Dying to Teach Page 25

  Evan shot her a million-watt grin, pulled a wallet from a back pocket, and threw some bills on the table.

  “Could I leave the tip?” Angie asked.

  “It’s taken care of,” Evan said. “You ready?” he said to Kiana who scraped the last of her over-easies from the ceramic plate, lipped the last of the yolk from the fork and stood up, looping her purse strap over the uninjured shoulder.

  The kids bypassed the motorcycle and climbed into Angie’s car. They headed for Gwen’s apartment, four miles away.

  “So, why did you invite me along?”

  “What?” Evan asked from the backseat.

  “You heard me. The other day you were all gung-ho for investigating on your own. Why involve me? You had to figure I’d try and talk you out of going. Or insist on bringing in the cops.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Kiana half-turned in the passenger seat to talk to Evan. “We did think she would.”

  “I guess we wanted your…”

  He seemed lost for the right word. Kiana, who had a very mature vocabulary, inserted it. “Expertise.”

  “Right,” Evan said.

  When he didn’t elaborate, Kiana said, “We thought you could look at the scene and get clues from it.”

  “Right,” said Evan, “we have no idea what to look for.”

  Besides that, Angie was the so-called investigator. If authorities showed up she’d be able to talk them out of a mess. Well, they might have a great big surprise coming. Alton Bay cops would listen to her excuses for their presence at a crime scene, but Carlson cops? No way.

  Angie pulled into the parking lot of the building she recognized from the news. “You realize the cops will have taken everything that so much as resembles a clue, right?”

  Neither teen answered. She hadn’t expected one. She knew, as did they, that cops might have overlooked the significance of a particular item.

  Kiana led them up the stairs and to Gwen’s apartment. They didn’t meet anyone along the way. They must be large apartments since there was quite a distance between entry doors. No sounds came from the apartment across the hall. The tenants might still be in bed, it wasn’t yet 8:30. Also possible that they’d gone to work.

  Angie put her hand on Kiana’s to stop the key from going into the lock. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You realize the place won’t be, um…cleaned up?” Angie couldn’t believe when her mouth added, “What if I go in alone? You could wait in the car.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Kiana whispered.

  She wouldn’t be. The scene inside that apartment would be forever etched in her brain. It would be in every waking moment. It would be there when she went to sleep and when she woke. Angie also knew there was no changing the girl’s mind. She would go inside. And so they did, Evan’s confident fingers turning the key and pushing open the door.

  Though she’d warned the kids about the emotion and horror they might experience in Gwen’s apartment, not even Angie was prepared for what was behind that door. As expected, a white chalk outline had been drawn to the left side of the living room, on a royal blue carpet, in front of a modern style chair and small side-table. From the outline it was hard to tell if Gwen died on her face or her back, but her head had been canted to one side, both legs bent awkwardly. Yes, Angie expected the chalk but she didn’t expect three smooth-treaded footprints to mar the thick white line. Large feet for a woman, average size for a man.

  Angie had expected to see fingerprint dust on everything; fingerprinting was one of the first things done at a crime scene. But she hadn’t expected the dust itself to be streaked with new prints.

  The third unexpected sight—and they hadn’t left the living room—was the total devastation. The place was a shambles. Papers and magazines of every imaginable color and size littered the carpet. The couch had been overturned, its bottom panel and every cushion torn open. CDs and DVDs lay haphazardly in front of a large wooden television cabinet along the hallway wall. The flatscreen television, DVR, and DVD player had been taken from their compartments and dismantled.

  Someone had been looking for something. And they weren’t leaving an inch unsearched.

  Evan and Kiana stood elbow-to-elbow on her left both froze in dumbstruck silence. Evan’s emotions weren’t only on his face; at his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched. He stepped forward and knelt beside one of the footprints overlaid on the chalk mark. His fingers remained inches away but traced the outline.

  “I probably don’t have to tell you not to touch anything,” Angie said as she moved for a better view of the apartment. To the right through a wide archway, was the kitchen. Since Evan seemed to have taken the living room, she would search there. She turned to suggest Kiana take the bedrooms and wasn’t surprised to see tears racing down the girl’s face. Evan went to her. As he wrapped her in his arms, Angie continued into the kitchen where in an incongruous display of happiness, sunlight streamed through the pair of windows.

  The appliances were old, as they would be in a rental unit—management rarely changed one unless it broke down—but they were clean. There was no need to inspect the insides of the cabinets as all the doors stood open and all the contents lay on the floor. Most every box had been torn open. The refrigerator door stood open but most items were still inside. Apparently what the intruder wanted was too big to be stored in a mayonnaise or mustard jar. The freezer had been totally emptied. She kicked at a package of hamburger. Still partly frozen. Which meant the intruder had been here late last night. Did they also have a key?

  Though Angie looked through all the mess on the floor, she could find nothing that pointed toward a clue, or a motive. She walked back into the living room. Evan had knelt in front of a small desk set along the kitchen wall. He peered into one of the empty drawer cavities.

  Something about the room looked different. After a second Angie realized someone had gathered up the bills and magazines from around the room. They lay in a pile on the desk. He looked up and gestured for her to look through them.

  She righted a kitchen chair and sat in it to inspect the mail. All postmarks were recent; none of the bills outstanding. In the bank statement, dated a week ago, Angie noted that Gwen’s savings account had a modest balance; her checking account had no overdrafts or unusual withdrawals. The balance was $627.42. Gwen Forest was probably not being blackmailing.

  Gwen had died from a makeup tube taped in her mouth. The tube and tape indicated the killer was trying to keep her from divulging something he wanted kept secret. And he’d obviously expected to find it at the school rather than here, since he searched the school twice already and only broke in here today. Or maybe it had just been easier to search the school. A lot less chance of being caught at that extreme end of the building, especially during off-hours. Too many possibilities for witnesses here. But the perpetrator had finally gotten so desperate he had to come. Had to take the chance.

  In her handbag dangling from her right shoulder, Angie’s cell phone rang. She set the bills on the desk and reached for it, then changed her mind. It was probably Jarvis and this wasn’t a good time to talk to him. For a moment she imagined his reaction when she told him where they were. She switched the call to voicemail. “Where’s Kiana?”

  “Bedroom,” Evan said without looking up from another empty drawer hole in the desk.

  Angie started for the bedroom and stopped—because, in the doorway stood a gray-haired woman holding a cell phone like a weapon. Watery blue eyes scanned the intruders twice each. She punched one button on the phone, and then another.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Jarvis was halfway back to Alton when his cell phone rang. Rodriguez’s number showed on the caller ID. He stopped the Jeep on the shoulder of the road and answered.

  “Jarvis, I need a huge favor. I got permission from both our captains for you to help, if you want. There was another murder last night—not related to Ms. Forest’s.”

  Of course he wanted to help. Especially if it’d g
et Angelina out of danger and back to Alton Bay. Jarvis cupped his left hand over his ear to muffle the sound of traffic zipping past.

  “What do you need?” he asked, knowing the new case was hot and would take priority on the case that was growing colder by the minute. Besides, it would be nice to have something to keep him busy till showtime tonight. Angelina had thoroughly nixed the idea of him shadowing her movements all day.

  “So, what’s going on?” Jarvis asked.

  “I need you to do some follow-up. Got a notebook?”

  Jarvis plucked it from his pocket, clicked the pen and poised it over the paper. “Can you go speak to Debra Ellis nee Fingerman?”

  Jarvis nodded, recognizing the name of Gwen’s college roommate. “Got an address?” Rodriguez reeled of an address that he said was a half-mile from Bridgewater State College.

  “Husband Jason Ellis, a stockbroker in Boston. Works for Charles Schwab.”

  “Prestigious.”

  “Yeah. He makes upwards of two hundred thou.”

  “We’re in the wrong jobs.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rodriguez laughed.

  “Something I was thinking. Do you have the phone number handy for UC? I want to double check exactly what courses Ms. Forest was taking.”

  “Hold on a sec.” A deep voice in the background asked Rodriguez a question. Then Jarvis heard papers rustling. “You there?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Go ahead.”

  Rodriguez recited the number, then asked, “What’re you thinking?”

  Jarvis laughed. “It was something Angelina said last night about Gwen Forest’s choice of courses. Remember, she switched from Bridgewater State where she majored in childhood education. Her plans were to be an elementary school teacher. Last week, she was teaching high school drama. Angelina wondered what prompted the switch. You don’t know offhand if Bridgewater State offers any courses in drama?”

  “No idea.”

  “I’ll call you later. Okay if I take Angelina with me?”

  “Up to you. I don’t see any danger, if that’s what you mean.”

  Jarvis laughed. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Jarvis laid the cell phone on the passenger seat and pulled the Jeep onto Route 93. He’d no sooner eased back into the flow of traffic when he changed his mind and squeezed the car close to the guardrails once again.

  Angelina’s phone switched over to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, just got back into the flow of northbound cars, hurried to the next exit, then made a beeline south, back to Carlson.

  He didn’t know where to start looking for her but twice more dialed her number. The third time he left a message detailing Rodriguez’s request, then added, “I’m on the way to pick you up. Make it easy on me and let me know where you are.”

  Good chance she was at the school by now. Knowing Angelina, there were probably a million things she wanted to tweak, neaten, or fix for tonight’s performance. So why didn’t she answer her phone?

  Jarvis pressed on the accelerator. What made him think that, regardless of her vow not to work on this case, she was up to her ears in trouble?

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Before the watery-eyed woman could hit the third number on her phone, Angie shot up a hand. “Wait. Please.”

  If the kids hadn’t been here, she would’ve pretended to be a detective. Or maybe smooth-talked her with a giant lie. But lying and subterfuge weren’t things good role models did. So, Angie let blunt truth work in their favor. “Good morning. We’re from the high school. We’re looking for clues to Gwen’s murder.”

  Evan’s eyes grew wide. These certainly weren’t words he expected Angie to say.

  “Could you please shut the door?” Angie said. “We really don’t want to draw a crowd.”

  The woman lowered the phone, did as requested. Angie stepped close with her hand out. “I’m Angie Deacon. I was hired to take Gwen’s place with the drama class. Evan,” she gestured toward the boy, who’d begun looking under the sofa, “and Kiana, who’s in the bedroom, are—were Gwen’s students.”

  The woman took another moment to size up Evan and Angie—Kiana hadn’t come to see what the commotion was about. She slapped the phone shut. “Martha Benson.” Her voice was deep and raspy, a smoker’s voice. “You’ve made quite a mess here.”

  “I can only hope you’ll believe it was like this when we arrived. I don’t imagine you saw or heard anything. This probably happened during the night.”

  “I was at my daughter’s till around ten. A birthday party for my great-granddaughter. She turned six.” As she spoke her gaze took in the room. “What were they looking for?”

  “We don’t know. They’ve done the same to the theater at the school. Were you and Gwen friends?” Angie asked.

  Martha shook her head. “We had tea now and then.”

  “Had she lived here long?”

  “About two years. I’ve been a tenant for almost fifteen.”

  “Did she, by any chance, ever give you something to hold for her?”

  The woman’s face lit up. “Like, whatever they were searching for?”

  Angie smiled.

  “No. She didn’t give me anything to hold. Do they know who…did it?” She shook her head. “Of course they don’t. That’s why you’re here.”

  “We thought we might find something the cops missed.”

  She gave a small nod. “Happens on TV all the time.”

  “Did Gwen have a lot of friends?”

  Martha thought, then said, “I only know of three. One was that boyfriend. Ted, I think his name was.”

  “Did you know he asked her to marry him?” Evan asked.

  The grey eyebrows went up and then down. “They were getting married?”

  “Ms. Forest hadn’t accepted.” Evan came to stand beside them. “You seem surprised to hear it.”

  “I guess I am. I didn’t have the idea she was serious about him. She wouldn’t have to be for him to ask, would she? I mean, relationships don’t always go both ways.”

  “You mentioned two other friends,” Angie said.

  She nodded. “One was a pretty lady. Tall with reddish blonde hair.”

  That would be Cilla. Martha went on to describe Randy. “Did they come around often?”

  “Maybe once a week for the woman. Less than that for the man. Was she dating him too? I never wanted to ask.”

  “He’s our principal,” Evan said.

  Martha’s expression said the explanation hadn’t answered her question.

  “They were just friends,” Angie said.

  “She loved kids. I remember when she first came here. She said she’d always wanted to teach history.” Martha moved toward one of the living room chairs, picked up the cushion from the floor, placed it gently in the chair, and sat.

  “Why didn’t she?”

  “She did. But just a short time later—maybe a couple of months—she transferred to the drama department.”

  “You don’t know why?”

  After a brief hesitation Martha shook her head.

  “Did you ever overhear, or did she ever mention, any problems with anyone?”

  “Well, I normally wouldn’t say anything but…if it might help…I wasn’t eavesdropping, mind you. These old walls are thin.”

  “I understand.”

  “I did hear her arguing with somebody. About a week ago. Couldn’t understand their words—the walls aren’t that thin.” She smiled. “It went on a few minutes, then a door slammed. By the time I could get my door open, he was going down the stairs—”

  “A man?”

  Martha nodded. “There’s not much light in the hallway. All I saw was a dark color jacket. He wore a hat so I couldn’t see his hair.”

  “What sort of hat?”

  She thought a minute but shook her head. “Not a baseball cap. More like a toque.”

  “Did you tell this to the cops?”

  “Yes.”

  Angie wondered if there were surveillance ta
pes. Most complexes had them these days. And surely the cops would’ve looked at them for the time period prior to Gwen’s murder. But how could she ask about a break-in last night? It would mean letting them know she’d been here. Of course, if there were cameras, and the cops had any reason to look at them since the murder, she and the kids would be on them.

  She walked around Martha and bent to inspect the doorknob and lock. She was no authority in these matters but it certainly looked as though somebody had tampered with it. Which got them off the hook since Kiana had a key and wouldn’t need to break in.

  Angie took out her business card and passed it into the gnarled fingers. “If you think of anything else…”

  A smile spread across Martha’s face. “I was at your theater’s opening performance. Sad for someone to die like that in front of an audience. Thank goodness it didn’t close your theater before it got truly open.”

  “Yes.” She steered Mrs. Benson toward the door. “It was very nice meeting you.”

  After closing the door to the woman, Angie and Evan walked to the bedroom. It was in the same condition as the rest of the apartment. Clothing decorated every surface. All drawers were open, and empty, as was the closet.

  They found Kiana seated on the bed, turning the pages of a photo album, though no way could she see through the blinding river of tears. Evan sat beside her and wound an arm around her waist. Kiana leaned against him.

  On the floor were T-shirts, jeans, socks, sweatshirts, and a few dress clothes; two pairs of Converse sneakers, one pair of loafers, a pair of black heels; sports bras and cotton underwear. Angie opened her mouth to say they should get going.

  Evan rose from the bed and picked something off the floor. A pair of cotton panties hung from his left index finger. Angie was about to chastise him for fooling around when he cleared his throat to get Kiana’s attention. She swiped tears from her eyes and nodded at the garment. “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?” Angie asked.

  Evan dropped the underwear on the floor. “The ones we found in Mr. Chalmers’ desk…they didn’t belong to Ms. Forest.”