Death of A Raven Read online

  "Yes. If he's out on a job, though, it might not be today."

  "Oh? What does your brother do?"

  "He's a marine consultant. He works with the fishing industry and the state. He's out on his boat a lot."

  "I'd like to talk to him today, if possible."

  She gave him her brother's office address and phone number.

  "Would Mr. Howland be of any assistance?"

  The thin lines at the edge of Virginia Raven-Howland's mouth deepened for a moment. "My husband's deceased."

  "I'm sorry." Serengi extracted his card and placed it on the table. "My number, if you happen to think of something later." He straightened and glanced at her tired face. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you, Detective Palmer. Are you sure my father was killed. It couldn't have been an accident?"

  "Did your father own a gun?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  "There wasn't a gun found nearby so it's unlikely he shot himself accidentally."

  "I see." Mrs. Howland slumped back against the seat cushion.

  The Evans woman got up and escorted Serengi to the door. Though her face was grave her demeanor was more relaxed than when she'd earlier answered the door.

  Serengi tipped his head at Regina Evans as he exited. She reached up with a hand and fluffed her hair.

  Chapter 4

  Ron Raven's answering machine took Serengi's call. He left no message. He decided to chance it and drove down to Wilmington. The temperature hovered in the mid-sixties making the drive down I-40 East a pleasant one. Serengi only wished he were going for the purpose of fishing for king mackerel instead of information.

  Ron Raven worked out of a small office not far from the docks. A small brass sign identified the office as belonging to Ron Raven, Marine Biologist. The door was locked, however another small sign listed a mobile phone number.

  Serengi called the mobile number.

  Ron Raven answered. A low rumble filled the background. Serengi told him who he was and asked when Raven would be back at his office. Raven said he'd be docking in about forty-five minutes. Could Serengi meet him then?

  "No problem," Serengi responded, figuring that would give him time to grab some food. They arranged to meet at the dock.

  Raven was tying up when Serengi found his slip on the Cape Fear River basin port. Though Raven's boat wasn't fresh off the forms, Serengi could tell it still must have cost a pretty penny. Equipped with a small winch, the 50-foot double-hulled trawler might hold its own in a small squall. Well tended, the boat held its age like a pampered lady.

  Its owner on the other hand had not weathered as well. Though his slim form was tanned, beneath the dark cap of hair his face was drawn and a faint tinge of yellow underlay the tan.

  Serengi extended his hand and introduced himself.

  "My sister told me you might call. I'm heading up there as soon as I clean up. You mind walking to the office?"

  "No. I don't want to take too much of your time. Could you tell me what you know of your father's activities these last few weeks?"

  "Not much. We didn't talk too often."

  "When was the last time you spoke to him?"

  "Three weeks ago? Maybe two."

  "Do you have any thought on how this might have happened?"

  "My father wasn't a guy with a lot of friends. But enemies? I don't know."

  They skirted their way through the afternoon traffic across the street from the dock side to the storefront side.

  "So you can think of no one who might have had a reason to be upset with your father?"

  "Not recently. I mean, if you go back a bunch of years, maybe."

  "Yes?" He noticed Raven was breathing heavily from the little bit of exertion.

  "Well, there's John. John Dormer. Used to be my Dad's partner years ago but something happened and they split. John's held a grudge against my father since then."

  "You know him, then?"

  "Slightly. I'd know him to recognize him, if that's what you mean. But I don't know much about him. Haven't seen him since before college."

  "What'd your father say about him?"

  "Only that there were things John had been involved with that my father wouldn't tolerate." A bitter chuckle escaped Raven's throat.

  "No idea what that was?"

  "No. You have to understand. It might not have been much. My father was a very straight-laced person, Detective. You did things his way or you were gone."

  "Sounds like you had a strict upbringing."

  "You could say."

  They'd reached Raven's office building.

  "Anything else?" Raven turned a pale visage to Serengi.

  "How may I get in touch with you later if I need to?"

  "I'll be at my sister's."

  "There is one more thing. No one's spoken of your mother. Is there a Mrs. Raven?"

  "My mother's remarried. Ten years ago. Her married name's Tilden. Lives in Cary."

  Serengi made note of this then flipped the notepad closed and stuffed it back in his inner pocket. He gave Raven his card and watched as he entered the office building. Serengi wondered how winded Raven would be after walking up the flight of stairs. He shook his head. Health was at a premium in the Raven family, it seemed.

  Chapter 5

  The first thing Tuesday morning, Serengi stopped in John Raven's office and obtained Raven's appointment calendar for the week preceding his death. According to his assistant, Raven had been working on the disposition of three estates and the incorporation of a family business in the process of going public.

  The first decedent left only one living relative, currently residing in Montana. The bulk of the estate was left to the relative, with the residual left as bequests to favored charities. The second estate being settled was cut and dried: the deceased having left all to his spouse of forty years. The third and most recent estate to be disposed of was not as simple because although the deceased had been single, the bequests were to friends of some twenty years prior, who had to be tracked down.

  On Friday, Raven had worked half a day then left for golf. He'd met with only one client, the widow of Robert George, just before he left for the day. Two lunch-time appointments, one with a sitting district judge, the other with a state senator, were the only other appointments denoted. Serengi planned to speak to the widow George and both the judge and the senator.

  The legislature was in session so Serengi left a message for the senator to call him. The judge was in court so, once again, he had to leave a message, this time suggesting that he meet with the judge when court recessed for the day.

  He had no trouble finding the widow. She was home and said come right over. He did just that.

  Before leaving Raven's office, one of the legal assistants had filled him in on the background of Robert George. The deceased had made his fortune as an import-export broker, then later become prominent in state and national government. Not a native North Carolinian, he had nonetheless found himself accepted by and drafted for a number of local boards, including the UNC Board of Governors.

  The woman who opened the door of the George home was not at all what Serengi expected. For one thing, she was old enough to be his grandmother and he was no baby lamb. He figured her for somewhere in her eighties. Sparse white hair covered a many-lined face from which fading blue eyes appraised him. Slightly bent, the woman stuck out her hand.

  "Detective Palmer?" Trace of British accent.

  "Yes, ma'am. Mrs. George?" Her firm grip was another surprise.

  "That's me. Come right in. The study 's bright in the morning, let's go there." She closed the door and marched ahead of him. A musty scent of lime trailed after her.

  After they were seated and Serengi had proffered his condolences, he asked her what she could tell him of her meeting with John Raven on Friday.

  "Not much to tell. All it was about was a bit of legal mumbo-jumbo. The IRS, you know.
Couldn't have been there more than fifteen minutes."

  "How'd he seem to you?"

  "Pleasant but intent on the business to be done. That's John all the way. Nasty business, this. Do you think you'll be able to get the bugger that did it?"

  "We hope so. Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?"

  "No. We reviewed some of Robert's papers and that was it. Though he did say he'd be taking off for the afternoon. Do you think maybe that's when it happened?"

  "Can't say for sure yet."

  She nodded.

  Serengi had no more questions. On his way out he noticed a photo of a man presumably Mr. George in a strong jawed, straight-backed stance.

  Chapter 6

  By mid-morning Tuesday, Serengi had a preliminary report from CCBI. A 38-caliber bullet had been recovered from the wall, where it had imbedded after passing through John Raven's neck. The autopsy report wasn't in yet, but it appeared that Raven was standing when he was shot, twice, from a range of less than four feet. The gun used hadn't yet been found.

  Serengi checked for pistol permits for anyone in the Raven family, the ex-wife, her new hubby, as well as the former partner, Dormer. Only Dormer and Ray Tilden had permits, but not for a weapon that would chamber a 38-caliber cartridge.

  All were squeaky clean as far as Records was concerned. Dormer had once been pulled in for misdemeanor assault for his involvement in a bar fight, but the charges were later dropped.

  Before leaving to check out Dormer, he put in a request for Raven's phone records of the past month.

  John Dormer's office was a short drive away from Wake County Courthouse. The neighborhood wouldn't attract the affluent, but it would do for bargain basement law.

  The lawyer's office shared the building with a pawn broker and a bail bondsman. Dormer's office was on the second floor. Dust motes swam in the weak sunlight entering a smudged window at the end of the hall. Serengi opened the office door and was assaulted by the reek of stale cigarette smoke. He entered into a cramped waiting room; two benches and a couple of chairs arrayed against two walls competed with a small magazine table and an Office Depot desk and chair set of the month--but not this month or this year.

  The woman behind the desk, plump, squat, and seventy if a day, Serengi surmised, looked up from her computer. "What can I do for you?"

  Serengi showed her his badge and asked to see Dorman.

  "He's with a client. And take a look--there are three ahead of you."

  He'd noticed the teen, face with an attitude, the slim middle-aged woman in tailored black slacks, heels, and silver shirt who'd given him a cold glance, and the faded-fatigue clad fellow with the lined face, arms on knees, hunched over. He didn't look back at them.

  "No, I believe I'm next. I'm not here on personal business. How long before he's free?"

  She shrugged. "Have it your way. He'll be maybe another fifteen minutes."

  Only the woman client glared at him when he took a seat. He thought he heard her mumble something about 'damn police state' but chose to ignore it. Instead he picked up a ripped Sports Illustrated and leafed through.

  Serengi only had to wait ten minutes. John Dormer's office was as cramped as his waiting area. The man who stood and extended his hand when Serengi was allowed in by the gate-keeper had seen a few miles of his own. Shadows lay beneath tired eyes, the hair, though well-cut, was dull, and thin lines bordered the mouth.

  "Call me Jack. What's up?" Dormer resumed his seat behind a heavy wood desk.

  Serengi grabbed a nearby chair and sat. "I understand you used to be a partner of John Raven?"

  Dormer's eyes didn't flicker. "That's right. Long time ago. Maybe fifteen years."

  "He's dead, though perhaps you already know."

  "I read the papers." Dormer kept his focus on Serengi.

  "So few do," Serengi mumbled, then, more directly, "What can you tell me about the man?"

  "Why ask me? I haven't seen or spoken to him in years. I like it that way."

  Serengi noted the use of present tense. "Doesn't mean you don't have an opinion or hear things."

  Dormer smiled. "I hear things, yeah. Nothing that might help you, though. As I hear it, he hasn't changed in all these years. Still the self righteous bastard."

  "How's that?" Serengi's gaze was attracted to a loose thread on Dormer's jacket.

  "Surely you know that John had to have everything just so. No deviation. No creativity."

  "Is that what broke up your partnership?"

  "You could say that."

  Serengi glanced at his surroundings then back to Dormer. "Quite a difference. Any resentment towards Raven?"

  "At first there was. Back then, I might have killed him myself." Dormer's left thumb whitened in his clasped hands. "But I didn't and time passed. I'm doing all right. Not originally what I planned but life goes on."

  "How'd your family take to the change?"

  "My wife divorced me. You should already know that. I found another woman who didn't care about status. I'm content."

  "So what had you heard lately about Raven?"

  "He's your man if you're white, conservative, rich, and a member in good standing in your local church. Rarely, does he handle criminal cases. That's good. Keeps him out of my bailiwick."

  "So you've had no contact with him then?"

  "That's what I said."

  "Have any thoughts on who might have wanted him dead?"

  "Not really."

  Serengi kept his gaze on Dormer.

  "Besides," Dormer said leaning back in his chair, "why kick a man when he's down?"

  "Oh, was he in trouble?"

  "He wasn't, but his daughter's got cancer. I heard she's waiting for a transplant. Raven must have been frantic about that."

  "What kind of transplant?"

  "Not sure. I just heard talk, you know?"

  "You hear any more talk you think I should know, give me a call, Jack," Serengi said, dropping his card on the desk as he stood.

  "Right."

  Serengi left the office door open on his way out, earning a frown from the gate keeper.

  Chapter 7

  The autopsy report confirmed that Raven had died from the bullet wound to the chest. The bullet had glanced off a rib and ruptured his aorta. The neck wound, though messy, wasn't the direct cause of death. Stomach contents indicated death occurred after a light meal of a sandwich. Serengi figured that could have been lunch or dinner. The daughter had said she'd spoken to her father around three. If true, then death came sometime after three.

  He called Virginia Raven-Howland's home. He got the Evans woman and left a message for Mrs. Howland to call him.

  He called Marcia Tilden's home. She was in. He made an appointment to drive out and see her.

  It was a quick ride out to Cary's MacGregor Downs where the Tildens lived. He found the three-story English Tudor house without any trouble. Like most of the homes there, its lawn was trimmed to inch high, fresh pine straw snuggled against tree and shrub base, and not a stray branch or leaf marred the drive or walkway.

  He had to ring the bell only once.

  "Detective Palmer?" The woman who answered was as neat and manicured as her landscape.

  "Yes. Mrs. Tilden?"

  "Yes. Please come in." She stepped aside to let him pass.

  He followed her to the living room. The sand-toned rug was the quietest furnishing in the room. Deep emerald sofa and chairs, two wall-long splash paintings, bursting with color, and a Waterford vase filled with fresh cut flowers and ferns centered on a bronze-edged glass table competed for his gaze.

  "Thank you for seeing me. As you know, this is about John Raven. You mentioned you had spoken to him recently?"

  "Yes, that's right. About my daughter, our daughter, Virginia."

  Serengi nodded.

  "She's ill, you see. John and I rarely spoke until Virginia got sick."

  "How recently did you speak t
o him?"

  "I believe it was Friday. It's a private matter, Detective."

  "Nothing's private in murder, Mrs. Tilden."

  "I suppose not. Well, then, John was angry that Ron refused to go for a bone marrow test. For Virginia. To see if he was a match."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know. And that's why John was so angry. He was sure Ron would be a match and the best chance Virginia had." She looked inward for a moment. "He scared me at the time. His anger was white-hot. I could tell even over the phone...he got that measured, cold, tone."

  "Had Mr. Raven spoken to his son about it?"

  "No. He hadn't been able to get in touch with him. He'd left messages but Ron must have been out on his boat. Ron wasn't answering even the cell phone because I tried, too."

  "Do you know why your son refused?"

  "Not at all. I can't understand it. In fact, I mean to ask him myself when I see him. I understand he's in Raleigh now."

  "Was there anything else Mr. Raven mentioned that he was concerned about? Business? A client?"

  "No. Besides, that's not something he'd talk to me about. Our only communication dealt with our children."

  "Did Mr. Tilden have any communication with Mr. Raven?"

  "No."

  "Oh, one more thing. I know your knowledge is from some time ago, but from what I've learned he was a very meticulous man."

  Marcia Tilden snorted. "I'm sure he didn't change."

  "Was he habitual in things like when he ate, went for walks, that type of thing?"

  "Absolutely. Orange juice, rye toast cut in halves and spread with margarine and plum jam, coffee, one sugar, no milk, must be on the table by 6:30 every morning, week-end included; lunch, beef bouillon soup and sandwich, cheese or meat, no mayonnaise, by 12:30 every day; and supper, fish or beef, two green vegetables and a potato, promptly at 6:30."

  Serengi smiled. "You still remember."

  "You don't forget the things your life revolved around for twenty-odd years."

  Serengi stood. He thanked her for her time and left his telephone number.