2 CATastrophe (4 page)

I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. “What people? Do you have a few contacts that I could talk to about this? It would be a big help to me if you could.”

The young man rattled off three names and their email addresses. You have to love techies, because they always know how to contact a person. I scribbled all the information down and stuffed it back in my pocket. “Why exactly do you want to know all of this? You’re the second person this week to ask me about James.”

My ears perked up. Since the police had just found James Miller’s body, the other person had to have come before his death. Did this person suspect something was going on or was this person a part of the plot to kill him? “Who was this other person?” I asked, hoping to get a leg up on the police. I wasn’t sure how I would work this into Morris’ discussion with me, but any facts could be examined to see if they could be used to improve my business.

He shrugged. “Woman, said she wanted to be a client. Had an idea for an app. But it was really weird. She kept asking all these personal questions about Mr. Miller. I answered a few, and then it started to get weird so I stopped.”

“Did you tell James about this?”

“Yeah, he didn’t seem very concerned about it. He just shrugged it off and went back to work.”

So much for that. If Miller didn’t think it was worth anything, then it probably wasn’t worth a follow-up. However, James Miller was dead and perhaps that woman had been worth asking about.

“Did she leave a name?”

“No, she avoided any questions about herself. I asked her how she knew Mr. Miller, how she’d heard of our company. She just changed the subject and went on asking questions.”

I was getting intrigued now. “What did she look like?”

“Old,” he said, but since he was probably 23 at best, I took that estimate as over 40. “Dark hair with gray streaks in it. Very expressive face, lots of emotion when she spoke. I’d definitely have checked her out if I saw her on the street.”

I nodded, but didn’t speak. The age matched Miller’s ex-wife, but it would be an awful gamble to come to his office and merely hope that he wasn’t around. The split sounded very acrimonious, and I doubted that they visited each other just for kicks.

I thanked the kid for his help and went back to my car. I sat there for several minutes, trying to process all of the information I’d gleaned this morning. I wasn’t sure what to attack first.

I knew that I wanted to talk to the ex-wife soon. I did a quick Google search on my phone, but found that James Miller’s ex-wife came up with millions of hits. This is what came from having clients with common names. So I was going to have to find the information another way. I went to his company’s website and read a bit more about Miller. Like the kid had said, there was nothing about his first wife or Dr. Vires in the biography section of the site.

I tried Wikipedia. I know it’s supposed to be worthless, but for quick bits of information, I find it helpful. They had a listing for Miller and it listed his first wife’s name as Evangeline. That didn’t narrow down the search much. There were just millions of hits for Evangeline and James Miller too.

I stopped when I came across the paragraph mentioning Miller’s involvement with Dr. Vires. The article indicated that Vires was a suspected suicide, mostly because he’d been found in a locked room with a gun, though there had been no gunshot residue on his hands. I recognized the reporter’s name on the byline as someone who had left town a few years ago. So tracking him down would be another chore that I’d do only in the most extreme cases.

Still, my heart jumped when I read this. Miller had died under similar circumstances. He’d been found in a room where the doors and windows were bolted from the inside. No one could get in or out, which was forcing Detective Green to assume natural causes, though she was suspicious.

I drove home in silence, trying to take in all that I’d learned. I’d gone from not having any suspects for Miller’s death to having too many. I had a duplicate cat, an ex-wife, some shady business transactions, and a dead father-in-law who had passed away in much the same manner. Miller’s personality seemed to easily make enemies and victims.

I unlocked my door and walked in. Bruno came running towards me, tail wagging. The Countess actually looked pleased to see me, which was a surprise. She was not usually very effusive. I gave each of them a treat, and then went to the deck on the back of the house to think.

I hadn’t been there but a few minutes when the doorbell rang. I made my way to the door slowly, since I knew who it was likely to be. Detective Green stood outside the door, tapping a pen on the bricks around the door.

“You’ve been a busy bee this evening, haven’t you?” she said without expression. I had known that she wouldn’t be happy with my efforts to learn more. I’d talked to witnesses before she had and developed hypotheses that she was yet to establish.

“I can talk to bees too,” I said, deflecting the comment. “Right now, they’re saying ‘don’t kill me.’”

“And a comedian too.” She turned her eyes on me. When she was mad, the silver turned to the color of steel, and right now they would have Andrew Carnegie proud. “This is an open investigation, and there are laws against people meddling in an open investigation.”

“I’m not meddling,” I protested. “I’m just paying my respects to those who knew my client. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“It seems much more likely that you’re milking them for information about Miller and that cat.”

I stood aside, but she made no movement to come into the house. The subtle flirtations of the last few times I’d seen her were gone. She was strictly business today.

“I was really hoping that you’d come over to tell me the cause of death. I think that might answer some of my questions,” I said truthfully. I was looking for a cause of death that would be both easy to administer and confusing to a doctor. However, if it was confusing to a doctor, then it would most likely be unsolvable to a layman like me.

Green shrugged. “The coroner is not sure. Miller appeared to suffer from some sort of shock at the time of death. There were signs of hypoxia as well. He’s running some more tests, but now it will be a few days before we find out anything. The labs we need to use are located out of state. Everyone always acts like we’re
Law and Order
. We don’t get results in 38 minutes like they do on TV.”

“I realize that. I was just hoping for some information on whether or not I should ask any more questions.”

Her nostrils flared. I would have said that she was pretty when she was mad, but I didn’t think that would go over well in this situation. “In either case, the answer is the same. No more questions. You’re getting in our way and contaminating witnesses.”

I nodded. I tried to think of another way to get the information I wanted without going to jail. I wanted to know what had happened to Miller but without asking questions about his wife or his business. I had a sudden flash. Instead of asking about the current wife and current business, I’d go back and ask questions about the ex-wife and his father-in-law’s business. That case was at least eight years old. I doubted that anyone in the Toledo Police Department would even notice if I asked questions about that case, if indeed it was a case. The newspaper had indicated that it had been called a suicide, which likely meant that the case had been closed once the means of death was established.

I must have looked pleased with myself because Green’s frown deepened. “I don’t like that look on your face,” she said. “I think you’re up to something, and you need to come clean with the police about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping anything from the police. I’ve just been asking questions about Miller, but if you want me to stop, I will. No problem at all. No more questions. Not a one.” I perhaps shoveled it on a bit thick, because she narrowed her eyes at me.

“I don’t like this one bit. You’re up to something, and I wish I knew what it was. Last time you tried to meddle with police affairs, you ended up in the hospital. I don’t want to see that again.”

I remembered that incident all too well. For someone who wanted to lay low and not be someone who was noticed as my sister had been, I had gone out on a limb in that case to help the two Scotties. For my efforts, I’d been beaten and left to die on Lake Erie. Not the best possible way to go in the middle of winter where the winds blew through a down jacket like it was a linen napkin.  For a few weeks after that, I’d retreated back into my shell and tried to make myself less noticeable to the outside world.

I asked myself if I was putting myself out on a limb in this particular matter. My rational brain said no. I wasn’t out to help any pet in this case. The orange tabbies had homes and owners who appeared to be safe and sound. So I wasn’t watching out for the welfare of any pets. I just had questions on a client who had passed away. Additionally, if I only asked questions about Dr. Vires’ death, I had the added benefit of many years between the crime and my questions. There would be no one who was in immediate danger from a few questions.  That case was closed and would likely not be reopened.

“I remember,” I said honestly. “But this case is entirely different. I don’t have any stake in this case. I’m just curious about a client.”

I got the squint again. “Just so long as you remember that I can’t prove a thing at this point. I don’t even know what killed Miller, much less who. If you get too close to the answers, a killer who has been very lucky might decide that you pose a threat to his or her safety.”

Bruno took that moment to greet Detective Green. He was a traitor of the worst kind, wagging his tail and being excited for anyone’s arrival to the house. The Countess was more discriminating, which meant she’d gone somewhere to relax and enjoy the fact that I was busy. I pushed Bruno back inside the house and continued the conversation. I wanted to get rid of her, so that I could think more about what I should do now.

“I promise. No more questions about Miller. Is that fair?”

“I won’t be so nice if I have to come back and talk to you again about this case,” she said, trying to look tough. I knew that she could be mean when she wanted to, and I also knew that if it came to arresting me, our mutual flirtation would not get in the way of her doing her duty.

She turned to go. “Is this more of your emotional camouflage?” she asked, waving a hand across my lawn, which badly needed to be cut. “Are you going to hide behind all of this forever or are you going to actually start living?” With that last shot, she walked down the front path and left.

Sheila Green had a way of hitting me in my tender spots. She was absolutely right about the house. I did use it to hide myself, much like my wardrobe. I hadn’t mowed the grass in about two weeks, and while it was nowhere near in a state to call for demolition, it certainly could use a sprucing up. However, I didn’t want to bring too much attention to myself. I felt that making myself or my possessions stand out would bring attention to me, attention that could attract the wrong types of people. Susan had made the most of herself and was taken; therefore, I wanted to make little of myself to remain as I was.

Despite my fears about being too visible, the house itself had a great structure. I liked the details inside that included a polished wooden staircase and hardwood floors throughout. However, the thought of putting myself in harm’s way made me anxious just thinking about it.

Part of me did want to live, but again I had to deal with the teenager inside of me who had hidden away after his sister was taken. I thought again of the police file on my dining room table, and for a moment, I debated opening it. I knew I wasn’t quite ready for that step, but it made me feel slightly bad to dig into the past with Dr. Vires and the first Mrs. Miller.

To ease those feelings, I decided to start with the cat. Before learning about the duplicate cat at Miller’s house, I had seen the orange tabby out on the streets of downtown Toledo. It had been wandering around near the homeless women on Adams Street.

My buddy Brett called back the next morning at just after 6am. I wasn’t awake and mumbled through my initial response to his call.

“You’d called last night,” he said, enthusiastically. “What’s up?”

“I thought you’d be out partying, and so you wouldn’t be getting up until noon,” I explained. Since I was asking for his time, I wanted to at least be polite about it.

“No way. I went to bed about 5pm last night. I’ve been living on caffeine the past few days while I try to work out the kinks in my app. It’s almost there, but not quite. I have to make a few adjustments still. So I was up before dawn, working on it. What can I do for you?” His voice was perky and pleasant. He’d spoken more words to me in this conversation than he had in the last several phone calls combined. I wondered if that was the effects of a good night’s sleep or caffeine. In either case, I wouldn’t know at this hour.

I explained that I wanted to find out the name of the shelter that had adopted the two orange tabbies. He pulled up his records again and gave me the name of the no-kill shelter, Saved by the Bell. I moaned into my pillow about the need for current businesses to make a pun out of their names. Puns have a long history of being the lowest form of humor and to saddle a business with that seemed counterintuitive.

I’d heard of the rescue organization. They’d wanted to contract with me to talk to their incoming pets and learn all that I could about them. However, they wanted me to do it for free. That was not a good business plan for me, since I still wanted to eat. They didn’t budge on their numbers, and neither did I. We ended up not making a deal.

That would be a tough sell on trying to get some information. I could foresee that I was going to have to fork out some volunteer hours before I could get the information I wanted.

“So what’s wrong with the app? I’ve been loving it,” I said.

“Privacy issues, for starters. I hadn’t even thought about it, but let’s say you’re at the park. You see a hot girl, and she’s got a dog with her. You could walk by, scan the chip, and have her information before she even realizes that you have your phone out. I need to safeguard that contact information in some way. It’s a bit too creepy for my investors. I might just limit the searches to animals who have been reported missing, but I have to figure out exactly how to do that.”

That made sense to me, since I had been using that feature shamelessly during this investigation. I didn’t bother to tell him that since he had other people to act as his conscience in this matter.

A sudden thought struck me. “Do you know anyone named Dr. Vires? He created apps –”

“Do I know Vires? Who doesn’t? The man is a legend in the app field.” His voice sounded like he’d just mainlined some coffee. He was suddenly animated in his tone of voice.

“What exactly did he do that made him a legend?” I thought this might be a good way to investigate while keeping some distance between me and people who had been hit by an earlier unsolved crime. This was just a friendly conversation, not an investigation of any kind.

“He created one of the early GPS apps. It’s the basis for some of the GPS functions on your phone and the whole trend of putting GPS devices into everyone’s phones. This was just after 9/11, and he thought that tracing anyone would be a helpful thing to do. Little did he know.”

“So he was a rich man?” Money was always a good motive for crimes, and I’d apparently found a mother lode of cash here.

“He would have been if he’d lived. He was just on the edge of creating two or three apps based on the GPS technology, and he mysteriously died. No one ever knew exactly what happened. One day he was alive. The next day, he was supposed to have killed himself. I mean, I know that you don’t know what goes through someone’s mind or how they’re feeling at any moment, but it just felt off. The police doubted the story, but he was in a room by himself with the doors locked and the windows bolted. No one could get in or out. Just him and a gun, though if I remember correctly there was something off about the gun, which is why it wasn’t listed as just a suicide. But I don’t remember what exactly that was.”

I was struck by the similarities to what I had just witnessed. They were eerily alike. Men killed in locked rooms, one labeled suicide, the other labeled unknown. Each from the same family, the same company, the same type of situation.

Adam had given me three email addresses of people who had talked to him about the suicide, and I sent each person on my list an identical email. It said that with Miller’s death, there was renewed interest in the death of Dr. Vires and who the apps now belonged to. I mentioned that Adam Nelson of Advent had suggested I speak with them about the events surrounding the doctor’s death.

With that done, I headed downtown. The cat angle of the crimes seemed much less invasive to me in my current mood, so I drove down to the area. I wasn’t surprised that there was no cat in the vicinity. As far as I knew, that cat was at the crime scene. I wasn’t sure how that would work. What would Mrs. Miller say when they came to drop off a second cat to her? The whole situation felt wrong. I wasn’t sure who had adopted the second cat, but it seemed almost as if someone was setting her up for a crime. The person most likely to want to see Miller dead and his current wife implicated would likely be the ex-wife. I wondered how I could find her.

Only one woman was sitting on the curb now, and I approached her. I put a five dollar bill in her bag, hoping that would start up a conversation. She thanked me, and I held out another bill. I almost looked like a mime, creating an over-exaggerated expression of looking for the other woman. “Have you seen the woman who was here earlier?” I asked when she didn’t get my hint.

“Who’s that?” she replied.

“The woman who was here yesterday. She was sitting with you and an orange tabby.”

She wrinkled up her forehead. Her eyes were dull and listless. I wasn’t sure if she was using something or if there were other reasons for the lack of comprehension. “Orange what? Tab, like the drink?”

“No, a cat. An orange cat. It was here yesterday, but I don’t see it now.” I scanned the street as if to explain it to her. My conscience was even more upset by the fact that I was trying to trick this woman than it would have been by digging up someone else’s past. If she couldn’t answer this first question, I vowed to leave and not bother her again. I saw no use in agitating someone with these struggles.

“Oh, you mean, Harold. No, he comes and goes. Sometimes he’s here for a few days, and then he goes away, but he always comes back. Do you want me to leave a message for him?”

I smiled and declined her offer. Detective Green would have been disappointed that I didn’t leave messages for pets as well as just talk to them, but I figured that the message would be lost in translation. “Have you seen the other woman who was here yesterday? I thought you two were friends.”

The woman shook her head. “Not her. She doesn’t talk much. She just sits there and minds her own business. I can’t talk to her for anything. It’s annoying. She was here yesterday and then left about 5pm. I knew it was then because that’s usually when the donations come in, all those businessmen coming home from work. She just up and left and missed all of the money. I did well for myself that day.”

I nodded at her. “Do you think she’d be at any of the shelters? Is there one around here that would take her?” I admitted to myself that I had no idea about the resources for the homeless in Toledo. There could be 20 facilities or none, and I’d not know the difference. I thought about my habit of looking for Susan on the streets, but I’d never taken a step to look for her at a shelter, the next logical step. I wondered why, since I was obviously willing to do it for a stranger.

“There are a few shelters around here, but there’s only one that she’d use. The others usually fill up early or they don’t let you come by until after dark. She left in the afternoon.”

“Which one is that?” I felt guilty for taking this woman’s time, so I let the other five dollar bill drop from my hand into her container.

She smiled at me. “It’s the Main Street Drop Inn.” She gave me some quick directions. “The woman’s name is Evie. She did tell me that once, but that’s about all I know.”

I walked to Main Street and down the few blocks to the shelter. I found a volunteer near the front door, who seemed to be helping people find a place to eat and sleep for the evening. She was an older woman, perhaps in her late 50s, with broad hips and an oval body that seemed to always be in motion. She had a kind smile and was able to talk, listen and take care of small things all at the same time. I was impressed with her busyness.

“This time of year, people want to get out of the sun. We fill up fast in the afternoons and evenings. We’re about there now,” she explained. I waited patiently until she’d told two more people where they could find food and lodgings.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked.

“I was looking for a woman named Evie. She usually is on Adams near the theater, but no one has seen her for a few days.”

The woman scrunched up her face. “I wish I could help you, but it’s our policy not to talk about residents. There’s a liability issue if you are trying to find them to lock them up or injure them in some way.”

Maybe Green was right. I did need to work on my image if this woman looked at me and saw someone creepy enough to prey on the homeless. “It’s not that. She had a cat named Harold, and she lost him. I found the cat, and I’m trying to return it.”

The woman looked around, but of course, saw no cat since it was safely in police custody. “Sorry. We don’t allow pets here, so she wouldn’t have been able to stay with a cat. Other residents have allergies and other issues with animals. It’s best to have the clients alone. It’s probably better for the pet too, since someone will be taking care of them rather than feeding them scraps from whatever trash bin is around.”

I nodded. If I couldn’t find the woman who had the cat, then I was going to have to find the organization that had adopted the cats to “Marsha Miller.” Brett had indicated that they’d come from a rescue organization, and I now had to call him back and learn more about the cats.

No one answered the phone, so I left a message. I explained that “Marsha Miller” had adopted two cats from the shelter. She’d raved about how easy they were to work with and how wonderful her cats were. I told the machine that I wanted to adopt a cat as well and had decided to take her recommendation.

I checked my email, and one of the three emails regarding Dr. Vires had been returned as a bad address. A second email was waiting for me. The message gave me a phone number and a name.

I called and a woman answered after only half a ring. I introduced myself and told her that I was a reporter working on an article about Dr. Vires’ death following the death of his former son-in-law. She introduced herself as Dana Cavanaugh.

“Could you meet for coffee?” she suggested quickly. “I’d rather not get into this over the phone for obvious reasons.”

I wasn’t sure what those reasons were, but I agreed to meet her at Starbucks in 20 minutes.

I arrived first and waited to see who would enter. Dana Cavanaugh was not what I expected. She was an older woman, perhaps in her late 70s, with a pronounced limp. I remembered what I could of my manners and stood as she approached me. She smiled and sat down.

“So you’re interested in Vires’ death, eh?” she said without even bothering to order a drink.

“Yes, as I said, I’m working on an article about the similarities between his death and the death of James Miller.”

She squinted at me. “The only thing they have in common is that Miller killed his father-in-law, plain and simple.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. I now understood the desire to meet in person. She didn’t want any chance of this conversation being recorded and used against her later. Her words were accusations, and even though Miller was dead, her words were hostile.

“You heard me. I don’t know how, but I do know why. All you have to do is look at his pocketbook to know why.”

“The apps?” I ventured.

“The apps. He’s made a fortune selling those to various tech firms over the years. And what has he produced since his father-in-law’s death? Nothing. He hasn’t even produced a game in the past eight years.”

“So you think that he took the credit and the cash from Dr. Vires?”

“I know he did. I worked with him before that vulture moved in on him. Vires was working on some GPS apps back then. You can’t tell me that Miller walked in, figured out a better way to do things, and created the apps in less time than Vires had. The doctor was a genius when it came to seeing what people would need in the future. Miller was a leech who only wanted money and fame.”

“Do you have any details on this? I’ve only heard the bare outline of the story. It would help if I could get a police report of the death or some other documentation.”

She eyed me cautiously. “Are you going to do something about this matter? It’s about damned time someone cared about Vires and his death.”

I wavered. “I’m not sure what I can do after all this time, but I plan on seeing what I can about the matter. That’s all I can tell you now.” I didn’t think that sharing the reasons why I was investigating this instead of Miller would inspire her to trust me.

Dana Cavanaugh took a deep breath. “I’ll send you the medical examiner’s report. Essentially it was a fairly open-and-shut case of suicide, except for a few troubling details.”