It Takes Two to Strangle (16 page)

“Did Tabby confront Lirim about the pictures?” Damon pressed.

She paused again then went to the nearby kitchen and returned with a glass tumbler filled with a yellowish-brown liquid that smelled of lemon tea with honey. She sat back down, carefully balancing the glass with both hands in her lap. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know whether Tabby confronted Lirim fifteen years ago when the rumors were going around and Sheriff Greely came to their house. But I think she did a year and a half ago.”

Damon leaned in again. “Was he still taking photos?”

“No, no. I think he stopped almost as soon as he started. There was only ever one girl and one photo session. At least that’s what Tabby told me.” Damon felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to itch. He didn’t interrupt.

“She found a stash of pictures. Less than two weeks before her accident. Lirim had gone on a weekend fishing trip and Tabby decided to give the garage a thorough scrubbing. She rarely went into the garage because they didn’t keep cars in there. It was strictly used for Lirim’s equipment.”

Johnnetta winced. “About four hours into cleaning, she was pulling things down from a set of shelves to dust underneath. From the top shelf she removed a flat metal box, like one that would hold a ratchet set. When she was climbing down the stepladder she noticed how light it was. Tabby said it just struck her as feeling strange—a box for tools should have been heavy. So she snapped the container open.”

Johnnetta’s hands trembled and she tipped her tumbler of tea. Warm liquid splashed onto her floor length cotton skirt. Damon strode quickly into the narrow galley kitchen and found a roll of paper towels. He handed them to Johnnetta and she adroitly dabbed at her lap.

“Sorry about that,” she stammered nervously.

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Frank. Can I get you a fresh glass of tea?”

“No, no. I’m all right.” She set the stemless glass on the coffee table between a faded wedding album and an empty tissue box. “I can go on. It’s high time I talked to someone about this. I only wish my Frederick had still been alive when Tabby told me. He would have known what to do.”

She continued. “As you can guess, the metal box contained pictures of a little girl without clothing. Originals and copies. I never saw them but Tabby said the girl couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old. She said there was nothing seductive about them. It was just a white-skinned bare child standing up straight, sitting cross-legged and lying down, but not sexually positioned.”

“Did Tabby know who the girl was?”

“She said she didn’t. It wasn’t Clara, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know because I asked Tabby point blank and she said no.” Johnnetta Frank crossed herself. “And these weren’t professional photographs, either. They were instant shots from a Polaroid. In color, but crude. I think Lirim had about twenty pictures and made copies of them. Those must have been what he was selling.”

“Copies of an instant photo?” Damon asked.

“Tabby said it looked like the Polaroids were laid down on the face of a copy machine and just copied onto plain paper.”

“You said Tabby confronted Lirim. Was that right after she found the photos?”

“It was. Lirim was on his trip until the following day and Tabby didn’t want to discuss the matter over the telephone. So she came to see me and told me what she found. She said she had believed her husband all of those years ago. At the time, he said a group of men made up a story because he had beaten them out of some money at a poker game. And after Sheriff Greely came to speak with Lirim and looked around the house, the sheriff’s office dropped the inquiry. So she thought she had done right by him to believe in him.”

Johnnetta started to reach for her tea, then realized the tumbler was empty. “I remember the day she told me like it was yesterday. We sat right here, and she cried and cried. It didn’t surprise me that she found those pictures. My Frederick never liked Lirim Jovanovic. Said he was a bad seed. After she stopped crying, she told me she was going to confront him and wave the pictures in his face. ‘And then what?’ I asked. She didn’t want to tell the sheriff if she was convinced it was an isolated incident because it would have been too shameful to have the police and television reporters all over her house. Instead, she said she would play her trump card and tell the heathen she was cutting him out of her will.”

Damon nodded and urged her to continue. He still didn’t know how the pieces fit together, but they were starting to stack up.

“Tabby and Lirim were about the same age but smoking had blackened her lungs. Lirim figured he would outlive her by a good many years, so removing him from her will would have come as a blow. Do you know about Tabby’s trust?”

Damon said that he did and that Tabby Jovanovic must not have changed the terms of her will in time because Lirim received his share from the liquidated trust.

“What a shame that car accident was,” Johnnetta said with sympathy. “For as long as I live, I’ll never understand what she was doing on the road in the middle of the night.”

“And you didn’t hear her car leave,” Damon posited.

“No. I’m a sound sleeper and the woods between our houses deadens all of the sound.”

Damon remembered the question that Sheriff Anbani had asked of Jasper Horton “Mrs. Frank, did Tabby typically wear her seat belt?”

She responded in a patronizing voice one might reserve for a child. “Yes, she always did.”

Damon changed course. “Did you ever tell anyone what Tabby told you about the pictures?” he asked gently.

Johnnetta cast her eyes down to the floor to avert his gaze. “No,” she said in a mild tone. “I haven’t told anyone until now.”

Damon felt as if the middle-aged woman wasn’t being completely truthful with him. He didn’t want to push her but felt compelled to ask why she hadn’t told the sheriff about Tabby’s discovery after the car accident.

“I don’t know,” she responded. “It’s not in my nature to interfere, and I guess I thought it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe they could have found that little girl. She’d be all grown up now. But why would a young woman in the prime of her life want to dredge up such ugly memories?”

To put the pervert who photographed her, sold naked pictures of her and did God knows what else to her behind bars, Damon thought. But instead of expressing that notion, he rose from his chair and thanked Johnnetta Frank for her time.

As she walked with him to the front door she asked, “Will the sheriff come to talk with me?”

“I expect he will.” Damon stepped onto the walkway in front of the house. “But now that Lirim’s dead, I can’t imagine he’ll have too many questions.”

Chapter 14

Damon had confirmed that Lirim Jovanovic exploited a young girl. He didn’t know how it tied to Lirim’s death, but it was a significant advancement. He needed to call Gerry and Sheriff Anbani to alert them of his discovery. Back at the Hampton Inn, he turned on his phone and retrieved a message from Gerry. He had spoken with Sheriff Anbani about the rumors of Lirim’s child pornography distribution endeavor. Clara, now the rightful owner of the Jovanovic home on Railback Road, had consented to a search of the premises. Gerry was on the road and meeting Anbani in front of the house at three thirty that afternoon.

Damon looked down at his watch. It was just past one. He booked in for a second night and then called Ravi Anbani and relayed the information passed to him by Johnnetta Frank. Damon could sense the sheriff’s excitement over the telephone. Anbani would speak with Johnnetta Frank before meeting Gerry Sloman that afternoon.

Damon hesitated before calling Gerry. He felt guilty for pursuing inquiries on his own. He wasn’t qualified to conduct an investigation. But he was achieving results and that felt good. Damon was also concerned about Margaret Hobbes’ reaction to the news of Damon making his own inquiries. He didn’t want Gerry’s superior officer to blame the detective just because the two men were friends.

Damon was able to reach Gerry on his mobile and passed the latest information along to him. He couldn’t tell whether Gerry was pleased with his detecting or annoyed by the interference. For all Damon knew, photographing the girl was a one-time incident more than a decade old and Damon’s discovery was taking Gerry away from finding Lirim’s real murderer. But still, he had found something tangible for the police to sink their teeth into and it made him feel proud.

Damon took a mid-afternoon nap and was back on Railback Road at three-thirty. He pulled in behind Sheriff Anbani, who was stepping out of his vehicle. Gerry Sloman was already there, leaning against a broad-leafed oak tree on the other side of the ditch, peering at a handheld device. Damon introduced the men, who shook hands.

“You made good time,” Damon said to Gerry.

Gerry responded genially but then turned his attention to the sheriff from West Virginia. “I have permission from Lirim’s daughter to go onto the premises and into all of the structures. No restrictions.”

“Good,” Anbani said. He spoke just as formally as Gerry. “I just came from the neighbor’s house. Johnnetta Frank confirmed the story she told Damon this morning.” He consulted his wristwatch. “We have about five hours of light left. The house isn’t very big, but there’s the garage and a decent amount of land. Do you want me to call in a deputy or two?”

Damon looked at the men standing before him. Neither was willing to meet his gaze. It was clear that Damon wasn’t going to be invited to participate in the search. He was disappointed—neither man would have been there if not for his intuition. But he assumed there could be evidentiary problems if he found something useful.

“Let’s start and make a decision in an hour on whether we need more bodies,” Gerry said to Anbani.

Gerry turned to face Damon. “Sorry Damon, we can’t let you come in with us,” he said. “I’m appreciative of the information you’ve uncovered. But you’re not an officer of the law.” Gerry turned away with an apologetic look—he knew Damon had been trying to help and succeeding.

Damon drove to a restaurant called “Bobby’s Burgers” at the end of a strip mall near his hotel and ventured inside. The place was deserted save for two attractive women eating salads and drinking from matching cans of Fanta Zero. He ordered a regular Fanta along with a half-pound cheeseburger and a basket of fries.

He selected a booth that had a discarded newspaper in it and decided to wait out Gerry and Ravi Anbani.

Two hours and three sodas later, a call came in from Gerry.

“Jackpot!” he exclaimed.

“You found the pictures?” Damon asked with energy.

“Photocopies. And here’s the best part—Anbani says he knows who the girl is. We’re heading back to the sheriff’s office. Meet us there in fifteen minutes. Anbani’s sending in his deputies to finish the search.”

The gatekeeper Carla had been replaced behind the sheriff’s office front desk by a pencil thin man. He led Damon to Sheriff Anbani’s office.

Anbani pointed Damon to the same chair he had been seated in hours earlier. Gerry Sloman occupied the seat that had been occupied by Deputy Horton. Gerry’s eyes were brimming with enthusiasm despite the weary slouch of his body.

“I can’t believe the old bugger still had them,” Gerry said. “After all of this time and after his wife caught him red-handed.”

“Did you find the originals?” Damon asked.

Anbani responded. “No, they’re a set of paper photocopies. My deputies are tearing the place apart looking for the originals, tough Tabitha probably destroyed those after she found them.”

“Mrs. Frank suggested that there were about twenty different photographs,” Gerry said. “We only found photocopies of six. All of the same girl and very poor quality.

“We’ll need to contact some of the carnival folks to see if Lirim was still in the sales business,” Anbani said. “But we doubt it after all of this time and with such old pictures.”

“Where did you find them?” Damon asked Gerry.

“In his bedroom. Hardly hidden at all.” Gerry smiled. “We started with the garage because that was where Tabby found Lirim’s main stash. We found a switchblade and a pretty severe looking hunting knife in the bottom of a wastepaper basket full of rags, but no pictures.”

Ravi Anbani took up the discourse. “Then we searched the house. That place is disgusting inside. It probably hasn’t been cleaned since Tabitha died. There are ants parading all over the dining room floor and the whole kitchen stinks of decayed chicken. We left those areas to the deputies.” He grinned widely and Damon pictured Jasper Horton donning a disposable face mask as he pawed through rotten hulks of unidentifiable food.

“But the pictures were in the bedroom,” Anbani continued. “He had a brown leather briefcase with real brass rivets. Inside was a tattered manila envelope with the photocopies.” The sheriff picked up an envelope matching the description from his desk and waved it triumphantly. “I knew that son of a bitch was guilty. I only wish I could have done something about it when he was alive. You sure you want to find his killer, Detective?” The older lawman gave Gerry a wink.

“I’m sure,” Gerry said. “Jovanovic doesn’t have an exclusive license on being an asshole.”

Ravi Anbani left the office and came back with three bottles of water. Taking one from his rough skinned hand, Damon asked, “So you think you know who the girl is?”

“I do,” Anbani said, standing in the narrow gap between the wall behind his desk and his black mesh swivel chair. “I have a daughter. She’s in college now, but about ten years ago, she spent two weeks at an all-day summer art camp down I-79 in Fairmont. That’s about twenty miles southwest of here. My wife was still working then so we had to find somewhere for Hayden to spend the daytime hours.” He looked down at the framed picture of his family on the front of his desk. “I happened to be spending most of my summer down in Fairmont. The Marion County sheriff who is based down there had taken ill and they didn’t have an experienced deputy to step into the role. So I volunteered and spent two months testing my chops at the top position.”

He took a lengthy drink from his water bottle and sat down in his desk chair. “Hayden’s instructor was a woman in her thirties. A single mother who taught courses through the Fairmont Parks and Recreation department. She brought her teenage daughter to class with her every day to serve as her assistant. I remember Hayden really liked the girl—she wore fashionable jeans. I saw the teacher and her daughter every day for two weeks and I am positive the daughter is the girl in Jovanovic’s photos.”

“That would have been about five years after the pictures were taken,” Damon said.

“That’s right,” Anbani said. “And even though I haven’t thought about that girl in the ten years since the end of Hayden’s art camp, I definitely recognize her.”

“So now what?” asked Damon. “Do you remember her name or her mother’s name?”

“No, but I might be able to find out,” Anbani said to Damon while winking at Gerry. That was the second wink of the meeting. Damon had the impression the two of them had agreed to allow Damon to participate as a way of repaying him for finding out about Lirim’s sordid past.

Anbani picked up the landline receiver from the telephone base on his neatly kept desk.

“Are you calling your daughter?” Damon asked.

“Better. The sheriff down in Marion County.” The ringing from the other end of the line was audible. No one answered and Ravi Anbani touched the dial tone button and punched in another number. This time it connected and after thirty seconds of conversation he hung up. “I caught the sheriff on his home phone. He’s finding the number for the director of the Fairmont Parks and Recreation Department.”

The telephone rang a minute later and the sheriff scrawled a number on a clean sheet of white paper attached to a clipboard. He dialed again, this time using the speaker function.

A woman picked up and, after Anbani stressed the urgency of the call, went to interrupt her husband’s shower.

Silence filled the air, save for a faint noise over the phone that sounded like a cat scratching at a post.

“Do you have any pets, Sheriff?” Damon asked, breaking the quiet.

“My wife has a cat,” he said. “She sleeps on a pillow right between us on the bed.” Anbani paused, then said with a coarse smile. “My wife has always had a soft spot for the cat.”

A hoarse male voice came on the line.

“Lester Jackson here.”

“Hi, Lester. This is Ravi Anbani, the sheriff up in Monongalia County. Sheriff Craig gave me your name and number. Sorry to interrupt you.”

“No problem, Sheriff. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for a woman who taught art classes at the Fairmont Parks and Recreation Department about ten years ago.”

“Not too many people stay that long, but a few do. I have an address list if you have her name.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t. It’s actually the daughter I’m interested in, but I think finding the mother might be easier. The woman was single at the time and would probably be in her forties by now. She was of medium height, and when I saw her ten years ago, thin as a rail with long brown hair that she always wore in a ponytail. And she had a speech impediment.”

Lester Jackson cut in. “Vicky Roscoph.” He spelled it out. “And her daughter’s name is Hannah.”

Damon and Gerry looked at each other. They had a name to go with the photographs.

“Is Vicky still teaching classes down there?” Anbani asked.

“No. I’m pretty sure she and her daughter are both in Oakland, California. Hannah left Fairmont about two years after high school. Vicky went on for months about how she was all alone because her only child had moved across the country. Then, about a year ago, Vicky told me not to sign her up to teach any more classes because she was moving to live with Hannah in Oakland.”

“This is absolute gold for me,” Anbani said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a forwarding address or telephone number would you?”

“Give me a minute. I have my work computer at home. I’ll check the list.” In less than two minutes Lester Jackson came back on the line. “Sorry, Sheriff, I don’t have it.”

“That’s all right. This is still phenomenal information. If you ever need anything up here in Monongalia County, don’t hesitate to call on me. And sorry about getting you out of the shower.”

Chapter 15

Ravi Anbani smiled broadly at the two men from Arlington. Damon noticed for the first time how white the sheriff’s teeth were.

“With an unusual name like Roscoph, she shouldn’t be hard to track down if the number’s listed,” Gerry said.

“I’m looking it up as we speak,” Anbani replied, pecking at his desktop computer. “H. Roscoph on 84th Avenue. That’s the only listing.”

Anbani’s finger hovered above the telephone console. “Damon, if I hadn’t been looking to bust Lirim Jovanovic since the day I first heard about him peddling pictures, I’d never let you stay. But I am grateful to you for finding a route to the truth. Just keep quiet. Actually, why don’t you both stay silent while I talk? I don’t want to scare her off. Then, Gerry, if you need to follow up with her, you can make a separate call.”

Damon and Gerry nodded their heads in agreement and Anbani called using the speakerphone function.

A female voice answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Good evening ma’am, I’m looking for Ms. Hannah Roscoph,” Anbani said formally.

“This is Hannah, who’s calling?” Her voice sounded wary of the sheriff’s stiff tone.

“This is Sheriff Ravi Anbani from Monongalia County, West Virginia. You used to live in Fairmont, correct?”

The line went silent. Damon thought this was the moment of truth. Would she bear her soul to a sheriff on the other side of the country?

Finally, she broke the quiet. “What do you want from me?”

“To give you some information and ask you some questions. First, the information.” The sheriff didn’t wait for affirmation and just ripped off the bandage. “Lirim Jovanovic is dead. He was strangled to death last week.”

Silence again. Then a sharp intake of breath.

Anbani continued. “You and I met ten years ago, Hannah. You were assisting your mother at a summer art class in one of the Fairmont community centers. My daughter Hayden was a student in your class. She was ten. An Indian girl.”

“I don’t remember,” she retorted.

“It doesn’t matter. It was only a two-week class and that must feel like ages ago to you. But you do know who Lirim Jovanovic is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, her courage mounting. “But don’t you want to talk to my mother? She’s the one who dated him.”

Damon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Anbani’s telephone demeanor waivered. “Your mother dated Lirim Jovanovic,” he repeated. “When was that?”

Hannah picked up on the modest change in intonation. “You didn’t know,” she said nervously, now certain why the sheriff had called.

“I didn’t. But I still want to speak with you.”

“Hold on, let me shut the door.” The men could hear the sound of weight shifting off of a creaking bed and padded feet crossing a wooden floor.

Ten seconds later she came back on the line and spoke softly but with anger. “Lirim dated my mother for six months before she found out he was married. It must have been close to fifteen years ago.”

“He pretended he wasn’t married?” the sheriff asked. Damon admired his skill. The structure of the sheriff’s statement squarely aligned his sentiment with Hannah Roscoph’s.

“He never wore a wedding band and he was over our house in Fairmont all of the time,” she said. “He made excuses about how shabby his place was and said that our house was much nicer. But eventually my mother got suspicious and followed him home.”

“Did she confront him?”

“No. She found out where he lived and went back a couple of days later when she knew Lirim wouldn’t be there. A woman came out of the house, and my mother followed her to a shoe store in Morgantown. The clerk appeared to know the woman, so after she left the store, my mother spoke to the salesperson and found out she was married to Lirim.”

Anbani rose, walked behind his seat and gripped the chair’s back. He leaned into it to stretch his lower back. “She told you all of this when you were still a child?”

“No,” Hannah said. “I asked her about him just before I left Fairmont.”

Anbani cracked his knuckles and took his best shot. “Hannah, I have to ask you something personal. Something uncomfortable.” He paused. “Did Lirim Jovanovic ever do anything inappropriate with you?”

She was anticipating the question and answered with false bravado. “He never raped me or molested me,” she said.

Damon felt relief, even if it didn’t lessen the impact of the violation Hannah incurred.

The sheriff retained his calm bearing. “Molestation isn’t limited to physical contact, Hannah,” he said delicately.

Damon could sense an emotional deflation on the other end of the line. He felt terrible for Hannah Roscoph. This woman didn’t want to relive the horrendous childhood experience foisted on her by Lirim Jovanovic, and now here they were, pushing her to do just that.

She gave in. “You know about the pictures.” It was stated as a fact.

“Yes,” Anbani said. “I know about them, and a detective and I found a set of photocopies that was still in his house.”

She pretended to laugh, but it came out as more of a whimper.

“Can you tell us exactly what happened, Hannah?” Anbani asked.

“That depends,” she said. “Can you protect me and my mother from the other guy?”

The three men looked at each other with anticipation.

“We can protect you if you tell us who he is.” The sheriff asked and picked up a ballpoint pen to take notes.

“Victor somebody,” she said without hesitation. “It was fifteen years ago, but I can still picture him. Ugly man, with beefy shoulders and fingernails chewed to the nubs.”