Pane and Suffering (21 page)

Chapter 27

 

F
or the tenth time in as many minutes, Detective Parker checked the status of processing Jacob. It was irritating beyond belief to let Officer Boulli bumble his way through the minimal steps required for preparing a juvenile suspect to be questioned. He shook his head and checked the status again. It had been over half an hour already.

The documentation would be important for the day when he could finally recommend the inept officer be fired. It would probably be easier to arrest the real murderer, and at the bureaucratic level, definitely quicker.

Unfortunately, since Jacob had access and any number of opportunities to poison the two glass artists, Parker needed to quickly eliminate him as a suspect to refocus the investigation on searching for the real killer. Collecting documentation on Officer Boulli was one of those serendipitous opportunities he couldn't let pass. A chance like this one might not come his way for months if not years.

 

 

“What is the problem?” Officer Boulli looked down at Jacob. “This is a police station, boy, not a pet parade.”

They were standing in front of a small postal type window and Jacob was holding Suzy and looking around her, down to Officer Boulli's shoes. “Sir, I need to take Suzy outside.”

“What? No way. I need to get you through this processing bull so I can start the real questioning. All you have to do is empty your pockets.”

“I don't carry anything in my pockets.”

“What? That's impossible.”

Jacob's voice rose a little higher and he began to breathe faster. “I don't have anything in my pockets.”

The officer behind the window leaned over to Boulli. “What's the problem? A line is starting to build. Check his stuff and get moving.”

“Sir, I need to take Suzy outside.”

Ever-patient Suzy looked at Jacob and whimpered a short whine.

“This is important. Suzy needs to go,” Jacob insisted.

“Okay, already. Take off her pack and check it in.”

“But I can't—”

“Yes, you can.” Boulli pulled at the Velcro straps that held Suzy's service pack on and pitched it through the window.” Sending a hard look to the property officer behind the window, he asked, “Are you good now?”

“Thank you, Officer. He's processed and in the system.” Shaking his head, the property officer tucked Suzy's pack into a large bag and labeled it J
ACOB
U
NDERWOOD
. He added the date and the case number muttering all the while, “That man has no sense, no sense at all,” and motioned for the next in line.

Officer Boulli trotted down the hallway dragging an agitated Jacob with him. Jacob was struggling to keep upright while holding on to Suzy cradled in both arms. They finally arrived at the end of the hallway and Boulli held open the door to the outside.

Jacob placed Suzy on a small patch of grass that faced Central Avenue just a few yards away. Suzy performed, shook herself thoroughly, and returned to sit beside Jacob, who instantly scooped her up into his arms.

“Let's go,” urged Officer Boulli. He looked at his watch. “We're late.”

“Late?” echoed Jacob. “Late?”

“Yeah, very late. We should have been done long ago.” Officer Boulli led the teenager by the arm down the long hallway.

Jacob stood stiff in his tracks and nearly pulled Officer Boulli over.

“What the—” Boulli uttered as he regained his bulky balance and looked to see that Jacob was having difficulty breathing. The officer released his grip and Jacob set Suzy down and sat down beside her still struggling to get enough air.

“What? What's the matter?” Boulli yelled down at Jacob.

Suzy moved close to him and placed a paw on his knee.

Jacob scooted backwards to lean his back against the hallway wall. “In”—he took a tiny breath—“hale”—another breath—“er”—another breath. His lips were taking on a slightly blue tinge. He puffed out a forced breath and struggled to say, “Inhaler.”

Suzy looked up with pleading brown eyes.

“Oh, your inhaler. Where is it?”

Jacob's eyes were beginning to droop. “Suzy's pack.”

“Crap, crap, crap.” Officer Boulli sprinted as fast as his bulk would allow down the long hallway and back to the property window. Gasping, he pushed the people in line out of the way and leaned his head into the window. “I need the dog's pack.” He panted like a steam engine. “Hurry. It's got a medicine in it.”

The property officer raised his eyebrows high, reached for the bag, and pulled out the pack. “Here. You had better hurry.” He shoved it through the window and the sweating Boulli grabbed it.

The trip back down the hallway extracted the last vestige of fitness from him as he staggered the last few feet and dropped the pack at Jacob's feet.

Jacob lifted his head and pulled his inhaler out of the pack and puffed it quickly. He exhaled long and inhaled another puff.

Boulli was sweating profusely and leaned against the wall trying desperately to get his breath.

As he stood there recovering, Jacob calmly stowed the inhaler back into the storage pocket and fastened the pack around Suzy. Lifting her back into his arms, he stood patiently beside the panting officer. “I'm ready. Can I see my mother now? She said she would be waiting for me.”

Nodding wearily, the officer led the way down the hallway and turned into the corridor where the interview conference rooms were located. He opened the largest one, motioned for Jacob to sit at the table in the center of the room, and collapsed into one of the chairs along the wall, sweating like a beached walrus.

 

 

In his office, Detective Parker clicked the status tab once more and it indicated PROCESSED for Jacob. “Finally.” He retrieved a file folder from his desk drawer and marched quickly down the hallway to the part of the building that contained the interview rooms.

Jacob's parents and lawyer were sitting on the plain industrial metal chairs that lined the far hallway just outside the entrance to the interview room. Like the chairs in a hospital waiting room, they simply couldn't provide comfort no matter the design.

Detective Parker walked over and they immediately stood like soldiers awaiting orders. He extended his hand. “I'm Detective David Parker in charge of the case involving Jacob.”

Jacob's mother stepped forward and shook his hand. “Good afternoon, Detective Parker. We may have met, but you don't look familiar. I'm Judge Frances Underwood, Jacob's mother.” She gestured to the pale man standing next to her. “This is my husband, Ben and our lawyer, Mark Howard.”

“Ma'am, your name sounds familiar.” Detective Parker's eyes narrowed. “Should I know you?”

“I'm not sure we've crossed paths, but I've been the chief judge for the Sixth Judicial Circuit's Juvenile Division of Pasco and Pinellas Counties for the last fifteen years.”

Detective Parker shook Ben's hand while still looking at Judge Underwood and in his mind saw his quick in-and-out questioning of Jacob fly out the window. “I don't think our paths have crossed.” He shook hands with Mark Howard. “Obviously, I can skip the brief instructions about how the process works.”

Judge Underwood smiled tightly. “Please continue as if I were just an ordinary parent.”

Nodding, Detective Parker motioned for them to sit and he took the chair next to her, leaving Ben and Mark to lean forward to hear what he had to say. Parker smoothly recited the information he usually gave to a suspect's family at the start of a major case.

“Succinct and well delivered, Detective Parker,” Judge Underwood admitted, if stiffly, when he was finished. “I'm happy that we can continue.”

Detective Parker nodded. “I assume you would prefer to be present during our interrogation of Jacob?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

A familiar tension began to knot its way up the back of Detective Parker's neck. “If you'll follow me, he's just down here.” He led the way into the hallway of interview rooms around the corner and held open the third door on the left. He stepped back to let them enter the room.

Jacob stood up instantly with Suzy in his arms. He looked down at his shoes. “Mother, I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't hurt Mr. Webb. I didn't hurt Mr. Trevor.”

Judge Underwood hurried over to her son, but didn't embrace him, as society would have expected. She lightly rested a hand on his forearm and bent down to look into his eyes. “I know, Jacob. I believe you. We need to find the truth. Right?”

“Yes, Mother, we need the truth.”

She spun around to the lounging Officer Boulli. “I've never heard of an incoming suspect taking this long to simply turn over
no
possessions to the property officer. You realize I made sure he had no possessions. What took you over thirty minutes to check in at the property window and walk half the length of this building?”

Detective Parker was delighted with Officer Boulli's answer.

Chief Juvenile Judge Frances Underwood—not so much.

Chapter 28

 

S
avannah, Edward, and Amanda returned to the shop and gathered around the classroom worktables once more.

Amanda looked down at the Dan Brown novel and up at the whiteboard. “So far, all we're doing is proving that Jacob is the only one who could have killed John and Hugh. Maybe we should just leave this to the cops.”

“I'm not giving up. We haven't completed the code so we don't have all the information yet. Savannah paced back and forth in the front of the classroom before light dawned. “Wait. Dad called the panel in the custom workshop
Splendor
. It was on the invoice for the stained glass project.” She headed to the custom workshop to look at the panel.

Amanda followed. “Do you think he meant the panel that they were working on for that big contract?”

Edward shrugged his shoulders, following them. “Well it's possible, but why would you think that?”

Savannah flipped on the lights and the large panel lay out like a patient ready for the doctor to complete a lifesaving operation.

“It's just a hunch, but it makes sense that he would have a clue here in the shop so that he could make sure it was available to me.” Savannah gently ran her hand across the smooth surface of the panel. Most of the individual pieces were spot soldered. The more recent pieces were held in their place within the panel with small metal pushpins. “This copy panel is going to be as beautiful as the original.”

Amanda crossed her arms across her chest. “Everything in here is
splendid
!”

Savannah felt her frustration. “Yes, but he called
this
one
Splendor
on his invoice.”

Edward circled the table. “Well, if this is it, there must be a message at the edge.”

Savannah looked over at Hugh's workbench. “Maybe Dad wrote something on the metal frame that finishes the panel.”

She found the metal pieces at the back of Hugh's workbench and laid them in place around the edges next to the panel. “Everyone, take a framing piece and see if you can find anything.”

They bent over them, ran fingers over all the edges looking for solder dots or hidden papers and Savannah shined a flashlight across all the surfaces in case a message could only be revealed that way.

“Nothing.” Amanda looked at Savannah, “Now what?”

Edward leaned over the nearly finished panel. “It is splendid, isn't it?”

Savannah stepped back and tilted her head. “Hey, there's a technique I used in painting class to get a different perspective of my work. I need a mirror.” Without waiting to hear anything from the others, she went into the display room and returned holding a twelve-inch square of mirrored glass. Turning around, she stood with her back to the panel and held the mirror up high so that she could look at it in reverse. “Sometimes, what you need is a change in perspective to pick out the problems in your painting.”

She angled the mirror to point at the bottom edge of the panel. “This lower border looks odd.” She put the mirror aside. “Hang on. I took a picture of this when I was in the church on Wednesday night.” She pulled out her phone, flipped through her photo gallery, and peered at the picture, trying to see details through the discoloration caused by the flash. “Look! This is slightly different from the one downtown.”

“Let me see.” Amanda peered over Savannah's shoulder to look at the photo on the phone. “Can you send that to your computer so that we can make it a lot bigger? Your phone screen is too tiny.”

“Sure.” Savannah tapped a few buttons and they heard a small beep from the office computer. “Come on. Let's take a closer look.”

She sat in the creaky desk chair and Amanda pulled up the side chair. Edward huddled over the rolltop desk sheltering the display. The photo opened and they looked at the top and bottom edges.

“It's a little hard to see,” said Savannah, “but it does look different from the one in the workroom. I'll print just the border out in color and let's compare.” She clicked the PRINT icon and the printer fired up in a whir and ejected a piece of paper.

Amanda snatched the print, dashed into the custom workshop, and walked around to the bottom of the panel. “Yes! You were right. It's quite different in a subtle way. It's a perfect duplication except for the last two rows of squares in the bottom edge.”

“Yes, but what does this mean?” Edward asked.

Savannah moved them over. “Let me see if it's one of Dad's codes.” She peered at the two squares that were different, then grabbed a pencil and drew them on a yellow sticky pad. “Let's put this up on the whiteboard and see what's what.”

Back in the classroom, she drew the glass border and stepped back to look at the illustration. She studied the lines for a few long minutes. “This reminds me of something. It's tickling the back of my mind, but I'm just not remembering it.”

“Is there a record of the types of codes you and your dad used during the sessions?” Edward asked. “That would at least allow us to eliminate some codes.”

Savannah thumped the front of her head. “No, there's no record. As part of the game, he made me memorize them. A major element of his games involved not keeping written evidence of either the code used or the final solution.”

Amanda squealed, “Oh, that's so fantastic. He was training you in case he needed to leave this situation in your hands for solving. Yes, he was clever.”

Paranoid is more like it.
Savannah squeezed her eyes tight and rubbed her temples. “All I have to do is remember which code he is using.” She stood still. Her only movements were the fingers making small circles at the sides of her head. “I remember that we talked about the code games the last time I spoke to him on the phone. He mentioned them very casually. He didn't ask if I remembered them or anything . . . just asked if I remembered when we played the code games.”

“What about listing the ones you remember?” Edward prompted. “That might give us a start.”

Savannah erased the board clean and held the marker poised over the surface. “Okay, here's the names of ciphers that I remember.” She turned back to look at them over her shoulder. “I was quite young.

“The Maritime Signal Flags. I loved this because we read them off the boats when we walked around the waterfront. Some of them were rude. Then the Semaphore Flag code which we played when we were at either end of Crescent Lake. That was fun.

“It can't be either of those. But there was one more that these symbols remind me of.” She paused for a few seconds. “Got it. It's called the Pigpen Cipher. It reminded me of the comic strip character. Sometimes it's called the Freemason's Cipher. There are many ways to vary it, but this is the one we always used and how the letters are interpreted.” She wrote it on the whiteboard below.

“This one works as a series of symbols within those four images. So for working out the code along the border, this is what we use. If I wanted to code the word MASON, you can see that it would look like this. Savannah wrote down the letters and their symbols beside them.

“Good.” She stepped back. Now let's put the border images up as well. She took pictures of the border with her phone, sent them to the shop computer and printed them out in color. As each image printed, Amanda brought them to Savannah and on the right side of the board, she taped them up in two rows—the top border over the bottom border.

“Now we're ready to solve this puppy.” Savannah stood in front of the whiteboard with her hands on her hips. “First, we transfer the symbols on the top border.” Turning to Edward and Amanda, she said, “Make sure I don't copy a symbol wrong. We can drive ourselves crazy with just one small transposition error.”

One by one, Savannah decoded the border symbols into a long string of characters below.

“Okay, let's transfer the symbols on the bottom border. These are so tiny, no one would ever think of this as a message.”

“Now, let's translate them into letters.” Savannah stepped back and looked at the scramble of letters. She looked back at Amanda and Edward who were staring holes into the whiteboard. “Are you seeing what I'm seeing?”

Edward stepped up to the whiteboard and took the marker from Savannah. “I think so. If you isolate the first five letters, I can get I C O N S. He wrote a slash after the
S,
separating the word from the other letters.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Let me do it. I see the words,” squealed Amanda. “I can do it.”

“What could that mean?” Edward squinted at the letters, turning his head one way and the other. He looked over to Savannah. “What was John trying to tell you with this?”

Savannah dragged her hand through her hair. “Oh, no.” Her wavering voice was barely above a whisper. “It can't be—it just can't be.” She looked over at Edward who didn't seem to get it. Clearing her suddenly scratchy throat, she explained. “Reverend Kline collects Russian icons for the church. Dad thinks it's Reverend Kline.”