The Death of Perry Many Paws (39 page)

Cam’s phone had rung several times while we had been in the library and I hoped I hadn’t missed a call from Abbey. Bing was about to take another crème brulee to Cam in the living room when he strolled into the library.

“Finally decided to join WOACA?” Diane asked. “We can always use the input of a man— no offense Bing.”

“None taken.”

“Hey, we discovered that Officer Donny’s real first name is Milton,” I announced proudly.

“Great. I just discovered whose DNA was right next to the body of Raymond Fletcher!”

our pair of eyes stared at Cam and he soaked in our astonishment and admiration.

“The missing money story?” Bing asked.

“Yes. The ransom was paid, Raymond Ketchum was killed and a note was left in his pocket saying something like, ‘this is what happens when you don’t pay the ransom.’ But his brother swore he paid it and the mystery was never solved …”

“Except you, sitting in our living room eating crème brulee and reading your backlog of
National Geographics
, have solved it.” I said.

“And we only solved the mystery of Officer Donny’s first name. I feel so inadequate,” Syra laughed.

“There wasn’t much to solve about Donny’s name. I told you!” Diane reminded us.

“Well, actually Officer Donny told me who left DNA all over the crime scene too. I didn’t
personally
solve it,” Cam admitted.

“Tell us about the crime scene. After seventy years, how did they finally find something?” I asked. I was assuming it wasn’t Uncle Franklin’s DNA because Cam seemed too relaxed and was enjoying himself too much. If his uncle had been a teenaged criminal I’m sure he wouldn’t be announcing it to the WOACA members with such
pride. Cam settled into a chair and tented his fingers in front of his chest.

“Well, as you recall …”

Oh jeez. This was going to take a while.

“… Raymond Ketchum disappeared the evening of March 30. The following day his brother received a ransom note and was told to deliver $10,000 to a specific place in Camden Woods, behind the house where Bing and Syra live now. The police thought it was an odd coincidence that the ransom was $10,000 because that was the exact amount Dr. Fletcher Ketchum kept in the safe in his house and only …”

“Oh yeah, I remember that part. The police thought maybe Raymond was in on the kidnapping and was trying to get money from his brother. We read that in the old newspapers,” Bing interrupted. “Imagine, he was killed in the woods behind our house and right across the street from you and Tamsen …”

“Only none of us were born at the time,” Syra pointed out.

“But what if we
had
been. We might have seen something,” Bing continued.

“But we
weren’t
, Bing. Let Cam continue,” Syra admonished.

“Sorry.”

“That’s OK. You’re right though, Bing. It all took place across the street from this house. Anyway, according to Dr. Ketchum, he got the money out of his safe, put it in a bag, and took it to a specific tree in the woods. Then he went back home and waited for his brother to be released …”

“Only he didn’t and …” Bing started but stopped when Syra gave him a stern look.

“Right, Raymond never came home. The next day, a man named Ernest Whitcomb was walking his dog early in the morning and discovered the body propped up against the ransom drop tree and there was that note in the pocket ...”

“… and the money was gone!” Bing finished dramatically. “Never to be found again. “Well, until you and Tamsen found it in your house …” Bing trailed off.

“True. In 1938 they didn’t have the forensic equipment we do now or the databases of known criminals, MOs of crimes, fingerprints, DNA and all that other stuff. The police were pretty isolated and had to rely on questioning people, checking the body and the surrounding areas for clues. They didn’t come up with much. They had the rope that bound Raymond Ketchum’s hands and feet and a bunch of cigarettes—some common brand back then. They could have been anyone’s …”

“How do you know about cigarettes? That wasn’t in the paper. Or the rope?” I asked.

“Officer Donny told me. They closed the case after a couple of years but they still have to keep all the evidence, reports, crime scene photos and things …”

“Like on the TV show, ‘Cold Case’,” Diane informed us. “Tamsen, you should write about all this and submit it to the show. It would be a perfect story.”

“Am I the only one who is dying to know whose DNA was at the crime scene? Get on with it, Cam!” I pleaded.

“OK. When the money started turning up and it became pretty obvious it was the ransom money, the police reopened the Ketchum case. They got out all the evidence and started running forensic test results through the various criminal databases. They got a hit.” Cam’s pause was so pregnant that if Diane had one of her pregnancy kits here it would have exploded with positive results.

“And …,” I prompted.

“The DNA matched that of a serial criminal who has been in and out of prisons all over the country since the early 50s.” Pregnant pause number two. Apparently Cam was expecting twins.

“Who?” Syra and I yelled.

“None other than Ernest Whitcomb.”

“You mean the dog walker? The guy who discovered the body?” Bing asked.

“Yup. Apparently he was somehow involved in the kidnapping and murder and it must have started a life of crime. He never actually served time until the 1950s but he was suspected of numerous home break-ins, gas station holdups and, in 1953, the robbery of a bank in Florida. He was caught, finally found guilty of something, and went to prison. That’s why his fingerprints and DNA are on file.”

“But we all know he was at the crime scene. He found the body. It doesn’t seem strange that his DNA would be there,” I argued. “I don’t see how that implicates him in the actual crime.”

“There were five cigarettes, Tamsen. Five. Can you imagine walking through the woods with Mycroft, discovering a man with a bullet hole through his head and then settling down to smoke five cigarettes before you mosey off and call the police?” Cam countered. “He had to have been at the crime scene for a while. Maybe he was the one waiting for the ransom to be delivered. Maybe he was the killer. But he certainly had more to do with the crime than just discovering the body. He died in prison fourteen years ago. No one will ever know.”

Those have to be five of the most frustrating words in the English language.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Something was wiggling around in the back of my mind and it was driving me crazy, like an itch in the middle of your back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about pregnancy. I felt bad about Scott’s misunderstanding of Diane’s missing pregnancy kit. And then there
was Bing’s innocent enthusiasm about me being pregnant. And Cam’s pregnant pauses. Was this a spiritual enlightening and maybe I was pregnant after all? I hoped it didn’t mean Abbey was pregnant. No, she had too much sense. But accidents happened. Claudia had made it pretty clear that Cam was an accident. If Claudia could get pregnant by mistake, anyone could. Except Abbey, of course. Cam had convinced himself that Abbey would not even be thinking about sex until she was at least forty. I was more realistic and pegged it closer to thirty. Either way, at eighteen she had at least ten or more years of virginity ahead of her.

So what had me thinking about pregnancy? I put my hand on Cam’s shoulder and gently shook him.

“Cam, are you awake?” Nothing. The man sleeps like a fossil. I rubbed my leg up and down his. He smiled. Great. Now I had probably provoked some sex dream. How can he feel me but not hear me?

“Cam! Are you awake?” I lay on my back and started bouncing up and down on the bed. This usually worked when he was snoring. He kept that stupid smile on his face and just rocked around like he was sleeping in a canoe. Hopeless.

The sun was pouring in the room. I reached out for Cam but he was gone. My bagel was sitting out on the counter, nicely thawed. I made myself a tasty little breakfast, high on carbs and calories and low on nutrition, and sat down to read the morning paper. That made me think of Kaleb, which reminded me of WOACA last night and made my head start to ache with whatever it was that was up there and needed to get out. I was scanning the TV listings for no particular reason, as Cam and I rarely watched TV. I guess it makes me feel good to look at all the things I won’t be watching that night. There is a local fishing show
named “Clive Cubby’s Fishing Journal.” Love that name. I turned the page. Wait. I turned back to the TV listings and stared at Clive’s listing. Journal. Clive had a fishing journal. I had a daily journal. If I was trying to remember something, maybe if I went through my journal, day by day since the murder, I would trigger some kind of memory.

I set my dirty dishes in the sink and headed back to the bedroom. I keep my journal on my nightstand in sight of God and everyone. I completely trust Cam not to read it and, as far as I knew, he has never even opened it. Ever. Besides, there isn’t much in there that Cam doesn’t know unless he doesn’t listen to me when I talk. I puffed up my pillows and settled back into bed to read. I hadn’t written much the week following Franklin’s murder except to note the day of his funeral, October 6. I had started making longer entries on October 11 when we had gone out to the cottage to clean.

Blah blah blah newspapers. That wasn’t it. Old books. Kitchen utensils. Photo of kids. Nope, not that day.

The next entry was for October 12, a Sunday. Bad day. I’d gone to Ashland Belle to show Claudia and Sybil the photo of the kids and Grace had found the bloody shirt in Ryan’s closet. Grace spent the night with us. I skimmed through the next couple of days, going back to the cottage with Syra, blah blah blah big fight at WOACA meeting and then the first break-in. I’d entered a lot of details about the night of the break-in and the handkerchief and even part of the Sylvie story but none of that was triggering a memory.

Ah, Wednesday. Here was the pregnancy-related stuff. I read and reread my fears about being pregnant and getting the pregnancy kit from Diane. Diane and I had been to Bugg Hill to visit her parents. Gourmet macaroni and cheese. Talked about Franklin as a child. Other people in the dining room with us. A woman with green hair and the hair conditioner scare. Then there was the woman who had gotten
stuck in the bathtub and needed the EMTs to get her out. My head was pounding now. The woman who got stuck in the tub. It was so close.