CHAPTER TEN

 

The volunteers who'd already given their contact information to the police were huddled as far away from the interview desk as they could get, at the end of the conference table nearest the exit, standing there and nibbling on their lunches. Even the reportedly fabulous pot stickers didn't seem to be cheering them up.

Dee and Emma were being interviewed together by Fred, which had to be against the rules, but he had enough sense to know when to bend the rules a bit. After the fiasco of Emma's wrongful arrest a few months ago, there was no way Dee would have let Emma be questioned alone, even for something as simple as contact information. Dee had a tendency to get whatever she wanted, and she didn't care about making a scene to get it. In fact, I sometimes thought the prospect of making a scene was what would keep her alive well into her hundreds.

I headed for the conference table to get my lunch, still keeping an eye on Fred's interactions with Dee and Emma. I found the take-out container with my name on it and peered inside. It looked good, although it had cooled to room temperature. I ate one of the pot stickers anyway, curious to see if it lived up to its reputation. Even cold, I could taste why Jayne was so enthusiastic about them.

After a minute or two, Dee and Emma got up and returned to their sewing machines. Jayne Connors was giving her contact information to Fred now. I could hear her shrill voice all the way across the room, piercing the background music and the subdued conversation of the other quilters.

Fred began his interview with what was probably a simple request for Jayne's name and contact information. I could only guess at his words; his deep voice wasn't pitched to be heard much beyond the desk where he was working. Jayne's response, however, came across clearly, thanks to her shrill tone. She gave her name as Jenny Smith and then rattled off a street that I didn't recognize, along with a phone number that didn't have a Danger Cove exchange.

I finished about half of my cold lunch and then tossed the rest in the trash container at the other end of the conference table. I looked up to see Meg returning from another bathroom trip. She went over to chat with Jayne, who'd finished her interview.

Right behind Meg, Faria came through the entrance, not looking particularly chastened by his conversation with Detective Ohlsen. That was just as well, since he was heading in my direction.

"Still haven't solved it?" Faria said with what he apparently thought was a light, teasing tone but came across as unbearably smug.

"I haven't really tried to solve it." I'd talked with some potential witnesses and mulled over their responses, but that was only a small part of what a real investigator would do. "It's not my job."

"That's right," he said as if he'd caught me in some sort of gaffe. "Your job is to tear down everyone else's work, making it impossible for us to get the bad guys off the street."

I'd heard that sort of thing about lawyers so often that it didn't bother me. Which was just as well, now that I couldn't handle stress very well. "That's one way of looking at it."

"You won't be able to mess up our case this time," Faria said. "It's obvious what happened here. I just saw the criminal history record on the victim. He's got prior arrests, all drug related. No convictions, but where there's smoke, there's fire. That must have been why he got killed. A drug deal gone bad."

"That's one theory," I said lightly.

"It's not like I'm happy about it," Faria said. "I wish there was another theory that made any sense. A drug deal gone bad like this, well, you know how it is. It usually ends as a cold case. I was really hoping there'd be something I could do to prove how useful I can be, but there's nothing to really investigate in this type of case."

"Just because the victim had a substance abuse problem, that doesn't mean he was killed in a drug deal."

"What else could it be?" Faria said. "Young guy with a habit gets knifed in a back alley. That seems pretty cut and dried to me."

"I wouldn't exactly describe the grounds of the museum as a back alley. This section of town has always seemed quite safe to me."

"The definition of back alleys has expanded. They can be anywhere the dealers are. Dealers and their clients take legitimate cell phone apps and twist them for use in coordinating drug deals. The victim could have ordered a drug delivery while he was standing right next to you, and you'd never have guessed what he was up to."

Alan had definitely used his phone shortly before his death. He'd said it was to call for a ride home, but since he'd had to go outside to get service, I hadn't actually heard the conversation. Could Alan have been ordering take-out narcotics, much like I'd ordered take-out food?

I hated to give Faria even that much benefit of the doubt. There had to be another explanation for what had happened to Alan. I just wished I had another theory to offer, but it was hard to imagine a killer lurking outside this museum or, really, anywhere on Danger Cove's Main Street.

Unless the killer was a thief, like Gil had suggested, and Alan had put up a struggle when someone tried to take his grandmother's quilt. I hadn't stopped to think about what had happened to the quilt until just now, but it hadn't been anywhere near his body. Maybe, as Dee and Emma believed, it had been the motive for the murder, and the killer had taken it.

"Did you see a quilt anywhere in the parking lot? White background, mostly green patches, with some red ones?" Then I remembered Alan had put it in a box before leaving. A thief might have thought there was something valuable in it. "Or perhaps a box big enough for a bed-sized quilt to fit in?"

"I have more important things to do than keep track of someone's blankie."

I was used to Faria's disdain for anything he didn't understand. Money he understood, but I couldn't honestly say that the quilt had enough financial value to make him pay attention. "It just seems odd that it wasn't right next to him. I know for a fact that Alan Miller was carrying a quilt when he left here, and he wouldn't have let it go without a struggle. It should have been near the body."

"Are you saying it was valuable?" Faria perked up. "Worth killing for?"

"No quilt is truly worth killing for, and this one isn't even worth much money. It does have a great deal of sentimental value though, and that type of emotional attachment can make a person go to seemingly irrational lengths to protect his possessions. Could you take me to talk to Detective Ohlsen? The fact that the quilt's missing might not be important, but if it is…" I trailed off, hoping Faria would leap on the possibility that he could be responsible for bringing a key piece of evidence to the detective's attention.

I could see him weighing what would get him more respect at the next crime scene: conveying my message or protecting his boss from my interference. Finally, Faria shook his head. "It's just a stupid blanket. Probably just blew away."

A quilt, either loose or in a box, wouldn't blow away in anything less than gale-force winds, and the day had been sunny and mild with air as calm as it ever got this close to the coast. "Doesn't it make you curious? I'd want to know if something was missing from the crime scene, no matter how small it was."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "I'll tell Bud when I see him, but there's no rush."

Behind me, I heard Matt laughing with his groupies. He had gotten a much better look at the crime scene than I had, so he might know if the quilt had been there and I'd just missed seeing it.

I waved at Matt to get his attention, and then called him over to where Faria and I stood at the conference table. Matt made his excuses and sauntered over.

"I know you're irritated with me about something," Matt said, "but was it so bad that you're going to turn me over to the cops?"

"Not yet," I said. "I need to know something. Did you see Alan's quilt anywhere near his body?"

Matt shook his head. "There was nothing around him except the trash enclosure, asphalt, and blood. Oh, and a cell phone."

"See?" I said to Faria. "The quilt is definitely missing. The killer must have taken it. If you find the quilt, you'll find the killer. I can even give you a picture of it from this morning's appraisal."

Faria snorted. "You want us to put out a BOLO for a quilt?"

"Why not?" Matt said. "Sounds like a good plan to me. When you know what to look for, quilts are pretty distinctive, like fingerprints. Plus, if the killer did take it, it's probably got blood on it that would match Alan's."

"I guess." Faria reached for his radio. "Give me a minute to arrange for someone to take my place up here, and I'll take Keely to see Ohlsen."

 

*   *   *

 

Matt insisted on joining us, so Richie Faria escorted both of us out to the steps at the rear of the building. Across the parking lot, Detective Ohlsen was seated on the top of the picnic table with his feet on the bench, staring at the fence past where the body had been found.

After telling the officer at the door to make sure we stayed put, Faria continued on over to the picnic table. He stood in the military at-ease position, bouncing restlessly on his toes, while he waited for the detective to acknowledge him.

If Matt and I could convince the detective that the missing quilt was important, he was more than capable of pursuing the lead. Bud Ohlsen was smart, persistent, and dedicated to nailing the right suspect, not just the most convenient one. Still, he'd barely skimmed the surface of the quilting community during the Randall Tremain investigation, so it was as if he didn't speak the same language as the people he was interviewing.

While we waited, I took in the details of the property behind the museum building. The back portion of the lot was relatively small, only about thirty feet wider than the building itself, and about a hundred feet deep. The entire space was paved, providing parking and access to the loading dock between the back door and the trash enclosure, beyond which Alan's body had been found. The far corner where Sunny's car was parked really did look a bit creepy, with overhanging tree branches and the eight-foot-high solid plank fence adding to the gloom back there. All I could see beyond the side fence was the brick wall of the second floor of a building, and beyond the back fence were some trees and the rooftops of the buildings on the next street over.

As a native of Danger Cove, Matt knew the town and the surrounding properties better than I did, so I asked him, "Do you think the killer could have escaped by climbing the fence?"

"Not unless he was a serious athlete. He'd have had to jump from the top of the fence to the roof of the next building over. There's no real alley in between, just three or four inches of empty space. Out back, there's a second fence a couple of feet over from the museum's, and the space in between is full of brambles and weedy trees." Matt turned in a half circle, inspecting the perimeter of the property. "He couldn't have gone through the loading dock, since I know it's kept locked when it's not in use. That leaves only the driveway and this door into the museum."

"Sunny would have seen anyone leaving by way of the driveway," I said. "Alan told me his friend wasn't going to be here for at least thirty or forty minutes, and that's about how long he'd been gone before Sunny found him. If the friend killed him, it would have required Mission: Impossible-type, split-second timing for him to lure Alan over behind the trash enclosure, commit the murder, and then leave before Sunny drove into the lot. That kind of timing and luck just doesn't happen in real life."

"We don't know how long he was dead before she found him. If it happened right after he left, it could have been anyone." Matt turned to look up at the second floor of the museum, as if he could see inside it. "But if it happened right before he was found, the odds are that the killer is upstairs in the boardroom. He couldn't have gotten into the museum from back here without setting off alarms, and if he left by the driveway, Sunny would have seen him."

I didn't want to believe it, but Matt was right. People had been coming and going from the boardroom all day, so no one would have noticed if someone had followed Alan out to the parking lot. Then afterward, the killer could have slipped into the back hallway where he or, given the gender of virtually all of the participants in today's event, she could have unobtrusively joined the crowd when everyone came down the stairs to see what the screaming was about. The presence of a stranger in the hallway would have been noticed and remembered, but no one would have paid any attention to someone who was already part of the quilting community.

"If you're right, Sunny might have seen the killer without even realizing it. Witnesses tend to remember only things that are out of place or unexpected, while more commonplace things and people barely register. A quilter going to a quilting event wouldn't be memorable."

Matt glanced across the parking lot where Faria was still waiting for Ohlsen to acknowledge him. "Do you think Ohlsen will be able to get Sunny to remember if she saw anyone?"

"It's possible," I said. "He just has to guide her through what she saw, step by step, reminding her not to skip any detail, no matter how insignificant it seems to her."

"Let's hope she remembers, then, and the case is solved right away." Matt patted five of the pockets in his cargo pants before remembering his phone had been confiscated. He glanced at my watch. "I'm already late for my meeting, but if we're not stuck here all day, I'll still have time to reschedule it for this evening, before everyone leaves town. We'll probably have to go somewhere other than the Smugglers' Tavern though. It gets busy on Saturday nights, too noisy for a meeting."

"It might not be that quick and easy to get buried information from Sunny," I said. "Sometimes the person doing the questioning assumes he knows what the witness is going to say, and he doesn't listen carefully enough to notice when something unexpected is mentioned. Ohlsen might assume that all quilters are sweet little old ladies who wouldn't hurt anyone. If Sunny told him she saw one of the quilters as she drove through the parking lot, he might discount it, just the way Sunny herself would have done."

"Or she might not have seen anyone. What then?"

"If Ohlsen collects enough information about who was where when, he might be able to figure out who was missing from the boardroom between the time Alan left and the first of Sunny's screams."

"I was keeping an eye on Dee and Emma, trying to get a chance to talk to them," Matt said, "so I know they didn't do it. And I know you were there that whole time."

"I wonder if Elizabeth Ashby might have seen something useful," I said. "She was here this morning and left around the same time as Alan. Otherwise, there are just too many possibilities to count on a quick resolution."

Detective Ohlsen finally snapped out of his reverie enough to notice Faria. His voice carried across the parking lot. "What are you doing here? I thought you were keeping an eye on the witnesses upstairs."

"I've got some information for you, sir," Faria said, unfazed. "You remember Keely Fairchild, don't you?"

"I never forget a suspect," Ohlsen said, glaring in my direction. "And I never invite them into my crime scenes to contaminate the evidence."

"Keely's not a suspect this time," Faria said. "She's got a dozen alibi witnesses. The guy with her, Matt Viera, has even more witnesses. As far as I can tell, every single woman in the room knew exactly where he was for every single minute of the morning."

Ohlsen resumed his thoughtful study of the fence beyond the crime scene as if he hadn't even heard what Faria said. The air was getting chilly, and I was tempted to go inside and let Faria come get us if the detective ever agreed to listen to what Matt and I had to say. The cold pot stickers hadn't settled well in my stomach, or maybe it was anxiety over the day's tragic events that was affecting my digestion. I had to stay calm and keep the nausea from escalating into dizziness or worse, a syncope event. I couldn't pass out now, not before I'd alerted the detective to the missing quilt so he'd know it was connected to the murder if he found it stashed somewhere.

Detective Ohlsen pushed away from the picnic table and, ignoring Faria trailing behind him, came over to say, "I don't care if you've both got a hundred witnesses saying you never left the room from the time you arrived until the screams started. That doesn't mean you belong in my crime scene. If you've got something to tell me, we can do it somewhere you won't get in the way of the forensics team."

Ohlsen led us away from the crime scene, around the corner of the building, and all the way to the front entrance of the museum, where another uniformed officer was stationed to turn away visitors.

Detective Ohlsen stopped and turned to glare at us. "Well? What is it that you two think we're missing?" His tone let me know he wasn't happy about civilian interference.

"You're missing a quilt," I said.

That got Ohlsen's attention. His eyebrows went up. "The museum was robbed? Why didn't the director tell me this before? You think the victim stole a quilt before he was killed?"

"Sorry," I said. "I wasn't clear. Nothing's been taken from the museum. I'm talking about a quilt that belonged to the family of the young man who was killed. He brought it to me for an appraisal this morning, and he was carrying it when he left. Matt and I were the first to arrive at the crime scene after Sunny screamed, and we didn't see it there. Someone must have taken it. Possibly the killer."

"Is it valuable?"

"Not particularly." I was getting tired of everyone thinking that was all that mattered, but it wouldn't do any good to snap at the detective. "At least not in financial terms. It meant a lot to its owner, the grandmother of the victim. I think Alan cared about it too, at least enough to get it appraised and pay the fee. He wouldn't have just left it behind somewhere."

"Can you describe it well enough for my team to search for it?"

"Better than that," I said. "I can email you a picture from the appraisal, if you'll let me get my phone back from Fred. The quilt may be inside a box, and one of the women upstairs might be able to tell you if there was anything written on the outside."

"If the quilt is on the museum grounds, my team will find it. Not sure what good it will do though. Whoever killed the guy probably took the quilt, and it's long gone now. Might have thought it was more valuable than it is."

"I doubt it," I said. "People tend to discount the value of quilts because they've seen mass-produced quilts in chain stores for less than the cost of the materials for a handmade quilt. They're shocked when they hear what masterpiece quilts are worth."

Ohlsen shrugged. "Some addicts would be happy if they could sell it for twenty bucks. Or maybe the killer just liked it. My wife keeps saying she wants to learn to quilt, and she's shown me some pictures of what she wants to make. They're kind of pretty, if you like that sort of thing."

Matt spoke up. "My sources tell me the victim had a history of shoplifting, or at least being suspected of it. Anyone who knew that and saw him leaving the museum with a box might well think he'd stolen something valuable."

Detective Ohlsen nodded reluctantly. "It's a theory. Okay, I'll tell Fred to let Ms. Fairchild use her phone to send me the picture. If the quilt's not on the premises, we'll get the picture out more broadly to alert the beat cops to watch for it."

"And you'll consider the possibility that Alan was killed because of the quilt, not some other reason?"

Ohlsen frowned. "You really think that's what happened?"

"I don't know, but the quilt guild's president is convinced of it." I could see the skepticism written all over Ohlsen's face. "It's not as far-fetched as you might think. From what I've heard, Alan was never involved in anything violent until he came here with his quilt. And now the quilt is missing, and he's dead. That timing can't be a coincidence."

"It's not evidence either," Ohlsen said. "Which you, of all people, should know, Counselor."

"Evidence only comes to light if you're looking for it."

"I guess it won't hurt to keep our eyes open," Detective Ohlsen said, herding us back in the direction of the parking lot. "Right now, I need to get to where the real evidence is most likely to be found. Can I trust you two to go straight back upstairs without sending an escort? I need all the help I can get down here. Even Faria's."

I couldn't answer for Matt, but I was as anxious to get back to the boardroom as Ohlsen was to send me there. So far, Dee and Emma had stayed out of trouble, but there was no telling what they might do if the situation dragged on for too long. Plus, I wasn't sure what Stefan might do if he thought I'd abandoned him and the search for evidence to clear his girlfriend. "I'll go straight upstairs to check in with Fred and send you the quilt picture. If you have any questions about it, I'll be in the boardroom."

"Me too," Matt said. "I'm always happy to hang out wherever Keely is."

Trust Matt to flirt even during a criminal investigation. It wasn't personal though, just a habit, like wearing cargo pants and never putting anything back in the same pocket it came from.

Detective Ohlsen walked with us toward the back entrance so we could rejoin the rest of the witnesses upstairs. "Just stay away from my crime scene."

"Of course." I wasn't particularly interested in seeing any more of the bloody evidence of a young man's death or the unadorned brick expanse of the back wall of the museum. There really wasn't anything else I could learn from the scene of the crime without first spending a couple of years getting trained in forensics.

The three of us had almost reached the museum's back entrance when a pudgy, middle-aged woman in coveralls came rushing over with an evidence bag in her gloved hands. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you wanted to know right away if we found anything unusual."