The Arms of Death Page 14

  Here was something. She read the news item, her eyes narrowing as she concentrated. He was on the board — no, he was the owner of record — of a commercial firm that produced vaccines. Ginny blinked. Vaccines protect you from viruses. Which meant this man had access to viruses.

  Ginny’s alarm went off and she glanced at the clock. She would have to continue this later. She closed the file, pulled the thumb drive, and grabbed her purse.

  * * *

  Ginny rang Professor Craig’s doorbell and was immediately admitted. Both Theresa and Mark were waiting for her.

  “Thank you so much for letting me come,” she said.

  “We’re happy to help, and to get your help. Come in, please.”

  Ginny was ushered into the front room and took a look around. She had never been in Professor Craig’s house before. On the outside, it was a rather non-descript example of a single-family residence of the previous generation. A builder’s house, solid, unassuming, and utilitarian. To her surprise, it was furnished in rather better taste. The background colors were neutrals and earth tones, the moldings clean and in good repair, the walls adorned with chair rails and original artwork.

  “The office is this way.” Theresa led her across the living room and into a side hall. Professor Craig had turned what was clearly intended as an additional bedroom into his home office. There were filing cabinets, an antique partners’ desk, oak bookcases, an oriental rug, and a picture window. No art on these walls, but a very pleasant room nonetheless.

  Ginny described what she was looking for to the other two, suggesting she start on the computer.

  “Let me take the filing cabinets,” Theresa said.

  “And I’ll look through the books and unfiled material,” Mark said. That, as it turned out, included Professor Craig’s briefcase, which they found tucked under the desk.

  They worked in amity for an hour, reading file names and details to one another, the two Craigs asking Ginny to translate some of the more esoteric terms for them.

  “I think,” Ginny said, “that the best thing to do with most of this stuff is turn it over to Elaine. I can take care of these.” She set the ‘Hal’ pile aside. “And the computer files should help identify whatever else he had going on.” She copied everything on the Professor’s hard drive onto a flash drive she had brought with her and slipped it into her pocket.

  “The material I’m supposed to be looking for won’t be typewritten. It will be handwritten, on old paper, and may be in poor condition. It will probably also be in a protective sleeve. Have you seen anything that sounds like that?”

  Mark nodded. “Yes. Several.” He moved over to join his wife at the filing cabinet and pulled out a half dozen examples of primary source documents.

  Ginny looked through them, handling them with the reverence they deserved. Anything made in the eighteenth century in America was a museum piece, even if in poor condition, but none matched the description Hal had given her of his missing proofs.

  “These should all go to Elaine as soon as possible.”

  “Can you take them?” Theresa asked.

  “Yes. Let’s put them back in the files they came from and I’ll take them with me.” The other two nodded and in ten minutes they had the files boxed and stashed in Ginny’s car, awaiting her next trip to the library.

  “Is there any other place in the house where old documents might be stored?” she asked.

  Mark shrugged. “Not that we know of.”

  Theresa chimed in. “We’ve been trying to locate all the legal documents so we’ve had every drawer and closet and box open and ransacked. I haven’t seen anything else that looks like these.”

  “Okay.” Ginny sighed. “I guess they’re not here.”

  “How about lunch, then?” Theresa asked.

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  Thursday

  Ginny found chips and sandwiches laid out on the kitchen table.

  “This young man you’re looking for those files for, Hal?” Theresa ventured.

  “That’s right. Hal Williams.”

  “Mark tells me he saw him at the dinner.”

  Ginny nodded, giving an overview of Hal’s interest in genealogy and his mother’s interest in Texas history.

  “So what are these papers for?”

  “They’re a confirmation of his inheritance of the ancestral arms.” She explained how the English recorded and controlled the distribution of coats of arms and added that what Hal was doing was merely a formality, to bring the files up to date.

  “It all sounds terribly exciting.” Theresa said.

  “It’s not, really. Only a step away from children playing dress-up. But it can have real advantages if you’re doing business in the UK and his company is.”

  “What does he do?” she asked.

  “He’s a biochemical engineer. What he’s trained to do is inspect facilities that handle dangerous chemicals or biologics, to make sure they come up to safety code, but he has business ventures worldwide.”

  “Oh. How nice.”

  Ginny smiled. “What about you two?”

  Mark explained his banking background and shrugged. “Boring, but it pays the bills, most of them, anyway.”

  “I fill in with part-time teaching at the elementary school,” Theresa said.

  “That sounds scarier than the ICU.”

  Teresa laughed. “It can be.”

  “Speaking of scary—”

  Ginny looked up from her sandwich to find Mark’s eyes on her.

  “There’s something else we wanted to ask you about.” He took a deep breath. “I hope we’re not imposing, but my wife–” He corrected himself. “No. We both think someone has been trying to break into this house.”

  Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Someone’s playing tricks with the phone,” Theresa said. “It will ring and, when I answer, the person on the other end of the line hangs up.”

  “Could be a wrong number.”

  “Yes, but there’ve been other things.”

  “Someone tried to get in last night,” Mark said.

  Ginny put her sandwich down and gave him her full attention.

  “I was away until late last night and Terry hadn’t been feeling well so she went to bed early. She heard glass breaking and got up to investigate. When she turned the lights on in the kitchen, she saw the door swing shut and heard someone running away.”

  Theresa spread her hands. “There was no car in the drive, you see, and the house was dark, so we think he must have thought it was empty.”

  Her husband nodded. “When he found out it wasn’t, he got scared and ran off.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Of course. They said the phone calls were probably from this guy, a way for him to find out if the coast was clear for a burglary.”

  “Did the phone ring last night?”

  Theresa nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t hear it. We found a hang-up on the answering service this morning. Something roused me about eleven p.m., probably the phone ringing, but by the time I was fully awake it had stopped. I got up to use the bathroom, went back to bed and was just drifting off again when I heard the glass breaking in the kitchen.”

  “Why should anyone want to break in here?”

  Mark shrugged. “Well that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “What did the police say?”

  “To replace the broken pane and call them again if anything else happens,” Mark said.

  “And to consider staying at a motel if we don’t want to take the chance of running into this guy face to face.”

  Ginny looked from one to the other. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t going to take that advice?”

  Mark set his cup down. “Because we think there may be more to this than a random burglary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Uncle Don was murdered.”

  There was a moment of complete silence while Ginny racked her brain. How man
y people had she mentioned her suspicions to? No one at work. Andy and the police, of course. Alex. Jim. Who else?

  “What makes you think that?” she asked.

  “We had a detective here this morning,” Theresa answered.

  Mark nodded. “The Medical Examiner’s office called them and suggested Uncle Don’s death might not have been an accident. She didn’t say anything to us, sidestepped our questions, but what she wanted to know was whether Uncle had any enemies. Or anything worth being killed for. She was especially interested because of the attempted break-in.”

  Ginny bit her lip. Was there any reason for any of the people on her suspects list to try to break into the dead man’s house?

  “There doesn’t have to be a connection. It might be just a coincidence.”

  The other two nodded. “But the timing is suspicious.”

  Ginny had to agree. “I understand some people read obituaries, looking for opportunities. There are all sorts of scams perpetrated on unsuspecting heirs.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “Well, the attempt was real, so it was either someone who thought the house held something worth stealing, or he was planning to attack me or Theresa.”

  “Which seems unlikely since he ran away when I woke up,” Theresa added.

  Mark nodded. “Or there’s some connection. In which case there’s someone out there who knows something.” He leaned toward Ginny. “You were there when he died. You knew him. You know more than anyone else about what happened. We’re hoping you can help us.”

  Ginny found she’d been holding her breath. She let it out in a sharp sigh.

  “What is it you think I can do for you?”

  “We’d like you to look around here, in the house, and tell us if there is anything here worth murdering him for.”

  Ginny’s brow wrinkled. “You realize I have no business being here at all, much less going through his things.”

  “We’re asking for your help,” Mark said.

  “Please?” Theresa added.

  Ginny looked from one to the other, Andy’s words ringing in her ears. Leave the investigating to the police. But it was true they might not know what they were looking at, especially if it was something to do with genealogy, and, if she found something, she could turn it over to them. That would be helpful. She sighed, then nodded.

  “Okay. For whatever good it may do, I’m at your service.”

  * * *

  The Craigs rose with alacrity.

  “The place is full of old furniture, but you’d need a van to haul it off, and we haven’t found any secret vault, not even a wall safe.”

  “If the break-in and murder are connected, he was looking for something specific,” Mark added. “The office was the most likely place for Uncle Don to keep incriminating files on someone, but—” He shrugged.

  “I assume you asked the bank if he had a lock box?”

  “We did. He didn’t. Not at his usual bank, anyway.”

  Mark ushered her into the master suite. “We were just beginning in here when you arrived.”

  They split up the room and got to work. It was Theresa who pulled something from behind the curtain. “Hello. What’s this?”

  Mark joined her. “It looks like one of those fireproof containers you’re supposed to put important documents in.”

  Ginny nodded. “I’ll bet you’re right.”

  Theresa tried the handle. “It’s locked, but I think I may know where the key is. Wait a minute.” She left the room and returned bearing a wooden cabinet with carved doors. “This was hanging in the laundry room.”

  She opened the cabinet and found dozens of keys, each on a ring, and each labeled. They turned each tag over until they found one that said, “Firebox.”

  “God bless his fussy little heart,” Mark grinned. “He used to drive me nuts when he would come for a visit and everything would have to be just so.” His smile faded. Theresa reached over and patted his hand.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Open the box.”

  Mark inserted the key and turned the lock. He set the lid aside and drew out a thick wad of official looking papers. He handed a portion to each of the others and the three of them settled down to go through them, tossing them into a communal pile when done.

  Forty minutes later, Mark sat back and sighed. “Nothing. I mean, it’s useful to have a copy of the deed to the house and so forth, but there’s nothing here worth murdering someone for.”

  Ginny smiled at him. “You were hoping for stock certificates? Or gold bullion?”

  Mark laughed. “No, I guess not.” He looked around at the room. “After all, he was just a librarian.”

  Theresa settled back against the wall and stretched her legs, a single sheet of lined green paper in her hand. “Here’s something I can’t figure out.” She handed it to her husband.

  He looked at it, then turned it over, then went back to the front. “It’s a list of some kind.”

  Ginny peered over his shoulder. The page was headed, Antique Prints.

  “It looks like an inventory of art works. See? Down the left side are the titles, with what appear to be dimensions. Then the name of the artist, the date of production, and country of origin.”

  He studied the headings. “The value column is empty.”

  “But the date of acquisition column is not. One per year.”

  Mark frowned down at the list. “If you’re right, then where should we be looking for these?”

  Ginny wrinkled her forehead. “If they’re pictures, they might be on the walls. Look at this one.” She pointed at one of the entries. “10 inch x 12 inch scroll section, watercolor on parchment, Heian period, Couple in a Swing. Have you seen anything around the house that would fit that description?”

  “Oh!”

  Ginny and Mark both looked up at the sound.

  To Ginny’s surprise, Theresa had blushed a deep rose color. Her husband looked at her.

  “What is it, honey?”

  She looked at him in obvious distress. “I’d rather not say.”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Theresa got up and abruptly left the room, leaving the other two staring after her. Mark rose and started to follow, but she returned almost immediately carrying a cardboard portfolio. She set it down on the floor in front of them and backed away.

  “I found that yesterday, in a box tucked behind one of the bookcases in the living room.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just open it.”

  Mark reached for the folder and undid the ties that held it together. He opened the cardboard cover and exposed the top print.

  Ginny smiled to herself. So the old man had a hobby after all. She had seen something like it before but Theresa, obviously, had not.

  Ginny glanced at Mark’s face, to see how he was taking it. He turned over the next picture and the next. Masculine curiosity, of course, and a faint shadow of distaste. The exaggeration, no doubt.

  “What is this?” Mark asked at last.

  Ginny bit her lower lip. “At a guess, illustrations from a sex manual.”

  “It’s pornography,” Theresa said.

  Ginny shrugged. “Human beings have always been interested in where babies come from.” She lifted one of the prints, examining the brushstrokes and pigmentation. “I’m no expert, but — if they’re genuine — I’ll be surprised if this collection doesn’t turn out to be worth a small fortune.”

  Theresa stared at her. “You mean someone would pay money for this?”

  “Yes, and I doubt you’ll have trouble finding a buyer to take them off your hands, once you prove ownership, of course.”

  “Uncle Don, it appears.” Mark was looking slightly less scandalized.

  Ginny shrugged. “It’s possible he was holding them for someone else, but I don’t think so. Look at the dates. The list covers more than thirty years and they seem to have been acquired one at a time. The only thing I don’t understand is, if he was investing in antique art, why didn�
�t he record the original prices? And where are the receipts?”

  Theresa shuddered delicately. “Well I think it’s disgusting.”

  Mark smiled at Ginny and closed the folder, carefully securing the ties. “I think we’re going to need an expert. You don’t know anyone, I suppose?” He set the folder aside.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t, but I’m sure there won’t be any trouble finding one. Just call the auction houses and ask. In the meantime, was there anything else in that fireproof box that might be worth stealing?”

  “There’s this, but it’s non-negotiable. It wouldn’t do a thief any good.” Mark picked up an envelope he had set aside and pulled out the top sheet, glancing down at it. His face went suddenly blank.

  “What is it?” Theresa asked.

  “A life insurance policy.” He handed it to her.

  “Oh.” She unfolded the paper, read it, then read it again. “Oh!”

  Ginny felt the electricity in the air between the two of them and carefully averted her eyes. Whatever was on that policy was no business of hers. She rose to her feet.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to spot anything that looked like a connection to your uncle’s death, but that doesn’t mean it’s not here. I hope you keep looking.”

  Both of them stared at her as if they had forgotten she was there. Mark came to first. He climbed to his feet, followed by his wife. “What should we do, if we find something?”

  “Let Detective Tran know.”

  Mark nodded.

  Ginny held out her hand to each of them. “Thank you very much for lunch. I’ll let Elaine know about the client files.” She was moving toward the front door as she spoke, the other two following as if pulled in her wake. They rallied enough to wish her a good day and close the door behind her.

  Ginny took a deep breath and hurried out to her car. Professor Craig, a collector of antique pornography. And, unless she was very much mistaken, a large life insurance policy into the bargain.

  Jim’s comment about the heir and the inheritance had taken on a whole new dimension, but it was obvious to her that neither of these two had known the insurance policy or the prints existed. If Mark Craig had a motive for murdering his uncle, that wasn’t it.