A Curious Incident, page 24
Ryan put a cup of tea on the table in front of me. I picked it up and cradled the warmth in my hands.
“Hold still. Let me have a look at this.” He separated the strands of wet hair and touched the lump with gentle fingers. It didn’t hurt too much. He dabbed at it with a warm cloth as he spoke. “Suppose I buy that. And I am buying it because you’re saying it, but not everyone will. Why? Why did Mike Nixon kill his wife?”
“Anna was going to leave him for Manuel. Did Manuel call you earlier?”
“He came down to the station, and we had a nice long chat. That you know about it means you put him up to it.”
“I made a friendly suggestion. Did he tell you why he’d lied?”
“He’d been in some trouble with the police when he was in high school. He hadn’t, according to him, done anything, but the cops focused on him rather than the kids from the better side of town who’d been responsible. He doesn’t trust the cops. I checked into that case, and it seems he was right. He and his friends were eventually cleared.”
“I confess that I might have been off-guard because I liked Mike. I felt sorry for him. He put on a good act when Donald and I called on him.”
“It happens. Some people know what behavior’s expected, and they do it.”
“As for his reasons, threat of divorce is no reason for murder in this day and age, but financial ruin is. Mike’s only source of income was Anna’s gardening books. That was threatened by Sheila’s proposed suit against her. Manuel overheard Mike and Anna arguing about a court case. He thought they meant the impending divorce, but I don’t think that was it. Mike knew Sheila was planning to sue Anna. Anna probably would have settled before it went to court. Sheila’s case is pretty solid because she still has the manuscript pages she wrote.”
“She can sue Anna’s estate even if the woman herself is dead.” Ryan gave my head a final pat. “I’m no doctor, but my diagnosis is that you’re going to live.” He took a seat opposite me.
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Sheila can sue, but the complications around that will be substantial. The community won’t like it if Sheila sues the poor grieving widower. If she wants to keep writing and publishing gardening books, she needs the goodwill of gardeners. Whether she goes ahead with the suit or not is irrelevant, not if Mike thinks she’ll drop it now that Anna’s dead. Anna was not only about to be sued, meaning if she lost and she would have, she’d lose a substantial part of the revenue from her books, which was Mike’s primary source of income, but on top of that she was about to divorce him. She would have taken her income with her, along with her share of their assets, whatever remained after Sheila’s suit, leaving Mike with just about nothing and a gambling habit to support. You told me he doesn’t have big losses in Vegas and travels on cheap package deals. But minor losses soon become large ones, and those casinos have a way of luring regular package travelers into spending more than they can afford.”
“How am I going to prove this? Your guesses—”
“I never guess.”
“Your conclusions then. They won’t stand up in a court of law.”
I smiled at him. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ll remind you that you’re always telling me to do the thinking and to leave you to do the proving. You’ll have to build a case, one small incident at a time. I phoned Sheila before calling you and asked her why Mike had come to Lauren’s tennis game. She called him Saturday morning, hoping they could forget about all the recent unpleasantness—her words, not mine—now that Anna was dead. She wanted to make a little party out of attending the tennis game, and she told him I’d said I’d drop in. He knew I’d be there, and he brought something along in case he had the chance to poison me.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“I believe the realtor told him I’d been in his house. I wanted to call her and ask, but I didn’t have her number available. Her card’s around here somewhere.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“People know I’ve been asking questions, and Mike thought I was focusing on him, although I was no more curious about him than I was about anyone else in this case. A guilty conscience makes people see shadows where none exist.”
“Did Sherlock Holmes say that?”
“If not, he should have. One other thing’s still bothering me, though. The vandalism to Sheila’s garden. I can see no reason Mike would have done that unless he wanted to warn Sheila off from continuing with the lawsuit, and that would have been a pretty dumb thing to do. First, it would have had her running straight to the police, and second it would have provided her with more ammunition for her complaint. She wouldn’t have welcomed him to her little group at her daughter’s tennis match if she thought he’d done it. Besides, didn’t Mike say he was in Vegas that night?”
“He was.”
Violet put her head on my knee, and I stroked her soft ears. I thought of Peony, Anna’s dog. Peony … “It was Anna. Wasn’t it?”
Ryan nodded. “Tell me how you know. You figured it out right there, didn’t you? I could see it in your face.”
“I’d better work at getting more control over my emotions.”
“Not from me, I hope.”
I said nothing in answer to that. “Anna’s dog’s named Peony after her favorite flower. A few days ago I wouldn’t have known a peony from a pumpkin, but I saw a picture of one in Anna’s book and I admired it. Large, attractive flowers on a big bush.”
“And …”
“I didn’t realize the significance at the time, but Sheila’s peonies were untouched.” I closed my eyes and thought back to the state of Sheila Tierney’s garden when I’d seen it. I’d been a fool for not noticing the pattern to the destruction. Now that I was thinking about it, the significance was obvious. “A peony flowers in early spring, so the blooms are past now. The bushes weren’t harmed, yet they’re next to a bed of flowers that was excessively damaged. The destruction to Sheila’s garden looks far worse than it is, Ryan.”
“It looked pretty bad to me.”
“On the surface, yes, but no permanent damage was done. Branches were cut, but branches can grow back if the trunk or base of the tree or bush isn’t destroyed. The flowers on the rose bushes were cut off, but the plant itself was not harmed. Roses can grow back. The annuals were dug up and thrown around, and big holes left where they’d been planted, but annuals can be replanted. The perennials, which cannot be so easily replaced, were largely untouched. If they had been cut, it was only the foliage. No damage was done to the roots. Considering the way the garden is laid out, annuals mixed with perennials, rose and peony bushes in adjacent sections, it’s obvious the vandal knew something about gardens. They knew what would cause genuine damage to the plants, might even kill them, and what would not. And they avoided that.” I opened my eyes and smiled at Ryan. “Anna was, everyone except Sheila tells me—and I think we can disregard Sheila’s opinion—a passionate gardener. She would never have destroyed a garden. Any garden, but particularly not one as fine as Sheila’s. No, the damage was all cosmetic. Shocking, yes, and ruination to Sheila’s hopes for the garden tour trophy, but not permanent.”
“You’re right, as you usually are. Anna destroyed Sheila’s garden.”
“How do you know?”
“We found her prints on some rocks that had been artfully arranged to make a sculpture. The sculpture was broken, the stones scattered. Sheila told us she got those particular rocks and stacked them to resemble what the Inuit call an inukshuk after she and Anna argued. Anna had no reason, no legitimate reason, to have ever touched them.
“As for why Anna would do such a thing, we’ll never know for sure, but I suspect it had to do with Sheila’s chances at winning the trophy. The women at the garden club said Sheila was the one to beat this year. It’s possible Anna, like Mrs. Ramsbatten, went around to Sheila’s house the night before the tour for a look and realized that Sheila’s garden was better than hers. Anna would have been humiliated if Sheila won, and Sheila would not have accepted the trophy graciously. She would have rubbed it in Anna’s face and would have kept on rubbing. It might even have provided more ammunition for her intended lawsuit.”
“What does all that have to do with the murder of Anna?”
“It can’t be a coincidence Anna died the night after she wrecked Sheila’s garden. Mike must have been wanting to get rid of her for some time, but he didn’t know how to accomplish that. The husband’s always the first suspect, as everyone knows. When Mike heard about the very public fight between Sheila and Anna, he grabbed the opportunity to frame Sheila. Sending an innocent person up the river didn’t seem to bother him too much. He told me he didn’t like her. He called her a user.”
“It might have worked if he’d been a bit smarter. Planted something of Sheila’s at the scene, for example.”
“But he wasn’t a bit smarter, and he didn’t have time to think it all through. If I may make a suggestion, you need to find someone who originally told you they saw Mike hurrying through the streets in search of Anna. It’s entirely possible they got the time wrong. It’s also possible your well-meaning officers asked the neighbors if they saw a man with a dog. I suspect that if the dog hadn’t been mentioned, the potential witnesses wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“We try very hard not to put ideas in people’s minds, but somehow, things slip through.” Ryan stood up. “Looks like I have a long night ahead of me. I don’t want you on your own tonight, Gemma; you did have a blow to your head. I don’t think Jayne’s up to looking after you, and her mother’s busy fussing over her. There’s Irene, but she’ll be wanting to make a story out of it. Who can I call at this time of night?”
* * *
I knocked lightly on the guest room door. The sound of a passing freight train came from within. I knocked again, this time with enough force to rattle the wood.
“Donald! Donald! Time to get up. Breakfast is ready.”
The train snuffled and snorted, and then came a mumble that I took to be a vague understanding.
Violet trotted after me into the kitchen. Sausages were sizzling in the frying pan; bacon cooking in the oven; eggs scrambled in a bowl, waiting to be added to the frying pan; and bread was in the toaster. The table was set for two, with butter, jam, marmalade, tomato salsa, and pickles in place.
While I waited for Donald to make an appearance, I sipped my tea and checked the online news. Nothing from the police about an arrest in the Wentworth murder. Ryan and his team would be combing through every detail of Mike Nixon’s life and asking him a lot of hard questions. If there was something to be found, they’d find it, and if he was crackable, they’d crack him.
If not … They couldn’t take a case to court based on the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime. More than one killer had gotten away because the police couldn’t prove their case.
“Good morning, Gemma.” Donald came into the kitchen, showered and shaved and dressed. “You shouldn’t have made breakfast. That’s what I’m here for. To help. How’s the head this morning?”
“Perfectly fine, thank you.” I didn’t have a headache, and while the lump on the back of my head was about the size of one of the eggs I’d recently cracked, it wasn’t painful unless I touched it.
Ryan had called Donald last night and told him I’d had a fall and needed to be watched in case of a concussion. Donald immediately hurried over, full of concern. He’d fussed over me and—blushing furiously all the while and trying not to peek at me in my nightwear—ensured I was settled into bed with a book and a glass of water close at hand. Whereupon he’d gone to the guest room and slept the entire night through.
If Ryan asked, I’d lie and say Donald had woken me every two hours as instructed.
Now he took a seat at the kitchen table, and I stood up. “Coffee?”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
I served his coffee and then added chopped red peppers along with fresh chives and basil, picked from the bed next to the mudroom door, to the bowl of eggs. I cooked them lightly and served up two plates.
Donald unfurled his napkin. “This looks delightful. I didn’t know you could cook, Gemma.”
“I can do breakfast, but that’s about all. Arthur’s the cook in our house.”
“The eggs look nice with that touch of color. What’s the green stuff?”
“Chives and basil. Mrs. Ramsbatten planted a herb container by the kitchen door.”
“As long as you know what they are,” he said, digging in. “I don’t know much about plants myself. I trained as a chemist, not a botanist.”
I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth. I don’t know anything about plants either, but I knew these were chives and basil because my neighbor told me they were chives and basil. I knew chives and basil weren’t poisonous because people ate them all the time.
I leapt to my feet. “I’ve just remembered an appointment. Gotta run. Thanks for coming over.”
I grabbed my keys from the hook by the door and then turned to face a startled Donald. “Finish your breakfast and you can let yourself out. Would you mind giving Violet a short walk before you leave? Thanks.”
“Oh no. Ryan told me I was to escort you to the store.” Donald grabbed a slice of toast and followed me. I didn’t bother to argue.
“Perhaps we should take my car,” he said.
I didn’t bother to argue with that either. I got into my own car, and he did too.
I used Bluetooth to call Ryan. “Oleander,” I said when he answered.
“What?”
“Do you have the toxicology report on the contents of Jayne’s stomach yet?”
“No. I’m expecting the preliminary this afternoon.”
“Tell them to check for oleander.”
“Okay. Where are you now? You’re supposed to be resting. Are you with Donald?”
“I’m here,” Donald called out. “Although I have no idea where we’re going in such a rush.”
“Have you spoken to Mike Nixon this morning?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Ryan said. “Before I do that, we’re reinterviewing people on that street about last Sunday night.”
“One more question,” I said. “Did you call the realtor who’s selling Mike’s house?”
“It’s on my list.”
“Do that now and ask her what time she told him I’d been in his house. Donald and I are heading for the library. Meet us there.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
“No. You might want to tell the computer boffins to be on the alert.”
“What?”
I hung up. Realizing that I’d be late to the store, I called Ashleigh to ask if she could come in early, and she agreed.
We arrived at the library minutes before opening. The moment Teresa unlocked the doors, Donald and I rushed in.
“Good morning,” the librarian said.
“’Morning.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Nope,” I said. “We’re waiting for the police.”
“The police? Is something wrong?”
“Nope.”
She glanced at Donald.
He shrugged.
While we waited, I used my phone to check garden plants. I zoomed in to get a close look at a photo of beautiful pink flowers and nodded to myself in satisfaction.
Ryan and Louise Estrada arrived. Ryan looked baffled, Louise annoyed. Then again, Louise always looks annoyed when I call them out.
“What’s this about, Gemma?” she snapped. “I hope you don’t think we’re at your beck and call all the time.”
I didn’t bother to mention that they had come when I called. “Did you find out the answer to my question, Ryan?”
“If you mean the realtor, I did. Mike came home only minutes after you left, and she told him she had a prospective buyer who toured the house and seemed very interested. When she told him that person was the woman who owns the bookstore in West London, he got agitated and said she wasn’t to waste any more of her time talking to you.”
“Which,” Estrada said, “is what I assume you expected her to say.”
“I did, but I needed the timing to be confirmed. Now that you’re here as witnesses, I have a question for Teresa.”
“You do?” The librarian said. “What?”
It was early enough that no patrons had arrived yet. The other librarian was watching us with much interest.
“Were you working on Saturday afternoon between eleven and three?” I asked.
The two women exchanged glances. “Yes, we both were.”
“Do you know Mike Nixon?”
They nodded. “He’s a regular patron. Terrible thing about what happened with his wife.”
“Did he, by any chance, come in on Saturday and use one of the computers?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Teresa said. “Saturday afternoon’s our busiest time of the week. I know he’s been in since Anna died, because I offered my condolences, but I can’t be sure of the day or time.”
“The computer logs will have a record,” the other librarian said. “Patrons sign in with their library card number.”
“Can you check that now?” I asked.
She glanced at Ryan.
“Please,” he said.
She went behind the desk and activated the computer. “Mike Nixon’s number was used at twelve forty-five on Saturday. He was on for twenty minutes. Computer number two.”
“You’ll want to confiscate computer number two, Detectives,” I said.
“Why do I want to do that?” Estrada said.
I smiled at the librarians. They smiled at me.
