Seeds of Deception (18 page)

“Sounds good to me,” Meg said. “Where would you like to go?”

“Lunch at the club?” Phillip offered.

Meg watched for her mother's reaction, but she seemed to concur. “Great. I haven't been there for a while. Seth, that work for you?”

“That's fine.”

“Do you play golf, Seth?” Phillip asked.

“No—I've never had the time to learn. Or a place to play.”

“I don't play either, Daddy,” Meg added, “unless you want to get into a putting match. That I can handle.”

“We'll just have lunch, and then we can discuss what else we'd like to do,” Phillip said decisively.

“I'll go change out of my jeans,” Seth said.

Meg followed him up the stairs. When they reached their room, Seth said, “Anything of use?”

“Possibly. I met the police chief, like I said.”

“And?” Seth asked, swapping his jeans for khakis.

“Stiff as a board and radiating hostility. Whatever he's got against my father, it's not going away, so I wouldn't expect much help from that quarter. Apart from that, a few tidbits from Arthur, but nothing that can't wait until after lunch. Anything you want to see in New Jersey?”

“Not that I can think of. But I never expected to spend time in New Jersey, so I didn't do a lot of research.”

“We can talk about it at lunch. Come on.”

They had a pleasant lunch at Phillip's golf club, but after they'd eaten, Phillip decided he really should go check on his office and begin the cleanup.

“What about Miriam, Phillip? Can't she help?” Elizabeth asked.

“I gave her the week off as well, don't you remember? There's no need to interrupt her vacation. And I doubt there is more than I can handle on my own, based on what I recall from when I found Arthur. Unless the police have managed to create further chaos. In any event I need to find out.”

“I haven't met Miriam,” Meg observed. “What's she like?”

“A bit younger than you, smart and efficient. I don't know why she wants to work for a pair of codgers like Arthur and me, but we're pretty flexible with her hours, so she can take a course now and then. She's studying to be a paralegal, so this is great experience for her. She's been with us for, what, a year now?” Phillip looked toward Elizabeth.

“That sounds about right,” Elizabeth told him. “The woman who worked for you before Miriam retired, didn't she?”

“Yes.” Phillip turned back to Meg and Seth. “We hired a woman who had worked with Arthur and me in New York. She had solid experience as a legal secretary. She needed the job, because the partners she had been working
for left, and she wasn't young—probably sixty. She was pleasant enough, but she hadn't kept her technical skills up-to-date. She was helpless with the computer, and she wasn't very quick to learn. In the end Arthur and I had to let her go. Then we found Miriam, and she had us straightened out in a couple of weeks. I hope I don't mess up her filing system when I sort things out today.”

Meg wondered if this former secretary might harbor a grudge, even if she'd been eased out gently. It wasn't easy to find a job—any job—when you were sixty, she'd heard, no matter how well qualified you were, and it didn't sound as though this woman had the current skills she needed for many jobs. “That was a year ago?”

“Arminda Colquit,” Phillip said, “although she insisted that we call her Mindy, which I found a bit inappropriate for a woman of her age. If you're thinking she was angry at us for letting her go, you'd be wrong—she was the one who came to Arthur and me and said we needed someone with better technology skills. Miriam is a vast improvement, but she won't be back until Monday, so you may not have the chance to meet her.”

Meg sent up a silent prayer that this whole mess would be wrapped up by Monday.

Phillip dropped Elizabeth, Meg, and Seth back at the house and took himself off to survey the damage at his office. Elizabeth declared she wanted to take a nap, which left Seth and Meg at loose ends. They retreated to their room. Seth said quietly, “Anything?”

“That I couldn't say downstairs? Or at lunch? Not really. Well, that may not be true. My father and I more or less agreed that the mess in the office had been faked to look like someone was looking for something, but it was kind of random. Arthur said nothing had been disturbed when he arrived, so things were tossed around after he was knocked out to make it look like a simple robbery. Or whoever it was, was frustrated when he didn't find any cash or valuables, assuming that was his original intent, and just started throwing things. That's what the police
choose to believe, I gather. Goodness knows if they took any fingerprints, but most criminals these days know enough to wear gloves. Daddy didn't have time to check what was on the floor last time he was there, but he's going to take a closer look today. Do you seriously think this former secretary could have had something to do with it?”

“A sixty-something office worker beaned her former boss a year after she left? I have trouble believing that,” Seth replied.

“Are you being sexist or ageist? Arthur may be Daddy's size, but he's a pussycat. I doubt he would put up a physical fight even if you came at him from the front. Which is not what happened anyway. Maybe she was looking for something incriminating that she could use as leverage,” Meg suggested. “Like for a discrimination suit.”

“You'd think she would have gone that route sooner, if she was going to,” Seth countered.

“True. Unless, of course, she's been hunting for another job with no luck and has finally reached the end of her rope and had to take it out on someone.”

“I can see that she might get desperate under those circumstances, but I can't picture her resorting to violence. Besides, she would know what was in the office.”

“Not necessarily the more recent digital files,” Meg said stubbornly.

“What else have you got?” Seth asked, ignoring her comment.

Meg gave him a dirty look, but she had to admit he was right. “Arthur claimed that he was pure as the driven snow and nobody wanted to do him harm. Having met him now and spent all of thirty minutes with him, I'm inclined to
believe him. I think he's exactly what he appears to be. Which doesn't help us at all.”

“And the police are all but standing on their heads to avoid looking harder at any of this,” Seth said bluntly.

“Exactly. What do you suggest?”

“Talk to the police chief?”

Meg stared at him in surprise. “Seriously? Why would he talk to me? He isn't exactly fond of my father, and I assume that extends to me as well.”

“He'll see you because you do have demonstrable experience with crimes,” Seth pointed out, “and he should know that if he's done his homework.”

“Oh, right. Sorry I didn't bring my press clippings with me. Seth, I'm an amateur, and I don't pretend to be anything else. Police don't like outsiders like me sticking their noses into police business, and I can't say I blame them.”

“But you can offer some insights, and you've already said there were things he hasn't considered.”

“I think the fact that I'm my father's daughter will outweigh my vast experience with crimes in rural Massachusetts. Seriously, wouldn't you resent it if a stranger from out of state waltzed into your office and started telling you what you were doing wrong and how you should be doing it?”

Seth smiled reluctantly. “Maybe. But do you have any better ideas?”

“Dammit, no. In Granford we know everybody, or at least you do, so there's a better chance of knowing who might have a motive. Here, I'm a fish out of water. I've never lived in this town. I haven't even lived in this state for years. I have no standing in this case.”

“What do you lose by trying?” Seth countered.

“Apart from making a fool of myself? Not much, I guess. As long as I can avoid making things worse between the chief and Daddy. I should go alone, right?”

“Without me? I'd say so. This is your battle, and I'd just muddy the waters. Go. I may follow your mother's example and take a nap. Or find a good book. You, just do it.”

“Seth, it's already Friday afternoon,” Meg reminded him.

“Worth a shot anyway. If he's like most town police chiefs, and he has a fresh murder and an assault in his jurisdiction, he should be on the job working those cases.”

“Maybe,” Meg muttered.

“You looking for an excuse not to go?”

“Maybe,” Meg repeated. Then she squared her shoulders. “All right, I'll try.” Seth had a point, she had to admit. The chief might not be in at all; if he was in, the worst he could do was refuse to see her. The best case would be that he listened to what she had to say. “Give me the car keys.”

Seth fished them out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Do you know where you're going?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but I figure it should be obvious if I just head for the center of town.”

“Then go forth and conquer.”

Meg did as promised, heading for the center of Montclair, and as she had hoped, the police department headquarters was easy to find. It was housed in a large and imposing older stone building on a corner; the main entrance was on the corner itself. She parked in the lot behind the building and marched up the stairs and into the reception area. A female officer stood behind a high desk; luckily there was no one else in the waiting area.

“My name is Margaret Corey. I'd like to see Chief Bennett,” she said. “Is he in?”

The desk officer looked her over carefully, taking her time. “Is he expecting you?”

“No. But you can tell him this is in relation to the murder of Enrique Gonzalez.”

A light dawned in the woman's eyes. “Corey—thought that name sounded familiar. You related to Phillip Corey?”

“He's my father.”

“Huh. Let me see if the chief is free.” She turned away to speak quietly into the phone. When she turned back, she looked surprised. “He says he'll see you. He'll be out in a minute.”

Meg tried to remain composed while she figured out what she wanted to say—or ask? No, mainly she wanted to present her interpretation of what had been going on for the past week and try to convince the man that there was a common thread running through all the events. She recognized that it was presumptuous of her to even try to tell a police chief how to do his job, especially in a place where she did not belong, but she felt she had to try. She promised herself that she wouldn't be offended if he simply dismissed her.

Chief Bennett did not keep her waiting long, which was polite of him, and she took that as a good sign. He emerged from somewhere in the back of the building and said, “Ms. Corey? Follow me.” He turned and walked back the way he had come, and Meg followed obediently, to a corner office toward the rear of the building. He gestured her into the room and shut the door behind them. “Please, sit down.”

When they were both seated, Meg said, “I'm glad you're willing to see me today.”

“Ms. Corey, as you must know, I've got two significant criminal cases on my desk—a murder and an assault that
could have been deadly. I have to say I'm surprised to see
you
here. I hope you'll keep this short.”

“I'll do my best. Look, I know you and my father are not on the best of terms.”

“I would not let that affect how I conduct an investigation,” the chief said, his voice cold.

“Of course not, and I wouldn't want to suggest that. And I'm not here to try to defend my father's past activities. But I have a theory about the Gonzalez murder and the attack on Arthur Ackerman, and I'd be grateful if you'd just hear me out.”

The chief sat back in his chair, his expression neutral. “I'm listening.”

Meg recounted the accident in Amherst, and admitted that at first she had dismissed it as an unfortunate but ordinary event. “I'll concede that in isolation, there's nothing significant about a minor fender bender in a dark parking lot. It's only when it's viewed in relation to what has followed that it becomes important.”

“It sounds to me as though you're grasping at straws, Ms. Corey.”

“I can see that it looks like that. But it was shortly after that that my parents returned home to find a body in their yard. That's certainly an extraordinary event, and the accident paled in comparison—although oddly enough, it provided an alibi for my parents. Wouldn't you say?”

“I can't comment on an ongoing investigation,” the chief said, his tone neutral.

“I understand. To be honest, I was willing to consider those two incidents as unrelated, just a regrettable coincidence, until Arthur was attacked in the office he and my father share. Three cases of violence within a week, directed
toward my family or their colleagues, seems beyond normal to me. Do you agree?”

Chief Bennett didn't answer her question. “Do you have more to say?”

Yes, plenty
, Meg thought, but not much that she felt she could share with the police. “I don't want to overstep my bounds, but are you willing to entertain the possibility that these events are related, and that they're part of a campaign directed against my father?”

“Why would I do that? And what is the goal? He hasn't been attacked personally, has he?”

He made a good point. “No, he hasn't. But maybe this isn't about physically harming him or killing him. Maybe someone is looking for something, and the other people just got in the way. Both the death and the attack on Arthur could be viewed as unplanned—spur of the moment, committed by an amateur who had not expected to find anyone else on the scene. Maybe the car thing was a ploy to keep my parents away longer, and it succeeded—they ended up staying another night. In both cases the—may I use the term ‘perpetrator'?—was surprised to find someone in his way.”

Chief Bennett's expression didn't change. “You make it sound as though this attacker knows your father fairly well, and has been following his activities. Why else would he expect to have clear access to his home and office?”

“It's easy to keep track of people these days, isn't it? I'm sure my father and even my mother mentioned to friends and possibly clients that they planned to attend my wedding last week and would be out of town. My father asked Enrique to keep an eye on his house, and Enrique might have mentioned it to someone. And there's always the Internet. If my mother decided to put an announcement
about my wedding in one of the local papers, it would be out there for anyone to see, and the logical assumption would be that my father and mother would be there.”

“And someone assumed the house would be empty? If someone were checking your father's plans, at least digitally, then he should have guessed that your father would have made that arrangement with Enrique Gonzalez or someone like him to keep an eye on the house. They could have watched until they knew the coast was clear. Why didn't they?”

“You're right. Please, don't get me wrong—I'm not trying to present you with a perfect theory of all these crimes, tied up with ribbons. All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind about the idea that they may be connected. Maybe they're not exactly professionals.”

“And the attack on Arthur Ackerman? How does that fit?”

“He had planned to be out of state visiting family, and must have told clients he'd be out of reach for at least a few days. He and my father gave their assistant the week off as well. This perpetrator could have known from any number of sources.”

“Why would this perpetrator have been in the office?”

Meg had to admit to herself that was the weakest link in her theory. What could anyone have wanted so badly from her father that they would kill someone, even if it was an accident? “I don't know. As I said, maybe he was looking for something he believed my father had, either at home or at the office.”

The chief sat back in his chair and regarded her steadily, but not unkindly. “Ms. Corey, I understand what you're trying to say. I admire your desire to defend your father.
But you've given me next to nothing tangible to follow up on. There is little physical evidence to support your story.”

“Did you look at the bronze lion bookend at the office after Arthur was attacked?” When the chief looked blank, Meg said, “It's one of a pair that my father keeps on a bookshelf in his office. I understand it may have been kicked out of the way when the EMTs arrived and removed Arthur. But my father told me that when he arrived, it was lying in the middle of the floor, close to Arthur. It may have been used to hit Arthur—it's certainly heavy enough. An intruder could easily have grabbed it as a weapon.”