Touch-Me-Not (6 page)

Something told her she had to view this to the end. She recognized several more of the women. The twins’ kindergarten teacher. The girl who taught riding at the stable. The Brazilian checkout woman at Cronig’s. All young women, ranging in age from teens to mid-twenties. She could hardly believe what she was seeing, videos that Roy had taken?
Had
Roy taken them? Her husband Roy? The upstanding civic leader, the town’s electrical inspector, scout leader, baseball coach? How long had he been filming naked women? She’d had no inkling of this hidden twist of his—that is,
if
Roy had taken those pictures. Would she, could she, even talk to him about this? What was she going to say? Or do?

She had another thought. Was this a game that was going both ways? One or more of the women calling Roy with suggestive talk?

If this was Roy’s little game, clearly Jerry Sparks had known about it. An awful thought crossed her mind. Was Jerry Sparks blackmailing Roy? That would explain Roy’s mood lately.

The Island’s grapevine unearthed deeply hidden secrets, seemingly without human intervention. The fact of Roy filming naked women in their showers would be all over the Island like—she couldn’t imagine anything with which to compare the speed of the Island grapevine.

C
HAPTER
9

LeRoy had arisen early on Sunday, before Sarah awoke. He showered and shaved, then spent another full day fishing. He caught nothing. And nothing helped the sick feeling in his gut. All day, Jerry Sparks had perched on his shoulders.

When he got home, his wife and kids were eating supper. His wife turned away from him.

LeRoy put his gear away and hung up his waders in the mudroom. He washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink and looked for a towel.

“Don’t use my clean dish towels,” snapped Sarah.

He dried his face and hands on a paper towel and threw it in the trash. “You move the books okay?”

“She called twice yesterday.” Sarah still didn’t look at him. Probably mad at him. Who the hell was the caller?

Supper was leftover macaroni. Zeke and Jared squabbled and whined over nothing. Sarah stared at her plate.

LeRoy got a dish out of the cabinet and served himself from the casserole in the oven and sat at his usual place. Sarah continued to eat in silence.

“Something bothering you?” asked LeRoy.

“It’s nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” said LeRoy.

“Emily Cameron came by.”

“Who’s she?” Then he remembered. The baby-sitter. Jerry Sparks’s girlfriend. “Never mind. I know who she is. Lumpy girl with glasses and bangs.” LeRoy speared a forkful of macaroni and shoveled it into his mouth. “What did she want?” he asked, his mouth full.

“The ‘lumpy girl,’ as you call her, is trying to locate Jerry Sparks. It seems he’s disappeared.”

“Lucky her.”

“Jerry can be perfectly nice.”

“I’ve heard enough about Jerry Sparks.” LeRoy tossed his napkin onto his scarcely touched supper and got up from the table. The macaroni and cheese he’d shoveled into his mouth had stopped halfway to his stomach in a glutinous mass.

“She brought something to show me,” said Sarah to his departing back.

“Lucky you,” he said over his shoulder.

“Now where are you going?” Sarah asked.

“Out.” LeRoy slammed the front door behind him.

He drove to the unlighted parking area near the bike path in the state forest and made himself a nest in the back of his van with his sleeping bag and some plastic tarps. He twisted and turned all night, and the sleeping bag wrapped itself around and between his legs. As the night moved on, the cold metal of the van floor got harder and colder and the ghost of Jerry Sparks breathed his foul breath into his face and there was no place he could think of where he could escape.

When the dawn chorus began early Monday morning, first a robin, then doves, chickadees, cardinals, and blue jays, LeRoy, who hadn’t slept at all, shuffled off his sleeping bag and climbed into the driver’s seat. He had to get to the Steamship Authority office when it opened. He was exhausted. His mouth felt as though it was full of half-composted moss and the smell of Jerry Sparks clung to him.

Around the same time LeRoy was getting ready to head to the Steamship Authority office, Victoria Trumbull was hiking the quarter mile to the police station. She used the tip of her lilac-wood stick to turn over leaves to see what interesting plants were sprouting underneath.

This was the day LeRoy Watts had promised to come to fix the outlet her guest had blown up with her hair dryer. Fortunately, Nancy had decided to leave a day early.

Across the road to her left, grass had greened in Doane’s pasture, seemingly overnight. They’d be cutting the first hay in another few weeks. A catbird called from the wild cherry tree next to the road and another catbird answered. She breathed in deeply. The scent of lilacs was everywhere. Her own lilacs reached almost to her second floor and were laden with blossoms. Neil Flynn, who owned Katama Apiaries, had set up seven beehives in her pasture, and the lilacs hummed with his bees.

She paused to catch her breath before turning in at the parking area in front of the station. Ducks rose as she approached, and waddled off toward the Mill Pond.

Victoria straightened up, lifted her head, and climbed the steps into the station house. Casey was at her desk, scowling at something on her computer.

She turned, her scowl softening. “Morning, Victoria. You’re up early.”

“I’ve been out in my garden since the sun rose. My touch-me-not is going to bloom this season.”

“The year of touch-me-not and stalkers,” said Casey.

Victoria seated herself in the wooden armchair and unbuttoned her blue coat. “Is something wrong?”

“Stalking.” Casey picked up her stone paperweight and hefted it from one hand to the other. “Exactly what the speaker on Thursday was talking about. Jessica Gordon and Maron Andrews called me again to complain. I can’t do anything; the telephone company can’t do anything. They put a tracer on the calls.”

“And, I suppose, the stalker is using a prepaid disposable cell phone. Almost impossible to trace.”

“Where on earth did you learn that?”

“I get around.” Victoria laced her hands on the top of her lilac-wood stick. “We need to talk. Three women in the knitters’ group are getting unwanted calls.”

“Three? Who’s the third?” asked Casey.

“Alyssa Adams.”

“The EMT?”

“Yes.”

“The guy’s not threatening them, is he?”

“Mostly heavy breathing. Occasional obscenities.”

Casey swiveled in her chair. “It’s distressing for the women, I know, but unless they’re getting threats, we can’t do anything. Even with overt threats, there’s not a lot we can do.” Casey stood up. “Let’s make our rounds, Victoria. Too nice a day to be inside worrying about stuff we can’t do anything about.”

“Can’t calls be traced somehow?”

“Every cell phone has a way of being identified for billing purposes,” said Casey. “But with disposable phones, you buy cards with minutes on them that the phone itself deducts. Can’t be traced.”

“Aren’t the calls relayed by a cell tower?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Casey. “I guess so.”

“That means we can locate the caller,” said Victoria.

“ ‘We,’ Victoria? Hardly. You’re talking about an entire army of technicians,” said Casey. “Before you get any more bright ideas, let’s get out of here.”

LeRoy opened a can of Mountain Dew from his cooler, rinsed his mouth with it, and spat it out onto the ground. Still feeling grungy, he drove to the ferry terminal and went into the men’s room, where he cleaned himself up.

The woman at the ticket counter who always looked cheerful and always had a great smile, greeted him. “Morning, Mr. Watts. Going to be a beautiful day. Can I help you?”

LeRoy attempted a smile in return. “I’m trying to remember Beany’s last name.”

“That’s funny. I just know him as Beany. Wait a sec.” She turned away from the ticket window and called out to another ticket seller. “Mike, what’s Beany’s name?”

“Albion. He’s a Fereira. Lives in Edgartown.”

“Oh, sure,” said LeRoy, not being sure at all. “I’ve done some work for them. Thanks.”

“No problem, Mr. Watts. Have a great day!”

“Thanks,” mumbled LeRoy. “Same to you.”

Back in his van, he started to page through the Island directory he kept in the glove compartment, when he remembered he’d promised to repair Victoria Trumbull’s upstairs outlet. He scribbled a note to himself to call her. First, though, he looked up Fereira in the phone book. He found listings in the directory for a dozen Fereiras. Four in Edgartown. No Albion.

He considered going back to the ticket office, and decided against making too big a deal out of trying to locate Beany. He took out his cell phone and punched in the number for the first Fereira in Edgartown.

“Beany? You want Irma, his mother,” said the woman, and gave him the number. “He in trouble again?”

“No, ma’am,” said LeRoy. “At least not that I know of. Thanks for the help.”

He checked the number in the directory, found a listing on Pine Street, and dialed.

“Beany’s my son. Haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Does he have a new computer?”

“No idea. Why?”

“He stopped by my shop on Friday, complaining about something one of my employees sold him. I was wondering if it happened to be a computer.”

“Want him to call you if he shows up?”

“I’m close by,” said LeRoy, thinking he could cover the eight miles to Edgartown in fifteen minutes. “Mind if I stop in and take a look?”

“Well,” said Irma. “I guess that’s all right. You know where I live?”

“Yes, ma’am. I believe I did some electrical work for you a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, sure, I remember you, I think.”

LeRoy closed his phone and headed toward Edgartown.

He made the trip in fifteen minutes and parked in front of the Fereira house. An Island car was out front, a green Citation held together with duct tape. The rear window was a sheet of plastic stuck in with more duct tape.

He knocked, and a short, plump woman wearing a flowing muumuu printed with magenta flowers came to the door. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled away from her face and held with plastic butterfly clips.

“Mrs. Fereira? LeRoy Watts.”

“Come in. Beany just got home.” She turned and called, “Beany! Some man to see you.”

“Who is it, Ma?” The lanky guy who’d come to the shop appeared from the back of the house. He wore a faded Red Sox cap and was drinking a Diet Coke.

“This man called about a computer,” said Mrs. Fereira.

“Yeah, Jerry Sparks’s boss. How’re ya doin’?”

“Not bad,” said LeRoy, who felt awful. “You said Jerry sold you some lemon. Was that his computer?”

“Come on in, Mr. Watts,” said Mrs. Fereira. “Don’t let all the warm air out.”

LeRoy entered the stifling house and shut the door behind him.

“Yeah, I bought his stinkin’ computer. Piece of junk.” Beany took a last swig of his diet Coke and crushed the can. “I put an ad up on the Cronig’s bulletin board and some guy came by and bought it after I talked to you. Sold it for more than I paid.”

“Who’d you sell it to?”

“I never got his name. He paid cash. What’s up?”

LeRoy thought for a moment. “I knew you were upset with Sparks. Wanted to help if I could.”

Beany lifted his cap and scratched his head. “The guy who bought it lives in West Tisbury. Drives an old white Volvo station wagon, if that helps any.”

“It’s not important. Thanks anyway.”

C
HAPTER
10

Victoria stood at the foot of the station house steps, waiting for Casey to finish a phone call, when Howland Atherton pulled into the parking lot.

“Good morning, Howland,” she called out to him. “We were just leaving to do our rounds.”

“Morning, Victoria. Before you go off, I need to talk to you and the chief.” Howland was wearing his usual khakis with a dark knit shirt. A lanyard was looped around his neck, with a small metal object dangling from it.

Casey appeared and greeted Howland. “You look worried.”

“I am.”

“Come in, then. Our rounds can wait.”

Back inside, Victoria returned to her armchair, and Howland moved Junior Norton’s seat next to her and straddled it, his arms folded on the back. Casey returned to her desk and placed her hands flat on top of her large desk calendar. “Well?” she asked, turning to Howland.

Howland said, “A couple of days ago, I bought a used computer from Beany, one of the guys who works for the Steamship Authority. He’d acquired the computer from a buddy who needed some cash in a hurry, he told me.”

Casey picked up her beach-stone paperweight and rubbed the smooth surface. “Go on,” she said.

“Beany used the computer for a few days and decided it was a piece of junk.”

“Who’s the buddy he bought it from?” asked Casey, looking up.

“Jerry Sparks.”

“Oh,” said Victoria. She sat forward, hands on top of her lilac-wood stick.

Casey turned to her. “Jerry Sparks again.”

“You know him?” asked Howland.

“His boss—his former boss, LeRoy Watts—is coming to my house sometime today to repair an outlet.” Victoria stroked the smoothly sanded surface of her stick and settled back into her chair.

“Former boss?” Howland unwound himself from the chair and went to the window overlooking the Mill Pond, hands thrust into his pockets.

“LeRoy told me on Thursday he’d fired Jerry Sparks.”

“What about the computer?” asked Casey.

Howland turned from the window. “I went through the hard drive to see what was on it. Delete files I didn’t need, that sort of thing. One file was encrypted. I didn’t want to delete it until I knew its contents. When I finally did decode it . . . Well, that’s what I need to show you.”

Outside, the ducks quacked a few times, then settled down again. Through the window, Victoria could see wind riffling the surface of the Mill Pond.

“A police matter?” asked Casey.

“I’ll let you decide,” Howland replied, returning to his chair. “The file consists of a dozen or more short videos, apparently taken by a camera or cameras hidden in bathrooms and showing women taking showers.”

“Cameras installed without the resident’s knowledge?” Victoria asked. “Was the installer Jerry Sparks?”

“No way of knowing,” said Howland. “The videos were on his computer. I downloaded them onto this thumb drive.” He lifted the lanyard with the inch-and-a-half-long metal object. “They’re disturbing, to say the least.”

“Jerry Sparks has free access to the places he works,” said Victoria. “I certainly have never watched over him. I suspect most people don’t.”

“Sparks has done work here in the police station,” said Casey. “He seemed competent enough.” She pushed her swivel chair away from her desk and stood up. “Can you download the videos onto my computer?”

“Sure,” said Howland.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Victoria said to Casey. “Alyssa Adams came to see me on Thursday evening.” She turned to Howland and explained. “She’s a member of the mathematical knitters’ group, and she, too, has been getting calls from the breather.” Victoria turned back to Casey. “Alyssa believes she knows who’s making the calls.”

“Not Jerry Sparks?” said Casey.

Victoria nodded.

“Double whammy, if he’s the one,” murmured Casey. “Phone calls
and
videos.”

“Did she recognize his voice?” asked Howland.

“He didn’t speak. But a couple of months ago, she had a movie date with Jerry that ended unsatisfactorily, and she’s been getting calls since then.”

“Did he ever identify himself?” asked Howland.

“He did in the first couple of calls. Jerry apologized and invited her on another date. She accepted the apology and declined the date. He called two or three times after that, getting more and more insistent.”

Casey shifted the beach stone from one hand to the other and back again.

“And after those first calls?” asked Howland.

“There was a period of several weeks when she didn’t hear from him, and then the calls started again, but this time they’ve consisted of heavy breathing or muttered obscenities.”

“How often does she get the calls?” asked Casey.

“At irregular intervals, two or three times a week.”

“The videos were filmed over several months,” said Howland. “Dates are noted on the right side, near the bottom. He may have used only one camera and moved it around. Many of the videos seem to have been taken in the same bathroom. Possibly a rental unit, or a gym or fitness center.”

“Where is Jerry Sparks now?” asked Victoria.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Howland. “Never met the guy.”

Casey swiveled her chair. “How long will it take you to bring the videos up on my computer?”

Howland got up from his chair again. “No time at all.”

LeRoy left Beany’s with no clue as to the whereabouts of Jerry Sparks’s computer except that the guy who’d bought it drove a white Volvo station wagon. LeRoy got back into his van. He had to find that computer before the police did. Sparks had lied about downloading the videos onto his cell phone, but LeRoy couldn’t take a chance that Sparks had also lied about downloading those pictures onto his computer.

When LeRoy called Victoria Trumbull, the answering machine kicked in with a message from her granddaughter. He told the machine he was on the way and would take a look at the upstairs outlet.

When he got to Victoria’s, no one was home. He knocked several times on her kitchen door, then went upstairs to the guest room, where he checked the blackened outlet and the smoky patch on the wall above it. He’d have to come back later when he had more time. It was a wonder Mrs. Trumbull hadn’t burned her house down long ago.

He finished rewiring what he could with the tools he’d brought with him, making her house somewhat safer. Since he’d stashed the Taser cartridge in his toolbox, he decided to leave it at Victoria’s, where no one was likely to discover it. Even if she did look inside, she wouldn’t recognize a spent Taser cartridge. That way, he could dispose of the cartridge later. He kept out a couple of tools he might need in the meantime, a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. A wrench. A flashlight.

He then went downstairs and left Victoria a note on the kitchen table, telling her he’d made temporary repairs to the outlet but not to use it. After that, he went outside and stood at the top of her stone steps, thinking.

Banks of lilacs—not mere shrubs, but tall trees—surrounded Victoria’s weathered house, and the branches were heavy with blossoms. He breathed in deeply and thought about his life before the death of Jerry Sparks.

He was so tired. His eyes felt scratchy and his clothes were rumpled. If only he could go back in time and redo that confrontation. He hadn’t meant to kill Jerry Sparks. Tasers weren’t supposed to kill. That’s why he’d bought one. Guns killed people, not Tasers. He’d never wanted a gun around that his kids might play with.

Why did he have to be the one in hundreds or thousands to kill with a Taser?

The Taser. Would an autopsy determine how Sparks had died? He didn’t think the tiny darts had penetrated the skin. They didn’t need to. Perhaps the medical examiner would conclude that Jerry died of a heart attack, which was probably what had happened. Too many drugs, not eating right, that’s what they’d think. He had to get rid of the damned cartridge as soon as he could. No one would find it at Mrs. Trumbull’s, and if, by some chance, she looked into his toolbox, she’d think it was some piece of electrical equipment. Which it was, in a way. The Taser itself, he’d left in the top file drawer. God, how his stomach hurt.

Before he did anything, he had to find that computer.

He’d parked his van in Victoria’s drive. The gold lettering on the side was dusty, and he wiped it with his handkerchief before he got in.

As he passed the West Tisbury police station, he saw a white Volvo station wagon parked out front. Could this be the guy who’d bought the computer? A lot of Volvos in the village, but not many white ones. Did he dare meet the owner face-to-face, in the police station, of all places?

Best defense is a good offense, he thought, and made a U-turn around the triangle at Brandy Brow and pulled into the parking area, stopping next to the white Volvo.

He went to the back of his van for his toolbox, then remembered he’d left it at Victoria’s. Lucky he’d thought to keep out a couple of tools. He put the screwdriver and pliers in his shirt pocket, brushed past the ducks squatting on the oyster shells, and went up the steps and into the station house.

Chief O’Neill was at her desk, talking with Victoria Trumbull. A distinguished-looking guy stood up when LeRoy came in. The chief stood, too, and held out her hand.

“Mr. Watts,” she said. “You know my deputy, Victoria Trumbull, don’t you?”

“Of course. I was just at your house, Mrs. Trumbull.”

“Were you able to fix the problem?”

“I’ll have to come back when I have more time. It’s going to take some work.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“By the way, I left my toolbox there. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Victoria nodded and said to Casey, “LeRoy and Jerry Sparks worked for me in the past.”

Jerry Sparks, thought LeRoy. Jerry Sparks, Jerry Sparks!

“I understand he’s not with you any longer,” said Casey. “I’m sorry about that. He seemed to do good work.” She turned to Howland. “By the way, Mr. Watts, do you know Howland Atherton?”

“How’re you doin’?” LeRoy held out his hand.

Howland shook hands. “The owner of Watts Electrical?”

“Yes, sir,” said LeRoy.

“How can we help you?” asked Casey.

“I was driving past, Chief, thought I’d stop in to see if the work Sparks did is okay.”

“You know where the breaker box is,” said Casey.

She sat down again, as did Howland. LeRoy went to the far wall and opened the metal circuit-breaker box. He checked the breakers and listened to the conversation.

“Where did you get the computer?” he heard Casey ask.

“Saw an ad posted on the bulletin board outside Cronig’s,” said Howland. “The guy I bought it from got it from Sparks. He couldn’t make it work, so he sold it.”

LeRoy dropped the screwdriver and it rolled on the linoleum floor in a half circle, making a clicking sound.

Casey called over her shoulder, “How does it look?”

“Everything looks fine.” LeRoy bent over and picked up the screwdriver and put it into his pocket. “Mr. Atherton, did I hear you say you’d bought Jerry Sparks’s computer?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve been trying to track it down. I didn’t realize he’d sold it.” LeRoy closed the breaker box. “I gave him the old office computer when I bought a new one for Maureen. Then after I let Sparks go, I wondered if he had work-related stuff on it.”

“Be glad to let you check it out. It’s in my car. I was taking it to The Computer Lab for a tune-up.”

“Kind of presumptuous of me, but any chance I can borrow it for a few hours? I’ll bring it right back.”

“No problem,” said Howland.

“And, Mrs. Trumbull, I’ll stop by later this week and work on that outlet. Don’t use the electricity in that room until I take care of it.”

“Thank you,” said Victoria.

Howland and LeRoy went out to the parking area, past the ducks, which moved aside to make way for them, and LeRoy transferred Howland’s newly acquired computer to the back of his van.

“Appreciate this, Mr. Atherton,” said LeRoy.

Casey stood in the doorway. “Again, thanks, LeRoy.”

“Part of the service.” LeRoy wiped his hands on his handkerchief.

“I’m sorry you had to let Sparks go,” Casey added.

“He’d been a good worker before he got into drugs.”

“It’s a serious problem.” Casey shook her head.

LeRoy said, “Thanks for letting me borrow your computer, Mr. Atherton. Want me to return it here to the police station when I’m done?”

“Sure. That would be fine.”

“Be seeing you, then,” and Leroy took off.