Embroidered Truths Read online

  The siren cut off and seconds later another police officer came into the house—Lars had left the door open, anticipating. He was shorter than Lars—but of course, almost everyone was shorter than Lars—with dark hair and eyes. “Whatcha got?” he asked.

  “DOA. One John Nye, attorney at law. This is his house. A homicide, looks like.”

  The man came over for a look and made a face of distaste. “Holy cripes!”

  Another siren approached. “That’ll be the ambulance,” noted Lars. “I’ll go flag it down. Nobody touch anything, all right?”

  “All right,” agreed Betsy, and took Godwin to the other side of the room, where she spent the next minute bringing Godwin down to a semblance of self-control.

  “You don’t say anything to anyone, nothing at all,” she murmured in his ear, when he settled down enough to listen.

  “Why not—oh. Is that why you lied and said I was with you last night?”

  “Yes. What time was it when you came in, anyway?”

  “I don’t remember. Pretty late.”

  “Worse and worse. Well, they’ll figure this out pretty quick, I hope. No need to worry.”

  “Okay,” he said, and they both stood there, waiting and worrying.

  Five

  LARS opened the front door—the other cop had closed it. A new siren’s cry was suddenly very loud, then cut off into silence. A sound like car doors slamming, the slap of feet on sidewalk, a hesitation in the sound as they stepped onto the porch. Then a whole herd of people came rushing into the living room. The “herd” quickly sorted itself into two young men, a young woman, and a big black case, with Lars coming behind.

  The emergency techs looked awfully young, the girl especially—she appeared sixteen. All three wore earrings, and two had visible tattoos. But they seemed to know what they were doing, swooping down over John’s body, opening the case, searching for a pulse, testing the stiffness of a hand, a foot, lifting an eyelid, frowning over its coolness—and suddenly relaxing, all anxious competence melting in a trio of sighs.

  One of the men said to Lars, “Better contact the ME.”

  Godwin asked, “That’s medical examiner, right?” And the trio turned to look at him and Betsy, surprised at their presence. When the surprise turned to compassion, Godwin burst into tears.

  Lars reached for the microphone fastened to his shoulder, and Betsy took Godwin by the arm and retreated farther away, into the kitchen. She pulled a paper cup from a holder beside the sink and filled it with water from the special little faucet that was doubtless attached to a filter under the sink.

  “Here, drink this,” she said. “And try to get hold of yourself. I don’t want you blurting things out, okay? Just keep silent, or you’ll have us in a pickle.”

  Goddy obediently took a sip, nearly choking over it. He took a calming breath and tried again, more successfully. Then, frowning, he said, “What are you so worried about? For all we know, this was an accident. That statue is heavy.”

  “Yes, but there is no mantle on that fireplace, so where did that statue come from? I hardly think he threw it up in the air and let it fall down on his head.”

  Goddy stared at her. “Oh.”

  Betsy nodded. “Now, you did go to the movies last night, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anyone you know there?”

  “No, no one.” He hung his head. “As a matter of fact, as soon as the lights went out, I fell asleep.”

  “You fell asleep at a Harry Potter movie?”

  He shrugged. “I was tired.”

  “Did someone wake you up when it was over?”

  “No, the lights coming back on after the movie did, and it was like after a nap, I was fresh and wide awake. And worried. So I went for that drive. I drove all around the lake.”

  “Did you stop anywhere along the way?”

  “A couple places. Boat landings, mostly. I pulled off the road where I could see the water—I think better when I can sit and look at water.”

  “I mean, did you stop where there were people?”

  “Oh, you mean go into a bar or something? No, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I wanted to think.” He turned to the sink, opening the cabinet door under it, reaching to put the cup into a trash container there.

  “Don’t do that,” said Betsy. “Put it in your pocket.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it has your fingerprints on it.”

  “Honey, my fingerprints are all over this house!”

  “If John has emptied the trash between the day you left and yesterday, that cup is proof you’ve been in the house since he threw you out.”

  Goddy looked down at the wadded paper in his hand. “Oh, yeah,” he said, and closed his fingers over it. Then he looked up at her. “You don’t think anyone could really believe—” he began.

  “When they start looking for suspects, they’ll find you.”

  “Lars knows me better than that!”

  “I wouldn’t count on that, and, anyway, it won’t be Lars, it’ll be Mike Malloy,” she said. “And what he thinks, we know too well.”

  Sergeant Malloy, the lead investigator of Excelsior’s small police department, wouldn’t dream of harassing gays, but he most sincerely believed that those who yielded to the temptation of their sexual orientation were susceptible to other kinds of wickedness as well. And of course he was, or soon would be, aware of the young man’s problems with John. Certainly Godwin had told Jill about it when she came in yesterday—and Jill Cross Larson was married to Lars.

  Godwin’s eyes grew very large as he began to realize all this. “Oh, how I wish I’d stayed in last night!” he groaned. “I could’ve done my thinking in the tub!”

  They heard footsteps and turned to see Lars approaching.

  “Is there anything missing from the house?” he asked Godwin. “Maybe this was a burglary gone wrong.”

  “We haven’t looked,” said Godwin.

  “Well, come on, I’ll come with you. And don’t touch anything if you can help it.”

  “Let’s check the back door first,” suggested Betsy, since they were in the kitchen. “To see if there was a break-in. Oh, gosh! Nikki! Looks like we’ll be here awhile. I’ll call her.”

  While she did that, Lars and Godwin went through the laundry room to look at the back door.

  She had barely hung up when they came back, Godwin looking downcast. “Not a scratch,” he reported. “And it’s locked.”

  “Maybe we’ll find a window open.”

  The house was all on one level. On the other side of the kitchen was the master bedroom, which jutted out behind, making the house form an L. It was very large, probably an addition. It looked in perfect order. The furniture was dark wood, the carpet a dense plush of dark green, the walls a faint peach. Godwin, his arms folded against temptation to touch or fondle, walked around, sighing and sniffing. Betsy resisted an urge to comfort him, fearful of starting him crying again. Lars waited patiently.

  Beyond the bedroom, the bathroom was as large as an ordinary bedroom. The floor was purple tile and there were a lot of marbled mirrors. There were twin lavender sinks, and a lavender whirlpool bath sat on a dais three steps up. All had gold fixtures shaped like dolphins. There were bottles of scented oils set beside the bath, which was draped in purple veiling, and everywhere there were fat candles and stacks of thick white and purple towels. One wall was covered with a mosaic from naughty old Pompeii. It was like something out of a DeMille movie, and Betsy wanted to giggle. Then she saw Godwin’s nostalgic expression and managed not to. But Lars cleared his throat repeatedly.

  She opened a capacious wicker hamper and found it full of used towels and a deep purple robe. Godwin came to look and frowned. “John always wears white.”

  “So is it yours?” she asked.

  “No. It’s for guests.” He sat down on the lowest step of the dais and put his face in his hands.

  She sat down beside him and put a hand on his should
er.

  “I take it this means Mr. Nye had a visitor?” asked Lars.

  “Well, he threw me out,” Godwin said, “so what else could I expect?”

  Betsy said angrily, “He could’ve waited, oh, I don’t know, a week, maybe?”

  Godwin snorted into his hands and coughed, then raised his head. “He wasn’t a patient man.” A single tear came down his cheek, but he brushed it away impatiently. “He always said he loved me, but he wasn’t always kind.”

  Lars said, “I guess you shouldn’t give the eulogy.”

  That made him laugh, if harshly, and they continued to tour the house.

  On the other side of the living room were three rooms. The one facing the front was a den or library, its many shelves full of a wide variety of books from legal tomes to modern novels. The front window had old-fashioned venetian blinds. It and the side window were locked—Betsy checked. There was a big potted ficus, and an antique desk with an up-to-date computer on it. The desk chair was high-backed, upholstered in leather, and a comfortable club chair invited a visitor to sit in front of it. Everything looked in good order, here, too; no strew of papers or open drawers. A wooden file cabinet blended in with the bookshelves. Betsy reached to open a desk drawer, but Lars made a warning noise, so she didn’t.

  “Did Mr. Nye do much work at home?” Lars asked.

  “Some,” nodded Godwin. “He almost never had clients come to the house. But he gave great parties.” He gestured toward the computer. “He loved the Internet. He had weblogs he read every day, and a lot of Internet friends he’d never met face-to-face.”

  “Did you use this computer, too?”

  “Oh, no. I have my own, with my own account. We never read each other’s mail. That was one thing I really liked about John, he gave me my own space and never came in uninvited.” Godwin hung onto his composure with agonized effort.

  “May we see your room?” asked Betsy.

  “Sure, it’s back here.”

  A bathroom was between the den and Godwin’s bedroom. It was much more utilitarian than the lavender paradise, with a sky-blue tile floor, blue and cream wallpaper, a skylight, and etched-glass doors on the tub-shower.

  Godwin’s bedroom was larger than John’s den, and it overlooked a garden ablaze with flowers and a small pond with a tiny waterfall. “A man comes by every week to take care of the yard,” said Godwin. “In June he puts koi in the water. They’re greedy things, always sticking their heads out to beg for treats.”

  “Scaly versions of Sophie?” said Betsy.

  Godwin smiled. “Yes. We should introduce them.” He waved that thought away. “Maybe not, one or the other would get eaten.”

  Betsy laughed and looked around. Godwin had a sleigh bed in what looked like maple, heaped with pillows. An upholstered chair sat by a window, with a wooden frame on wheels beside it, a Dazor light bending over from the other side. In the far corner was a small desk, its top empty. The two windows in the room, half covered with Roman blinds, were also closed and locked. Betsy looked around, wishing she could open drawers.

  “Where’s your computer?” she asked.

  “It was in the box he sent over.”

  “Weren’t you working on a project?” Betsy asked, noting that the frame was empty.

  “John sent over my needlework projects.” He asked Lars, “Can I take the stand? And the light? They’re mine, I bought them with my own money.”

  “Not right now. This house is a crime scene, remember. You can claim all your things when they settle the estate.”

  “Estate? Yes, that’s right, John was rich, so he had an estate. And he had a will, I know he had a will, he mentioned it once. I wonder if he left me anything?”

  Betsy asked, “Did he say he did?”

  “No, just that he had a will. That was a couple of years ago. He said I should make one, too. But I said I intended to die broke and so I didn’t need a will.”

  The closet door was ajar, Betsy went to open it with the toe of her shoe. Inside was a riot of hangers, some on the floor. A pink straw hat with a crushed crown was on a shelf. Godwin reached around Betsy and took it before she could stop him. “We bought this in Mexico City,” he said. “I was going to leave it behind, but it was such a great trip I couldn’t leave anything behind. John stepped on it when he came to talk to me in here while I was unpacking. He was in a bad mood, but I don’t think he stepped on it on purpose.” He put it on and went to look at himself in the mirror over his dresser. He tipped it a bit to the side, made a funny face, then took it off and broke down completely.

  Betsy led him to the beautiful bed, sat him down and went into the bathroom to look for tissues. She found a box of Kleenex pop-ups encased in a needlepoint holder designed to look like a box of Kleenex—Godwin had an interesting sense of humor—and pulled out four, which she took back to him. Lars had gone away.

  “Thangs,” he mumbled and blew his nose.

  Betsy sat down beside him and thought. She went back over the house in her head, looking with her memory at everything.

  “Did John wear a watch?”

  “Sure, he had a Rolex, a nice fat one.”

  “He isn’t wearing one now.”

  “He isn’t? Are you sure?” Godwin twisted up his face, trying to remember. “I didn’t notice it was gone. He wore it all the time.”

  “I’m going back to look again,” said Betsy. “You wait here.”

  She went back into the living room and found Lars all by himself with John’s body. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re waiting for someone from the Medical Examiner’s office,” he said. “Phil’s out on the porch, and I sent the ambulance away. No need to tie them up. The BCA is on its way, this place will be pretty busy in a little while.”

  Betsy went to stoop beside the body.

  “Don’t move him!” barked Lars.

  “I won’t, I won’t. I’m just trying to see if he’s wearing a watch. Goddy says he has a Rolex but I don’t see anything on either wrist.” The body’s arms were drawn up close to the chest, but Betsy was pretty sure both wrists were empty.

  Lars came to lean over her. “Huh,” he said, and pulled a flashlight from his belt. He shone it at various angles. “Nothing, and it didn’t fall off,” he noted, probing the shadows with his light.

  “That’s funny, because it didn’t look as if anything was disturbed in the bedrooms,” said Betsy. “We should look in the basement next, I suppose—” She was interrupted by a yell from Godwin’s bedroom.

  “Godwin? What’s wrong?” She had barely straightened when the young man came running out toward her. In both hands he was holding a small, cedar-wood chest.

  “Gone!” he shouted. “My jewelry’s gone!”

  Betsy put out a hand to stop him. “What are you talking about? I thought John sent all your things!”

  “Not my diamond studs! And my gold ring, my beautiful gold and emerald ring!” He held out the box. “He sent my silver bracelets and the amethyst ring, but my good stuff, he kept that. My gold chain, gone! Even my beautiful ormolu birdcage, gone!”

  “What the hell’s an ormolu birdcage?” demanded Lars, notebook in hand. “And I thought I told you not to touch anything!”

  Godwin sank to the floor with a groan. “This’s my jewelry box, I can look in it if I want to! And it’s empty! All my good pieces, gone, gone, gone!”

  “I didn’t see a birdcage in your room, Goddy,” said Betsy.

  “Not a big one, a little, little one,” said Godwin, holding up a thumb and finger about an inch apart. “Ormolu is gold plated, gold over silver,” he explained to Lars. “Like gilding, only better. It was a tiny, little bird cage with a weentsy wee bird made of two diamonds in it. A bird in a gilded cage, like the song, like me. It was our own little joke—and now it’s gone!”

  “Maybe he sold the stuff,” suggested Lars.

  “No, no, no!” raged Godwin. “He wouldn’t, especially not the ormulu bird!” His face was wretch
ed, streaked with tears. Betsy’s heart went out to him; it wasn’t just the jewelry, it was what the jewelry meant.

  She turned to Lars. “Perhaps it was a robbery. If so, there are other things missing. If we could open drawers and closets, I bet we’d find more nice little things gone.”

  Six

  THE Medical Examiner’s representative was a short, gray-haired woman in a dark brown pantsuit. For a doctor, she had no bedside manner—perhaps, Betsy reflected later, this was why she went into the autopsy line. She was taciturn to the point of rudeness, and cast so chill an eye on Betsy and Godwin that they stood quietly against a wall, too intimidated to speak and afraid to walk away. Officer Phil Ott, the dark cop who’d come in after Lars, picked up on her suspicious glances, and came to stand next to them with an air of keeping custody. Even Lars, normally at ease with anyone of any rank, simply stood to one side and didn’t ask any questions.

  Of course, there being no hope of life in John Nye, and the probable cause of his death both apparent and present, there weren’t many questions to ask.

  Mike Malloy was investigating another crime and so arrived after she did; minutes later a crew from the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension came in. The Medical Examiner became distracted by the investigators, so Betsy raised a hand to draw Lars’s eye and indicate she was taking Godwin into the den. When he nodded permission, they slipped away.

  There was some kind of rumpus going on out front; Betsy heard the noise coming through the front window of the den. She went to look out and saw a small crowd gathering, talking to one another and on their cell phones, gesturing vehemently at others to come where the action was—though there wasn’t any outside the house.

  This part of Excelsior had no sidewalks, so they stood in the street or on the broad driveway to the garage, and two even ventured close to the picture window to try to peer inside. This last move evidently drew the attention of the people in the living room. Betsy heard an exclamation from someone, and watched as Lars and Phil went out to do a little crowd control, waving people off the property. A new uniformed officer enforced the retreat by running a yellow plastic tape from tree to lamp post to tree along the edge of the lawn and across the driveway.