Eight Perfect Murders(34)

“We’re meeting Detective Cifelli at Elaine Johnson’s house at six o’clock. Have you eaten lunch?”

I told her I’d had a late breakfast, and we ended up stopping at a rest area around Kennebunk in Maine. There was a Burger King and a Popeyes. We each got burgers and coffee and ate quickly at a booth near a window. It was so bright outside, the sky cloudless, and the ground covered with recently fallen snow, that we both squinted as we ate.

After eating her burger, then popping the tab on the lid of her coffee, she said, “They arrested someone for the murder of Daniel Gonzalez. Last night.”

“Oh,” I said. “The guy who was shot while walking his dog?”

“Yeah. Turns out he was also dealing MDMA to his students at the college he was working at, and he was shot by a rival drug dealer. I guess we got that wrong.”

“Still,” I said.

“Right. We’ve got many definites. The A.B.C. Murders are definite, the Double Indemnity murder is definite. And I feel pretty sure about what we’re going to find at Elaine Johnson’s house in Rockland.”

“Pretty sure we’ll find what?” I said.

“Something. He’ll have left something. He’s theatrical, Charlie. Like it wasn’t just enough for him to murder three people who had a connection between his names, he had to send a feather.”

“What feather?” I said.

“Oh, I forgot I didn’t tell you. That’s what arrived at the police stations after Robin Callahan and Ethan Byrd and Jay Bradshaw all were killed. The police received an envelope containing a single bird feather. I shouldn’t really have told you that, since it’s being withheld from the press, but I guess I trust you now.”

“That’s good, I guess,” I said.

“And now you know what I mean by theatrical. That’s why I think we’ll find something at the scene of the crime. That, and because you knew her. Because whoever is following your list knows you. I don’t mean that you know them . . . I mean, you might. But they know you. Charlie knows you. And I think we’ll find something there . . . something to connect the crime to the list. Something solid. I feel good about it. You still eating?”

I realized that I’d been holding my half of a burger for the past two minutes. “Oh, sorry,” I said and took a large bite, even though I was no longer hungry. I knew everything Gwen was saying was correct, but it was still spooky to hear it from somewhere besides my own head.

“You can take it with you if you want but we need to get back on the road. It’s another two hours at least to Rockland.”





Chapter 15




The inside of Elaine Johnson’s house was pretty much as I’d imagined it, cluttered and dusty, books everywhere.

The house was a Cape with chipped gray paint on the outside. It was on a street about half a mile from Route 1, dwarfed by pine trees, and almost unreachable because of the recent snowfall. Gwen parked the Equinox on the rutted street, just behind the police car that was waiting for us, along with its occupant, Detective Laura Cifelli, a middle-aged woman with a round, pretty face mostly obscured by the fur-lined hood of an enormous coat. It was dusk, a pale sun low in the horizon, our breath billowing in the sub-zero air. All three of us quickly said our hellos, then tramped through the snow to the front door, where we stood for what felt like five minutes while Detective Cifelli retrieved the key from one of her pockets. There was a car in the driveway, one of those old boxy Lincolns, probably too big for the attached single-car garage. The detective told us, once we were inside the house, that the last she’d heard, the house was unclaimed property at this point since Elaine Johnson had died without a will, and with no immediate relatives.

“Are there lights?” Gwen asked, and Detective Cifelli answered by hitting the nearest switch, which flooded the kitchen with harsh overhead lighting.

“Utilities haven’t been switched off, yet,” she said. “And I guess they’re keeping the heat on low, so the pipes won’t freeze.”

I looked around the kitchen, surprised to see an open peanut butter jar on the tiled island, a knife stuck inside of it. I hadn’t liked Elaine Johnson, but that didn’t mean I rejoiced in her dying a lonely death.

“Did any scene-of-crime officers file a report?” Gwen asked.

“No. Just the coroner. It was ruled a natural death. Heart attack. Since the body was taken out of here no one’s been back, far as I know.”

“Were you here?”

“I was. I got the call. The body was in the bedroom, halfway between her closet and the bed. I can show you if you like? Corpse was here alone for over a week. I knew it was a dead body as soon as I got this far into the kitchen.”

“Ugh, sorry,” Gwen said. “Who reported it?”

“Neighbor across the street let us know her mail was piling up. Their mailboxes are side by side. When I came to check, the front door was unlocked, so I entered. Knew it was bad news right away.”

“Did the neighbor report anything else? Any suspicious activity in the neighborhood?”

“Not that I know of. We didn’t consider this a suspicious death, though, so she was never asked. You’re more than welcome to ask the neighbor yourself. Maybe tomorrow? You’re spending the night?”