Cracked to Death (7 page)

She walked to her workshop, put the bin down on her worktable, and fished a labeled key out of her desk drawer. She found Arthur and handed him his key to the front door.

“Here's your key, so you can come and go as you please. If you have any questions, I'll be in my office or my workshop, right down there.” She pointed to her office.

She left him so that he could settle in, picked up the plastic bin again, and finished cleaning each glass fragment. When they were clean, they shone that beautiful cobalt blue. She placed them in a row at the top of her work surface. The reconstruction took quite a bit of focus. She started at the bottle's bottom and used ordinary white school glue so the bottle could be dismantled if needed.

In less than an hour, the bottle stood on her worktable, next to the two bottles that belonged to Martin. She picked it up and felt all the seams. It was an exact match.

A rock-sized chill formed in her chest. She looked at her watch. It was after two in the afternoon. Amanda's class would be over by now. She called the shop.

“Webb's Glass Shop. How may I help you?”

“Amanda, did Martin ever show up for your class today?”

“No. I gave him another call to see if he was quitting the class. His cell went straight to voice mail.”

“Okay. I wanted to talk to him about the bottles. Let me know if you hear from him.”

Savannah didn't like the path her sense of logic took as she connected the broken bottle with the discovery of the unidentified diver. She dialed Detective Parker. He picked up on the third ring and gave a terse hello.

“Detective Parker, I've reassembled the broken bottle. It is a perfect match to the bottles my student brought to class. Have you identified the diver yet?”

“No. His fingerprints were not in the system, and there are no missing person reports that match. We're hoping we get credible information from the tip line. But so far, nothing is checking out.”

“I have an uneasy suspicion your unidentified diver might be my absent glass student. Does the diver have a tattoo of a pirate's treasure chest on his left shoulder?”

“Let me look at the autopsy report. Hang on for a second.” She could hear a shuffling of papers. “Here it is. Pirate's treasure chest tattoo on the left shoulder.”

Savannah felt the bottom of her stomach sink. “Oh no. It's got to be him. This is horrible. His name is Martin Lane.”

“Excellent. That's a tremendous help. When did you see him last?”

“He attended the first class yesterday, so I saw him only at the start of the day, which was a little after ten. He had two bottles with him that look just like the broken one you gave me to restore. As I said, I've got it pieced together now, and it looks exactly like the two bottles Martin brought to Webb's yesterday.”

“Good. I'm going to need all the information you have on his registration form. E-mail it to me as soon as you can.”

“Sure. I'll send it right after this call. Do you want me to continue my research into the origins of the shattered bottle?”

There was a short pause. “Yes, definitely. We need to know everything.”

Chapter 9

 

The run-down trailer park looked like it was killing time until a developer bought the land for a multistory condominium. The location was too far away from the gulf beaches to tempt an investor for at least another decade.

After pulling down the one-way crushed-shell road, Officer Boulli parked the unmarked cruiser beside Martin's moss-stained travel trailer. Both he and Detective Parker stepped out of the cruiser. A small window air conditioner had been fit into a hole cut on the door side of the trailer. It looked like the only thing keeping it in the raggedy opening was the aging layers of duct tape circling the crusty aluminum supports on the wheezing unit.

Beside the tiny concrete patio that supported the metal trailer steps, a stack of pale gray driftwood was piled about four feet high. Next to the driftwood were separate mounds of large shells and bottles. The last collection was composed of a rusty boat engine, a lawn mower, and tractor and marine specialty parts, all jumbled together.

Officer Boulli put on gloves, then unlocked the trailer door, using a key on the key ring found in Martin's dive bag. He and Detective Parker slowly entered the eight-foot-wide trailer. It smelled faintly of bacon combined with sea life and art glue.

The layout was a central kitchen with booth seating in the front and a small bedroom in the back. Opposite the kitchen was a tiny bathroom. The cast-iron frying pan with a congealed layer of bacon grease on the stove explained the predominant odor. The sink was clean, and there was a plate, a cup, a fork, and a spatula drying in a small dish drainer. Half of the dining table served as a work area and was piled high with small driftwood twigs, polished seashells, copper wire, encrusted marine parts, and bits of sea glass, which were being assembled into wind-driven sculptures.

“It looks like he dived for salvage parts to use in his mechanical wind machines.” Detective Parker looked at a completed piece that was hanging from a hook in the ceiling. “This is quite good. I wouldn't be surprised if this fetched a few hundred dollars at a gallery. Have we determined if his work is with any of the local shops?”

“Not yet.” Officer Boulli took out his notebook and scribbled a line. “I'll check it out.”

“Check to see if he had a Web site or if he was selling online,” said Parker.

On the other side of the table was an open laptop connected to a charger and a pad of paper, along with some library books arranged in a stack. Parker bent over and peered at the titles on the spines.

“It looks like he was researching the early history of Tampa Bay,” he said. Several sheets had been roughly torn from the pad of paper, exposing a blank page. “If we can find the torn-out sheets, that might help us. They could be in his vehicle.”

“A BOLO was ordered right after he was identified.”

“Make sure that the computer forensics technician gets the laptop.” Boulli opened the tiny refridgerator. “Not much here.”

Detective Parker walked back to the tiny bedroom, where he found a made bed and a phone-charger cord on the nightstand. “His phone must be in his vehicle. There's enough stuff here for forensics to process. You had better give them a call.”

Boulli's phone rang while he was dialing forensics. “Officer Boulli.”

Detective Parker watched while Officer Boulli listened for a few seconds.

“Thanks,” Boulli said. “That was headquarters. A traffic officer found Martin's vehicle, with his cell phone inside, not far from here.”

“Tell them we'll be there in a few minutes.” Detective Parker looked inside the bedroom dresser, went into the bathroom and peeked in the cabinet, and shrugged. “Nothing more for us here. Let's leave this for the forensics team.”

It took them only a few minutes to find the address on the west edge of St. Petersburg. Martin Lane's vehicle was a beat-up white Toyota two-passenger truck. It was the only vehicle in a boat launch parking lot less than a mile from where his body was found. There were signs of rust showing at the bottom of the cab doors and along the bottom of the truck-bed door. The vehicle also looked recently washed.

The doors were locked. Detective Parker took out a flashlight and peered into the driver's side window. The inside of the truck showed its age by way of the wear and tear in the upholstery, but everything was tidy. On the bench-style seat was a folded white T-shirt on top of a pair of worn cutoff jeans. On the floor of the passenger side was a beach towel with part of a Superman logo showing. It looked placed rather than tossed. A clamshell phone lay on top of the towel.

“He's probably got a ‘pay as you go' phone plan. It's the cheapest you can get.” Officer Boulli sniffed. “What a loser.”

“Loser? I don't see Martin as a loser. Strapped for money maybe, given how Spartanly the trailer was furnished and how little food he had. He might have been recovering from an addiction of some kind, but he had a talent for making things with his hands. His craft brought in cash and apparently made people happy. You would do well if that was your legacy at such a young age.” Parker switched off the flashlight. “Hand me the keys. Let's look inside before the forensics van gets here.”

Officer Boulli tightened his lips into a thin line. “The keys?”

“Yes. You opened his trailer with them. Where are they?”

Patting all his pockets, Officer Boulli came up with the cruiser's keys, his personal keys, but no victim's keys. “I'll go back and get them. I think I left them in the trailer.”

“You think?”

“I'm sure. I'm sure I left them on the table.”

Detective Parker released a small sigh. “Perfect. That means the trailer is unlocked. Yet another mistake, Officer.” Parker shook his head slowly. “I'll look around here. Did you call forensics yet?”

“Ugh. I forgot to call them after headquarters called us with the information on the car.” Officer Boulli pulled out his phone. “Calling right now,” he yelled over his shoulder, moving as quickly as he could to the cruiser.

The bed of the small white truck looked worn, and there were shadows of rust encroaching from around the wheel wells. The sand, pebbles, and shell debris embedded in the tire grooves looked recent, as opposed to being a long buildup. There were three large pieces of driftwood tangled together, along with a remnant of netting and two horseshoe crab carcasses, inside the truck bed.

If he had been hauling his beach and snorkeling finds in the truck, Martin had been pretty regular about washing out the mess.

Interrupting Parker's thoughts, Office Boulli came trotting over, with a drenched shirt and rivers of sweat dripping off his hair and face. “Here are the keys,” he panted, then grabbed his side. “Ugh! I've got cramps.”

Detective Parker took the keys and pulled out his handkerchief to wipe them dry. “You passed the annual physical?”

Face red, Officer Boulli kept taking in deep breaths but nodded all the same.

“Really?” Parker made a mental note to research the results.

On the passenger side, Parker unlocked the door and pushed the button to the glove compartment. There was a white business-sized envelope with “REG” written in green ink, two hotel pens, and a red spiral notebook inside the glove compartment.

He straightened up and beckoned for Officer Boulli, who was several yards away, standing in the shade of a palm tree. “You know, sometimes it's not about what is here, but about what is missing, that tells us the most about the crime and the victim. What do you think is missing?”

Officer Boulli leaned into the cab and made a dramatic pretense of looking around. He straightened up and shook his head. “I don't get what you mean. There's hardly anything here at all.”

“My point exactly. This guy was searching the bottom of the gulf for salvage parts and other items to use in his mechanical artworks.”

Officer Boulli shrugged his bulky shoulders. “So?”

“I don't believe he was searching blindly. He must have had a plan of some sort. He probably didn't have a GPS. Even the least expensive one would be several hundred dollars. But I truly don't understand why there are no drawings, sketches, or marine charts of any sort. That's not right.”

Chapter 10

 

“Most workshops hit their routine by the second day, but this one is already at the third day, and there's no routine.” Savannah sipped the warm mocha latte Edward had brought over to Webb's from Queen's Head. She snagged the last cranberry scone and spread it with his private supply of butter shipped by his parents from a London shop. “Other than the predictably outlandish outfits worn by the Rosenberg twins, there is no routine. This is not a comfortable feeling.”

“I didn't know you looked for it,” Edward said.

“Well, I didn't know I was looking for it until it didn't happen.” She popped the last morsel of the cranberry scone into her mouth and wiped the edges of her lips with her thumb and index finger. “It's like remembering an itch you don't have anymore. You sorta miss it.”

“Sounds daft to me.” Edward began to gather the breakfast cups and saucers on a black, round tray. “I've got to get back to the pub. I'll ring you up later.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Try not to think about your itches.”

It was only a few minutes after Edward's departure when she heard the bell on the front door ring, followed by Amanda's voice calling out, “Savannah? I'm here. Nothing to worry about. I'm here.”

Walking into the classroom, Savannah felt her heart sink when she got a look at Amanda. “What's wrong? Has your mother taken a turn for the worse?”

Amanda's eyes were puffy and red rimmed. Although her outfit was wildly eclectic, it was clear to Savannah that the effect had not been achieved by Amanda's usual meticulous planning but more by donning the first things she had laid her hands on this morning.

Clasping Amanda by the shoulders, she said, “What's wrong? Is it your mom? Has she had a relapse with the pneumonia?”

“I'm sorry.” Reaching into her enormous patchwork hobo purse, Amanda found a tissue and blew a loud trumpet and snuffled a sob. “Mom's not breathing well. They're watching her closely, and they'll call if she gets worse. I'll be all right. Just give me a few minutes to get my head clear.” She trudged on into the office and ducked into the bathroom.

Shaking her head, Savannah stood behind the instructor's podium and opened the lesson plan to “Day 3” and reviewed the teaching points. It was possible that Amanda wasn't capable emotionally of teaching. Perhaps it was too much to ask.

Amanda emerged from the office with more color in her face and a freshly applied bold streak of color on her generous lips. “Sorry. I'm trying to cope with my mother's progressing dementia. Occasionally, it hits hard. Yesterday was a particularly bad visit.”

Savannah nodded. “I'm sorry. Didn't she remember you? That must hurt.”

“No. Actually, it was quite the opposite. It was one of those days where she thinks clearly and knows exactly where she is and why.” Amanda took a sobbing breath and put a hand on her chest. “She wanted me to pack up her things and take her back home immediately.”

“I'm so sorry.” Savannah tucked Amanda into her arms and held her until the shuddering stopped. “You must feel so helpless.”

Amanda moved back and reached into her bag for another tissue. “Thanks. That's the frustrating part. When she's truly herself, I can't enjoy it, because of her awareness of her present circumstances. When she thinks she's away on a vacation trip, she's not herself.” She blew her nose. “Thanks for understanding.”

Amanda looked down at the open lesson plan. “Did you think I might not be able to teach today's class?”

Savannah waved a hand at the notebook. “I was reviewing today's lesson, just in case.”

Throwing her shoulders back to stand straight, Amanda cleared her throat and said, “I've already studied the lesson. It's called ‘Glass Menagerie,' for the animals we're going to make out of bottle pieces. I'm good.” She looked at Savannah with a steely glint in her eye. “I've got this.”

“Okay, but I have to tell you something. I've got some bad news.” Savannah put her hand on Amanda's shoulder.

“What is it? Is it about Martin?” Her voice lifted into a shrill squeak.

“Yes. You remember that Detective Parker brought a broken bottle over for me to help identify? After I reconstructed it, I thought it was a match with the ones Martin brought into class on Monday.”

Savannah saw Amanda's whole body stiffen.

“I'm afraid the unidentified diver the police found yesterday was Martin.”

Amanda turned to Savannah and whispered, “I was expecting it.”

Savannah crinkled her brow. “Why would you think that? He's a new student, right? We just met him for the first time yesterday. It isn't that unusual for a student to miss a class.”

“I'm not sure why, but when he didn't show up yesterday, it made me nervous.”

“But we've had students drop out of class before. I don't get it.”

“I don't know. I think my mother's health condition has me all out of sorts. It's nothing to be worried about.”

Savannah rubbed Amanda's arms. “I'm sorry. He seemed like such a nice young man. Anyway, I'll be working with Detective Parker as a consultant to help identify any leads that may be connected to the bottles. By the way, they're at the studio now. I needed them for comparison.”

Amanda's head drooped. “I can't get it in my mind that Martin's gone.”

Savannah patted her on the back. “Amanda, are you going to be all right? You need to get ready for class. Everyone will be here in—”

Just then the bell jangled as the front door opened, announcing the noisy entrance of the Rosenberg twins.

At the sight of the twins, Savannah let out a chuckle, which she lamely tried to hide with a cough. After composing herself, she greeted the twins. “Good morning, ladies.” They were dressed in matching orange today. The cartoon image of a huge pumpkin turning into Cinderella's coach caused Savannah to hold her breath until the urge to laugh went away.

“Did you see the morning paper?” said Rachel. “They have identified the body—”

“Of that diver who washed up on the beach,” Faith said, finishing for her.

“Not on the beach. It was in the Intracoastal, down by Park Street,” Rachel said, correcting Faith.

Faith nodded her head. “Oh yes, pardon me. Right near all the fancy houses. Did you all see it in the paper?”

Rachel handed two papers to Savannah. “I thought you might like to have these. I know you're an online reader—”

“But it's nice to have a real paper sometimes.” Faith patted Savannah on the forearm.

“Why two papers? You live in the same house,” Savannah said.

Faith looked pointedly at Rachel. “Some things just can't—”

“Be shared.” Rachel returned the hard stare.

Amanda, who had made a sudden appearance, was just staring at the twins.

Addressing the twins, Savannah said, “I didn't see the paper, but yes, the diver was our student Martin Lane. I'll tell the class when everyone arrives. I would appreciate it if you could keep this to yourselves until we've made the announcement.”

Amanda turned without speaking and quickly ducked into the classroom.

“I must say, there always seems to be a crime connected with each of your classes.” Rachel's tone was church-lady stern as she looked over the top of her glasses. “I'm beginning to have grave concerns about your associations, young lady.”

“I know.” Faith clapped her hands in joy. “Your classes have been full of the most excitement we've seen in years. You must surely admit that Savannah's murder investigations have livened up our evening conversations. You have to admit that, Rachel.”

Rachel lifted her head up and walked toward the classroom. “We don't have to seek out notoriety, Faith. It's not Christian.”

Faith's eyes flashed her satisfaction. “She's embarrassed by her curiosity.” She looked at Savannah. “I think it does us both a world of good.” She followed Rachel into the classroom.

As soon as the rest of the students had arrived and settled nicely, Savannah motioned for Amanda to stand next to her at the front of the classroom.

“Excuse me. I have a sad announcement. It's already in the paper, but I want to tell you that the unidentified diver turns out to be our missing student, Martin Lane. I thought he was a nice young man, and out of respect, would you please join me in a moment of silence in honor of a young life cut short?” Savannah rested her folded hands on the podium and bowed her head for the minute of silence. Then she raised her head. “We'll provide memorial information as soon we get the details.” She waved her hand at Amanda. “Thank you, and let me turn you back over to Amanda.”

Savannah waited until Amanda was teaching comfortably before she decided it was okay to head over to the studio. But she reminded herself to call Amanda immediately after class was over to make sure everything went smoothly.

When she reached the studio, she parked her car next to the two other cars in the lot. She grabbed her backpack, then opened the door and went inside to find both Arthur and Helen in their work spaces, laboring away on their projects. Arthur looked up and waved hello. Helen was oblivious to whatever might be occurring outside of her tightly controlled space.

Savannah sat on the stool in front of her worktable and looked at the two bottles Martin Lane had brought to class. When they were placed beside the reconstructed bottle from Martin's dive bag, it was obvious that the color of all three was nearly identical.

“That one is different.”

“Yikes!” Savannah jumped off the stool. “Jacob, you scared me!”

Jacob's eyes blinked shut, and he picked up Suzy.

Savannah laughed. “Oh, no. I'm sorry, Jacob. It's okay. I was startled and didn't mean to yell. I shouldn't have yelled.”

Jacob nodded in his teenage disapproving way. “The broken bottle is the same as this one.” He pointed to one of Martin's bottles. “But this one isn't made the same way.” He pointed to the second of Martin's bottles. “It's a copy.” He pointed to a unique pattern in the originals. “This joining fault has been repeated.”

Savannah pulled a large magnifying glass from a drawer in her worktable and wiped off the thin coating of dust on it with a soft cloth. “You're right. It looks like it's a tolerably good molded copy.” She lowered the magnifier and shook her head slowly. “You can't duplicate the process exactly when you are mouth blowing glass vessels. The manufacturing process is unique to each bottle.”

“It's a copy.” Jacob returned to his large workshop.

Savannah grabbed her phone from her backpack and speed dialed Detective Parker. He picked up right away. “Detective Parker.”

“Hi, it's Savannah. As I reported, I've got the blue bottle reassembled, and I also have the two bottles Martin brought to our workshop on Monday sitting in front of me. Two of the bottles, including the one I reconstructed, are quite old and authentic . . . probably dating to about seventeen hundred or thereabouts, but oddly enough, the third bottle appears to be a copy.”

“How does that help?”

“I don't know yet, but I think there's something here that could be important to the investigation. The copy may be a factor in why Martin was killed. Can I contact a vintage glass expert for more information? I think it will help.”

“How many hours have you logged so far?”

“Not more than two hours.”

“Hmmm.”

Savannah was holding her breath. Ten hours of consulting at seventy-five dollars per hour could make the difference between red and black in her bank balance this month. It would certainly please her grumpy accountant, Burkart.

“Fine. Maybe you can identify more leads. They're quite scarce right now. You're authorized for a total of eight hours. I've e-mailed you a generic consultant form. Make sure you fill it out and send it back right away. It's your key to getting paid. Keep me informed.”

The dial tone on her cell told her how poorly the investigation was progressing. Detective Parker was normally polite and positive when he talked about a case with her.

Anxious to prove her value as quickly as possible, Savannah punched in the cell number for Robin. She picked up after two rings.

“Hi there. I'm currently working as a consultant for Detective Parker on the diver case. Could you use your contacts to round up an academically qualified expert in ancient glass?”

“Sure. I'm guessing you need one immediately.”

“Sooner if you can.”

Robin laughed large. “Right. I'll get back to you within the hour.”

If I can come up with a plausible motive and lead in the case, maybe he'll use me as a consultant on a regular basis. It certainly pays well
, Savannah thought.