Cold Case (6 page)

Barbara introduced herself and Frank, then said, “We are both attorneys, retained by Mr. and Mrs. Etheridge to collect their son's belongings and the automobile under lease. I didn't want to alarm Mrs. McCrutchen by entering the apartment without notifying her first.”

“Oh. I'm Amy McCrutchen. The apartment is over there.” She pointed to the side of the house. “May I see your identification first?”

“Of course.” Barbara handed her the signed authorization, and showed her driver's license.

When Frank offered his own license, Amy blushed faintly and shook her head. “That's all right. Shall I open the door for you?”

“We have the key,” Barbara said. “You're Robert McCrutchen's sister, aren't you? My deepest sympathy for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Amy said. “You can park over there closer to the door. Would you like a hand with it all?”

Before Barbara could respond, Frank said, “That would be helpful, Ms. McCrutchen.” He glanced at Barbara. “You want to move the car? I'll just walk on over.”

Good, Barbara thought as she nodded. She would be the dutiful daughter taking her time packing, and he would grill Amy McCrutchen without her ever suspecting she had been done to a turn. He had a way of getting a stone to give up its secrets.

Amy stepped outside and pulled the door closed after her. “I'll walk over with you,” she said to Frank. “Do you know David's condition? They won't tell you anything if you call, as I found out.”

“Nothing more than they're releasing at this time. You're a friend of David's?” Frank asked.

“Not really, but I knew him. I was pretty young when he left here, and only met him again this week.”

“I suppose he was your brother's friend,” Frank said.

“I don't think they were really friends,” she said after a moment, “just in the same graduating class. Dr. Elders had some of his students over here for evening seminars, and David and Robert were both in his class. That's when I met David.” She thought that needed a bit of explaining, and added, “Dr. Elders couldn't do it at his house because his wife was ill.”

“He's a family friend?” Frank asked.

Amy felt confused, not really sure how this whole line of explanation had come about, but she continued. “He lives next door and was here a lot. He still comes over frequently. He had the students come here, had caterers bring in something, and had discussions. He's retired now. Mother and Dad were happy to have the sessions here,” she added. She had not given it much thought before but, saying it, she realized how peculiar it must sound for a professor to meet with his students in a neighbor's house.

Barbara parked behind David's car and entered the apartment. She walked straight through to the sliding door and opened a drape, then looked around. David had already packed most things apparently. A large suitcase was closed, and a smaller one nearly filled. Of course, she thought, he had originally planned to be in San Francisco for ten days at least, and then fly to Britain. He would have needed a lot of things. The apartment was very clean and neat, the bed made, nothing on the floor. It would be hard for her to even pretend to be busy for very long.

“This is very nice,” Frank said, on entering and glancing about the apartment. He went to the sliding door and said softly, “That's a beautiful garden. Mind if I have a look?”

Amy glanced at Barbara, who shrugged and nodded.

“I'll show you,” Amy said. “It's my mother's garden.”

They walked out to the deck, and Barbara began looking into the dresser drawers. She found little to add to the suitcase, clean clothes for one day, today. His shaving gear in the bathroom, other toiletries there. A robe hanging on the door. It didn't take long to gather everything and pack it. A laptop computer was on the table, the carrying case on a chair near it, with a notebook and some papers. Later she would look through them all for addresses and whatever else might be helpful, but for now she simply packed the papers and notebook in the computer case and added the laptop. After finishing with the suitcases, she took them to her car and stowed them in the trunk. David had left little for anyone to clean up after he was gone. Empty refrigerator, no dirty dishes, a little coffee, enough for one pot, and nothing else. He was a considerate tenant, a neat person. Too neat? Compulsive about it? Hard to say, she decided. But certainly considerate. Leaving the laptop to take out later, she stepped onto the deck. To her surprise, Frank was seated with Amy, another woman and an older man at the far end of the deck. They were having a drink together, chatting.

“Middle America on a lazy summer evening, sharing a little good cheer,” she muttered under her breath, and walked over to join them.

A
s Barbara approached the small group at the table, Frank and the other man rose. Frank introduced her to Chloe McCrutchen and Dr. Elders. Chloe nodded without speaking, then nodded again when Barbara repeated her condolences. Chloe appeared absorbed in the contents of her glass, uninterested in guests. With her black glossy hair, olive complexion and dark eyes, she was very attractive, but she also looked pinched and pale. Shadows made her eyes appear almost sunken, as if sleep was elusive.

“Would you like a gin and tonic?” Dr. Elders asked. “Your father opted for water, but I'd be happy to mix you a drink.”

He looked ready to audition for a role as prissy headmaster for a movie about a boy's misadventures in a British school, Barbara thought. He said he would be happy to mix a drink, and apparently meant it. He seemed ready to leap to his feet to go do it. His hair, thin and gray, was combed precisely, with a razor-sharp part, and he was wearing a long-sleeved, starched shirt. His black trousers had a well-defined crease. Black socks, probably knee-high, she thought, and shoes completed the picture.

“Thanks, but no,” she said to the offer of a drink.

“I was admiring the garden,” Frank said. “It's truly beautiful. The master gardener had an unerring eye for textures, shades of green, perfect blends of blooms.”

“Lucy's work,” Dr. Elders said. “Lucy McCrutchen, Robert and Amy's mother. She's been away since her husband passed away.” He pointed. “Over there, on the far side, the weeping cherry, that was Robert's tree, planted when they moved in soon after he was born. She planted the dogwood at this end after Amy was born. She called them her garden angels at that time. To her the garden is a living, whole organism, each plant with a special meaning—”

Abruptly Chloe rose. “If you'll excuse me,” she said. Taking her drink with her, she left.

Dr. Elders looked crestfallen. “She's still in shock, and here I am being a fool, going on and on about irrelevant matters.” He took a long drink. “She saw him, you know. Horrifying sight. Horrifying.”

“You saw him?” Frank asked.

“Oh, yes. I heard the gardener screaming and I came right over. I saw him.” He pointed to the sliding door to the family room. The room extended eight or nine feet onto the deck, with the door taking up much of the extension. “He had fallen halfway out. Ants had gotten to him, covered his face and head…”

Amy had grown more and more tense as Dr. Elders spoke, and now she stood and said stiffly, “Ms. Holloway, if you're through, I really should be finishing dinner. I'll lock up the apartment when you leave.”

An unmistakable invitation to beat it, Barbara knew. “Of course,” she said. “I'm sorry to have intruded at this time. I'm grateful that you permitted us to gather the things today.”

Frank shook hands with Dr. Elders. “Perhaps we can talk another time?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed. I'm in the book. Call anytime.”

Barbara and Amy walked on ahead and, inside the apartment, Amy said in a low voice, “Since you're David's attorney, they probably will tell you how he is, won't they?”

“They'd better,” Barbara replied.

“Would it be all right if I call you to find out? They won't tell anyone else anything, apparently.”

“Give me your number,” Barbara said. “I'll let you know when I learn anything.”

Amy looked around, as if searching for something to write on and Barbara got out a notebook and handed it and a pen to her. Without looking at Barbara, Amy said, in the same low voice, “I had a terrible crush on David when I was a kid. Over it now, of course, but I'd like to hear. As a new friend.”

“I'll be sure to call you,” Barbara said. “And again, thanks for today. Here's the key back. I'll be in touch.”

Frank had stopped at the door, again taking in the garden, and now came into the apartment. “I'm ready,” Barbara said, picking up her purse and the laptop case, and she and Frank left.

Driving away, Barbara asked, “What did you make of them?”

“Since Chloe McCrutchen didn't really say a word, it's a little hard to tell much about her. Elders is itching to talk to someone about the murder. I'll be a good audience. Monday probably,” Frank said.

“I think Chloe is jealous of Lucy McCrutchen or else just doesn't like her,” Barbara said slowly, “and that Elders may be in love with Lucy.”

“Back up just a little for an old blind fool. Signs?”

“Their expressions when he began to talk about Lucy and her garden—his was almost reverent. Chloe had been withdrawn, remote, but she heard him and she took on a frozen look. I thought she might break her glass, the way her hand tightened on it. Is he as oblivious as he appeared? As insensitive? Anyway, it's going to make whatever he says about that family fairly suspect. Consciously or unconsciously, he'll protect them.”

“We'll need a spokesman,” Frank said. “I'll get someone at the office. Keep your name out of it for now.”

“Good. Amy wants to talk, too,” Barbara said. “I don't think she's entirely over her adolescent crush on David. I assume you heard every word.”

“I did,” he said. “So you get her, and I get Elders.”

“Do you want to keep the suitcases in your study for now?” she asked. “Depending on how David does, we might want to have a look at what's in them both.” At his nod, she continued, “I'll keep the laptop. I want to see what's on it, what all those papers are about. There are a lot of people to be notified that he won't be keeping his commitments.” She was thinking of the look of hopelessness on Lucien Etheridge's face.

“If David dies, I'll fight them before I let them close the McCrutchen murder with the implicit assumption that David Etheridge is the killer without having to prove it,” Frank said, indicating his thought processes matched hers.

She was again startled at the vehemence in his tone. “
We'll
fight them, Dad.
We.
”

That night in a house that seemed emptier day by day, Barbara gazed at a wall map Todd had prepared, marking their trip. The Tetons, over to SeaTac and a flight to Alaska, a small plane into the back north country, another plane to a point very close to the Arctic Circle, back to SeaTac, then by camper up Mount Rainier, to Mount Olympia, then home. Ambitious, and out of touch much of the time. She had missed a call from Darren that day. His message said he would try again on Sunday afternoon. She bit her lip in vexation at missing the call and promised herself to be available with her cell phone turned on for a call the following day.

She looked around for a good place to plug in David's computer, sort through the papers in the carrying case, send a few e-mails. Her first thought was her office over the garage. She shook her head. When Darren and Todd were home, she needed her office, but with the house empty she could go anywhere. She settled for the kitchen table.

First the laptop, she decided. She searched for an e-mail to the conference people—the coordinator, director or someone. She found exchanges between David and someone named Len, and sent her own message. Then she searched for the hotel reservation and canceled that. His flight to England was next. She stopped when she found it. One tourist-class ticket for David, one way, and two round-trip first-class tickets for Lucien and Dora Etheridge. They were for two weeks later than his. He had planned to treat them to a month-long trip to England, she realized with a pang. She hesitated over canceling the flights. If he died, she thought, a trip to England might be exactly what his parents would need. Change of scene, time out.

Apparently Lucy McCrutchen had needed to get away after her husband died, and Frank had left town when Barbara's mother died. She had left, too. Change of scene. As if someplace new and different would help. She got up and crossed the kitchen for a glass of water. When she returned to the table, she canceled David's flight and left the reservations for his parents.

It kept coming back to
if
he died. That would make three violent deaths, separated in time by twenty-two years, but the same cast of characters. Disquieted by the thought, she began to look over the dozen or so papers she had put in the laptop case. Notes, conference agenda, seminar notes apparently. And one that made no sense. She examined a sheet of paper with a cluster of
x
's near the top, and three more near the bottom, and a single word on top—
Key.
She turned it over, but nothing else was written on it. A game plan? It was a printout. Did he play computer games? She wouldn't have thought so, and there were no other indications that he did.

She returned to the laptop and scanned it for his programs, the sites he had visited. She discovered chat rooms and forums on history, religion, government but no games.

She opened a picture gallery, shots he had taken and downloaded onto his computer. Clicking through them quickly, she found nothing of interest. Landscapes, faces, buildings. Then she drew in a sharp breath.

He had taken pictures of Robert McCrutchen's body.

There were several full-body shots, half in and half out the doorway. Close-ups of his upper body, his head with the ants all over it, one hand, more ants, blood ringed by ants. Looking at them, she shuddered. It was bad enough in a picture, it must have been truly horrifying in real life. Or death. There was a sheet of paper with one corner under his hand. Apparently he had manipulated the image, or had taken close-ups of the paper alone, for the next image it was a full screen, and on it the paper with the same
x
's. That was what he had printed.

She picked up the paper again, comparing the two; one on screen, one in her hand.

Leaning back in her chair, she regarded the photos on the screen for several minutes. Chloe had cause to be in shock. Had Amy seen that body? Probably not. She had been in Portland, and by the time she got there, the investigators would have been on the scene, keeping everyone well away. David had seen it, photographed it, evidently before the police arrived. Why?

The images could be damning in the eyes of the law, Barbara knew. Murderer gloating over his victim? Obsessed with the crime? A warped voyeuristic impulse? Ghoulish curiosity? The ants made it especially grotesque.

What now? she asked herself. If he died—that damn phrase again—his belongings would be turned over to his parents and sooner or later they would come across the pictures. If he lived and was charged with murder, the police might seize the computer. Neither was a good option.

She found the digital camera in the manila envelope and examined it. David had deleted the pictures from the memory.

She closed the program on his laptop. The first step, she decided, would be to print out the pictures and decide what to do about them later. Staring at the page with the
x
's, she shook her head. If Robert McCrutchen had drawn them, she might never know why, or what it meant. And it was quite possible that it meant nothing relevant, something to do with politics, or a game plan.