left two hours ago.” Nick pounded his fist on the wheel.

“Call the men you sent over to the university.”

Nick complied and got a quick reply, which he relayed to Joe. “They’re still watching the doors of the building, but they haven’t spotted his SUV anywhere nearby.”

“He ran.” The certainty implanted itself deep in Joe’s heart. “The discovery of the body went out on the early news. He probably listened to it on the radio after his wife tipped him off. He could be halfway to Quebec by now.”

Nick reached for his radio transmitter. “I’ll put out a bulletin for his vehicle on the interstate, north and south.”

“You may be too late.” Joe pulled out his phone and punched the speed dial for Petra. It rang twice and kicked to her voice mail. He inhaled slowly, willing his blood pressure not to skyrocket.

Nick paused with the microphone next to his mouth. “What’s the matter?”

“Petra. She should be home by now, too.”

“You want to check on her?”

Joe opened the car door. “I’ll walk over there. Pick me up if you’re leaving.”

He bounded through the neighbors’ unfenced yard and hopped over a low hedge onto the lawn next to Petra’s. A short jog put him on the sidewalk paralleling Acton Street. He hurried to her driveway. No one answered the doorbell or his resonant pounding on the door panels. He turned away. An elderly woman stood on the sidewalk watching him. Her miniature dog—some kind of terrier, Joe guessed—let out several frantic yips.

“Hello,” Joe said.

“Are you looking for someone?” the white-haired woman asked. She looked fragile enough to blow away in a good gale off the harbor.

“Petra Wilson,” Joe told her.

The woman nodded. “I don’t believe she’s home yet.”

“Thank you.”

“She’s moving, you know.”

Joe had started to turn away, but he looked back at her. “Yes, I do know. Are you a friend of Miss Wilson?”

“Yes, and I’ll miss her. Very sudden, this moving to Waterville.” The old woman shook her head.

“Well, thanks again.” Joe dashed back the way he’d come and slid into the passenger seat of Nick’s car, panting.

“Not home. I don’t like this.”

“Well, I’m going over to the campus to see if we can find Harwood’s vehicle. I’ll leave two patrolmen here.” Nick started the engine.

Joe called directory assistance, requested that the operator connect him to Maine Medical Center, and then asked for the nurses’ station in the E.R.

“Here,” he told Nick a moment later, thrusting the phone at him. “They won’t talk to me. Tell her you’re a cop.”

Nick pulled to the side of the street and put his flashers on, then spoke with the supervisor. A moment later he handed Joe back his phone. “Petra left an hour ago.”

The air in the car was suddenly stifling. Joe felt sweat beading on his forehead. “Take me to my car.”

“It’s too far out of the way. We’ll just go to the hospital.”

Joe exhaled and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Thanks.”

Neither of them spoke until they rolled into the employees’ parking lot. Joe zeroed in on one red car after another, but none of them was right.

“Maybe she had to park in the visitors’ lot today,” Nick said, easing the car along slowly.

“She was going to stay at a hotel tonight, but she told me she’d go home first to get some things.” Joe had the sick, smothery feeling again. His stomach churned. “Hold it!”

Nick braked. “What?”

Joe pointed to a black SUV. “It’s Harwood’s vehicle. His plate number was in the police report when Petra first reported the murder. The patrolmen searched it in his garage.”

“You sure that’s it?”