File M for Murder (31 page)

“It’s starting to,” I said. My amorphous idea was finally beginning to coalesce into something substantive. “Repressed memories.”

Sean and Laura looked at each other, then at me. Sean spoke first. “So you think he was writing about things that really happened? To him?”

I nodded. “I read through the play, and I thought the two sets of characters—I mean the fact that there
were
two sets of characters—was odd. It seemed like a very disjointed way to tell a story, because there was no indication that the story lines would connect. Then, once I found out that Connor lived next door to Sarabeth and her family as a child, I had this vague notion that the second set of characters might be connected to the Norrises. Norris was Sarabeth’s maiden name.”

“And the family in play is named Ferris.” Laura nodded. “And the older daughter in the family is named Lisbeth. Sarabeth, Lisbeth. Norris, Ferris.”

“That makes sense,” Sean said. “The similarity of those names can’t be simple coincidence.”

“I don’t think they are,” I said.

“Does Sarabeth have a younger sister?” Laura asked.

“No, a younger brother, Levi Norris. He’s the man you and I spoke to briefly on Monday. Remember the man who came from backstage and asked us if we’d seen Sarabeth?”

Laura nodded at me, and I continued. “The younger daughter in the play is in trouble, about to go to jail because of something she did. The father refuses to shell out any money to help her, and the older sister is very angry about it.”

“Do you know anything about Levi Norris?” I could see that Sean was intrigued by this, and with his lawyer’s brain he was quickly making the connections.

“He’s been in trouble with the law numerous times,” I said. “I found some odd notations among Connor’s notes,
and eventually I figured out they were references to newspaper articles.” I offered them a brief rundown of my search through the newspaper archives at the library. At mention of the library, Diesel head-butted my thigh again, and I responded with some scratching of his head. He rewarded me with contented rumbling.

“Then Connor was writing about an incident that happened in the Norris family.” Sean drained the last of his beer and set the bottle aside. “An embarrassing incident it sounds like, but surely old news. People in Athena already know about the son’s brushes with the law.”

“Of course they do. In a town like this, everyone always knows.” I could see the point Sean was attempting to make.

Evidently Laura did, too. “Even if it is old news that everybody knows, that doesn’t mean the family would want to see it brought up again. Particularly onstage in front of the whole town.”

“Yeah, I see your point,” Sean said. “But surely, Dad, you’re not thinking that’s a motive for murder, just to stop the play from being performed.”

“That’s only because you haven’t read the play.” Laura rubbed her nose. “Dad and I have. Lisbeth in the play is pretty angry with her father because he has the money to solve the problem but refuses. She says at some point that if he was dead, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

I ran quickly through my memories of what I’d read. “Furthermore, in one scene Lisbeth tells her sister not to worry, she’s figured out how to solve all their problems. Then she says something to the effect that their father won’t ever say no to them again.”

“Is Mr. Norris still living?” Sean leaned forward eagerly. “I bet he’s not.”

“He’s not. I found his obituary. It was one of the pages Connor had listed.”

“When did he die?” Laura asked.

“March of 1984. He had been mayor of Athena at one time, and he died at home. There was an investigation, and the eventual conclusion was that it was an accident. He drowned in the bathtub. According to his wife, he liked to soak in the tub and drink whisky.”

“The inference being that he had too much to drink, passed out, and drowned.” Sean shrugged. “What’s so mysterious about that? It’s not very smart to get drunk and soak in the tub.”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “The strange thing was, the investigation into his death went on for three months.”

“There must have been something about it, then, that made the police think it wasn’t a simple accident.” Laura frowned. “There was nothing in Connor’s play about the father’s actual death.”

“No, but there were some cryptic notes.” I tried to recall what I’d read. “Oh, yes, Connor had the words
bathtub
,
ankles
, and
bruises
in his notes, along with question marks.”

“I don’t see the significance,” Laura said. “Well,
bathtub
, of course, since Mr. Norris died in the bathtub.”

“I think I may have the answer to that,” I said. A picture was slowly forming in my mind. I knew I had read about a similar situation in a murder mystery at some point.

“What is it?” Sean’s impatient question brought me out of my reverie.

“A way to murder someone and probably get away with it, because it would look like an accident.”

“What
is
this method?”

Once again I’d fallen silent, picturing what I’d read in my mind, and Sean’s question prompted me to explain aloud.

“I can’t remember which book I read it in,” I said. “But what you do if you want to kill someone in the bathtub is grab him or her by the ankles and pull up until the victim’s head is underwater.”

Laura frowned. “That sounds horrible, but surely the person in the tub can lift himself up or jerk his legs loose.”

I shook my head. “That’s what I would have thought too, but evidently it’s not the case. Particularly if the person pulling the legs up is strong.”

“And in this case we’re talking about an elderly man who’d been drinking.” Sean shrugged. “He probably didn’t have much upper body strength anyway. Pretty quick method to get rid of someone in your way.”

“Definitely,” I said. Visualizing it, however, made me a little sick to my stomach.

“But how can you find out more about the Norris case?” Sean pointed out an obstacle. “Unless you can convince Kanesha Berry to open the files and let you see the autopsy.”

“She might end up having to do that,” I said. “Not necessarily letting me see it, of course, but reopening the case.” I shook my head as I pictured telling all this to Kanesha. “I have another way to find out about the case. Ray Appleby.”

“Who’s that?” Laura asked. “The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Reporter for the local paper,” Sean explained to her. “Thanks to Dad’s so-called career as an amateur sleuth, he’s encountered Appleby a few times.” He turned to me. “Was he a reporter back then?”

“He was,” I confirmed. “His name was in Connor’s notes, and I’m willing to bet Connor talked to him about the Norris case. I’m going to call him myself and probably ask him some of the same questions.”

“Will he talk to you?” Laura asked.

“Yes,” I said with confidence. “Particularly if it’s connected to the other murders. He’d be the first person to break the story, and any reporter worth his beans would go for it.” I stood and glanced at my watch—almost five-fifteen. “Even though he might have gone home for the day, I’m going to call the
Register
offices. I’ll ask them to get a message to him, and I bet he’ll call back right away.”

I pulled the local phone book out of a cabinet drawer and looked up the number. Before I could punch it in, however, Laura stopped me with a question.

“Dad, how did Connor die, do you think?”

I thought about that for a moment as I regarded her. I remembered the red splotches I had noticed on Connor’s face and neck. Splotches that indicated he could have been suffocated.

Reluctantly, because I didn’t want to cause her further pain, I offered my conclusion.

She averted her eyes for a moment when I finished, but then she met my gaze again. “Suffocated. Drowning is a form of suffocation, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Good point.” Sean shot his sister an approving look. “So both old Mr. Norris and Connor died from being suffocated to death.”

When Laura winced, Sean immediately appeared contrite. “Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean it to sound so clinical.”

Laura responded with a wan smile. “I know you didn’t. I’m okay.”

“Kanesha will have to confirm all of this,” I said.

“It could simply be coincidence,” Laura pointed out.

“Yeah, it could,” Sean said with obvious reluctance. “But both victims liked to drink. We don’t know that Mr. Norris was a heavy drinker, but that might be something Ray Appleby can tell us.”

I nodded. “I’ll certainly ask him.” I turned back to the phone book, located the number again, and punched it into the phone.

When a woman answered, I asked for Ray Appleby and was told I had just missed him. “I have something urgent to talk to him about. Could be a big story,” I said, laying it on thick. “I know he’ll want to talk to me, so can you get a message to him right away?” I gave her my name and number. “Remember, this is really big.”

She assured me she’d see that Appleby received my message as soon as possible, and I hung up and leaned against the counter.

Sean and Laura watched me while I kept my eyes on my watch.
Be available
, I thought.
Be available
.

One minute and twenty-three seconds after I hung up the phone, it rang.

I snatched it up and said hello.

“Mr. Harris? Ray Appleby here. You have a big story for me?”

I heard a touch of skepticism in his tone, but he knew I’d been involved in two previous murder cases. “Yes, I’m pretty sure I do. It has to do with the death of the playwright Connor Lawton.”

“Got you,” Appleby said, and by those two syllables I knew I’d captured his interest. “Can I come over and talk to you right now?”

“Please do,” I said. “You remember the address?”

After assuring me he did, he concluded with, “Be there in ten or less.” The phone clicked in my ear, and I hung up.

I repeated the reporter’s side of the conversation for Laura and Sean. While we were discussing the questions we wanted to ask Appleby, I heard the front door open and steps in the hallway. For a moment I tensed, then I remembered the front door was locked, and whoever just came in had a key.

Moments later Dante bounced into the room, barking to announce his arrival. He made a beeline for Diesel, still at my side, while Stewart entered the room in more leisurely fashion.

“Howdy, everyone,” he drawled. “How nice of you all to be here to greet me.” He grinned. “So what kind of family confab are you having?”

Sean spoke first. “We’re waiting for that reporter, Ray Appleby. He’s on his way over.”

“Dante, calm down,” Stewart said as his eyes glinted with interest. The poodle was still barking at Diesel, who was studiously ignoring him. At Stewart’s command, however,
the dog shut up and trotted over to his master. “Good boy. Now, what’s Ray coming here for?” He pulled out a chair next to Laura and sat, and Dante hopped into his lap and snuggled down.

I explained the situation to him as briefly as I could. The doorbell rang as I was finishing. Sean went to answer it.

He walked into the kitchen with our visitor moments later. He introduced Laura and was about to introduce Stewart, when Stewart interrupted him.

“Oh, Ray and I go way back, don’t we, Ray?” Stewart arched one eyebrow as he regarded the reporter.

Appleby, who appeared to be about my age, reddened slightly at Stewart’s flirtatious tone. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Now, Ray, is that any way to talk about me?” Stewart grinned.

This was intriguing. From Stewart’s behavior I gathered that he and Appleby knew each other in a way I hadn’t expected. Laura and I exchanged bemused glances. Stewart rarely spoke about the men he dated, at least to me, and here was one in the flesh.

“You’re a pain in the derriere, Stewart, and you know it.” The reporter flashed a quick grin. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Stewart said.

Appleby glanced at Sean and back again at Stewart, and the meaning of his gesture was obvious. Stewart laughed. “I only wish,” he said. “No, I’m a boarder, plain and simple.”

“Nothing plain and simple about you,” Appleby retorted.

“Why, Ray, what a sweet thing to say.” Stewart batted his eyelashes, and Laura and Sean burst out laughing. I had to join in.

Appleby rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drop everything and
come over here to rake up the past with you.” He turned to me. “What is it you have to tell me about Connor Lawton, Mr. Harris?”

“Have a seat, why don’t you?” I gestured to an empty chair across from Laura and Stewart.

Appleby complied as Sean resumed his own seat.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” I asked.

The reporter shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.” He was clearly impatient for me to get on with it. He kept darting glances across the table at Stewart, but I pretended not to notice.

“This is all related to the death of Connor Lawton,” I began. “But we think the roots of it may go back to 1984.”

Appleby appeared intrigued. He pulled a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What happened in 1984 that’s possibly relevant?”

“The death of former mayor Hubert Norris.” I paused to gauge the effect. Appleby was definitely surprised.