So, when the doorbell rang a little before noon, I wasn't too surprised to see Beth there. I said, "Come in."
She left her umbrella on the porch and came in. She was wearing another tailored suit, this one sort of a rust color.
I thought I should say I was alone, so I said, "I'm alone."
She said, "I know."
We looked at each other for some very long seconds. I knew what she was going to say, but I didn't want to hear it. She said it anyway. "Emma Whitestone was found in her house by one of her employees this morning, dead, apparently murdered."
I said nothing. What could I say? I just stood there.
Beth took my arm and led me into the living room to the couch. "Sit down," she said. I sat.
She sat beside me and took my hand. She said, "I don't know how you feel… I mean, I know you must have been fond of her…"
I nodded. For the second time in my life, I wasn't the one giving the bad news. I was the one hearing about the murder of someone I cared about. It was mind-numbing. I couldn't quite grasp it because it didn't seem real. I said to Beth, "I was with her until about ten last night."
Beth said, "We have no time of death yet. She was found in her bed… apparently killed by blows to the head with a fireplace poker that was found on the floor… there was no sign of forced entry… the back door was unlocked."
I nodded. He would have had a key which he never returned, and she never thought to change the lock. He knew there was a poker handy.
Beth continued, "There was the appearance of a burglary… pocketbook emptied, cash gone, jewelry box emptied. That sort of thing."
I took a deep breath, and said nothing.
Beth then told me, "Also, the Murphys are both dead. Apparently also murdered."
"My God."
Beth said, "A Southold PD was patrolling their street about once an hour and was keeping an eye on the Murphy house, but… he didn't see anything." She added, "When a new shift came on at eight a.m., the officer noticed that the newspaper was on the lawn and it was still there at nine. He knew that the Murphys rose early and took the paper in, so-" She asked me, "Do you want to hear this?"
"Go on."
"Okay… so he phoned them, then knocked on the front door and then went around back and saw that the rear door in the Florida room was unlocked. He went inside and found them in their bed. Both had died of apparent head injuries caused by a crowbar that he found on the floor with blood on it." She added, "The house was ransacked. Also, with the police presence on the street, it's assumed that the house was approached from the bay side."
I nodded.
Beth said, "You can imagine the Southold PD is in a state of uproar, and the whole North Fork will soon be. If they get one murder a year, that's a lot."
I thought of Max, who liked things quiet and peaceful.
Beth continued, "The county PD is sending a task force because now the thinking is that this is a psychotic who burglarizes houses and murders the occupants." She added, "I think that whoever killed the Gordons could have taken the Murphys' key from the Gordon house, and that's why there was no forced entry and why the back door was unlocked." She added, "That would indicate some premeditation."
I nodded. Tobin knew he might have to get rid of the Murphys at some point and thought ahead far enough to take the key. When Beth mentioned that the Murphys' key was not found in the Gordon house, that should have alerted us. Another example of underestimating the killer. I said, "We should have predicted…"
She nodded. "I know." She continued, "As for Emma Whitestone… well, either she left her door unlocked or, again, someone had the key… someone she knew."
I looked at Beth and saw that we both knew who she was talking about. In fact, she said, "I had that surveillance put on Fredric Tobin Sunday morning, as you suggested, and it ran all day, but some higher ups called it off from midnight to eight…for budgetary reasons… so, basically no one was watching Tobin after midnight."
I didn't respond.
She said, "I had trouble getting them to agree to any surveillance of Tobin. He's just not a suspect." She said pointedly, "I didn't have anything on him to warrant around-the-clock surveillance."
I was paying attention, but my mind kept returning to images of Emma, at my house, swimming in the bay, at the historical society party, in her bedroom where she was found murdered… what if I'd spent the night there? How would anyone know that she was alone…? It occurred to me that Tobin would have killed me, too, if he'd found me there, sleeping beside her.
Beth said, "By the way, I met Fredric Tobin at his party, and he was very charming. But he's a little too slick… I mean, there's another side to that man… There's something not so nice right behind that smile."
I thought of Fredric Tobin and pictured him talking to Emma on the lawn at his party. As he spoke to her, he must have known he was going to murder her. I wondered, though, if he decided to kill her to keep her from talking to me anymore, or if he just wanted to say, "Fuck you, Corey. Fuck you for being a wiseass, fuck you for figuring out I killed the Gordons, fuck you for fucking my ex-girlfriend, and just plain fuck you."
Beth said, "I feel a little responsible for the Murphys."
I forced myself to think about the Murphys. They were decent people, helpful citizens, and unfortunately for them, witnesses to too much that had taken place next door over the last two years. I said, "I brought a photo of Fredric Tobin to the Murphys on Wednesday, and they ID'ed him as the guy with the white sports car… Tobin owns a white Porsche…" I explained my short visit to Edgar and Agnes Murphy.
Beth nodded. "I see."
I said, "The murderer is Fredric Tobin."
She didn't reply.
I said, "He killed Tom and Judy Gordon, Edgar and Agnes Murphy, maybe that Plum Island veterinarian, and Emma Whitestone. And maybe others." I added, "I'm taking this very personally."
I stood and said, "I need some air." I went out back and stood on the porch. The rain was heavier now, gray rain falling from a gray sky into a gray sea. The wind was coming off the bay from the south.
Emma. Emma.
I was still in the shock and denial stage, working up to the anger stage. The more I thought about Tobin bashing her head in with an iron poker, the more I wanted to bash his head in with an iron poker.
Like a lot of cops who have a personal and close-up encounter with crime, I wanted to use my power and knowledge to take care of it myself. But a cop can't be a vigilante, and a vigilante can't be a cop. On the other hand, there were times when you had to put the badge away and keep the gun…
CHAPTER 30
Beth left me alone for a while during which time I was able to get myself together. Finally, she came out on the back porch and gave me a mug of coffee laced with what smelled like brandy.
We both stood silently watching the bay. After a few minutes, she asked me, "What is this all about, John?"
I knew that I owed her some information. "Gold," I replied.
"Gold?"
"Yes. Buried treasure, maybe a pirate's treasure, maybe the treasure of Captain Kidd himself."
"Captain Kidd?"
"Yes."
"And it was on Plum Island?"
"Yes… as far as I can guess, Tobin somehow got on to this, and realizing he could never get access to one of the most inaccessible places in the country, he began looking for a partner who had unlimited access to the island."
She thought about that, then finally said, "Of course… it all makes sense now… the historical society, the digging, the house on the water, the speedboat… we were all so hung up on plague and then drugs…"