It Takes Two to Strangle (8 page)

Damon visualized a run-down house and trim shed surrounded by an assemblage of hulking metal skeletons strewn over the snow-covered grass ostensibly under the repair of a bleary-eyed Lirim Jovanovic.

On Damon’s way home, Gerry returned his call. Damon filled him in on the details of his breakfast with Toma.

“We’re the ones who asked him to come down to Arlington,” Gerry said. “Margaret is interviewing him in an hour.”

Damon asked him about the cut clothesline. Gerry said he hadn’t learned of it until after their pasta dinner the previous evening. But Mrs. Chenworth’s information wasn’t wholly accurate.

The police confiscated a nylon clothesline, but it had been neatly wound inside a storage box attached to the outside of a trailer, where the carnival laundress normally kept it. Everyone who worked at the carnival or was familiar with its operations probably knew she kept it there. When the police interviewed her on the day of the murder, she hadn’t thought about the clothesline. But after the rain slowed, and the police were gearing up to search the grounds in detail, it came to her mind. The police hadn’t specifically told anyone that Lirim was strangled, but word passed around the carnival staff just as it had gone around the Hollydale community. The owner of the clothesline checked the storage box to see if it was still there. It was, but felt lighter. She estimated that about three feet in length had been cut.

Gerry verified that the cut was clean and likely the result of a controlled tool such as wire cutters or heavy duty kitchen scissors, rather than something crude like a knife which would have frayed the end.

Damon wondered whether he could rule out any of his internal suspects based on the fact that the clothesline had been inside of a storage box where an outsider may not have known about it. Possibly Jordan Hall. Maybe Clara, but maybe not.

Damon recounted to Gerry his library research and Gerry seemed interested. “Thanks a lot, Damon. You’re really helping me out here.” Damon felt like he was helping, but wasn’t sure whether his “assistance” was more of a blessing or a burden to Gerry, who may have been too considerate to ask Damon to stop pestering him.

Chapter 7

When Damon arrived at the picnic facility to set up for the Fourth of July party, a small congregation of volunteers was already staking down a blue-and-white striped canopy over a large flat area. The volunteer work crew would push together folding tables under the canopy to form a large surface for pot-luck picnic food. Grills would be wheeled into place a short distance away. Damon had secured confirmation of three self-proclaimed “grill-masters,” a term he considered fatuous.

Cynthia was attempting to leverage her emaciated frame to drive a stake for the canopy into the ground with a sledgehammer. Damon gently touched her on the shoulder and asked if he could assist. Cynthia acquiesced and he pounded the stake six inches deep with a pair of swift overhead blows. She thanked him in her gentle monotone voice and moved on to help string red, white and blue lights around the support beams. Damon sank two more stakes and walked over to Jackson Krims, who had been staking the other side.

Bethany’s father Jackson owned a number of properties in Hollydale, including several gas stations and the Fish Barrel. His fleshy face and an ear-to-ear smile endeared him to the locals, despite his purchase of three adjoining lots to build the largest house in Hollydale.

“Has anyone gone to get the folding tables from the church?” asked Damon.

“I don’t think so,” replied Jackson with a smile, his cheeks red and puffing from exertion. “I brought a pick-up truck. Let’s go get them.”

Damon knew Jackson Krims was a kind-spirited person when it came to pleasing the Hollydale community at large, but Damon had never spoken with him about the topic presently on his mind—his daughter Bethany. As they drove the short distance to the local Presbyterian church’s storage facility, Damon steadied his nerves and said, “Bethany has been doing a wonderful job on the evening weather, Mr. Krims. You must be very proud.”

“You better believe it Damon,” he replied. “When she first told me that she wanted to be on television I wasn’t sure she had the right personality for it. But some of her natural shyness is fading away.”

Jackson stopped the truck in front of the church. He turned to face Damon and asked, “So have you asked her out yet?”

Damon was taken aback. He wasn’t prepared for Jackson’s candor. He sputtered out a meek, “No, not yet.”

“Well you better hurry up, son,” Jackson responded as he exited the truck, using his hands to heft his paunch over his legs. “She just broke up with that attorney she’s been with for the past few months.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Krims, how did you know I wanted to ask her out?”

“Because every straight, red-blooded male who has ever seen Bethany, on television or in person, wants to ask her out. The trick is to actually do the asking.” He paused to catch his breath. “I should stop. I don’t want to make it seem like I think my daughter is so perfect that she’d be ideal for everyone. I know it’s her appearance that initially attracts men. She looks just like my wife did thirty years ago.” He walked around to Damon’s side of the truck and put a hand on his shoulder. “Damon, I like you. You have the pulse of the community and you get things done when they need to get done, but you also handle things calmly. Look at this party. You have two hundred people who plan to show up in an hour and there’s no sense of panic in you. That shows inner fortitude.”

Damon thanked him for the compliment. The truth was that he wasn’t worried about the picnic. What he was worried about was the murder close to his backyard. Even though it wasn’t his responsibility to bring a killer to justice, he felt a sense of internal accountability given his involvement as president of the citizens association and his relationship with Gerry. It was Gerry’s first murder investigation and Damon wanted him to succeed.

“So do you think Bethany would say yes if I asked her on a date?” Damon asked Jackson as they loaded eight-foot polyethylene folding tables into the bed of the pick-up.

“To be honest with you, Damon, I’m not sure. She usually goes for corporate types. But I hear you’ve been pretty successful in your own right. So that might help. I think I know my daughter pretty well, but I can never figure out whether she’ll go for a particular guy. Just ask and don’t be shy about it.”

After another forty-five minutes of unexacting preparations and banter with early arriving neighbors, people began to stream into the picnic area. Soon the folding tables were loaded with traditional picnic fare as well as a generous amount of ethnic fare that reflected the ever-changing landscape of Hollydale’s population. An elderly couple was operating an old fashioned stand-up popcorn cart. The smell of the hot buttered kernels infused the air and competed with the aroma of hamburgers and bratwurst emanating from the grills.

A six-year-old boy brushed hard against Damon’s thigh as he and two friends sprinted by. Firemen lifted toddlers into the cab of a county engine to admire the inner workings. Scores of girls shouted gleefully as they partook in a jump-roping contest.

While he was filling his plate with a heaping scoop of a pesto orzo dish, Damon spotted Bethany Krims approaching him. A spaghetti-strapped sundress hugged her figure. As they exchanged pleasant conversation, Jackson Krims’ words repeated in Damon’s head: “Just ask and don’t be shy about it.”

He was building up his courage when Bethany said, “Damon, should I be afraid?”

He looked at her closely. There was a hint of fear in her eyes. “Afraid? What are you scared of?”

She gently tugged his elbow, pulling him a step closer. “The killer,” she whispered.

Damon, momentarily in a trance from the touch of Bethany’s hand, didn’t understand. “What do you mean, the killer?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“You know, the person who murdered Lirim Jovanovic. He’s still out there.”

Damon was taken aback. It never occurred to him that Lirim’s death could be attributable to anyone other than someone who had it in for the man personally. But with so much cash coming into the carnival, there had to be a safe in one of the trailers that was stocked with large sums. Could that have been a motive for his murder?

“I’m sure that if it was a robbery, they were only after Lirim’s money and you have nothing to worry about,” he said to Bethany. She led him away from the canopy to a clearing beneath a towering scarlet oak.

“I hadn’t thought about robbery,” said Bethany. “I was wondering if there’s a serial killer running around. I know it’s a little vain, but I’m on television so almost everyone around here knows who I am. There could be a psychopath out there.”

Damon’s mind, fueled by the exhilaration of having an intimate conversation with Bethany Krims, contemplated the thought of a mass murderer. It was too coincidental. Lirim Jovanovic was a man who amassed antagonistic relationships the way others collected shot glasses. He didn’t believe that happenstance led a serial killer to Hollydale less than forty-eight hours after Lirim brought his caravan into town.

Damon said as much to Bethany, and the worry lines that had dotted her brow began to fade.

“Thank you, Damon. That really makes me feel better.”

Damon knew he would never have a better opportunity to ask Bethany out. They were alone, and she had sought him out for comfort. He took a deep breath. “Bethany, there’s a great musical playing at the Kennedy Center downtown right now. Would you be interested in going to see the show next Friday night?”

She smiled at him, her brown eyes radiating, and his heart almost jumped through his throat. She reached out and laid a palm lightly on the biceps of his right arm. “I would,” she said, then left him to say hello to her father, who was surrounded by a small group of his property managers.

Damon felt as light as air. He scanned the crowd looking for Rebecca to tell her the good news. He noticed Skipper holding a plate of cherry pie and laughing with a local girl who had graduated from the nearby high school only a year earlier. Damon approached them. Skipper greeted him genially and introduced Shawna Crane. The two met at the carnival on its opening night. With the fair on hold, Shawna said they had been inseparable for the past two days, other than during Skipper’s interviews with the police.

Skipper laughed. “They’ve been grilling me all right. You must have told the police about the comment Jim made about me being his meal ticket because that Lieutenant Hobbes was merciless.” Shawna, a fair haired waif-like girl, laughed alongside Skipper.

“I told her Jim just meant that after I have my engineering degree and some experience, we plan to go in as partners,” Skipper said.

“In the roller coaster design business?” asked Damon.

“Probably. Or at least something related to carnival rides. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police. It’s no secret. Jim Riley is paying for my education. I never could have afforded college on my own and I didn’t want to be indebted to a bank. But Jim saw how good I was with the machines and offered to pay my way.” He paused for a sip of lemonade. “After I graduate and work for a couple of years at a design firm, we plan to open up our own shop.” Skipper’s eyes took on the same dreamy quality Damon noticed the first time he met the young man. “I’ll be doing the design work, but between the money Jim put up for college and the start-up costs, we’ll be partners in it fifty-fifty. That’s what he meant when he spoke with you.”

It sounded legitimate to Damon, even though he wasn’t sure how much money Jim could have saved if Lirim and Victor had been skimming profits from him. He thought Skipper was a good kid. He was still in his early twenties and was taking positive steps in the right direction to better his chances in life. So why would he want to commit murder? Damon mentally crossed Skipper off of his internal list of suspects.

“It sounds like you and Jim have a great plan,” Damon said. As long as Jim, with his scratched arm and major motive, isn’t in prison, he thought.

“I think the police do, too,” Skipper said with a smirk. “After I told them about Jim putting me through school, I could sense they were just going through the motions. But they sure had a lot of information. They even knew I had been arguing with Lirim on Wednesday.”

“Really?” Damon feigned ignorance.

“It was nothing. Just that Lirim was trying to cheat me out of four hours of overtime from last week’s pay. You have to pay attention with Lirim and Victor—they cheat almost every one of the employees.”

Damon excused the couple. Scores of people were making their way to the makeshift dance “floor” on a sizable square of grass for the disc jockey’s final song before the fireworks began.

Damon saw his mother and Charles Swickley sitting across from one another at a picnic table. She was wiping the corner of his mouth with her paper napkin. Damon started to approach them but was cut off by Rebecca.

She looked particularly cute and pixie-like. Her short brown hair was fashioned with a series of barrettes, and a silky sheer skirt in various shades of mauve skimmed her knees.

“I don’t think they’d appreciate you interrupting just about now,” she said.

Looking for a place to watch the fireworks, Rebecca led Damon through a throng of people who had gathered into the ideal vantage points. Damon leaned forward and told Rebecca about his date with Bethany. She didn’t turn around, but instead offered an ersatz “congratulations” and sped up to an opening with a view partially obstructed by a tree limb.