“So am I. He’s a good accountant, I guess, although I have to admit I don’t know much about the museum’s finances.”
“You’ll learn. A director must know all aspects.”
“Director?”
“You’re the logical choice to step into Frank’s shoes. I’ve been very impressed with you, the five years you’ve been with us. I wouldn’t have recommended you as acting director if I weren’t seriously considering you to take over.”
It gave me a rush of pleasure, until I wondered how willingly Carlos would stand by me if I was arrested for Frank’s murder.
I murmured something appreciative and brought the conversation back to Vic. “Well, it will be good to have someone like Vic around to help me learn.”
Again Carlos’s eyes clouded. “There may be some changes in personnel now that Frank is gone.”
“Such as?”
“Obviously Tony. The volunteers do his job for him. And Vic, perhaps.”
Did Carlos suspect the embezzlements? His casual, hands-off manner might be designed so he could keep a finger on the pulse of the museum. “Why Vic?”
Carlos shifted in his chair. “Close the door, Elena.”
I closed it, then sat down and waited.
“As long as I’ve known Vic,” Carlos began, “he’s had certain problems. His ability to get good accounting jobs has been hampered all his life by his homely appearance. Strangely enough, he once was married to a very beautiful woman. She left him shortly before he came to the Hernandez Foundation, and she took their only child, a girl. Vic was heartbroken. He sent child support, more than was required, because he loved the girl, even though he never saw her.” Carlos paused, looking as if he wished he didn’t have to go on. “After Vic had been with the foundation a couple of years, the child became severely ill. I forget the nature of the illness.”
“Kidney disease,” I said, remembering my conversation with Vic the other night.
Carlos nodded. “The wife didn’t have health insurance. The child wasn’t covered on Vic’s policy. And the treatment was expensive. Vic scraped together the money for the hospital and doctors, but the child died within months. It was soon after her death that we discovered… certain irregularities in the accounts.”
“He embezzled the money for the treatment.”
“Yes.”
“Did he admit to it?”
“Yes.” Carlos sighed. “At that point, Frank stepped forward. He said he would make good on the money if we would keep Vic on. He said it would never happen again. After all, it was an exceptional circumstance, and the child was dead. He pleaded with those of us on the board, appealed to our instincts as parents.”
“And as a result, you kept Vic on.”
“Yes. And, of course, it never did happen again.”
“So why dismiss him now?”
“Call it starting with a clean slate. In spite of it never happening again, I’ve always felt uneasy about Vic. It may seem unfair, but I’ve always remembered it was Frank who bailed him out. And I’ve always felt that Frank could convince Vic to do anything he wanted him to.”
So Carlos hadn’t trusted Frank any more than the rest of us had. And Vic-of course that was why I hadn’t been able to fit the big, sad man into my mental picture of the embezzlement scheme. Frank had probably forced him to sign those checks, not through threats of exposure, since his crime had been known, but by playing on the guilt that Vic must harbor. The question now was, how much of that sort of emotional blackmail would it take to push Vic to the point where he might kill?
I looked away from Carlos, out the window, my heart aching for Vic.
“Don’t look so gloomy, Elena.” Carlos stood up. “It’s Cinco de Mayo. We have a party to get ready for.”‘ The smile he offered me was tired and cynical.
“Yes, a party.” I paused. The party was less than five hours away. My news about the embezzlements would not be all that shocking to him, given his feelings about Frank and Vic. Maybe…
“Senor Bautista?” Maria’s voice came through the closed door. “Your office is on the phone.”
“Excuse me,” Carlos said.
I got up to go.
“No,” he added, “I’ll take it at Maria’s desk. And I’ll see you at six.” He went out, leaving me alone in Frank’s office.
I remembered the sagging plant outside and went to the window. Unlatching it, I pushed the panes outward and looked down at the grate. Maybe I could lower something down there. The curved end of a coat hanger, perhaps. No, the stake would slip out of it. I’d send someone to the store for a new stake instead. Sighing, I closed the window, slamming it, and the old loose latch fell into place. It was then I noticed the crack.
It was a small crack, just a hairline fracture, down at the bottom of the left window panel. It was not really worth repairing. But it hadn’t been here when the board members had done their inspection of the premises before we took possession.
I ran a finger over the crack, then went to sit in Frank’s swivel chair. I turned it and stared out at the courtyard and the drooping azalea plant.
Once again I swiveled and looked up at the wall. At the now empty hook where Frank’s keys had hung: the keys to the alarm system and to the padlock at the end of the courtyard path. The keys that were missing. Those keys and their whereabouts at various times were crucial to the identification of Frank’s murderer. I tried to picture them, as I sat there in the chair that, barring disaster, would soon be mine.
I sat there, picturing the murder and how it might have been done…
If these pictures were accurate, they widened the spectrum of possible suspects. The killer had probably…
“Elena?” Again Maria stood in the doorway.
“Huh?” I looked up; I might have been seeing her for the first time.
“Elena, it’s time to fix the food. Can you come-”
“No.” I stood up.
“You said you’d make the guacamole. Nobody makes it like you do.”
“Sorry, Maria. I can’t do it. Ask Susana if she’ll come over. As I remember, hers is pretty good, too.”
“But-”
“And, look, I want you to remind everybody about the general meeting at four. I want everybody there-the staff, volunteers, and Jesse and Susana. I want everybody there who is going to help out tonight, so we can go over in detail what we have to do.”
Maria frowned at me, disconcerted by my abrupt manner.
“You’ve got that? Everybody.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll be back at four. We’ll meet in the office, around your desk. I’ll see you then.”
I brushed by her and headed for the exit. I had a little over two hours to get hold of Lieutenant Kirk. And to get his cooperation in setting a trap.
It shouldn’t be all that difficult to set one. And I was pretty sure Kirk would cooperate. Once he accepted that I wasn’t the killer, he’d be eager to identify and apprehend the guilty party. And he’d have to accept my innocence because I could now tell him how the killer had gotten out of the locked museum.
fourteen
The safest place to call Kirk from was my house, where no one could overhear. I drove home, nearly tripped over a bicycle that one of the neighborhood kids had left on my front walk, and rushed inside. After I dialed the police station, I drummed impatiently on the desk with my fingers as I waited for someone to answer.
Lieutenant Kirk was not in.
Well, where was he?
The desk sergeant said I should leave a message and the lieutenant would get back to me.
I left one. Urgent, it said.
And then I sat down to think.
A trap was called for, with or without Kirk’s cooperation. One that would point to the killer and no one else. I puzzled for a while, impatiently waiting for the phone to ring. Perhaps Kirk could come over here and we could plan together…
The phone rang. I snatched it up. It was my mother.
“Oh, good, you’re home. Are you all right?”