Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Jonathan Sundvold called from the hospital later that morning to tell Harper that Ellen was alert and doing well. The doctors wanted to keep her one more night for observation, just to be on the safe side.
“I have to go to campus, but I’ll come by this afternoon to say hello,” Harper said.
After hanging up with Jonathan, she contemplated calling Tariq. And say what? “I’m sorry I accused you of being a murderer”? “I’m terrible at relationships—don’t take it personally”? “Any chance we could pretend this never happened…”?
If only he would come out and deny it.
Recalling what the doctor had said last night, she let herself into Ellen’s house and searched the kitchen.
She collected several possible sources of the poison Ellen had ingested: the jars of sun tea, an assortment of herbal teas in tea bags, a package containing small bottles of what looked like essential oils.
She was about to close the pantry door when she spotted a bag of loose-leaf tea in a little glass jar that looked like the jars she had seen in Delilah’s laboratory.
Harper stared at it. She did most of Ellen’s shopping and was familiar with the contents of her cupboard. Where had this come from? Had someone targeted Ellen? Ellen was a retired high school English teacher. What kinds of enemies could she possibly have?
Of course, Harper had made no secret of how close she and Ellen were. Had someone gone after Ellen to strike at Harper? The thought made her ill.
Her phone rang: It was Naomi Ruger.
“Ben says the little scamp, Jenny, did manage to ambush him out on the golf links. He was pretty upset about it.” She chuckled. “I love the image of her chasing him around on his silly little cart. Such a ridiculous game, golf, right? I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”
“Did he tell you what she asked him?”
“He said Jenny wanted to know about the contamination on the base, and how he was going to deal with it for his new housing development. He said he referred her to the positive environmental reports. Which are probably bogus, he’s not above bribery to get what he wants.
I mean, who are we kidding? But Ben said Jenny left after about twenty minutes, said she had another appointment. ”
“Did she say with whom?”
“Only that it was someone prissy.”
“Someone prissy?”
“That’s what the man said.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I do,” Naomi said, sounding thoughtful.
“Ben can be petty and is prone to hissy fits, and when it comes to money, I’d trust him about as far as I could throw him.
But I’ve seen nothing to suggest he’s capable of violence.
Shouting, yes. Violence, no. Besides, he wouldn’t take someone like Jenny seriously. Too young and too female.”
Harper thanked her and arranged to bring the journal to her office later. Harper then texted Blanca, who reported that she still had not seen or heard from Jenny. Blanca was clearly beginning to panic, asking if she should put out flyers with Jenny’s face on them and organize a search party.
Hold tight for now, wrote Harper. I’ll speak with the police. I’ve gotten to know a detective recently.
Harper dialed Detective Serrano and told him that Jenny appeared to be missing.
“Got the wrong department, Professor. This is Homicide, not Missing Persons,” he said, sounding distracted. Harper heard loud voices in the background, a ringing phone, the static of a police radio.
“I realize that, but I think it might be directly related to Delilah Mason’s murder.”
“Make it quick.”
She explained about the podcast, and Jenny and Blanca snooping around and asking questions.
“Probably nothing,” he said.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “But she’s twenty-one: smart enough to get into trouble, not smart enough to get herself out of it.”
“All right. I’ll text you the name and number of a colleague in Missing Persons. She’s good. Tell her I sent you.”
Harper headed to campus. It was still raining. A lot. So this was what a bomb cyclone was like.
It was now almost eleven. Blanca and Jenny had said Aurelio told them the MP patrol came by around this time every morning. Harper pulled on her rain boots, grabbed her umbrella, walked over to the abandoned barracks, and waited for Sergeant Emerson to arrive.
And there they came, with military precision.
“Hi,” Harper said, pushing off the fence she’d been leaning on.
Emerson frowned. “I thought I told you not to come back here.”
“This is important. Have you seen Jenny Enos?”
“Who?
“She’s a student here. You haven’t seen a young woman anywhere in the abandoned buildings, by chance? She might have hurt herself.”
Both men shook their heads. “We’ll keep an eye out.”
“May I have a moment more of your time, Sergeant?”
“Concerning?”
“A finger bone. A phalanx, to be technical. Sound familiar?”
Emerson turned to his partner. “Clear the building. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The young soldier nodded and hurried off.
“You want your money back?” Emerson asked. “Is that it?”
“I don’t care about that.”
“Look, ma’am—”
“Did you find the finger bone at the Perles Mansion?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because there were bones there. Human bones. And I know you went there to take photographs for Highbaugh.”
“Are you accusing me of stealing?”
If the shoe fits.
“Maybe Delilah Mason gave them to you, or maybe you two were splitting the proceeds from your sales. I’m not here to judge.”
Emerson was silent. It occurred to Harper that part of his military training might have involved withstanding interrogation. If so, this would be difficult. She thought of Ellen dancing on the lawn in the rain, poisoned and hallucinating, and steeled her resolve.
“Listen, Sergeant. I don’t care what you and Delilah Mason may or may not have been up to.
Not my business, and as far as I’m concerned, once this conversation ends, it never happened.
But if you try to stonewall me or blow me off, my next call is to Detective Serrano.
An official homicide investigation into your part in a well-known murder won’t do wonders for your military career. ”
Harper had no idea if anything she was saying was even remotely likely, but figured she had nothing to lose by bluffing.
“I had nothing to do with what happened to Delilah Mason!” Emerson protested.
“It won’t matter, Sergeant. Being investigated for a crime like homicide is all it will take to ruin your career. You know that as well as I. So: Ready to answer a few questions?”
Emerson glared at her. “What do you want to know?”
“Were you and Delilah Mason partners of some sort?”
“Not hardly,” he scoffed.
“Did you find the finger bone you sold me at the Perles Mansion?”
He nodded. “That old place is full of bones. They’re in the floor of the basement, and even in the walls. I guess from the doctor that lived there a long time ago. There are a lot of rumors about him.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That he dug up bodies, brought them back to his laboratory in the basement. That’s why it’s so haunted. That place creeps me out.”
“What about an antique medical cabinet?”
“You can have that back, if you want. Alastair Highbaugh gave me things he found—or dug up—at the mansion, and I sold them. Bones are easy to sell. Nobody wanted that big old medicine cabinet.”
“Where is it?”
“In a locked storage area, in the barracks basement. I’ve been keeping things down there—I didn’t think anyone would go that far down into the bowels of this place. Pesky kids.”
“Now you sound like those old Scooby-Doo mysteries. ‘I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for those pesky kids.’ ”
Emerson looked blank. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind,” said Harper. “I guess we watched different cartoons in our youth. Did anyone else know about your secret hiding place here?”
“Just Highbaugh. We used an abandoned shed on campus until the fire department set it on fire.”
“Will you show me?”
“Now? It’s gonna be wet down there.”
“If it’s wet, what happens to the medical cabinet?”
“It’ll be fine, it’s on a high shelf, wrapped in a tarp. I was about to go get it, matter of fact.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. It’s been a good hiding place for years…”
“Let’s go.”
He groaned but acquiesced. “Follow me.”
They entered the concrete structure, leaving their umbrellas at the entrance.
It was so dim inside that Emerson switched on his flashlight and shone the beam down the long corridor, illuminating graffiti on the walls.
Bits of wallboard, broken glass, and linoleum chips crunched underfoot as they walked.
At the end of the hall, Emerson yanked open a metal door and gestured inside.
“Right down there,” he said, standing back. “After you.”
Belatedly it dawned on Harper that this might not have been such a bright idea. She had her pepper spray in her pocket, but Emerson was not a crazed Asher in the middle of the night in her bedroom. He was a trained soldier whom she had threatened. And they were alone.
“You first,” she said.
He laughed. “Don’t trust me?”
“Not really.”
“All right, you wait here. I’ll go get it.”
He disappeared through the door. She heard a clanging sound, like metal on metal.
And then his boots on the steps as he returned, carrying a large object wrapped in an old tarp.
He set it on a dilapidated desk and removed the tarp.
The wooden box was caked in dust and grime but otherwise appeared to be in good shape.
“Looks like Soren Perles’s medical cabinet,” Harper said to herself as much as to Emerson.
“Is that what it is? You think it’s worth much?”
“I think it’s a fascinating piece of history.” She studied the way the sides folded out, the little drawers, the stoppered bottles, some of which still contained mystery liquid. “But I doubt it’s especially valuable.”
“Highbaugh thought we could get some real money for it.”
“Did he? He owns an upscale art gallery—why was he involved in this?”