Before they left this morning Sean told me he had finished printing the contents of Lawton’s files and left the papers in the den for me. I decided now was a good time to delve further into them for more evidence. With Damitra Vane out of the picture—I winced at the unintentional pun—Ralph and Magda Johnston were definitely center stage.
“Come on, boy.” Diesel crawled out from under the table and gazed up at me. He meowed, and I patted his head. “I know, sweet boy, things were tense there for a while. But she’s gone now, and we can go have some nice quiet time to ourselves.”
I realized he still wore his harness, and I removed it before we headed for the den. He chirped to thank me.
The den, the room next to the living room and down the hall, was as much my personal library as anything. Bookshelves lined all the walls. A few of them were in place before I moved back to Athena. The rest I added—or rather, my contractor classmate’s crew did. This room was my refuge, and I came in here when I wanted to surround myself with the warm and contented feeling my books gave me.
Diesel liked the room as much as I did. He had his special place here—an old afghan, knitted by my late wife, spread on an old leather sofa. He would stretch out and snooze at one end while I sat at the other, my feet on a hassock, and read or—increasingly often, I had to admit—napped.
While Diesel rooted around in the afghan and arranged it to his satisfaction, I turned on a couple of lamps and then went to the desk to examine the stacks of paper Sean had left.
One pile appeared to contain more letters and probably e-mails as well. A second one was obviously the play Lawton was working on when he died. A third group, and much the smallest, seemed to be notes on various things. I glanced at them, but they didn’t catch my interest.
Suddenly I recalled what Laura had revealed about Lawton’s strange comment to her. “The play’s the thing.”
How could I have forgotten that?
I carried that stack to the sofa with me. Diesel was settled in, already stretched out, drowsing, when I got comfortable on the bit of sofa left for me and began to read. Diesel’s hind feet and tail twitched against me from time to time, but I was used to this. It stopped when he fell asleep.
I read for perhaps half an hour, trying to make sense of the play. Though the scenes and acts were labeled in sequence, they seemed disconnected to me, almost as if Lawton had been writing two plays rather than one. The quality of the writing was erratic as well. In some of it I saw the brilliance that Laura kept insisting Lawton possessed. In other parts, well, the kindest word I could think of was dull. How Lawton got from dull to brilliant I had no idea.
The brilliant scenes captured my attention for an even more important reason than their quality. If Ralph or Magda Johnston had read any of this, they might well have killed Lawton to keep the play from ever being read, let alone produced.
THIRTY-ONE
There were echoes of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in Lawton’s untitled play, but the characters Rafe and Maggie were distinctly their own and not pale imitations of George and Martha. This was distinctly a roman à clef, however. I easily recognized Ralph and Magda Johnston from Lawton’s vicious portrayal of them and their turbulent relationship, and I hardly knew them.
Had the playwright seriously thought he would be able to produce this play? Without being sued for libel?
Lawton was arrogant, as I well knew, but this was arrant stupidity.
Plus it was a solid motive for murder.
There were unflattering portraits of minor characters as well, including Sarabeth Conley, thinly disguised as Sally Conway, but Lawton directed most of his vitriol at the main characters.
Surely once Kanesha read this she would concentrate her investigation on the Johnstons. What more compelling motive could she find?
Then I remembered Damitra Vane.
What reason could the Johnstons have for killing her?
The obvious answer to that was that Damitra Vane either had known or seen something that could directly implicate either Ralph or Magda.
Had the Johnstons worked together on the murders? I figured Ralph would have to have killed Damitra Vane. I didn’t think Magda would be strong enough to cut Damitra’s throat, not without significant resistance.
Another sickening image forced itself into my head—Magda Johnston assisting her husband as he savagely wielded the knife.
For a moment I felt like I needed to throw up, but I focused on deep, centering breaths, and the feeling passed.
I pulled out my cell phone. I hesitated briefly but then speed-dialed the sheriff’s department. Kanesha would probably chew me up one side and down the other for calling her, but I had to be certain she read this, and soon.
I waited for the receptionist to put me through to Kanesha. Canned music played in my ear for almost four minutes before the chief deputy answered.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Harris? I’m extremely busy right now.”
Judging from her tone I was at the bottom of her list of favorite people right now, but I didn’t let that intimidate me.
“Have you had time to read any of Lawton’s files yet?”
Kanesha countered with “We know someone copied the contents of that drive before Miss Harris turned it over to me. I’m frankly surprised it took you this long to talk to me about it.”
There was no point to feeling chagrin, I decided. “I’m surprised, Deputy, that you didn’t threaten us with some kind of charge, when we talked earlier today.”
“I still might bring charges, Mr. Harris. The investigation is ongoing.”
The cool amusement in her tone deflated me a bit, although I should have expected her to say that. She had the upper hand and was enjoying it.
“Back to my question.” I tried not to sound impatient or irritated. “Have you read any of the files?”
“Yes, I’ve read some of them. What is it you want to direct my attention to?”
“His play, the work in progress that the students were workshopping.”
“What about it?” She still sounded amused.
Was she deliberately trying to make me lose my temper with her? After brief reflection I decided she probably was, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
“Laura told us that, during the last conversation she had with Lawton, he muttered something. A quotation from Shakespeare, actually: ‘The play’s the thing.’ It’s from Hamlet, and the full quotation is: ‘The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.’ “
“I’ve read Hamlet, Mr. Harris. In senior English class at Athena High School.”
“Then surely you see the significance. That play has to be important. It’s a clear motive for murder.” My temper was beginning to fray, despite my best intentions.
“I’m well aware of what that quote might mean. Matter of fact, I’ve read a few pages of the play, and I’m already considering how it fits into my investigation. Now, is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“No, that was it.” Score one for Team Berry, I decided. That’s me, firmly put in my place. “Thanks for your time.”
“The department is always happy to hear from the public.” The phone clicked in my ear as she ended the call.
I stuck my cell phone back in my pocket and glanced over at Diesel. Head raised, eyes blinking, he meowed at me.
“I’m an idiot, boy; you might as well realize that now. I never know when to leave well enough alone.” I sighed as I stroked the cat’s side. He meowed again and went into languorous stretch mode, shifting until he was on his back, head twisted at what looked to me like a painful angle. I decided it was the librarian in me, the part that always wanted to help people find the information they needed. I wasn’t a busybody, surely.