A Perfect Case of Murder Page 2

  “Unless she was ordered to.”

  Doc fell silent, the anguish of hearing that last statement evident on his face.

  “Dr. Westerfield told me about the gunshot wounds,” Cammie spoke up. “The first shot would have killed her instantly. Seven additional shots would indicate that her killer not only wanted her dead. They wanted her destroyed.”

  “I agree. Those shots were done at a much closer range. From the trajectory, the killer stood over her as they fired the gun,” Mantree nodded.

  “Do you have any suspects?” Doc forced himself to ask.

  “We do have one person of interest we’re looking at. Did your aunt ever mention a man by the name of Henry Harding?”

  “Yes, she did.” Doc turned to Cammie. “Helen and Mr. Harding were involved in a lawsuit.”

  “Over what?”

  Mantree interjected. “When Mrs. Carsgrove bought her property four years ago, she forbade the locals from using the rights of way they’d been using for over a century that traversed her land. It caused a lot of hard feelings in the community. Finally Mr. Harding, whose family has been in these parts since the late 1800s, decided to do something about it. He sued Mrs. Carsgrove.”

  “I take it the suit didn’t go well for him?” Cammie asked.

  Mantree shook his head. “Mrs. Carsgrove had him out lawyered and out funded from the get go. Henry had no choice but to declare bankruptcy. His house and lands are about to be repossessed by the bank.”

  “That’s certainly cause for killing Mrs. Carsgrove,” she said.

  “We have no proof yet, but we’re keeping an eye on him.” Mantree turned back to Doc. “When was the last time you saw your aunt?”

  “This past February. I periodically made visits to make sure she was alright. We spoke then about the lawsuit. I urged her to drop it, but she refused. Helen was a fanatical environmentalist. She was adamant in her refusal to allow hunting or fishing on her property.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “She called us several times over the years to report someone trespassing on her land. She was convinced there was hunting and fishing taking place, despite her strict orders.” He paused. “With the exception of Henry, do you know of anyone else who would have wanted to hurt Mrs. Carsgrove?” Doc thought for a moment, then shook his head. “How did you find her demeanor the last time you saw her? Was she nervous? Frightened?”

  “You must have noticed those few times you encountered her that Helen Carsgrove was afraid of nothing.”

  Mantree offered a slight smile. “Yes, she could be a bit formidable.”

  “That’s a polite way of saying she could be obstinate, uncompromising and recalcitrant.”

  Cammie inwardly rolled her eyes. Did Doc really not realize he’d just described himself to a tee?

  Mantree must have realized the same thing because he was smart enough not to respond. Instead, he asked, “I understand she came up here from Boston. Why would an elderly woman choose to live off the grid? It’s a difficult life at best for someone half her age.”

  Doc gave a hint of a smile. “Because she valued independence. She was at a point in her life where she was widowed, her daughter was grown and she could now do whatever she wanted.”

  “It seems to me she could have picked a less remote place in which to be independent,” Mantree replied.

  Doc shrugged. “She always enjoyed the outdoors. She was very athletic and tried to keep that up in spite of her age.”

  Cammie remained silent, but there was something in Doc’s tone of voice that instantly told her he wasn’t being entirely truthful about the reasons Helen Carsgrove chose to live in such an isolated area. The problem was, she couldn’t figure out why he was lying. Or omitting important details. Not willing to say anything in front of the lieutenant in case she was wrong, she decided to save her questions until they were alone.

  “So you don’t believe she may have been running away from something in Boston?” Mantree questioned.

  Doc’s eyes narrowed. “What are you insinuating?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything, Dr. Westerfield. We’re simply covering all bases.”

  “No, my aunt was not running from anything or anyone. She simply wanted to live out the rest of her days surrounded by the nature she loved so much. She’s not the first, nor will she be the last who does that.”

  “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

  Doc visibly bristled. Cammie prepared herself for the inevitable explosion of scathing insults. It wasn’t long in coming.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, I am the only physician in Twin Ponds. It’s a position that keeps me inexorably busy. Yesterday, from about noon-time until three in the morning, I was in the midst of delivering Mrs. Ferguson’s fifth child, which is why I did not get your messages until this morning. I’m sure she will provide you with a statement that during her intensive labor, I did not sneak away for five hours, murder my aunt and return to help her give birth to a bouncing eight pound, 3 ounce baby boy she named Justin in honor of his grandfather.”

  He’d delivered his statement in a staccato voice that sounded suspiciously like a machine gun going off.

  She watched as the two men stared at each other, neither backing down as they silently waged a war of wills. By the tight look on Mantree’s face, it was plainly evident he was not accustomed to dealing with someone who turned sarcasm and condescension into a finely-tuned art form. Realizing this display of masculine posturing could go on forever, Cammie was about to say something to break the stalemate when the lieutenant abruptly turned his attention to some paperwork he had laid out on the desk in front of him.

  “You said you were heading up to your aunt’s home after we finish here?” the lieutenant asked in a tight voice.

  “That’s correct.”

  “I should warn you that when we entered her premises, we saw that her home had been ransacked. We should have fingerprint results in a few weeks.”

  Doc blinked in surprise, his irritability disappearing. “How bad is it?”

  “There were papers strewn about, drawers emptied, clothes thrown on the floor. The family photographs that were on top of her piano looked as though they’d been thrown to the rug and deliberately smashed. The most extensive damage was to the portrait of your aunt and I believe your late uncle. Someone took a knife to her face and slashed it several times.” Doc’s face paled as Mantree continued. “It would be helpful to our investigation if you would provide us with a list of items you believe may have been stolen from your aunt’s home. We understand how difficult this is, but we also need you to identify the body.”

  Doc gave a dazed nod of his head.

  Mantree asked a few more cursory questions, took Doc’s fingerprints for elimination purposes since he’d admitted to visiting Helen’s home, then led Doc and Cammie down to the coroner’s office.

  As Clarke County’s coroner, Doc was on a first name basis with many of the men in the surrounding counties who made their living dissecting the physical aftermath of the cruelty human beings were capable of inflicting on each other. Usually he was the one who was solicitous and compassionate to the families of the victims, knowing their shock would be with them for the rest of their lives. Being on the receiving end now, he found himself surprisingly irritated and impatient. He just wanted to get this over with and escape the walls that seemed to be closing in on him. He steeled himself for what he was about to see, convinced that he could handle it.

  He was wrong.

  Surrounded by the familiar smells of formaldehyde and death, Doc observed as the coroner pulled the body out of the refrigerated vault and unzipped the body bag. Unable to stop himself, Doc audibly gasped as he took an involuntary step backwards. Standing next to him, so did Cammie, her stomach clenching in sickening horror.

  There was nothing left of Helen’s face except bone and flaps of skin where her forehead and chin would have been.

  With his features drained of color and his hands shaking at the gru
esome sight, Doc had no choice but to identify his beloved aunt by the clothing and jewelry the coroner had removed from the corpse, as well as by the distinctive scar on her knee sustained when, as a young girl, she’d been rammed up against a fence by a difficult to handle horse.

  When they were done, Cammie followed a withdrawn and ashen Doc back to his Navigator where he sat staring out the windshield in numbed silence. She climbed in next to him, refraining from speaking to allow him to try and gather himself together as best he could. After twenty minutes, faced with the prospect of turning into a human popsicle in the increasingly cold vehicle, she leaned over and whispered, “Doc, we can go up to Allagash another day.”

  Her voice seemed to rouse him. Taking a deep breath, he adamantly shook his head. “No. I prefer to get this over with.”

  He turned on the Navigator, and thankfully the heat, and they began the three hour trip to Allagash.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It turned out Helen Carsgrove didn’t actually live in Allagash. Instead, Cammie was surprised to find that she lived in the middle of a large meadow several miles outside the tiny town that was the gateway to Maine’s north woods. Now she understood why Mantree had wondered what would compel a blue blooded Bostonian to move to such a remote area. Looking about her at the dense wilderness, she wondered the same thing herself.

  Standing with Doc inside the small cemetery where Win Sackett found the body, she recognized the signs that the forensics team had been there. She studied the outline on the ground where Helen had collapsed behind one of the oldest tombstones. Nearby was a neat pile of rocks whose purpose she only realized when she saw here and there the beginnings of a stone border in front of some of the tombstones.

  It was a peaceful place and one, if she’d lived here, she might have been drawn to. The view across the rolling meadow, with the swift running stream cutting through the landscape, was spectacular. However, knowing what she knew about the difficult relationship Helen had with her neighbors, she found herself silently questioning what had compelled the woman to enter this lonely little cemetery. Did she make it a habit of visiting the burial site of someone else’s family? Or, more ominously, had she been lured here?

  Yet why this particular spot? And why lure her all the way up here in the first place? Wouldn’t it have been easier to simply kill her in her home?

  Helen’s cabin was the epitome of remote living. There wasn’t another cabin for miles around. The winds that blew up and down this hill were strong enough to carry away any screams if she’d been attacked in her home or barn. By choosing to be so inhospitable to her neighbors, it could have been weeks or months before anyone came looking for her. Instead, she’d been killed out in the open. In the only spot where her body had the potential of being found. Why? Was the killer trying to send a message by killing her where they had? At the same time, could it have been a murder of opportunity? Whoever killed Helen obviously hated her. The shot to the back of the head would have been enough to end her life. The seven additional shots were overkill. Was it possible the killer had stumbled onto Helen in the cemetery and taken advantage of the moment to kill her? There were no weapons found on her. She’d had nothing to defend herself with. Unless Doc was hiding the fact that Helen had been a martial arts expert, she’d been as vulnerable as anyone could be. Had words been exchanged which enraged the killer, causing them not only to murder, but to destroy her?

  A stiff wind blew up, shaking the trees that stood behind the cemetery, its mournful howl echoing in her ears. Despite the calendar announcing it was spring, the temperatures this far north were still cold, causing Cammie to burrow into her parka.

  She glanced at Doc out of the corner of her eye. He was standing very still, staring down at the spot where Helen’s body had been found. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was holding up remarkably well. But she knew him as well as anyone could. She saw the tightness around his jaw and noticed how tightly he kept his fists clenched in his Peruvian alpaca gloves.

  He’d been unusually quiet during the three hour drive - not surprising considering how badly shaken he’d been after viewing Helen’s body. Allowing him time to process the situation, Cammie occupied herself with reading a copy of the coroner’s report they’d been given before leaving Houlton.

  It reiterated what Doc and Mantree had already told her. Helen Carsgrove was 71 years old at the time of her death. The trajectory of the seven additional bullets fired into her body indicated she was on the ground and already dead when shot. The coroner estimated she’d been dead for at least an hour before Win found the body. Viewing the scene, Cammie concurred. With the proximity of the cemetery to the deep forest, if she’d been dead any longer, the predators would have had a feast on her corpse.

  She turned her head and looked out over the valley. Maybe she was overthinking the situation. It was always possible Helen simply liked the view from up here. It really was beautiful. And serene. And something straight out of a picture postcard. If you discounted the wind that blew up in such gusts that it threatened to knock both Cammie and Doc over, she could almost believe that was why Helen had come here. And despite the fact that the cemetery housed the remains of the Sackett family, it was on Helen’s land. She had every right to come up here as often as she liked.

  “I’m going to head down to the cabin,” Doc suddenly said. “Are you coming?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute. I just want to soak this all in a bit longer.”

  “If you burrow any deeper into your parka, you’ll end up coming out the bottom.”

  She had to hand it to him. Despite his grief, he was still a mothering hen where her health was concerned.

  He let himself out through the gate and began the trek down the hill towards Helen’s cabin.

  Alone now, Cammie slowly walked back and forth among the tombstones, trying to read what was and wasn’t there. As a police officer in Seattle way back when, she’d gotten into the habit of remaining at the crime scene after everyone had gone. It was only then, with just her thoughts to keep her company that Cammie would attempt to feel her way through what had occurred. She’d always believed that a traumatic event left a scar behind, a tear in time and space that anyone who was sensitive or aware enough could pick up on. It never told her who the murderer was, though that would have been nice. Instead, it allowed Cammie to walk with the victim in their last moments, getting into their heads, their emotions, their terror and their fear as they realized they were about to die.

  She strode over to where she believed Helen would have been standing just before the fatal shot. Turning, she saw the proximity to where she was to the gate. It was a straight line. Whoever had entered the cemetery would have been able to walk right up to Helen without making their way around any of the gravestones. With the wind howling the way it was, it was very possible not to hear someone approach. Yet someone had. By foot since there were no tire treads or tracks to indicate a vehicle had come this way. Once again, she was brought back to the question she’d been asking herself since arriving here.

  Did Helen really make it a habit of walking up the arduous hill from her home to this windswept cemetery? Was it really the view that brought her up here?

  Or was she here because she was meeting someone? Someone she knew? Someone she trusted enough to turn her back to? Despite Mantree’s allegation that she may have been ordered to turn around, Cammie doubted it. From what Doc described, Helen was a woman who gave orders. She didn’t take them. And hearing Doc portray her as combative and difficult – a personality much like his, in fact – Cammie had no doubt Helen would have thrown herself at her murderer rather than meekly turn away. No, Helen had known her killer. And never suspected what they were capable of.

  She shivered as another gust of wind came up and slammed into her. Damn, it was cold. The friggin’ wind alone would have kept her from coming up here on a regular basis. Sighing, she pulled the knitted hat Emmy had made her down lower over her ears before wrapping her arms
around herself. Maybe Helen was a glutton for punishment and liked to test herself by taking on the wind and the long ass walk uphill.

  Seeing that Doc was halfway to the cabin, she thought it best to join him. She wasn’t getting any answers freezing her butt off up here and remembering how he’d reacted when told about what had been done to Helen’s portrait, she didn’t want him to be alone when he entered the ransacked house. Turning on her heel, she started to leave the cemetery when she saw an old man approaching. He was almost at the gate when he stopped and noticed her for the first time.

  “You must be Win Sackett,” Cammie said as she walked towards him. He eyed her warily and she was grateful she hadn’t worn her parka with the Sheriff Department logo on the sleeve. Although she was not with Doc in any official capacity, she’d instinctively known that if an opportunity came up to question a witness, she was going to take it. It was in her blood. Jace and Doc would have called her nosy. She preferred to call herself curious. In any case, the Sheriff’s logo would only deter anyone from opening up to her.

  Seeing the old man now, she pointed over her shoulder. “I’m Cammie Farnsworth and that little figure down there is Doctor Samuel Westerfield. He’s Helen Carsgrove’s nephew.”

  Win turned his dark brown eyes to the receding figure of Doc. “Bad business what happened to her,” he mumbled.

  Cammie opened the gate and stepped aside for Win. “You’ve done a great job taking care of this place.” He walked through the gate and put down the bag he’d flung over his shoulder. He shrugged, but said nothing. “It must have been difficult losing your family cemetery. At least Mrs. Carsgrove allowed you to still maintain it.” He remained silent. “I’ve heard she was a very difficult woman.”

  “She kept to herself and I kept to myself. She didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother her.” He lifted his shoulders. “She seemed nice enough.”

  Cammie chuckled. “It’s admirable of you not to speak ill of the dead, but you know and I know that she didn’t exactly make any friends up here. Not when she wouldn’t allow anyone to hunt and fish her land -- land where you and your friends used to hunt and fish before she showed up. Then there’s poor Henry Harding. She got him so wrapped up in lawsuits, he’ll be lucky to get out with his underwear intact.” Surprise showed in Win’s eyes. “People like that are a real pain in the ass, aren’t they? They’re not even from around here, but they come in all high and mighty and start lording it over everyone else. Telling everyone how to live their lives, making sure everything is done the way they think it needs to be done. I see it all the time back where I’m from.”