When I reached the Hamilton Room, instead of sitting in the audience, I pulled a chair over to the back wall and sat there. Under the circumstances, Aida would probably understand if I multitasked by checking up on a few suspects while listening to her talk. And Kevin had helped out by sending me a link to a page where he had collected a bunch of links, not only to stories about the Keepers, but also to Madelaine’s mother’s case, Ezekiel’s, and Amber Smith’s.
He’d helpfully labeled the links as either “good source” or “troll source.” Or “good source if I say so myself” in the couple of cases where the link was to the Virginia Crime Time website. I noticed that the troll sources included Godfrey for Justice and The Real Scooparino. I pulled out my notebook and jotted a reminder to ask Kevin if he knew the Scooparino’s real name. From what little I’d seen, he and Norton seemed to spend almost as much time attacking each other as analyzing cases—what if whoever was behind the Scooparino alias was here at the conference?
I learned that Ezekiel had been alibied by seventeen people who could all testify that on the evening in question he’d been helping bus tables and wash dishes in his cousin’s bar, not robbing a gas station an hour’s drive away. But since all of the witnesses were either related to Ezekiel or alleged to have been inebriated when the crime took place—not an unusual condition for the occupants of a bar between midnight and two A.M.—the prosecutor disparaged the testimony of the six who took the stand, and obviously the jury didn’t believe them. Why only six? Did some of them refuse to testify? Were some of them intimidated out of testifying? Did the defense think some of them wouldn’t make credible witnesses? And maddeningly, the police did not act in time to get hold of security camera footage at either the gas station or the bar. Not that grainy security footage from the eighties would necessarily be all that useful, but you never knew.
Ezekiel would probably still be in prison if the doomed gas station worker hadn’t pulled a gun from under the counter and exchanged gunfire with the robber. They’d tested the blood shed by the wounded robber: B negative. I remembered the statistics Dad was so fond of quoting. B negative was relatively rare, accounting for only about two percent of the human population—only AB negative was rarer. Unfortunately, they hadn’t arrested Ezekiel until several months had gone by—time enough for a minor wound to heal. And he was also B negative, which was the last nail in his coffin. But fortunately the blood samples they’d taken from the gas station floor were still in the police department’s evidence locker, and after many long years of legal skirmishing to force the authorities to allow it to be tested, Grandfather’s labs were able to demonstrate that the gas station robber may have shared a blood type with Ezekiel, but his DNA was different. They were even able to identify the owner of the DNA—a man who’d died in prison after killing the clerk at a liquor store he was robbing.
I glanced around and spotted Ezekiel, sitting at the far end of the front row, beaming as Aida deftly fielded questions about her work as a deputy and her experience as a Black woman in law enforcement. Was he thinking that perhaps, if he hadn’t been railroaded, he might have had a daughter like her? Or was he able to set aside might-have-beens and enjoy the sight of a strong young woman with a passion for justice making a good career for herself?
This was his first Christmas of freedom in nearly fifty years. Nothing we did could make up for those lost years—his stolen life. But we could damn well do our best to make this Christmas a merry one. I scribbled a reminder in my notebook to ask Festus what Ezekiel wanted or needed.
I moved on to the links about Amber—whom the Gadfly had dubbed the Black Widow of Virginia Beach. Most of the information tracked with what Amber had shared, both about her side of the story and what the trolls were promoting. About the only new bit of information was that she had grown up “on the wrong side of the tracks,” according to the prosecutor. I’d have said grown up poor in an abusive family and given her full credit for doing well enough in school to get a scholarship to Tidewater Community College. But only a partial scholarship—she still had to juggle a job along with her classes. So maybe instead of calling her a gold digger for marrying a wealthy older man, might the prosecutor want to consider that perhaps she saw her husband as the white knight who rescued her from a life of unending labor at minimum wage? And that maybe the last thing she’d have wanted was to kill the goose who was continuing to lay golden eggs at a rate of at least half a million dollars a year?
I decided that I was provisionally on Team Amber in this case. Although I’d need more time to consider whether I approved of her as a romantic interest for Kevin. She was only a couple of years older than him, but she almost certainly had a lot of baggage. So I’d wait and see. If Kevin was serious, he’d bring her to some family gatherings. Seeing how she handled that would give me much more scope for assessing her. And if Kevin was smart, he’d realize the same thing. Maybe I should start preparing Mother for meeting Amber at Christmas dinner. I got the impression she didn’t have any family of her own to celebrate with. Better yet, maybe I should start preparing Amber for surviving Mother’s scrutiny.
Not something I needed to worry about just yet. I focused back on Aida’s talk. She was currently fielding an annoyingly misogynistic question from a man in the audience.
“No, I don’t agree that I’m less capable of dealing with the physical requirements of the job than a male officer,” she was saying. “Physical combat isn’t that big a part of the job most days, and when it is—you want to arm wrestle? Compare our times on the hundred-yard dash? See which of us can bench-press more weight? Go down to the gun range and see who’s the better shot?”
The audience tittered slightly, probably because the heckler was a pudgy-looking thirtysomething man with the stereotypical pale complexion and bad posture of someone who spends more time online than anything else.
“Shouldn’t this clown at least wait till Norton is decently buried before trying to assume his mantle?” said a voice, almost in my ear. I started when I realized it was Amber. Had she been looking over my shoulder while I read up on her case?
“I should warn you, though,” Aida went on. “I can still fit into the uniform I wore when I was all-state in track and field, it’s been a while since I placed below the top ten in a statewide law enforcement marksmanship contest, and I hold a black belt in kenpo.”
“I’m not trying to cast aspersions on your qualifications,” the misogynist said. “Only—”
“Yeah, you are,” Aida said. “But I’m used to it.”
She smiled the sort of smile mothers use to warn their darlings that they are on very thin ice. Probably an expression the misogynist had seen a lot of in his time on this earth. He clamped his mouth closed and sat down.
Someone else was waving his hand in the air. Josh. Why weren’t he and the others busy with their quest to figure out how to escape the Inn without being seen? And what was he up to now?
“Deputy Butler,” he said, when she nodded at him. “Could you demonstrate some kenpo? Like what you’d do if a bad guy got the drop on you?”
“I might be persuaded,” Aida said. “If you and your buddies will serve as my ukes.”
Josh, Jamie, and Adam all leaped up and hurried to the front of the room.
“Uke?” Amber said, in a low tone.
“Literally, Japanese for ‘receiver,’” I said. “In martial arts, it’s the person who pretends to attack the instructor and gets thrown or punched or kicked or whatever.”
“The fall guy,” she said.
“It actually requires a certain amount of skill,” I said. “You have to know how to take a fall or a punch. A good teacher makes sure the uke has the expertise to keep from getting hurt.”
“So I gather your kids have had some training.”
I nodded. I could have added that I had, too, but it would sound like bragging, and anyway Aida was starting to explain what she was about to do and I shut up so I could hear her. And pulled out my cell phone so I could record what the boys were up to for Michael.
The audience watched in rapt fascination as Aida demonstrated what she would do if a thug—or a gang of up to three thugs—tried to punch her, choke her from behind, grab her gun arm, or slash at her with a knife—with the roles of gun and knife being played by a stapler and a large carrot, respectively. Josh, Jamie, and Adam happily mugged for the crowd in their roles as thugs.
The demonstration proved to be a big crowd-pleaser. I noted Cordelia scribbling something in her notebook. I suspected she was making a note to have Aida do a longer demonstration at her next conference. Maybe a self-defense course—Aida had plenty of experience doing that.
And maybe we could do it on short notice at this conference, if the needs of the murder investigation made it difficult for Chief Burke to do anything else he was scheduled for. I thought of taking out my program to see when those were, but I didn’t want to make it look as if I was impatient for Aida’s star turn to end.
Aida and the boys finished their demonstration and took bows. A good third of the audience surged up to the front to ask more questions. Another third or so were staying put, or moving up to get better seats for the next session—a presentation by one of the Innocence Project attorneys.
I stayed put long enough to email the video to Michael, then joined the remaining crowd, who were swarming out into the Gathering Area to hit the coffee, tea, and soda station. But once I got there, I realized that I was feeling a sudden strong disinclination to staying among the conference attendees. When I followed my impulse and stepped out into the relatively uncrowded main lobby, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.
Why?
It wasn’t just that any of the people in the chattering crowd could be the Gadfly’s killer. No, it was more that any of them could be one of the trolls I’d seen in the sites Kevin had steered me toward. Most of the people who posted and commented seemed like nice, decent people who just happened to be fascinated with true crime. But there were a few whose words were drenched in vitriol. I didn’t want to find out that one of these pleasant, smiling, friendly people in the Gathering Area was actually KinkySeeker or Avenger4zt or any of the other screen names that the worst of the trolls hid behind. And even after the chief caught the one person who’d killed Norton, there would still be plenty of trolls to carry on his nastiness.
I glanced toward the door of the staff conference room, where Chief Burke had set up his command center. The door opened, and someone came out. I recognized the faded red of her hair—Ellen Mays, Madelaine Taylor’s aunt. The chief strolled out with her, and they shook hands, smiling. I found myself hoping the smile meant that he’d eliminated her as a suspect.
The chief went back into the conference room. Ellen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. She suddenly looked older and more faded, as if her hair had gone grayer overnight. I tried to imagine her shooting Norton and couldn’t.
Then she opened her eyes and looked around as if unsure where to go.
I went over to join her.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Your chief seems to be a nice man, and I gather from what Kevin has said that he’s a straight arrow. But after my sister’s experience with small-town law enforcement—well, being interviewed by the police is just a bit unnerving. Brings back bad memories. And what if he decides I’m a prime suspect?”
“You’re probably in good shape,” I said. “Didn’t you go into town with Ginny and Janet to see the Christmas lights?”
“I did,” she said. “But I didn’t end up coming back with them. We parked someplace and walked around, visiting shops and listening to the strolling musicians and eventually ending up by the big Christmas tree in the town square. And there was such a crowd! We got separated, and I wandered around for what seemed like forever, looking for them.”
“I gather you didn’t have their number,” I said. “Or you could have called them.”
“I didn’t even have my phone,” she said. “So I couldn’t have called anyone. It ran out of juice by the end of the day’s program, so I took it to my room and left it there to charge while we had dinner. When they suggested going to see the Christmas lights, I thought about running up to get it, but I didn’t want to hold them up, and I didn’t exactly expect to get lost. I couldn’t even call a cab.”
“What did you do?”
“I went into the diner in the town square and had a cup of coffee to warm up,” she said. “And I started talking to the very nice lady behind the counter—her hair and mine were exactly the same shade of red.”
“That would probably be Muriel,” I said. “She’s the owner.”
“Yes, it was,” she said. “And she was so nice that I got up the nerve to ask if I could use her phone to call for a cab. And she said not to bother about a cab, she’d find me a ride. And in a few minutes, a nice young African American woman in a deputy’s uniform came in—”
“That would be Aida Butler,” I said, nodding.
“That’s right,” she said. “I wish I could have seen her session, but I didn’t want to put off Chief Burke. And I wanted to get my interview over with. Anyway, once she got her carryout coffee mug filled, she brought me back to the Inn. So all’s well that ends well. Thank goodness this is a small town. If we were in the city, I bet I’d have gotten mugged or something. But I have no idea what time it was when all this was happening. It was getting late by the time I got home. Do they know when he was killed?”
“Not yet.” Which wasn’t a lie. Dad hadn’t officially weighed in yet, and the chief probably wouldn’t appreciate my sharing anything I’d overheard while he and Dad and Horace were discussing the case. And had Sammy and George had any success finding the gunshot on the security footage? I shoved the question aside and focused back on Ellen, who still looked shaken. I reminded myself that this wasn’t necessarily the reaction of a guilty person. More likely the reaction of someone who’d had way too much personal experience of injustice.
“Muriel will remember when you came into the diner,” I said. “And while the town doesn’t have any kind of organized security system, the college does, and a lot of the shops, restaurants, and homes have their own systems. Even if it’s only a video doorbell, if one of those caught you at the right moment, you’d be alibied. And I bet the chief is already rounding up as much video as possible.”
“That’s a little reassuring,” she said. “But I won’t rest easy until I know they’ve apprehended whoever killed Norton. Because until they do, I’ll be worrying that maybe they’ll decide it was me.”
I nodded my agreement. And didn’t say aloud what ran through my mind—that leaving her phone in her room and getting separated from the Keepers when she went into town with them would be a pretty good way to muddy the waters if she had wanted to sneak away from the hotel to kill Norton. The fact that I had a hard time believing she could be a murderer didn’t mean she wasn’t.
“If it helps, the chief has a lot more experience with homicides than your average small-town police chief,” I said. “He spent over a decade as a homicide detective in Baltimore.”
“Also encouraging,” she said.
“And he’s not the kind of cop who’d let an innocent person take the rap for someone else’s crime,” I said. “Or he wouldn’t have Festus’s seal of approval. He’s actually helped with a couple of exonerations.”
“I’ll try to relax, then.” Her smile was brave and a little forced, but maybe she’d feel better when she put more time and distance between herself and her police interview.
“If you hurry, you can get a good seat for the Innocence Project people,” I said, mostly to distract her.
“Goodness! I do want to see them. Thank you!”
She bustled off toward the conference area. I was about to follow her when—
“Mom?”
I turned to find Jamie standing behind me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We’re ready to see if we can sneak out of the hotel without you guys catching us,” he said. “Can you meet Ekaterina in her office?”
“Sure thing,” I said.
“Great!” he exclaimed and raced off.