It Takes Two to Strangle (21 page)

Clara’s expression saddened into puppy-dog eyes. Damon wanted to cross the table and hold her in his arms.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Johnnetta told me. That was less than a week before I met you at the Fish Barrel.” She paused. “I heard rumors when I was in tenth grade about a local man selling dirty pictures of a little girl, but I never knew it was my father. The sheriff must have searched our house while I was at school.”

Damon told her the police believed Lirim was motivated solely by money and that Victor McElroy was involved. He left out the part about Lirim cheating on Tabby with Hannah Roscoph’s mother.

“Did they lock up that asshole Victor?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s being held in West Virginia.”

“Good. Was Victor there when my father killed my mom, too?”

“I don’t know.” He stopped. “Clara, do you know for certain that Lirim killed your mother?”

Clara sipped her coffee for several seconds. “Just based on what Johnnetta said and what I know about my father’s temperament.”

“Did you discuss it with him?”

She glanced toward the café’s door and then directed her attention back to Damon. “I did. Along with Toma.”

Damon let the information sink in. Not only did Clara believe that Lirim killed her mother, but Toma probably believed that Lirim killed his sister.

She continued. “On the morning of the day you saw us at the Fish Barrel, I asked Toma to meet me in Arlington. He came down from Baltimore and I drove up from Richmond. I told him about the pictures and that Mom confronted my father just before her accident. Toma and I decided that my father must have killed her. There’s no way he would risk her going to the police or cutting him out of her will.”

Damon recalled meeting Toma at breakfast with Clara three days later. He had sneered when the topic of Tabby’s death arose, as if he didn’t believe it had been an accident. Now Damon knew why. “And the two of you went to see Lirim?”

“Yes, in the early afternoon. We met on the elementary school playground right next to the fairgrounds. It was far enough away not to be noticed by the carnival workers.”

“What did you say to Lirim?”

“I didn’t say anything. My father didn’t say much, either. Toma pushed him a couple of times and flat out accused him of killing my mom. My father denied it, of course. Toma said he didn’t care about the pictures of the little girl, though it thoroughly disgusted me.”

“Did Toma threaten to kill him?” Damon asked frankly.

Clara didn’t answer and the silence was telling.

“So that’s why you haven’t told the police any of this?” he asked, not expecting an answer. “You think Toma killed your father and you’re protecting him. Or do you know that Toma killed him?” Toma as the murderer made sense.

“I have no idea if Toma killed my father,” Clara said, her voice raised. Then, trying to deflect the line of inquiry, she said softly, “Lirim asked how we knew about the photos.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No. I was afraid for Johnnetta Frank’s safety. I didn’t want my father going after her, though he probably suspected her. Mom didn’t have many friends.”

“Did Lirim happen to mention whether Victor was in Morgantown when Tabby was killed?” Damon asked.

“No, he didn’t say a word about Victor. But I think Victor overheard the entire conversation. Or at least saw it.”

“At the playground?”

“Yes. We were standing near a jungle gym, which is near the edge of the playground, where it backs up against the woodlands.”
             
“And you saw Victor there?”

“I think so. My father’s back was to the woods and Toma and I were facing him, so I don’t think my father knew he was there. But Victor probably followed him, in parallel through the woods. At one point, when Toma got up close to my father’s face, I pushed my way in between them and noticed movement from the woods. It was a bright afternoon and I’m fairly certain I saw a human figure and that it was Victor.”

“Your father selected the location next to the jungle gym?”

“He suggested we meet at the playground, and when we arrived he was there waiting for us.”

“So Lirim and Victor could have set up the location ahead of time, just in case it got rough.”

Clara looked Damon directly in the eyes. Her smoldering sensuality had returned. “I hadn’t thought of that, Damon. You’re very intelligent.”

“Not really,” Damon said modestly.

“I’m surprised Victor hasn’t told the police yet. He must be keeping what he saw between Toma and my father in his back pocket to plea bargain.”

That explained why Clara decided to come clean now about her and Toma confronting Lirim the day before he was killed. Now that Victor was behind bars, the confrontation was bound to surface anyway —the information was a strike against Toma and when the moment was right, Victor would play that card.

Damon said, “The night I saw you in the Fish Barrel, you were having dinner with Jordan when Lirim and Victor joined you. It seemed to me that you were expecting them.”

“That was Jordan’s doing. I was able to convince Toma to leave my father at the playground. No good was going to result from the encounter. After Toma and I parted, I called Jordan and let him know I was in Arlington. I made the excuse that I was here visiting a friend, but that I heard that Big Surf was handling the fair. It gave me an excuse to vent my frustrations against my father.” She licked her lips. “I didn’t tell Jordan anything, but he knew I was upset about the money from my Mom’s estate. He insisted on coming to Arlington to discuss the matter with my father.”

“So when you met at the Fish Barrel, no one mentioned the encounter at the playground only a few hours earlier?”

“No,” Clara replied, reaching across the table and stroking the back of Damon’s hand lightly with her fingertips. “It didn’t make sense for me to raise it in front of Jordan, and I’m certain my father didn’t want to notify him.”

Damon didn’t retract his hand and allowed Clara to pick it up and press it between both of hers. It was an intimate gesture and Damon’s feelings shifted from pity to lust to nervousness that Clara could be manipulating him. She knew every word she uttered would go straight to the Arlington police.

The waitress refilled their mugs, and Damon wondered whether he’d see Clara again. The police would bring her in for more questioning. And then she would either be arrested or come back to Richmond and continue her life here. Hollydale was less than two hours away, but she would probably want to sever all ties to the ugliness that had fallen on her life in the past several weeks.

It was after midnight when Damon started the drive north back to Arlington. He plugged in a hands-free telephone device and called Gerry. It was late, but Damon knew he had crossed a boundary by driving to Richmond to speak with Clara on his own. He didn’t want to exacerbate his transgression by sitting on the information he had gleaned.

An exhausted sounding Gerry answered. Damon reported the details of his conversations with Johnnetta Frank and Clara Jovanovic.

“You have to be kidding me,” Gerry lashed. “You may have just cost us the opportunity to catch a murderer.”

Damon was stunned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you butted in one too many times, Damon. The police would have handled the information from Johnnetta Frank a lot differently. By speaking with Clara and driving away, she’ll give Toma the chance to run.”

“But running would only make him look guilty.”

“He probably is guilty,” Gerry responded with fury. “He just found out that his brother-in-law may have killed his sister, he confronted Lirim the day before the murder and he doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the strangling itself.”

The last part was news to Damon. “What did he say he was doing last Wednesday night?”

“Hold on, Damon. Let me make a couple of calls to see if the Baltimore police can track down Toma. You really stepped over the line this time.”

Ten minutes passed in silence as Damon sped up I-95 in the direction of the nation’s capital. His head ached with guilt. Damon knew deep down he shouldn’t have been so proactive. His justifications had been mired in selfishness. After all, he had no experience and no training in detective work.

Damon didn’t expect a call back, but Gerry was a faithful friend no matter how upset he was at Damon. The detective called and continued the conversation as if there had been no pause. “Toma said he was sleeping on the night Lirim was killed. By himself. He didn’t feel well during the day and didn’t make any of his usual runs for work. He’s in the liquor distribution business. He said he stayed in all day, watched television by himself at night and then went to sleep.”

“But Toma as the killer doesn’t answer the two ligature question.”

“No, unfortunately it doesn’t,” Gerry stifled a yawn.

“And if Toma did kill Lirim, why wait until Wednesday night? Why not do it on Tuesday night after he and Clara met Lirim at the elementary school?”

“Probably because Lirim wasn’t in his trailer Tuesday night, Damon,” Gerry snapped. He quickly apologized. “Sorry, I’m exhausted. Listen, Damon, I know you’re just trying to help and I’m the one who brought you into this mess in the first place. But you’re not a police officer and I can’t have you acting like one.”

“Gerry, I’m sorry,” Damon said. “I never intended to jeopardize your investigation.”

“I know you mean well, Damon. And you have gotten results, too, but enough is enough.”

“Will you at least tell me where Lirim was on Tuesday night?”

Gerry groaned. “After Lirim and Victor left the Fish Barrel a week ago Tuesday, they took a taxi to a gentlemen’s club in downtown D.C.,” he said flatly. “After it closed, they spent a couple of hours at a late-night cigar bar. It was almost light outside by the time they arrived back at the fairgrounds. A few of the early risers saw them come in and retire to their separate trailers.”

“Did you just find all of this out?” Damon asked.

“A short time ago, yes.”

Damon contemplated the implications of Lirim and Victor going out on the town less than twelve hours after Toma threatened Lirim.

“Gerry,” Damon said, “I should have called you before driving down to Richmond.”

“Yes, and you shouldn’t have called Johnnetta Frank. But it’ll be all right. I’ll take some shots from Margaret, but you’ve given us another solid lead. She recognizes that, and I’m fairly certain she won’t mention it to the chief. In fact, she’ll probably find a way for the department to take credit for it.”

“Fine by me,” Damon said with relief. “Are you going back to sleep or heading up to Baltimore?”

“I’ll try to go back to sleep, but I’m sure I’ll hear from the Baltimore city police within an hour about whether Toma Ljubic is at home.”

“Will you let me know?” Damon asked, knowing he was pushing the envelope.

Gerry sighed. “Yes, Damon, I’ll let you know.”

It was just before two o’clock in the morning when Damon arrived at his duplex. He managed five hours of sleep and found a text message from Gerry waiting when he woke. “Toma’s gone. We’re questioning Clara. I’m going to Baltimore.”

Damon felt his stomach turn. He knew that he shouldn’t have spoken to Clara without talking to Gerry first. Because of him, Toma had vanished.

Chapter 20

Damon looked out of his bedroom window and considered the empty day ahead of him. He wasn’t scheduled to go into the library and Bethany had cancelled their date for that night. It seemed like days since he played the message from Bethany, even though it had been just over twelve hours earlier.

Damon struggled internally. He wasn’t sure whether he could do anything about Toma Ljubic, but he was desperate to try. Gerry had warned him to back away from the case and Damon knew he had made a serious mistake the night before. But his interest was far too deep to take a back seat now. Fueled by his discovery of the abuse of Hannah Roscoph, Damon’s drive to track down Lirim’s murderer overpowered him.

After a solid thirty minutes of forcing himself to stay put, and despite his better judgment, Damon gassed up the Saab and drove in the direction of Baltimore. He had put more miles on his car in the past week than in the previous two months.

Before leaving Arlington, Damon looked up Toma’s address in the online white pages. It was just east of Charles Village. The village was stocked with local pubs and diners, which mingled with an eclectic mix of retro clothing stores. The neatly manicured lawns of Johns Hopkins’ small but refined undergraduate campus bordered the western edge of Charles Village. But to the east lay seas of row houses that grew more bedraggled with each passing block.

Toma’s address matched a two-story ramshackle, brown-brick structure on Greenmount Avenue. Damon parked along the curb a block down the street and walked toward the residence. A short flight of steps led to a stoop bereft of furnishing other than an orange clay flowerpot. Across the street, two men in plain clothes sat in a parked gray sedan. The man in the passenger street was focused on something in his lap, but the driver’s eyes followed Damon as he walked. Poor cover if the policemen were trying to appear inconspicuous.

Damon didn’t slow and continued north on foot. Three blocks from Toma’s home, Damon saw a liquor store. In Virginia, hard liquor could only be purchased from a government-operated “ABC” store. Damon favored free-market capitalism because he believed competition brought down prices, but maybe cheaper vodka tonics weren’t in the best interests of the state. Baltimore had privately-owned liquor markets, including “CHG on Greenmount,” which was open on a weekday morning.