Killer Keepsakes (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

M

ax was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. I left an urgent message for him to call me the instant he was available.

While we waited, Gretchen asked me how I’d located her. She didn’t talk much, but it seemed to do her good to listen. Then she asked about her vase. “I heard on the news that it was stolen,” she said, wiping away fresh tears.

“I still can’t believe it. I’m so sorry, Gretchen. It was in my care and it was taken. I’m so upset.”

She shrugged. “It’s only a thing, you know?”

“That’s just like you to say so, but we both know it’s more than just a thing.” I shook my head. “Did you hear that Vince has been arrested?”

She nodded. “For stealing artifacts.”

“I think there’s a chance he’s the one who broke into my place. If so, I’m hoping that when the police search his apartment and car, they’ll find your vase.”

She didn’t comment, and to change the subject, I asked, “Did Amelia give you the vase?”

“Yes. For my birthday.”

Before she could describe the occasion, Max called, and I heard her exhale loudly. She’d been on pins and needles waiting for his call, and it showed.

“Max,” I said, after thanking him for getting back to me so quickly, “I need you to make a house call.”

“Sure. Where and when?”

I smiled. Max was a rock. “Now. Ty’s house.” I gave him the directions. “Call when you’re turning into the driveway, okay?”

“Why?”

“I want your car out of sight, so when you arrive, I’ll open the garage door. And one more thing—don’t tell anyone where you’re going or why.”

His tone changed from friendly to businesslike. “Maybe you’d better tell me what’s going on first.”

“No. It’s better this way.”

“Better for whom?”

I glanced at Gretchen, watching me with fierce attention. “For all of us,” I replied. “Trust me on this one, Max.”

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

I smiled as I hung up. “He’s on his way,” I repeated to Gretchen.

Gretchen reached out her hand and grasped mine. “Thank you,” she whispered.

My throat closed, and I swallowed hard. “You’re welcome.”

She wanted a refill on the tea, and I was glad for something to do. Everything was on hold until we spoke to Max.

Max had Gretchen give him a dollar as a retainer.

“That means you can talk openly to me,” he told her. “It’s a privileged communication. No one can compel me to repeat it. If you speak in front of Josie, though, that changes everything. If you talk with her in the room, it will be assumed that you’ve waived privilege, and she can be compelled to repeat what you say.”

Gretchen recoiled at his words and shot a frightened glance in my direction. “She has to leave?” she asked Max, tears springing to her eyes.

We sat in Ty’s living room. Yellow stripes of late-day sunshine penetrated the outer edges of the shade. I arranged the drapes to better block out the light.

“No,” Max replied, “but as your lawyer, I think she needs to. You need to be able to tell me the truth without editing yourself.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong!” Gretchen objected. “I can tell you the truth and she can hear it and so can anyone else!”

“Josie, would you excuse us, please?” Max asked.

I looked at him, but he didn’t see me. He was looking at her.

I walked into the huge master bedroom upstairs and stood for a moment in the doorway. I heard nothing from downstairs. I was tempted to sit on the steps and try to eavesdrop, but I didn’t. I closed the door and settled on the window seat to wait, feeling miserable.

Half an hour or so later, Max called, “Josie? You can come down now!”

Gretchen sat on the front half of a club chair, making a game effort to smile.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Gretchen and I are leaving,” Max said. “She’s decided, wisely, I think, to let me arrange for her immediate surrender. I’ve spoken to Detective Brownley, and we’re all set. Gretchen understands that she may have to spend the night in jail. Regardless of when she gets out—it will be today or tomorrow depending on the charges they decide to file, if any, and how quickly I can arrange bail—she doesn’t want to go back to her apartment just yet.”

Gretchen shuddered, and I didn’t blame her.

“She can stay with me.”

“That may be a good solution,” Max said.

I wondered what her other options might be. Go back to Lina’s? Stay with another friend?

“You’ll let me know about bail?” I asked him.

“Yes. If and when.”

“Thank you,” Gretchen whispered, her tone so low I could barely make out her words. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor.

I burned with curiosity and couldn’t do a thing about it.

I called Ty as I retraced my steps, lifting shades and opening curtains. I got his voice mail and left a long message telling him everything that had happened.

I paused at the oversized picture window in the living room.

Who killed Morgan Boulanger?
I asked myself.
Why?
Was it an accident—a struggle for a weapon, perhaps? Was he killed because he attacked someone and that person defended him-or herself? Or was it murder, plain and simple?

A yellow bird with a black crown caught my eye, and I watched it fly from tree to tree.

Mandy was devoted to Vince—I was convinced she’d lie for him if she thought he was being wrongly accused of something—but would she kill for him?
I pass
, I thought, knowing that when it comes to matters of the heart, all bets are off.

I forced myself to be objective. Gretchen had plenty of motive, too. What if she entered her apartment and found her abusive ex-husband inside? What if he’d pointed a gun at her, saying that he’d told her he’d never stop trying to find her, that he’d never let her go?

Before Max had stopped her from talking, Gretchen said that she hadn’t done anything wrong. If she’d killed him, her wording would have been different. She would have said, “I couldn’t help it” or “I had no choice” or “It wasn’t my fault.” Not, “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The bird flew away, soaring over the treetops to the west.

I contrasted what I knew about Morgan with what I knew about Jack. Thinking about Jack made me remember my promise to call him; if I were Gretchen, I’d want him to know I was okay. I called his work number.

“Jack Stene,” he said crisply.

“Jack, it’s Josie Prescott. I have news about Gretchen. She’s safe. She seems pretty traumatized, but physically I think she’s fine. She’s surrendered to the police.”

“What happened? Did she say?”

“No, and now she has a lawyer who’s told her not to talk to anyone, me included. There’s nothing we can do at this point except wait for the police to sort everything out.”

“If you see her before I do, will you pass on a message? Please?”

“Sure.”

“Tell her that I want a rain check. We had plans to go to dinner Saturday night, and she missed our date. I want her to know that I want a do-over.”

I smiled. “I’ll be sure she gets the message.”

I decided not to go back to the office. I was in-my-bones upset. I couldn’t imagine the tumultuous emotions that must be churning in Gretchen’s heart. She’d been a fugitive for nearly a week, and now she would be interrogated by two separate sets of police detectives—Denver and Rocky Point—about two separate murders that had occurred more than seven years apart.

Every time my phone rang, I grabbed it, hoping it was Max calling with information about Gretchen or Ty telling me he was en route home.

Ty called first, saying how glad he was that Gretchen was safe and telling me he’d be home by seven thirty.

Wes reached me as I was preparing to leave for my place. “Josie,” he said, “talk to me. I’m writing my next article now.”

I ran my discoveries through a quick assessment: Arrests were public information, and describing my role in facilitating them wouldn’t hurt the police investigation. The ongoing search for Chip, a.k.a. Peter Boulanger, was different; revealing his alias and his relationship to Morgan and Gretchen might well scare him off before the police could locate him.

“I’ll tell you what I can.” I detailed how I came to identify Lina as Iris and how I located Gretchen.

“So that’s why they’re under arrest as material witnesses.”

“Are they? That’s horrible! It seems so unfair after what they’ve been through.”

“You said you figured out that Gretchen was at Lina’s—I’d just arrived when you called. Is that why you sent me to your office, to get me away from Lina’s house?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

He sighed loudly, Wes-speak for profound disappointment. When I didn’t comment, he asked, “So what did Gretchen say?”

“On the advice of her attorney, Gretchen isn’t talking to anyone but her lawyer and the police. She barely said hello to me before she surrendered.”

“She has to have said
something
, Josie,” Wes insisted. “Did she say hello? Did she say whether she was injured? Did she say what it felt like being a fugitive? I’m not asking for state secrets here. Just some color I can use in the article.”

“I won’t repeat anything she said, Wes.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s Gretchen. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you if there’s anything I can talk more about.”

I heard the beginnings of his sputtered objection as I slapped the phone closed.

I called Max’s cell phone. It went to voice mail. “Max,” I said. “I just heard that Gretchen’s been arrested as a material witness. What about bail?”

Max called back about an hour later. I was sitting doing nothing, every nerve on edge.

“I’m so glad you called,” I said. “I’ve been worried.”

“It’s a complicated situation.”

He sounded tired.

“Has she been charged?” I asked, not wanting to receive confirmation of Wes’s news.

“Yes,” he answered. “No bail.”

“No bail?” I repeated, shocked. “Isn’t that extraordinary?”

“It’s unusual, but not unique. Gretchen is deemed a flight risk, for obvious reasons, since she ran away before.”

“Can’t you have her released into my custody?” I asked. “She could give up her passport, and I could guarantee her presence or something.”

“That’s the point of bail—it guarantees her presence by risking forfeiture of the money or other assets. I’m not representing you in this, Josie, but I can advise you that it wouldn’t be smart on your part to get involved. There are other issues in play.” He paused. “I can talk to you openly because Gretchen has given me permission to do so, for reasons I’ll explain in a moment. First, though, you need this background: I think the Rocky Point police have been quick to charge her, and to resist my application for bail, because they are anticipating a move by the Denver police to try and extradite her to Colorado.” He paused. “There’s more. It involves Lina, who has also been charged and denied bail, and is also likely to be the subject of an extradition filing. Gretchen is hoping you’ll do something for her. She wants to see you and explain in person. I’ve arranged with the police to make an exception to standard visiting hours. Can you come now?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

I called Ty and left a quick message, then ran to my car. Visiting Gretchen in jail was a prospect as alarming as it was comforting.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

D

etective Brownley looked as tired as Max had sounded. Her normally porcelain-white complexion was tinged with gray, and there were dark shadows etched under her eyes. Max appeared serious but not somber, which I took to be good news.

“This way,” the detective said.

Max and I followed her down a corridor past the fingerprint station and the door to Interrogation Room Two. We stopped at an unmarked door. She opened it and waved us in.

The room seemed to be half office and half interview space. There was a metal desk pushed to the side, blocking access to a tall file cabinet. An oak table and six chairs sat in the center of the room. The walls were painted celery green, and ivory-colored cotton curtains were drawn across a window that looked out on the back parking lot.

Max sat at the head of the table, facing the door. He got his legal pad ready. I sat to his right. I heard footsteps and looked toward the door. Gretchen entered the room.

“Thank you,” she said to someone behind her, out of sight.

She looked sick, as if she were about to collapse. My heart lurched, then sank.

“Thank you for coming,” she told me politely.

“Of course.”

She sat across from me, on Max’s left.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time of it,” I said.

She shook her head helplessly, unwilling or unable to accept comfort. “I’m okay. It’s Lina.”

“What about her?” I asked.

Gretchen looked straight at me, then glanced at Max, then back to me. She took a deep breath. “I need to ask you for a huge favor.
Huge
. I’ll pay you back,” she said earnestly, adding, “
We
will.” She paused, maybe to harness the energy she needed to continue. “Lina only has a court-appointed attorney. I hate to ask, but the truth is that there’s no one else I
can
ask. Neither of us has any family.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “You know that my real name is Marie Boulanger. I was born Marie Holbert. In Texas. I was an only child. My dad was in construction, and he was killed in a work accident—he fell off some scaffolding when was I was nine. My mom moved us up to Denver for a fresh start. She died in a car accident when I was eighteen. It was a drunk driver. I married Morgan a month later.” She swept her hair back, her eyes fixed on mine. “Lina—Iris—is my oldest friend. We went to middle school together. And high school. We got jobs at Mrs. Bartlett’s antiques store together. When Morgan killed Mrs. Bartlett, we—” She broke off and closed her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks. “Sorry,” she said, after a moment. She opened her eyes and continued. “We got away from Denver together. After everything she’s done for me—including hiding me and protecting me when it would have been smarter and safer for her to tell the police the truth—I can’t let her go through this without proper legal representation.” She swallowed heavily to quell another flood of tears, then forced herself to continue. “
I just can’t
.”

Her conviction echoed silently throughout the room. She leaned toward me. Her urgency became an imperative.

“Lina has no one besides me to help her,” she said. “She never even knew her father, and her mom ran out on her when she was six. Lina was reared by her grandmother. She died a few months after we left Colorado. Lina couldn’t go to the funeral. She has no one but me—and I have no one but you.” She took a deep breath as she began to cry again. “Please, Josie. Will you get her a lawyer? We’ll pay you back.”

Gretchen’s appeal touched my heart. I turned to Max. “What’s your assessment of Lina’s legal situation? Does she need a better lawyer than the public defender she’s been assigned?”

“Her public defender is a very capable young man. He’s a recent law school graduate.”

“You didn’t answer my question—does Lina need a more experienced lawyer?”

Max tapped his notepad, then looked at me. “Yes.”

I nodded. “Okay then.” To Gretchen, I said, “You don’t need to worry about the money. Consider it a gift.” I moved my chair closer to her and rubbed her back. “Can you take it on, Max?” I asked.

“No. It wouldn’t be wise. Lina should have her own attorney. I’d recommend Shirl Sheriden.”

“Isn’t she an assistant district attorney?” I asked, remembering an article Wes had written a few months ago about a case she was prosecuting.

“Not anymore. She was with the DA’s office for years, but she just went private. She’s good.”

“Okay.” I glanced at Max. “May I ask about what happened?”

“If Gretchen feels like telling you, that would be all right. She’s given the police a signed statement, so she’s free to speak.” He turned to face her. “As long as her story doesn’t vary—even a millimeter—from her statement.”

I turned to Gretchen. “Could you tell me about it?”

She shrugged. “Talking seems so pointless, but I don’t mind.” She took a deep breath. “On Wednesday, I took the bus from Logan Airport, and Lina picked me up at Portsmouth Circle. She drove me to the Heron dealer. We got there about one. My car was ready. I paid for it, and I drove home. As soon as I stepped into my apartment, I saw Morgan on the couch. Dead.” She shivered and hugged herself. “I couldn’t believe it! I thought I’d escaped from him, and then after all these years—he found me. Except now he was dead.” She sighed. “I grabbed my suitcase, drove to Lina’s, and hid my car in her garage. I let myself in with my key. I’ve been there ever since.” She blinked. “That’s all I know.”

“What about the luggage tag I found in your hallway?”

She looked blank for a moment, then said, “Oh. I’d taken that off at the airport while I was waiting for the bus. There wasn’t a trash can nearby, and I hate to litter, so I just tossed it in my tote bag.” She shrugged. “When I got back, I had it in my hand, ready to throw away. I must have dropped it.”

“Do you know where Lina was that morning, before she picked you up?”

“I wouldn’t allow Gretchen to speculate on Lina’s whereabouts to the police, and I won’t allow her to do so to you,” Max informed me.

A ghost of a smile crossed Gretchen’s face. “It’s okay, Max. She got a manicure. She had a hot date that night.”

I nodded, thinking. “Did they ask you about the milk?”

“Yes,” Max said. “We don’t know anything about milk. What do you know?”

I shrugged. “Not much. From what I hear, someone placed a carton of milk in your refrigerator,” I told Gretchen, glancing at Max. “From the date stamp and lot number, they know it was purchased nearby on Wednesday, the day you returned—the day Morgan was killed.”

Max rubbed his nose, thinking, and didn’t speak.

“It must have been Mandy,” Gretchen said. “That was awfully nice of her, wasn’t it?”

“Completely,” I agreed, “but why do you think it was her?”

“Well, it wasn’t Lina, because she would have mentioned it to me, and there’s no one else it could be. They’re the only two people who have keys. Besides the property manager, I mean. Mandy and Lina split up the plant-watering duty. Mandy must have stopped by on her way into work that day.”

As far as I knew, no one had checked whether Mandy’s fingerprints matched the one on the milk carton.

“Do they both have keys or did they share?” I asked.

“They each had one. I made a copy for Mandy just before I left. Lina’s always had one.”

I nodded as a germ of an idea took hold. I put the thought aside and asked, “Were you inside Lina’s when that attempted break-in happened?”

“Oh, God, it was terrifying. I didn’t know what was going on, just that Blitzie was going nuts. I hid in the bathroom. Thank goodness the neighbors called the police.”

I extracted the plastic sleeve containing Peter Boulanger’s picture from my bag and showed it to her. She looked at his image, then at me.

“That’s Peter, Morgan’s brother,” she said, taken aback. “Why do you have his picture?”

“He’s here using the name Chip Davidson. He’s been asking for you.”

Her eyes opened wide, but she didn’t speak.

“I think he’s the one who tried to break into Lina’s apartment. He guessed you were there.”

“How?” she asked. “How could he possibly have guessed?”

“The other day, Lina and Mandy drove into Prescott’s just as Peter was leaving. He must have recognized Lina as Iris and tracked her down.”

Gretchen stared at me, then slowly nodded. “That explains it. I didn’t know if the attempted break-in was related to Morgan’s murder or not.” She sighed, closed the folder, and slid it back to me. “Lina thought maybe we should just take off again, but we were so scared—scared to stay and scared to leave.” She laughed a little, an ironic sound, simultaneously self-mocking and resigned. “Having worked at Prescott’s, learning so much about computers and databases, and having had my fingerprints taken for the security clearance, I knew enough to know that getting ourselves established a second time wouldn’t be as easy as it was last time around.” She sat up straight. “Plus, it felt so unfair. Neither Lina nor I had done anything wrong, and we love our lives. We love New Hampshire. We wanted to stay.” She shook her head. “I kept thinking something would happen and it would all come out all right.”

“It will,” I said. “I’m convinced of it.” I shot Max a look. He didn’t comment. I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “I spoke to Jack Stene.” I repeated what Jack said about wanting a rain check.

“Just my luck, right?” she said softly. “I finally meet a great guy, and look at me. I’m a mess and I’m in jail.”

“He knew all that, and he didn’t seem to care,” I said, smiling. “Is it okay for me to tell him you say yes to a rain check?”

She sat up straight. “Absolutely,” she said. “Please tell him yes.”

There was a knock on the door, and a uniformed guard poked his head in and said that our time was up. Gretchen hugged me, thanked me again, and was even able to smile a little as she left.

Max walked me to my car.

“I’m hoping to work out an arrangement with the Denver police tomorrow morning providing for Gretchen’s cooperation,” Max told me. “If I do so, and if the Rocky Point police feel that Gretchen has been open and honest with them, I’ll go back to court to ask that the question of bail be revisited. There’s no guarantee, of course, but if all goes as planned, Gretchen could be out as early as tomorrow afternoon.”

“Max, you’re a wonder man. Thank you.”

As I drove to Ty’s, I thought more about who might have killed Morgan.
Mandy
, I thought—
or Vince
. There was no one else.

I was convinced that both Mandy and Vince had been in Gretchen’s condo the day Morgan died—Vince to install the light fixture, Mandy to water plants and drop off the milk. Either they entered and found a pugnacious Morgan inside, or they unlocked the door and Morgan forced his way in. Both men, Vince and Morgan, were violent by nature. Their first instinct, not their last, would be to fire up and attack.