Arsenic and Old Books (20 page)

What was Kanesha's strategy here? I couldn't figure out where she was headed with this particular gambit.

The mayor evidently found it strange. She handed me the volume she was holding and turned to face the deputy.

“What does that have to do with Marie vandalizing Rachel Long's diaries?” the mayor asked. “If you must know, I only read a bit of the first one. The handwriting gave me a headache, and I didn't have time to read further. What I did read seemed interesting enough to be of potential historical value. That's why my husband and I decided to donate them to the archive.”

“I see,” Kanesha said. “And the fifth volume? The one you found in a false bottom of the trunk. Did you read any of it?”

“I fail to see what you expect to accomplish with these questions,” the mayor said, her tone increasingly frosty. “I don't have time for this.”

“Could you please answer my question, Mrs. Long?” Kanesha said.

The mayor stared hard at the deputy, but then Mrs. Long's glance fell away. “Well, I might have looked at a couple of pages, but the handwriting was too small and cramped, as I've said. I was as surprised as everyone else when Mr. Harris told me about that slave woman getting involved with a Singletary.”

Mrs. Long seemed uneasy to me, and I was surprised. She was an experienced politician, and I would have expected her to maintain a calm, poker-like demeanor. Perhaps she didn't handle guilt well, I thought.

The mayor pointed to the volume I now held. “Have you found the missing pages? If you know Marie took the diaries, surely you know what she did with them.”

“We do have them,” Kanesha said. “Because they're evidence, though, they will remain in the custody of the sheriff's department until it's determined whether they will be needed for the trial.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mrs. Long said. She turned to me. “Did Marie remove pages from any other volume?”

“No, the others are all intact,” I said.

“I would like to see the other two to reassure myself of that,” the mayor said.

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Kanesha said. “I've sent the fifth book you found along with one of the others to the state crime lab for testing.”

“Testing?” Mrs. Long said. I thought she suddenly looked a bit pale. “Whatever for?”

“We suspect that the one you found in the bottom of the trunk is a forgery,” Kanesha said. “I want to know how recently it was done. Do you have any ideas about that?”

The mayor laughed, a shaky sound. “Now, why would I know about such a thing? It can't be a forgery.”

Kanesha looked at me, and I realized this was a signal for me to talk.

“I'm certain it is,” I said. “I asked one of the chemistry professors here to compare it to one of the original four.”

“Why would you do that?” The mayor stared hard at me.

“I began to suspect, because of the contents, that something wasn't right with it,” I said. “The story about Rachel Long's slave getting involved with the present Jasper Singletary's ancestor didn't hold water. I spoke to Mr. Singletary after he'd had a chance to read that volume, and he was puzzled by it. He thought it odd that, if Celeste truly was a slave, no one in the family knew about it.”

The mayor laughed harshly. “It's hardly the kind of thing one would pass down to one's family. Apparently she was light enough to pass for white, and that's how they fooled everyone.”

“I don't think they could have gotten away with it,” I said. “Celeste might not have interacted with the people in town, but the other slaves would certainly have known she was one of them. I don't think they would have been quiet about her marrying a white man once she was free. It was illegal for blacks and whites to marry then.”

“Well, I think you're wrong,” the mayor said. “I think they did get away with it.”

I glanced at Kanesha, and she nodded again.

“There is other evidence,” I said. “I found a copy of Angeline McCarthy Long's memoir of Rachel and read it.”

The mayor did pale visibly this time. “How did . . . But Marie said . . .” She fell silent, obviously horror-stricken over what she let slip.

“I'm sure Marie told you that she had taken care of the library's copy of the memoir, and I imagine you visited Miss Eulalie Estes and
borrowed
her copy,” I said. “Someone found the copy Marie had hidden and brought it to me. I read it. Angeline Long states very clearly that Celeste was white. She was the daughter of the white overseer on the Afton plantation in New Orleans. Rachel wouldn't have written that Celeste was a slave when she clearly wasn't. Therefore that volume of the diary is a forgery.”

Mrs. Long sank into the chair behind her. She looked back and forth from me to Kanesha twice. I knew my expression was every bit as stony as the deputy's.

“Did Marie Steverton play a role in creating the forged diary?” Kanesha asked. “Before we go any further, Your Honor, I will read you your rights, unless you waive them.”

The mayor stared down at the floor. Behind me I heard Diesel stirring, so I set down the book I was holding and reached behind me to pat him for reassurance. He stilled under my touch.

“Well, Mrs. Long?” Kanesha said.

“I'll waive them, and Mr. Harris can be your witness.” The mayor sighed. “Marie did all the work, actually. At my request.”

“What did you promise her?” I asked. “To make sure she got tenure?”

Mrs. Long's head jerked up. “Yes. How did you know?”

“It was pretty common knowledge around campus that she was desperate to get it,” I said. “She had tried and failed at previous colleges, and this was her last shot before retirement.”

“I see. It was mostly her idea,” the mayor said. “I found Rachel's diaries several months ago and told her about them then. She kept pestering me to let her have them, but I refused to do it. I didn't trust her with them.”

“How did you hit upon the scheme to forge a volume of the diary?” Kanesha asked.

“Jasper Singletary was gaining ground in the campaign against my son, and his campaign manager was worried that unless something drastic happened, Singletary would overtake Beck and win.” The mayor shook her head. “I love my son, but he is not a natural politician. He is handsome and charming, but he doesn't have the oratorical gifts his opponent has; nor is he as quick on his feet. My husband refuses to see that, however, and is determined that Beck will be elected. He's too proud to believe Beck isn't going to win.

“So I came up with a scheme to help influence the election,” Mrs. Long continued. “I'd read that memoir of Rachel, and I remembered the story Angeline told about aiding the Singletary family. I thought it would be a good story to adapt to suit my purposes. I knew Marie had some skill with forgery, because she learned how to write like me when we were at Sweet Briar together. She was very good at it.”

“Did Dr. Steverton see the real diaries before she created the forged one?” Kanesha asked.

“No,” the mayor said. “I promised she would be able to use them once the forgery was complete. She wanted me to give them to her personally once she finished the job, but I told her they would have to go to the archive, and she could access them through it. I couldn't turn over valuable family documents to her, but of course she had a fit.”

“Did she at any time threaten you?” I asked. “You told us about a phone call the night she was killed, when she asked you about the monetary value of the diaries?”

“She couldn't threaten me,” the mayor said. “She would expose herself if she exposed me. She didn't dare. She was roaring drunk when she called, and she didn't make a lot of sense when she drank that heavily. She asked me several times if I thought the diaries were worth fifty thousand dollars and I told her I didn't know.”

“Did she give you any indication why she was asking?” Kanesha said.

The mayor frowned. “There was something about
interested parties
but I could never get her to tell me what she meant.” She shrugged. “I finally told her to quit drinking and go to bed.”

“Are you sure that was the extent of your conversation with Dr. Steverton that night?” Kanesha asked. “She didn't bring up anything else?”

“No,” the mayor said. “Of course, I had no idea she'd stolen the diaries from the archive, and she didn't tell me. If I had known, I would have driven right over and taken them home until they could be returned to the archive.”

She looked from Kanesha to me and back again. “Now it's my turn to ask a question. What was in those pages Marie tore out? Obviously something important, or I doubt she would have vandalized a historical document.”

I glanced at Kanesha, and she nodded at me. I decided I'd rather be sitting when I delivered the blow to the mayor, and most likely, to Beck Long's hopes of being elected, if this ever got out to the public. “This won't be pleasant, Mrs. Long, but there is no way to sugarcoat it.”

Mrs. Long took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”

I told her the story of Major Andrew Long's desertion and its aftermath. I kept it short, and she grew paler by the syllable. When I finished, I thought she might keel over in a dead faint.

Kanesha and I waited for Mrs. Long to respond to what I'd related to her. She gazed wildly at me and wet her lips a couple of times. “My dear Lord,” she said, “this will kill my husband if it ever gets out. He's always been so proud of his family, and his distinguished lineage. You can't let this be made public. You simply can't.” Her voice rose on the last three words to nearly a shriek.

“I don't intend to tell anyone,” I said. “I give you my solemn promise on that.”

The mayor turned to Kanesha. “Will it have to come out?”

“I don't know, Your Honor,” Kanesha said. “The pages had to be taken into evidence because of the seriousness of the crime. It will be up to the prosecutors to decide whether it's relevant to the murder. If they deem it is, then it probably will come out.”

Mrs. Long nodded wearily. “I'd like to go now, if you don't mind. I have to tell my son he can't use that story about the slave woman before it's too late. Singletary would turn him into a complete laughingstock.”

“Let me walk you down to your car,” Kanesha said. “I'll be back, Mr. Harris.”

I stared at her. I couldn't believe she was letting the mayor go. Wasn't she going to charge her with the murder of Marie Steverton?

I was stunned. I was sure the mayor was responsible, but I began to realize that if Kanesha had the evidence to make the charge, she would have. There were obviously pieces of the puzzle still missing, at least officially.

Diesel climbed from the windowsill into my lap, and I hugged him against me. He purred, and I knew we both felt better. We snuggled until Kanesha returned about three minutes later. Then Diesel wanted to get back into his spot in the window.

“That's one thing settled,” Kanesha said as she sat across from me. “I know you're probably wondering why I didn't charge her with the murder.”

“Yes, the thought did cross my mind,” I said wryly.

“I couldn't,” Kanesha said. “She didn't do it.”

“If Mrs. Long didn't run down Marie, then who did?” I asked. “Was it Beck? Or maybe that man Kittredge?”

Kanesha shook her head. “No, Beck Long and his associate Kittredge both have alibis. They were down in Jackson that evening, meeting with a public relations specialist until around one in the morning. They couldn't have driven back to Athena in time.”

“Why are you so sure Mrs. Long didn't do it?” I still thought the mayor was the most likely candidate for murderer.

“We checked her car, her husband's, her son's personal vehicle, even their housekeeper's car,” Kanesha said. “None of them had any kind of damage, and we know that the car that hit Dr. Steverton had at least minor scratches to the blinker on the front passenger side. Also, preliminary evidence on the paint residue on Dr. Steverton's clothing didn't match the makes or models of any of those cars.”

That sounded pretty conclusive. Then another possibility occurred to me. “What about rental cars? Couldn't one of them have rented a car just for the purpose?”

“We're checking rental car agencies in a hundred-mile radius,” Kanesha said. “The Mississippi Bureau of Investigation is helping with that. If necessary we'll extend the radius farther. I'm hoping for a report from them sometime today.”

“So it's still possible that Mrs. Long or her husband could have rented a car and used it to run Marie down.”

“Yes, it's possible,” Kanesha said, “but I don't think either of them did that. Renting a car takes time and effort, and unless Mrs. Long had planned in advance to do it, I can't see where she had the time to arrange for and pick up a rental, even with her husband's help.” She leaned forward. “Look, we know from phone records that Dr. Steverton didn't call the mayor until close to midnight that night. We're checking into calls from Dr. Steverton's office in the history department, now that we know she must have gone there at some point in the afternoon or evening in order to put the diary pages into the campus mail.”

I took a moment to digest all that, and I had to agree—albeit somewhat reluctantly—that Kanesha was right. The mayor seemed to be out of the picture as the murderer. Given the mayor's reaction when I shared with her the contents of those pages, I believed she had not heard any of it before. Clearly Marie hadn't disclosed it to her at any point. The mayor had been far too shocked to be acting, despite her years on the political stage.

“Did Marie call anyone else that evening?” I asked.

“Not from her home phone,” Kanesha said. “That's why we're checking on her office phone. I have the feeling that she must have called someone else. I am pretty sure I know who she did call.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Jasper Singletary.”

Kanesha nodded. “That's the only answer that really makes any sense. With those pages, she had political dynamite. If she was as drunk that night as the mayor claims, she might have called and offered the pages to him.”

I frowned. “That would defeat her purpose, wouldn't it? Singletary wouldn't have the pull to get her tenure, not the way Mrs. Long would, through her connection with Professor Newkirk.”

“True,” Kanesha said. “That's the sticking point in this scenario.”

“There's another point that has to be considered,” I said. “The return of the diaries to this office. Doesn't it seem reasonable to assume that the murderer returned them?”

“I believe so,” Kanesha said. “I can't see another person getting into the middle of this, finding the diaries at Dr. Steverton's home, and then returning them. We're trying to determine exactly when they were returned, but it's difficult. There are no security cameras in this building, and the two doors in and out of the building have locks that are very easy to bypass.” She shook her head. “Chief Ford is going to take this up with the president, but it's too late to help us in this investigation.”

“Campus security didn't see anything suspicious during their rounds?” I asked.

“No,” Kanesha replied. “As I said, we have nothing really to go on for the timing of the return. We know that they were taken while you and Ms. Gilley were both out of the building for lunch, but that's all.”

“What about Kelly Grimes?” I asked. “Are you considering her as a possibility?”

Kanesha shot me a repressive look. “Of course. Her car doesn't have any damage, either. Neither does Singletary's nor those of any of his campaign staff.”

“Could the damage have been repaired before you got around to all of the vehicles?” I asked.

“No, because I made sure that was done the first day of the investigation.”

“Surely by now the car will have been repaired,” I said.

“It could have been,” Kanesha said, “but if it was a rental, there will at least be a record of it. With that and paint residue, we should be able to make an identification and go from there.”

“Frustrating,” I said.

“Yes, but not unusual,” Kanesha replied. “We'll get there; it's just a matter of time and persistence. We'll identify the car, and then we'll know the killer.”

Another point occurred to me. “Singletary's car wasn't used, nor those of any of his staff. Kelly Grimes's car wasn't used. What about alibis for them?”

Kanesha smiled briefly. “Neither Mr. Singletary nor Ms. Grimes has one after midnight. They left Athena together around six thirty p.m. and attended a fund-raiser in Charleston and another in Enid that evening. Mr. Singletary dropped Ms. Grimes at her place around midnight, then immediately went to his home. The timing is about right, because we know approximately when they left Enid. Both of them say they went to bed right away, but neither one has an alibi for the rest of the night.”

“There's at least a possibility,” I said. “Surely it has to be one of them.”

“Yes, I'm pretty sure it is. One more piece of information, and then I have to go. Kelly Grimes lives in a duplex. Her neighbor has a car, but the neighbor is out of town. Ms. Grimes said he left on Tuesday but doesn't know where he went. I want to verify that he left on Tuesday and not early on Wednesday. We're trying to trace him and his vehicle.”

“You think she could have borrowed her neighbor's car?” I asked.

“Yes, as long as he didn't leave until Wednesday,” Kanesha said. “We're checking with neighbors to see if anyone remembers seeing his car in the driveway on Tuesday and how late. Nothing so far, but we'll keep digging.” She stood. “Thanks again for your help. Now it's going to be down to routine investigative work.”

“Good luck,” I said. “I hope this gets resolved soon.”

She nodded and raised a hand in farewell.

I turned to the cat. “Come on, Diesel, let's go home. And this time we're going to get there.”

He perked up right away. I glanced at the wall clock and wasn't surprised to see it was already a few minutes past five. Definitely quitting time. This had been a strange day, not to mention emotionally and mentally exhausting.

On the walk home through the oppressive early evening heat, I tried my best to think of other things. Kanesha was right. Routine police work would achieve a solution to this.

The harder I tried to think about another subject, the more my mind stubbornly refused to cooperate. I was thinking about Kelly Grimes as the murderer when I unlocked the front door. I kept thinking about her in the kitchen while I was pouring myself a glass of iced tea.

I sat at the table and slowly sipped at the tea. Diesel disappeared and then reappeared to settle near my feet. He dozed while I continued to think about the various things I knew about Kelly Grimes and the events of the past few days. I began to piece together what I thought, in the end, was a plausible scenario for what happened.

The diaries were the catalyst. Marie Steverton wanted them for scholarly research and had agreed to forge a fifth volume in return for help getting tenure at the college. Kelly Grimes wanted them because she wanted to help her boyfriend find evidence that Rachel Long was a cold-blooded murderess.

I witnessed the unpleasant incident between the two women and their obvious dislike for each other. Neither one would be happy if the other got her hands on the diaries first. Marie insisted that Mrs. Long make sure she had exclusive access to them, but that apparently wasn't good enough. Marie sneaked into my office while Melba and I were both out of the building for lunch and took them.

I was pretty sure Kelly Grimes was keeping an eye on Marie, and I speculated that she saw Marie with the diaries. Or she found out somehow that Marie had them. She decided to steal them from Marie so she could have access to them first. She didn't have time to do it in the afternoon before she had to go with Singletary to the two fund-raisers in Charleston and Enid. Besides, doing it in the early hours of the morning when Marie would presumably be asleep would probably make it easier.

Okay, that all seemed plausible so far.

Next step. Kelly helped herself to her neighbor's car and drove to Marie's house. I figured she probably parked down the block. Then she made her way to Marie's and let herself in, either by picking the lock or finding an open window. Given Marie's inebriated state that evening, she might even have left a door unlocked.

Kelly got into the house and located the diaries. Marie would not have had them hidden away at the point, I figured, because the cops had come and gone without finding them and weren't likely to search again. Kelly grabbed the diaries, stuffed them in the bag, and started to slip out. Something woke Marie, maybe Kelly stumbling against a piece of furniture or knocking something off onto the floor, and Marie saw what she thought was a burglar. Maybe she even recognized Kelly.

Marie went after Kelly to try to get the bag with the diaries back. Kelly ran for the car, Marie hot on her heels. Marie caught up with her and tried to snatch the bag. Somehow the diaries got dumped out of the bag. Kelly scooped them up, got in the car, started it, and tried to drive off. Marie stepped in the way, and Kelly hit her, knocking her to the ground and killing her. Then, perhaps terrified over what she had done—on purpose or accidentally, I wasn't sure—she took the diaries to the archive instead of taking them home with her. Unaware the whole time that pages were missing from one volume.

Then Kelly went home, put her neighbor's car where it belonged, and went to bed. The neighbor got up early for his trip, not noticing the damage to the blinker on the front passenger side, and off he went, destination unknown.

I thought about my scenario a little while longer. I finally concluded it was possible, but until Kanesha found evidence, it was only a theory.