| |
The next morning at exactly 9:00, Sara pulled her Camry off to the side of the road in front of 302 Charles Street in Washton and slowed to a stop.
She’d been pleased to find out that Gabrielle Ferris, Matt’s widow, lived in her old stomping grounds. She even knew the street, because of the long walks she used to take with her little dog Martin, back when she was in high school.
Despite the fact that she was familiar with the street, she’d never paid much attention to number 302 in particular.
The house was a sprawling stucco affair, with some natural stone accents and beautiful, pale wooden double doors. The front lawn and gardens were well kept. Sara suspected that a staff of landscapers were to thank for that, due to the degree to which the lawn was manicured.
The Ferrises were clearly wealthy, just like most families that lived in the suburban town of Washton.
Before getting out of the car, Sara quickly checked her work email. Last night, in addition to preparing for her meeting with Gabrielle Ferris, she had also talked with Cinda on the phone to fill her in on her findings about the seven deaths. She asked Cinda to help out with a few aspects of the research that needed to be done, and Cinda agreed.
There was a new message from Cinda Rella in her inbox, and Sara opened it and began to read.
“Hey! I’ve been learning more about HiTech Minerals, like you asked. The company is run by three individuals—a father, Byron Smith, and his two grown children, Davis and Lucy Smith. All three of them were out of town recently. Byron’s administrative assistant let it slip that the three of them have been here in Dayton for the past two weeks. They arrived on May 27th.”
Sara felt a chill run up her spine. May 27th? That was the day before Matt’s accident. At that point, Peak Mine wasn’t even up for sale.
What were the chances that they just happened to be in the same city as the only REE mine that they didn’t own, just at the time when the owner passed away accidentally? Slim to none, surely.
One of them killed Matt, Sara thought.
Either that, or two of them are in on it together. Or all three!
The thought of a whole family of murderers gave her an even stronger chill.
That creepy am-I-being-watched feeling washed over her, and she forced herself to shake it off and get back to work. She quickly wrote down the names from Cinda’s email onto a legal pad that was filled with pages of her own notes about Matt Ferris. Next she responded to Cinda’s email.
“Thank you, this is really helpful.
I have another favor to ask.
Can you please start doing some research into the death of...”
She paused, and found her list of mines that HiTech had recently purchased. Abner Kirkwood was the next owner’s name on her list. He’d died in a “car accident” just three months back.
“Abner Kirkwood,” she typed.
“Specifically, I am interested in the day that he died. Try talking to his wife. I think I read that he had one. See if she remembers anything out of the ordinary happening that day. Also try to get in touch with people that worked with him. We’re looking for patterns between the deaths.”
She paused and thought for a moment, and then added. “Also ask the wife if she ever heard her husband talk about HiTech Minerals or Byron, Davis, or Lucy Smith.”
She hit send. With that done, she glanced over her notes about Gabrielle and Matt that she’d written out the night before. She wanted to make the most of her conversation with Gabrielle Ferris, and that meant she had to make sure to ask the questions that she had prepared in advance.
“This won’t take more than an hour,” she told herself, as she pushed the notepad back into her black leather purse. She stepped out of the car and made her way up the long walkway.
When Gabrielle Ferris opened the front door, Sara formed an immediate first impression.
The woman clearly took good care of herself. From her research, Sara knew that Gabrielle was forty-eight years old. However, she looked ten years younger. She was petite, with a toned frame, and kind eyes. Manners dictated that she smile, but Sara could tell by the look in her eyes that smiling was the last thing she wanted to be doing.
This woman is grieving, Sara thought, noting the dark circles under Gabrielle’s eyes.
“Mrs. Ferris? I’m Sara White, from the Dayton City Newspaper,” Sara said, extending her hand. “Thank you for agreeing to talk. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”
The two women shook hands, and then Gabrielle stepped aside. “Call me Gabby, please,” she said. “Thank you for coming. It’s actually nice to have a visitor. My kids were here—after the accident. For the funeral... but both have busy lives they had to get back to eventually. My son has a newborn, and a wife. It’s so hard to get away. You know how it is.”
Sara nodded, rather than divulge the fact that she didn’t have a spouse or children.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sara said. “I know it’s probably painful to talk about it, so I really won’t bother you for long. As I said on the phone, I’m writing a piece about the sale of Peak Mine, and I’m looking for some personal details about Matt’s life.”
“Would you like to sit for a minute?” Gabrielle asked.
“That would be wonderful,” Sara agreed. She followed Gabby through the foyer and into a spacious sitting room. White chairs and couch, along with bright abstract art on the walls, gave the room a contemporary feel. Sara settled into the wide, white chair and removed her notepad from her bag.
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear more about Matt,” Sara began. “You said you have two kids?”
“Yes,” Gabby said, nodding. “Though they’re not kids any more. Both flew the coop after high school. My oldest has a son of his own. My daughter is a senior at Vassar. Matt adored them, of course.”
Sara jotted down a few notes.
Gabby continued. “Both are very busy. Our daughter teaches English as a second language during the summer off from college. She was home, actually, for a few days, just before Matt died. I’m so grateful that they got to spend that time together.”
Sara felt herself choking up at the thought of Matt’s young daughter never seeing her father again. She forced herself not to get emotional as she said, “That was fortunate.” She felt foolish immediately, seeing as nothing about Matt’s tragic death should really be called ‘fortunate’. She rushed to explain herself. “I mean, it’s good that they had that time together.”
Gabby nodded. “On the evening of the accident, we were all going to go out to dinner. Matt had made reservations at our daughter’s favorite restaurant. Her birthday is in July, and she has a trip scheduled to Mongolia then. We thought we’d celebrate early. Matt had a lovely necklace that he was going to give her, with her birthstone in it.”
“What a thoughtful gift,” Sara said.
Gabby pressed her lips together, and Sara suspected that she was holding back tears.
After taking a moment to compose herself, Gabby said, “He called at 4:30 that evening, and told me he’d be home soon. I expected him home at about five. The mine is only about thirty, thirty-five minutes from here. Our dinner reservations were for six. My daughter and I waited, and waited. He never came home. I called his cell several times, but then I gave up. I figured something came up at work. It must have...” she became choked up, unable to go on.
Sara waited in silence, giving the poor woman a chance to regain composure.
After some silence, when Gabby didn’t speak again, Sara asked another question. “You said you tried calling but he didn’t answer his cell phone... was that normal?”
“Yes... yes, and no,” Gabby said. “I mean, Matt always had his phone on him. If he was free, he’d pick up right away. But if he was in meetings, or tied up for work, it wasn’t unusual for him to go several hours without returning my calls.”
“I see,” Sara said. She consulted her notes again. “The police reports say that the accident happened at 10:45 at night. Do you know what he was doing between 4:30, when he said he was going to leave the office, and 10:45?”
Gabby shook her head. “The police asked the same thing. It must have been something urgent, or else he would never have missed dinner. It was such a special occasion for all of us. Matt was really looking forward to it.”
“Did Matt often work late?” Sara asked.
“Yes... a fair amount. He had a lot of responsibility at the mine. When things went wrong, the problem was his to fix. He took his job very seriously. He was a hard worker.”
Gabby’s voice became more and more quivery as she spoke.
Sara could see that the line of questioning was hard for her. She didn't want to put this woman through any more stress. She’d clearly endured a lot over the past two weeks. I need to give her a break, she thought. She looked around the living room, and in an attempt to lighten the conversation, she said, “Beautiful art you have here.”
This seemed to alleviate Gabby’s stress. Her expression relaxed slightly as she replied, “Oh, thank you! I’ve always loved collecting art.”
“You have great taste,” Sara said, swiveling in her seat so that she could see the wall behind her. “I like this blue one.”
“That’s a LeBuque,” Gabrielle said. “He’s an up and coming artist from LA. Have you heard of him?”
Sara shook her head.
Gabby continued. “It’s actually part of a set, I just haven’t hung the other one yet. It will go next to it. So many projects have been put on hold. I just don’t know if I want to stay here or if I’ll maybe move somewhere smaller now that it’s just me. Maybe closer to my son and grandson... I don’t know.” Heaviness filled her again, but she seemed to push it off as she said, “Would you like to see the other painting in the set?”
“I’d love to,” Sara said.
Gabby stood and walked to a corner of the room, where a large armoire stood. Sara was unsure if Gabby would bring the painting to her, or if she should stand. After hesitating a moment, she stood and joined Gabby at the armoire.
Gabby pulled a painting from the bottom shelf. “Here it is!” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Yes, stunning,” Sara said. Her eyes moved over the painting, which was composed of blue forms. “You’re right—they’ll look wonderful on the wall together, if you choose to stay here.”
“Thank you,” Gabby said. She set the painting back onto the shelf, and was about to close the armoire doors, when she paused. Then she reached for a framed photo on a middle shelf.
“I cleaned out Matt’s office the other day,” she said, as she gripped the photograph. “Seeing as you’re writing about the mine and want some personal insights about Matt, you might be interested in this. He kept it on his desk. It’s of us on our wedding day.” She held the photo out to Sara.
Sara peered at the happy couple in the photo. The two were in ski outfits and had ski boots on. “You were married on skis?” she asked.
Gabby smiled. “We did one of those mass weddings at Alpine Ski Area, on Valentine’s Day. Fifty other couples were married at the same time. It was one of the wildest things I’ve ever done. That’s how Matt was. He loved to have fun. He was very playful. Maybe you could say that about him, in your article.”
Her smile then faded. “It was awful—cleaning out his office. I never imagined I’d have to do something like that.”
Sara, done examining the picture, handed it back to Gabby. She noticed several other office knickknacks on the shelves. A paperweight, a small statue of a dinosaur, several polished stones. There was also a brown briefcase, and a stack of books, a jewelry case, and a white pastry box tied with a pink string.
She pointed to the jewelry case. “This must be his gift for your daughter,” she said.
Gabby nodded, sorrowfully. “I haven’t given it to her yet. I will—one day soon, I just—It’s hard. I knew how much Matt was looking forward to that.” She pressed a fist to her mouth.
“Is this another gift for your daughter?” Sara asked, pointing to the pastry box.
“No, not that,” Gabby said. “That was in Matt’s office on the day that I cleared it out. His secretary said that it had arrived for him earlier that day.”
“I believe that cake lasts longer if you keep it in the refrigerator,” Sara said, hoping that she didn’t sound rude. “I’m not sure about other baked goods.”
“Oh, I know,” Gabby said. “Those pastries aren’t worth trying to save, at this point. Matt’s PA said it came in for him on the morning that he passed away. I’m sure they’re completely stale by now, but I just can’t bring myself to throw them out.”
“Mind if I take a closer look?” Sara asked, her curiosity peaked.
“Not at all,” Gabby said.
Sara reached for the box. The pink ribbon was tied in a sloppy bow. She untied it and peeked inside. There were several pastries inside of assorted shapes and sizes. Various colors of fruit poked out between slits in the puff pastry tops; she noticed golden chunks of apple, glistening red cherries, and dark, purplish blueberries.
There were five pastries total in the box.
“They’re from a client,” Gabby said. “Must have been someone that Matt was selling minerals to. Matt didn’t like to bring his work home with him, so I don’t know much about the deals he was working on.”
“I see,” Sara said. She placed the lid back on the box, and re-tied the bow. As she returned the box to the shelf she said, “Gabby, production at the mine has paused since your husband died, is that correct?”
“Yes, I think so,” Gabby said. “Most, if not all, of the workers will stay on under new management, but that management has to be put into place before that can happen. I believe the sale is set to go through this weekend and production will start up again on Monday.”
“Yes,” Sara said. “The sale could be happening as we speak. So who is at the mine now? Do you know?”
“Just bare-bones security,” Gabby said “They can’t just leave the mine unguarded, you know. They have to keep the gates staffed. But production, as you said, is on pause.”
Sara thought this over for a minute. Then she said, “Gabby, did your husband ever mention a company based in New York, by the name of HiTech Minerals?”
Gabby’s brow creased. “HiTech Minerals... no, I don’t think he did. It doesn’t sound familiar, though as I said, Matt didn’t like to talk shop once he was home. His home time was for relaxing.”
“I see,” Sara said. “How about a Byron, Davis, or Lucy Smith?”
Gabby’s brow remained creased. “No. I don’t recognize those names. Why? Is there something I should know about?”
Sara hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much to tell Gabby about her real reasons for poking and prodding into Matt’s personal life.
If I tell her about my suspicions, I’ll only make her upset, she thought. She might go to the police and we’re not ready for that yet. I really don't have any evidence that foul play is involved here. I’d better keep this to myself.
“HiTech Minerals may buy the mine,” Sara explained. “I was wondering if your husband had a relationship with them prior to his death, that’s all.”
“For your article,” Gabby said, with an understanding nod. “Of course.”
“Have you looked inside Matt’s briefcase?” Sara asked, pointing to the brown attache. “It would add a very meaningful detail to the article if I could say what kind of work he was carrying with him when he died.”
“No, I haven’t opened it,” Gabby said. She pulled the case towards her and flipped it onto its side on the armoire shelf. There was a small combination lock, and she smiled as she dialed in the numbers. Her hand blocked Sara’s view.
“Our anniversary date,” Gabby said as her fingers worked, before pulling the case open. She lifted out a stack of papers, and began shuffling through them. “Let’s see... Invoices, and some minutes from a meeting. Would you like to take a look?”
Sara nodded. She leafed through the papers that Gabby handed over, and saw that they were just what Gabby had described. Finding nothing of interest, she handed them back to Gabby.
Gabby shut the papers back into the briefcase and then closed up the armoire, and the two moved back to their seats.
As soon as they were each seated, Sara lifted her purse onto her lap. “I really don’t want to take up any more of your morning,” she said. “I just have a few more questions for you.”
Gabby waited patiently.
Sara looked at her notepad, and then said, “Was Matt’s car in good working condition before the crash?”
Gabby nodded. “Of course. It was practically brand new.”
“The police report said that he drove a black Land Rover. Is that right?”
“Correct.”
“Was it in terrible condition after the crash? Totaled?” The police report had said as much, but she wanted to hear it from Gabby. Though Sara hadn’t gone to journalism school, she grew up with a reporter father. He taught her the importance of verifying information.
Sara was pleased when Gabby nodded. At least the Washton Weekly had gotten that information right.
“Completely,” Gabby said.
“Where is it now?”
“A tow truck took it away,” Gabby said. “The police had to examine it. My husband’s death was classified as ‘unusual circumstances’. They looked for cut brake lines, that sort of thing. They found nothing to indicate that the vehicle was tampered with.”
“Thank you,” Sara said. Her journalistic instincts wouldn’t allow her to simply take Gabby’s word for it. Instead she said, “And once the police were through examining it—do you know where it went from there?”
“I did get a bill from the junkyard,” Gabby said. “It costs to do anything these days, and disposing of a vehicle is no different... I think it was Brown’s Landfill, on the other side of Dayton. Yes, that’s right. Brown’s.”
“You have a good memory,” Sara said. “Thank you. And one last thing—was your husband a good driver? I’m sorry to pry, but did he have any history of speeding or reckless driving?”
“No, nothing like that,” Gabby said sweetly.
“How about driving while intoxicated or under the influence of drugs?” Sara asked
For the first time, Gabby looked insulted. “Miss White, I assure you that my husband wasn’t drunk. And he never took medication—I could barely ever get him to take ibuprofen when he had a sprained wrist. The police did a toxicology report on his body, and he was entirely free from substances.” She lifted her chin, and her eyes became suddenly hard.
Sara was shocked by the woman’s change in demeanor. She’s being too defensive. She’s hiding something, she thought. But what?
Sara scooped up her purse. “Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate these details about your husband’s private life. I think it will make my article much more relatable. I appreciate your time.”
She stood.
Gabby stood as well. She looked conflicted, and Sara had a feeling that it was related to her last question. What was found in the toxicology report?
Gabby led the way to the door, and Sara followed. As Sara stepped out into the fresh air, she turned to Gabby, who was holding one of the double doors open, and looking eager to be rid of her visitor.
“Gabby, one more thing,” Sara said. “What hospital did your husband go to, for the autopsy?”
“None of your business,” Gabby said, and swiftly slammed the door shut.
Well, that was a total change in demeanor thought Sara, puzzled by the woman’s about-face. It happened just as I asked about the alcohol or drugs. She said that his body was free from substances, but that seemed to be a lie. Did that mean that Matt had been intoxicated when he crashed? Were there drugs in his system?
I have to get my hands on that toxicology report, she thought, as she hurried to her car.
She pulled away from the curb, and considered her next move.
An old friend, Evie, from high school worked at St. George’s, Dayton’s largest Level I trauma center. If Matt needed an autopsy, St. George’s would be as good a guess as any for where it would have been performed.
The best part about contacting Evie was that Sara had set up Evie with her current husband, Dan. If it wasn’t for a thoughtful introduction from Sara, when the three of them were eighteen, Evie wouldn’t be with Dan to this very day.
Evie owes me one, Sara thought. I’ll call her on my way to the mine.
She was eager to see the condition of the road where Matt had crashed.
There were several routes that would get her from 302 Charles Street to the Peak Mine, and in considering the options she realized that one of them would take her straight passed Amir Malick’s house. A bit of snooping around online had uncovered his residential address rather quickly the night before, and she was curious to see what kind of home a regular guy/prince lived in.
She dialed her friend, pulled away from the curb, and headed in the direction of Amir’s.
The call went to voicemail. “Hi, Evie, it’s Sara White. I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I have a favor to ask you. I’m working on an article about the Peak Mine, and I need some information about Matt Ferris’s death. Specifically, I want to know what was on his tox screen. I hope that you and Dan are doing well. I always say you two are the happiest couple I know.”
She smiled as she hung up the phone. That should do the trick, she thought.
A right on Center Circle and then a left on Ridgeway took her farther west in Washton, closer to Amir’s address.
Soon she found herself on his street. The house looked even bigger than the Ferris’s sprawling mansion from the front, and she could tell that it extended back amidst thick foliage, and even expanded, out of sight.
A rounded drive filled with white pebbles circled a large statue of a bronzed eagle in flight. Along the driveway several cars were parked. Sara noted a silver Cadillac SUV, a red Audi coupe, a white Porsche, and a black Tesla.
Could these all be his? she wondered. She peered at the license plates, squinting so that she could read. They were all vanity plates. “SOARHGR1” read the Cadillac’s plate. “SOARHGR2” read the Audi. The rest of the plates followed in a similar fashion.
The house beyond the driveway was very stately and grand. It was three stories high, and massive white columns decorated the front facade. As she ogled the many shining cars, manicured grounds, and beautiful architecture, the front door opened, causing Sara to jump in her seat. Was Amir about to step outside and catch sight of her lurking around his house?
She held her breath while a woman in a housekeeping uniform stepped out, waved a small carpet several times as if freeing it from dust, and then returned inside. Sara breathed a sigh of relief.
Her heart felt all fluttery. She felt as though she was back in high school, waiting with anticipation for a boy she liked to enter a party.
“This is crazy,” she whispered to herself, pulling away from the curb.
The last thing she’d want was to have to explain what she was doing lurking outside of his house. “Stalk much?” she chided herself under her breath. “I haven’t even seen the guy. He’s probably hideous. Not that it matters.”
She sped up, and made it to the main road that would take her towards the mine.
Gradually her nerves cooled down, and by the time she turned onto Kilmor Drive, the road on which Matt had died, she was once again her calm, composed self.
She expected the road to be narrow, winding, and steep. Her father had brought up the fact that the road might be worn due to trucks carrying loads of minerals, and she was expecting potholes that might throw her around violently or could jostle the car off to the side of the road.
Instead, she found a smooth, wide, freshly paved road with a gradual incline.
She consulted her notes, on which she’d written down the location of the crash that the Washton Weekly had listed.
Pulling over to the side of the road, she found herself looking out at a straight section of road. You’d have to be a terrible driver to crash here, she thought. Unless another car was involved, or the vehicle malfunctioned, or the driver was impaired, there was really no reason for a car to crash.
What happened that night? she wondered, as a glinting white spot of reflected sunlight caught her eye. She crouched down and found a piece of glass embedded in the grass. She picked it up and examined it. It looked like it could have belonged to a car windshield or window. There were several other fragments in the grass—the last remaining pieces of the totaled car.
She sat for a moment, taking in her surroundings. Then she returned to her car and continued driving towards the mine.
Another mile and a half up the road, she came to a huge beige sign that stood eight feet tall and lined the road. In bold letters the sign stated, “Peak Mine”.
Just beyond the sign, there was a guard house.
She wasn’t sure if the guard would let her in. In fact, she was doubtful. They were concerned with keeping the grounds safe and secure, not letting in nosey, unannounced reporters.
I have to try, she thought, taking a right and entering the small parking lot.
There was only one other car in the lot.
At first she thought it must be the security guard’s vehicle, but then it occurred to her that it was likely too nice for a guard to afford. It was a black BMW convertible, and as she got closer, she was filled with a giddy sensation in the pit of her stomach. She had a feeling about who the car belonged to. The car’s vanity plate gave it away. “SOARHGR4” it read.
Amir Malick.
She smiled, involuntarily, as she pulled in next to the Black BMW. She was curious about what Amir might look like, and it seemed today was her lucky day.
She was about to find out.