Don't Cry Over Killed Milk (19 page)

Damon was more convinced than ever that Dominic Freeze was involved in the murder of Jeremiah Milk. Now, he just had to figure out if the man had done the deed himself or had help.

* * *

Damon showered, ate lunch, spent a few hours on mundane chores, and then looked up the address of the Katz-Atwater home in Potomac, Maryland. The house fronted a putting green on a private golf club. Gray shake siding covered the exterior. Grid-laced panes highlighted bay windows. White-railed balconies fronted French doors on either side of a second-story picture window. The house belonged in Nantucket.

Damon approached the front door, steadied his nerves, and rang the bell. He expected a housekeeper to answer, but Liliane Atwater heaved open the front door.

“Mr. Lassard,” she said. “It’s nice to see you.”

Damon was surprised she remembered his name. With her long tan limbs, Liliane resembled a cricket.

“It’s a pleasure to see you as well, ma’am,” Damon said. “I was hoping to have a word with your son.”

Liliane didn’t express any concern at the request.
She’s completely unaware of Matthew’s activities
, Damon thought.

“Be my guest. Matthew just came home from school,” she said. “My husband’s at the office, and I need to set up for a late-afternoon tea I’m hosting. Do you mind showing yourself upstairs?”

“Not at all. Which room is Matthew’s?”

Liliane pointed up a sweeping curved staircase and directed Damon to the last door on the left side of a wide hallway.

Damon climbed the steps and located the teenager’s room. His closed door featured a vintage
Social Distortion
poster. Damon could hear pounding from a stereo. He curled his knuckles and thumped.

The music stopped. “Who’s there?” a voice cracked.

“Damon Lassard. We met after Jeremiah’s funeral.”

Matthew Katz-Atwater opened the door and invited Damon inside with a jerk of his head. The boy wore a black
Dead Kennedys
T-shirt. Red and white pimples dotted his forehead like a topographical map.

Damon took in his shirt and the posters on the walls. “You have good taste in music,” he said. “I’m a punk fan, too.” Books, papers, and record jackets covered the floor.

“That’s cool.” Matthew sat in a swivel chair behind a wall of three computer monitors stationed on a glass-topped desk.

Damon shut the bedroom door and stood in front of Matthew. “I want to talk about what you and Jeremiah did to Dominic Freeze,” he said plainly.

Matthew shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

“I think you do. I know that Jeremiah made up an identity and used it to infiltrate Trident Gaskets. I know that Jeremiah constructed a sham affair to ruin Dominic Freeze’s marriage. And I’m fairly certain that Dominic was set up on embezzlement charges.” Damon walked Matthew through the details he had uncovered.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Matthew asked sheepishly, refusing to look Damon in the eye. His hands were buried in the pockets of black jeans.

“Because you helped Jeremiah,” Damon said without hesitation. It was a guess, but given Matthew’s reaction thus far, he felt certain he was correct. “I have a moral obligation to tell the police, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. I have my suspicions of how you helped Jeremiah, and seeing all of this computer equipment, I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

The boy looked down at his feet. “The minute the police set foot in this house, my grandfather will hire a team of high-powered lawyers,” he said with more regret than moxie.

“Look, Matthew, I’m not out to get you in trouble. I just want to find out who killed Jeremiah. I’ll bet every dollar I have that Dominic Freeze had something to do with it, and I’m just trying to get as much information as I can.”

 
Matthew pulled his hands from his pockets and covered his face. His misshapen fingers looked like a smaller version of Jeremiah’s.

“How about this,” Damon said. “I’ll talk and if you want to jump in, you can.”

“Okay,” Matthew said cautiously as he picked at a blemish on his forehead.

“The plan was all Jeremiah’s,” Damon said. “But he needed help. He needed a computer hacker. And that’s where you came in. First, you and Jeremiah created a false identity. Mr. Kenneth Randolph was conjured out of thin air. He had a birth certificate, a social security number, and a bank account.” Damon paused.

Matthew stared at him, thinking.

Damon waited.

Matthew was unable to hold back the grin that slowly spread across his face. “Creating a false identity is simple as long as you’re smart about it.”

“How’s that?” Damon asked.

“You don’t want to take someone else’s social security number, otherwise you’ll get caught. So you just make one up and slap it on a forged card. A social security card is the key to getting a bank account.”

“The bank doesn’t check?” Damon asked in disbelief.

“Not initially. Banks only link up with the government systems when they send year-end notices for the taxes you have to pay on the interest from your account. So as long as you shut down the account by the end of the calendar year, there’s no problem.”

“Don’t they need a driver’s license or some other identification with a picture on it?”

“Sure, but that’s just as easy to forge as a birth certificate. Of course, if a person made a driver’s license, he’d want to destroy it right after he used it, because, as you said, it would have his picture on it.” Matthew started laughing. It wasn’t sinister; it was just the laugh of a teenager who had played a prank on someone.

“So now Jeremiah has a false identity,” Damon said. “He transferred a large amount of money through a shell corporation, RDF, to Kenneth Randolph, who in turn bought a twenty percent share in a company called Trident. You wiped clean RDF Corporation’s business registration files, scrubbed the bank’s files as best you could manage, and then penetrated Dominic Freeze’s computer at Trident. Jeremiah, as Kenneth Randolph, had access to Trident’s internal systems, which I imagine would’ve made it significantly easier to get into Dominic’s accounts. Then, once you hacked through his passwords, you electronically approved large withdrawals from three banks and printed out the authorization slips for Jeremiah to forge. You probably did everything from the very seat you’re sitting in now.” Damon looked pointedly at a high-end printer.

Matthew just smiled.

“So what was the deal, Matthew?” Damon asked. “Did Jeremiah agree to help you get even with someone who had victimized you?”

Matthew’s face became serious. “I haven’t said that I helped Jeremiah, and I’m not saying so now. But no, we never discussed specific plans to get even with anyone who hurt me.”

“Hurt you? You mean emotionally?”

Matthew paused. “Yes, emotionally, that’s what I meant.”

“Matthew, has someone physically harmed you?”

The youth moved from his desk chair and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He retrieved a blanket, balled up in one corner, placed it in his lap, and sank his hands deep inside. “No. No one has physically harmed me.”

Damon studied Matthew closely. He looked as if he was holding something back. Damon asked, “Matthew, was Jeremiah physically abused?”

Matthew curled his upper lip and sniffed back tears. After a minute, he whimpered, “Dominic Freeze.”

Damon gave the teenager time to recover his emotions, then said, “I know Dominic teased Jeremiah a lot in elementary school, played tricks on him, things like that. Matthew, what else did he do?”

Matthew laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His voice was almost inaudible. “He burned Jeremiah’s fingers.”

Damon moved to a corner of the bed and sat down beside Matthew. “Burned?” he asked gently.

“When Jeremiah was in fourth grade,” Matthew replied. “He was ten. Jeremiah told me that Dominic and another boy grabbed him one afternoon on the way home from school. They took him to a cluster of trees near the schoolyard where some of the teachers used to smoke. Dominic tied Jeremiah’s hands behind his back with a length of rope, covered his mouth with a bandana, and then shoved him to the ground.” Matthew trembled. “Dominic pushed a boot into his back. The other boy got nervous and told Dominic to stop. According to Jeremiah, Dominic called the other boy a chicken-shit and told him to get lost. So the other boy ran off.”

“Did the other boy know what Dominic was going to do?”

“Jeremiah didn’t say. After the other boy cleared out, Dominic bent down and rammed a knee into Jeremiah’s back, holding him flat on his stomach. Dominic took a book of matches from a pants pocket, lit one, and waved it in front of Jeremiah’s face. ‘I want to know if you can feel pain in those
hooves
of yours,’ he said and touched the flame to the tips of the third, fourth, and fifth fingers on Jeremiah’s left hand.”

Damon cringed, visualizing the scene.

“Jeremiah screamed out, but Dominic held his fingers to the flame until they started to char. Then he kicked Jeremiah in the side and left him wallowing in pain. The burns killed all of the nerves in the tips of his fingers,” Matthew said. “Effing prick.”

“Did Jeremiah go to the police?”

“No,” Matthew said solemnly. “I don’t even think he told his own mother the truth about what happened. He just gritted his teeth and moved on.”

 
And vowed to take revenge
, Damon thought.

Chapter 19

On his way home, Damon left Gerry Sloman several messages summarizing the destruction he surmised that Jeremiah wrought on Dominic Freeze’s life. He hoped Gerry would appreciate his efforts: despite staying true to Rebecca’s promise that neither he nor Rebecca would contact any of the Tripping Falls staffers, he had meddled in police business.

That evening, Damon walked to the Fish Barrel. Cynthia had reserved the back room of Hollydale’s bar and grill to celebrate Mrs. Chenworth’s sixtieth birthday. Cynthia wanted to surprise her salon’s best customer.

At seven o’clock, Damon was crammed into a small but well-lit room. A knotted pine table stretched from one end to the other. More than twenty guests packed the open spaces between the table and walls. Damon scanned the room. He was the only man present other than Jackson Krims, owner of the Fish Barrel, and Doc Marley, who managed the local grocery store. Mrs. Chenworth’s cohorts tended to be women.

Lynne Lassard-Brown snaked her way through a crush of bodies to her son. “Jackson needs your help to take away some of the chairs and move the table against the wall, Damon. Otherwise Mrs. Chenworth won’t be able to fit into the room,” she snickered.

Just after the furniture had been rearranged, Mrs. Chenworth arrived with Cynthia. A chorus of “Surprise!” filled the space.

Mrs. Chenworth put her hand to her heart and breathed in deeply. “Oh my! What a surprise, indeed!” She bustled forward like a corpulent Moses parting seas of people. “I had no idea anyone would throw me a party. But just in case, I made a dish for the occasion!”

Mrs. Chenworth pulled foil from the top of a pie tin and set the offering on the table among a crowd of plates laden with food. She turned to Lynne, who was standing beside her. “Apple pie and meatloaf are my two best dishes.”

Lynne looked down at a flaky, lopsided pie crust. “Which is this?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Mrs. Chenworth’s mouth shot open wide, but then she smiled and slugged Lynne’s delicate left shoulder. “Oh, you kidder,” the birthday girl said and turned to a cluster of chattering woman making their way toward her.

Lynne rubbed her shoulder. “That hurt,” she said to Damon.

“You deserved it, Mother.”

They helped themselves to plates of food.

“I heard you caught Clementine Snead,” Lynne said.

“I did.” Damon recapped the details, telling his mother about the hotline tip in confidence.

“Who do you think called it in?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Damon said. “My best guess is one of his co-workers. You should have seen him boasting about his innovative genius. I don’t think someone that arrogant would be able to keep quiet. He probably started bragging to his colleagues at the garden center about his special formula, and someone who knew about the Hollydale infestations put two-and-two together.”

“That sounds pretty exciting, Damon,” Lynne said. “Mrs. Chenworth told everyone she saw you on a stakeout.”

Damon blushed. “Actually, she did. Clementine only lives a couple of blocks from here, and Mrs. Chenworth walked right by while I was watching his house.”

“Was Rebecca with you?” Lynne had been trying to push Damon toward Rebecca romantically since he moved to Hollydale.

“No, I was on my own the night I followed Clementine.”

“Too bad.” Lynne said. She added with an impish laugh, “I was hoping that you and Rebecca were
staking out
in the back seat of your car.”

* * *

“How’s your niece’s Labrador?” Damon asked Mrs. Chenworth later that evening.

“Just fine, no thanks to you, Damon,” she responded. “You promised to walk him for me.”

Damon assured her that he’d take the dog out the following morning.

“I can’t wait until my niece comes back from Greece,” Mrs. Chenworth said. “The dog’s been sleeping in my bed!”

“Can’t you put some pillows or a blanket on the floor for him?”

“I did,” she said as she shoved a handful of macaroons from a nearby plate into her purse. “But he climbs up on the bed after I’m asleep. Last night I had a dream that I was in a straightjacket! I woke up in a cold sweat. I was under my comforter, but the Lab was lying on top of it, pinning me inside! It’s a wonder more people don’t suffocate because of their dogs!”

Damon tuned out Mrs. Chenworth’s voice. His mind swept back to Jeremiah Milk’s wife and infant son. They had both died in their sleep.

His thoughts were interrupted by Rebecca tugging at his sleeve. She towed Damon away from Mrs. Chenworth with a polite, “Please excuse us for a minute.”

“Thanks,” Damon said to Rebecca once the two of them found a quiet corner of the party room.

Rebecca had on a crimped turquoise top and a black skirt that became increasingly sheer as it fell toward the floor. Her hair was swept away from her eyes with a series of barrettes.

Damon filled her in on his exploits with Clementine and his conversation with Matthew.

“I thought I told you to leave Matthew alone,” Rebecca said.

Damon sighed. “I couldn’t once I had an idea of how big of a role he played in Jeremiah’s revenge scheme.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rebecca admitted. “I can’t believe Dominic burned Jeremiah’s fingers. That takes a sick mind. He has to be the murder. Or else, he hired someone to do it for him.”

“I know,” Damon agreed. “But I don’t have any evidence. And I think someone else had to be involved. I can’t see how Dominic would know Jeremiah’s schedule at the park or where the equipment used for the murder was kept without inside information.”

“I’m sure the police will find the evidence they need,” Rebecca said. She touched his shoulder. “You’ve certainly found the lion’s share of information for them.”

Just then, Bethany Krims strode into the Fish Barrel’s party room. Damon’s heart lurched. She wore a modest but form-flattering black skirt suit. Emerald teardrops dangled from her earlobes. Her hair was freshly cut in short, blunt layers.

Damon caught Bethany’s eye and she flitted her fingers toward him in a wave. Then she dashed over to her father. Bethany whispered something in Jackson’s ear and danced out of the room.

Rebecca looked at Damon’s wounded eyes. She put an arm around his shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just going to a work function, Damon.”

* * *

An hour later, on his walk home, a disappointed Damon passed the historic Hollydale Firehouse.
A
fter serving the community for ninety years, the volunteer station had recently been cast off into retirement in favor of a new base three blocks away.

Damon climbed the steps to his duplex. Gerry Sloman was sitting in a rocker alongside David Einstaff. David sipped whiskey. Gerry held a can of soda. The men raised their drinks to Damon.

“David told me about you cracking the case of the crepe myrtles,” Gerry said to Damon.

“I ran into Mrs. Chenworth earlier today,” David explained, then said, “You look down, Damon.”

“I just saw Bethany a little while ago,” he replied. “She was all dressed up to go somewhere. I think she landed another lawyer or consultant. She tends to go for the corporate types.”

Gerry rose and slapped Damon on the back. “It sounds like you don’t know where she was headed or with whom. So until you do, keep your chin up. Now, let’s go inside and you can tell me all about the locker in Frederick and your trip to Philadelphia.”

David’s eyes focused briefly on the men through an inebriated fog but returned to his glass. “Okay, let’s talk in my kitchen,” Damon said to Gerry. “But first I’m going to make David some coffee.” He turned to his neighbor. “It’s Monday night, David. You need to go to work tomorrow.”

After coaxing David to accept a steaming Thermos of coffee, Damon left his neighbor on the porch and spent over an hour at his kitchen table detailing his latest finds to Gerry. The detective took copious notes and, after Damon concluded his narrative, asked his friend to come to the station the following day to provide a formal statement. Damon also passed Gerry the folders he appropriated from Jeremiah’s gymnasium locker.

“So you’re pretty certain that the boy, Matthew, was involved in the set-up?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” Damon said. “I suspect the idea had been percolating in Jeremiah’s mind for some time. When he met Matthew and found out he was a both computer whiz and a boy who had endured similar hardships, he knew the time was right to set his retaliation plan into action.”

“And it didn’t hurt that Alistair Atwater gave Jeremiah a heap of money he could use to buy his way into Trident,” Gerry mused.

 
“I wonder if Jeremiah would’ve been able to carry out his plan without a bankroll,” Damon pondered out loud.

“It doesn’t matter. He had it. This is all great information, Damon. The problem is there’s no concrete evidence linking Dominic Freeze to Jeremiah’s murder.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“We’ll bring Dominic in and push hard on him. I’ll get a warrant to search his house, too. The prosecutors might try to make a case even if we don’t find anything else. The motive is there.” Gerry sipped hot coffee. “I suppose you bringing me this information now is fortuitous. Margaret was planning to arrest Lawrence Drake tomorrow morning.”

Damon’s eyes widened. “Lawrence Drake? What did you find out?”

“To be honest, it’s just a combination of circumstantial evidence. Aylin Erul told you that she believed Drake had a shrine to Veronica Maldive in his home. We didn’t find one, but we do have her statement. Drake would know Jeremiah’s schedule, including when he would be in the shed by himself. Drake also knew where the pressure washer and hedge trimmer to cut the power cord were kept. He has no alibi for the night of the murder. Margaret wanted to look more closely at him as a suspect, so one of our junior detectives has been interviewing his family and friends. It turns out Drake’s younger brother runs a painting company, and this past June, Lawrence Drake asked his brother to teach him how to use a pressure washer.”

Damon put his elbows on the kitchen table and let the information sink in. “That’s very interesting,” he said.

“It is, but it’s weak.”

“So now that you know about Dominic, will you still arrest Drake?”

“I’ll ask Margaret to postpone bringing him in for a couple of days,” Gerry said. He tugged on the cross dangling from a chain around his neck. “I’d love to find a connection between Dominic Freeze and Lawrence Drake.”

Damon stood and stretched his legs. “Will Margaret be upset at you for speaking with me?” he asked.

“Not for speaking with you. The information you found is vital, so you had to pass it along to us. But she’ll be angry. You handled the folders from Jeremiah’s locker, so we could have evidentiary problems. And by speaking directly with Matthew, Samantha, and most of all, Dominic, you’ve caused a boatload of other problems, not the least of which is that Dominic might have caught a fast train to Canada. And—oh, by the way—you could have gotten yourself killed. What were you thinking, Damon?”

“I don’t know,” Damon said ashamedly.

Gerry eyed his friend. “You really should consider signing up for the Northern Virginia Criminal Justice Training Academy. Once you finish the coursework and fieldwork, I could put a good word in the right ears at the Arlington station.”

“Thanks, Gerry. I definitely need to think about it.”