Tree of Life and Death (14 page)

I didn't want to believe it, but Matt was right. People had been coming and going from the boardroom all day, so no one would have noticed if someone had followed Alan out to the parking lot. Then afterward, the killer could have slipped into the back hallway where he or, given the gender of virtually all of the participants in today's event, she could have unobtrusively joined the crowd when everyone came down the stairs to see what the screaming was about. The presence of a stranger in the hallway would have been noticed and remembered, but no one would have paid any attention to someone who was already part of the quilting community.

"If you're right, Sunny might have seen the killer without even realizing it. Witnesses tend to remember only things that are out of place or unexpected, while more commonplace things and people barely register. A quilter going to a quilting event wouldn't be memorable."

Matt glanced across the parking lot where Faria was still waiting for Ohlsen to acknowledge him. "Do you think Ohlsen will be able to get Sunny to remember if she saw anyone?"

"It's possible," I said. "He just has to guide her through what she saw, step by step, reminding her not to skip any detail, no matter how insignificant it seems to her."

"Let's hope she remembers, then, and the case is solved right away." Matt patted five of the pockets in his cargo pants before remembering his phone had been confiscated. He glanced at my watch. "I'm already late for my meeting, but if we're not stuck here all day, I'll still have time to reschedule it for this evening, before everyone leaves town. We'll probably have to go somewhere other than the Smugglers' Tavern though. It gets busy on Saturday nights, too noisy for a meeting."

"It might not be that quick and easy to get buried information from Sunny," I said. "Sometimes the person doing the questioning assumes he knows what the witness is going to say, and he doesn't listen carefully enough to notice when something unexpected is mentioned. Ohlsen might assume that all quilters are sweet little old ladies who wouldn't hurt anyone. If Sunny told him she saw one of the quilters as she drove through the parking lot, he might discount it, just the way Sunny herself would have done."

"Or she might not have seen anyone. What then?"

"If Ohlsen collects enough information about who was where when, he might be able to figure out who was missing from the boardroom between the time Alan left and the first of Sunny's screams."

"I was keeping an eye on Dee and Emma, trying to get a chance to talk to them," Matt said, "so I know they didn't do it. And I know you were there that whole time."

"I wonder if Elizabeth Ashby might have seen something useful," I said. "She was here this morning and left around the same time as Alan. Otherwise, there are just too many possibilities to count on a quick resolution."

Detective Ohlsen finally snapped out of his reverie enough to notice Faria. His voice carried across the parking lot. "What are you doing here? I thought you were keeping an eye on the witnesses upstairs."

"I've got some information for you, sir," Faria said, unfazed. "You remember Keely Fairchild, don't you?"

"I never forget a suspect," Ohlsen said, glaring in my direction. "And I never invite them into my crime scenes to contaminate the evidence."

"Keely's not a suspect this time," Faria said. "She's got a dozen alibi witnesses. The guy with her, Matt Viera, has even more witnesses. As far as I can tell, every single woman in the room knew exactly where he was for every single minute of the morning."

Ohlsen resumed his thoughtful study of the fence beyond the crime scene as if he hadn't even heard what Faria said. The air was getting chilly, and I was tempted to go inside and let Faria come get us if the detective ever agreed to listen to what Matt and I had to say. The cold pot stickers hadn't settled well in my stomach, or maybe it was anxiety over the day's tragic events that was affecting my digestion. I had to stay calm and keep the nausea from escalating into dizziness or worse, a syncope event. I couldn't pass out now, not before I'd alerted the detective to the missing quilt so he'd know it was connected to the murder if he found it stashed somewhere.

Detective Ohlsen pushed away from the picnic table and, ignoring Faria trailing behind him, came over to say, "I don't care if you've both got a hundred witnesses saying you never left the room from the time you arrived until the screams started. That doesn't mean you belong in my crime scene. If you've got something to tell me, we can do it somewhere you won't get in the way of the forensics team."

Ohlsen led us away from the crime scene, around the corner of the building, and all the way to the front entrance of the museum, where another uniformed officer was stationed to turn away visitors.

Detective Ohlsen stopped and turned to glare at us. "Well? What is it that you two think we're missing?" His tone let me know he wasn't happy about civilian interference.

"You're missing a quilt," I said.

That got Ohlsen's attention. His eyebrows went up. "The museum was robbed? Why didn't the director tell me this before? You think the victim stole a quilt before he was killed?"

"Sorry," I said. "I wasn't clear. Nothing's been taken from the museum. I'm talking about a quilt that belonged to the family of the young man who was killed. He brought it to me for an appraisal this morning, and he was carrying it when he left. Matt and I were the first to arrive at the crime scene after Sunny screamed, and we didn't see it there. Someone must have taken it. Possibly the killer."

"Is it valuable?"

"Not particularly." I was getting tired of everyone thinking that was all that mattered, but it wouldn't do any good to snap at the detective. "At least not in financial terms. It meant a lot to its owner, the grandmother of the victim. I think Alan cared about it too, at least enough to get it appraised and pay the fee. He wouldn't have just left it behind somewhere."

"Can you describe it well enough for my team to search for it?"

"Better than that," I said. "I can email you a picture from the appraisal, if you'll let me get my phone back from Fred. The quilt may be inside a box, and one of the women upstairs might be able to tell you if there was anything written on the outside."

"If the quilt is on the museum grounds, my team will find it. Not sure what good it will do though. Whoever killed the guy probably took the quilt, and it's long gone now. Might have thought it was more valuable than it is."

"I doubt it," I said. "People tend to discount the value of quilts because they've seen mass-produced quilts in chain stores for less than the cost of the materials for a handmade quilt. They're shocked when they hear what masterpiece quilts are worth."

Ohlsen shrugged. "Some addicts would be happy if they could sell it for twenty bucks. Or maybe the killer just liked it. My wife keeps saying she wants to learn to quilt, and she's shown me some pictures of what she wants to make. They're kind of pretty, if you like that sort of thing."

Matt spoke up. "My sources tell me the victim had a history of shoplifting, or at least being suspected of it. Anyone who knew that and saw him leaving the museum with a box might well think he'd stolen something valuable."

Detective Ohlsen nodded reluctantly. "It's a theory. Okay, I'll tell Fred to let Ms. Fairchild use her phone to send me the picture. If the quilt's not on the premises, we'll get the picture out more broadly to alert the beat cops to watch for it."

"And you'll consider the possibility that Alan was killed because of the quilt, not some other reason?"

Ohlsen frowned. "You really think that's what happened?"

"I don't know, but the quilt guild's president is convinced of it." I could see the skepticism written all over Ohlsen's face. "It's not as far-fetched as you might think. From what I've heard, Alan was never involved in anything violent until he came here with his quilt. And now the quilt is missing, and he's dead. That timing can't be a coincidence."

"It's not evidence either," Ohlsen said. "Which you, of all people, should know, Counselor."

"Evidence only comes to light if you're looking for it."

"I guess it won't hurt to keep our eyes open," Detective Ohlsen said, herding us back in the direction of the parking lot. "Right now, I need to get to where the real evidence is most likely to be found. Can I trust you two to go straight back upstairs without sending an escort? I need all the help I can get down here. Even Faria's."

I couldn't answer for Matt, but I was as anxious to get back to the boardroom as Ohlsen was to send me there. So far, Dee and Emma had stayed out of trouble, but there was no telling what they might do if the situation dragged on for too long. Plus, I wasn't sure what Stefan might do if he thought I'd abandoned him and the search for evidence to clear his girlfriend. "I'll go straight upstairs to check in with Fred and send you the quilt picture. If you have any questions about it, I'll be in the boardroom."

"Me too," Matt said. "I'm always happy to hang out wherever Keely is."

Trust Matt to flirt even during a criminal investigation. It wasn't personal though, just a habit, like wearing cargo pants and never putting anything back in the same pocket it came from.

Detective Ohlsen walked with us toward the back entrance so we could rejoin the rest of the witnesses upstairs. "Just stay away from my crime scene."

"Of course." I wasn't particularly interested in seeing any more of the bloody evidence of a young man's death or the unadorned brick expanse of the back wall of the museum. There really wasn't anything else I could learn from the scene of the crime without first spending a couple of years getting trained in forensics.

The three of us had almost reached the museum's back entrance when a pudgy, middle-aged woman in coveralls came rushing over with an evidence bag in her gloved hands. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you wanted to know right away if we found anything unusual."

Detective Ohlsen peered at the clear plastic bag. "What is it?"

"That's what's unusual about it," the tech said. "We have no idea."

Detective Ohlsen took the bag and raised it to eye level, inadvertently giving me a clear view of it. To a non-quilter, it would look like a crumpled Band-Aid that had once been wrapped into a cone shape around a fingertip, except it was made of well-worn leather. Its jagged edges and uneven stitches in the one seam suggested it was handmade and not commercially produced, intended to protect its wearer from the pricks of literal pins and needles.

Behind me, Matt nudged my back. I looked over my shoulder at him, and he mouthed, "Tell him."

If it were Richie Faria peering at the evidence, I wouldn't have volunteered any information, but Detective Ohlsen would listen respectfully. He might not understand, but he would at least file the information away for the next time he had a moment or ten to contemplate the case. It probably wouldn't help solve the case, but I'd feel better if Ohlsen at least knew the latest bit of evidence probably belonged to a quilter.

"Detective?" I said. "Perhaps I could help with this one little issue."

He started, as if he'd forgotten I was nearby. "You know what this thing is?"

"I think so. Do you mind if I take a closer look?"

Ohlsen held the bag in front of me, giving me a chance to study the little lump of leather. I'd never actually used a thimble like this myself, but I'd seen them in a few videos during my certification training and in person once at a quilt show. This one was an extremely simple version, just two fingertip-shaped pieces of leather about an inch and a half long, sewn together along the sides and top, leaving the bottom open. The leather was pocked with needle marks, and what had originally been flat pieces of leather had stretched around the curves of the wearer's finger.

"It's a type of thimble." I thought Matt had recognized what it was too, and unlike me, he probably knew how to use it. "Matt might be able to explain better than I can, if you want to know more."

"It's mostly used while hand quilting," Matt said. "Not on the upper hand for pushing the needle through the quilt but on the hand underneath the quilt, for deflecting the needle, so they don't prick their fingers bloody."

Detective Ohlsen sighed and handed the evidence bag back to the disappointed tech. "I suppose you even know who it belongs to, and you're going to tell me it proves the thimble's owner killed the young man."

"It's worth looking into," I said. "I know it's just circumstantial, but it might place its owner at the scene of the crime."

"Or not," Ohlsen said. "I'll have it checked for trace evidence, but I'm not counting on getting anything useful. The weather's been dry, so it could have been here for a few days. Probably nothing to do with the crime at all."

The museum brought in a textile conservator occasionally, and she had been here earlier this week, so maybe Ohlsen was right. Still, as far as I knew, the thimble was the only lead the police had. "It wouldn't be hard to figure out if it belongs to someone upstairs."

"What's the point?" Ohlsen said. "It wouldn't take a genius defense attorney to point out that it could have been dropped out here on the way into the museum this morning. You know as well as I do that a jury wouldn't have to deliberate for more than two minutes if the only thing that connected the defendant to the crime was a thimble."

"The thimble alone might not be enough for a conviction," I said, "but it might lead to other evidence if you know who it belongs to. If there's an innocent explanation for its being at the crime scene, whoever lost it will be anxious to get it back. From what I've been told, a well-broken-in thimble is the secret to heirloom-quality quilting. And if the owner doesn't claim it, that would suggest she knows it would connect her to the murder. The thimble alone might not be persuasive evidence, but lying about owning it would certainly make me suspicious. And it wouldn't be all that hard to prove who owns it. Just ask everyone to try it on. It's been well used, so over time the oils and sweat from the quilter's skin saturated the leather, causing it to shape itself around the finger until it fit her as uniquely as Cinderella's glass slipper fit her foot."