Within moments, Officer Brownley returned with four uniformed officers, including Griff.
“Let’s go,” she told me.
An itchy kind of breathlessness took hold of me, and I felt my energy begin to focus sharply on the events at hand. I was entering crisis mode.
I started down the hallway, and said, “The second door on the right. That’s his assistant’s office. His private office is behind it. Same layout as Gerry’s suite.”
She nodded and pointed that I was to take my place at the end of the line.
“This is a search warrant,” Officer Brownley announced to the assistant. “Please stand up and move away from the desk.”
She accepted the search warrant, her jaw opening and closing several times. Finally she turned toward the inner office. “Mr. Anderson!” she called. “It’s the police.”
Ned appeared at the doorway, his eyes skimming over the officers until they reached me. “Josie,” he said, his eyes narrowed. To the police, he asked, “What’s going on?”
“We’re here to search your office. Please stand over there,” Officer Brownley informed him. Turning to me, she demanded, “Where’s the walking stick?”
“In the far corner on the left,” I replied.
“I think I need to request you to stop,” Ned said coldly, stepping into the doorway, blocking entry.
“Read the warrant,” Officer Brownley told him. “We’re coming in.”
“No,” he stated, and an icy shiver rippled up my spine.
“You gotta move,” she told him in a voice of reason.
“No,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“You move or we’re going to move you.”
“I’m glad I have a disinterested witness in my assistant. I’m sure my lawyer will be glad to know that she observed you threaten me with bodily harm.”
“Read the warrant, sir,” she suggested again. “Like it says, we’re here legally.”
He crossed his arms and a sardonic sneer came over his face. He leaned against the doorjamb as if he had all the time and not a concern in the world, and raised his chin in imperial disdain.
One of the officers whose name I’d forgotten was young and big. He stepped forward, put his hands on both of Ned’s upper arms, and pushed. Ned hurtled backward. Officer Brownley turned to me and said, “Point it out.”
I entered the room and looked into the corner where I’d seen it perch. It wasn’t there. “It’s not here,” I said.
“Where is it, sir?” Officer Brownley asked.
Ned sneered and looked down his nose at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To me she asked, “Where’s the clock?”
I turned toward his desk and I gaped. The ornately carved clock was missing, too. “It’s gone. Look, you can see the bracket,” I said, pointing. “It hung right there.”
“Mr. Anderson,” Officer Brownley said, “I need to ask you some questions. We’d like you to come down to the station.”
“No way,” he said with a contemptuous huff.
“Sir,” she said, her tone reasonable, even kind, “if you don’t, I’ll arrest you as a material witness. You need to come with us. As a cooperative volunteer or as a noncooperative citizen under arrest. Your choice.”
“You’re going to have to arrest me. And then I stand mute until my lawyer arrives. Period. End of discussion.”
“As you wish, sir,” she said, unimpressed, and placed him under arrest.
With his hand on Ned’s elbow, Griff walked him out of the suite. Ned turned to his assistant, resisting Griff’s directive touch, and said, “Call my lawyer and tell him what’s happening. Get a receipt for anything they take.”
She nodded and reached for the phone.
“What was his schedule today?” Officer Brownley asked.
“Don’t answer that! Don’t say a word,” he called from the door. “Do you hear me? Not one word!”
Wide-eyed, she looked from Ned to Officer Brownley and back. Ned’s angry shouts and instructions faded as he was led down the corridor.
“It’s not up to him whether you talk to the police. We could use your assistance and you can absolutely answer that if you want to,” Officer Brownley said, her pleasant manner contrasting with his vituperative diatribe.
She smiled. “We got in about the same time. In fact, we met in the parking lot and walked in together. That was just about eight. As far as I know, he hasn’t left since.”
“Not even for a minute?”
“Not while I’ve been here.” She shrugged. “But I went to lunch around noon for an hour.”
“You didn’t see him carry anything out?”
“No.”
“How about in?” Officer Brownley asked out of the blue. “Do you often arrive at the same time?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “It happens pretty often.”
“On the morning after Rosalie Chaffee’s murder, can you recall seeing Mr. Anderson carry anything
in
?”
She thought back. “The leather bag, you mean?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Ned was carrying a tote bag. He said it was for Gerry and took it straight to his office. I didn’t think anything about it.”
Hidden in plain sight,
I thought.
Rosalie must have left her bag in his car the night before and he didn’t notice it until he got to work. He couldn’t leave such damning evidence in his car and he couldn’t just drive away without calling attention to himself. As the best of bad options, he carried Rosalie’s bag into her office, early, before Tricia and Gerry were in, and left it on Rosalie’s desk
.
“Thanks. I’m going to ask that you come with us, too, to give us a statement.”
She swallowed. “All right.”
To me, Officer Brownley said, “Josie, you can go now. Just in case, I’m going to ask one of the officers to escort you.”
I didn’t argue or delay. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. With the young male officer following, I fled, barely waving to Una. She was standing behind her counter, still openmouthed.
Outside, I paused in the frigid air to take several deep breaths.
“Where are you parked?” the police officer asked.
“Over there.” I pointed. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to take just a minute and get myself together.”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll pull up near your car.”
I began to pace the parking lot, trying to quiet my thudding heart and quell the sick feeling in my stomach. I came to the executives’ assigned parking places and stopped in front of Ned’s. I hadn’t thought to look before, but here it was—more damning evidence.
I called Officer Brownley on her cell phone. She answered on the first ring.
“What is it?”
“Ned’s car. It’s dark blue and boxy looking. I don’t know what kind of car it is. It’s all mucked up, smeared with salt residue and mud. And guess what?”
“What?”
“There’s no license plate in front.”
“Got ya,” she said. “We’ll take care of it.”
I got in my car and called Gretchen.
“Listen, I’m done for the day.”
“Is everything all right?” she asked, concerned at my out-of-character decision to quit work early.
“Terrific!” I said, faking it. “Can you put Sasha on, please?”
“Hello,” Sasha said hesitantly.
“You know Lesha’s letter and the photos Gretchen took of the palette? Would you please scan in the letter and e-mail it to me, along with a photo of the palette?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be looking for it.”
I laughed as I caught myself checking the side and rearview mirrors.
No more!
I thought, elated. The weight of fear was slowly dissipating. It felt as if I were suddenly free after being trapped in a dark room for days. I raised and lowered my shoulders several times to relax. I couldn’t stop grinning. I slipped a McCoy Tyner CD in the player and boogied to the primal beat of a master pianist. After a few minutes, I turned down the volume and called Wes.
“As promised, you’re my first call,” I told him. “Meet me at the Blue Dolphin at six. In the lounge.”
“You got it,” he said, and hung up.
When I pulled into my driveway, I saw Frankie shoveling Zoë’s walkway to widen the path to the door. He was wearing an unembellished black parka instead of his “bitches” leather jacket.
Good for him,
I thought. I called hello and he waved back. I thanked the police officer for the escort and let myself into my house.
I stripped as I rushed upstairs, and within a minute, I was in the shower. I didn’t come out until my skin was pruney. I kept having an urge to laugh.
Relief manifests itself in peculiar ways,
I thought.
Wrapped in my pink robe, I called Officer Brownley.
“I think it’s okay for me to dispense with the police escort. What do you think?”
“I think you’re right. Evidence is mounting.”
“Like what?” I asked, wondering if she’d answer.
“Like the walking stick and the cuckoo clock. They were in his trunk, wrapped in garbage bags.”
I thanked her again, and made myself a drink. I smiled as I thought of the largess I was about to bestow on Wes. He would be getting the goods on three separate, interesting stories. Just before I left to drive to the Blue Dolphin, I forwarded him the documents relating to Lesha’s attempted grand larceny, the ones Sasha had e-mailed me.
Once we were settled at a corner table overlooking the river, I explained that the police hadn’t yet decided whether Lesha would be charged with any crime, but that I doubted that she would be. He was relentless in ferreting out details about Rosalie’s priceless journal and begged for photos, a commitment I refused to make. He asked for details about Cooper’s motives and his alleged intentions. And he positively lapped up my on-the-scene account of Ned’s arrest like a cat with cream.
“You should have taken some photos with your cell phone,” he grumped after I’d filled him in.
“You’re welcome, Wes.”
He shot me a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks.” He slipped his notebook into an inside jacket pocket. “Why was Ned stalking you anyway?”
“He was trying to scare me off.”
“But you weren’t the only person tracking Rosalie’s killer. What about the police? What about me?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’ll tell you what I think. Ned is arrogant. He wasn’t worried about the police, but he knew that I had specialized knowledge that put him at risk. Especially if he thought I had access to inside information because I date the police chief.”
“What kind of specialized knowledge?”
“Wood—I can often identify wood just by looking at it.” I shrugged. “He’d seen me do it.”
“If that’s the case, why wouldn’t he just threaten you directly? Sending flowers is kind of . . . I don’t know . . . not really intimidating.”
“He did, but only later when things got more worrisome for him. Remember the sequence—at first Ned was only a little concerned. He saw how upset Rosalie got when she received flowers from a secret admirer. I bet he decided to see if the same strategy would work to get me to back off. It was only later, after Ned saw us talking at the diner and overheard conversations on my cell phone, that the threats became more explicit.”
“What did he hear?”
“You remember . . . one time you mentioned that there were splinters and I confirmed that I could easily identify wood. And another time, when I was talking to Officer Brownley, I described the clanging sound from his cuckoo clock.” I shrugged. “So he became more aggressive.”
“Are you saying that Ned considered you to be a bigger threat than me?” Wes asked, bristling with wounded pride.
I smiled. “Yes.”
He smiled and sat back. “Okay, okay—you’re a regular Hootin’ Annie.”
“Who’s Hootin’ Annie?” I asked.
“I made it up,” Wes said, standing. “Gotta go. Thanks, okay?”
I mock saluted him and sipped my icy-smooth Bombay Sapphire as I watched the beam of a distant lighthouse illuminate the night giving hope to sailors and protecting the coast. I recalled some lines from a Robert Frost poem:
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
No one lit up Ned’s dark night and Rosalie was entirely unprepared for his rage. I wanted to be in Ty’s arms to chase away the haunting image of Rosalie all alone, hunted, and finally caught.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
T
hree days later, I was in a cab en route to Georgetown when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“It’s me. Paige,” she said.
“How are you?”
“Okay. That’s why I wanted to call. I wanted to let you know that I was okay. So far they seem really nice.”
I felt another weight fall from my shoulders. “I’m so glad to hear that, Paige.”
“My room faces west and if you squint you can sort of see the ocean.”
“That’s way cool.”
“Yeah, and tonight we’re going shopping for sheets and curtains. They said I can pick out whatever I want.”
“Fun! Do you know what you’ll choose?”
“I think maybe similar to Mackenzie. Her room is lavender and apple green. I love it.”
“Sounds like a really good choice. Paige, thank you for calling. You’ve made my day!”
“You’re welcome. This number is my cell phone. They got it for me.”
“Really?”
She giggled. “Yeah. Mackenzie said everyone has one. I don’t have all that many minutes, though, on the monthly plan.”
“Well, anytime you want to talk, you can call me and I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracked a bit as she went on. “Josie?”
“Yes?”
“You’re still coming for the funeral, right?”
“Absolutely. I miss her, too, Paige. And I want to see your new room.”
“Thank you.”
I smiled the rest of the way to the Holiday Inn where Ty was staying.
Ty had left a key for me at the front desk. He’d explained in a voice mail he’d be back by five or a little after, and dinner was at a restaurant within walking distance at six-thirty.
I stepped into the room and was greeted by a Bach concerto emanating from the radio. A bouquet of mixed flowers, still encased in plastic and bound by rubber bands, stood in the hotel room coffeepot. Nearby was a bottle of J sparkling wine chilling in an ice bucket. Next to it was a grocery-store container of grape tomatoes, one of my favorite nibbles. An envelope with my name on it rested against the makeshift vase.
I opened it. On the outside was a cartoon figure of a man, looking downcast, and the words,
When I’m away from you
. . . Inside it read,
all of me misses you.
Ty had added,
I love you, Ty
.
I clutched it to my chest, moved beyond words, heartened and overjoyed.
Showered and wrapped in my favorite pink chenille bathrobe, with my little black dress steam-pressed, hanging on the shower rod, I was sitting on the bed, eating grape tomatoes, reading my Rex Stout, when Ty came into the room.
I leaped out of bed exclaiming, “Ty!” and flew into his arms, nearly toppling him over.
“Whoa!” he said once he got purchase, holding me tight. “I ought to go away more often.”
“Thank you
so
much for the flowers and the card and the Champagne and the tomatoes.”
“It’s sparkling wine, and did you notice it has your initial on it?”
“Only fitting,” I said in a queenly tone.
I watched as he turned the bottle to ease out the cork and poured the wine into plastic cups that he found in the bathroom.
“Yum, this is delicious.” I smiled and raised my glass in a silent toast. “Any news about Ned?”
“Yeah. There’s confirmation that Ned is the secret admirer.”
I took a deep breath. “What is it?”
“The man who ordered the flowers—the homeless guy? He picked Anderson out of a lineup. Without hesitation.”
“Wow! I wonder why he didn’t pick him out from the photos?” Ty grinned. “Maybe ’cause we didn’t include Ned’s photo in the display.”
“Yeah, that would do it.” I laughed. “Ned sure operated under the radar. What else?”
“Ned’s fingerprints match some of the items Rosalie pasted into her scrapbook.”
“Wow.”
“And Rosalie’s fingerprints are on the walking stick—just the way they might be if she fended off a blow.”
“And the splinters?” I asked.
“Yup. A definite fit to slivers missing on the walking stick. We’ve sent out samples for DNA analysis. There’s more. We found four disposable cell phones in Ned’s office, all purchased in Maine. And, best of all, Edie confirmed that she followed Gerry to the restaurant and then followed Rosalie. She saw Ned and Rosalie stop near the jetty. Rosalie jumped out of the car and ran away, with Ned in pursuit. The moon was bright enough for her to see them tussle. She watched as Ned hit her, and she was there when Rosalie fell. And then she drove away.”
“Gotta love a good Samaritan who comes to the aid of a damsel in distress.”
“That pretty much sums up Edie.”
“I still can’t believe she didn’t come forward,” I said. “She must have known that Ned was the killer.”
“She says that she didn’t want to admit that she’d been following Gerry.”
I shrugged. “Maybe that’s true, but I can’t help thinking that she stayed quiet for another reason—she was happy Rosalie was dead.”
“Maybe,” Ty acknowledged, shaking his head.
“But wouldn’t Gerry have known she’d been up to something?” I asked. “Edie got home
after
him.”
“He says that he went straight to his study, poured himself a cognac, and did some work. Believe it or not, he says he didn’t notice that she, or her car, was gone. Really a testimony to their closeness. He just figured she was already asleep. When she got back, she found him in the study. She didn’t tell him where she’d been and he didn’t ask.”
What a ménage,
I thought. Self-centered, self-serving, and self-absorbed.
“What do you think? Is Ned’s goose cooked?”
“Probably. The splinters from his cane are pretty damning.” He shrugged. “But there’s no proof he pushed her off of the jetty. She might have fallen.”
I nodded, thinking of the complexities of winning a conviction.
“Officer Brownley called this morning. Cooper is insisting that Rosalie gave him the copy of the journal, that they were going to coauthor a paper.”
“No way!” I objected.
“The cease-and-desist order she had her lawyer send pretty much takes the air out of that argument.”
“Good,” I said. “I hope he does jail time.”
Ty smiled. “He might, actually. And the Portsmouth police have picked up Lesha Moore for questioning,” he told me.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. The ADA doesn’t think it’ll go to trial, but from what Officer Brownley told me, he was pretty outraged.”
“Understandable reaction—it’s outrageous.”
“They also thought it was pretty outrageous that you discuss the case with the press.”
I took a sip of wine and considered how to respond. I knew the police used the media when it was to their advantage by leaking stories, soliciting tips, and alerting them to upcoming events, but I also knew they resented it when private citizens did the same.
“Will I be hearing from them about it?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said, half smiling. “It’s pretty hard to argue with the end result.”
We finished the sparkling wine and got ready for the evening’s festivities.
Later, back in the room, half asleep, after a tasty meal and silly toasts among the new hires who obviously enjoyed one another’s company, I asked, “Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve been thinking about Rosalie.”
“And?”
“She wasn’t perfect, you know? But she was a really good sister. It matters so much. I think that Paige will have tons of good memories to sustain her.”
Ty reached out and stroked my check. “You’re a good friend to her.”
“Thanks,” I said, and snuggled close.
When I checked messages the next morning en route to the airport for my flight back to New Hampshire, there was one from Mrs. Woodricky.
“I asked my brother to see if he could find the palette, and he did. I don’t want it anymore. Please pick it up from him and sell it.”
She left his address and phone number. I was about to call her back when I decided to skip it. I’d need to talk to her about selling it, and the police about whether the real palette would be needed as evidence in Lesha’s trial, if there was one, but I didn’t need to do it now. Work could wait, I decided, until I was back at work.
Ty called on a break and caught me just before the plane took off.
“What’s for dinner?”
I laughed. “When?”
“Tonight. They’re letting us out at one, so I should be home by five or so.”
“Excellent. What do you want?”
“Let’s go out and celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“My new job, our being together, and whatever else occurs to us.”
“Date,” I said, and smiled the whole flight home.