A Murder In Passing (13 page)

“What do you think? My libido just came in second to Hewitt Donaldson. You really know how to woo a girl, Sam.”

***

I heard the clock in the hallway strike three. The muted chime of Nakayla's family heirloom was just loud enough to wake me. She lay snuggled into my back, her left arm draped across my chest. As my mind surfaced from sleep, I gently grasped her hand like a child waking to clutch a comforting stuffed toy.

She stirred. “What's wrong?” she murmured.

“Nothing.”

“Sam, you're not a light sleeper. Something's bothering you.”

I felt the bed shift as she broke free of my grip and propped herself up on her right elbow.

The room was dark except for a patch of moonlight sneaking through a crack in the curtains and reflecting off the metal of my prosthesis I'd left on the floor. The thought that disturbed my sleep returned.

“Just thinking.”

“About the case?”

“About Jason Fretwell.”

Silence. I started to remind her who the young amputee was, but waited. Nakayla wouldn't have forgotten his name.

After a moment, she asked, “You think his analysis was wrong?”

“No. I think his analysis of the terrain and weapon was spot on. He was very helpful and he knew it.”

“Hmmmm. Why do I get the feeling I'm sleeping with Sam the Do-Gooder?”

“You didn't see his face. The kid loved the whole afternoon, getting out of the hospital, using his training again.”

“We're too young and he's too old for us to adopt him.”

“No, but we can give him a start.”

Nakayla sat up. I rolled over and tried to read the expression on her face. In the darkness, all I could see were the narrow slits of her eyes. She was trying to read me as well.

“Are you thinking of hiring him?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding me? You and I aren't busy enough. I was thinking of trying to get him a job with Nathan Armitage. Like Tikima tried to help me.”

Bringing Nakayla's sister Tikima into the conversation might have been unfair, but relevant. When Tikima had visited me in the veterans hospital, she'd offered to set up an interview with her employer Armitage Security Services. Her murder had been the horrific event that brought Nakayla and me together.

“But you were a Chief Warrant Officer,” Nakayla argued. “You knew security and you knew your way around a crime scene. I don't think Nathan's changing his company name to Armitage Security and Sniper Services.”

“No. But a sniper has patience and discipline. Those are solid attributes.”

“Okay,” Nakayla conceded. “Then is he cute?”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“Well, I assume he'll need a place to stay. That's what you're hinting at, isn't it? So, if Jason Fretwell and I are going to live together, I want to prepare myself against the temptation of a good-looking, younger man.”

Now I sat up. “Hey, I'm all the man you'll ever need. I was thinking of offering him my apartment till he gets settled. That is if he even wants a job in the area.”

“And where would you sleep? On your sofa?”

I patted the mattress. “This is a big bed. And I wouldn't be moving in. Just looking for shelter.”

“Like a stray cat.”

“I prefer virile yet affectionate tomcat. Missing a leg. Who could turn such a charmer away?”

“Who indeed?” Nakayla lay back, pulling me with her. “My Sam Do-Gooder. Let's see how good you really are.”

Chapter Thirteen

At the office the next morning, I telephoned the veterans hospital and asked for the Rehab department. I knew most of the nurses and physical therapists so when an authoritative voice said, “Reilly,” I visualized Sheila Reilly, a large woman carved from the side of a mountain who had pushed my butt through every tortuous exercise conceivable till I could walk again.

“My favorite dominatrix. Surprised you set down your whip to answer the phone.”

“Is this my favorite one-legged candy ass?”

“I hope so.”

She laughed. “Sam, how are you? Did Tikima's sister come to her senses and dump you?”

“No. She's still blinded by my wit and good looks.” I heard Nakayla groan from her office.

“I'm translating that as she still feels sorry for you,” Sheila said. “Are you calling because you miss the sound of my commands?”

“That and to see if I can weasel some information out of you.”

“About what?”

“Actually about whom. Jason Fretwell. Have you been working with him?”

“Yeah.” A note of skepticism crept into her voice.

“Is he scheduled for discharge soon?”

“Probably Friday. We've done about everything we can for him.”

“How do you think he'll fare?”

Sheila Reilly was quiet a moment. I could hear the garbled sound of the hospital P.A. in the background.

She cleared her throat and then spoke softly. “You know I can't talk about a patient's private medical information.”

“Then don't,” I said. “You're his physical therapist. I'm interested in your opinion of his psychological progress and you're not a damn shrink. Whatever you say is speculation just between us.”

She sighed. “Well, two days ago I'd have said he was facing a tough row to hoe. You know how that is.”

I did. Losing a limb is small potatoes in comparison to losing your self-worth. When you can only see yourself as a cripple, you believe that view is shared by the world. It's a dark spiral downward and some can never break free of its grasp.

“Something changed?” I asked.

“At our Monday afternoon session, Jason was as chipper as a teenager who just scored a date with the most popular girl in high school.”

After our little cafeteria encounter, I thought.

“Same for yesterday morning. Things started clicking for him with the arm, but that was only part of it. Then he didn't show for his afternoon session, and I thought he'd returned to the dark side. But, I ran into him this morning and he was all smiles. Wouldn't say where he'd been. Just that he had an appointment with his mentor.” She paused. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

“Who me? I'd never come between him and your physical abuse sessions.”

“Right. Whatever you're doing, Sam, keep it up. He's a good kid.”

We hung up and I placed a call to Nathan Armitage to make my pitch for Jason joining his company. I caught Nathan on his way to a client meeting, but he told me he'd set up an interview as soon as Jason was released. Now I had to talk with Jason. That conversation was too important to conduct over the phone.

“Sounds like you made progress on your project.” Nakayla stood in my office doorway, her smile a beacon of approval.

“Yeah. But Jason might have his own plan in mind. All I can do is offer him an option.”

“Well, it will have to wait till later today. Hewitt wants to see Lucille with us. We need to leave now.”

“Let's take separate cars and you ride back with him. I want to get to John Lang and his son right after Lucille.”

“No problem. Hewitt was in Henderson County for Lucille's arraignment. They'll meet us at Lucille's apartment. And I suggest you talk to John Lang and his son separately.”

“Why?”

“Because Hewitt said the early discovery from D.A. Chesterson lists William Lang as a prosecution witness.”

That information stopped me. “But his father put up Lucille's bail.”

Nakayla shooed me out of my chair. “Yes. Curious, isn't it?”

***

Lucille, Marsha, Hewitt, Nakayla, and I entered Lucille's small living room. Lucille lifted her knitting from her rocking chair and set the needles and yarn on the coffee table. She collapsed onto the cushion with a sigh. Even though the arraignment had been a brief formality, the trauma to an eighty-five-year-old woman compelled to stand in public and proclaim not guilty to a murder charge had to be exhausting.

Hewitt took the seat on the sofa closest to her and Marsha sat next to him, poised on the edge where she could spring between the lawyer and her mother if she felt her mother needed protection. I motioned for Nakayla to take the armchair beside the rocker and I pulled a hardback chair from the dinette set in the kitchen. When we were settled, everyone looked at Hewitt Donaldson to begin.

“Miss Montgomery, you did very well in front of the judge. I know that wasn't easy.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “A bad dream. That's what I told myself. It's a bad dream.”

“A good way to look at it,” Hewitt agreed. “But you're not in it alone. We're here with you and we'll get through it together.”

“I just want it to be over, and I want justice for my Jimmy.”

Hewitt glanced at me. I knew he wanted to keep Jimmy buried and unidentified. The D.A.'s case was very weak without a provable connection between the murder victim and Lucille.

“Of course,” Hewitt said. “But justice means first clearing you. Then the police will move on to discover the real killer. That's why I'm pushing for a speedy trial. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Hewitt shifted on the sofa. “Now it's come to light that the prosecution is calling John Lang's son William as a witness. Any idea why?”

Lucille leaned forward as if she didn't hear him clearly. “Willie? He's talking against me?”

“We don't know what he's saying. We'll schedule a deposition, but I wondered if you had any idea why he'd be testifying.”

Lucille folded her hands in her lap. “No. Not for the life of me. When Jimmy left, Willie wasn't even here.”

“Where was he?”

“Vietnam.”

“When would Jimmy have last seen Willie?”

“The week before. Something like that. Willie was home for his mother's funeral.”

“Right before he began his tour of duty?”

“No, sir. He was already over there. He got bereavement leave. Had to return the day after the funeral.”

Hewitt thought a moment. “So, John Lang's wife died about a week before Jimmy left?”

“Yes, sir. Breast cancer. Just like my mother. I took turns tending to her and preparing meals for the family. We tried to make Gladys comfortable.”

My first thought linked the death of John Lang's wife to the disappearance of Jimmy Lang. Had there been a rift between the brothers? Was John's wife simply someone who kept the family together, or was there more going on? I wasn't sure of a delicate way to frame the question. Fortunately, that was Hewitt's job.

“Miss Montgomery, did Gladys Lang's illness and death put a strain on Jimmy, as far as his relationship with the rest of the family?”

Lucille looked at Hewitt with incredulity. “A strain? We were all under a strain.”

“Yes, ma'am. I know.” Hewitt, the skilled courtroom interrogator, seemed at a loss for words. “But was there anything that could have caused Jimmy to leave when his sister-in-law died? Anything that would have been too great a conflict for the brothers to resolve?”

“Not over Gladys. Their only quarrel was over me. Jimmy marrying me and what that would have done to the business.”

“You mean the county-wide school garbage contract?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Hewitt leaned on the armrest, moving nearer the elderly woman. “Then back to William Lang. Was he close to Jimmy?”

Lucille spoke without hesitation. “Yes. They were tight. In some ways, Jimmy was more his father than an uncle. He'd take Willie hunting and fishing. John was always too busy. John loved his son but just wasn't as natural in showing it. Some men are like that.”

“When did William return from Vietnam?”

Lucille thought a moment. “Must have been late 1968. He was there eighteen months. There was some talk of him re-enlisting, but John advised against it. Said the war was getting too crazy and he needed him here. The business was expanding. By then I'd gone to work for John myself.”

“Could William have blamed you for Jimmy's disappearance?”

“Me?” The question seemed to throw her.

“My mother loved Jimmy,” Marsha interjected. “And she loved Willie too. She's the one wrote him letters when Gladys was too sick to do it herself.”

Hewitt ignored Marsha and kept his eyes focused on Lucille. “But if you wouldn't marry Jimmy and that could have been a reason for his leaving, don't you see how William could have blamed you?”

Lucille slowly nodded. “Yes, sir. But he would have also blamed his father. John made no secret he disapproved of Jimmy and me marrying.”

“And that would have come to a head about the time John's wife was in the final stages of her cancer?”

“What do you mean?” Lucille asked.

“The Supreme Court ruling. Loving versus Virginia. It came down only a few weeks before. Suddenly your marriage became a legal possibility. And that prospect happens at the same time as the garbage contract, Gladys Lang's dying, and William heading back to Vietnam. Seems like a lot of stress on one family.”

“Yes, sir. It was a tough time for sure.”

Hewitt nodded. “And William never talked about his uncle after that?”

“No. Not with me. I suspect he and his father hashed that out when Willie returned. But we never spoke of it. Willie's always been respectful and polite. To me and Marsha. I don't know why he'd be talking for the other side.”

Hewitt rested his palms on his thighs. “Well, Miss Montgomery, neither do I. But we'll learn soon enough.” He looked at Nakayla and me. “I believe my associates have a few questions, if you're not too tired.”

“My mother is exhausted.” Marsha stood, signaling the conversation was over.

Lucille raised her right hand and waved her daughter to sit. “You sought them out, Marsha. We should listen to what they have to say.”

Marsha gave Nakayla and me a hard stare. “All right. But my mother's had a very trying morning.”

As Nakayla and I had discussed during the drive from the office, she took the lead, not only because she could build the stronger bridge, but also because she would be pursuing the Ulmann photograph.

“Miss Montgomery, Sam and I are investigating any possible connection between Jimmy's disappearance and the theft of the picture of you, your mother, and grandmother.”

“I told you Jimmy wouldn't have stolen it.”

“Yes, but somebody else might have. We can't ignore that it went missing the same day Jimmy failed to pick you up after work.”

Lucille looked at Hewitt. “They're saying whoever took that picture killed Jimmy?”

“We don't know that the victim in the log is Jimmy. Yet we can't just say the timing of the two events is a coincidence.” Hewitt turned on the sofa to Marsha. “You were wrong to bury the rifle, but your instincts were correct about the stolen photograph. If anyone had access to your mother's home, they could have also taken and returned the rifle. We need to find the picture and link it to someone who had means and opportunity. Motive will follow.”

“And what if it was destroyed?” Lucille asked.

“I thought it was valuable,” Hewitt said. “What would be the motive in that?”

“No motive at all,” Lucille said sharply. “But if you can understand all the reasons for human behavior, Mr. Donaldson, then you are a very smart man indeed.”

Hewitt smiled. “Miss Montgomery, I get the feeling that even if I were as smart as I think I am, I'd still have only half the insight you do.” He gestured toward Nakayla. “That's why we need your help if we're going to end this bad dream.”

Lucille turned to Nakayla. “All right, dear. What would you like to know?”

“How big was the photograph?”

Lucille pointed across the room to the pictures on the table with the television. “Smaller than those. I guess six by eight. Something like that.”

On Monday, I'd noticed the graduation portrait of Marsha on one side of the TV and the second photograph of an unknown man on the other. I examined the man's face more carefully. “Is that Jimmy?”

“Yes,” Lucille said. “It was a thirty-fifth birthday present for me. He had it taken at Barber's Studio in Hendersonville.”

I studied the black and white, three-quarter profile of the handsome man. He looked like a younger John Lang, his twin. I tried to peer beneath the tan skin and dark hair to the skull I might have seen up close and personal.

“Who was in the missing photograph?” Nakayla asked.

“My grandmother Loretta, my mother Lucinda, and me.”

“No one else?”

Lucille shook her head.

“The boys,” Marsha added.

“They're interested in our family,” Lucille said. “Not people we don't know.”

Nakayla leaned forward in her chair. “We're interested in everything. What boys?”

Lucille looked at her daughter. “Just some children who came up with Miss Julia for the day. A chance to see the mountains.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“No. I was only five. If they told me their names, I've long forgotten. I think there were five or six boys and girls from Miss Julia's plantation.”

I looked at Marsha to see if she would offer more details, but she said nothing.

“How many people total were in the picture?” Nakayla asked.

Lucille looked up to a corner of the smooth, white ceiling as if the number might be written there. “Seven, I think. That sounds right, doesn't it, Marsha?”