See Something, page 9
“Doan’s on a tear. Young Howie and Francine are in Rockport covering an art show. Scott and Old Jim are over at the Conant River filming an entomologist who’s mucking around in the riverbed looking for evidence. The chief has just called a presser and neither unit is close enough to cover it.”
“And I am to do—what?”
“You and Marty are going to do the presser. Marty’s already loaded up Chester’s truck with your equipment. They’ll pick you up at the studio door. Get going.”
“I’m doing the field report?”
“Yep. Looks like you’re the last man standing.”
“What about makeup?”
“Do the best you can on the way over.” She handed me a plastic sandwich bag filled with makeup samples. Rhonda is a Mary Kay rep. “Good luck.”
“Okay.” I tucked the makeup into my hobo bag, headed to the door, then turned back. “What’s an entomologist?”
“Bug and slime guy,” she said. “Beat it.”
As promised, Marty and Chester, in a red Ford extra-cab, waited behind Ariel’s bench, motor running, back door open. That bench, with its panoramic view of Salem Harbor, was paid for by Ariel’s coven. It’s a pleasant spot in memory of a most unpleasant witch. “I’ve got your favorite stick mic, Moon,” Marty called. “And Chester here is an excellent wheel man. Hop in. It’ll be just like old times.”
Chester gets his fourth hat. He’d win the WICH-TV Employee of the Month award. If there was one.
Applying makeup and brushing unruly red curls isn’t easy while careening around Salem’s narrow streets, but I did the best I could under the circumstances. When we arrived at the Salem Police Department, I saw that the chief’s lectern was already set up on the concourse out front, and a mobile unit from the Salem radio station WESX was there. No Boston TV presence so far. Chief Whaley hadn’t appeared yet either, so I knew we’d made it on time.
Chester’s Ford wasn’t set up as a professional mobile unit, so Marty had to do some fancy rigging to get sound, lights, and mic coordinated, but by the time the chief appeared—resplendent in full-dress uniform complete with many medals—she pronounced that we were good to go.
After a little throat-clearing and paper shuffling, the chief began. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We have made some progress on the matter of John Sawtelle’s death. As you know, it has been determined that foul play was involved. The death has been officially declared a homicide. Mr. Sawtelle’s body was discovered earlier this week on Collins Cove beach. The cause of death was drowning.” Chief Whaley didn’t look up from his prepared statement. “The medical examiner has determined that the drowning did not occur in salt water. Further investigation has indicated that a possible site of Mr. Sawtelle’s death was within the boundaries of the Conant River Conservation Area. This is a well-known popular site for hikers, bicyclers, and nature lovers. We are asking for the cooperation of the community, including the media, in observing the posted section of the park while our investigation continues. There will be officers present around the clock, enforcing all no-trespassing notices as well as police barriers. We expect that all involved trails and bike paths will be reopened soon. Meanwhile, your cooperation is appreciated. Thank you.” He turned away from the mic, clearly intending to make his usual hasty retreat. The fancy new mobile unit from Boston’s WHDH-TV lumbered onto the property.
I found my voice. “Chief Whaley,” I shouted. “Do you have any suspects?”
That brought a head shake and a frosty glare. “We’ve made no arrests.”
“Any persons of interest?” The question came from the newly arrived Boston reporter.
“We’re talking to some people,” the chief mumbled, moving closer to the door.
“Do you expect an arrest soon?” I called after him.
“Yes.” He was gone, leaving three reporters to speculate on what we’d just heard.
I faced Marty’s camera. “I’m Lee Barrett reporting from the Salem Police Department, where Chief Tom Whaley has just disclosed that persons of interest have been questioned regarding the recent murder of Brookline real estate agent John Sawtelle. Current investigation is centered within the Conant conservation park, where the homicide may have occurred. The public, as well as media, are instructed to strictly observe all no-trespassing warnings on the premises until further notice. Chief Whaley has confirmed that an arrest in the matter is expected soon. WICH-TV will continue to follow this ongoing story. Stay tuned.”
Somebody from the station will continue to follow it. Not me.
I helped Marty pack up our gear, then climbed into the back seat. “Good job, Moon,” she said. “You miss this, don’t you?”
“Yes. No. Maybe a little,” I stammered, “but I’m enjoying the program director thing. It’s turned out to be more challenging than I’d imagined it might be.”
“Really?” The one-word question sounded doubtful.
Chester had pulled into the police station visitors’ parking area to turn around. “No worries about her, Marty,” he said. “The girl knows what she’s doing. A real take-charge woman.”
I was about to thank him for his confidence in my newbie director job when I noticed the black 2015 Jeep Renegade. Janie’s parents had arrived. I wondered if Pete would be able to tell me what was going on in that department. Was the arrest the chief expected to make soon going to be poor Janie? I thought about the blindfolded girl on the eight of swords card. If it was Janie, River had said the prisoner would be released. A tiny comforting thought amidst a bunch of disturbing ones.
CHAPTER 15
By the time we got to WICH-TV, both Francine’s mobile unit and Old Jim’s Volkswagen were in their usual spots in the parking lot. Like Cinderella getting out of her pumpkin after the ball, I stepped out of Chester’s truck and back to my program director duties. Marty hurried away, announcing that she wanted to do a little editing before our video aired, and Chester was anxious to get back to his carpentry project. It seemed to me that although the three of us had enjoyed our little excursion into the news business, we were each glad to return to our own realities.
I’d only been in my office long enough to dump the contents of my briefcase onto the desk when Scott Palmer tapped on the door. I waved him inside, curious to see if he’d want to talk about whatever it was the bug-and-slime guy had turned up on the riverbank. He sat in the chair opposite my desk, crossing his left leg over his right knee. The Tecovas boots looked as good as new. Fine leather cleans up much better than studded suede, no doubt about that. “So, what’s new?” I asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He did that intensive-stare thing he does. When I first met Scott I’d found it kind of sexy. Now it’s just annoying. “Saw you on the news. The chief ’s presser about the Sawtelle thing. You’re not gunning for my job, are you?”
“Are you serious? Of course not. You and Howie were both busy and I guess I was the last man standing.” I waved at the mess of papers, paint samples, and assorted sticky notes. “I’m already up to my ears in this. Want your job? Hell, no.”
He seemed to relax visibly. “I just wondered. Francine talks about you all the time. ‘Lee did this and Lee and I did it this way.’ I thought maybe you two were planning to get back together.”
“We had a good time,” I admitted. “But, no. I’m kind of liking what I’m doing now. I think directing Rob and Katie is going to be fun.”
“Is it true the singing cowboy is going to bring his horse in here?”
“Prince Valiant? Yes.” I pointed to the boots. “Do you ride?”
“Not since I was a kid. You?”
“Same. I used to. Guess you could have used a good horse over there in the muck and mire at the river.” I watched his face, hoping he’d tell me what they were searching for.
“Oh yeah. You should have seen that guy. Up to his hips in mud, using a big sifter. Picking up leaves and rocks and crap like it was gold and silver nuggets.” He laughed. “Looked like he was enjoying every minute of it.”
“Different strokes for different folks,” I said. “Did he find whatever treasure he was looking for?”
“Don’t know. I’m not sure he even knows what he was looking for. But hey, that line you had about the chief expecting an arrest soon is kind of a teaser, isn’t it?” The famous Scott Palmer stare again. “Do you know who he’s questioning? Want to pay me back for the lot man tip?”
“I figure I paid you back with the Conant River heads-up.”
He smiled. “Yeah. You did. Just pushing my luck a little. Do you know who he’s questioning though?”
“Who, me? Little kids’-show-program-director me?” I dodged the question. “How should I know? That kind of information is way above my pay grade.”
“The cop boyfriend probably knows.”
“Pete says it’ll be on the news soon.” That was true. He’d told me that. “I’ll bet you’ll hear about it before I will.” That statement turned out to be true also. Scott had left my office and I’d barely finished straightening up the mess on my desk when the chyron ran across the bottom of my TV screen. POSSIBLE WITNESS BEING QUESTIONED RE: SAWTELLE MURDER. Did that mean Emily Hemenway—our “Janie”—was being questioned? Next, the “Breaking News” crawl flashed on the screen, followed by a shot of Phil Archer at the anchor desk. My question—Scott’s question—was about to be answered on live TV.
“Ladies and gentlemen. WICH-TV has just learned that a woman who may have witnessed the Sawtelle murder is being questioned by Salem police. While the woman’s identity is being withheld due to security measures, police have learned that the woman, a forensic accountant, had recently accompanied Sawtelle from Brookline to Salem on a business matter.”
What? Janie is a forensic accountant? What does that mean?
Phil immediately answered my unspoken question. “Forensic accounting is frequently used in the investigation of fraud cases. Forensic accountants use both accounting and investigating skills.”
I remembered Janie staring at the door marked “Forensics” when we took her to see Dr. Egan and her comment that the word “accountant” seemed familiar when Aunt Ibby told us about the Gregory Peck movie. Did all this mean that Janie/Emily was in Salem investigating a fraud case? I thought of the black Jeep and wondered if seeing her parents had cleared her memory for good. And if it had, was that a good thing?
Phil went on to answer even more questions. “John Sawtelle’s automobile, a white 2020 Audi, had apparently been driven by the woman while it was in Salem.” There was an archive shot of the Audi behind the impound lot fence, followed by a zoom shot of the bug-and-slime guy, as Scott had reported, up to his hips in muck. “Evidence of plant species and other markers found on the vehicle indicate that it was recently present at the Conant River site. Police are also seeking a small boat that may have been present at the site also.”
This all sounded like very bad news for Janie. I couldn’t shake the image of the bound and blindfolded girl standing in a marsh. Had she actually been present when Sawtelle went to his death? My vision had said that she saw it. Now the evidence the police had collected said so too.
Phil Archer wound up the bulletin with the usual advice to viewers. “If you have any information about the white 2020 Audi or about any recent unusual activity at the Conant River Conservation Area, please call the number at the bottom of your screen and stay tuned to WICH-TV for up-to-the-minute coverage of this breaking story.” Regular programming resumed with a promo for the upcoming downtown Salem sidewalk sale, with attractive footage of last year’s event with happy shoppers and counters laden with bargains. I muted the sound and returned to my own business at hand.
Marty had found a couple of VCR cassettes of those long-ago kid shows starring Ranger Rob and Katie the Clown, along with her own Panasonic, which still played the relics. She’d also done all the necessary wiring. All I needed to do was pop the cassette into the proper slot and watch for the picture to appear on my TV screen. What a nostalgia rush! I was back in my playroom—now Aunt Ibby’s high-tech office—sitting on the floor in my pajamas, watching my favorite morning show. Rob and Katie harmonizing on “Old MacDonald Had a Farm,” while their little sidekick, Cactus, pulled a seemingly endless pile of vegetables from his oversized cowboy hat. It still made me laugh, even though the diminutive actor who’d played Cactus had later come to a definitely unfunny end. I made a quick note on the legal pad. R&K need a sidekick. I watched the show all the way to the end, hoping no one would come in and catch me laughing at corny jokes and humming along with familiar old songs, catching my breath at the closing outdoor shot where Rob—astride Freedom, the beautiful palomino that had preceded Prince Valiant—rode into a glorious sunset. All of the commercials were intact, and several of the businesses were still operating in Salem. Ziggy’s Donuts was still there. Puleo’s Dairy too, and Dube’s Seafood, and Bill & Bob’s Roast Beef. I noted all of them, with a reminder to give the list to the sales team.
It had been a pretty full day, but the clock told me that I still had time to run down to the studio and check out what was happening on the set before five. Chester wasn’t around—probably had to report for some of his other duties—but he’d made some more progress on the bull chute. At first I thought I was alone, but I was pleased and surprised to see Katie sitting on the bottom tier of the still unpainted “peanut gallery” bleachers.
“Hello, Lee,” she said. “I was just sitting here thinking about the old days. So happy to be working again. With Rob. This is going to be fun.”
I told her about the program I’d just watched and how much I’d enjoyed it. “You guys are going to need a sidekick. Like Cactus. Have you thought about that?”
“We have,” she said, “and we’ve been rehearsing some of the old songs too. Remember when we had the big model train and we rode around in circles on it singing ‘The Cannonball Express’ at the top of our lungs?” She smiled a wistful smile. “Good times.”
“We can do that again. I’m pretty sure one of your main sponsors, Captain Billy, has one of those trains in his shop.” That brought a real smile. “It’s been a busy day,” I said. “I’m going home now.”
“I’d better get going too,” she said, checking a balloon-shaped watch. “Have to walk the dog.”
“I didn’t know you had a dog,” I said. “How does Percival feel about that?” Percival was a lovely black cat I’d met several times at her house.
“They seem to get along quite well. I haven’t had Paco for very long. An old circus friend passed away and there didn’t seem to be anybody else to take the sweet old dog.” She spread her arms wide apart and smiled a big Katie the Clown smile. “Paco was never actually in a circus, but my friend had trained him as though he could be. I couldn’t very well let them put him down, could I?”
“Of course you couldn’t.” I said good night to Katie and climbed the metal stairs to the reception area.
“Checking out,” I told Rhonda. “It’s been a busy one. Say, did you ever watch the old Ranger Rob shows from back in the nineties?”
“No, but I’ve seen a few of the videos.”
“Remember Cactus? The little sidekick?”
“I think so. Are you looking to replace him for the new show?”
“Not him, certainly. Too many unpleasant connections there, but they need some kind of a sidekick. Comic relief.”
“I’ll see what I can come up with,” she promised.
“You and I are around the same age,” I said. “How come you didn’t watch Rob and Katie back then?”
“It conflicted with the Today Show.”
“Of course,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I hurried downstairs and out to the comfort and privacy of my beloved Vette. I could hardly wait to call Pete to see what he’d share with me about what had gone on today with Emily Hemenway and her parents.
CHAPTER 16
“I wondered when you’d call,” he said. “Curiosity driving you crazy?”
“You bet! Did her memory come back? Did she know her parents?”
“The minute they walked in,” he said. “You should have seen it. She laughed, then cried, then ran to her dad.”
“She remembers everything? About John Sawtelle?”
“That part was not pretty.” His voice was sober. “Apparently she witnessed the death. Pretty awful.”
I almost said “I know,” but bit my tongue. “Is she still in custody?”
“We’ve released her to her parents, with instructions not to leave Salem. They’ve already rented a condo. Nice place. Security guard, doorman, the whole works. We were thinking of ankle-braceleting her, but her lawyer convinced the chief that it wasn’t necessary.”
“Lawyered up already?”
“Big-time Boston lawyer. Listen, I have time to come over for a while if you’re going home now. I was going to call you anyway. I need to get in touch with one of your friends.”
“Really? Who?”
“The artist. Dakota Berman.”
Like Alice said, this got curioser and curioser. I told him I’d be home in ten minutes, hung up, and started the big engine. In nine minutes flat I rolled into the garage. The Buick was missing. O’Ryan met me on the back steps and followed me up the twisty staircase to my place. I unlocked my living room door while the cat used his cat door. He hadn’t climbed up onto his favorite zebra-print wing chair, pulling his favorite I’ve-fallen-asleep-waiting-for-you game. Instead, he’d streaked toward the kitchen and was sitting on the closed laptop I’d left on the counter. “Mmrrup,” he said. “Mmrrup mmrrup.” I’ve learned to translate some of his comments but “mmrrup” seems to mean anything he wants it to mean at any given time. For instance, “meh” means the same in cat as it does in English. It’s dismissive. Like, if I said “O’Ryan, do you like this dress?” His “meh” would mean “not so much.” O’Ryan knows how and when to use it. “Mmrrup” is different.
Whatever he wanted to tell me had something to do with the laptop. He moved aside. Naturally I opened it. “E-mail?” I asked. O’Ryan shook his fuzzy head. “Facebook?” He left the counter and moved to one of the barstools. There was a message from Betsy. Lee. I got a call from Janie. I gave her my card when we met, so she had my phone number but not yours. Her real name is Emily. She remembers everything and she wants to talk to you. The cops had her phone and gave it back. I didn’t know if I should give her your number. Here’s hers so you can call her. I copied the number into my phone. Betsy ended with a P.S. Call me and tell me what she says!
