A Quiet Death (23 page)

‘Jogging Trail Killer Apprehended,' a sidebar announced, superimposed over a shot of a reporter standing outside the Chesapeake County hospital emergency room, holding a microphone. ‘An unemployed computer programmer has been arrested in connection with the murders of two women on metropolitan area jogging trails and is implicated in attacks upon two others,' she began. Her image was replaced by the police sketch of the suspect that had been widely distributed since the assault on the woman in Rock Creek Park. The reporter seemed primed to go on, but suddenly there was a flurry of activity. She turned and viewers got to watch while plainclothes police officers appeared in the background, escorting a man whose arm was in a blue sling, his head covered with a jacket. As cameramen from all the major networks scuttled to follow, a police officer mashed his hand down on the top of the prisoner's head, stuffed him into the back seat of a black and white patrol car, and sped away.

The reporter had nothing new to add, so I telephoned Emily on her cell. She picked up on the first ring. ‘Hey, Mom. What's up?'

‘Your uncle called, and I just saw a report on the television. They think they've got the guy who killed Meredith.'

On Emily's end of the line there was a gasp, then silence as the news sunk in. ‘Thank God,' she said at last.

‘It's on CNN right now,' I told my daughter. ‘All the channels will have it soon. Are you anywhere near a TV?'

‘I'm at the spa, and heading toward the conference room right now. I want to see this guy.' I heard a door open, then close, then the sound of a television springing to life. ‘Actually, I want to murder him with my bare hands, dismember him bit by bit, drop the pieces in—'

I cut in. ‘Can I watch?'

‘Sorry, Mom. I got carried away. You must be relieved that it wasn't that fellow you met on the Metro who did it.'

‘I'm sad that anybody did it. But yes, I'm relieved that it wasn't Nick, and that they finally nailed the bastard.'

With the Jogging Trail Murders suspect locked away in my brother-in-law's detention center, the nation's capital was breathing a huge sigh of relief. So was I, until a DC homicide detective paid me a call.

‘I'm Detective Terry Hughes,' he said from my doorstep, presenting his shield for my inspection, ‘and this is Corporal Sherry Miller.'

Holding the door open, I gawped, rendered temporarily speechless.

Hughes was big, black, broad-shouldered and beautiful, with eyelashes that curled over his amber eyes and shaded them like awnings.

His partner, in contrast, was petite and as pale as Hughes was dark. Freckles splashed across her nose, and her white-blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail at the nape of her neck.

‘We're investigating the murder of Meredith Logan,' Hughes explained, ‘and I understand you might be able to help us.'

‘I really didn't know Meredith very well, detective,' I said. ‘Why don't we sit in the living room. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?'

They declined.

After we were seated comfortably, I continued. ‘Meredith was my daughter's friend. They were classmates at Bryn Mawr College up in Pennsylvania, but that was some time ago.'

‘We'll want to talk to your daughter, too, of course. How can we get in touch with her?' Detective Hughes asked.

I gave him Emily's address and phone number, watching with fascination as Sherry Miller wrote it down in a minuscule notebook, using neat capitals letters.

‘I'm confused, Detective Hughes. I thought the police had arrested a man for Meredith's murder. That Jogging Trail guy.'

Sherry Miller glanced quickly at Hughes, but Hughes sent a withering glance in her direction and whatever she'd been about to say died on her lips. ‘We're interested in what you might be able to tell us about a shopping bag that has shown up on some security tapes at the Library of Congress.' Hughes reached into the leather portfolio he'd been carrying and handed me a picture, a close-up of Lilith's Garfinkel's bag. ‘Can you tell us anything about it?'

‘What would you like to know?'

‘What's in it, for a start.'

‘Letters and photos. At least that's what was in it when I had it.'

‘When was that?' he asked.

I told him about the Metro crash, described how I had met Skip, and explained the mix-up at the hospital.

‘What date would that be – the crash, I mean?'

I opened my mouth to say that I couldn't believe he wouldn't know the answer to that. For weeks, there had been nothing else in the papers or on TV. But, I paused, counted to three and told him anyway. ‘September the seventh.'

‘Do you know where the bag is now?' he asked.

‘No. I mean, yes. I returned it to its owner.'

‘Who is?'

‘A woman named Lilith Chaloux. She lives on the Eastern Shore in Woolford, a few miles outside of Cambridge.'

‘When you had the bag, at any time was it out of your possession?' he asked.

‘Absolutely not.'

Corporal Miller glanced up from her notes and spoke for the first time. Her voice was clear and light, almost like a child's. ‘What kind of letters and photographs were they, Mrs Ives?'

‘Personal ones.'

‘Can you elaborate on that?' she asked, one eyebrow arched suspiciously as if she expected me to say ‘porn.'

‘I don't feel it's my place to go into a lot of detail. For that, it's best you ask Lilith Chaloux yourself. But I don't think she'd mind if I told you they were love letters.'

‘What is Ms Chaloux's connection to Meredith Logan?'

‘None, as far as I know. Ms Chaloux lives out in the country by herself, in a cottage on the water. She paints. I don't think she socializes very much.'

Hughes reached into his portfolio and withdrew another picture. ‘Who is this man?'

I was sure he knew the answer to this question, too. ‘His name is Skip – I mean Nicholas Aupry. He was riding the Metro with me when it crashed. It was his bag.'

‘And this?' Another picture came sliding across the coffee table my way.

The minute I laid eyes on it, I gave myself a silent high five. John Chandler had made good on his promise. The surveillance tapes that Jud Wilson had shared with me were now in police possession. The picture showed James Hoffner in profile, just after he dropped the Garfinkel's bag off on the conveyor belt that would take it through the X-ray machine at the Library of Congress. ‘That is a sleazy lawyer named James Hoffner.'

Sherry grinned, then quickly recovered, dropping her voice almost an octave to ask, ‘Why is Mr Hoffner carrying the Garfinkel's bag in this picture?'

‘He's Nicholas Aupry's attorney.'

I handed the picture back. ‘Look, why are you asking me these questions? Shouldn't you be asking Mr Aupry and Mr Hoffman?'

‘We've talked to Mr Hoffman,' Miller volunteered. ‘And you've just confirmed what he told us.'

‘How about Nicholas Aupry?' I asked. ‘What did he have to say?'

Detective Hughes slid all three photos into his portfolio and snapped it shut. ‘Unfortunately, we haven't been able to locate Mr Aupry. We're hoping you could help us with that, too.'

My jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean you can't locate him? He's at Kernan Hospital up in Baltimore. As you probably know, he was gravely injured in the accident. He's in rehab.'

Hughes exchanged glances with his partner. ‘Was. Mr Aupry was discharged from Kernan two days ago.'

I sat silent for a moment, stunned. ‘Have you talked to his mother? Checked where he works? His mother told me he's got some sort of research position at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab in Laurel.'

‘We haven't talked to her yet, but we will.'

Corporal Sherry Miller folded her notebook, but before she could stuff it into her pocket, she asked, ‘Is there anything else you think we need to know?'

James Hoffner is a lying, murdering son of a bitch
? But I bit my tongue. ‘I'm not sure whether it's related or not, but we had a break-in several weeks ago.'

Hughes glanced quickly at Miller –
be sure to write that down
– then back at me. ‘Did you report it to the police?'

I nodded. ‘Nothing seems to have been taken, though. Whoever it was could have been looking for the letters. Hard to say. The police dusted for prints.' I shrugged.

‘We'll check with them.' Hughes stood and extended his hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ives. You've been very helpful.'

‘Promise me you will find the person who did this to Meredith,' I said as I shook his hand. ‘She was a lovely young woman.'

‘We're working flat out on that, Mrs Ives.' Corporal Miller started toward the door, paused and turned. ‘You can be sure of that.'

‘Detective Hughes?' I asked as I opened the door to see them out. ‘Have you ever played football for the Redskins?'

His laugh started somewhere deep in his chest and rumbled out of his mouth like a runaway locomotive. ‘I get that a lot.'

Not long after Hughes and Miller left, something struck me like a knife though the heart. The picture Hughes showed me of Nicholas Aupry. It wasn't taken at the Library of Congress at all. In that picture, Nick was waiting near a reception desk, and hanging on the wall behind him was the distinctive red, white and blue logo of the Lynx News Network.

TWENTY-FOUR

I
telephoned Lilith right away.

‘Hannah, how good to hear from you.'

I didn't shilly-shally around. ‘Lilith, is Nick with you?'

‘No, he isn't. Why do you ask?'

If I mentioned the police it might alarm her, so I said, ‘I just called Kernan and they say he's been discharged! I found that so hard to believe that I made them check the patient inventory again. How can he have gone home so soon? The last time I saw him he was flat on his back with stainless steel rods screwed into his skull.'

Lilith spoke lightly. ‘He made a lot of progress since the last time you visited, Hannah. When I was there last week, he had a brace on his leg, but was using a walker.'

‘Do you have a cell phone number for him. I'm assuming he got a new one?'

‘Nick gave it to me, Hannah. It's around here somewhere.'

Great, I thought. They'll uncover it in the next century when they dig down to the Mesozoic level. ‘Do you know where he went? I'd like to send him a card,' I said, making it up as I went along.

‘I don't know his mailing address. He'd just started at Hopkins before the accident and hadn't found a place to live yet, so he was living in a motel while a realtor helped him find a condo. The lab's been incredibly understanding. They're holding the job for him until he gets back on his feet. Wait a minute!' I heard papers rustling. ‘I knew it was here somewhere. Before the accident, Nick was staying at a Night and Day Suites, near Laurel.

‘Where on earth have they discharged him to, Hannah? I wish he'd told me!' she rattled on, almost without taking a breath. ‘But then, we haven't been close for years. I'm trying, I really am, but after all the baggage that we both bring into the relationship, it's unrealistic to expect changes overnight.' Lilith paused for air, then asked, ‘Do you want me to go to Kernan and see what I can find out?'

‘No, no, I'll be happy to do it. I'm a hundred miles closer than you are, Lilith. Try to relax. I'll let you know when I find out anything.'

‘Thanks, Hannah.' Her voice faltered. ‘You're the first real friend I've had in . . . well, just thanks.'

After that unsolicited endorsement, I got a little misty-eyed, too.

Two minutes after saying goodbye to Lilith, I telephoned Kernan Hospital and asked to speak to Nicholas Aupry.

‘I'm sorry, he's no longer a patient here,' the operator informed me.

‘Oh my gosh! I'm his aunt, and I was planning to send him this big box of chocolates, his favorites, dark chocolate with caramel. I can't believe he left the hospital without telling me. Can you tell me his forwarding address?'

I figured the woman wouldn't be a pushover, and I was right. ‘Sorry, dear. Even if I had it, which I don't, I couldn't give it out to you. Patient confidentiality. I'm sure you understand.'

I lowered my voice, spoke softly and slowly, adding a snuffly sniffle in the middle of the sentence for effect. ‘Sure. I understand. I understand completely. I've tried him on his cell, too, but he doesn't pick up. Frankly, I'm worried. Nick isn't in the best of shape.'

The woman on the other end of the line brightened, her next words sounding positively chipper. ‘You shouldn't worry about that for a minute. Your nephew is listed as an outpatient now. He's due here for physical therapy at three thirty this afternoon. Why don't you come and wait for him here?'

I clucked my tongue. ‘You are
kidding
me! I go away for a couple of days . . . Men! They never tell you anything, do they? He probably thinks he can manage all by himself, but you know what that means. Living on Hungry Jack frozen entrées delivered by Pea Pod or something. I am going to make him the biggest lasagne . . .' And I hung up.

I left Annapolis in plenty of time to arrive at Kernan in order to waylay Nick when he appeared for therapy. I sat in a waiting-room chair for a while, thumbing through copies of
People
magazine, then I paced. Thirty minutes, forty, an hour went by. Still no Nick.

The volunteer watch changed at four o'clock, and I was elated when the same woman who had been on duty the first time I visited the hospital strolled out from a staff area and took a seat behind the desk. I waited until she got settled, then approached her. ‘Hi. Remember me?' I flapped my hand in an ‘aw shucks' way and laughed. ‘Oh, of course you don't. You see
hundreds
of people every day. I'm Nicholas Aupry's aunt. He was supposed to come in for his physical therapy session today.' I tapped the face on my watch. ‘But he's over an hour late! Did he call or anything? I'm kinda worried.'