A Drunkard's Path (29 page)

He laughed. “I would have thought you would admire that move. Besides, withholding information like that is suspicious.”

“You didn’t think Jesse was the killer?”

“I think everyone’s the killer. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“I guess I do too,” I said.

If I was going to get anything from him, I knew I needed to give him something in exchange, so I told him about Kennette’s secretive behavior and her knowledge of the LSA Fellowship.

“And I have a feeling there’s more going on between Oliver and Kennette than they are letting on,” I finished.

I wasn’t about to tell him about my visit to Oliver’s house. One episode of breaking and entering might amuse him; I couldn’t take the chance that he’d feel the same way about two.

“You’re really stuck on Oliver being the guy,” he said.

“More like I’m trying to prove he isn’t. You’re the one who called him in for questioning.”

“For all the good it did me,” he snorted. “Tell me why an innocent man refuses to cooperate in an investigation.”

“He said he wouldn’t help?” I asked.

“He told me that Sandra was a student, nothing more, and he had no knowledge of Lily Harmon. He was adamant about that.”

I didn’t ask him if he knew that Lily’s real name was Price. I assumed he did but didn’t want me to know. Instead I suggested a simple explanation for Oliver’s behavior. One I wasn’t sure I believed.

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” I said.

“Then why refuse a consent search at his house?” Powell volleyed back. “Why refuse to provide fingerprints or DNA for comparison?”

“You have DNA of the killer?” I asked, stunned.

This was a huge break that Jesse had never mentioned. And the thought that he had kept it from me stung.

“No.” Powell said excitedly. “Not the killer. The victim.”

“That makes no sense. Why would . . .” And then it hit me. “You think Oliver and Sandra were related?”

Powell stared at the floor, shaking his head repeatedly as if he were trying to decide something.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “Maybe there are a few things you should know.”

He got up from his desk and walked over to a filing cabinet. He took out a box and walked back to the desk.

“This really is something I shouldn’t be sharing with you,” he said. “I can’t stress that enough. I expect you to be discreet with the information.”

Well that’s a mistake, I thought. I had five amateur detectives waiting for any information I could find.

“Absolutely,” I lied.

 

 

 

 

T
here were newspaper clippings, gallery flyers downloaded from the Internet, photocopies of photographs—all about Oliver. I could barely look away from them I was so fascinated by the sheer volume of paper. But I had to know.

“Where did you get these?” I finally asked.

“Lily.” Powell grabbed a chair and pulled it next to mine. He started going through the papers until he found one he obviously wanted me to see. It was a marriage certificate for Oliver Lyons and Violet Hammel.

“Why would Lily have all this?” I asked.

“She was his granddaughter.”

“That’s not possible. He never had any kids.”

Powell got up and went to his desk. He opened a file and handed me a slip of paper.

“It’s a birth certificate,” I said. “It shows that Violet Kelly and Gerard Kelly had a daughter named Rachel on September 23, 1957, in London, England.” I handed him back the certificate. “I know Violet is Oliver’s ex-wife, but all this proves is that she remarried and had a family. There’s no tie to Oliver.”

“There is, if that little girl was actually Oliver’s daughter. Oliver’s divorce from Violet was finalized three days before she married Kelly. And the girl was born only two months later.”

“You think Oliver walked out on his pregnant wife?” I asked. “Then she just married some other guy.”

“It was 1957. She may not have felt like she could raise a kid on her own. How would she support it?” Powell tapped the paper. “And Oliver skipped the country.”

“Still, it seems pretty cold to leave your pregnant wife to fend for herself.”

“Doesn’t he seem like the type to you?”

I paused. Maybe not now. Now he seemed happy to be in the classroom or with my grandmother. But fifty years ago, based on everything I knew about him, I had to admit, he did seem the type.

“But this is just speculation,” I pointed out. “Can you prove Lily was Violet’s granddaughter?”

Powell shrugged. “I’m working with Canadian authorities to get the birth certificates for Rachel’s children. Then I can at least prove Lily’s relationship to Violet.”

“But that doesn’t prove Oliver’s related.”

Powell shook his head. “But because Rachel’s birth certificate lists Gerard Kelly as the father, I’d need DNA from White to prove that he’s actually Rachel’s father—and therefore Lily’s grandfather.”

“Why not get DNA from Rachel?”

“That only proves she’s related to Lily,” Powell said, “and that’s taken care of. I need Oliver to confirm the rest.”

“Does Oliver know that’s why you need his DNA?” I asked.

The whole situation was puzzling. I’d come in here looking for information about Oliver’s night of interrogation, but this was more than I had bargained for.

“The night I tracked down where Lily had been living, that was the night I brought Oliver in. I showed him all of it,” Powell said. “I explained that we found this among Lily’s things. He didn’t seem interested.”

“He denied it?”

“No. He just sat there staring into space. He didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t answer any. He certainly didn’t cooperate. Strange for an innocent man, don’t you think?”

I did. “But why would Oliver kill his granddaughter? Maybe he would kill a lover, like Sandra, if they were lovers,” I said, “but why kill his granddaughter?”

“That’s why I wanted a consent search of his house. I wanted to find first, evidence that Lily or Sandra or both had been there; and second, a motive,” Powell said. “I know in my gut that he’s hiding something in that house.”

I searched my brain for anything that might fit what Powell was searching for. There was only one suspicious item—the painting of Kennette. But even if I’d been willing to tell him I’d seen it, it would hardly help find a motive for Lily’s death.

“Can’t you just get a warrant?”

“Not enough probable cause. If I can’t prove a connection to Lily, then I can’t get a warrant to search the house. And if I can’t search his house, I can’t get the connection. It’s so damned frustrating.”

“You said you found the certificate among Lily’s things,” I remembered. “Where did you find Lily’s things?”

“She had a small apartment near Peekskill,” he said. “She was subleasing it from some guy, so the whole thing was illegal. That’s why it took so long to find. She had a roommate but that person was long gone when we arrived. The place was trashed, but I found these.”

“It has to mean something,” I agreed. I just didn’t know what.

I got up to leave but I had one nagging question.

“Was Jesse involved in any of this?”

Powell nodded. “Sure. Obviously it’s technically his case. He brought his people to Lily’s apartment. In fact they were there before I even arrived on the scene. But he didn’t think there was cause to bring Oliver in for questioning.”

“So you did that on your own?”

“And as I guess you have found out, Chief Dewalt does not care for people doing things behind his back.”

That made me smile a little. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only person in the doghouse over this case.

“Can he force you off the case?” I asked.

Powell smiled. “No. After he calmed down, he was just interested in the information. Jesse’s a stand-up guy but he’s a little cautious. I think he secretly appreciates it when someone else jumps into the fray.”

“I hope so.”

Powell patted my shoulder. “Give him time. Then when he’s ready, you tell him what you’ve learned and he’ll listen.”

“And he should be grateful,” I added.

“Don’t push it.”

As I left I made a promise to share anything I found with Powell, and he generously offered me the same. I knew I was lying and I assumed he was as well. But even if he only shared a little, and only when he hoped I’d offer something in return, it was still more than Jesse was doing.

It had been a confusing conversation, with more maybes than actual proof. But I walked away with a possible connection between Oliver and Lily. That was more than I’d gone in with. I already had a connection between Oliver and Sandra. If Oliver really was guilty of murder, then it seemed to me that he needed one motive—one reason both women had to die.

And if there wasn’t one motive, then I needed to find two killers: someone who had killed Lily, perhaps because she was Oliver’s granddaughter, and someone who had copied elements of the first murder to kill Sandra.

Just thinking about it exhausted me. Finding one killer looked to be nearly impossible. I didn’t even want to think about the odds of finding two.

 

 

 

 

“H
e killed Sandra because she wanted his money. And he killed Lily because she wanted his money,” Natalie offered. “That’s one motive.”

“Oliver doesn’t care about money,” I pointed out.

“But he cares about his reputation,” Susanne offered.

Natalie, Susanne, and Natalie’s son Jeremy sat with me at a diner in Morristown an hour after I’d finished my meeting with Powell. While we waited for our sandwiches, I recounted what Powell had said. I knew it meant telling the story again to the rest of the group, but they weren’t available and I couldn’t wait.

“I think the best news is what Powell said about Jesse. That once Jesse has calmed down he’ll forgive you for all of this meddling,” Susanne offered.

“Let’s stay focused,” I said.

Although I did think it was good news that Jesse might be willing to get past our difference of opinion, I didn’t think there was any point in even entertaining the idea until the murder was solved.

“What is Oliver’s reputation anyway?” Natalie asked, pulling me back to the subject at hand. “And how does having a granddaughter, or an affair with a beautiful young woman, tarnish his reputation? He’s an artist. The more scandal the better. I mean, look how his career took off. He got arrested and sold out a show.”

“I agree,” I said. “And it’s possible that he wasn’t having an affair with Sandra. We’ve only been guessing at that.”

“Then why were they so cozy together?” Susanne asked.

I was about to shrug my shoulders when it hit me. The kind words. The crying in the parking lot. The money.

“Maybe Sandra was his granddaughter,” I said.

“Did she kill Lily?” Susanne asked. “And if she did, then maybe Oliver was protecting her, but somebody got to her when Oliver was at Eleanor’s dinner party with you.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe Oliver killed Lily. Sandra knew and was blackmailing him, so he killed Sandra.”

“He killed his own granddaughter?” Susanne seemed alarmed at the idea.

“He didn’t even know her,” Natalie pointed out. “He didn’t care enough about his daughter to stick around for her birth, so why should he care about his granddaughter?”

“Then why would Oliver kill her?” Susanne asked.

“I got it,” Natalie jumped up, alarming Jeremy to the point that he burst into tears.

Susanne grabbed her grandson and held him tightly.

“Lily was Oliver’s granddaughter. Powell’s right about that,” Natalie said. “But Sandra killed Lily and Oliver killed her.”

I sat back and went over the details in my head. Sandra could have killed Lily. “That has to be it,” I agreed. “Oliver killed Sandra because she killed Lily.”

Susanne turned her attention from Jeremy to us.

“If he killed the woman who killed his granddaughter, it was rage and grief, not cold-blooded murder,” Susanne said. “If that’s the case, it’s okay. He could still be with Eleanor.”

We both looked at her.

“He’d still go to jail,” I pointed out.

“Only if we tell,” Susanne said. “And if Oliver was driven to do what he did, then why should he spend the rest of his life in jail? And why should we break Eleanor’s heart?”

We looked at one another in silence.

“Because he’s a killer,” I finally said.

“Besides, if we’re figuring this out, don’t you think that maybe Jesse or Powell will figure it out?” Natalie asked quietly.

Susanne nodded sadly, but she had punctured a hole in our excitement. By trying so hard to find a link between Lily and Oliver, Natalie and I had both forgotten what such a discovery might do to Eleanor.

We sat eating our lunch in silence, trying to find a way to solve the murder without hurting my grandmother.

“We don’t really know what happened. Powell’s just guessing and so are we,” I pointed out. “We have no idea whether Oliver was Lily’s or Sandra’s grandfather. And even if he was, we have no idea if Oliver knew. And even then, we don’t have a motive for why he would kill either woman.”

“So what do we do?” Natalie looked as overwhelmed as I felt.

“We take it step-by-step. First we have to prove that Oliver was related to one of the victims,” I said. “Then we have to see if it leads us to a motive.”

“And if it was rage over the death of his granddaughter, can we let sleeping dogs lie?” Susanne asked.

I swallowed hard. “No. If he’s the killer we turn him in, no matter who it hurts.” I turned my eyes to a now comforted Jeremy, sleeping in his grandmother’s arms.