The Cracked Spine (16 page)

“This is it. It's a mess right now, but Jenny usually kept it a wee bit neater,” Edwin said, his voice shaky. “Down the hallway tae the left is where her body was, and I suspect there might still be bloodstains there. Just stay in this part if you'd prefer.”

I nodded and looked around. It
was
a mess, items strewn everywhere, furniture off its mark. “Did the police do this?”

“Some, but it was mostly like this when I came in and found her. It was the first thing I noticed and caused me immediate concern. Even on her worst days, Jenny wasn't this messy,” he said with a sad sigh.

“This can't be easy, Edwin,” I said. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

“Aye, Delaney. You are correct. I'm in a tough spot though. There might be something here that the police overlooked because they don't have the whole story. If we find something—anything—that would lead tae Jenny's killer, I will hand it over and do my best tae explain the rest tae them if the Folio is involved. I want tae be here. I want tae do this. I feel like I have tae.”

“Even after visiting with Birk, you don't feel like you can tell the police about the Folio? I don't understand, Edwin. Birk would tell them the same story, wouldn't he? I don't think he could be suspected of anything nefarious; well, that could be proven at least. You telling them about the Folio wouldn't implicate him, I don't think.”

“I agree, but I need tae take the steps I need tae take. I want tae explore all the avenues first. I know that doesn't make sense tae someone who doesn't have the history, but it's more than Birk, it's my business, perhaps the entire Fleshmarket Batch. It's not my intention
not
tae talk tae the police about the Folio, Delaney, but I need tae make sure … that I really need tae let them in on that part of my life. It's a long, important history with many people that could be changed forever if I don't handle it correctly. Does that make sense?”

“Not completely,” I said.

“Can you trust me a wee bit longer?” he asked.

I thought before I answered. What I suspected was that he just didn't want the police to have the Folio, that he wanted it in his hands before they had a chance to get it into theirs. Greed. My idea didn't fit with the man I was getting to know, but neither did his reasons for not talking to the police. There was more, something else, but he wasn't going to tell me what it was yet.

“Yes,” I finally said.

“Very good. Let's get tae work.”

The couch cushions weren't all the way upturned, but they were off-kilter enough to know that they'd been looked under. Any drawers—in tables and the television entertainment center—were open, some of their contents sticking up awkwardly. The exposed surfaces were also strewn with items. And there was a small stack of pieces of torn paper by the front right foot of the couch. I gulped.

“Edwin, the pieces of paper?” I said.

“Not the Folio,” he said. “I saw them after I found Jenny. I didn't check them all, but none of what I saw was part of it. Mostly magazine scraps, but I don't understand why they're there.”

I hurried to them and glanced through them quickly. Edwin had been correct; it seemed like a magazine ad for makeup had been torn up and piled together. I couldn't imagine there was anything important among the scraps so I moved on.

The furniture reminded me of a somewhat modern Kansas country home. Big floral prints over comfortable cushions. The coffee and side tables were white wood that had been antiqued.

The living room was neither spacious nor cramped. The small patio deck and balcony were directly off the living room, and the sliding glass doors that led outside let lots of light inside. The kitchen was on the opposite side from the patio doors; it was a small square space. From my vantage point I assessed that you could stand in the middle of the kitchen and touch all the appliances and shelves just by turning in a circle. The counter space was decent though, with stools on this side that made for the only sit-down eating space.

The polished wood floor was covered in throw rugs that clearly weren't where they were supposed to be.

“I'll go back tae the bedroom,” Edwin said. “Why don't you see if there's anything tae see in here.”

Edwin disappeared down the hallway that I wasn't sure whether or not I would traverse. I didn't want to see a bloodstain. I took a left and started my search at the television entertainment center. The TV was a modern flat-screen just like the one in my hotel room had been.

I looked all around it, even lifting it a bit off its small stand, only to find a light layer of dust beneath.

The entertainment center was simply an old set of drawers. The drawers were already opened. I looked inside each one. Chances were pretty slim that I would find anything helpful, but it was worth a scrutinizing look. Each drawer had similar items throughout. CDs, DVDs, paperbacks, notebooks, magazines. Nothing was neat or organized, though I couldn't tell if the mess had been there before the police search or if it was a result of it. I saw no sign of drugs or of drug paraphernalia, but if there had been any, the police would probably have taken it away.

I gave up on those drawers and tried the ones on the coffee table and the two tables on each side of the couch. The same sorts of things were in those too. Nothing interesting anywhere. I lifted cushions and I looked under furniture. I lifted throw rugs, and still nothing.

The kitchen was next. It didn't look like Jenny was much of a cook; I found only one skillet, one pot, and a few wooden spoons that didn't look to have been used at all. Four stacked plates and a number of mismatched mugs were lined up on the bottom shelf of the first cabinet. Again, nothing interesting.

But as I closed the door to that particular cabinet, a buzz of intuition froze me in place. I'd seen something, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was. I opened the door again. There was nothing special about the four plates. They were stacked evenly and I felt no need to shift their positions.

I closed the door.

And then opened it again.

What was it? What was I seeing in this cabinet that was setting off my intuitive alarms?

Each mug was different. Some were decorated with different colors and patterns; some had sayings written on them. There was even one from the Edinburgh Castle. I moved its handle slightly so I could see the full picture.

My eyes moved over the rest of the mugs, and then stopped on one that was decorated with different colored squares that looked like confetti. I pulled it out of the cabinet and turned it over in my hands a few times. There was something about this one.…

And then it suddenly became clear. Though the mess throughout the drawers of the entertainment center in the living room had been random, there had been something that, in fact, did stand out.

I sat the mug on the counter, left the cabinet door opened, and went back to the drawers. In each of the six of them, I found some of what I was looking for. Little pieces of light purple paper that reminded me of the confetti on the cup, most of which at first glance seemed to have some handwriting on them. These were not part of the makeup ad that I'd found on the floor.

I gathered all that I could find. There were only about five pieces per drawer, but once I had them all in the palm of my hand it seemed like they belonged together, like they'd originally been one piece of paper that had had something written on it.

I would have liked to place the small pieces on a flat surface and try to put the puzzle together, but again my intuition buzzed. Maybe this was something I should do on my own. The piece of paper in my pocket beckoned again, but I ignored it. Maybe Edwin didn't need to know about it
or
what I had found until I really knew if I'd found something. If the police had cleared the place, surely I didn't need to ask for their permission to take the torn scraps.

I slipped them into my pocket with the note just as Edwin came back into the room, his face drawn and sad.

“Did you find anything?” he asked.

“Nothing. You?”

“Not one thing. I am certain that the Folio isn't here.”

“I didn't get a chance to look into every single space in the kitchen. Maybe we should do that together.”

I placed the confetti mug back onto its shelf and closed the door. Edwin didn't seem to notice. Even if he'd discovered something that might have been important to Jenny's murder, I doubted he would have truly seen it, if it would have made its way through his grief. However, I didn't doubt that he was aware enough to have seen the Folio if it had been hiding in any of the places he'd searched.

Briefly I wondered if he had found something and hid it somewhere on himself or if he had deposited something somewhere on the premises. Perhaps I was being used as some sort of witness to an unclear alibi. I would have noticed the Folio on him though. It would be too big to slip into a pocket or under a shirt. I realized I'd never know if he left something somewhere, but if the police asked I'd have to say that he was out of my sight for some time.

Together we searched all the other nooks and crannies in the kitchen and found nothing more exciting than a unique can opener with an S-shaped handle that was still in the plastic package.

We left the flat very close to how we'd found it, except for the pieces of paper I'd hidden in my pocket. If they led to anything I'd tell Edwin. Or the police. Someone.

I watched as he closed the door and confirmed that it was locked. His face was still sad, genuinely so, I thought.

“I have another idea, Delaney,” he said as he turned and moved purposefully toward the neighbor's door. He knocked a couple of quick taps and folded his hands behind his back as we waited.

Again, I expected a man in a robe to answer the door, but I wasn't even close.

“Yeah?” the woman said. She'd opened the door with one hand and was trying to slip on a high-heeled shoe with the other. “Oh, yeah, I know who you are. You're Jenny's brother. I'm really sorry about Jenny.” She finished with the shoe, stood straight, and smoothed her short white skirt. She had a thick, distinctly American accent.

“I am. Edwin MacAlister,” he said as he extended his hand.

“Right.” She hesitated, but manners got the best of her. Mostly. She didn't offer her name, but she did shake hands. She looked at me briefly, but it was clear that I was the unimportant part of the equation. “Can I help you with something?” Her voice was cold.

She wasn't exactly rough looking, but she was almost rough looking with badly bleached hair and thick eye makeup. She was probably in her fifties, but trying to look like she was still in her thirties. Her plan was failing, and though she wasn't very pleasant, I felt a little sorry for her being on the losing end of the battle.

“I was wondering if perhaps you talked tae Jenny somewhere close tae the time she was killed, or if maybe you heard anything strange the day she was killed. I think there was a struggle in there”—Edwin nodded toward Jenny's flat—“and I'm hoping someone heard something that might be valuable tae the police's investigation.”

“Well,” she said, sarcasm lining the way she drew out the word. “I talked to the police and I told them what I heard and what I saw.”

When she didn't continue, Edwin jumped in again. “Any chance you would share with us what that was? I'd be mighty grateful.”

The woman messed with her earring and looked at Edwin a long moment before she gave in. “I heard a couple of bumps. Like a
thump-thump
around the time they think she might have been killed. And the only thing I saw was a visitor the night before. I'd seen him stop by a time or two. Young guy with long hair. He was dressed in goofy, puffy shorts and everything. Jenny told me once that he was a good friend.”

It must have been Hamlet, but we'd already known that Hamlet had visited her the day before Edwin found her.

“The sounds—the
thump-thump
—did they come from inside the space or from the wall, like someone was pounding on it?” Edwin asked.

“No, the noise came from inside the apartment,” she said with a sigh.

“We're sorry tae take your time, but we do appreciate you talking tae us,” Edwin said.

I wished I knew what to do to ease her impatience, but she was either just naturally the way she was or she didn't like Edwin. They obviously hadn't met before, so her reactions to him could have been based upon something Jenny had said to her, or the snooty impression the old woman had expressed about Jenny when I was out front with Elias.

“I'm Delaney Nichols,” I jumped in. “Do you mind if I ask if you and Jenny were friends?”

She looked at me, giving me her full attention for the first time since the door had opened. It looked like the maneuver had taken some big effort. Maybe the American tie would help. “We were neighbors for about ten years. I knew the family she came from. I knew about the money. I knew how selfish you were with it.” She turned and glared at Edwin. “I knew her well enough.”

I cleared my throat. “Did she, by chance, convey anything to you about being scared of anyone, someone? Had she mentioned a fight? Maybe not even recently. Maybe you'd heard people arguing next door before?”

Her face changed, as if I'd finally said something that wasn't worthy of sarcasm.

“Yes, actually, there was an argument in there about a week and a half ago. The police didn't ask me about that and I didn't even think about it. But, yes, there was some yelling. I think.”

“One voice Jenny? The other?” I said.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure one of the voices belonged to Jenny, but I don't know who the other voice belonged to. It was a male voice.”

“You didn't recognize it at all?” I said.

“I just can't be sure. It might have sounded familiar, but I wouldn't want to say just in case I'm wrong.”