“Again, I can ask, but I have no reason to believe Caleb would tell me.”
“It’s worth a try,” Rawls said.
“What about Janey?” Stone asked. “Why do you think her killer is a different person?”
“The crimes are very different,” Rawls said. “There was no sexual crime in the deaths of Barbara and Esme, and they were all simply executed, two of them in their bed. We think Janey’s murder was one of opportunity, and the murderer was your garden-variety rapist-killer. You can find those anywhere, and our guess is that, eventually, Sergeant Young is going to figure out who this one is.”
Harley spoke up. “We think Janey knew her killer and that she wrote something about him in her diary; that’s why it was stolen.”
“What about Don Brown? Who do you think killed him?”
Rawls looked uncomfortable. “We think it could be either the Stones’ killer or Janey’s. I’ll admit, we’re on shakier ground here, but we think the Stones’ killer is the more likely suspect, and that’s Caleb.”
“Frankly, Ed, I think your original idea of Don’s being killed because Janey had told him something is the better theory, and the theft of her diary supports that.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” Rawls replied, “but we have the similarities of the Stones and Don being killed under similar circumstances: I’m talking about being shot with their own guns and the vacuum cleaner being left by the door. There’s nothing to connect Janey’s killer with Don’s.”
“Something else has come up,” Stone said. He told them about the entry into Dick’s house the night before and the theft of the safe. “So another girl’s diary has been stolen, and the vacuum cleaner was left by the door, as when the family was murdered. That’s a connection.”
“But how did your burglar know the diary was in the safe?” Rawls asked. “For that matter, how did he know that Esme even kept a diary?”
“As to the diary, I think the killer could have supposed that most or all teenaged girls keep diaries, and he had to find both of them, if they existed, in order to protect himself.”
“But how did he know it was in the safe?” Harley asked.
Stone shrugged. “Because he’d looked everywhere else in the house, and the safe was the only place left?”
“Maybe,” Rawls said. “But I think we should concentrate on Caleb for the time being.”
Holly spoke up. “The state police have verified that Caleb was in Boston when the Stone family was murdered. How do we get around a solid alibi?”
“Maybe it isn’t as solid as they think,” Rawls said.
“These killings are like a crossword puzzle,” Stone said. “You think you know the answer to both the across clue and the down clue. They both seem solid, but when you write them both down, they don’t match in the middle. When that happens, it means that one of the words is wrong. Maybe both of them.”
“Are you still thinking about Kirov and the Agency connection?” Rawls asked.
“Well, it’s still on the table, though I think it’s not as strong a possibility as it once was. It looked pretty good when it was all we had.”
“Look,” Rawls said, “let’s pull out all the stops with Caleb: Look again at his alibi, check his finances, look at the old will, the works. If he doesn’t pan out, then we can turn our attentions elsewhere.”
“All right,” Stone said. “You work your end, and I’ll work mine, and Holly can work whichever end appeals to her.”
“Okay,” Rawls said. The Old Farts got up and shuffled out.
Stone went to the phone and called Caleb Stone.
“Good afternoon, Stone,” Caleb said amiably.
“Caleb, can I buy you lunch at the yacht club tomorrow?”
“Sure, but we should be there by twelve o’clock; it gets crowded.”
“Fine, twelve o’clock. And Caleb, if you have a copy of Dick’s previous will handy, will you bring it?”
“I don’t have one here, but I’ll call my office and have them FedEx it to me. It should be here by lunchtime.”
“Thanks, Caleb. See you at noon tomorrow.”
Chapter 38
STONE ARRIVED AT the yacht club promptly at noon to find Caleb already there. A FedEx envelope was on the table. Caleb shook his hand.
“I’ve already placed an order for two burgers and fries. I hope that’s okay,” Caleb said. “The kids gang up on the kitchen around this time, and we could wait half an hour if we don’t get our order in early.”
“Great.”
“You want a beer?”
“Sure.” Caleb retrieved two beers from the counter and set them on the table. He tore open the FedEx package and removed a blue-bound document, scanned it quickly and handed it to Stone. “That’s the previous will, which was superceded by the one you gave me.”
“Thanks, Caleb.” Stone tucked it into his pocket.
“The substance of it was that he left all his assets to Barbara and she to him. If she predeceased him, then everything would go to Esme in trust, until she was thirty, with me as the sole trustee. If they died together, say, in a car crash-or as they did die-then everything would come to me.”
“I understand,” Stone said. Their burgers arrived, and they began to eat. “Caleb, I know you’ve already been through this with the state police, but I’d like to go through the time line with you. Until all this is substantiated, they’ll still consider you a suspect, but I’d like to do what I can to eliminate you as such.”
“I’m a suspect?”
“Everybody on this island is a suspect until eliminated by an alibi, and the police are trained to always start with family. This whole thing is baffling to the police and to me, and the only way they can clear the case is to start with everybody and narrow it down.”
“I understand. Do I need a lawyer?”
“No, I’m not a policeman; I’m just doing what I can to help.”
“All right, ask me anything you like.”
“Let’s talk about the day before the night of the murders. Can you give me an account of your day and evening?” Stone took out a notebook and opened it. This was a common cop technique with suspects: If they knew everything was being written down, it concentrated their minds on getting it right.
“It was a normal day. I was at the office by eight-thirty a.m., as usual. I worked through the morning, ordered in a sandwich, ate lunch at my desk, then worked until six-thirty. I had a lot of dictation, letters involving several estates. My wife came to the office at six-thirty, and we had a drink. Then, at seven, we went to a retirement dinner at the Ritz-Carlton for Alden Hayes, head of our litigation department. It was Alden’s last day; he was retiring to Florida. We got home around ten, watched a program on television, then the eleven o’clock news. We were asleep by eleven-forty-five.”
“Who else was in the house?”
“Only the twins; we don’t have any live-in help. The boys had gone out to dinner and come home late.”
Stone noted all the times. “Tell me about the following day.”
“I had breakfast with my wife; the boys were still asleep. I was at my desk by eight-thirty. Shortly after that I got a call from Seth Hotchkiss, telling me what had happened. We had planned to leave at noon that day for Islesboro; I called home, gave the family the news and told them to get ready for an immediate departure. We were on the road by ten-thirty, in two cars. My wife and I drove the Suburban, and the boys followed us in their car.”
“What kind of car do the boys drive?”
“A BMW convertible. One of the nice things about having twins is that they don’t mind sharing.”
“What time did you arrive on the island?”
“We came over on the three o’clock ferry, so we would have landed at three-twenty, and fifteen minutes later we were at home. I went over to Dick’s house and talked with the state police, who were still there.”