Cold Path Page 12

  Marvin’s rigid shoulders relaxed half an inch. He nodded.

  Bodhi went on, “I don’t intend to tell Mr. Sullivan or his grandmother about your involvement, such as it was.”

  Marvin’s shoulders drooped, going from relaxed to dejected. “You have to.”

  “No. It’s not necessary.”

  “I’m not going to impede an investigation into Professor Jones’ death. No sir. And, I didn’t help her sneak in. But, when I saw her, I looked the other way. And . . . I helped her sneak out. I’d do it again.” His chin jutted out. Then doubt flickered in his eyes. “Unless that’s what got her killed.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your integrity is commendable, but there’s no need to jeopardize your position here. Dr. Rollins and I are here to explain that Davina was in the museum today. We can do that without mentioning you.” It wasn’t lying, he reasoned. It was withholding irrelevant information.

  “I appreciate that. And if you want to do that, that’s your choice. But if I have to come clean, I will. I’ve got a good pension. This is just something to keep me busy, and I happen to love history.”

  Bodhi eyed him. “Are you former law enforcement?”

  “Nope. Close, though. Retired U.S. Army. I’ll be just fine with or without this job.” His expression tightened. “I sure hope they can catch the devil who did this to Davina. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  “It’s clear Davina’s working relationship with the Sullivans didn’t end on a positive note. Is there any chance Sully—?”

  Marvin glanced ahead at the chief’s back before answering. “Nah, I can’t see him stabbing someone. At least not with a literal screwdriver. Now a metaphorical knife in the back? That’s definitely his speed.”

  They shared a chuckle.

  “What about his grandmother?”

  “Mrs. Sullivan? She’s gotta be what, in her late seventies? Maybe older.”

  Bodhi shrugged. “You’d be surprised what people are capable of. Even sweet senior citizens.”

  “Hang on now. There’s nothing sweet about Margot Rutherford Sullivan. She’s a tough bird. But a killer?” Marvin dismissed the idea with a shake of his head.

  “Well, as between the two of them, who do you like better for it?”

  Marvin scratched his ear. “Between that pair? I put my money on her. But I don’t think it was either one of them. They don’t generally get their own hands dirty.”

  “I know Sully was here this morning. Was Mrs. Sullivan?”

  “Yes, she was. In fact, she was here early. Even before you and Dr. Rollins came. She asked me to show her the coffin.”

  “Did you?”

  “Sure. It’s her museum. She didn’t touch anything, and she didn’t stay long. You know, it’s so cold in that lab. She just leaned in real close, peering into the window. She seemed more interested in the woman’s jewelry than in the woman or the coffin, truth be told.” He raised one shoulder in a half shrug.

  Bodhi searched his memory. He was sure he and Eliza hadn’t cataloged any jewelry.

  “What jewelry?”

  “Some kind of ornate pin. Right here.” He pointed to the base of his throat.

  Bodhi would be surprised if he and Eliza had missed something so obvious. He’d have to remember to ask her.

  “Huh. Any idea if either Sully or Mrs. Sullivan left for a while, maybe around lunchtime?”

  “Couldn’t rightly say. I was taking care of . . . an issue at that time, so I wasn’t at the security desk.”

  “This issue, was it related to the coffin in any way?”

  “Sorta. It’s going to come out eventually. I’m sure Sully and Margot are just bursting to tell Chief Dexter all about it. So, you know Davina asked her cousin Verna to help sneak her on to the cleaning crew, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “When Verna found out that Davina had left without doing any actual cleaning or finishing the shift, she lost it, causing a ruckus in the staff break room—yelling and hollering about putting her neck out for her ‘uppity’ cousin, who, in Verna’s words, had ‘done her dirty.’ One of the janitorial staff radioed for me because Verna was punching walls and screaming.”

  “That seems like a disproportionate response.”

  “I thought so, too. I tried to calm her down and explained that I had seen her cousin in the hall and told her to leave, which is true. I let Verna think I’d kicked her out. That seemed to give her some satisfaction, but then she got worried that her role in the whole thing would come out. I told her to go home and calm down. I assured her I’d talk to the staff supervisor when she comes in on Monday and make sure Verna got paid for a full day.”

  “But she’s still probably going to be disciplined for helping Davina?”

  Marvin nodded. “Probably. And she was still plenty worked up when she left and convinced she was going to get fired over it. I don’t think that means she stabbed Davina. But someone did, and people have killed for less. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

  Just then, Eliza called across the atrium. “The elevator’s here.”

  Bodhi shook Marvin’s hand. “Thanks for the information.”

  “Anything I can do to help. I mean it. Here, hang on.” He slipped a business card out of his wallet and scrawled a phone number on the back. “Call this number, any time day or night, if you need anything.”

  He took the card and met the security guard’s sorrowful hazel eyes. “I will,” he promised.

  Then he tucked the card into his own wallet, and they hurried across the lobby to join the others at the elevator bank.

  22

  Sully watched as his grandmother decided how much she wanted to know. He thought—hoped—her legendary gentility would win out and she would refrain from asking sticky questions.

  She turned the brooch over in her hand. “And you say Davina’s cousin gave this to you?”

  “Yes.”

  She tore her attention away from the jewelry in her hand. “Elaborate, please.”

  Shoot. Apparently, curiosity trumped refinement in this instance.

  He took his time framing his explanation. Then he said, “I called Davina, per your request, but she didn’t answer. Because I knew it was important to you, I decided to visit her in person. At her apartment, I parked in the lot next to a blue Subaru with a Rutherford Museum parking pass. Obviously, it wasn’t Davina’s. She drives, er, drove that run-down Honda.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I called Marvin to find out whose car it was, and he looked up the parking pass number. It came back to Verna Martin. That’s when he told me that the two women are cousins. Verna’s on the cleaning crew.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was sitting out in my car, trying to decide whether to go forward with my visit or wait until Davina’s cousin left. I saw an agitated looking woman rush out of the building and run toward the Subaru. She seemed quite distressed, so I got out and introduced myself.”

  “She knew who you were, of course.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “And she just gave the brooch to you?”

  “She told me she’d been to see Davina, and Davina had shown her the piece. She told this woman that she had a plan to use it to try to prove some costume-jewelry necklace she had was part of the same set. It was convoluted, but Verna insisted Davina was scheming.”

  “How did she come to have the brooch?”

  “She didn’t say. But she said she wanted to return it to the museum, so I took it off her hands. Obviously.”

  “Yes, obviously. And you didn’t go to Davina’s apartment to speak to her?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t see the point, to be honest. The woman’s a con artist. There’s nothing to be gained by engaging with her.”

  Grandmother turned the pin over in her hand. “Perhaps not. Well, it’s a moot point now, as she’s dead. And there’s nothing to be gained by sharing this information with the police. It will only serve to fur
ther embroil us in this mess.”

  “Quite.” He clasped his hands behind his back and adopted a somber expression.

  She nodded and placed the brooch on her desk. She twisted a ring off her right ring finger, opened the small center drawer of her elegant writing desk, and dropped the ring into the tray. Then she handed the pin back to him.

  “Very well done, Eugene. Hold on to this for now, but do keep it somewhere safe. There’s no need to share this development with Lewis and his medical examiners. It’s a private matter.”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  That suited him fine. He slipped the pin into his pocket.

  23

  As the ornate elevator juddered to a stop on the third floor, Bodhi touched Eliza’s elbow. “Hang back,” he whispered in her ear.

  She showed no reaction, but when the highly polished doors opened with a groan, she stood motionless.

  “This is us,” Marvin said. “Mrs. Sullivan’s office is at the end of the hall on the right.”

  “Lead the way,” Eliza said with a smile.

  She and Bodhi waited for Marvin and the chief to step out in the hallway first and then fell several paces behind the two.

  “Marvin said Davina’s cousin has a temper,” Bodhi said in a low tone.

  “Hmm.”

  “And I think Davina might have stolen a brooch from Cassie.”

  Eliza’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Dexter turned around and shot them a questioning look. Just then, Marvin came to a stop in front of a door and knocked.

  “Enter,” an imperious voice called from within the room.

  He opened the door and waved the three of them through it ahead of him.

  Margot Rutherford Sullivan sat behind a Queen Anne-style writing desk that had complicated scrollwork and delicate-looking legs. She held a fountain pen in her right hand, and an incongruous, sleek laptop sat, closed, at her left elbow.

  Sully stood behind her desk with his hands clasped behind him and a dazed expression on his face.

  “Thank you for seeing our guests up, Mr. Washington. There’s no need for you to stay.” Margot’s gracious tone masked the fact of the dismissal.

  “Lewis, thank you for coming here to chat. It simply would have been disruptive for Eugene and me to come to the police station.”

  “No problem at all, Mrs. Sullivan. Besides, you know, I’m hosting that convention of police chiefs this weekend, so I’m just next door over at the lodge anyway.”

  Eliza raised an eyebrow at the obsequious aw-shucks tone.

  Bodhi refrained from pointing out that they actually hadn’t been just next door, that they had come from Davina’s apartment in town, which, as it happened, was around the corner from the police station. It was better to let this vignette play out and get a sense of the dynamic between the doyenne of high society and the chief of police. Maybe he really was in her pocket.

  Chief Dexter gestured toward Eliza and Bodhi. “This is Dr. Eliza Rollins. She’s the medical examiner for St. Mary’s Parish down in—”

  “Ah, yes, Belle Rue, Louisiana. I’ve heard of you.”

  Bodhi was confident she’d never heard of Eliza before this morning—or yesterday evening, at the earliest. But her tone suggested she’d been following Eliza’s career for decades.

  “And that means you must be Dr. King.”

  She extended two limp fingers, one of which was weighed down with a large ring, and he shook them awkwardly. Her papery skin was warm and scented with a highly perfumed lotion.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  With the pleasantries out of the way, Sully waved a hand at the seating arrangement. “Please, sit wherever you’re comfortable.”

  Dexter plopped down into the nearest seat, a straight-backed chair covered in striped silk. Bodhi and Eliza, as if by unspoken agreement, headed for a plush settee situated between Margot Rutherford Sullivan’s desk and a large bookcase.

  Once they were seated, Margot took control. “Eugene tells me you have some news, Lewis. Presumably about Professor Jones’ tragic death. So shocking that something like that would happen in our small town. Although, I’m told she resided on Pecan Boulevard. Not the best area.” She made a tsk sound.

  “That’s right, Mrs. Sullivan. The neighborhood to the south of the police station, well, it can be a bit rough. Breaking and—”

  Bodhi interrupted the chief and dispelled any notions of random crime or home invasions. “We’ve just come from the crime scene, ma’am. We’re fairly certain Professor Jones knew her killer.”

  It was hard to tell whether Margot Sullivan was surprised by this news because her face was a smooth, impassive mask. She didn’t twitch. Her eyes didn’t widen. Her hand didn’t flutter to her throat.

  “Oh, my. Why do you say that?” she finally murmured.

  “We’re not at liberty to say—” Eliza began to recite the standard response to a request for information about an open murder investigation.

  Dexter apparently was at liberty. He cast Eliza a warning look and explained, “There was no sign of forced entry, and nothing seemed to be missing. So the motive appears to be personal.”

  “Nothing was missing? You’re sure?” Sully interjected.

  Bodhi filed the weird question away in the back of his mind for later consideration.

  “And, she was stabbed?” Margot asked.

  “Yes, with a screwdriver from her archaeological tool kit.”

  Sully winced.

  “She put up a fight, though,” the chief continued on blithely. “Threw a knife at her attacker. Too bad she missed.”

  “She threw a knife? What an odd choice,” Margot marveled.

  “According to Dr. King, she was actually an accomplished ax thrower. Who knew?”

  “Certainly not me. My word. I had no idea she had such a . . . violent streak. Now I’m even more convinced that our decision to end our relationship with her was the right one. And given that we have ended a relationship with Professor Jones, I’m curious why you think we’ll be able to help. I doubt we have any information that you don’t already know.”

  “I tried to tell him that on the phone, Grandmother.”

  Margot waved off her grandson. He fell silent.

  Chief Dexter cleared his throat. “I just learned something from my forensic consultants that you should know. Dr. King?”

  “When we were examining the coffin and the woman inside it this morning, Professor Jones unexpectedly turned up in the laboratory.” He saw no reason to sugarcoat it.

  Margot frowned. “Impossible. She was barred from the premises when we took her identification.”

  “Yes, but she talked her way onto the cleaning crew this morning and came in with them,” Eliza said.

  “Eugene, did you know anything about this?”

  “Not until this very minute.” Sully narrowed his eyes. “Wait. When I came down to the lab, there was a janitor in the room. Was that …?”

  “Yes, that was Davina. I guess you didn’t recognize her out of context,” Bodhi said as neutrally as he could manage.

  They both knew the truth: Eugene Sullivan never spared a glance for a member of the cleaning crew, so he’d had no chance of recognizing her.

  “But you recognized her, didn’t you?” Sully spat. “And you didn’t alert me.”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t think it was my place.”

  Margot didn’t seem particularly scandalized by Bodhi and Eliza’s failure to narc on Davina. She had another scapegoat in her sights. “This is unacceptable. How could she just sneak onto the cleaning crew? Get Marvin Washington back up here. And the janitorial supervisor.”

  Bodhi made a small noise in his throat. “Forgive me for butting in, but Mr. Washington told me the janitorial supervisor doesn’t work weekends. He plans to speak to her on Monday.”

  Margot looked at him sharply. “You’ve spoken to Marvin?”

  “Yes, when we came in. As I understand it, Professor Jones’ cousin
is a member of the cleaning crew and may have helped her gain access.”

  “What’s this cousin’s name? Eugene, get her up here. We need to get to the bottom of this breach.”

  “I believe that when Mr. Washington learned what happened, he sent Verna, the cousin, home for the rest of the day. But I’m sure Chief Dexter would appreciate getting the cousin’s address and telephone number, right?” Bodhi finished explaining, then turned to the police chief.

  “We’ll find it one way or the other. But if you could open your personnel files, I’d be much obliged.”

  Eliza shook her head. “Surely you don’t think this Verna person killed Davina? Mere hours earlier, she’d helped her.”

  Margot lectured her, “You don’t know much about human nature, do you, Dr. Rollins? Perhaps that’s because you deal with the dead. I’ve had a lot of experience with the living, and it’s safe to say that people react in unexpected ways all the time.”

  Bodhi seized the opening. “Yes. Speaking of unexpected reactions, it seems odd that you initially offered to pay for a forensic anthropologist or archaeologist to date the woman in the coffin that Davina found, then changed your mind. Why would the Rutherford Family Foundation refuse to sponsor the work needed to verify what’s truly a remarkable cultural find?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. “Eugene tells me you believe that poor woman was murdered.”

  “She was hanged.”

  “Well, that’s not the sort of history we work to bring to light.”

  “History is history. Surely you’re not suggesting we can pick and choose what we preserve? If everyone did that, the historical record would be incomplete and inaccurate.”

  Margot smiled indulgently at Eliza. “My dear, do you really think that accuracy and completeness and all this ugliness is serving anyone? Wouldn’t it be a better world if we chose to focus on the good, the inspiring, and the beautiful? I think so.”

  “That’s an unusual position for the director of a historical organization to take.”

  “It may be, and not everyone agrees. For instance, the Isaiah Bell Archives takes a different, less optimistic view. They like to dredge up ugly episodes that would be better left alone.”