Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour (19 page)
“Going back to Consuelo, I thought the couple had only one child. I had never heard of her… Consuelo.”
“She was the eldest child, seven or eight years older than her brother,” continued Sarah, “and she died before her wedding.
I’ve heard the story two ways, one was an auto accident, and the other involved a trolley—a detail I need to research. Happened in Chicago weeks before the wedding. And the story goes that Consuelo’s mother never entered the chapel after her daughter’s death,” she said, motioning toward the lovely Gothic building.
“Sad story. But the building was maintained as a chapel?”
“No. My understanding is that it was used for years as sort of a storage building. Mrs. Howard had the chapel cleaned out and returned to its original condition when she started the school. She was Episcopalian, as was the rest of the Howard family, and had a retired Episcopalian priest in residence here during Leiston’s first few years. I think he also taught religious studies. After he left, she started having non-denominational services on Sunday, and that tradition has continued up to the present.”
“Is anyone from Ashleigh’s family going to be here?” Ray asked.
Sarah’s administrative tone faded as a look of sadness washed across her face. “I couldn’t find anyone, not anyone. It was a very small family and with Ashleigh’s death, well, it’s sort of the end of the line.” She paused briefly. “I’ve arranged an Episcopalian service; Ashleigh listed that as her religious preference on her employment application, although I can’t remember her ever expressing any interest in religion.”
The two heavy oak doors were pushed open from the inside and the crowd started to move forward. Ray followed Sarah into
the chapel. She led Ray across the vestibule and through a small, partially hidden doorway in the oak-paneled interior. They climbed a narrow stone stairway spiraled up to the organ loft. A thick rope, suspended in steel loops attached to the masonry, served as the handrail. They emerged in an alcove below the roofline. The organist, a slight wiry man, nodded to them as his fingers and feet produced a complex piece of counterpoint. Ray and Sarah settled on a small wooden bench. Their position afforded an excellent view of most of the chapel.
Sarah watched Ray carefully study the crowd. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
Ray brought his hands in front of him in a prayerful gesture, fingertips touching, indicating a consideration of her question rather than an act of religiosity. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It would be nice to see something that might serve as a clue to finding the murderer. But maybe I just need to be here; I need to keep the human aspects of this crime at the forefront of my thinking.” Ray surveyed the people filing into the church, filling the dark-oak pews: teenagers, some accompanied by adults; faculty and staff members; people from the community. He studied their faces as they turned from the aisles and moved into the pews. The sorrow and loss he observed, especially on the faces of the Leiston students, was palpable.
The service started, high Episcopalian, replete with incense, a sanctus bell, and the kissing of the Bible. It reminded Ray of the time he was in London and slipped into a funeral at St. Paul’s in an attempt to get the full effect of a Christopher Wren church. Before beginning the service the celebrant—a tall man with a deep resonant voice who identified himself to the mourners as Father Murphy—spoke to the congregation.
His comments were brief and instructional in tone, clearly crafted to help the students through this ordeal. He explained that funeral rites and traditions had evolved to comfort the living, to help them accept the mystery of death, and to give them a way to express their sorrow. Next he talked about the importance of making a final farewell and giving thanks for a person’s life. And then he began: “O God of grace and glory, we remember before you this day our sister Ashleigh. We thank you for giving her to us, to her students and friends, to know and to love as a companion on our earthly pilgrimage. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth, until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
From time to time, as the service moved forward, Sarah would hold a hymnal or the Book of Common Prayer between them, turning to the appropriate pages. And, crowded together on the little bench, he became more aware of her, the sound of her voice in song and prayer, her gentle sobbing from time to time, and the subtle scent of her perfume. It was then the ghost reappeared. Ray thought about Ashleigh’s mother, Allison, and their brief acquaintance almost thirty years before. If she had lived, he thought, she’d be in this chapel, the central mourner. He was seized by almost overwhelming sadness.
The celebrant continued: “Father of all, we pray to you for Ashleigh and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May his soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”
The Eucharist was celebrated; a small number of students and adults came forward to take communion, and then, one by one, Father Murphy introduced three speakers to pay homage to Ashleigh’s life.
Ian Warrington spoke first. He noted the many contributions Ashleigh had made to Leiston School in her short tenure there. Ray thought it was a wonderful chronology of her accomplishments, but he was surprised Warrington didn’t comment on Ashleigh as a person.
Warrington was followed by a current Leiston student. She explained, “I first met Ms. Allen three years ago when I was a freshman. I never liked science before I had her, she taught me to love it. But more importantly, she helped me with a lifelong problem. I’ve always had a bad stutter,” she said, beginning to sob. She stood and took several deep breaths. Under control again, she continued, “With great kindness, through countless hours during tutorials, she helped me overcome this problem. Her love and attention changed my life.”
An erect, stately woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a bun followed her to the podium. She began, “I was a student here in the early days of Leiston School. During those years my life was changed, forever made better, by an extraordinary woman and educator, Gwendolyn Howard, Ashleigh Allen’s great-aunt. When my son matriculated here in his junior year, I was delighted to learn Mrs. Howard’s niece, Ashleigh, had just joined the faculty. My son Jack and I will always give thanks for her enormous kindness and her great skill. She taught Jack how to dream and helped him develop the skills and the confidence he needed to follow his dreams. Talking with other parents over the last few years and again here today, I am reminded how Ashleigh Allen worked her special magic with so many young people. Her loss is beyond comprehension. Our only comfort is in celebrating the special joy she gave to so many, joy that will stay with them throughout their lives.”
Father Murphy requested an extended moment of silence, and then invited others to talk about Ashleigh. A mixture of people came forward—students, alumni, and members of the Leiston community—and shared memories about Ashleigh and the special friendship or kindness she had extended to them. Ray felt his eyes well up several times.
Finally, Father Murphy reminded the mourners that a lunch would follow. He gave the benediction, and the service was over. Ray remained seated and watched the mourners leave. Sarah stayed at his side. Finally she rose, saying, “I’d better check on how things are going.”
Ray followed her down the stairs. They stood in front of the chapel and watched the crowd move along the path toward the dining hall.
“Lunch?” Sarah asked.
“No, I better get back to the office.” He held her hand for a long moment. “Thank you for the help. I’m glad I did this.” Ray stood and watched her move away with the crowd.
He thought about this tragedy, about how the justice system can impose vengeance but can never undo effects of great evil.
Ray was lost in thought, still holding Sarah in his gaze, when a resonant male voice called his name, “Sheriff Elkins?” Ray turned. A tall, elderly man, with steel-gray hair was extending his hand.
“Yes,” Ray responded, taking the hand. He studied the man closely; he guessed him to be in his middle to late seventies.
“I’m Furman Gellhorn––Ickles, Gellhorn, Jeffers, and Arendt. We’re a Chicago firm. I administered Ashleigh Allen’s trust fund and now, unhappily, I am the executor of her estate. Could I have a word?” He motioned toward a bench at the side of the walk near the front of the chapel facing the sun. The crowd had moved toward the dining hall and the two men were alone.
“How long did you know Ms. Allen?” Ray asked.
“It’s been quite a number of years.” Gellhorn removed his gold-rimmed glasses and polished them with a pressed handkerchief. “Her aunt, Gwendolyn Howard, used to bring Ashleigh with her to our offices; she was only a schoolgirl then. I continued to work with Ashleigh after she came of age. She was a bright, charming young woman, but she had little interest in money, so we continued to look after her financial affairs after she came of age.” “When did you last see her?” Ray asked.
“Let me think. It was June, late June after the end of the academic year here at Leiston. Ashleigh was on her way out of the country. She was with David Dowd; that was the first and only time I met the young man. They were on their way to Greenland, of all places, to do some kayaking.”
“Was her visit social?” Ray asked.
“Well, it had a social aspect, we always set up our appointments so we could have lunch together. She was such a joy to be with. I’d try to find an interesting restaurant, one she hadn’t been to before. This goes way back to the days when she’d accompany Mrs. Howard.
“But our meeting last spring was more than just social. I had been working on putting a new trust in place for Ashleigh. It’s very hard to get young people to think about the possibility that they, well, might not live to a ripe old age. And given that Ashleigh had quite a bit of money, I thought it prudent that she have a plan in place just in case the unthinkable happened. This is difficult to do with people in their fifties and sixties, and almost impossible with someone of Ashleigh’s age.”
“But Ashleigh… ”
“Yes, she had a good head on her shoulders. She was very clear on how her assets should be disposed of.” Gellhorn pointed to a crowd mingling near and moving into the dining hall. “Unfortunately she never signed the papers—we were scheduled to meet again during the holiday break. But in lieu of any legal beneficiaries, we’re moving ahead with her wishes for disposal of the estate. The first thing I was supposed to be concerned with was throwing a good party. I’m not sure that feeding people well in a school cafeteria would ever qualify as a good party. But given the time constraints, it’s the best I could do.”
“And after the party,” asked Ray, “who are Ashleigh’s beneficiaries?
“A variety of environmental groups, a few women’s organizations, and the endowment fund here at the school.”
“Any individuals, family members, anything like that?” Ray asked.
“No individual bequeaths, and I knew of no blood relatives,” Gellhorn stopped for a second and rethought his statement. “That’s not quite true, there might be a father out there somewhere.”
“Your tone suggests there is something more to this story.”
“Well there is, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” Gellhorn paused and looked at Ray, his manner tentative.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, this isn’t about the father—Ashleigh was still searching for her biological father,” Gellhorn said. “I’ve been contacted by someone up here, a member of the faculty, who says he’s a second cousin of Ashleigh’s and is interested in the contents of the will. I don’t know whether or not the individual has accurately represented the familial relationship; I have a very skilled woman, one of our junior people, researching his claimed relationship.”
“And who, might I ask, is making these inquiries?” asked Ray.
“I’ve learned that he’s a faculty member here, Alan Quertermous. Interestingly enough, years ago we used to look after his father’s legal affairs. Are you familiar with Mr. Quertermous?”
“Yes,” said Ray without elaboration. “Tell me, Mr. Gellhorn, might Quertermous be able to make a claim against the estate?”
“Well, as you know, anyone can hire an attorney and cause all sorts of mischief. And I suspect, if he really is related to Ms. Allen, that’s what he plans on doing. I don’t think he’ll have any success, but unfortunately assets intended by the decedent for other purposes will have to be expended to defend the estate.” Gellhorn sat for a long moment and looked at Ray. “I know, sheriff, this is a rather inappropriate question, but I was wondering if Mr. Quertermous might be a suspect in the case?”
“We are still in the early stages of the investigation,” said Ray. “And I appreciate knowing about Mr. Quertermous’ interest in Ashleigh’s estate. Tell me, Mr. Gellhorn, how much money are we talking about here?”
Gellhorn pondered the question and his response before he spoke. “If you’re asking if there’s enough money to provide a motive, the answer is yes. It’s not a huge fortune by modern standards, but at least four or five million dollars.” He looked off toward the dining hall. “Enough of this. I just wanted you to know about Quertermous. Well, sheriff, will you join me for lunch? I understand Ms. James has really knocked herself out pulling this all together.”
Ray thought about things he should be doing back at the office, changed his mind about leaving, and said, “Yes, I would be happy to have lunch with you. Perhaps we can talk further about Ashleigh Allen.”
Ray looked up from his desk as Sue Lawrence entered his office. Her sense of style and her lithe, athletic frame almost made her uniform seem chic. Sue’s strawberry-blonde hair, cut short and carefully groomed, and her tan and freckled countenance highlighted her healthy, youthful appearance. “How was the trip?” Ray asked.