Price of Innocence Page 13

  The most talkative said, “Pretty weird, but harmless. Never went out with us—”

  The second-most talkative said, “We didn’t want him to feel like the odd man out, you know? So we’d ask him.”

  “—never went out at all. Just stayed on his computer.”

  Landis slid in, “That is his job, right? Computers.”

  “Sure, but he wasn’t normal. Like when he left, not a word. He was regular with his rent. Miss that.”

  The most talkative returned to his point. “And he wasn’t always doing stuff for his job. He’d do all these weird searches.”

  “What kind of searches?” Landis asked less to hear their responses than to see their reactions. The department had Adam Delattre’s computers, so the techs would know details of his searches soon.

  The roommates pinged four-way looks. The one who talked the least shrugged. The one who talked the most took that as a go-ahead.

  “We thought… You know, porn and stuff. We were kinda curious what he’d be into, considering he didn’t show any interest in, well, anything. So, we set up a key-logger. Pretty slick, he never realized it was there.”

  The second-most talkative supplied, “But all he searched for were sob stories about families that lost their home or went broke because a kid was sick. Stuff like that.”

  “The sort of people the Sunshine Foundation helps?”

  Belichek looked down to avoid grinning at the you idiots subtext to Landis’ question.

  Clearly, they did not speak subtext.

  “Yeah, I guess. He was obsessed with that place. Not just a job, but like his total life.”

  “And then he up and left.”

  Landis covered some of the ground again, then wrapped up. But at the door, he looked back and said, “You sure he didn’t know about the key-logger? Maybe that’s why he left.”

  Belichek had an image of four open mouths before the door closed.

  * * * *

  Carl Arbendroth’s mortgage broker office was in a sandy-colored two-story building in a bland swath of Fairlington.

  The assistant absorbed their identities with wide eyes, then hopped up and headed to a door.

  “The police are here to see you. Two detectives.”

  “Police? Me? I don’t want—”

  But they followed the assistant in, ending the man’s recitation of wants.

  “Hello, Mr. Arbendroth. Thank you for seeing us. I’m Detective Tanner Landis. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Jamison Chancellor.”

  While Landis moved forward to take a chair and cement occupation of the office, Belichek held the door open for the assistant with a compelling look. After she obeyed it, he shut the door firmly after her.

  As he took the other chair on this side of the desk, he saw Arbendroth had regained command of himself.

  He looked suitably solemn.

  “I heard about that. Horrible, absolutely horrible.” He looked from Landis to Belichek, then clearly decided Landis was the better bet. A lot of people made that mistake. “But you’ve been misinformed if you have the impression Jamie and I were seriously involved.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s right,” he said earnestly to Landis. “We dated for a while — a short while — but it never took off, if you know what I mean, Nice girl — don’t get me wrong — but… Well, you know how these things are.”

  “How long did you date for?”

  “Let’s see, maybe four months? It’s hard to pin down because it started gradually — we were more friends, you know what I mean, and then it kind of faded at the end. The sort of thing where you suddenly realize you haven’t seen or been in touch with someone for quite a while and then it feels awkward to try to pick it up again, not to mention that when it slips away like that, it’s a sign, isn’t it?”

  “When the other person is murdered, that usually sharpens the memories. When was the last time you went out with Jamison Chancellor?”

  “Oh, wow. I couldn’t say. I wish I could help you, but—”

  “You don’t have it on your calendar? In your phone?”

  Arbendroth reached out to it on the desk, as if to take that device more securely in his possession, but drew his hand back.

  “No, no. I don’t keep personal information there.”

  “Oh? Where do you keep it?”

  “In my head.”

  “You wouldn’t mind us getting a copy of the data on your phone to help us get a window into Jamison Chancellor’s life in the months before her death, then.”

  Landis’ statement presented a substantial obstacle Carl Arbendroth needed to climb over to be credible.

  “Really, it wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

  He smiled at Landis, who looked back at him levelly. Arbendroth looked at Belichek, quickly returning to Landis.

  “There’s nothing there about Jamie. Nothing that would help you. I can’t give you access to it because there’s a great deal of proprietary information on it. Business, I’m afraid.”

  Landis didn’t respond to the condescending tone, other than a tick at the side of his jaw, under his ear, that Carl Arbendroth wouldn’t see.

  Though he might feel the repercussions from that tick, Belichek thought.

  “When was the last time you saw Jamison Chancellor?”

  Arbendroth looked relieved Landis wasn’t pursuing the phone records.

  “As I think about it, I suppose it must have been a couple weeks before she was leaving town. We happened to run into each other at a restaurant we both like.” He tried a wry smile. “Said hello to her, and some kid from the group got excited and created a scene. So I left.”

  “Did you make any effort to see her again after that?”

  “No. It was a coincidence I’d run into her that day. Didn’t cross paths again.” He lifted one shoulder.

  Landis let a silence grow. Until, when he finally spoke, Arbendroth started.

  “So you knew the date she was leaving town to go work on her book?”

  “I don’t— I didn’t say that. I didn’t know.”

  “You said you ran into her at that restaurant a couple weeks before she was leaving town. To say that, you had to know when she was supposed to leave.”

  “I must have heard it on the news. The story’s all over the news and—”

  “When she was supposed to leave town hasn’t been on the news.”

  “I, uh…”

  “I suppose she talked about it when you were dating.”

  The fly not only stepped into the spider’s web, it wrapped itself up in the tangles, thinking it was getting free.

  “She told everybody,” Arbendroth said eagerly. “Everybody. She talked about it all summer, going away to a cabin to write. You can ask anybody. She talked about it all the time.”

  Landis nodded. “So, you did know when Jamison was supposed to leave town.”

  “I, uh…”

  His stutters continued until Landis’ next question. “Where were you Labor Day weekend? Start with Friday.”

  Arbendroth answered meekly.

  After work Friday, he’d gone to a bar where he was a regular. Saturday, he’d worked several hours here in the office, catching up on work and meeting with a prospective client. He volunteered the name. He’d watched baseball on TV at home that night — alone. Sunday, there’d been a brunch with college friends, then he’d stayed on to watch the early NFL game at the restaurant’s bar. Then he went home and watched the late afternoon game and the night game. Monday, he went to a cousin’s house in Maryland for a cookout, returning by nine for work the next day.

  A few more details and Landis rose.

  Belichek opened the door, started to follow Landis out. At the last moment, he turned back to look at Carl Arbendroth, knowing he might never have the answer to this mystery.

  Why had Jamison Chancellor dated this guy?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “He wanted to make you his best buddy, didn’
t he?” Belichek said when they stopped by his car.

  Again, he’d gotten the better spot. That had given him time to text Ally Northcutt while he’d waited for his partner before the interview.

  “Him and me,” Landis agreed, “men of the world, with enough women hanging around us that when one’s murdered, we can say tut-tut and move onto the next. What did you get from her journals on him?”

  “Needy. Demanding. Wanting more of her than she wanted to give. None of that said overtly. From the start, she was trying to slow things down, he was trying to warp speed them. He talked about marriage on the third date. Freaked her out enough to be emphatic with him.”

  Landis gave him a quick look. “But still dated him for months?”

  “Trying to disentangle herself gradually.”

  “Yeah, like that would work with his kind.”

  “Not everybody uses a guillotine to end relationships.”

  “Quick, clean, decisive. Never leave any uncertainties.”

  “Clean?” Belichek muttered.

  “For me.”

  “Someday you’re going to forget to stand back from the blood splatter and get soaked.”

  “Nah. Too nimble. Anyway, this guy. She had to know what he was like. Or was she that naïve?”

  “Wouldn’t say naïve. Optimistic. Hoped for the best.”

  “Got the worst.” He looked down the street toward his car. Probably mentally listing his to-dos. “Sounds like from the foundation people she still hadn’t untangled herself when she died, not completely.”

  Belichek grunted agreement. “Maybe hoping the time away would do the trick. Not sure we could pull his phone records with what we’ve got.”

  “I’m betting we’ll get more. Eventually. Keep the option open to get them if it’s trending that way. It’ll be a pleasure to turn those records upside down.”

  “Looking for proprietary information?”

  “Hell, no. Dating tips.” He straightened. “This is where we part. No more showing up places. I mean it, Bel.”

  “Okay.”

  “And do me a favor so I don’t get dragged down with you, either sleep at your own house or get permission to be in that place now that it’s been turned back to the family.”

  Not a bad point.

  “Last two things,” Landis said, “go get yourself laid, but do it after you write up — for my eyes only — what you heard this morning and anything you get from the cousin.”

  * * * *

  Belichek occupied the hour before Ally Northcutt’s scheduled arrival by picking up lunch in Jamie’s neighborhood, watching people, then calling Maggie.

  She answered with, “I heard that asshole took you off the case. He can’t do that. He can’t take you—”

  “He can. But I’m not—”

  “—off the case.”

  “—going to quit the case,” he agreed, just behind her.

  “You’re off the case, but you’re not quitting. You’re going to keep investigating. Landis knows?”

  “Not officially.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Good, because I need family permission to be in the house.”

  “Why? Not the permission — the house. No, never mind. Don’t tell me why. I swore to— I told myself I wouldn’t interfere. At least not if you and Landis get something soon. I know I’m too close to this to see straight. You’ve got the permission. I’ll email you something to make it official and cover your ass.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “Why’d you call.”

  “Quick question. Maggie, from the scene, can you confirm that the clothes the victim was wearing were your cousin’s? I can send an image of the blouse, if that would help.”

  He’d cropped a copy of one from the lab to best show the pattern and least show the destruction.

  The pause didn’t surprise him. Maggie would be sure of her answer before committing.

  “No. I can’t confirm. Image wouldn’t help. I remember the scene—”

  He closed his eyes at her voice on those words.

  “—but I didn’t see her often enough and when I did, I didn’t pay close enough attention to what she was wearing to tell you now.”

  “Maggie—”

  “What’s this about? Trying for the official identification through clothes? That’s weak. Even if you could prove she’d bought those specific items, a defense attorney would tear into that.”

  It figured Maggie thought of it in terms of a trial that would find the killer guilty. Belichek just wanted to catch the sonuvabitch.

  She went on, “I know what you’ve run into with medical and dental, but the DNA shouldn’t be that long.”

  “You know how backed up the lab gets, but we’ll get it eventually. In the meantime, we wouldn’t rely on the clothes for the official ID, but unofficially… Hearing it from you would help confirm our witness who found her.”

  “The neighbor lady.”

  “Right. Imogen Wooton.” When — not if — Maggie found out he hadn’t mentioned the wrinkle in Imogen Wooton’s statement about the two pieces of clothing not being worn together, she would have his head on a platter.

  “Don’t waste time on me, Bel. Call Ally. My cousin Allison Northcutt. You said there was an image? Civilian level image?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me three minutes to call her, tell her to expect to hear—”

  “Maggie.”

  “—from you. Send her the image, then call her. Here’s her number.” She rattled it off.

  “Maggie. I have her number. I texted with her. I’m going to see her in half an hour. At the house.”

  Silence.

  “Why?”

  “Landis asked me to talk to her. He’s swamp—”

  “Why the house?”

  “She asked to see it. The cleaners have been in. It should be okay—”

  “What time? I’ll be there.”

  * * * *

  Allison Northcutt was taller than Maggie. She wore black jeans with a plain t-shirt under a denim jacket. She had an air of athleticism about her.

  Yet, as the introductions were introduced, Belichek found himself thinking of her as more fragile. Not surprising, he supposed, with her husband comatose for a couple years now.

  “Let me go in first. Make sure.” He said it to Mags, but looked at Ally.

  Mags followed the direction of his look and said, “Okay.”

  The cleaners had done a good job. Some things never disturbed by the intruder were not back where they’d been, but the smell was gone and the overall impression was of order.

  He took that in as he double-timed his way to the third floor.

  Didn’t take long to remove evidence he’d slept in the office chair and to scope out the bathroom, but the run up to and down from the third floor meant he paused another moment to be sure his breathing was normal before he let them in.

  Maggie’s gaze went immediately to the area where the rug was missing. Ally’s attention didn’t snag on anything until they reached the archway to the living room and she stared at the painting over the fireplace.

  Maggie joined her, pressing her arm against her cousin’s.

  After a beat or two, she said, “Okay, let’s get to this. I have the list of what I told you was missing. Now that things are back in order and Ally’s here, we should be able to tell you more.”

  Ally did add nearly a dozen items to the list, including distinctive silver pieces Jamie had kept in the second-floor guest bedroom and Jamie’s cash stash that was gone from her bedroom.

  They saw nothing missing from the third floor.

  With little space to maneuver, Maggie sat at the desk, Ally had the upholstered chair, and he sat on the landing, with his legs down the stairs.

  “They took her purse,” he told them.

  “Phone?” Mags asked.

  “Her keys?” Ally asked.

  “Both.”

  Ally looked toward Mags, who didn’t return the look b
ecause, he knew, she was thinking about the investigative value of the phone and what it meant to not have it. “With her keys out there somewhere, shouldn’t we see about changing the locks?”

  “Don’t,” Belichek said. “Please.”

  Mags squinted at him, knowing immediately why not. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s covered for now.”

  Ally looked from Maggie to him and back.

  “Let us know when we should change them,” Maggie said.

  Her cousin’s brows rose, but she didn’t argue. He suspected that with the things Ally Northcutt was dealing with, a set of keys didn’t rank very high. Nor did the security of this house. Now that Jamie was dead.

  “What do you know about Jamie keeping journals.”

  “She still does that?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah.” Ally looked guarded.

  He said it straight. “I’m reading them. Did she stop this summer?”

  Ally pulled her head back slightly. “No. At least not that I know of. I know she bought a journal — the kind she likes — when we were together this spring. But whether she stopped writing in them…”

  He hadn’t found a blank journal. Missing was looking more and more likely.

  Did that make it less likely someone might try to come back?

  “What happens with the Sunshine Foundation? Is there a succession plan?”

  Both looked up, startled.

  “No idea,” Mags said. “The way she looked after the Sunshine Foundation, she must have made some provision…”

  “I think it’s us.” Ally clearly knew she was delivering bad news, but didn’t back down from it.

  “Oh, Christ. Why would she do that?”

  “Vivian.”

  “But—” A single syllable that conveyed Maggie’s distance from the foundation’s cause, compounded by her demanding job. And Ally’s consuming care for her comatose husband.

  “Yeah. And she knew that — she never expected that she wouldn’t be able to keep running it until one or the other of us wanted — or could — step in… But she had to put down something.”

  “Why not one of her merry little band of faithful followers?”

  “Vivian,” Ally said again.

  “Does the foundation hold substantial assets?” Belichek asked.