At least for the short time I’d be working the case.
I tamped down on the flutters in my stomach that felt a bit like fireflies in a jar. My stomach clearly didn’t realize that I wasn’t staying on this case. Because I wasn’t. Not even the lure of finally investigating something new after months of working entirely on Sugarwood business could make me take on a guilty client.
Clement sat outside the front of the museum on a chair carved out of a tree stump.
Troy Summoner, the youngest officer on the Fair Haven police force, stood next to him, like a gargoyle guarding a castle, his arms crossed and his face stern.
Then again, Troy’s face always looked a little on the stern side. He was like Keanu Reeves in that his expression rarely changed. His happy face was nearly indistinguishable from his unhappy face. Great for a police officer, but it probably wreaked havoc in his personal life. I could barely stand it when Mark wore sunglasses and I wasn’t able to see and interpret the expression in his eyes.
I could tell when Troy spotted me because he lowered his arms and nodded at me. “I didn’t know you were going to be his lawyer, Ms. Dawes.”
I let the Dawes part slide. Most people in Fair Haven found Fitzhenry-Dawes too much of a mouthful. It would be so much easier when Mark and I married and I could change my last name to a simple Cavanaugh. I understood why my parents gave me the last name they did, but they hadn’t considered how hard it would be for people to say—or the added challenge it would create for me in filling out forms, for that matter.
“I am,” I said to Troy. “Who’s in charge today?”
“Chief McTavish. I almost wish Sergeant Higgins and Officer Scott would stay away longer. I’ve been called into almost everything the past few days. I haven’t gotten this much experience since former Chief Wilson.”
Erik Higgins and Elise had surprised us all last month by declaring that they’d decided to get married in a small ceremony with only family and close friends. They’d taken a weekend away immediately after, and then a couple of days ago had headed off on a longer trip as a family. The situation with Elise’s ex-husband had made them take a close look at their relationship and their future.
The way I’d heard the story, Elise tried to break up with Erik, saying she didn’t want her children to get more attached to someone else they might lose if they broke up later on. Losing one father figure was bad enough. Erik responded by saying if they got married then the kids wouldn’t need to worry about him leaving. Erik loved Arielle and Cameron almost as much as he loved Elise. They hadn’t had a traditional proposal so much as a conversation, but when I thought about it, it suited both their personalities better than an elaborate proposal would have.
I peeked around Troy. Police personnel were still going in and out of the house like ants bringing back food for winter. “Did you want to tell the chief I’m here?”
Troy touched the button on his radio that activated the lapel mic clipped to his uniform. The Fair Haven police had been using the older hand-held style radios when I first came to Fair Haven, but one of the updates Chief McTavish had advocated for was the earpiece speakers and lapel mics to leave the officer’s hands free.
Troy softly told whoever was on the other end that Mr. Dodd’s lawyer was here and then moved a bit farther away.
I strode past him to where Clement hunched on the stump chair, staring off into the distance with a look that said he wasn’t actually seeing anything. Up close, I understood why he was a suspect. Red splotches that looked like blood spatter covered his front all the way up to his face. He even had red flecks on his glasses. It wasn’t the kind of pattern you saw on someone who’d been trying to help a victim. It was the kind you saw on the person who attacked the victim.
Oh please let him not have cut up his employee with one of the chainsaws or axes. Large parts of the museum looked like a serial killer’s dream shopping store—historical chainsaws from as far back as the 1920s, axes of all shapes and sizes, single- and double-man handsaws, and log picks. He would have had no lack of weapons.
If he had used something from his museum, that was one set of crime scene photos I didn’t want to see.
Anderson probably wasn’t going to be able to win this case. If I were staying on as Clement’s lawyer, I’d be talking to him about taking a plea bargain if the police arrested him for the murder. Based on his appearance, I had no doubt they would.
I made sure Troy was far enough away that he wouldn’t overhear us, and then took a seat on another stump chair next to Clement.
“They’re coming to talk to you next. I know you’re not sure what happened, but I need you to tell me what you think went on.”
His forehead was moist, and a bead of sweat drizzled its way down his temple and neck to his shirt collar. His collar was darker than the rest of his shirt, like that drizzle of sweat hadn’t been the first. “I haven’t been sleeping much. Almost six months now. The specialists think it’s sporadic fatal insomnia. They’ve given me a year. Eighteen months at best.”
My mouth felt like someone had stitched it shut. I’d never had anyone tell me they were dying before.
When we first met, I thought he hadn’t looked well. His skin had a yellow-gray tint, and he had deep purple smears on the inside of his bloodshot eyes. His whole face had a sagging quality. Because he’d often stop in the middle of his sentences and then start up again, I’d suspected micro-seizures. I knew exhaustion could also harm a person’s physical and mental health, but I hadn’t known a condition called fatal insomnia even existed.
It was a good bet that if I didn’t know about it, the police didn’t either. The pertinent question at the moment was how his condition had played into the problem he now found himself in. “Is that why you can’t remember what happened?”
“Sort of. I’ve been struggling with increasing paranoia and panic attacks for months now. The doctors said the next stage would be hallucinations. Last night…”
His words trailed off, and he swallowed multiple times, as if trying to grab back his escaping thoughts. I waited the same way I had when he’d taken me around his museum, though now with a greater understanding of what was behind it. It hurt something deep inside to see such a bright mind wasting away.
He blinked rapidly. “Last night, I was in my armchair, trying to read and hoping to fall asleep for a few minutes before the sun came up. The next thing I remember is a bear coming through the door and rushing me. I grabbed the closest thing I could and fought back.” He shook his head. “Then my wife was screaming, and Gordon was on the floor, covered in blood.”
It was a good thing I was already sitting down. My legs wouldn’t have held me up, and falling on my backside wouldn’t have been remotely professional.
Gordon’s murder could have been staged, and Clement could have been framed. But the odds of that being the case seemed extremely remote.
Clement tugged on his Grizzly Adams beard. His rapid blinks accelerated.
I leaned back slightly on my chair. He was trying not to cry. He was afraid that he’d done this, not only because it meant he’d killed someone, but also because it meant his disease had progressed. He could see the end of his life, and it wouldn’t be peaceful. It’d be filled with fear until his sanity was gone, and he wouldn’t be able to escape it even in sleep.
My throat tightened. I’d once thought freezing to death would be the worst way to die. I’d been wrong.
I’d get him through the next few hours, and then I’d help him transition smoothly to Anderson. Clement needed someone who could argue on his behalf if he wanted to take this to trial. He wouldn’t ever see prison time even if he was found guilty. He didn’t have enough time left on his life, and his last days would be spent in a hospital as his body shut down.
The best possible outcome seemed to be to try to allow him to spend what good days he might have left in his own home. Taking this to trial, even if he thought he could be guilty, would be the way to do that. I just couldn’t be the one to help him achieve that goal. He’d be found guilty for sure if I tried to argue his case in court. I could make sure he had a good lawyer in Anderson.
Movement caught my attention, and I glanced up. Chief McTavish came out the side door of the house, followed by a crime scene tech carrying a large brown object in an extra-large evidence bag.
It looked suspiciously like… “Is that my bucket?”
3
Chief McTavish ordered Clement brought down to the station. As they led him past the house, his wife stood off to one side with Officer Quincey Dornbush. Quincey touched the brim of his hat and gave me a little smile. Clement’s wife wouldn’t even look at him.
I couldn’t decide whether this would be harder on Clement or on her. She’d now be afraid of her husband, and yet, if they’d had any kind of a good marriage, she probably felt terrible for telling the police what she’d seen. I knew how I’d feel if Mark was implicated in a murder and all the evidence pointed to him. That would put the strongest relationship to the test. I could only hope I never had to find out what I’d do.
At the station, while they had Clement sequestered to bag his clothes and collect evidence off his body, I ran a search on my phone for sporadic fatal insomnia. It was definitely a real thing. It was also extremely rare, caused by a mutated protein. Only about a hundred people worldwide had it.
