Part 21 (2/2)

”Excuse me, Chief, can I have a word?” asked a gray-haired man with gla.s.ses dressed in coveralls.

Rusty turned away to speak to the crime scene expert. Just as he did so, his phone rang and, after looking at the caller ID, Rusty took the call, turning his back on Tess. When he finished his call, he spoke again to the gray-haired man in coveralls. The expression on Bosworth's face darkened with every word he heard. Finally, clearing his throat, Rusty nodded and turned back to Tess. ”All right. I'm gonna be upfront with you. The head of my forensic team here tells me that Nelson Abbott did not die on this spot. He was already dead when he was placed here.”

”Of course, he was already dead,” Tess cried. ”Someone was trying to dig him a grave. Can't you see that?”

Rusty ignored her angry tone. ”That would tend to corroborate your story about the car. The fact that he was brought here and dumped. Also we've determined that the estimated time of death seems to coincide with the time when you were renting the canoe over on the other side of the lake. I had a man check out your version of events. That was him on the phone. Apparently the old man with the canoes said your story was true. So this pretty much lets you off as a suspect.”

”A suspect?” Tess cried in disbelief.

”Don't act so surprised, Miss DeGraff. You were very angry at Nelson Abbott...”

Tess stared at him, but did not respond.

”But you were not the only one. Your brother, Jake, also publicly accused the deceased of being your sister's killer. He had to be dragged away from the press conference, he was making such a fuss.”

”Jake was upset,” Tess insisted.

”He was more than upset. He looked mad enough to kill,” said Rusty. ”Now, I've sent a couple of officers to pick up Jake for questioning. Once we catch up with him, we'll know more.”

”You're accusing Jake of s.n.a.t.c.hing his own nephew? That's absurd,” Tess cried.

”Is it really?” said the chief, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng angrily.

A squad car roared into the clearing and stopped. The driver got out and came around to the pa.s.senger side. He opened the door and Edith Abbott struggled to climb out. The young officer took Edith's arm and helped her over to where the body of Nelson Abbott lay under a gray tarp. Rusty walked over to her.

”Aunt Edith,” he said. ”You might want to wait to see him until they've cleaned him up a little bit. Uncle Nelson doesn't look too good right now.”

”I want to see him,” said Edith stubbornly.

Rusty nodded to the bespectacled man in the coveralls, who crouched down and pulled back a corner of the tarp. Edith Abbott stared down impa.s.sively at her husband's battered head. Then she looked up at Rusty, blinking behind her gla.s.ses. ”Who killed him?” she said.

Rusty shook his head. ”I don't know yet, Aunt Edith. We'll find out.”

Edith looked over at Tess. ”Her?” she asked.

Rusty frowned. ”Like I said, we don't know yet. After his lawyer got him out, what did he say to you? Did he say anything to you today about where he was going?”

Edith stared down at the covered body, appearing slightly dazed. She shook her head for a moment. Then she looked around the clearing, now filled with police vehicles and the cl.u.s.ter of reporters gathered in the area, which the police had roped off for the press. ”He was going to the newspaper,” she said, her voice trembling. ”To talk to him,” she said, looking directly at Chan Morris, who, thanks to his local connections, was standing in the front row of the crowd of journalists.

Rusty Bosworth collared one of his officers. ”Get Channing Morris,” he said. ”Bring him over here.”

The officer went over and indicated to Chan Morris that he should climb under the rope. Chan pointed to himself, puzzled, and the officer nodded. Chan bent down and ducked under the rope. Then he walked over to where the chief was standing with Edith Abbott.

”Chief,” said Chan.

Rusty Bosworth did not acknowledge the greeting. ”Mrs. Abbott here tells us that Nelson Abbott was on his way to the paper to see you when she saw him last.”

Chan's gray eyes looked pained. ”Well, yes, he did come to see me.”

”What about?” Rusty asked.

Chan grimaced. ”He wanted me to know that he was cleared of all charges. He threatened to sue me for the article in the morning paper. The article that said that Miss DeGraff implicated him in the murder of her sister.”

Edith Abbott let out a low moan. ”How could you? How could you, Channing Morris, after all those years Nelson worked for your family? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

”I'm sorry, Mrs. Abbott. It was a big story. I had to do my job,” said Chan. ”Obviously, I made a mistake.”

Rusty glanced at Tess, who looked back at him defiantly.

”Anyway, he wanted me to print him an apology,” said Chan. ”Especially since the lawyer had proved it wasn't him who did it.”

”He proved no such thing,” Tess cried. ”Nelson was freed on some kind of technicality.”

Rusty turned on her. ”You're talking about something you don't know anything about.” He turned back to Chan. ”What did you say?” Rusty asked.

Chan shrugged. ”I said I would do it. Print an apology.”

”And that was it?” Rusty said.

Chan shook his head. ”He implied that he knew who really killed Phoebe DeGraff.”

The muscles in Rusty's jaw twitched. ”Who?”

Chan shook his head. ”He didn't say.”

”You didn't ask him?”

”I asked him,” said Chan.

”Did he tell you?” Rusty asked. And then he shook his head, answering his own question. ”He wouldn't tell you,” said Rusty in steely disbelief.

Chan stuck out his chin defiantly.

”Don't play games with me, Morris. If you know who did this,” said Rusty, glowering, ”you'd better speak up. And don't give me any of that journalistic integrity bulls.h.i.+t or I'll throw your a.s.s in jail.”

”Do you know who has my son?” Tess screamed, lunging at Chan. ”Do you? If you do...”

Rusty and another officer reached out and held her back.

Chan looked from the chief to Tess gravely. Then he shook his head. ”Believe me, if I could help you, Tess, I would.”

Rusty looked at Chan in disgust. ”He doesn't know anything. He wants to look important.” He poked a finger in Chan's chest. ”Get back behind that rope,” he said. ”Stop pretending you're a journalist.”

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