Black Princess Mystery (20 page)

“I
promise,” said Tasheka. “I always liked Matt and I’m sure he had nothing to do
with this. Call me if you need any help. I’ll phone my lawyer right away and
you won’t have to worry about a thing financially.”

“Thank
you,” she said meekly, scratching her arms. “This ain’t exactly the best start
to a Christmas Eve that I ever had.”

“Let’s
drink a cup of coffee and then I’ll drive you and Henrietta home,” Tasheka
offered.

The women
drank their coffee and ate some Russian black bread, assured each other all
would be well, and Tasheka drove the two women to their homes. Then she
proceeded toward the Lakeside Park, a large wooded area on the other side of
the lake from Dead Man’s Oak. Just before the turnoff, a government sign noted
an infrastructure project and that Lakeside Road was now called Fairway Drive.
Tasheka glanced at the sign, flipped down her sunglasses, and turned at Moor
Road. She drove to a rundown trailer nestled well back in the trees. Unless
they knew it was there, passing motorists would have driven past without
realizing someone lived on this side of the lake.

An old
woman in tattered clothes came out on the step and smiled at Tasheka. “How are
you today, Tasheka?” asked the grey-haired lady.

“I am
well, Cynthia. How are you?”

“I’ll pay
you back for all those groceries you and your mother have been buying me,”
Cynthia assured her as she moved some boards out of the way. “I don’t take
nothing for free. I got a list inside and every trip to Mike’s store I write in
my log book. I’ll show it to you if you want.”

“I told
you before, if you ever need anything, we’ll help you.”

“I don’t
like welfare,” the old woman proclaimed proudly, opening the door for one of
her cats. “But I’m a little down on my luck right now. If there’s anything I
can do to repay you, just say so.”

“There is
something,” said Tasheka.

“Anything.”

“Were you
home the night Father Tim was murdered?”

“Yes, I
was,” said Cynthia. “On Thursday nights I play TV bingo and I was in the
trailer all night.”

“Have the
police contacted you?”

“Yes,” she
said. “An older guy, not half-bad looking, and a young stud, but I told them I
didn’t see nothing.”

“Is that
true? Did you see nothing?”

“I saw
something,” Cynthia surrendered with a meaningful look.

“Why
didn’t you tell them?”

“I ain’t
talking to no cops, dear.
What if I piss off the wrong guy and
he comes here in the middle of the night with a can of gasoline.”

Tasheka
nodded. “You live on a quiet road, Cynthia. I suppose when a car drives past,
you might sometimes notice it.”

“A car on
this road during the day is common, but at night there’s only a few teenagers
heading to the park to smoke pot. I notice them all.”

“Thursday
evening, Cynthia,” Tasheka said, staring into the woman’s eyes. “What did you
see?”

“This is
between you and me, right?”

“Yes,”
Tasheka said with heightened excitement. “Did someone pass here earlier in the
evening, then maybe drive by around nine-thirty or ten?”

“It was
snowing,” Cynthia said, “so the kids stayed out of here because they didn’t
want to put their parents’ cars off the road. But just before ten, a car did
pass here coming from the park. It was heading toward the turnoff to the city.”

“Did you
get a good look at it?”

“I did,”
she said.

Tasheka
was certain the car she saw carried the killer. She encouraged Cynthia with a
look.

“It was a
small red car. I couldn’t see inside because it went by so fast, but I think it
was one person.”

“Was there
anything more specific about the red car? Do you know the make?”

“No,
didn’t see it that good, but when he drove under that streetlight I did notice
one thing.”

“Oh?”

“It was
missing a hubcap. Right front tire.”

Tasheka
nodded. “Thank you, Cynthia. You’ve been very helpful.”

Tasheka
gave her a hug and left. She drove down Moor Road, little more than a bumpy
lane cut through a forest of thick spruce, pine and fir. Carved into the woods
was a series of fire roads and Tasheka could not help but think how easily the
murderer could have hidden his car in one of these roads, walked around the
lake, and laid in wait for Father Tim.

As she
entered the empty parking lot, Tasheka thought she saw a man in the woods. He
quickly disappeared, as if intent on not being noticed. It happened so fast
that she wondered if she had seen anything at all. Still, though, she locked
the doors. Seconds later, Thorston entered the lot and parked beside her. They
got out simultaneously.

“Hello,
Tasheka,” he said, smiling handsomely. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“Yes,
indeed,” she returned pleasantly. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Tasheka
wore a heavy white coat with a Canadian Inuit design on the back, white fluffy
mittens, her white Russian hat, black wool pants and heavy green boots. She
smiled at Thorston and led him along a path already trampled down by police
searching for clues. The air was crisp and pure, the sky an amazing pastel
blue, thin strands of wispy white clouds scattered about like layers of cotton.
Suddenly she stopped and looked back at him. He immediately straightened up,
thinking she was going to say something. But she just smiled mysteriously, an
enigmatic glint in her eyes.

“What are
you thinking?” Thorston asked.

“This is
the route the murderer took,” Tasheka said.

“You seem
awfully sure.”

“I am.”

“There’s a
huge amount of snow here,” Thorston said. “That makes finding evidence a lot
more complicated.”

“I can
smell murder,” Tasheka said.

“You can?”
he asked skeptically. “What’s it smell like?”

“Murder
leaves a trail,” she said, “and the smell even has a color.”

“What
color is that?” he asked, amused.

“Can’t you
see it? It’s medium brown with red flecks. It hangs in the air.” She lightly
sniffed the air. “I’m not sure if I smell the pall of death or a foul
conscience right here, but I can smell it. Let’s follow the stench.”

“All
right,” Thorston said, crooking an eyebrow like Dr. Spock on Star Trek. “Lead
the way.”

Tasheka
walked to the end of the path. From that vantage point they could see Dead
Man’s Oak across the lake.

“Lots of
trees,” Thorston said, observing the lay of the land. “The murderer could have
easily walked from here to there and no one would ever have seen him,
particularly at night in a snowstorm. He might as well have been invisible.”

“That’s
why he used this route,” Tasheka replied. “He hid his car in one of the fire
roads, walked to Dead Man’s Oak, and waited. He did the deed and then retraced
his steps.”

“If the
murderer wasn’t a local,” Thorston noted. “If he was a local, he could have
walked there directly.”

Tasheka
leaned her back against a tree and faced him. “Matt Vendor’s sister said the
murder weapon was found in their backyard.”

“The golf
club was found there. Tim Murphy’s blood and brain matter were frozen right on
it, but we haven’t found the hatchet yet.” He breathed out steam in the cool
morning air and snapped a dagger of ice off a tree branch. “They’re checking
the club for prints.”

“Waste of
time,” Tasheka told him with a wave of the hand. “The killer was way too smart
to make a foolish mistake like that.”

“I’ll have
to call the station and tell them not to bother looking,” Thorston said with a
laugh.

Tasheka
frowned at him and then walked for ten minutes. Thorston followed without
speaking.

“Sometimes
killers aren’t as smart as they think,” Thorston suddenly said.

Tasheka
talked without breaking stride. “Anyone could have thrown that golf club into
Matt’s backyard. It would have been the easiest thing in the world. His house
is not more than three hundred yards from the murder scene.”

“Someone
certainly may have thrown it there,” Thorston agreed. “Mr. Vendor said his
German shepherd started barking around nine-thirty, but he thought nothing of
it. Just the wind in the trees spooking him, you know.” He cleared his throat.
“That’s what Mr. Vendor says, anyway.”

“What does
McNab say?”

Thorston
shrugged. “He’s very interested in Mr. Vendor.”

“The two
pillars on which all murder investigations rest are motive and opportunity,”
Tasheka noted. “Marissa says Matt was with her and Henrietta. They were playing
cards during the whole time surrounding the crime, so he had no opportunity.
And he had no motive either. Matt never went to church and he had no connection
whatsoever with Father Tim.”

“If that
were the case,” Thorston said with a meaningful look, “Detective McNab would
not be so interested.”

“Oh?”

“So this
is the murderer’s route,” Thorston speculated, steering the conversation in
another direction as they approached the clubhouse not thirty yards from the
eighteenth green. “I would say a man could cover this more easily by simply
walking across the lake.”

“He didn’t
walk across the lake,” Tasheka said.

“Really?”
asked Thorston, looking surprised by her firm tone. “How do you know?”

“There’s a
current that runs right through the center. Even during the coldest of winters,
no one who knows that lake would walk across the middle. Besides, even in the
dark, anyone looking over the lake might have seen the silhouette of a human
form. No, the murderer was much too smart for that.” She walked halfway across
a little bridge and stopped. “He either skirted the north end of the lake and
crossed the bridge by Henrietta’s, or he crossed this bridge and then snuck
into Matt’s yard for the nine-iron before coming to Dead Man’s Oak.”

Thorston
stopped on the bridge beside her. “Or, like I mentioned, he was a local.”

“Right,”
she assented. “If Father Tim was killed by a local person, he could have just
slipped through the trees behind all the houses. But I don’t think that’s the
case. I believe the murderer parked on the other side of the lake in a fire road,
walked across this bridge, grabbed the club leaning against Matt’s shed, waited
for Father Tim behind Dead Man’s Oak, and then committed the act. After that he
retraced his steps to Matt’s and deposited the weapon. That’s when the dog
heard something and barked. Once that was done, the murderer walked back to his
car. With snow falling and everyone inside, it was a simple matter of driving
the deserted road we just came down, pulling out onto the highway and
disappearing into the night.”

“The only
question is why did he throw the golf club in Matt’s yard after using it? He
could have tossed it anywhere.”

“By
putting it back in Matt’s yard, he cast a cloud of suspicion. That, without a
doubt, was his intent all along. “

“The
weapon, you know, was hidden under the shed and out of view. It had been pushed
through a crack in the sill. Apparently our police dog smelled blood and was
agitated at it. The canine unit checked and, presto, exhibit A.”

“Exhibit A
to what? It’s meaningless. That it was hidden in Matt’s yard makes me even more
certain that it was planted. Why would Matt do such a foolish thing? That would
raise more suspicion than if he had just discarded it at the murder scene.”

“You can’t
discount the possibility that Matt Vendor killed the priest, then ran home and
hurriedly hid the weapon, hoping to dispose of it later.” Thorston looked at
her with a challenging expression. “Right?”

At Dead
Man’s Oak they saw a wide band of yellow tape tied to the tree at one end with
the other end unsecured and flapping in the wind. They stood side by side and
simultaneously looked at the spot where Father Tim Murphy had been bludgeoned
and desecrated. Tasheka turned away with a pained expression and hurried back
toward her car. Thorston followed. After a couple minutes, she unexpectedly
stopped beside one of the park’s massive wooden benches and sat down.

“Join me,”
Tasheka said, holding her face up to the warming sun.

Thorston
settled in beside her, half an arm’s length away. “It’s nice here today.”

“It’s
pleasant to share, isn’t it, Thorston?”

“It’s very
enjoyable for me to be here with you,” he said, looking flustered. It was
obvious he wanted to say something.

“Matt is
not a criminal,” Tasheka told him, “and even if he was, he’s not stupid.”

“I can’t
profess to understand the criminal mind,” Thorston began, “but I have seen
enough to know people do strange things when they’re highly stressed. One case
I worked involved a teenage boy who killed his aunt for money so he could buy
his girlfriend a birthday present. He brutally strangled his old aunt with a
piece of rope from the shed. Now this boy was academically gifted and had every
intention of not getting caught, but he used the very rope he strangled her
with as a belt. He wore it openly to school every day, even though others
commented that it was unusual. One of them even noticed a spot of blood on it,
which is what eventually led the police to him. It literally never occurred to
him that he was making a stupid mistake. His mind had somehow shut down its
capacity for common sense, probably because murdering another human being
destroys your judgment. So, do I think Matt Vendor could have killed the priest
and then brought the golf club right to his own property? Yes, it is definitely
possible.”