Touch-Me-Not (12 page)

C
HAPTER
21

“Jim, you and Casper talked to LeRoy on Monday evening,” Victoria began. “What time was that?”

Jim Weiss and Casper Martin were sitting at opposite ends of the long black-and-white couch.

“Around six-thirty, quarter to seven,” said Jim.

Casper nodded. “My wife picked us up around six. Jim and I have been feeling uncomfortable in the group lately. The women clearly suspected one of us was the caller.”

“Not all of us,” said Alyssa.

“Please let him finish,” said Victoria.

“We decided to ask LeRoy for help,” Jim went on.

“Why LeRoy?” asked Victoria.

“A logical choice,” said Jim. “His wife’s head of the library trustees, he’s around the library a lot fixing electrical problems, installing new lines. He probably notices people and might have seen someone take an unusual interest in the women in the knitting group.”

Victoria nodded.

“We left before Alyssa arrived and so we didn’t hear her claim that Jerry Sparks was the caller,” said Jim. “At that point, we had no idea who the caller could be. Never occurred to us that it might be LeRoy.”

Casper said, “We got to Oak Bluffs just as the sun set and the sky was turning red.”

“Why did you become suspicious of LeRoy?”

“He’s usually pretty straightforward,” said Jim. “But he wouldn’t look at us. That’s not like him at all.”

“Another thing—he kept evading our questions,” said Casper. “We thought he could tell us how a stalker might get hold of an unlisted number. Instead, he freaked out.”

Jim added, “Since he’s in the library a lot, he might have seen someone taking an interest in the women. Then, suddenly, light dawned. He was the caller. LeRoy.”

“Casey and I visited LeRoy shortly after you did, close to seven, and gave him some unpleasant news.”

Jessica looked up from her knitting.

“The news involved his sons.” Victoria hesitated, wondering if she should say anything about the Taser. She looked around at the knitters. “It’s public knowledge by now, I’m sure. His sons found what they thought was a toy ray gun in a file drawer in the shop and took it to school. The school was in quite an uproar.”

“School policy bans toy guns,” said Fran.

“They were playing with the weapon at recess. A teaching aide took the gun away from them and showed it to the principal, who recognized it as a Taser.”

“How did Mr. Watts get hold of a Taser?” asked Maron.

“You can get anything on the Internet,” said Jim.

“In Massachusetts, possession of a Taser is subject to a heavy fine and a jail term,” said Victoria. “We informed Mr. Watts of that.”

“Ouch!” said Maron. “Bad news is right.”

Casper picked up his knitting and studied it for a moment. “Watts was certainly having a bad day. First we stopped by unexpectedly, took him by surprise. By the time we left, he must have known we were uneasy about the way he was acting.”

“LeRoy is the electrical inspector,” Jim pointed out. “He works on electrical boxes, which are usually next to telephone boxes. To find an unlisted number, all he needs to do is open the phone box.”

“I can’t believe it, Jim!” said Maron. “I mean, I’ve known Mr. Watts all my life. He goes to my church. Sometimes I baby-sat for the twins. He does all this volunteer work.”

“I agree with Maron,” said Fran. “I’ve known Leroy for a long time. He’s the last person on earth I’d suspect.”

Jim shrugged and looked down at his knitting. “If he’s such a great guy, what’s he doing with a Taser?”

“Tasers are supposed to stop people instantly and safely,” said Maron.

“That was his rationale,” Victoria agreed. “He told Casey and me that he didn’t want a gun around that the boys might play with.”

“So he keeps a Taser in an unlocked file drawer that the kids
do
find, take to school, and get caught playing with?” Jessica laughed. “If a Taser is so safe, why is it illegal in the commonwealth?”

The five women who’d gone in search of Jerry Sparks two days earlier glanced at one another.

“Girls,” said Fran, watching them, “we have work to do. Don’t even think about hunting down Mr. Watts. Suppose you’d found Jerry Sparks? What would you have done?”

Cherry giggled. “Someone already did it for us.”

“Stop it!” said Fran. “You’re not implying that you plan to harm Mr. Watts, are you? That’s horrible.”

“Sorry.” Cherry put a hand up to her mouth.

Victoria watched the women closely. “Fran is right. LeRoy may have a simple explanation for his behavior.”

“Yeah,” said Jessica. “He gets off by talking dirty on the phone.”

“When we stopped by the shop looking for Jerry Sparks,” said Cherry, “he did act kind of odd.”

“He’s in the library a lot,” said Jessica. “He knows most of us, at least by sight.”

Cherry stood up. “Girls? Action!”

Victoria looked at the other girls.

“No, no!” cried Fran, getting to her feet. “LeRoy Watts is a good, kind man. We don’t have time for this!”

But the five women had packed up their knitting and had flown out the door before anyone could stop them.

“They have no sense of responsibility,” said Fran.

Maureen arrived at work early on Thursday after two days with her visiting daughter, son-in-law, and two grandchildren. She loved her grandchildren, but it was a relief to get back to work.

Usually, she was there before Mr. Watts, but this morning his van was parked out back and the door was unlocked.

“Morning, Mr. Watts!” she called out. “I’m back. What a lovely day.” She raised the shades in the front windows. “Let in some of this glorious light. No need to waste electricity like this.” She headed toward her desk. “Mr. Watts . . .”

He was slumped behind his desk. For an instant, she assumed he’d had a heart attack, all that stress he’d been under. Then she saw the blood. She stepped over to her desk and called 911, gave the address, and said the EMTs could park the ambulance behind the shop. She turned to see what she could do to help LeRoy, knelt down next to him, and felt his wrist, put her hand up to his neck. Nothing. She could do nothing.

She picked up the phone again, thinking to call his wife, and put it down again. Her hands were shaking too much to press the numbers.

Then it hit her. She started to put her hands up to her mouth. She didn’t want them near her face. Her stomach churned. She was not a screamer, nor was she a fainter. She braced herself against the wall, her palms against the faux paneling, and, without knowing she was doing it, slid down into a sitting position, which is where she was when the EMTs arrived moments later.

Maureen was only semiaware during the time the EMTs checked LeRoy for any sign of life and found none. They had called the State Police and Doc Jeffers, who was on duty again as medical examiner. After taking care of that, they tended to Maureen.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. No, I’m fine, really. Please. Go about your business. I’ll be all right.” But one of the EMTs escorted her to a chair, sat her down gently, brought a wet towel from the washroom and washed her face and hands, and gave her a glass of water, which Maureen took with her shaking hands.

Junior Norton, West Tisbury’s police sergeant, heard the 911 call, recognized the name, and notified Casey, who arrived at the scene with Victoria.

“Direct hit on the carotid artery,” Doc Jeffers stated. “Sharp, slender object, like a fid.”

“Fid?” someone asked.

Maureen was too muzzy to care what they said.

“Common tool on the Island, sharp, tapered,” said Doc Jeffers. “Jab it into his neck and it would do the job.”

“Yeah, but what’s a fid?” someone else asked.

“Doc’s a sailor. It’s what sailors use to separate strands of rope,” a third person said. “Fid, marlinspike. Same difference.”

“What’s a marlinspike?”

“We’ve got work to do,” said Doc Jeffers. “Get busy.”

A crowd gathered at the foot of Circuit Avenue as an Oak Bluffs police officer directed traffic away from the two-block area around Watts Electrical Supply. The state police cordoned off the scene with yellow tape. Doc Jeffers finished examining the body and left.

“A fid?” Casey asked no one in particular. “I’ve never heard of it. Why would Doc Jeffers come up with that as a weapon? Where would anyone get something like that?” She turned to Victoria. “You know what a fid is?”

Victoria nodded but said nothing.

“You’re from off-Island,” said Sergeant Smalley, looking up from the body. “People who mess with boats know what a fid is. Right, Victoria?”

She nodded.

“Use it to separate rope strands when you’re splicing,” he continued.

“Splicing?” said Casey.

“Please!” said Smalley. “Ask Emily Cameron at the boatyard to show you.”

Casey paced until Sergeant Smalley took a break. “The Watts family lives in West Tisbury, Sergeant,” she said. “Want Victoria and me to break the news to his wife?”

He stood up and pulled off his latex gloves. “I’d appreciate it, Chief. Not a pleasant job.”

“It’s going to be a terrible shock to Sarah,” Victoria said. “They’re a close family. LeRoy always went out of his way to help anyone who needed help.”

“Is there anything we should avoid when we speak to her?” Casey asked.

“I wouldn’t mention the weapon. That was a guess on Doc Jeffers’s part anyway. Could have been any kind of sharp, pointed instrument.”

“Knitting needle?” asked Victoria.

Smalley scratched his head. “I guess. Phillips-head screwdriver, awl. Something like that. Even a sharp pencil or a ballpoint pen.”

“Would it have taken much strength?” Victoria asked.

Smalley shook his head. “Nope. Just a lucky strike in the right place.” He put a hand up to the side of his neck. “Right about here.”

C
HAPTER
22

“Let’s go, Victoria,” said Casey as they left the crime scene at Watts Electrical Supply. “Work to do.”

Victoria resumed her place in the Bronco. Casey started the engine and hit the siren to clear the street of the onlookers who’d gathered in the middle of Circuit Avenue. Once they were clear of the crowd, they rode in silence until they were on Barnes Road.

Casey broke the silence. “Some idiot was probably high on drugs.”

“Or angry.”

“Damn,” said Casey, who seldom swore. “I hate this part of the job, telling Sarah Watts that her whole life has changed, hers and the boys.”

Victoria nodded. She kept her eyes averted from the road in front of them and caught glimpses of Lagoon Pond through the trees to her right. The world outside the police vehicle seemed so normal. A sailboat at anchor at the head of the Lagoon was reflected in the still water, a black-hulled ketch. She knew the owners of the boat.

They passed Featherstone on the left, an art center founded only a few years ago. Victoria had read her poetry there. They paused at the blinker, now a four-way stop sign, and Casey hit the siren before she crossed the Vineyard Haven–Edgartown Road.

“I keep thinking how nice it was of Watts to check the breaker box in the station house,” said Casey. “Only a couple of days ago. He did some work for you, too, didn’t he, Victoria?”

Victoria nodded. “He stopped by Monday to fix . . .” Victoria didn’t finish.

“What were you about to say?” Casey asked.

“I suddenly remembered that he left his tool chest in the upstairs room when he was repairing that outlet.”

“I guess we should return it to his widow.”

Victoria thought about the widow. “When we were in the principal’s office, Sarah was furious with her husband for keeping the Taser where the twins could find it. Anger is a dreadful burden to carry now there can be no apology or forgiveness.”

“Yeah,” said Casey. “Stupid of him. Of course, when the kids found it, they’d want to show it off at school, even if they knew they weren’t supposed to. They’re nine-year-olds, after all.”

Victoria was quiet again. How was she going to break the news to Sarah? Something like “We have some bad news for you, Sarah, you’d better sit down”? Sarah probably would be alerted to bad news simply by seeing two representatives of the police force at her door. She’d suppose it had to do with her boys and the Taser again, not her husband’s death, Victoria thought.

Dead snags of red pine killed years ago by a rare fungus lined the road. This part of the state forest was ghostlike, with its silvery skeletons of trees. She felt a wash of relief when they’d turned onto the Edgartown–West Tisbury Road, passed the state forest boundary, and dipped down into the swale that marked the beginning of her property. They drove past her house, shaded by tall old maples in a haze of pale green blossom.

“I’ll stop at the police station to let Junior Norton know what’s going on,” said Casey. “I didn’t want to say anything over the radio.”

Victoria suspected Casey was delaying the inevitable meeting with LeRoy’s widow.
Widow
was such a final-sounding word. Not wife any longer, but widow, a single parent with two young boys.

Casey pulled into the parking area in front of the police station and left the engine running. “Won’t take me a minute, Victoria.” And then she was back in the driver’s seat. “A cop’s worst nightmare.” She leaned forward, both hands on the steering wheel. “Telling a wife her husband’s been murdered. Well, here goes.”

She backed out onto the Edgartown Road and turned onto Old County Road. Just past the school, she left the paved road for the gravel lane and the Watts house.

Sarah apparently saw the police car turn into her drive, because she met them at the door, dish towel in hand. “Morning, Mrs. Trumbull, Casey.”

Victoria noticed the ugly purple swelling on Sarah’s face. “That’s a nasty bruise. How did that happen?”

“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” asked Sarah. “The kettle’s on.”

“We’d appreciate that,” said Casey.

They followed Sarah into her kitchen. The table was littered with papers, tape, scissors, and crayons. “A project the boys have to do.” She shoved the papers off to one side. “Punishment for taking that Taser to school. I can’t imagine what LeRoy was thinking, keeping it where the kids could find it.” She touched her face absently and winced. “The boys are supposed to write a five-page paper explaining how Tasers work and why people shouldn’t own them.” She kept talking as she poured boiling water into a blue-and-white china teapot, swished it around, and dumped it into the sink. She talked as she measured tea into the pot and filled it with boiling water. “Their teacher wants them to make a display of weaponry from the days of the caveman to the present.” She took down three mugs from a shelf above the counter. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to teach them.”

Victoria sat at the table, waiting for a pause in Sarah’s seamless monologue. It was as though Sarah didn’t want to hear whatever it was they had come to tell her.

“She’s a great teacher. I suppose the punishment fits the crime, but I’m not sure—”

Victoria interrupted. “Sarah, I’m afraid we have bad news for you. You might want to sit down.”

Casey stood by the dining room door, letting Victoria deal with this.

“Oh?” said Sarah, and sat down. “Not the boys again?”

“Your boys are fine,” said Victoria. “They’re wonderful children.” And she told Sarah, straight out, that her husband was dead, murdered.

“Oh!” Sarah put her hand to her throat. “That can’t be.” She stood. “LeRoy, dead?”

Victoria said nothing.

“What happened?”

“I’ll pour tea for you, Mrs. Watts,” said Casey.

Sarah slumped back into her chair, put her elbows on the table, and rested her forehead on her hands. Her hair fell over her fingers. “We had an argument a couple of nights ago. . . .”

“The bruise?” asked Victoria.

Sarah nodded. “He’s never hit me before. Never. He stalked out and hasn’t come home since. And now . . .”

“Yes,” said Victoria softly.

Casey set the tea down in front of her. Sarah turned the mug around and around.

“How was he killed?” she asked.

Casey took a breath. “He was stabbed, Mrs. Watts.”

“When did it happen?”

“We don’t know yet. Yesterday or the day before, most likely.”

Sarah stared into her mug. “Tuesday or Wednesday,” she murmured.

Victoria thought about the symptoms of shock. Denial, disbelief, anger. Sometimes it took awhile for the grief to emerge. Often, shock was delayed, she knew. Someone should stay with Sarah for the next several days. Even tough New Englanders can break.

“Who found him?” Sarah looked up.

“His office manager,” said Casey.

“Poor Maureen.” Sarah reached into her pocket, brought out a tissue, and dabbed at her eyes.

Casey cleared her throat. “If you’d like me to, I’ll pick up your boys at school. Victoria can stay with you until I return.”

“Certainly,” said Victoria.

“I’m okay,” said Sarah. “I don’t need a baby-sitter.” She sat up straight and pushed her hair away from her face. “Thanks for fetching the boys. They need to be home.”

“Do you want me to tell them about their father, Mrs. Watts, or would you prefer to?”

“I just don’t know,” said Sarah. “I don’t know what to do. I guess I’d better tell them.” She stood up again and wandered into the living room. “No, I’d rather you told them.” She wandered back into the kitchen. “Where did I put my knitting?” She paced, turning in tight circles.

Victoria lifted the flowered oilcloth that covered the table. “It’s under here, next to your chair.” She pushed the basket with its partially finished sweater toward Sarah with her foot. Familiar tasks could be comforting.

Casey stepped out quietly, shutting the door behind her as she left. Victoria heard the Bronco start up and a burst of static on the police radio.

Sarah picked up her knitting and started a new row.

“I’ll call your sister.”

“I’m all right, Mrs. Trumbull. Really I am.”

But Victoria looked up Jackie’s phone number and called anyway, and Jackie promised to hurry right over.

“Mrs. Trumbull, I don’t want my sister over here.” Sarah pulled a length of yarn out of her knitting bag and switched needles to start a new row.

“The sweater is a lovely color,” said Victoria, hoping to keep Sarah’s mind off her husband’s death. “Do the different-size needles result in a special effect?”

Sarah looked down at the needles, one sturdy polished steel, one more flimsy plastic. “I misplaced the other steel one,” she said. “I must have dropped it somewhere.”

Within fifteen minutes, footsteps pounded up the kitchen steps, and Jackie burst through the door, a tall, well-built blonde. She flung her arms around Sarah. “Sweetie, I can’t believe he’s—” She stopped. “Your face! What did he do to you?”

Sarah shook her head.

Jackie looked at her sister closely. “If he hit me, even once, I’d have killed him, too.”