The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (22 page)

The boy nodded but quickly added, “I didn’t see anything.”

That response caused Theo to sit up. He had answered too quickly. “May I see your room? The view from your window to be more accurate.”

Eric shrugged and replied, “Do I have a choice?” Like an eighty-year-old man, he groaned and pushed himself off the sofa. “We have to go upstairs.” He led them upstairs to his room. His father and mother, in their dressing gowns, stood waiting at the top of the stairs.

“They want to see my room,” Eric said to his parents, as he hobbled down the hall toward it.

“Why?” the father asked Theo. “What do you think happened? I don’t understand. What does all this have to do with my son’s room? Do you think he was involved?”

This last question made Theo stop and look at the father. “I only need to see the view from your son’s window. Do you suspect your son is involved? Is there some reason we should look at your son?”

The mother gave her husband a slap on the arm. “No,” she said quickly, “there’s no reason. My husband’s being ridiculous. We’re shocked about what happened next door, that’s all. Put us off guard. Not the sort of thing that happens in our neighborhood, to people we know.”

Theo and Dorland entered the room at the back of the second floor. It was a typical bedroom for a teenager, looking as though a windstorm had blown through. Clothing carpeted the floor, cords and cables from every sort of electronic device imaginable crossed as unintentional trip wires. His computer, which would have been a great aid in schoolwork, was networked to his large screen television, which blinked the word PAUSE repeatedly on the screen, stopping the eventual shooting of what seemed to be a soldier in uniform.

Going to the window, Theo examined the desk placed in front of it. Piled upon Eric’s school papers and textbooks were heaps of DVD’s, games, and rock-hard, orange cheese balls. Theo doubted the boy used the desk much. Standing there, he couldn’t see through Helena’s kitchen window; he could barely catch the edge of the sink. However, he could see the patio doors and the garden. Moving a holed sock, a toothbrush, and a half-opened packet of gum, Theo sat down on the desk chair. He could still see out the window, and even better, had a clear view into the kitchen. Although Eric couldn’t see the floor, not only would he have seen Helena standing at the sink, but he may have caught a view of the killer.

Theo asked, “Eric, did you sit at this desk anytime Tuesday night?”

Eric kicked a sock under his bed. “That’s so long ago; I can’t remember what I did.”

Turning to the parents and the boy, Theo said, “Not many people know this, but we believe the person that killed your neighbor has murdered before.” He listened to them inhale sharply and said, “There’s a chance he may kill again. He’s very dangerous. If your son has any information that could be helpful to our investigation, to help us catch this person, it’s very important he speaks up.”

The parents looked at their son questioningly. Finally the father spoke, “Son, did you see anything?”

“I was working on a history project at my desk. It was due Wednesday. I had my earphones in so I didn’t notice much, especially outside. The neighbor lady, she’s not that interesting. I noticed she was there when she let her dog out, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

He sat down on the bed, grabbed his pillow, and put it on his lap. “It was so weird,” he continued slowly and quietly. “I looked down for one second and then when I looked up again, her face…” He grew pale. “I’ll never be able to get that face out of my head. I didn’t know what was happening at first; she was looking at me but not—does that make any sense?”

Theo nodded.

Eric said, “I thought she was making faces at me, and I laughed to myself. I laughed. Then, I saw…her hands, they went to her throat. I thought she was choking or something. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there watching…” His voice trailed off. His mother went and sat next to him on the bed.

“You saw the killer, didn’t you?” Theo asked.

“His face, it was so… sick. Sick. I only realized she was being strangled when I saw him. I only saw his face for a second, but it was messed up, warped. Something was wrong with it, but I don’t know how. I stood up then and quickly shut off my lights. I stood in the middle of my room, in the dark. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was dreaming or it was—”

“Or it was the drugs?” Theo suggested.

“I wasn’t on drugs. I’d had a couple of cans of Relentless and some pain killers to get rid of the headaches. I wasn’t sure. When I finally went back to the window, I couldn’t see her. It was quiet. I thought I had hallucinated, so I played games until I fell asleep.”

“How was it then that you rang the police?” Theo asked the boy.

“I woke up the next morning—those drinks really screw you up—looked at my window and remembered. It scared the shit out of me. Going over to my window…” He shivered. “Somehow, I got enough courage to look out. The kitchen light was still on, but I couldn’t see her. The dog lay by the back door, but he sometimes did that. All day at school, I was…” He shivered again. “Creepy. As soon as I returned home, I looked out the window again. The dog was still outside but barking, and she never came. I watched for fifteen minutes, she never came—and she always came.”

“So you told your father to check on her?” Theo looked toward his father for confirmation. The father nodded.

Eric didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at his feet. “She used to make me cookies,” he finally said. “And I was such a coward. I didn’t help her. I let her die. I watched her die.” He picked up a CD and threw it across the room. He started crying.

Theo went over and stood in front of him. Eric’s eyes met his. “Listen to me,” Theo said. “You couldn’t have saved her. He would have killed you, too. But, maybe you can help us catch him by describing, as best as you can, what he was wearing. What were his mannerisms? Why did his face look strange? Can you remember? I know it’ll be difficult, but it would be a great help.”

“God, I need a drink.” Eric replied.

“Would you like water?” his mother asked.

“No, Mum, a proper drink to calm my nerves.”

“What about a small amount of brandy,” his father suggested, looking at the police officers.

“No, I prefer rum and cola,” Eric said. “I hate brandy and vodka.”

Eric’s father ran down to the kitchen and when he returned with the mixture, Eric gulped it down without pausing. He handed the glass to his mother. “Thank you,” he said, wiping his mouth with his tee-shirt.

“Start at the bottom. Describe what he wore,” Theo suggested.

Closing his eyes, Eric took a few deep breaths. “I couldn’t really see him. He stood behind her, but I did see his arms. Well, his elbows…” He moved his arms in the same position the killer had his. “He wore some sort of black, it was all black. He must have been wearing gloves. She tried to…claw him, but she couldn’t.”

“Don’t focus on her, don’t look at her face. When did you see his face?” Theo asked.

“It was quick. She moved her head back, in some sort of jerky fashion, and his face came into view.” He opened his eyes and covered his mouth with his fist.

“I know it’s difficult. Just take your time.”

“No, I understand, I want to finish this. It’s making me sick. I just want to finish this.” Closing his eyes again, he concentrated. Moving his head left, as if to see the killer’s face more clearly, suddenly he opened his eyes wide. “He wore stockings. That’s why I couldn’t see his face. That’s why it was all warped. God, sick bastard. You catch the bastard. He was white, even though the tights were brown, he was white. He was about my height and had dark hair.”

“By the time you came back to the window, he was gone?” Dorland asked.

“Yeah,” Eric replied. “Why did he kill her? She was a writer and hardly ever left the house. Why did she get it? What did she do? Why didn’t he kill Evil Edwards across the street instead?”

“That’s exactly what we hope to find out,” replied Theo. He turned to the parents. “Please do me a favor. Just for the next few days, don’t let your son out of your sight.”

“You think he’s in danger?” his mother asked, holding tight to Eric’s arm.

“Probably not, but the man Eric saw has murdered before and would not hesitate to do so again. So far, your son is our only witness. If the killer realizes he saw him…”

Chapter 24

“Mr. Smithwick, I am sorry for your loss. My name is Theophilus Blackwell. I’m the Detective Inspector working on your wife’s case.” Theo held out his hand. Helena’s husband had arrived at Heathrow earlier that afternoon. Two officers brought him straight to the mortuary to identify the body. He took Theo’s hand and held it for a few moments.

“You’re very young,” Mr. Smithwick said quietly. He had a white stringy beard and a balding shiny head. Layers of wrinkles hung from his ashen forehead. He undid his top shirt buttons and did up his tweed suit coat.

Taken aback by his remark, Theo replied, “I assure you, my team is working very hard to find the person responsible for your wife’s death. Please, have a seat. I would like to ask you some questions; perhaps we may identify the killer.”

“This is one thing you never imagine doing.” He sat down. “I stared at her, expecting her to open her eyes. Telling myself it’s a dream. It’s not a dream, is it? More like a nightmare, and I don’t know what to do next. What do I do next?”

Theo examined his empty hands and realized he had exactly that—nothing. “I don’t know.” He guessed that people moved on if they could.

“She always wanted to go to heaven, my Helena, to be with her Lord. Do you believe she’s in heaven?” Mr. Smithwick didn’t seem to expect an answer since he immediately continued, “I think once she told me there was love in heaven. Convinced of it, she was. Love, that’s all she wanted really.” Leaning his back against the wall, he closed his eyes. “This is all too much to take in right now. She was a good person, loved life, loved her children, and loved me. I can’t think of a single person with a motive to kill her; everyone adored Helena. Sure, sometimes she was a bit absent-minded and would forget your name or be in another world. But who kills people because they think they’ve been ignored?”

Theo nodded. “Your wife wrote romance novels. Was she working on something else? Anything that might have been touchy or controversial, perhaps?”

Mr. Smithwick seemed distracted by the lights embedded in the ceiling.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry. What was your question, young man?”

“Was your wife working on anything controversial?”

“Oh no, never. A couple of years ago, she used to write historical fiction, but they were not controversial. No, never. Writing for her was a hobby as well as a career, something she enjoyed doing. She started after our son was born. She stayed at home with him, so she wrote to feel useful. Helena would never intentionally write to harm anyone’s reputation. That was not her style. I’ve read all her books. The characters don’t resemble anyone we know. My wife often told me how she made the characters up, nothing complex. Sure, she watched how people acted in the grocery aisles, but her novels are about finding love or romance. Nothing sinister. No, nothing.”

“Had you talked to your wife in the last few days?”

“We always talked. I phoned Tuesday morning from the hotel, around midday. Time difference made it about ten in the morning here.” He paused. “That was the day she died, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Theo. “Did she sound worried?”

Looking at his hands, Mr. Smithwick started to laugh lightly. “I guess it comes with the writing life, she always had things on her mind. I had to accustom myself to the fact that if she stared at me with what seemed like unwavering focus, she was probably in another place.”

“Did you discuss her schedule?”

Mr. Smithwick shook his head. “Her weekly schedule? At home a lot really. She went to the shops and certain places for research but preferred to be at home writing. Never even learned to drive, didn’t feel she should. She took a cab everywhere.”

“She never did public appearances, no book signings, lectures, writing groups, book groups, none of that sort?” asked Theo.

“Oh those, well, she did do, yes. Less now than before, but with her new book out, she had an American tour coming up. For information about her schedule, you had best talk to her agent. Round London, she had mainly discussion groups and signings at little book shops and libraries, but nothing really happens there. They went on mainly during daytime hours so mums and tots, you know, they show up but, Helena, she does it…did it, I don’t know really why she did it. I guess she wanted to hear what others thought of her books.”

“What did you think of her books?”

“My wife was brilliant. The smartest woman I ever knew. One thing about writers, they know people. They couldn’t be more observant if they wanted to.”

“And her books?”

“Well, they’re romances. They’re written mainly for women, not men, but we had our fun with it, if you know what I mean.” He stood and straightened his trousers. “I wish I knew who did this. I wish I’d been there.” He rubbed his head. “May I go?”

“Yes.” Theo watched him head for the doors but quickly called after him. “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Smithwick. Who had keys to your house?”

“What do you mean?”

“The problem is, we don’t know how the killer got into the house. There’s no sign of forced entry, so either he had a key or she let him in.”

“Other than Helena, and of course I, only the neighbor, Mr. Lyons, has a key.”

“Did you keep one on the premises somewhere?” Theo asked.

“No.”

“Would your wife let in a stranger when she was home alone?”

“Never. That’s why we got the dog. Helena never felt safe when I was gone on my lectures. She got the dog for protection, and she never opened the front door without Maxwell by her side. Where was Maxwell when they found her?”

“Outside in the garden, why?”

Mr. Smithwick looked down and mumbled, “She’d only let in someone she knew. And that means I know him, too.” He slammed his fist into the wall. “And whoever it is, I’m going to kill him.” He started to walk away again but stopped. He clutched Theo’s arm. “You wanted to know how the killer could have entered. I pray this is not the case, oh, I pray because it would be so terribly tragic.”