Cafe Underground Presents
COMING UP ROSES
Book 2 -- Chapters 4
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 4
The next morning, Lena set about deciphering the slew of phone messages that had come in. Andi called Ramirez, left a mumbled message, got out her notebook and started sorting out that fatal monday's time-line.
Feight's death had been preliminarily set between three and eight that morning. Alison Simpson claimed to have heard him at five or five-thirty, but not find his body until nine, at which time she says he'd already begun stiffening with rigor-mortis--her call to 911 was recorded at 9:04.
Andi leaned back in her chair and bit the end of her pencil. Figuring three hours for the onset of rigor, the latest possible time of death was about 6:00 AM. If rigor was just beginning at 9:00 and conditions were optimal, that could be stretched to 7:30 at the latest. Andi dug yesterday's paper from the recycling and looked at the back of the sports section--dawn had been at 5:37. If alive then as Simpson asserted, the time of death lay between 5:30 and 7:30.
The pathologist's report hadn't been issued yet--the temperature of the room and the cooling rate of his various body
parts would give the experts more to go on, but it didn't seem likely to matter. Unless they found some chemical agent leading to a heart attack there would be no finding that a crime occurred--once "natural causes" was typed into the report, if it was a murder, it became a perfect one.
Andi pulled out the photos taken from the video. The pickup in Feight's parking lot had been out around six-thirty--it was back by seven. Feight could easily have driven off and returned to die, but that would put his death at best only two hours before being found already beset by rigor. She reviewed the factors and made a note on her time-line--it was pushing the envelope, but maybe if Feight was thin enough and the room warm enough rigor could begin in two--maybe.
If Feight had taken it--what was he doing at that hour? If he was already dead, then who was driving the truck--and why? His niece, Alison Simpson was the obvious who.
Andi inspected the truck's photos again, laying them before her on her desk. With the morning light shining on the convenience store window there was so much glare she couldn't make out the driver. Maybe the originals would be clearer.
"I'll be back..." she called to Lena as she dashed out.
Andi replayed the two trips of the pickup on her living room VCR, but between the window's glare and generally grainy image, she couldn't make out more than a dark-smudged form. She replayed the re-recorded sections over and over, then viewed the full-length copy she got from Tyson. There was nothing any clearer...
Andi returned to the office a bit abashed and set again to working the time-line. There was the 911 call at 9:04. Andi pulled out her copy of the police report, confirmed that the police left at noon, then cross checked the report against her photos. The video showed two police cars cruising by the convenience store at 9:16. Laroux's Chevy Blazer passed at 9:20, Gould's Mustang at 9:22. Tyson's dark green BMW was noted at 9:31. The dark van with a county insignia on the side showed up at 11:43 and left twelve minutes later. By easy deduction, assuming that she'd come and gone at least once as Simpson said, Betty Dao's car must either be a silver Cadillac Eldorado that made two round trips or a burgundy Buick le Saber that made three.
Andi re-wrote her time-line to absorb the new information. Between dawn and seven-thirty Feight had died--his roses, present the afternoon before, disappeared some time before three. The times set the boundary. Within that span lay her clients predatory behavior and their repeated comings and going's. What led from one to another?
Ramirez returned her call at that moment. Not bad timing, all things considered. After exchanging their usual banter Andi asked, "Can you ask your West Linn colleagues what they're thinking about Feight's death?"
"No..." Ramirez was unusually direct. "...not unless I had a reason to ask...which I don't."
Andi let it slide. She shifted gears and started describing the case. "...Feight...our deceased might have made an early run just before croaking, but it crowds the timing...more probably Simpson took his truck. I've got the four main suspects coming and going, but no smoking gun...so any of the five them could have removed the bushes and I don't know where any of them went."
"So, what do you know?" Ramirez prompted.
Andi took a breath and flipped back a page in her notebook. "Most probably he died between five-thirty and half-past seven, that leaves him a possible driver of the truck returning at seven. "Two of the suspects came and left three times, two came and left twice. Feight's niece Simpson left about noon and returned, if she made the mysterious trip morning trip that's twice out and back for her too."
"Maybe the roses were never there to begin with." offered Ramirez. "It could be a total scam...or each suspect could have taken three or four."
"...and then hire me to find them? Naw..." Andi grumbled doubtfully. "...anyway, it would take a conspiracy. They were inheriting the damn twigs. What's to be gained?"
"Avoiding inheritance taxes or claiming a couple hundred grand tax loss..." Ramirez pointed out stoically.
"Yeah..." Andi admitted grumpily. "But Laroux still could have just claimed the roses were worth a dollar seventy-five each and they could have taken 'em home without ado."
"So all you know is that each of them made at least two trips from the site..." Ramirez pointed out the obvious, "...that ain't much."
"Right," asserted Andi with resolution, "...other than knowing the number of trips each made...the case hasn't moved an inch."
"Still...this investigation's got to be a better schick than tracking-down poodles." Ramirez observed idly. "By the way, the pathologist's report came in, time of death six to eight...natural causes, heart attack, no violence, no drugs except prescriptions, those in appropriate levels...nothing pointing to murder...no crime no foul."
"What was he wearing?" interrupted Andi.
"Wearing?" queried Ramirez, with the sound of turning pages in the background. "Denim pants, underwear, flannel shirt, glasses, wrist watch, two rings..."
"No shoes or socks?" asked Andi insistently.
"Not listed..." noted Ramirez in a bored tone.
"But his truck passed the store at six thirty that morning. If he'd taken it he'd be wearing shoes. It implies Simpson was behind the wheel..."
"Time-out, Wicksham...you're hyper-ventilating. Suppose he didn't wear shoes, or he slipped on thongs or rubber boots or got his socks wet so he took 'em off when he returned. You're making something out of nothing. Who cares who drove the truck? If you believe Simpson's account of finding rigor mortis, he died around six. The only point you can make is that he probably didn't drive his truck..."
"...yeah, but..." sputtered Andi.
"It doesn't touch your problem with the damn shrubs. Does it change your list of suspects or the fate of the bushes? No...it doesn't. The status is quo, so the result of that info is na-da."
"God I hate it when you're both smug and right, Ramirez. It's insufferable...you should get out of the nasty habit." Andi put as much disgust into her voice as she could come up with on short notice.
"Yeah, but I keep it hidden most of the time." He yawned a tired yawn. "By the way, those bills you donated are definitely bogus...there's been a rash of them through the Northwest and the treasury boys are kicking up an incredible cloud of dust."
He paused, Andi didn't say anything so he continued, "...I passed your bills by Max and he decided in his infinite wisdom that I'm the perfect person to stick with the job of being liaison with the feds..."
"There's some sort of poetic justice there, Ramirez." Andi observed casually.
"Thanks a hell of a lot...just what I needed....another four hours of meetings a week on top of my usual pile."
"It's the karma of being gung-ho..." Andi offered. "...maybe you'll learn not to chuck your friend's money down bureaucratic rat holes..."
"Yeah sorry..." he conceded, grudgingly, then changed the subject. "...you and Lena decided on a culinary direction for saturday?"
"No...things have been too hectic..." Andi suddenly remembered her mother, but didn't' want to say anything. "Say, I gotta' go...I'll give a call. If anything breaks ring me...otherwise Lena'll buzz Tanya to gab food."
"Fine...give my love..." He hung up without waiting for a response.
Lena continued to talk, her feet up on her table, the receiver to her ear. Andi glanced at her watch, it was well past noon--she'd haul Lena out for lunch when she got off the phone. Impatient and frustrated, she abandoned the time-line and reviewed for the day's appointments.
Andi met Jennifer Gould at her home. The Mustang and truck waited under the carport, the Volvo was still parked in front--Andi wondered idly if it could be a lover or room mate's. Gould was officially single, but that took in a wide slough of options.
Gould answered the door with a little high-pitched "Hello..." as if she were hosting a baby shower. A pot of coffee and a plate of tiny scones waited on a table overlooking her backyard queues of roses.
There was neither sign or sound of another person about. The house's furnishings looked as if they'd been picked from expensive Ethan Allen showrooms, but they were almost obsessively plain--1950's middle-class; couches and chairs with gingham slip-covers; a lathe-turned pseudo-Americana soft-wood dining room suite with flat, square matching pillows that tied to the chair's back supports with little bows.
Unremarkable prints served to break up barren stretches of wall, the nick-knacks and reading material visible seemed as far from noteworthy as one could get. There was a hint of herbal pot-pori in the air, but there wasn't a personal item, or bright color or exotic note in view.
Gould herself could have stepped out of a Good Housekeeping magazine in her pastel leisure suit with matching pumps. Her nails and hair were recently done. Andi got the impression that for some reason the interview was important to her, that she wasn't simply making herself available.
"Please, with cream..." Andi responded to Gould's gestured offer of coffee. She chose a seat looking out upon the lines of roses that were just now putting out the season's first shoots and leaves. "Wouldn't it a bit late to risk transplanting?" she asked conversationally.
"I suppose if someone were desperate..." hazarded Gould carefully. "You are talking about Darrel's, aren't you? It will be an incredible loss if we can't regain them..."
"Perhaps you'd tell how the four of you decided to call me." Andi left her notebook on the table before her--unopened, as if the questions were unimportant preliminaries.
Gould took a sip of coffee, straightened in her chair and looked across at Andi as if at a job interview. "Warren suggested the idea the afternoon we discovered them missing--he didn't think the police would take us seriously."
"Did you discuss the fact that investigations were expensive? Unless the roses are recovered and truly worth something, you could dish-out a reasonable sum without satisfaction."
Gould's blue-sparkled lids half-hooded her eyes as she offered Andi a wry smile. "Oh that was mentioned...but the roses were worth anything we'll throw your direction." she said smugly. "None of us have illusions about that..."
Andi looked across without blinking. "Is Darrel's death relevant to the rose's disappearance?" Andi wasn't sure if Gould knew of the coroner's finding or not.
"It's relevant to him..." Gould sniggered coldly.
"Could one of you have done it?" Asked Andi bluntly, not clarifying whether it was Feight or the roses she asked about.
"Of course one of us could have done it." Gould snorted. "One of us probably did do it...that's what we've hired you to expose. And the money's no object...we can afford it..." She too didn't clarify whether it was Feight or the roses they addressed.
"It doesn't seem there's any trust or warmth wasted between the four of you...yet you've maintained a relationship for years..." Andi let the observation float to see what it comment it attracted.
"We share a obsessive hobby...a ardor for the illusive perfect rose. That's more than most people have in common." Her words were almost bitter, eyes had grown hard, losing the gracious, house-beautiful look.
"When do you think the roses were taken?"
"I haven't a clue."
"Mr. Feight or his niece drove off in his truck that morning. Left about six-thirty and was gone about a half-hour...any idea what they might have been doing?"
"He was an early riser...notorious for it..." Gould chuckled. "Myself, I sleep until ten." She gazed into her coffee as if it were a crystal ball. "...let's see...six-thirty's too early for most businesses, half an hour's not enough to drive to Portland or go out for a croissant and coffee." She looked back up as if surprised at her conclusion. "...I've no idea what they could have been doing..." she waved a dismissive hand and looked bored. "Do you know?"
Andi opened her notebook, nibbled at her scone and feigned having to chew and swallow to leave Gould's question unanswered. "You drove out to his place in your red and white Mustang, first arrived about 9:23. The police were there already. You waited with Warren Laroux as the other's assembled. After Darrel's body and the police were gone each of the four of you left and returned once or twice. Can you tell me what you were doing as you looked through his papers and why you returned later that afternoon?"
There was a moment of almost absolute silence. Andi could hear the distant buzzing of a neighbor with a chain saw and the sound of her own breathing.
"You know when each of us came and went?" Gould asked in a slightly incredulous voice.
"It's what you hired me to do, isn't it...investigate? I found a low-quality, out of focus security video...shows car colors and body-type..." Andi down-played the tape with a depreciating shake of her head. "Couldn't see much..."
"But you saw me?" Gould's voice had a sharpened edge. She leaned forward, her penetrating gaze piercing.
"I recognized the Mustang...red, you know...it was fuzzy..." Andi gave a silly, sheepish grin as if Gould caught her making an unqualified claim. She didn't want to telegraph that she'd registered Gould's alarm.
Gould appeared either relieved or accepting of the situation, she sat back in her chair and explained authoritatively. "We were examining Darrel's breeding records...his chains of root and flower stocks. He was, as the rest of us still are...notoriously jealous of his secrets--and in hybridizing, that information is the key secret each of us has."
She smiled smugly at Andi who nodded sagely for her to go on. With an arched eyebrow commenting on Andi's silence Gould continued, "None of us would trust the others to look through the material alone...so we did it together...none of us wanted to wait even a day before looking...so we did it then. That was typical of how we worked--our group dynamic..." Gould sat back in her chair and showed Andi a self-depreciating smile that seemed patently insincere.
"You did seem to have dropped everything to come to Mr. Feight's house that afternoon too..." Andi observed casually.
"I naturally rushed over when the roses were discovered missing." Gould shrugged, "But I rushed right over when I learned that Darrel had died. It's a normal response...we'd already talked about inheriting the roses..."
"You talked of inheriting from somebody who was still alive and healthy?" asked Andi in surprise. There was no hiding the implication.
"Casually...yes..." Gould responded haughtily.
Andi paused, wondering what lay behind that off-hand little discussion.
Gould sipped her coffee, then asked quietly over the lip of the cup, "They're testing for drugs that might have caused his heart attack aren't they?" She looked across into Andi's eyes.
"They're usually quite thorough. Very little escapes them..." assured Andi with some certainty, doubly frustrated that the coroner evidently didn't find anything. Her clients seemed guilty of at least wishing him dead. She didn't want to be the one to tell them there was no official suspicion of murder.
"But those tests aren't finished yet?" Gould held her cup in both hands, her elbows on the table, looking across the table meaningfully at Andi.
"Do you think he was murdered?" asked Andi, baldly avoiding Gould's question.
"Probably..." answered Gould. "What does the pathologist say?" she asked directly.
"The preliminary findings seemed to point to a natural death..." Andi admitted with disappointment. It was as far as she would go.
"It's such a tragedy...but conveniently timed..." Gould set her cup down to the table a bit too abruptly. There was a moment of silence as each considered what had just been said.
After another sip of coffee, Andi said, "At any of the times you were in the parking lot, did you notice a hand-cart?" Andi held her pencil over her notebook, hoping to refocus the discussion.
"No, was there one?" Gould's mask was up and impenetrable.
"Each of the four of you came and left at different times, so all of you had opportunity to have slipped away with the roses. Who do you think most likely to have taken them?"
Gould's frown was sour. "It could have been any of us. It would only take a minute to pop them into bags, then up to the lot and you're off..."
"Would the thief keep them or sell them?" Andi asked in her neutral professional voice.
"Sell them?" Gould shook her head in dismay. "For what? Money? You must mistake us for people who struggle to make ends meet. The question is, would one of us keep them around here or ship them out until the furor dies down." She disdainfully shook her head at Andi's naivete.
Andi looked out the window and regrouped. Gould's brand of haughty frankness was hard to deal with. "You'd known Mr. Feight for a long time?" she asked politely.
"Yes...a very long time." Gould said quietly.
"Were there people outside your group, who might have wanted the roses and who could have learned of Mr. Feight's death that quickly?"
Jennifer Gould sat pondering that question, her eyes on Andi's face as if reading it. "There was an editor of The Bloom that visited saturday and sunday. He could still have been around the next morning...I don't know who'd tell him though."
"The Bloom?" Andi asked politely.
"...a rose specialty magazine, grafting, new strains, hybrids...all that sort of thing. He was going to do a feature on Darrel, his nursery and his new apricot tea-noisette. He was going to write it up and return later in the season for photos of the bushes in bloom."
"Remember his name?" Andi asked, turning to a new page in her notebook.
"Jason something..." Gould looked at her slim, gold wristwatch and gave a surprised "Oh..." It was a blatant cue for ending the interview, she smiled and rose graciously to her feet.
Andi thanked her for her time with as much sincerity as she could muster. "May I poke around your garden? I really need to be able to say that I've at least looked in all the obvious places."
She smiled an innocent smile, shrugged away the inconvenience and waved toward the back of the property.
Herding Andi toward the door, Gould first scowled, then smiled graciously. "Help yourself, I've an appointment...leave open gates open and closed ones closed..." She recited the instructions as if Andi was there to wash her windows or turn her compost. "I'll leave you to it then..."
Andi slowed a step and glanced across at Gould. "Oh...there's one last thing..." she turned as she stepped over the threshold. "Do you remember Alison Simpson driving off that afternoon in the Honda sedan? It was about mid-day for a little less than a half-hour...any idea what she might have been doing?"
Gould raised her chin and stood straight-backed. "I've spent years avoiding that insignificant little nobody. She has nothing, has done nothing and is nothing...why would I suddenly pay attention to her?" She shook her head in patrician disapproval.
Andi nodded slightly in acknowledgment and turned away again. Half-way down the walk, she turned once more. Gould still stood in the doorway. "She doesn't like roses like the rest of you, does she?" Andi asked, raising her voice a bit.
"No, of course not..." replied Gould stiffly. "They're an acquired taste..." She made a show of pulling the screen door closed and slamming the front door behind her.
Andi glanced at her watch and walked on around the house, leaving gates open that were open and closing behind her those that were closed. There wasn't much to inspect among the long rows of spindly bushes. Andi kept on the look-out for recent digging and empty bags or pots--anything at all that might seem out of place, but didn't see anything. She gave up in discouragement, cursing that she didn't even know what to look for.
She returned to her car and drove on to Jennifer Dao's--a few minutes late, but close enough to not offer an excuse.
Dao must have been watching out her window because she'd come outside by the time Andi climbed from her car. The burgundy Le Saber was parked in front of the garage--Andi fought to keep her smugness from showing.
"Ms. Wicksham..." Jennifer Dao greeted her heartily. "Come on in..." She led Andi through a tasteful living room with dark hardwood floors, low tables with large, colorful porcelain vases decorated with dragons and gilded phoenixes. Indirect lighting high-lighted old, hand-painted scrolls mounted under glass. The use of subdued spotlights made the unlit walls and corners recede tastefully into illusionary distance. "I thought we might sit outside if it was dry and warm enough..." It was a question, Dao paused and inclined her head toward a half-open sliding glass door. "Water, wine, coffee?" she asked cheerfully.
Andi smiled and nodded toward the deck. "I'm really fine." She followed Dao outside, "You and my mother were colleagues. She'd said you were into roses." She smiled again and chose a chair looking in toward the house.
"I wondered when I heard your name. You have your mother's nose."
Andi blushed and glanced away.
"How is she? I'm afraid I've lost touch over the last year or so..."
Andi could feel herself cringe at the prospect of having to disclose anything of her mother's cancer; she could feel her cheek twitch as she fumbled for a response. "She's still active..." she forced a smile, "...shall I say we've spoken?"
"Please..." Dao requested graciously. "Have you made headway on the roses?" She'd seated herself opposite Andi across the white wrought-iron and glass table.
"I've got a good idea of when each of you came and left Mr. Feight's property. You came and left three times that day..." she opened her notebook and scanned her notes. "...arrived at about nine-forty, left just before noon, following the coroner's van down from the parking lot..."
"I'm impressed..." snorted Dao, with deliberate sarcasm. "Did you find out what I did for lunch?"
"No..." Andi figured she was on a roll and fought down the urge to grin. "What did you do for lunch?" She asked, concealing her smile by taking a sip of water.
"I chewed hard Finish rye crackers and washed them down with apricot juice on my way into Portland." Dao answered musically.
"You returned at twenty after two. Left again seventeen minutes later and returned a few minutes after three." Andi played Jack Friday of Dragnet--deadpan voice with a polite, but long-suffering expression.
"That last time I'd just come by to reflect on Darrel's passing...so I wandered in his garden...that's when I found the roses gone."
"What did you do then?" Andi tilted her head and allowed a impartial smile.
"I came inside and used Alison's phone to call the others.
"Called the others, not the police?"
"Of course..." Dao insisted, "I didn't know where the roses were, but it might not have been a theft..."
Andi nodded understandingly. "So the four of you were together when you called the police..."
"But they didn't come out..." Dao interrupted. "Warren was leery of telling them the roses real value, afraid he'd lose credibility..."
Andi again nodded understandingly. It made sense--property crimes were far too common for cops to pretend much interest, even West Linn cops. "The four of you stayed until almost five, then left six or eight minutes apart...you left last, at about quarter after five. Why did you stick around so long after finding that the police weren't coming out?"
"I wanted to talk to Alison...she's such a needy thing. With her uncle passing away it must be hard..." Dao pursed her lips into the sort of smoochy expression she'd make pinching a baby's cheeks.
"You were concerned for her?" asked Andi.
"I think I'm more of a people-person than the others, they can be such frightful snobs. Alison and I are almost like sisters or cousins..."
Andi didn't blink an eyelash. "Why did you leave and come back the second time?"
"The second time..." Dao seemed to review a mental list. "I forgot something there..."
"Forgot something?"
"Some papers..." Dao answered airily. "I wanted to compare some of my own notes to Darrel's..."
Andi could read nervousness behind her eyes, but doubted that direct questions would have a chance of bearing fruit.
"Do you have any guesses about who took the roses or when it was done?" Andi watched Dao push her glass back and forth between opposing fingers.
"Like Mr. Plum in the Hallway with the lead-pipe?" she smiled shyly at her little joke.
"Exactly..." dead-panned Andi.
"I think it was Warren and he did it early, while the police were there, before calling the rest of us." Dao made the accusation conversationally--without a hint of emotional inflection.
"How did he get them away? His car remained in the lot until twenty after twelve."
"You would know that wouldn't you?" Dao laughed musically and toyed with a strand of hair at her temple. "He could have put them in his car..."
"He drove a Chevy Blazer, there's no trunk...anybody could have seen inside..." Andi allowed herself a smile.
"So..." Dao slapped her hand to the table and bobbed her head in mock confusion. "Maybe he simply set them behind the hedge and threw them in when he left at noon...it would have been easy."
"I guess he could have..." acceded Andi graciously before taking a sip of her water. "I hear there was an feature editor from The Bloom around last weekend."
"There was..." Dao confirmed, returning to her sober demeanor.
"Remember his name?"
"Jack...Jason...Jonah...something like that--he wasn't interested in talking with the rest of us." Dao brushed him away with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"He came both saturday and sunday?" Andi looked up into her eyes.
"Late saturday I understand. I only saw him sunday afternoon. Fool should have known better than to come expecting summer weather in April..."
"Was he expected back monday?" Andi asked casually as she picked up her water glass.
"Don't know...seems that he wasn't or we would have talked about it..."
"Do you know where he stayed?" Andi fiddled with he notebook--turned a page.
"Motel near the airport would be my guess...he came in a rental car."
"Was Darrel Feight was an early riser?" Andi tried to keep a steady rhythm of questions flowing.
"I suppose so..." Dao shrugged. "...why?"
"Someone drove his truck at six-thirty that morning...came back a half-hour later..." Andi inflected the end of that statement upwards.
"That's a question to me?" asked Dao dryly.
Andi shrugged.
"...went out for half-and-half for his coffee?" Dao hazarded as if playing twenty-questions. "He wasn't murdered was he?" She pretended that it was the first she'd ever had the thought and leaned conspiratorially over the table for Andi's answer.
"Coroner says heart attack...could have died either before or after that six-thirty drive." Andi offered helpfully.
"I guess that means he either was driving his truck or not." chuckled Dao sarcastically and leaning back casually in her chair.
"...doesn't solve the mystery, does it?" Andi, gave a light sigh, shut her notebook and started to rise.
"No I guess not...when will you be finished investigating?" Dao rose with her and extended a hand.
"I'm not really sure." admitted Andi, briefly squeezing Dao's fingers. "Oh, I was meaning to ask...where are your roses? I stopped by a while back and realized there wasn't a single rose in sight."
Jennifer Dao laughed her musical laugh. "...and here I am, a rose-breeder bo-peep without her rosy sheep..." She laughed again then grew sober. "I take roses very seriously, Ms. Wicksham and I'm a business woman. I don't know if you'll understand, but rose breeding is serious business and I want my home to be a haven from work."
Andi looked back without expression.
Dao laughed lightly and continued. "Besides...there was an old Japanese tea master renowned for his chrysanthemums who, after repeated urging, finally invited a powerful politician to his tea-house during blooming season."
She smiled across at Andi. Andi shifted from one foot to another, not really interested--she'd heard too many tea-master stories from her mother.
Dao continued, now holding her head back so she peered down her nose at Andi. "The great man came, but every single bloom had been snipped from the famous garden...all to show off the single one the tea-master had chosen for the altar in the tea-room."
She gave Andi a knowing smile which Andi ignored. "...and I've a single branch with freshly sprouting leaves in a bud vase in the living room."
Andi nodded stiffly and returned to her car. She considered that explanation on the way to Warren Laroux's. People in Zen stories were weird, she'd always hated it when her mother dragged them out--maybe it was another acquired taste.
Laroux came to the door shoe-less, his sleeves turned up, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and a sheaf of papers in his hand. He greeted her with the smile of a real estate salesman and directed her with a wave to the living room as he veered back through an open door into the cluttered study to initiate a series computer beeps.
"Ms. Wicksham..." he extended a hand as he returned, then checked his watch after shaking hands. "Finally we get our schedules in synch. I've got a half-hour to forty-five minutes..." The last statement came out somewhere between a question and a challenge.
Andi rose and shook hands. "Perhaps you can tell me about the morning Mr. Feight died..." She tried to balance his seriousness with a light, melodious tone.
"I got a call from Ms. Simpson at five after nine. I made a few quick phone calls and came right over." Laroux's verbal style reduced things to simplicity as he were explaining to children or a jury.
"You phoned from here?" Andi confirmed.
Laroux nodded, "Darrel lay in the living room--just as his niece found him I believe. The police were already there...there were no suspicious elements provoking them to treat it like a crime scene. I comforted Miss Simpson...Jennifer Dao came almost immediately and we started puttering about in the drawing room as the police did their work. The others arrived in short-order and we stayed until they left. It didn't seem right to abandon Miss Simpson to deal with them by herself."
"You comforted Miss Simpson?" Andi asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. "I had the understanding that the four of you and Miss Simpson had a rather cool relationship..."
"There was the generational thing...and her emotional problems have kind of held her back..." he glanced over his glasses meaningfully. "...but under the circumstances...the death of a loved-one, kind words and acknowledgement of grief are always comforting." His voice was as smooth and quiet as an mortician trying to sell a full-blown funeral.
"Do you know anyone Miss Simpson might be close to?" Andi asked compassionately.
Laroux smiled a tired smile. "The only one I saw her even remotely friendly with was Rex--William's house-boy/butler, whatever...he's closer to her age..."
Andi cursed herself for straying afield. She dropped her smile and returned to weighing Laroux's facial expressions. "The four of you stayed in the drawing room?" she asked carefully.
"We put some paperwork in order...details of his work of no real interest to you or others...the five of us were colleagues after all." Laroux smiled a gentle, helpful smile.
"You were going through the details of his cross-breeding notes and the particular succession of flower and root stocks?"
Laroux shot her a sharp, defensive glance and his voice was brittle with tension. "You must remember we are the beneficiaries of that material... and I'm executor. I have an legal responsibility to look through it." He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "...and under the circumstances the others were far more comfortable with it being done in their presence."
Andi paused. Laroux was more defensive than he needed to be. "Why do you think Mr. Feight or Miss Simpson would have driven off in his pick up at six-thirty that morning?" she queried politely.
"I didn't know that either of them did." Laroux replied simply.
"For a half-hour..." Andi offered, raising her eyebrows, hoping to prime a response.
"I thought Darrel died about that time." Laroux countered.
"He might have just come back...how about his niece?"
"Yes...Alison..." reflected Laroux as if pondering something weighty. "She was there and had access to the truck keys..."
"Any idea what either she or her uncle would have been doing at six-thirty?" Andi repeated.
"No, I don't." Laroux sat quietly, looking up into her face.
"Who do you think took the roses?"
"I have no evidence leading me to definite suspicions." he countered immediately.
"Among the three others, who might have been most tempted?" Andi responded with her next question immediately, reducing his thinking time.
Laroux frowned. "I'm sorry...interpreting behavior is outside my field of study."
Andi was beginning to get frustrated. "A feature writer was present the weekend before that...saturday and sunday. Did he show unusual interest in the roses?" She glared at Laroux, despising his conscious avoidance of her questions.
"The roses were the reason he flew up here...of course he showed unusual interest." A hint of a condescending smile flittered across Laroux's thin lips.
"Do you remember his name?"
"Jason something...I didn't interact with him. But Darrel's niece, Miss Simpson did--they might have been mutually attracted."
Andi thought she detected a suppressed leer. "Did he fly back on sunday evening?"
"I don't know...I think he'd finished his business by late sunday afternoon."
"Did you see the hand-cart left up at the parking lot when you drove in later that day?"
"Hand-cart? No, I didn't..." There was a sincerity to Laroux's perplexed look.
"You left Feight's just after twelve, but came and went a couple of more times..."
"So many details..." Laroux complained broadly, glancing around to express discomfort.
"What did you do during those absences?"
Laroux paused and placed a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Lunch for that first one, then once to attend to some legal business. Is that what you expected?"
Andi ignored the question. "Was that the time you came back to Darrel Feight's, but only stayed a few minutes?"
Laroux stared at her. "Nobody was there. I couldn't get in...so, after waiting a few minutes, I returned home."
"You arrived moments after Miss Simpson left." Andi informed him matter of factly. "What time do you think that was?" She asked the question in as off-handed as tone as she could pull off.
Laroux looked a bit flustered, as if he hadn't anticipated the question. "I guess it was about one o'clock. I stayed ten of fifteen minutes before returning home..." There was a defensive edge to his voice and his brow seemed suddenly shiny.
"You had gone home to do some legal work?" Andi prompted.
"Did I? Yes, of course..." He asked with somewhat unbelievable lightness.
Andi casually flipped back in her notebook. "You arrived about 12:54 and left at 1:14."
"Sounds about right..." he cautiously allowed.
"Within minutes of Mr. Feight's niece going out, you arrived, stayed twenty minutes and left." Andi stared at him, daring him to contradict her.
Laroux sat back against the couch as if reassessing his position. "Are those exact times you're quoting Ms. Wicksham?"
Andi shrugged. "Investigation is my field..." She let the silence tick on a minute. "Ms. Simpson was in Mr. Feight's Honda...do you have any idea where she went?"
"No, none..." Laroux stated simply.
"What did you want to do at the property?"
"I wanted to make photo-copies of Darrel's notes so each of us could have one."
"And you waited on the porch for twenty minutes?"
"There and in my car...there was quite a lot of rain." Laroux's mouth had narrowed to a line and there was noticeable tension in his jaw.
"But you didn't see any hand-cart?" pressed Andi as if she knew a handcart had been there.
"No...perhaps I faced the wrong direction..."
"And then you returned at three-thirty when Ms. Dao called you."
"That's correct..." Laroux smiled cherubicly, like a jovial, grandfather.
"...no one else came while you were there?" Andi pushed.
"You must know that if you have a minute-to-minute log of traffic..." Laroux responded sarcastically.
"Ahhh...except for people on foot..." Andi answered vaguely. "What do you think the thief will do with the roses?"
Laroux smiled and gave a little satisfied nod. "In the right circles, they're worth a lot of money. There are hybridizers all over the world with cash for exotics...it's a field with affluent players."
"Would you have access to those people, Mr. Laroux?" Andi asked politely.
"All of us would...but anybody who knew of the roses could research it..." He was matter of fact about the subject.
"So you believe Mr. Feight's roses were stolen for resale?" asked Andi, lifting her eyes to his as she poised, ready to close her notebook.
"Why not?" Laroux asked expansively. "Kept locally there's the chance of someone recognizing a unique bend of a branch...maybe an unusual pruning. There were photos...it would hardly seem worth the risk..." Laroux glanced again at his watch, then smiled as he got to his feet. "Unless you have some exceptionally important questions, I suggest that I show you my roses..."
Andi followed him out for his tour. Laroux had roses in asymmetrical groups fitting into a larger landscaping scheme spread over five or six acres--little gardens tucked between trees and hedges and rock-sculpture, up the hillside on his side of a small creek. He had many hundreds of miniature roses planted in numerous different groupings. He led Andi among the plots describing nuances of combining different strains and lofty sounding breeding strategies.
It was obvious he would have had no problem leading her around anything he'd wanted to avoid. He could even have showed them, called them something else and she wouldn't have known the difference. The time-constraints he'd pled when she arrived seemed to have evaporated. He kept on talking until Andi interrupted, claiming a need to move on.
"I'm glad we could finally get together..." Laroux extended his hand with hearty enthusiasm.
"But of course, Mr. Laroux...it's been quite helpful actually." Andi allowed herself to be led back to her car. "With the coroner's report released, I suppose you can move on the estate?"
"Probate, Ms. Wicksham, is a tedious process." He paused as she opened her car door. "Darrel was fastidious about paying bills, but there's a mandated process of advertising for creditors and concluding affairs." He leaned back on his heels and smiled a bit imperiously, "It is my field after all..." He gave a final, haughty nod and returned to his house.
Andi pulled onto the shoulder just a little ways up the road from Laroux's to take notes and review her material. She scribbled observations in the margins, then reflected on her up-coming visit with Tyson. She looked out her window and pondered tactics as a bird swooped to perch on a fence-post across the road.
Rex's place in all this was still a mystery, there had been Tyson's hint that Rex had known about the roses before Laroux's call. Tyson's comment about impassible trails seemed silly--mud was not a barrier to anybody interested in crossing the hills and his all-terrain-vehicle could make the trip if he didn't want to walk.
She glanced though the photos of Tyson's cars--new, gaudy, expensive. Whatever else was said, Tyson had money.
Andi started her engine and pulled away from the shoulder a little too fast, spinning her tires in the gravel like a teenager. Four turns later, as she pulled on to Tyson's private drive, she saw the flashing lights and commotion.
Three police cars and a squat fire engine crowded the end of the drive by the garages. A uniformed officer in aviator-style dark glasses and a West Linn shield stepped up to her window as she pulled to a stop and killed the engine.
"What's up officer?" she asked politely. "Something going on?"
The officer looked into her back seat and down to the floor of her car, ignoring her from a foot away.
"Hello...?" Andi waved her hand before his face. Attitude and ego was his modus operandi--she'd stay in her car until he'd played out his little game.
Except for leaning away from her window, the officer ignored her, silently walking behind her car to copy her license plate number.
"Is there a problem officer?" Andi asked, her impatience with the cop's ego problem winding into knots.
"Who are you?" the uniform asked in the rude manner he'd been taught to seize control of problem situations. Andi had run across jerks with this stripe before--no problem but he still played hard-ass--no sense wasting macho training--it almost guaranteed the problem needed to justify the behavior.
"Andi Wicksham." She passed him her driver's license, which he inspected minutely before copying her name into his pocket note-pad. "Why the serious uniformed presence?"
"Address correct?" the officer asked impersonally, disregarding her question.
Andi nodded mutely, averting her eyes, not wanting to feed the sick-o's control dynamic.
"What's your business here?" the uniform asked.
"I've an appointment with Mr. Tyson...what's your's?"
The officer ignored that question too. "I'm sorry but you're not going to keep that appointment." The officer gave her a surly smile.
"What the problem?" Andi asked dryly, she'd had enough of his attitude. "Oh...you must be one of the new security guards..."
"Fucking smart-alec..." the officer muttered to no one in particular. "...problem is, your Mr. Tyson offed himself and we're using jaws of life to break through the bars on the window."
"Offed himself?" asked Andi. "Why...?"
"Do I look like a psychologist?" the officer seemed to lose interest and turned away.
Andi considered getting out and asking for somebody in charge, but luckily realized what a stupid idea it was before pulling the door handle.
In three rounds of forward and reverse she got her car turned, then took the winding drive as fast as her aging suspension could ride.
Go on to Chapter 5
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