Monument to the Dead (18 page)

“No problem.”

We hung up, and I sat staring at nothing, my mind and my stomach churning.
Oh, hell. Oh, flaming bloody hell.
Nicholas had been looking at Forrest materials at Penn. He’d left a good job there
to work at the Society, and knew we had a comparable collection of Forrestiana for
him to mine. I hadn’t known. But why should I have? The Forrest stuff was but one
small collection among the Society’s many. I had known of the trust only as a line
item on the Society’s annual budget. I’d never had a reason to look further.

I shouldn’t blame myself for my ignorance, although I did. But what was Nicholas doing,
hunting down all the Forrest materials? Unfortunately I was beginning to think that
I could guess.

I reached for the phone to call James, but the call went straight to his voice mail.
I debated about leaving a message, but then I was startled by a rap on my door, and
looked up to see Nicholas. “Sorry it took so long,” he said, “but I brought the information
on the Water Works that you asked for, so you could look it over before this afternoon’s
meeting.”

I marveled that my voice stayed level. “Thank you. Why don’t you give me a few minutes
to read through this, and then we can figure out how to handle the discussion?” I
was torn between wanting to get him out of my sight so I could process what I’d just
learned, and fearing that I’d somehow tip him off that I knew more than I should.

“Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.” He left.

I sat there staring at the pages but not seeing them. My mind was spinning. Nicholas
had the Forrest files. Nicholas fit our generic description of our suspect: he was
a polite young man, and he knew about the inside workings of a cultural institution.
And he knew about the Forrest Trust. But we still had no motive, and it was a long
step from that to labeling him a killer.

Before I could go back to stewing, the phone rang. I
grabbed it before Eric could, hoping that it would be James, but instead it was Front
Desk Bob. “There’s someone here to see you—a Jacob Miller?”

In my distracted state, it took me a moment to recognize the name of the baby-faced
lawyer. “I’ll be right down, Bob.” I hurried to the elevator.

In the lobby, I greeted him warmly. “Jacob, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“I found something in our files that I thought you might want to see,” he said. “Is
there someplace we could talk?”

I led him to the first-floor conference room. Once we were seated, he handed me a
manila envelope. “You don’t have to read it now—I can give you the gist. When I started
looking at the files, I realized that a couple of the members of the Forrest Trust
had contacted me since their last board meeting and suggested that they’d like to
be ready to make a decision about dissolving the trust by the next meeting. They asked
me to draft documents for the review of the full board.”

“Is that what you’re sharing with me?” I asked.

“Yes. Things are moving more quickly than I recalled. And until you told me, I hadn’t
realized how involved the Society is—you’ve got a large chunk of the physical collections
here, and I thought it appropriate that you should be kept informed. I checked with
the trust members whom I could reach and they had no objections to keeping you up
to speed.”

“I appreciate that. Listen, while you’re here, may I ask if anyone else has made inquiries
about the status of the trust in the past year or so? Apart from us here and the trustees?”

“Actually, yes. There were some queries in the past few months. I didn’t see them
originally because they were in a newer file. Someone named Washington, I think, had
asked about any pending changes in the trust. It’s a matter of public record, but
I think he received a polite brush-off letter. You know, thank you for your interest,
et cetera.”

“Franklin Washington?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“That sounds right. You know him?”

“I know of him. Was there anything else?”

“No, that’s all. I take it you’re too busy to give me that tour you mentioned?”

“Today, yes, but give me a call and we can set something up. I love to show off the
Society.” True—just not today. “Let me see you out.”

I escorted him to the front door and went back to my office. No phone messages, and
it was already past three. Nicholas and I would have to leave for the Water Works
very soon. I considered briefly pleading illness—and my stomach was certainly tied
up in knots—but I was afraid that might arouse his own suspicions. Plus it would be
rude to the staff at the Water Works to blow them off at the last minute, and it was
never smart to annoy a city official.

Of course Marty chose that moment to show up at my door. She took one look at me and
shut the door behind her. “Something’s up,” she stated flatly, which didn’t increase
my confidence in my acting abilities.

I ached to tell her what I suspected, to share the burden, but I hadn’t even told
James yet—and I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure I was right. I ducked the question.

“The lawyer who’s handling the trust stopped by. He said a couple of the trustees
asked him to pick up the pace with the dissolution, so they could consider it at their
next board meeting. Rodney thought that would be pretty soon, didn’t he?”

“He did. Wonder if our killer knows that?”

I thought briefly before answering. “Maybe. Jacob said that someone named Franklin
Washington had been making inquiries about the future status of the trust.”

Marty’s eyes widened. “Franklin Washington, as in the guy at the rehab center?”

“The same.”

“This is not good. Have you told James?”

“Not yet. He’s not picking up on either of his phones.”

“Maybe he’s wrestling with his bosses to get them to take this seriously.”

“I hope so!” I said fervently. “Was there anything else? I’m supposed to be prepping
for a meeting at the Water Works in about thirty-six minutes.”

“Sounds like fun—or more fun than sitting here worrying. Call me if you learn anything
new.”

“Of course I will, Marty.”

After she left, I checked my watch. It was already three fifteen. I grabbed Nicholas’s
report and started reading.

Nicholas appeared at my door just past three thirty. “Should we head over there now?”

I met his eyes. He didn’t look any different to me. Maybe I was way off base. Maybe
the overlap between his job at Penn and the one he held now was coincidental. Yeah,
right. “Yes, we should. We’ll have to take a cab—I didn’t drive in today.”

“No problem. Let me go get my folders.”

When he’d left, I took a deep breath. So far, so good. I sat for a moment to collect
myself, then stood and gathered up my bag. I walked out of the office and stopped
at Eric’s desk. “Nicholas and I are headed off for the Water Works for our meeting,
and I don’t think I’ll be back today. You can go home whenever you’re ready.” I leaned
closer and said quietly, “If Agent Morrison calls, you can tell him to call my cell—I
need to talk to him.”

“Got it. Thanks, Nell.” He stopped to take a look at me. “Are you okay?”

Great, I’d blown my “normal” cover again. “I’m fine, Eric. Anything I need to worry
about for tomorrow?”

Eric glanced at the calendar on his desk. “No, ma’am, looks clear. Have a nice evening.”

“I’ll try, Eric. See you in the morning.” I hoped.

Nicholas joined me in the hall, carrying a battered soft leather case with its strap
slung over his shoulder, and together we took the elevator downstairs. Was I imagining
things, or did his glance linger on Edwin’s statue on the first floor for just a moment?
Outside, we walked over to Broad Street to find a cab in front of the hotel there.

The ride across town to the Water Works was a short one, despite the growing late
afternoon traffic, and we pulled up in front of the administration building with a
few minutes to spare. Once I’d paid the cabbie, we took a moment to orient ourselves.
The Schuylkill looked placid today. The ensemble of buildings that stretched out along
the waterfront faced west, so they caught full sun at the moment, and if you squinted
just a bit, you didn’t see the dilapidation caused by a couple hundred years of weathering
and neglect; instead, you saw the monumental ensemble as its planners had intended,
a series of modern temples. I had to admit I was impressed, and the feeling seemed
to have infected Nicholas as well. He came up beside me and said, “It’s a handsome
place.”

“Have you been to the Water Works before, Nicholas?” I asked.

“More than once, but not lately. My school included it in its educational field trips.
It’s an impressive site, isn’t it?”

“It is. I’ve always been amused at the effort to give the whole thing a classical
air while addressing such nasty problems as yellow fever and sludge. Quite incongruous,”
I said. “Shall we go in?”

We found our way to the administrative offices, where Phebe was waiting for us. She
led us down the stairs to the department’s small, windowless conference room.

“Good to see both of you again,” she said. “I’m really getting excited about the possibilities
for this project. So, what luck have you had with finding information for us in your
documents?” she asked.

“I’ll let Nicholas tell you—he’s been doing all the work,” I replied, then sat back
and gave Nicholas a nod. As he spoke, I had to admit that he’d been thorough, and
he presented some creative possibilities that showed surprising insight. All in all,
he’d done a good job, and I could tell that Phebe was pleased.

“You know, I see real potential here,” she said. “Let me look at our long-range calendar
and we can figure out a timeline for the next step—assuming, of course, that the funding
comes through, but I’m pretty sure it will. I think with one figurehead company on
board, we can approach some of our other industrial donors on this one. Supporting
this kind of project will make them look sensitive to environmental issues, which
never hurts. Nicholas, would you mind sending me a written summary of your ideas that
I can take to my staff and board? It should be shorter than this one, and less detailed.
Nell, can you think of any potential funders? That is, if you don’t mind sharing?
Of course the Society will receive recognition for your participation.”

“I think it’s a great idea, Phebe. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve learned something
just listening today, and we’re happy to help out.” With a start I realized that it
was after five, closing time for the Water Works. “Good heavens, we should be going.
I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“No rush,” Phebe said cheerfully. “I never seem to leave on time, and while we say
the place is closed, it’s hard to make sure all the visitors are gone. You know how
that goes, right, Nell?”

“I do indeed. And your restaurant is open for dinner, right?”

Phebe nodded in response. “Yes, it’s become very popular. Have you tried it?”

“I haven’t had a chance, but I’ve heard good things about it.” It comforted me to
know that there would be other people on the grounds.

I was surprised when Nicholas interrupted. “Do you mind if I spend a little time looking
around? As I told Nell, I visited here on school trips years ago, but not recently.
And it’s such a treat to see it without tourists.”

“Of course, no problem. Nell, would you like a tour?”

“I don’t want to put you out, Phebe, and I’ve probably seen it more recently than
Nicholas.” I turned to Nicholas. “Nicholas, why don’t you go on and take a look at
the buildings. There are a couple of administrative issues I wanted to talk to Phebe
about. You don’t need to wait for me—take a cab and keep the receipt, and I’ll make
sure you get reimbursed.” He’d given me the perfect opening to separate myself from
him.

“All right. Phebe, I’ll send you my summary early next week, after I run it by Nell,
and I’ll flesh out some of the details we’ve talked about. I’ll see myself out.”

I watched him go, then turned back to Phebe, who said, “What an interesting young
man! Has he been with you long?”

“Only a few months. He is indeed interesting.” Phebe had no idea just how interesting.
We covered a few more details about local funders, which I knew well. Only half my
mind was on our discussion: I couldn’t see outside the building from where we sat,
so I couldn’t see where Nicholas had gone. I had no desire to spend any more time
with him today; I wanted nothing more than to tell James what I’d learned and let
him run with it. After a few minutes, the chitchat with Phebe was driving me crazy.
I stood up. “I’ve taken up too much of your time, but thank you so much. I’m looking
forward to working with you.”

“As am I, Nell. I’ll see you out—I think everyone else is gone.” I followed her back
upstairs to the reception area. Outside, we could see a staff member or guard, maybe
a hundred feet away—the tourist-herder? Phebe waved at him, then pointed at me, and
he nodded, which I presumed meant that I was approved to stay a bit longer. We parted
ways at the door, after more effusive thanks and promises. Had this been a normal
occasion, I would have felt well satisfied, but my mind was elsewhere at the moment.

This was not a normal occasion.

Once outside and in the clear, I pulled out my cell phone,
which I had politely shut off during the meeting. James had finally responded, and
had left a terse voice mail message. He said he had good news. I was both relieved
and dismayed: finally he was ready to make a move, but he still didn’t know what I
knew. I hit Reply, and he answered immediately.

“Nell, where are you?”

“At the Water Works.”

“What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “I think Nicholas Naylor is the killer.”

He was silent for a moment. “Your Nicholas? Why?”

“He’s been squirreling away the Society’s Forrest documents—I stumbled over them in
his office today. He used to work with the Forrest materials at Penn. James, he fits.
What’s your news?”

“We’ve finally opened an active investigation. I guess I overwhelmed their doubts
with the sheer weight of our circumstantial evidence. Where is Nicholas now?”

“Here.”

“At the Water Works?”

“Yes. Or at least, he was—we had a meeting here with an administrator. He’s not with
me, though. He said he wanted to enjoy the building without the tourists.”

“I’m on my way,” James said grimly. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. You should
leave—now. Stay away from him.”

“I’ll find a cab.”

He hung up before I did. It was sweet of him to try to keep me out of harm’s way,
but this was a very open, public place. I wanted to see him confront Nicholas, if
only to confirm what I suspected. I didn’t think Nicholas posed any threat to me.
He probably believed he was smart enough to have covered his tracks, and that he could
bluff his way out of any trouble. He’d done well so far.

Nicholas was nowhere in sight, although there were parts of the public spaces that
I couldn’t see from where I was standing. Had he left already? It would take James
a few minutes to get here from his FBI office. I didn’t want to run into Nicholas,
if he was still here, but I thought it would seem natural to stroll around the grounds
and admire the view, which was pretty impressive. I decided to start with the gazebo
structure at the far end and work my way back toward the drive.

The sinking sun was in my eyes, making it hard to see. I felt painfully exposed, crossing
large stretches of pavement, trying to look natural, all the while trying to keep
one eye out for Nicholas and the other out for James. But I figured that visibility
kept me safe.

I’d reached the last building, a small, round columned temple, which offered a commanding
view of the river, the train tracks, and highway across the river—and the rest of
the Water Works buildings. I leaned over the railing, admiring the cheerfully decorated
buildings of Boathouse Row to the north, before turning around and looking for Nicholas—and
I found him. No wonder I hadn’t seen him before: he was seated near the bottom of
a shallow flight of stone steps, almost like bleachers, which must have been twenty
feet below the level of the rest of the buildings. He was alone, staring across the
river.

James, where are you?

I hesitated, not sure whether to retreat while I still had the chance. It had been
some twenty minutes since Nicholas had left the meeting, so I had to assume he was
either lost in contemplation or was waiting for me. At that moment, he looked up and
noticed me. Now what? I had no choice but to raise my hand and wave. If I ignored
him, that would look suspicious. I figured I’d do better if I tried to act natural
(like that was possible). I was just a clueless fundraiser-turned-president who was
here to network with my peers and collaborate with local institutions in order to
share local history with the public. That was my job, and any other day it would have
been true. Today my job included distracting an employee so he’d stay around long
enough for the FBI to take him in for questioning in a string of murders.
So
not in my job description. But I was going to do my best, so I should go talk to
Nicholas and pretend it was business as usual. If I could do that with my heart trying
to jump out of my chest.

I crossed the pavement and went down the long flight of stairs that reached the level
where he was sitting. I plastered on a smile.

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” I called out as I approached.

Nicholas had resumed his contemplation of the slow-moving river, and now he turned
slowly to look at me. “I suppose I was caught up in the spirit of the place. It’s
quite striking, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” I stopped a safe few feet away from him and sat on the lowest tier of
steps.

Nicholas turned to look back at the row of columned buildings behind and above me.
“In the decades after it was first built,” he began, as if lecturing, “the Water Works
became a destination site in its own right. People would come here for recreation,
bring a picnic, and make an afternoon of it. Entertainment was much simpler then,
don’t you think?”

“I agree.” At least that was the truth. “And the so-called garden cemeteries like
Mount Laurel fall into the same category as the Water Works—entertainment for the
masses, unrelated to the underlying purpose. But to look at it another way, I often
think that people then had more time to focus in those days, because they weren’t
constantly inundated with imagery and . . . noise, I guess. Visual noise. Back then
they could stop and smell the roses, so to speak.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t
seem to stop myself. Did Nicholas notice? How long would it take James to look down
here, out of sight of most of the other buildings? Was he even coming? Had something
happened? What was I supposed to do, just go home as though everything was fine?

Nicholas went on, his voice almost dreamy, “Edwin Forrest used to enjoy an evening
constitutional along the river, when he was in Philadelphia—good for the breathing,
he thought. He’d come this way and profess to be surprised when he was recognized
by his fans, but in reality he fed off their adoration. In fact, he once gave an impromptu
performance of a bit of
Coriolanus
on the steps here—the setting with all the columns must have felt right. No amplification
then, of course, but I imagine his voice would carry regardless. Can’t you visualize
it?”

Oh, hell.
He knew I knew. I felt suddenly cold. He wasn’t looking at me, but rather out over
the river, gilded by the low sun. I on the other hand was staring at him as though
he were a snake poised to strike. Was he toying with me? How much did he know, or
guess? Should I bull my way through this absurd conversation? Should I run? Where
the hell was James?

Nicholas didn’t turn but he said quietly, “You know, don’t you? That’s why you’ve
been keeping tabs on me.”

Well, that answered that question. “I won’t bother to say, ‘know what?’”

“I’m glad to hear that, Nell. I do respect your intelligence.”

“What gave me away?”

“Little things. I know Felicity was checking the call slips—I saw them on her desk.
I’ve seen you poking around in the stacks, and I could tell what you were looking
for. My mistake. It never occurred to me that anyone would look at the slips if they
went hunting for the documents and didn’t find them. After all, nobody’s looked for
them for years. I didn’t want to muddy the provenance of the documents, which is why
I never took them out of the building—that would have cast doubt on their authenticity,
and that was the last thing I wanted.”

Suddenly I was tired of guessing, of trying to piece together fragments that made
no sense. I had the primary source sitting in front of me. “Nicholas, what
did
you want? What did those people ever do to you?”

Finally he turned to look at me. If I’d expected to see a monster emerging from behind
the facade, I was disappointed: Nicholas looked no more than mildly curious. He ignored
my question and said, “What do you know about Edwin Forrest?”

Humor him, Nell. Let him spin out his story until James shows up to save the day.
“I’ve learned a lot about him in the past couple of weeks. Forrest was one of the
first American superstars, if I may pin that anachronism on him.”

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. “That he was. Fiercely talented, extremely hardworking,
and dedicated to his profession, which, after all, took him from the mean streets
of Philadelphia to more places than he could ever have imagined. He changed the face
of American theater, almost single-handedly. And he was rewarded for it by the public,
in both praise and income.”

“He wasn’t exactly a saint. His private life was a mess,” I said bluntly, which might
not have been a good idea.
Not smart to cast aspersions on the idol of a serial killer, Nell.
But I was nervous.

“It was,” Nicholas agreed without rancor. “I think he had little patience for humdrum
realities—he thought he was above common judgment. And of course, his wife, Catherine,
was a slut.”

The term sounded harsh as he said it, although it was probably accurate. “Why does
he matter to you?”

“Oh, come on, Nell. I’m sure you’ve already guessed: you must have read the will by
now—it’s the basis for the trust. I’m a lineal descendant, although Forrest never
publicly acknowledged my ancestor. Times were different then. But I can prove that
I’m the last scion of Edwin Forrest.”

“I thought it had to be something like that.”
Damn, Nell, can’t you come up with something better than that?
“So, what? You felt your ancestor—it was a she, right?—she was deprived of what was
rightfully hers?”

Nicholas smiled at me. “Very good. Yes, in part. She was too willing to settle for
the crumbs he tossed her. I intend to claim what should have been her inheritance,
plus interest.”

“I’m sure you know others tried and failed.”

“You mean that pathetic distant cousin? I have a far stronger claim.”

“Nicholas, most people have never heard of Edwin Forrest, even in Philadelphia. How
did you come to know so much? About your ancestor? About the man himself?”
Spin it, Nell, just like Scheherazade. Just a little longer.

“Family history. Tales handed down from generation to generation. Surely you know
about that? Your good friend Marty can quote chapter and verse about what Major Jonathan
Terwilliger said and did in seventeen whatever. My family had less to work with, but
they treasured the small number of stories they had about Edwin. And we had a few
artifacts, memorabilia. They’ve all come to me now.

“My great-great-grandmother—Edwin’s bastard daughter, Elizabeth, to be specific—was
grateful for whatever scraps he threw to her. She received a tidy little legacy in
Edwin’s will and professed to be content. I’ll concede that perhaps they agreed that
if he had acknowledged her directly, she would have been dishonored in the eyes of
polite society. Of course, anyone with any sense still jumped to the logical conclusion
when they heard the terms of the will, but at least the fiction could be maintained.”

“Miss Lillie,” I said, almost to myself.

I didn’t intend for Nicholas to hear me, but apparently he had. “Very good! You have
been doing your homework! As I said, Elizabeth, or Lillie if you prefer, was content
with her share—after all, her nominal father was a well-to-do stockbroker, so she
was financially secure in any case. But what Edwin left her was a very small portion
of what he was worth at the time of his death. Instead of supporting his own flesh
and blood, he had to go and endow an absurd place to shelter decayed actors and actresses.
He was thinking of his future reputation, feeding his glorious ego. And now the trustees
want to give everything away. I was running out of time.”

“What is it that you want, Nicholas?” I said again. “Is this really about what’s left
of the money? How do you think you can get your hands on it? Because the lawyers went
through the will when Edwin died, and nobody managed to challenge it successfully.
What makes you different?”

His face flushed. “Because nobody back then could ever prove their case. I can prove
mine, far better than that pathetic cousin. I am Edwin Forrest’s direct descendant.”

“So that’s why you started working at Penn? Because you wanted access to its Forrest
collection?”

“Yes, so I could go through the library’s holdings carefully, without attracting too
much attention. And then the position opened up at the Society, which has most of
the rest of the materials. That was fortuitous, wasn’t it? I knew what I was looking
for, and I found it. Combined with what’s been handed down to me, there’s finally
enough to take to court. But then the damned trustees got it into their heads that
they should dissolve the trust, and if that happened, it would be too late for me.
I had to move quickly or lose my chance.”

What he said might make sense, but why resort to murder? “I can see why you would
need to do something, but why kill the trustees, if your case is as strong as you
say? Why not just take it to court? Or convince them to come to some sort of settlement?”

“I never intended to kill anyone. I approached them one at a time and made my case.
Most of them wouldn’t even listen to what I had to say, which I thought was rather
rude of them. And then I thought that perhaps a newer, younger appointment to the
board, someone with a fresh viewpoint, might be more willing to hear me out. More
flexible. Only, to install a new trustee I had to create a vacancy, which turned out
to be surprisingly easy.”

Somehow that didn’t quite jibe with the fact that he had gone calling on the trustees
armed with a baggie full of pills. Just in case they didn’t go along with his agenda?
But bringing that up now was
not
a good idea. He didn’t have to know how much we had already learned, or guessed.

“But, Nicholas—six people?” I said. “Wasn’t it clear that you weren’t going to win
them over?”

“They wouldn’t listen.” He said it as though it justified everything. This young man
had some serious delusions.