The Fallen Angels Book Club (31 page)

I nodded. “Yes, that's what he said.”

Detective Faber tapped his notepad against his chin. “So, how did the murders from your club's book selections play into everything?”

I pushed the button to crank my bed up to a full sitting position. “I've thought about this a lot. We were easy targets. Abby and Richard didn't know Rory was their blackmailer, but Avery knew Rory was blackmailing him. Avery hired Rory to fake appraisals on his cases. He then called Bill Lynley in to write up false insurance policies. Between the three of them, the den of thieves was complete.”

Pausing, I reached for some water. Detective Faber met me halfway with a glass.

“Somehow, Avery found out I was in the same book club as Rory. Knowing Rory, he never could keep his mouth shut. Once Rory knew about Bill and me, it balanced what Bill had on him about the blackmail. Rory's need for cash made him desperate enough to blackmail his fellow club members. He was going to leave the States.” My voice started to quaver. “Abby didn't have to die. You were right. I was the only common variable between Rory, Abby and Bill. Avery was bright and creative. I read club books on my breaks at work and sometimes I left the book overnight. Avery ‘borrowed' the book or went out and got his own copy. Copying the killings deflected suspicion from him and onto a bunch of ex-felons, a no-brainer. He killed Bill because he knew too much.”

My throat choked up. I couldn't say anymore. “Please, I'm tired now.”

Detective Lincoln crossed over to stand next to Faber at the foot of my bed. “That's some story. Everything pretty much checks out, except for one minor fact.”

He really knew how to get on my last nerve. Realizing that he wouldn't leave until he made his point, I said, “That minor fact would be?”

“Avery Mitchell didn't kill Bill Lynley.”

O
nce I got my head around the fact Avery hadn't killed Bill, I could see that he had a legitimate alibi; I tried to conjure up other possible murderers, without success. Still, no matter who had killed Bill, the Fallen Angel murders seemed to be over.

Avery, in his fervor to cover up his misdeeds, had left two loose ends. Rory's ledger was still missing and I was still alive. Even so, I also couldn't forget that, according to Bill, there might be someone out there who thought I had what they wanted.

After four days in the hospital and a week at home, it was time to rejoin the world. Clay had gotten a ten-day continuance for my hearing, which was practically a miracle. Fortunately, the court clerk had read of my near-death experience in the newspaper and, with Bill's murder, it didn't require much effort for Clay to plead extenuating circumstances. My hearing date was set for the following week.

Collecting my visitor's badge from the security guard at the entrance, I swore this would be the last time I went to see Detective Faber. He probably wouldn't need to see me after this visit anyway.

“So, Ms. Morgan. It's good to see you up and about. Should you be out so soon?”

We were back to meeting in his office. I was pleased my innocence was no longer in question.

“I'm still taking it easy, but I had to see you about the ledger.”

“What ledger?” Detective Faber didn't fool me.

“Yes, Detective Faber, the ledger. The ledger you're going to need to nail Avery to the wall, once you get your hands on him. The ledger that might lead you to Bill's killer.”

“What do you know about a ledger?”

“Let's not go down that road. Not ‘a' ledger. ‘The' ledger. The ledger Rory used to keep the accounting of his blackmail activities. The ledger that could provide the motive for the three murders.”

“Where did you hear about a ledger?”

“Richard Kleh, sucking on his tooth, alluded to one early on. Then I heard about it again from Bill. Rory was a compulsive record keeper. He had records for everything.”

“In our searches, we've not uncovered a ledger or anything like one. Where do you think it is now?”

“I think Bill had it. Do you remember my telling you how Bill answered the phone when I called Rory's mother? I think he was looking for it then. He needed to get leverage over his other partners in crime. The ledger was critical.”

Detective Faber picked up a sizable file from the side of his desk. “Unfortunately, other than a few clothes, a box of books we compared to the booklist you gave us, and some childhood mementos, we found nothing at Rollins' mother's home or in the apartment where your ex-husband was killed.”

“Detective, you know more than you're telling me. Don't you think I've earned a bit of information?”

“What is it you want to know?”

“You know from Bill's letter he used another name. Have you found out the name he was going to be using?”

“Yes. Lawrence Keller. We also tracked down, with the help of the FBI, a package of false identification documents he mailed to himself to start his new life. The ledger wasn't in that package.”

“So, you did know about the ledger?”

“We figured there had to be something to keep track of payments. From Rollins' phone records, we've identified several of his contacts who've turned out to be victims. Don't worry, though. Mr. Mitchell will be making the trip back to the States within the week. Maldives is going to give him up. Conviction would be a slam dunk if we had that ledger. Even without it, Mr. Mitchell is in big trouble. He won't be pleading his way out of this one.”

I became tired, which only fed my frustration. “You don't think he can get off?”

“It's not a sure thing. We've got him on your attempted murder, but to get him on the Rollins and Caldwell killings, well, I won't kid you, I'd feel a lot better if I could get my hands on that ledger.”

My legal background agreed with him.

Detective Faber looked up at the clock. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Do you have any leads on who killed Bill?”

“The fact that we're not meeting in the interview room should tell you we don't think you did it.” He opened up a file. “Mr. Lynley had a very unsavory partner, a guy named Keith Newton. Do you know him?”

I shook my head. “Bill mentioned a ‘Newton' when he contacted me, but it was nothing more than a mention.”

“Well, Mr. Newton left behind some forensic evidence we think ties him to the murder. We have an alert out for him. He's not going to get away.”

I stood to leave. I was suffering from information overload.

Detective Faber stood as well. “I know this hasn't been an easy time for you, Ms. Morgan. I appreciate all your efforts to keep us informed and allow us to do our job.”

He held out his hand. I shook it firmly, having only a few qualms about getting ready to do just the opposite. Then I headed home.

I went to the center to report to Lily that her house was going on the market and that her furnishings at the auction house had already attracted a fair amount of interest from potential buyers.

“I'm counting on you, Hollis, to tell me what's a good price. I trust you to tell me the truth.”

I blinked rapidly at her words.

I took a deep breath. “Lily, I won't betray your trust. I know how much you need your money.”

Lily smiled and patted her hand. “I never doubt your word.”

Tiny came over to where we were sitting. “Hollis, I'm so glad you're feeling better. We've missed you … and the doughnuts.”

I frowned. “Sorry. I forgot to pick some up.”

She looked forlorn. “Cookies?”

“I'm teasing you, Tiny. There are donuts in the kitchen.”

She gave me a wave as she headed toward the door. “I knew you wouldn't forget.”

Lily leaned over to me. “Can you see Mr. Herbert before you leave? If you're not able, he said he'll understand. He needs help with his DMV application before his driver's license expires.”

“Mr. Herbert still drives? He must be almost ninety years old.”

“He's ninety-two. He keeps his license in case one of us needs to go somewhere and we can't get the senior van service to take us.”

I guessed that the friend of Opal's nephew saved his vehicle for special occasions. I rubbed my forehead. “Still—”

“The doctor approves him every year. If he thought he was a danger, he wouldn't sign off.”

“Okay, okay. I'll help him. Where is he?”

“He's in the library. His daughter dropped off these boxes a few months ago so her husband wouldn't get them.” She picked a pair of glasses to put on her eyes. “They're getting a divorce. Now it's been settled, Mr. Herbert says she's coming to pick them up. She put some important paper in there and needs to go through everything.”

I wanted to tell Tiny this was really more information than I needed to know, but then her words struck a chord.

I thought I knew where the ledger was.

After my last conversation with Detective Faber, it occurred to me that Bill could have left the ledger with Rory's mother. Maybe she was one he “trusted.” Newton must have known about Rory's ledger and killed him to get it. I remembered Bill wanted to talk but I wouldn't let him. He knew I'd figure it out.

“Mrs. Rollins, I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Hollis Morgan. I was a friend of your son, Ror … Michael. We were in the same book club.”

“Yeah, I remember you from before. That book club. I just can't imagine Michael as a bookworm. It still makes me want to laugh. How can I help you?”

“I'm actually calling about his friend, Bill Lynley. I was wondering if he asked you to hold any boxes. I know a senior center that would really appreciate having used books for its library.”

“He sure did, honey. No problem. He brought these boxes here after Michael was killed and asked me to hold them for him. I guess he won't be coming to pick them up. Too bad. He was a nice young man. I was just getting ready to put his junk in the garbage, but it would be good if you could take it off my hands. Do the seniors need clothes? I've got some. They're old but still can be worn.”

Clearly, Bill hadn't brought his boxes to her until after Rory was killed and the police had searched through his belongings. They didn't check Rory's home again after Bill was murdered.

My heart raced. “Mrs. Rollins, let me help you. I can come by tomorrow and take the clothes, too. Is it okay if I bring a friend to help me carry out the boxes?”

“I don't like having a bunch of strangers in my house, but I guess it's okay. Besides, the police got everything they wanted. You'll have to come before I leave for the chiropractor.”

We agreed on a time in the morning.

Just as I hoped, Mark gave up his Saturday to come with me. My equilibrium was still off and I kept bumping into the boxes scattered over the floor in Mrs. Rollins's extra bedroom. My doctor said there would be residual evidence of poison in my system for weeks to come, but that eventually my balance would return to normal.

Other than two small boxes of clothes, Bill left fairly heavy cartons. One was full of books. The other contained bank statements, cancelled checks and tax forms. Mark walked in front of me. “I can make a temporary desk, and we can put the boxes on top where you can go through them easily.”

“All right. There aren't that many. I'll know it when I see it.”

He lifted a box, sat it a few inches from my reach and started taking books out one by one. I thought Rory might have inserted a ledger among the contents of the box, but after sifting through all the paperwork and assortment of books, I didn't find the ledger among them.

“What do we do now?” Mark started putting pages and books back.

“Wait.” I picked up a book and fanned its pages. Nothing fell out. I picked up another.

Mark followed my lead.

“It's got to be here,” I said.

“Maybe Newton got it,” Mark said. “Or maybe Bill hid it before he died.”

“Maybe, but I've got to be sure we're not overlooking it.”

He started in on the last box.

I brushed my forehead with my arm. “Wait, look at this.” I picked up a blue spiral notebook shoved between two thick hardbacks. The first two pages were blank, but the middle pages had been neatly ripped out, leaving a few blank pages at each end.

Mark looked it over and handed it back. “Do you think the blackmail records were in here?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, I do. I know this sounds corny, but hold the page that was next to the torn pages up to the light. Can you see anything?”

Mark pulled a lamp sitting in the corner over to the makeshift table and plugged it in. He lifted the page. “There are writing impressions, but not enough to see anything.”

I rummaged around in my purse. “I've got a pencil. Let's try rubbing it lightly over the page.”

I was as surprised as Mark when after a little effort, a few words—it looked like two entries—appeared.