Catch a Falling Knife Page 7

  “What kind of a car were you driving?” Detective Johnson asked.

  “An old Mercedes, 1986. Blue.”

  Detective Johnson flipped back a couple of pages in his spiral notebook. “You were the ladies that Elise’s roommate saw.”

  “Donna? We saw her but we didn’t speak to her.”

  “Okay, I need to sort all this out.”

  He looked tired. I wondered if he had been up since midnight. He asked several questions of Tess, and then realizing that he had exhausted her fund of information, he turned back to me and said, “You’re the one I need to talk to. But I want to talk to you alone.”

  “I have some chores to do, anyway,” Tess said. She got up, painfully, as her feet hurt her when she stood after she had been sitting for a while. Then she hobbled out the door.

  I invited Detective Johnson to sit down again, and this time he did. I asked him if he wanted a drink. He said he drank coke. Fortunately, I had bought some cokes for Mark so I got him a can along with a glass with ice in it. Then I sat down on the other end of the sofa. Detective Johnson looked young and I suspected his experience was limited so I decided to help him as much as I could.

  “Do you want me to tell you about my whole day, yesterday?” I asked. “It all has some connection to Elise.”

  He agreed with that approach. I started by telling him that Tess and I had gone to Eric Hoffman’s home.

  “Why did you want to talk to Mr. Hoffman?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated to explain,” I said, “so bear with me.” First I told him about Mr. Hoffman’s website. He acted as if he hadn’t known about it before and he scribbled notes as I talked. Then I said, “I assume you know that Elise had filed a charge of sexual harassment against Mark Pappas. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be looking for Mark.”

  Detective Johnson nodded and I continued, “I think that Elise may have been working as a stripper nights at Club Cavalier.”

  “You just told me her father posted license plate numbers on the Internet for Club Cavalier, as well as other strip joints.”

  “I know.” I told him about the tip I had received from Donna on the Shooting Star and how Albert and I had gone to see her. He took copious notes. “I thought if I could prove that Elise was the Shooting Star, that fact would help Mark’s case, somehow. So I hoped that Mr. Hoffman had connected one of the license plates to somebody who could be connected to Elise. Because, you see, I didn’t know at the time I went to see Mr. Hoffman that he was Elise’s father. In fact, I didn’t even know her name.”

  It took us ten minutes to sort that out. It became more and more obvious and Detective Johnson was suffering from sleep deprivation and was having trouble comprehending what I told him. His eye twitched on a regular basis. To help him out I took Tess’ pad—she had left it on the table—and on a blank sheet of paper I made a timeline showing what I had known when. After a while I think he got it.

  “All right,” he said, finally, “I understand why you went to see Mr. Hoffman. When you discovered that Elise was his daughter, did you discuss the harassment case with him?”

  “No, because I wasn’t sure he knew about it.”

  Detective Johnson thought for a minute. “Of course, he was all broken up about Elise’s murder, but when I mentioned the harassment charge to him and his wife after Donna told me about it, they seemed puzzled. I’ll bet they didn’t know about it. Did you mention the Shooting Star to him?”

  “Heavens, no. I’m sure he hadn’t heard about that.”

  “Yeah. It appears that Elise hid a few things from her folks. So why did he give you Elise’s address?”

  “I’m afraid I lied to him.” I told the detective about the organization to save girls from becoming strippers. I hoped he didn’t think that because I had lied about one thing I would lie about others.

  He didn’t interrupt and after taking some more notes he said, “So after you left Mr. Hoffman’s house you went to Elise’s apartment.”

  “We ate lunch first. And when we got to the apartment nobody was there.”

  “How long did you wait?”

  “Almost an hour. And then Donna showed up.”

  “And you knew who she was because she had given you the tip on the Shooting Star.”

  “Right.” He was brighter than I had given him credit for.

  “She identified you, too. She didn’t remember your name, but she said she had seen you in the Administration Building. She said you’re a professor.” He looked at me suspiciously.

  “I was a professor. I’m retired.”

  “But she didn’t say anything about the Shooting Star.”

  “Maybe she forgot.” I explained how we drove around the block and found Elise there when we returned.

  “Why did you want to talk to Elise?”

  That was a good question. What had I hoped to accomplish? Blackmail? I decided to stick to the bare facts. “I wanted to talk her into dropping the harassment charge against Mark.”

  “Did Elise admit to being the Shooting Star?”

  “The subject didn’t come up.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I told her how much damage she was doing to Mark.”

  “And…?”

  “She said she was sorry.”

  “And that’s how it ended?’

  “At that time, yes.”

  “What do you mean by ‘at that time.’”

  “Elise left me a voice-mail last night.”

  “What?” Detective Johnson jerked his head up so fast I was afraid he would hurt himself. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “Because I had so much to tell you. Would you like to hear it?”

  “Of course.”

  Detective Johnson listened to Elise’s voice-mail, turned to me and said, “Has Pappas heard this?”

  “I don’t think so. As far as I know, he hasn’t been here since yesterday morning.”

  He listened to it at least half-a-dozen times. Then he said, “Don’t erase that. I want to have the our lab make a permanent copy of it.”

  Our voice-mail is centralized so there was no tape that Detective Johnson could take with him.

  Mark walked through the door with a cheery, “Hi, Lillian.”

  Detective Johnson heard him and came around the corner from the den where the phone was located. I said, hastily, “Mark, this is Detective Johnson. Mark Pappas.”

  “Detective?” Mark asked as they shook hands. “Is something wrong?”

  “Have you been at the college today?” I asked.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Have you heard the news?”

  “Not really.”

  “Let’s not play games,” Detective Johnson said. “Elise Hoffman was murdered last night.”

  I could tell from the way Mark’s face crumbled and how he grabbed my small bureau for support that this was the first time he had heard about Elise.

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t have a chance to speak to Mark until much later. I had volunteered to leave my apartment while Detective Johnson questioned him. I went to Tess’ apartment, taking King with me, and called Albert and Sandra. I told them Mark had shown up, but that I didn’t know where he had been. I told them about the message from Elise. Sandra seemed to be more interested in trying to refute a possible murder charge against Mark than that Elise had said she was going to drop the harassment charge. I was relieved to hear her talk like that. I promised to keep them informed.

  Tess and I ate an early dinner in the dining room while the questioning continued. It was close to 8 p.m. when Mark called me and told me that Detective Johnson had left.

  Mark looked so haggard and wrung out when I returned to my apartment that I was afraid a breeze would blow him away. His face had scratch marks. For one awful moment I wondered if Elise’s fingernails had done that. No, it couldn’t be. I immediately got my thoughts under control and went about fixing something for him to eat, especially after he told me that he had only e
aten once since yesterday. Mark was a three-meals-a-day person. Minimum.

  “Go in and sit down, Mark,” I told him when he offered to help me. “You look completely beat.”

  “No, I need to talk to you, Lillian,” he said.

  He wouldn’t be persuaded to relax so I got him a beer from the refrigerator. Beer was another food item I had stocked up on when Mark came to stay with me.

  “I guess you know by now that the murdered woman is the one who filed the charges against me.”

  I said yes, figuring that a long explanation at this point was inappropriate.

  “I swear I didn’t know she had been killed until I walked through that door.”

  “I know,” I said. “It was obvious from your reaction.”

  “I want to tell you what happened to me.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “But you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last 36 hours,” Mark said. “You’ve probably been worried about me. After, all, I didn’t call you or anything.”

  “You can tell me later. I assume you’ve told the story to Detective Johnson. That’s what counts.”

  “I tried to. But he doesn’t believe me. And there’s no reason why he should.”

  “Okay, you’d better start at the beginning.”

  “I left here yesterday morning, fully intending to go to work.”

  He had left before I had.

  Mark took a sip of beer and continued, “When I got near Sandy’s condo I had an overwhelming urge to talk to her. Of course I knew she would probably be gone already, but the urge overpowered me so I stopped at her condo, anyway. Sandy wasn’t there. I let myself in with my key. I wanted to take a look at the things I had left. Among them were a pack, hiking boots and other hiking gear.

  “It suddenly occurred to me that I needed to get away for a day…to clear my head and get some perspective on my situation. That idea got a boost from the fact that I dreaded going to the college, even though I didn’t have any classes scheduled and so would have to face a minimum of people.”

  I wondered if Detective Johnson had played Elise’s message for him, but I decided I’d better not interrupt him.

  He took a few more sips of beer. “On impulse, I took the hiking gear and put it in my car. Then I drove west toward the mountains. After a while I realized that I was headed toward Mt. Mitchell, one of my favorite places.”

  “The highest mountain east of the Mississippi,” I said.

  “And it also has a road going up it. I thought I would drive up the road and, somehow, the solution to my problems would come to me in the thinner air, like a bolt of lightning. I forgot that the road might still be closed from the storms we had in February. Well, it was.”

  “Let’s continue this in the dining room,” I said, exaggerating the grandeur of the area where I eat. You can start on this salad. You need to get some food in you before you waste away to a grease spot.”

  Mark thankfully took the salad and we sat at the dining table. After a few bites, he started talking again.

  “I had driven all that way and I had my hiking gear with me so I put on my boots, took my pack and began hiking up the trail, figuring that I would go for a couple of miles and then turn back. But even after I got to the snowline I was able to follow the trail and I wasn’t cold so I kept going. Then it started to snow some more. I still kept going because I thought I was near the summit. Then a cloud dropped on top of me and I couldn’t see past the ends of my fingers.”

  Mark held out his hand to demonstrate.

  “I’m beginning not to like this story,” I said.

  “Wait, it gets better. I was finally smart enough to start back down the mountain. Except that the snow, which was now coming down hard, had obliterated my tracks, and visibility was so poor that it was impossible to spot any trail markers. At one point I slipped and tumbled down a slope. I got banged up and scratched, but it also knocked some sense into me. By the time I climbed back up I had admitted to myself that I was lost.”

  “Hang on to that thought while I get the rest of your dinner,” I said, wishing that this were a television show I could turn off. Mark could have died, although he obviously hadn’t, but I still wasn’t sure I could stand to hear any more. However, I returned with his dinner, wanting him to get on with the story so that he could get to safety. From then on, the story and the food competed with each other for his attention.

  “On top of everything else, it was starting to get dark,” Mark continued. “I knew the smartest thing to do was to spend the night right where I was rather than to go crashing around, get hopelessly lost and perhaps hurt myself.”

  “But weren’t you cold?”

  “The water in my canteen froze. But snow, after all, is water, so I didn’t have any trouble getting water to drink because I just melted snow in my mouth. I also made myself a snow fort for a shelter. I didn’t have thermal underwear, although I had been smart enough to take gloves and a wool hat, as well as my winter jacket. I also put on two pairs of socks. But, to answer your question, yes, I froze. I didn’t really sleep, but spent the night trying to maintain feeling in my arms and legs and eating the few bites of food that were left from my lunch.”

  “You poor thing,” I said, the mother instinct in me rising to the surface. “How did you find your way out?”

  “When it started to get light I knew I had to move before my hypothermia completely immobilized me, even though at that point the thought of moving was almost too much to bear. In fact, I was starting to feel comfortable, probably because I was almost numb. I was drifting off into another world. I even asked myself whether it was worth the effort to save myself because of what I was facing here.”

  I held my breath. I definitely didn’t want to hear this.

  “But I forced myself to come out of my cocoon—the snow had pretty much covered me and, in fact, gave me some protection from the cold—and found that the storm had passed and the sun was coming out. After a few minutes of careful searching I spotted a trail marker and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “I know you’re glossing over a lot, but even though you’re sitting here I’m relieved to hear that you got out safely. When did you manage to get something to eat?”

  “I returned to my car, started it, and turned the heat on full blast, until I stopped shivering and my body started functioning well enough to drive. Then I drove until I found a café. I went in and ate enough food to feed a good-sized elephant. I’m sure my waitress had never seen anybody eat so much. In fact, she made a few remarks about my eating.”

  “And then you drove back here?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could have called me from the café.”

  “I could have…but at that point I still sounded pretty awful and that would have worried you more, possibly, than you were worried already. And nothing against you, but in my weakened state I just wasn’t ready to reenter the hassles of civilization.”

  “When you came through the door you appeared to be in a good mood.”

  “By the time I got here I had solved all my problems. I was ready to get on with my life. And then…”

  “I know,” I said, softly, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Did you tell Detective Johnson the same story you told me?”

  “Yes, but of course I have no witnesses, so as an alibi it sucks.”

  “How about the waitress at the café?”

  “Shirley? Yes, I did read her nametag. And I did give her name to the detective, as well as the location of the café, although I can’t remember its name. Do you know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “Even if she verifies my story, that still doesn’t give me an alibi for last night.”

  “Did Detective Johnson tell you about a message from Elise?”

  “Message from Elise? No, he didn’t tell me much of anything. He just kept firing questions at me. I know the basic story, that she was apparently stabbed last night in her bed, but that’s about all.
”

  “I won’t go into detail because what you need more than anything else right now is some sleep, but I have a little good news for you. I talked to Elise yesterday, and last night she left me a message saying she was going to drop the harassment charge against you.”

  Mark showed surprise, then some relief. After thinking for a bit he said, “But since I didn’t know about that it doesn’t invalidate my motive for killing her.”

  Chapter 12

  “Whew,” breathed Wesley. “No wonder you and Tess missed the Bridge Club on Wednesday and you missed Chess Club yesterday. I knew it had to be something serious, but I didn’t figure on anything like this.”

  Wesley and I were the only residents of Silver Acres who were members of both the Bridge Club and the Chess Club. I had just finished telling him about Elise Hoffman and Mark, while Tess sat poised with her pad and pencil, in case I said anything significant that we hadn’t noted before.

  “I’d like you both to help me clear Mark,” I said. “You were a big help when I was working on Gerald’s murder, but of course this is more personal because I hope that Mark will be a legal member of the family someday. But that won’t happen if he ends up in jail.”

  “Where is Mark now?” Wesley asked.

  “He went to the college as usual this morning. He teaches two classes on Friday. Since he hadn’t heard anything different, he assumed he was still on the payroll.”

  “When was he last there?”

  “Tuesday. He took Wednesday off, as I said, and because he got lost he never made it yesterday.”

  “Mark wasn’t mentioned in the article about the investigation in this morning’s paper,” Tess said, glancing at the Raleigh News and Observer.

  “Probably because the sexual harassment charge hasn’t been made public,” I said. “The college has done a good job of protecting Elise, if not Mark. And the police apparently haven’t mentioned it to the press yet. But if he gets arrested, it will certainly come to light.”

  “It does say that, judging from the state of the body, the murder weapon was probably a sharp knife, maybe a carving knife. ‘There were approximately a dozen stab wounds in the chest area,’” Tess read.