A Candidate For Murder (Old Maids of Mercer Island Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

Doe raised an eyebrow. “Think there’s any way you can find out what’s going on from David?”

Before I could answer, Blair cut in, “Hey, I may have found the smoking gun…no pun intended,” she said, looking around at us.

“What is it?” Doe asked.

She held up an empty white envelope. “The return address is the Blankenship Law Firm in Seattle.”

“Let me see that,” Doe said, reaching out for it.

She took the envelope, studied the return address and then dropped her hand to the table.

“Cora Blankenship is a divorce attorney,” she announced.

“One of the best around,” Blair agreed. “I’ve used her twice.”

“So Clay is divorcing Dana?” I asked.

“No,” Doe said bluntly. “Cora only represents women.”

I inhaled. “So it’s
Dana
who wants a divorce?”

“Wait a minute,” Rudy interrupted. “Maybe this attorney just sent Dana a campaign check.”

“No,” Doe said. “I know Cora really well. We sat on the opera board together for many years. She doesn’t support political campaigns. She says it’s because she never knows who her next client will be.” Doe glanced at the envelope again. “No, I’d bet my mother’s ruby engagement ring that Dana has hired Cora to divorce Clay.”

“So maybe Clay wanted to kill her before she took all of his money in a divorce,” Rudy said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Doe continued. “Cora Blankenship’s whole reputation is built on the fact that she breaks the husband’s bank accounts. These women walk away with millions. She’s a ball buster.”

The three of us turned slowly to look at Blair, whose eyes lit up in defense.

“No, no, no. I didn’t have to do that. My boys all wanted to take care of me. I just went to Cora because…well, because she’s so good.”

“Maybe your
boys
, as you put it, took care of you
because
you went to her,” Rudy said with a sarcastic twist to her mouth. “Sometimes a threat is worth more than bringing in the actual artillery.”

“I wonder if that’s why Dana wouldn’t let Clay hire a detective,” I said. “She didn’t want to be indebted to him.”

“Well, this changes things if Clay knew about this,” Doe said thoughtfully.

“So maybe everybody really
does
have a reason to want Dana dead,” I said.

Rudy had just opened a manila envelope and dropped out a stack of photos. Doe leaned over to glance at them.

“Those are pictures of kids,” Doe said in surprise, pulling a couple of them toward her.

“But I thought she didn’t have any kids,” Blair said, grabbing one to study it.

I picked up two of the photos, too. One was a young boy about eight years old. He had coarse, black hair, a round face and dark eyes. The other picture was of two boys. One looked to be about eleven or twelve. He was overweight and had light brown hair. He wore glasses and had his arm around a younger boy. The boys looked like brothers, but the younger one had a birthmark across one cheek that looked vaguely like the Nike swoop. He was very thin and vaguely familiar.

“These aren’t Dana’s kids,” I said.

“Then whose are they?” Doe asked.

We passed ten photos around. They were all pictures of young boys. Some were action shots of the kids playing sports or games at parties. Others had them posing in places like a living room or bedroom.

Meanwhile, Rudy had continued looking through the small plastic bag Dana had brought out the night before. “What the heck is this?” she asked. She pulled out a handful of photo paper that had been cut into strips. “It looks like someone cut up some photos.”

She laid some of the strips of paper on the table.

“Can you tell what the photo was?” I asked, craning my head to look across the table.

“No,” she said, moving the slips of paper around. “But it looks like they came from more than one picture.”

“Hold on a minute,” Blair said. “I found some of those strips over here, too.” She was sitting at the end of the table and had found similar strips of paper in a different bag of trash. “I wonder what they are.”

Blair put hers on the table and shoved them down to Rudy. Rudy leaned over and spread them all out. Blair scooted her chair around and began moving strips back and forth on the table like she was working a jigsaw puzzle. For the next several minutes, she and Rudy worked together until a couple of the photos began to take shape.

“Uh, oh,” Doe said, reaching over and grasping a single strip of paper. “This doesn’t look good.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She glanced up at me and turned the thin strip of paper around so that I could see it.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

The strip showed the bare upper thigh of someone and the tip of a penis. I glanced down at the table. Another strip showed the side of a boy’s face.

“Wait. That boy looks like one of the kids from the photos that haven’t been cut up,” I said.

“Yeah, the kid with the birthmark,” Doe agreed.

“What the hell?” Rudy suddenly exclaimed. “Oh, my God!” she said, sitting back in her chair, the muscles in her face tensed.

“What is it?” Doe and I said in unison.

Rudy put the strip in her hand down with the half completed photo on the table in front of her. We all stood up to get a better view, and then all three of us gasped.

It was the picture of a naked boy posing with one hand on his hip in front of a pin ball machine.

“Oh no,” I said, dropping back down in my chair.

“No wonder she wanted to get rid of this stuff quickly,” Doe said. “I wonder if there are more.”

It took another twenty-five minutes to assemble a dozen photos of nude boys. I had found a roll of clear tape so that we could affix them together and then we sat back, the enthusiasm for discovery completely destroyed.

“I wonder who the pictures belong to,” Rudy said. “Are they Dana’s? Or Clay’s?”

“Who would have guessed Clay was a pedophile?” Blair said.

“We don’t know these are his,” I said. “If they are, he may have never acted on his impulses. Maybe he just likes looking at them.”

“Isn’t that still a crime?” Doe asked.

“Not necessarily,” Rudy said. “I covered a child pornography case once and apparently there are differing views on what constitutes pornography.”

“You mean just having pictures of nude kids might not be illegal?” I asked.

“Right. It’s all in how they’re used. If you distribute them for someone else’s pleasure, then that’s pornography. But the case I covered was a guy who had taken photos and videos of his young daughter, but never did anything with them. He kept them all for himself. She was only seven at the time, and the defense attorney tried to make the case that parents often take pictures of their children taking baths and the like.”

“Were these pictures of her in the bathtub?” Blair asked.

“No. He’d used a telephoto lens to take pictures of her from the backyard when she was getting dressed and also set up a video camera in the closet of her bedroom.”

“That’s disgusting,” Blair spat.

“He didn’t get off, did he?” Doe asked. We all turned to stare at her. “No, I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly. “I meant that he wasn’t acquitted, was he?”

“No. Not in the end. But it was interesting how the defense presented their case. They tried to make the argument that since he hadn’t distributed them to anyone else, he hadn’t committed a crime.”

“Even though he was probably
getting off
as you say, just by looking at them,” I said.

“Right,” Rudy replied. “It’s just like now with cell phones. You’ve seen those cases where a couple of kids will take nude selfies. They only get in trouble if they send them out to anyone else. Did you know that approximately 1 in 16 kids will suffer some form of sexual abuse?”

“Those aren’t good odds,” Doe said.

“No. And around 80% of the kids abused are abused by a parent,” Rudy said with a raised eyebrow.

“In this case, maybe a foster parent,” I said.

“I wish there was some kind of radar that could tell you when someone was a predator,” Blair said. “It would make things so much easier. Put them in jail
before
they ruin some poor kid’s life.”

“Well, these all look like pretty old pictures,” Doe said, fingering the corner of one of them. “Several of them are Polaroid’s and the colors are faded.”

“And look at the clothes and hair styles,” I added, pointing to them. “I bet these pictures are at least…I don’t know, thirty years old.”

“Wait, look at this one,” Blair said, gesturing to a reconstructed photo sitting near her. “There’s a man in the background.”

The picture was of the boy with the Nike swoop. He was on the floor on his hands and knees in front of a full-length mirror, with a dog collar around his neck. In the mirror was the reflection of a man holding the camera and taking the picture.

“That’s not Clay,” Doe said. “Clay is small. That guy must be at least six feet tall. And his face is hidden behind the camera.”

“Maybe this is her first husband, when she lived in Vancouver,” I said, studying the picture.

“Could be,” Doe said. “Or maybe these aren’t even hers.”

“But why would she have them?” Blair asked.

“The bigger question now is what do we do with them?” Rudy said. “Should we give them to the police?”

There was a moment of silence.

“No,” I said. “First of all, we were just told that the bottles and cigarette butt we found can’t be used as evidence because we broke the chain of custody. We certainly broke the chain of custody on this one.”

“But didn’t we also just establish that it may be a crime to have these?” Doe asked. “I mean, I’m not sure they should even be in
our
possession.”

“But if we take them to the police, we’ll have to tell them how we got them,” I argued. “I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that. And besides, we could be implicating someone for nothing. Frankly, we don’t know who these actually belong to. Let’s see what else we can find out first.”

Rudy didn’t look convinced, but she relented. “Okay. This gives me more ammunition with my newspaper friends down in Vancouver,” Rudy said. “I’ll drive down there tomorrow and do some checking around.”

“Do we care about this Eloise Radle?” Doe asked, picking up the cease and desist letter from the attorney.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. Somehow wanting to kill someone over a porch light seems extreme. But let’s keep her name just in case.” Doe nodded in agreement. “Okay, I have to get down to City Hall and talk to Tony. Meanwhile, is there any way we can find out more about why Dana contacted the divorce attorney?” I asked.

“Cora is tight-lipped when it comes to her clients,” Doe said. “We’d have better luck talking with some of Dana’s friends.”

“And just who would that be?” Rudy asked cynically.

I smiled. “Believe it or not, I think she just joined the ‘Others.’”

“Oh no,” Blair exclaimed. “I don’t know who went to the dark side first, her or them.”

I waved my hand in the air. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, they’re just another book club.”

“Not anymore,” Blair was quick to say. “First they criticized us for reading what they called trashy genre books, and now they’ve admitted Dana to their ranks. They really
are
our rival book club.”

“Well, speaking of book clubs, now that I’m not running for mayor, we don’t have an excuse not to get ours started again,” I said.

We began throwing things back into the trash bags.

“I agree,” Rudy said. “There’s a new book out about the downfall of the Russian aristocracy I’d like to read.”

Blair glanced up. “Oh, gee, I can hardly wait.”

Rudy gave her a scowl. “Don’t tell me…you’d rather read
Fifty Shades of Grey
.”

Blair shrugged. “Already read it…twice.”

“Well, I didn’t know Dana liked to read,” Doe said.

“She probably doesn’t,” I replied. “But she knows the Others don’t like us, and so of course, she likes them.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Doe murmured.

“Well, enemies or not, I think we hit the jackpot today,” Rudy said, picking up one of the taped photos. “Now we just need to figure out what it all means.”

We put the photos of the boys back into the envelope, but kept out Cora Blankenship’s envelope and the letter from Eloise Radle’s attorney. Doe told us to leave the rest of the trash in bags outside the garage and her guys would pick it up the next day. Then, everyone left, and I went inside to fix some lunch.

By two o’clock I was entering City Hall, heading for the City Administrator’s office. I’d called ahead and made an appointment with Tony, but ran into Mayor Frum just as he was leaving.

“Hello, Julia,” he hailed me as I stepped off the elevator. “What brings you down here?”

“I have a meeting with Tony,” I said, not wanting to divulge the reason for the meeting. “Where are you off to?”

“Another ribbon cutting,” he said jovially. “One of the highlights of my job is welcoming a new business to town.”

“Oh? Who’s moving in?” I asked.

“Island Florists have finally finished remodeling the old Potter building,” he said. “So now we’ll have a lovely florist and gift shop right downtown.”

I smiled. “That’s wonderful. I’ll have to stop by and order something.”

“You do that, Julia. Well, gotta run.”

With that, he grabbed the elevator and disappeared behind the closing doors. I entered the outer offices of the Mayor and City Administrator and announced myself. Tony’s door was open and he quickly came to greet me and guide me into his office. Even though he was left-handed, he extended his right hand, since his left hand was one of those prosthetics that looked like a real hand, but wasn’t very functional.

“Good to see you, Julia,” he said with a smile.

Tony was medium height, with dark hair, hazel eyes, and smooth, dark skin. While somewhat shy, his broad smile and intense gaze enveloped you and made you feel you were the only person in the room. He lived in a modest house on the island with his wife and young daughter.

He offered me the chair across from his desk and then sat behind it. Because his lower left leg had been blown off by a land mine in Afghanistan, he wore a prosthetic there, too. But he didn’t let it slow him down. He kept active by skiing in the winter and kayaking in the spring and summer.

“What can I do for you, Julia? If it’s about my endorsement, you have it,” he declared openly. “I think you’d make a fine mayor.”

I laughed. “No. It’s not about that. In fact,” I said, pausing. “I…uh…well, I’ve decided to drop out of the race.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with a genuine look of disappointment.

I sighed. “Yes. You probably heard about Trudy Bascom’s murder.”

He grabbed a pencil and began tapping it nervously on the desk. “Yes. Tragic.”

“You know the target was actually Dana Finkle?”

He nodded. “The Chief of Police gave us a briefing. I’m not surprised by that. I didn’t really know Mrs. Bascom very well, but she seemed like a very gentle person. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her.”

“Not like Dana?” I added.

He winced. “Let’s face it. You know better than anyone what she can be like. Last month at the City Council meeting she actually said that people with disabilities were forcing the rest of the general public to make too many changes that interfered with their freedoms. She knew perfectly well I was sitting right there.”

“She has her moments,” I lamented. “But no one should try to kill her.”

“No,” he said, rolling the pencil into his fist. “I suppose no one should do that.” He dropped his gaze to his desk and seemed lost in thought.

“Anyway,” I said, bringing his attention back to me. “I’m here for another reason. Dana agreed to drop out of the mayoral race if I would.”

He looked at me curiously. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said. “I never really wanted to run for mayor. But I was convinced if I didn’t run that Dana would most certainly win. And I couldn’t stand for that.”

I felt my temperature rise slightly at just the thought of her amphibian gaze contemplating me from behind the mayor’s desk, had she won.

“I know what you mean,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’d already started looking for a new job. So, now what?” he asked. “I don’t remember anyone else filing.”

I shifted in my seat. “No one else has filed that I’m aware of. That’s why I think
you
should do it.”

He stared at me for a moment, his facial muscles frozen in place. He finally took a breath and said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not,” I declared with certainty. “Tony, you’re the most competent city administrator we’ve ever had. You’re smart. You’re hard-working. You’re good with people. And you love this island. What more could we want?”

“But I’m not a politician.”

“Neither am I, and yet you and many others were willing to overlook that and endorse me.”

He got up and moved awkwardly to stare out the window. “After the military, I thought I’d have my own company. My uncle owned a construction company, and I worked my way up through the trades when I was younger. I could hammer and plaster with the best of them. I thought since I’d worked in so many areas of construction, I’d come back after my service and build up my own crew over time.” He held out his left hand and glanced down at it. “But Afghanistan changed all of that,” he said, flexing the prosthetic fingers. “I had to have a lot of rehab as a result of my injuries, and I suffered from PTSD. I had to spend a lot of time in counseling. My chance was lost.” He turned to me. “So I went back to school and got a degree in business and came to work for the city. I’m happy with the job I have. But it’s not what I really planned to do. And I’m not sure I
want
to be mayor.”

I stood up. “Just promise me you’ll think about it,” I said. “The filing deadline isn’t for a couple of weeks. And my guess is that once it becomes known that both Dana and I have dropped out, a long list of wannabes will quickly file. We need someone who knows what they’re doing, Tony. That’s you.” I gave him my warmest smile.

He nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

“Good. Now I’ve got to get going,” I said, standing up. “By the way, I hope we’ll see you at the reception for Jason Spears on Friday.”

“Yes, I plan to be there. I’m not sure I believe in ghosts like you do, but it should be interesting. Is he going to read from his book?”

“I think so. But they’re also bringing all of their equipment to do some ghost hunting. I just hope our ghosts cooperate,” I said with a smile.

He walked me to the door of his office. As we emerged into the reception area, we were confronted with none other than Detectives Abrams and Franks getting off the elevator. I thought they were following me until I saw the look on David’s face as they entered the outer offices. Both he and Detective Abrams stared right past me and at Tony. Detective Abrams reached behind his back, extracted a pair of handcuffs and stepped forward.

“Mr. Morales,” he said, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Trudy Bascom.”

I’m sure he must have finished the whole Miranda warning as he clasped on the handcuffs, but all I heard was a buzzing sound. Everyone in the office stood like statues, staring at Tony with a mixture of fascination and horror. Poor Tony’s face had disintegrated from initial confusion to fear. I felt lightheaded enough that I had to reach out to steady myself by grabbing onto the nearest desk.

“But…what do you mean?” I finally stammered. “He couldn’t have done it.”

Detective Abrams gave me a stern look. “The evidence proves otherwise.”

He took Tony by the arm and escorted him out the door. David followed, but I caught up to him.

“David! What are you doing?”

He turned to me with a look of apology. “The text to Dana came from his IP address, and we found the murder weapon in his garage. It’s a good arrest, Julia.”

“But he didn’t do it!” I pleaded.

“You don’t know that,” he said, inching closer to me. “Now stay out of this and let us do our job.”

And with that, my new-found boyfriend was gone, along with the best mayoral candidate we had.