Gone But Knot Forgotten (12 page)

He abruptly ran into the house and bounded up the stairs and into Harriet's bedroom. He sniffed the air and made a beeline for the closet, whining and snuffling for more than a minute at the hole in the carpet where her corpse had lain for ten months. Satisfied, he barked and sat at attention.

I shooed him out of the room. “Leave. You're in the way.”

He returned to the yard and after five minutes raised the alarm again. Back at the window, I observed him digging in the same spot.

Wait. Arthur was a retired police dog. He'd been trained to sniff out and locate . . . what?

“Oh my God! Arthur's found something in the backyard.”

The three of us rushed downstairs and joined the dog near a gaping hole about two feet deep. Arthur looked at me, whined, and then turned toward his handiwork, ears pointed forward. I got down on my knees and examined the hole. Barely exposed at the bottom were the bones of a human hand.

I looked up at my friends. “There's a skeleton hand down there!”

“Get out!” said Lucy.

Birdie covered her heart with her right hand. “Oh, Martha, not again.”

I backed away from the hole. “Look for yourself.”

Lucy squatted down, peered inside, and made the sign of the cross. “Holy mother of God! Is there any more of him?”

“How should I know?”

Lucy stood. “Dig around a little. Maybe you'll find more bones.”

She can't be serious
. “Me dig? Why don't you dig?” “You found him first!”

“I don't touch dead bodies.”

“No, Martha dear,” Birdie piped up, “you only find them.”

I ignored her remark about my knack this year for finding murder victims. After all, Arthur discovered this body, not me.

Lucy said, “Tell the dog to dig some more.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Just how do you say that in dog language?”

Lucy pointed to the hole and used a commanding voice. “Arthur. Dig!”

Arthur looked at Lucy, tilted his head, and barked once.

“Good boy, Arthur.” I patted his head as he sat at attention.

Birdie bent over at the waist and looked into the hole. “Do I see something shiny down there? Maybe you should take it out.”

Lucy took one step backward. “Don't look at me.”

I knelt again at the edge of the hole and bent forward. Birdie was right. A shiny gold object circled the third finger. With shaking hands I brushed dirt away from the bones and slid the ring off, careful not to disturb the position of the digits.

Carl walked into the backyard. “What's all the noise about?”

I stood. “Arthur dug up a body.”

The young man's eyes widened. “No way.”

Birdie pointed to the hole. “Take a look for yourself, dear.”

Carl bent down and whistled softly. “Better call the cops again.”

I inspected the ring and discovered some engraving on the inside, but soil obscured the letters. “There's some writing on this, but it's too dirty to read.”

We hurried to the kitchen sink where I found a scrub brush and cleaned the grooves. I pushed my glasses up my nose and squinted to read the words written inside. At first the letters were upside down, so I turned the ring around. “No way!”

Everyone said, “What?”

“I think Arthur's just found the missing Nathan Oliver.”

C
HAPTER
16

The squad cars came first. Three of them. Uniformed officers taped off the backyard and shooed us inside the house.

A half hour later I watched from inside the family room as Farkas showed up to examine the grave.

Then he ambled through the French doors. “How'd I get so lucky? Two homicides in one day. He gestured toward the yard. “Did you touch anything out there?”

I showed him the ring. “I removed this from the third finger of the left hand.”

“I don't believe it,” he growled. “You know you've broken the chain of evidence, right?”

I shrugged. “I didn't think it would matter. You need more than just a ring to identify a body, don't you?”

“This is exactly why we ban people from crime scenes. I thought someone as smart as you wouldn't need to be told.”

“Sorry.”

He gave his head one hard shake as he put on blue latex gloves. Then he took the ring from my hand and read the inscription out loud:
“Nathan and Harriet June 15, 1980.”
The gold band went inside an evidence bag. “We gotta wait for the coroner's positive ID, of course, but it appears you finally found the missing Nathan Oliver. How'd you discover the corpse, anyway?”

The dog yawned and I patted him on the head. “You're looking at a retired police K-9. He located the grave.”

Farkas narrowed his eyes. “Don't tell me. You were using a police dog to investigate your friend's murder?”

“It wasn't like that.”

“Where'd you get him? These dogs usually retire with their police handlers. The big dude I saw in your kitchen, he's a cop?”

Like I'm a runway model.
“No, Arthur's just visiting. His real owner's on vacation.”

“It's lucky you brought him. Otherwise the body could've lain there forever.”

I brushed a curl away from my eye. “How soon do you think you can get an ID?”

He shrugged. “Depends.”

Birdie twirled the end of her white braid around her finger. I could tell she itched to jump into the conversation. An avid fan of
CSI,
she knew a thing or two about police procedure—at least according to the script writers. “Well, if you need a DNA comparison, you'll find hairs belonging to Nathan's son in the boy's hairbrush upstairs. Lucy spotted them earlier today.”

Lucy nodded in agreement.

Farkas looked at them. “Is the brush still there?”

“On the dresser in his bedroom.”

He motioned to a uniform standing in the doorway. “Go upstairs to the kid's room and bag the hairbrush.”

Carl stepped over to Birdie and hugged her shoulder with a supportive arm. “You sure know your stuff.”

I peeked outside. A tech had set up a square sifting box and screened the dirt Arthur dug up for pieces of evidence. Other workers were on their hands and knees, carefully removing the earth covering the corpse with small hand shovels and brushes. They were meticulous, but slow. “How long will this take?”

“The grave's not very deep. It's Wednesday today? They'll work around the clock and probably be out of here before Friday. Meanwhile, you'll have to stay away from the house again.”

I threw my hands up. “You're kidding! We're not finished yet. You've already searched the premises. Why can't we finish our work inside?”

“For one thing, we're required to secure the area against possible contamination of the crime scene. And since you seem to ignore the rules, you'll have to hand over the keys again until this is done.” He stuck out his hand. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

I dug the key out of my purse and signaled Carl to hand over his copy. “Fine. Will you at least notify me with the ID and the results of the autopsy?”

Little beads of sweat sat on the detective's forehead, and he pulled out a handkerchief to dab them away. “You'll be notified. Right now, I want all of you to go to the West LA station to give statements.” He gave us directions as we gathered our things to leave.

Lucy and I drove with the dog to the West LA Division on Butler Avenue. Carl and Birdie followed us in the yellow Vette.

“Well, obviously Nathan Oliver didn't
drown at sea
like the suicide note said.” Lucy curled her fingers in an air quote. “How'd he end up buried in the backyard?”

“You're asking me? Like I know?”

Lucy made a left into the parking lot. “Do you think your friend Harriet killed him?”

“Absolutely not. Murder just wasn't in her makeup. ”

Farkas met us at the door and we all walked in the station together. He took my statement in a small blue interview room. The walls and ceiling were covered with those acoustic tiles riddled with tiny holes. I wondered if somewhere in front of me, behind one of the openings, a camera lens recorded our session. I reached in my purse, put on some pink lipstick, and smiled at the wall.

The detective rested his iPhone on the table and pushed a button. “Okay, Mrs. Rose. I'm going to tape your testimony.” He made a preliminary statement for the record and then began. “Please start with your arrival at the Oliver house.”

I told him about our search for the missing Declaration Quilt and showed him the photo from Harriet's Coach bag.

“This quilt is worth two million dollars?”

“Now you get why we were anxious to go through every item in the house. We were searching Harriet's closet when Arthur barked for a potty break, so I let him outside. He sniffed out the burial site in the garden. I watched from an upstairs window as he dug in the dirt. I paused and smiled. “He wanted to give us a hand.”

Farkas grunted. “Hilarious.”

“Anyway, by the time I rushed outside, Arthur had stopped digging. I looked in the hole and saw the bones. I stuck my arm in, brushed away some dirt, and removed the ring. Then we called you.”

Detective Avila walked in the room and nodded at me. He handed his partner a folder and left. After a minute, Farkas looked up. “We caught a break. This is the missing person's file on Nathan Oliver with his dental records. It'll make ID-ing the body much easier.”

I slung my purse over my shoulder and stood. “Great. Do you have all you need from me?”

Farkas pointed to the chair and frowned. “No. Sit back down.”

When I stiffened at his tone, he added, “Please.”

From previous experience, I knew the police sometimes made you repeat your story to double-check details. I slumped back down in the chair. I hoped this wouldn't drag on forever.

“Anything else missing from the house?”

“Yes. We've almost concluded our inventory. Several things have vanished. First-edition books by the Founding Fathers, a watch belonging to Benjamin Franklin, the Declaration Quilt, and Harriet's fine jewelry.”

Farkas shoved a pad of paper and pen across the table. “Write it all down. We find the stuff, we find Mrs. Oliver's killer.”

“Maybe.” I picked up the pen.

He squinted. “What do you mean,
maybe
?”

“Several rare and valuable things were left behind.” I described the baskets made by Dat So La Lee and Nellie Jameson Washington. “And you saw for yourself only one of the ten pocket watches is missing. I think the killer wanted specific items. Historically significant Early Americana.”

Farkas scowled. “Really? Then how do you explain the missing jewelry?”

I screwed up my mouth and frowned. “I haven't worked that out yet.”

“Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Don't try to
work it out.
Just tell me everything you've twigged so far and let me do the detecting. He pointed to the yellow lined pad in front of me. “Go ahead, put together a list of the missing items. And hand over the photo of the two-million-dollar quilt. I'll make a copy.”

I clicked the top of the pen. “I'll do better. I'll provide you with photos and descriptions of everything.”

I hadn't eaten since breakfast and my stomach growled. “I'm hungry.”

He picked up his iPhone and consulted his watch. “Interview stopped at two-thirty.”

“I'll have someone make a run to the nearby Subway.”

“Fine. I want a six-inch turkey on jalapeno bread with extra cheese, avocado, and all the veggies. And chipotle mayo. You can also get me a couple oatmeal cookies and a Coke Zero.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You said a
diet
Coke?”

He has an opinion? He should talk.
I tugged my T-shirt over my hips. “Don't forget to feed my friends waiting for me out there.”

Farkas got up, put his hand on the doorknob, and turned back. “By the way, I heard from Kessler. He thanked me for referring you.”

“Julian Kessler is . . . interesting.”

Farkas scratched the side of his neck. “Give the guy some leeway. He's a little jiggy, but he's the best in the business. Kessler can afford to turn away potential clients if he doesn't like 'em. He made a point of telling me how much he liked you.”

Twenty minutes later the detective returned with my sandwich, two cookies, and a can of Coke Zero. He sat with his own can of regular cola, maneuvered his heavy bulk in the chair, and returned the photo of the Declaration Quilt. “Finished with the list?”

I handed him the legal pad and peeled the paper from around the sandwich. “Thanks for lunch. I couldn't remember every piece of missing jewelry, but I'll e-mail you the details when I get home.” I took a bite. “Along with photos.”

When I finished eating, he placed his iPhone in the middle of the table again. “Interview resumed at three-ten.”

“How much longer will this take? I left Arthur with Lucy and the others. I hope someone thought to take him outside for a break.”

“I appreciate your cooperation. We're almost done here.” Farkas cleared his throat. “Assuming the corpse turns out to be Nathan Oliver, can you tell me who might've killed him and why?”

“Nathan Oliver was a bully. There are bound to be people he pissed off.”

The detective tapped the can of soda with his pudgy fingers. “I'm going with the wife. Do you know if she had a reason to kill him? You said he bullied her?”

“I don't believe for one second Harriet murdered Nathan, but I understand why she could have. Two years after Jonah's death, Isabel Casco told Harriet the boy drowned because Nathan was too drunk and preoccupied to watch him. Even worse, Nathan didn't jump in the water to save his own son.”

“Who's Isabel Casco?”

I told him about Harriet's college roommate and how she discovered the details of Jonah's death.

Farkas handed the pad back to me. “Write a list of everyone you've talked to so far.”

As I recorded the names, he said, “Mrs. Oliver could have killed her husband in a rage. The timing coincides with his disappearance.”

I put down the pen. “No! There has to be another explanation. Harriet would never commit murder. I won't let you ruin her good name just because you think she
might
have. What's more, ever since she was a teenager, she'd suffered a mild case of scoliosis. She couldn't participate in highschool sports and never did hard physical labor. She couldn't have dug Nathan's grave.”

Farkas took a drink from his can of soda and studied me for several seconds. “The truth hurts sometimes.”

My neck muscles tightened, a sure sign of stress. I stood. “You're wrong, Detective, and I'll prove it.”

“Don't do anything reckless, Mrs. Rose. A killer is still out there.”

“Well, of course, I won't. I'm not an idiot. My ultimate goal is to disburse Harriet's estate according to her wishes.”

In the lobby, a uniform squatted down and scratched Arthur's belly. “Hey, buddy.”

When the dog saw me, he jumped up and wagged his tail. Lucy handed me the leash and we walked toward the door.

“Where are the others?”

Lucy's keys jingled in her hand. “We finished our statements a long time ago. Carl took Birdie home, and Arthur and I waited here for you. He's been outside twice.”

Huge black clouds covered the tops of the mountains to the east as we headed down Santa Monica Boulevard to the 405. Pinpoint specks of drizzle covered the windshield. Lucy turned a switch and the wipers thumped slowly across the glass, pausing between each stroke. “So, what happened in there with Detective Farkas?”

“He thinks Harriet killed Nathan.” I stared at the drops of water getting bigger on the windshield. “I just don't believe the Harriet I knew could kill anyone, even an abusive husband. And another thing doesn't add up.” I told her about Harriet's scoliosis. “She couldn't have moved his body and buried him.”

Lucy clicked her tongue. “Let's say she didn't kill her husband. How did his body end up buried in the backyard? How could Harriet
not
know about that?”

Lucy had a point. How much did Harriet know about the grave in the flower bed? And who wrote the suicide note? Did Nathan's killer also kill Harriet?

I thought about the tarot card with the picture of people falling out of a tower. “Great danger,” Paulina had warned. But all that stuff—tarot, tea leaves, auras—was nothing but quackery. Right?