Death of A Raven Read online

  "Then she's not here every day?"

  "Not at all. I have two to three treatments a week. Today, as you can see, I don't."

  "You had a treatment on Saturday, the 30th?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "I understand that Miss Evans was here that day."

  "Yes, that's right. I had a particularly bad session the day before and so Reggie came over Saturday to help."

  "I know you've already been over this with Detective Palmer, but, if you could, would you go over when you spoke to your father that Saturday for me?"

  "Let's see. It was in the afternoon sometime. I think Reggie had gone out. Yes, it was sometime between two and three, I think."

  "Closer to ...?"

  "I'd say closer to three than two."

  "Did you have a long conversation?"

  "About fifteen minutes, I'd say."

  "And you called from your home?"

  "Yes," she said reaching for her glass of iced tea and taking a sip.

  Deevers nodded then pulled a notepad from his jacket inside pocket and flipped through some pages. "Ah, here it is," he said and looked back up at Mrs. Howland.

  "The phone company didn't have any record of that call."

  "They don't?" She brushed her right hand along the side of her hair. "Perhaps you're looking at the wrong day. I'm sure it was around three or so, on Saturday."

  "No, it's the right day. But wait a minute. There was a call around five that same day but for only a minute."

  "I may have called again later, but I know I spoke to him early that afternoon."

  "Isn't it strange," Deevers said looking from the note pad to her, "that there's no record of your call?"

  Virginia Raven-Howland glanced at Serengi then back to Deevers. "There must be a reason. Let me think. When it's more than a day old, it's hard to remember precisely what one has done."

  "Take your time," Serengi said.

  "Let's see," Mrs. Howland peered off at the blossoming shrubs in her backyard. "Reggie went shopping to see if she could find some matching fabric for a chair I want redone. That was in the afternoon. I was beginning to feel better by then. I was going through some old papers...ah! I remember. I went out. Reggie had already left by then. I came across a note I'd written myself some time ago dealing with some civil war replicas I wanted to look into. I felt well enough to drive myself and so went out to Smithfield to take a look." She laughed. "I'm afraid I got lost." She took another sip of iced tea.

  "I never found the place I was looking for but I did find a garage sale where there were two carved ducks for sale. My father's an avid collector. I asked the people to hold them for me while I ran off to find a phone. I'd foolishly forgotten my cell. I called my father from a gas station that let me pay to use their phone. God knows where it was, to see if these were ones he'd be interested in. End result was he already had similar ones so I never did buy them."

  "Were you in Smithfield when you called?"

  "You're going to think I'm an absolute ninny, but, honestly, I have no idea where I was. It took me a half hour just to find my way back to a road that could put me on US 1. I thought I'd never get back home."

  Serengi laughed with her, while thinking how convenient that story was.

  "How about the call to your father's house at five and then again at six?"

  "Once I pushed the wrong recall button, I think. I hung up when I realized the mistake I'd made. Sorry, that's all I can remember."

  "Did you go out in the early evening?"

  "Out? Like to a play or dinner?"

  "Out like to your father's."

  "I went out for a drive. I may have passed by the area."

  "Did you go out alone?"

  "Yes."

  "You weren't overly tired from your trip to Smithfield?"

  "Actually, yes, I was. But I feel good so rarely that I took the opportunity to get out and look around. I'm on a keep Raleigh beautiful committee and once a month we select a home or grounds of the month."

  "I see. So you drove around. You don't recall being in your father's neighborhood?"

  "Certainly I would have passed near there. There are many beautiful homes there."

  "Undoubtedly. But you have no specific recollection of stopping by your father's house?"

  "Not really."

  "Someone thought they may have seen you there."

  "When?"

  "Saturday around seven."

  "They sure it was that Saturday and not another? I've been stopping by so we can go over where we are in this whole transplant business, but I didn't that day. They may have seen me another time."

  "They were pretty sure it was the 30th."

  "Well, I'm afraid they're mistaken."

  Serengi spoke up. "Mrs. Howland, when I spoke to you originally, I was given to understand that you were out of sorts that Saturday. Feeling weak. Was I mistaken?"

  "Not entirely, Detective Palmer," she smiled a sweet smile at him. "I did feel weak in the morning. By early afternoon I began to get my strength back. When I spoke to you, all I could remember was the bad part. It's like a toothache: you get one and it colors your entire day."

  Deevers stood. Serengi followed.

  Deevers closed his notepad and returned it to his pocket. "We've taken enough of your time, Mrs. Howland. We'll do some more digging. As things develop, we may call and ask if you could come down to headquarters."

  "As you wish," Mrs. Howland said with a brief smile as she, too, stood.

  "She's lying," said Deevers when they were back outside in the Howland driveway.

  "I know," said Serengi. "How you want to work this? I'd like to find out why her husband committed suicide. We might come up with something there to put some pressure on."

  "Then I'll go after Ron Raven and his mysterious illness. Could be there's something there. Something that would make the old man blow his cool."

  "Like AIDS?"

  "Now you're talking. He's got the look, hasn't he?"

  Deevers swung into traffic then popped a fireball in his mouth. Mouthing around it, he continued. "Pretty sick family, if so. She's got what will be terminal if she can't get a transplant and he may very well have AIDS or something as bad. What'd ya think the odds are about that happening in one family?"

  "Not as wild as they once might have been."

  "Makes you wonder, too. What would they have to gain by killing the father?"

  "Maybe nothing. Maybe it's not a matter of gain."

  Deevers chuckled and glanced at Serengi, his fire ball bulging his left cheek. "Maybe they didn't want to leave him behind when they go?"

  Serengi sighed. He was used to his partner's warped humor.

  Chapter 16

  George Howland had attended UNC Chapel Hill on a scholarship, his parents having been of modest means. He had graduated in the top five percent of his UNC class, with a dual-major in Business Administration and International Relations. He married Virginia Raven, also a UNC graduate, that same August. The couple moved to Washington, D.C., where George got a job with the State Department. Virginia, a former journalism major, got a job editing a newsletter for one of the major organizations lobbying for the tobacco industry.

  Two years later George was posted to one of the emerging African countries. Serengi could find no more information on the couple until a social item appeared three years later saying that the Howlands had returned from East Africa. The next time the Howlands were in the news was when George died; six months after returning to Raleigh.

  There was no mention of where either Howland was working at the time.

  Serengi called an FBI friend stationed in D.C. for a name he could contact to find out more about George Howland's State Department tour of duty.

  "Mr. Sanders? My name is Serengi Palmer of the Raleigh, North Carolina Police. I was given your name by Bill Blair."

  "You know Bill?" The initial answering reserve had disappeared fro
m the voice.

  Serengi reminisced a few minutes with Sanders before inquiring what he knew of George Howland.

  "Howland? Where was he stationed?"

  "East Africa."

  "Ah. That Howland. Yes, I have heard of him. Some years ago, right?"

  “Yes. He was with State maybe four years ago."

  "Um. Time's right, too. What else do you know about George?"

  "He died three years ago."

  "Yeah, okay, we're talking about the same guy," the voice said. "I guess it doesn't make any difference now. He was involved with the trade negotiations that went sour just before closure. The story was that Nebutu, a politico on the outs, killed the negotiations when he accused his government and our trade people of making a deal that would funnel a kickback to the Americans.

  "It was all false but he swirled up enough of a storm to cause the in-power government to cancel everything. We eventually had to renegotiate. The later deal wasn't so hot."

  "And Howland? Is that why he returned to the states?"

  "Yeah. Nebutu had pointed a finger specifically at George. And in State, it isn't what's true that matters, but what is perceived. George's tour was cut short and he was returned to an admin job. His career was on hold, if not dead at that point."

  "So he left?"

  "That's right. It wasn't more than a year later that I heard the poor guy did himself in. Never understood it. Scary. I mean, there is life after State, right?"

  "There's always another option," said Serengi.

  Next, Serengi set out to find what George Howland had done during the six months preceding his death. He took a trip out to UNC and went through the yearbook of George's graduating class, picking out names of those appearing in group shots with Howland.

  After several calls he found two who were still in the area and who had kept in touch with Howland. Both told Serengi that George had been looking for a job locally when he returned to Raleigh. He hadn't found one as far as they knew. When asked if they had any clue as to why Howland committed suicide, one clamped up and the other mentioned feelings of inadequacy.

  Serengi wondered if John Raven was as demanding of his son-in-law as he was of his children. Coming back home without a hero's laurels might have been just a little difficult for George. Difficult enough, though, to kill yourself? Had John Raven been pushing on Howland? Was that the added straw that broke this camel's back?

  Would the answer to these questions point to Virginia Raven-Howland as her father's killer? But, if so, why did she wait so long? What would have precipitated it now? And again, Serengi came back to the fact that other than the eye witness, there was no trace of Virginia Howland having been at her father's house that weekend. The only known visitor was Ron Raven.

  Deevers surfaced from his phone with a self-satisfied smirk. "It pays to have friends in low places. Turns out Mr. Ron Raven has AIDS. That'd explain why he didn't want to go for a bone marrow test."

  "This for sure?"

  "Would I lie?"

  "Would your source lie, more to the point?"

  "Nope. The boy's got it. It's written all over him. This guy's a sick fellow. Geez, what a family. If it weren't for murder, I'd feel sorry for 'em."

  "Know what you mean." Serengi watched as Deevers popped a fireball in his mouth. "Your mouth'll burn up before your teeth have a chance to rot."

  Deevers grinned around his candy swollen cheek.

  "So," Serengi said, "if Ron is in a bad way with AIDS, it sounds like he didn't tell his family the real reason he had to be ruled out. The old man was sniffing around, though."

  "Yeah. What do you think he'd do if he found out?"

  "What could he do?"

  "I mean with his son? Come down on him. Hard. Right?"

  "You mean because he has AIDS?"

  "Yeah. Because now, no way could he be a donor even if he matched."

  "That's no different than if he had what he'd said: hepatitis. Why should this be any different?"

  "Maybe not to us, but who was he dealing with? John Raven. From what we know, he was a pretty straitlaced guy. Think he could handle a son with AIDS? Or a daughter for that matter?"

  "Maybe not." Serengi picked up his pen and began playing with it as he pondered what might have been the father's reaction.

  Deevers leaned forward. "Let's set the stage, here. the old man finds out about the AIDS and he demands to see his son. Ron comes reluctantly up to Raleigh and his old man rakes him over the coals. He's a disgrace, he's let his family down...you know the drill. Words get heated, Ron loses his cool and pops the man. He panics and skedaddles, dumping the gun somewhere between here and Wilmington.

  "Daughter Virginia shows up later, finds daddy Dearest dead and knowing Ron had been there figures it's her brother. Maybe she cleans up a little, maybe not. Any way, she goes back home and frantically tries to find Ron. When she does make contact they come up with the idea that she'll alibi him by saying she spoke to papa after Ron had left."

  "Why would she do that? After all, wouldn't she be a little angry that her brother may have cost her her life?"

  "She doesn't know that. No one does without ever actually having checked to see if there would have been a match."

  "You think she wiped some prints away?"

  "Might explain why the only ones found were those in the bathroom. None on the door other than, BettyAnn is it? You saw what Mrs. Howland was reading didn't you?"

  "You mean the mystery mag?"

  "Yeah. Read enough of that stuff and you might consider the culpability of prints."

  "Without the gun it's going to be a hard case to prove. Don't think there's enough yet for a D.A."

  "Right. We gotta break 'em down. Find out what really went on. I say we bring 'em both in. It might scare the bejesus out of one or both."

  "Let's do it."

  "Yep. But first let's do some digging around the bars in Wilmington. See if we can find some more on Ron now that we have a better idea of where he might hang out."

  Chapter 17

  After a half day of bar hopping and talking to the local police, all they had was the notion that life had become dangerous for some folks in the area. Out of towners, sometimes from the military bases, came into town looking for a fight, seeking a likely target. This being a movie-making town as well as a river port, the chance was good they'd find someone. Gays and associates were sometimes the victims. Ron's friends included both gay and straight. A few months back, there'd been a particularly nasty incident. Since then, a number of people had applied to carry concealed.

  It was common knowledge that with the delay in processing applications, many who couldn't wait were obtaining weapons under the table and not bothering to apply for a license. No one could say for sure how many unregistered and unlicensed guns there were or who had one.

  Both children arrived with lawyer, Mr. Michael Jones, in tow. Amenities done, it was quickly determined that Jones was no relation to the Jones Sausage people. Serengi and Deevers had decided to interview Ron Raven first and sent Virginia to another room to twiddle her thumbs until they were ready. The lawyer came with Ron.

  Deevers took point man. "Look, Ron. We understand you might not be feeling well, so we'll get this over with as quickly as you let us. How did your father react when he learned you have AIDS?"

  Ron's eyes widened a fraction. "He didn't. I don't."

  "Really? That's not what I've found out. You're a pretty sick fellow. Which is why we want to help you through this if you'll let us."

  "Ron, the state of your health is privileged information. Don't let them bully you into revealing something you don't need to." Mr. Jones intended to earn his money.

  "Let's assume we're right, here. You've got a serious illness, one that would preclude you ever being a donor for your sister. Your father, not an easy man to get along with in normal circumstances, finds out. Either on his own, and we know he was checking on what you'd told him,
or you gave it up to him.

  He's not going to like this, is he? Maybe he calls you up here to explain..."

  "I came up on my own to get those photos. I told you that."

  "Bear with me here," Deevers continued. "You arrive and he's in a tizzy. Angry and saying things he never should have said. Am I right?"

  Raven kept a placid face towards Deevers. Mr. Jones sighed. "We've no time for fairy tales. If you have something substantive to say to my client then do so else we are leaving."

  "No fairy tale this." Deevers looked back to Ron. "He told you you were a disgrace, didn't he? Said he'd cut you out of his will. Reminded you of all your other failures but told you this one was more than he could take. You disgusted him."

  Deevers watched a muscle tense in Raven jaw. "He wouldn't give you a chance to explain, I bet. He just went on a tear and wouldn't listen to reason or anything. Just like always. He never listened, did he? How'd it feel to be such a failure in his eyes?"

  "I was used to it. So, no, I didn't lose control. That's what you want me to say, isn't it? Well, you're wrong."

  "Stop baiting my client, Detective."

  "I'm not baiting him. I'm telling him how I think it happened. How any man would react in an onslaught like that. It's understandable when someone keeps putting you down that you might want to strike out at him. Isn't that right, Ron? Didn't you want to slug him one? Show him you weren't going to take that mental abuse any longer?"

  "Sure, I wanted to slug him. But I didn't. I walked away."

  "And he let you just walk away? You could turn a deaf ear to his ravings? Ravings the whole neighborhood could have heard had they been outside?"

  "Yeah, I walked away. And I had no intention of ever returning. He wasn't a father. He wasn't even a good custodian." Ron turned away, his jaw tight.

  "That's enough, Ron," Jones said, his hand on Ron's shoulder. "I think this interview is over. Ron's told you he walked away. You've got nothing that says otherwise."