THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) (9 page)

“Blaise,” the woman said, “something’s not right. I agree with Mr. Scarne. They were face down.”

“I have another question,” Scarne said. “Given the severity of their wounds, if they were face down, would they have been able to move into the positions their bodies were found?”

Moana Mendoza thought that one over.

“It’s possible, but
unlikely. In addition to the shock, the loss of blood flow to the brain would have been almost instantaneous. Loss of consciousness would have been very rapid.”

“But it’s possible,” Kanegi said, trying to regain the high ground. “Dying people do some amazing things. Especially a mother worried about her kids, right?”

“It’s possible,” Mendoza said. “Barely.”

“But it’s also possible someone moved the bodies,” Scarne said. “Staged the scene.”

Kanegi had enough. He slapped his hand on the desk.

“You’re talking zebras, Scarne. When you hear hoof beats, it’s probably horses. Who staged the scene? The only one who would do that is Campbell. His knife. His fingerprints. His suicide note.” He paused. “Hell, maybe he did stage it. Who knows? Who cares?” He looked at the woman. “Moana, did your people turn up anyone else’s DNA in that house that was suspicious or belonged to someone who wasn’t supposed to be there?”

“No.”

“That’s it then, Scarne. Are we done here?”

The homicide cop was getting tired of all Scarne’s questions. The Vallance murders were so obvious they could go in the Open-and-Shut Hall of Fame. He rudely looked at his watch. It was lunchtime. He wanted to take Moana to Char Hung Sut’s for some manapua and pork hash.

Scarne wasn’t satisfied. There was something else. He knew it. It was just out of his mental grasp. Then he got it.

“Moana. The wounds on the throats. They were left to right. I think I remember that from the coroner’s autopsy report.”

“Yes. You’re correct.”

She actually drew her finger across her throat, left to right.

“So, if they were face down, the killer was almost certainly right-handed.”

Scarne started scrolling back through the photos until he got back to those taken at the ball field. When he got to the one he wanted, he enlarged one portion.

“That’s Campbell’s arm, right? The one with the watch on the wrist?”

“Yeah,” Kanegi said.

“That’s his right wrist. A left-handed man would wear his watch on his right wrist.”

“I know some right-handed guys who do that,” Kanegi said.

“Do they ride zebras?” Scarne said.

“Listen, pal …”

“Blaise, why don’t you just make a phone call to the skydiving office,” Moana said. “They should know if Campbell was left-handed.”

“Moana.”

“Please.”

Kanegi sighed, took out his cell phone and walked a few steps away.

“You used to be a cop, Mr. Scarne,” Moana said.

It wasn’t a question.

“N
.Y.P.D.”

“That figures. You know all the angles, don’t you?”

“What do you think about this, Moana?”

“Something stinks.”

Kanegi was back, looking unhappy.

“Campbell was left-handed.”

He didn’t like being shown up in front of his girlfriend and had one more arrow left in his quiver.

“So what
? He faced them when he slit their throats.” He moved his arm left to right. “That would account for the wounds.”

“They were face down, honey,” Moana said, gently. “The killer was probably right-handed.”

Kanegi looked at them.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.

CHAPTER 15 - BLACK BOX

By the time he left the police station, Scarne knew he’d opened up a can of worms. Kanegi would have to do something about the Vallance case, especially since Moana Mendoza flatly stated that she would push for her department to go over the Campbell house again with a forensic fine-toothed comb.

Scarne doubted she and her colleagues would find anything useful. He’d obtained Cambell’s address from Internet stories about the murders and then learned that the wife’s parents had, understandably, put it on the market. Just as understandably, given what had occurred there, potential buyers were few. He’d tracked down the real estate agent handling the sale
. The man didn’t mention what had happened in the house until Scarne brought it up. Then he quickly pointed out that the entire house had been “professionally cleaned” and was now “spotless.” Except for what the police had removed, most of the furniture was still in the house and could be purchased separately, the agent said. Although, he hinted, any buyer who made a “reasonable” offer probably could have the furniture thrown in.

“The owners are anxious to sell.”

I’ll bet, Scarne thought, also realizing that if the professional cleaning was done right, any lingering evidence was probably obliterated. 

His appointment with the realty agent was for 3 P.M. He would have had time for a quick lunch, but the combination of the donuts and the crime scene photos had dulled his appetite, so he decided to go out to the neighborhood early. The cabdriver who dropped him off gave him a number he could call for a return trip. 

The Campbell house was an attractive split level on Anonui Street in a development of similar structures, with a few ranches thrown in. All were on small but neatly landscaped lots, heavy with magnolia, gardenia and jasmine. To Scarne, it looked like a tropical version of Levittown on Long Island. All the houses and gardens looked well-tended, including Campbell’s. Somebody was obviously keeping it up. 

There was a woman working in her garden a few doors down from the Campbell’s. He walked over.

“Excuse me,” Scarne said. “I wonder if I might ask you a few questions about this neighborhood?”

The woman, who appeared to be in her early 50’s, straightened up and mopped her brow with her wrist. She was wearing
blue jean shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt tied at her waist. She didn’t appear to be concerned about being approached by a stranger. The fact that she was holding a large pair of shears in one hand probably had something to do with that, Scarne decided.

“Why?”

“I’m thinking about buying that house over there. I’m meeting the real estate agent in a few minutes.”

“The Campbell place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happened there?”

“I do.”

“I guess you think you can get it cheap.”

“Price is always a consideration.”

“Not afraid of ghosts and that sort of thing?”

“No.”

“Yes. I can see that. You don’t look like the type who’s afraid of much.”

“Neither do you.”

She smiled at the compliment.

“It’s a good neighborhood. Ralph and I are about the oldest ones here. Lots of families with school-age kids. You have children?”

“We’re planning on it,” Scarne replied.

“Well, this is the place for them. The neighborhood kids will be getting home from school soon. Then it will get noisy. But I don’t mind. Like to see the kids playing. During the day it’s almost too quiet for me. You know how it is today. Kids in school. Both parents working in a lot of the families. Me, I stayed home when we had ours. They’re both married now.”

It occurred to Scarne that if what the woman said was correct, there might have been few witnesses to whatever happened before noon on the day of the Campbell slaughter
, a school day.

“Did you know the Campbells?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m still sick over what happened. Made no sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I never saw a man more in love with his wife than Matt was with Peggy. For him to do something like that, well, it must have been the war or some drugs they gave him when he was recovering. And to kill that sweet little girl. Well, it’s horrible.”

To emphasize the point the woman swung her hand, the one holding the garden shears. They didn’t miss Scarne, who had a vision of more bloodshed on the block, by much.

“Oh, sorry,” the woman said, and put them down. “It’s just that Matt was so doting. So protective. I remember when there were all those stories about how some babysitters abused kids Matt went out and bought a camera to put in Sean’s nursery, just in case. What do they call them?”

“Nanny cams.”

“Yes. That’s it. Ralph went over and helped Matt set it up. Ralph knows all about that kind of thing. Works for HECO, Hawaiian Electric. Helped Matt put in the intercom and sound systems in the house, too. Anything to do with the electric, Ralph is a whiz.”

Scarne didn’t recall anything about a nanny cam in the police reports. Was it possible they missed it? Yes, he decided, it was. The cops concentrated most of their efforts in the room where the mother and daughter were killed. There was barely a mention about the rest of the house, except for the garage, where Matthew Campbell kept his knives. Once the baby was rescued, why tear his room apart? Of course, it was possible that the cops had found the recording device but neglected to mention it in the official report.

But was the nanny cam even relevant? It might not even have been activated during the day. Still, if the police had missed it, Scarne wanted to get to it now, before they did. They were sure to check out everything this time around.

“I don’t know anything about nanny cams myself,” he said easily. “Is your husband around? Maybe I could pick his brain?”

And maybe he can tell me where he installed the nanny cam, Scarne thought.

“Sorry. Saturday he golfs with his friends. Won’t be back for hours.”

He didn’t want to stoke the woman’s suspicions by asking if she knew where the device was. He assumed her husband might have told her. There couldn’t be that many places to situate a nanny cam. Given enough time, he was certain he could find it if it was still in the nursery. 

“There’s your real estate man,” the woman said. Scarne turned to see a man in a seersucker suit getting out of a car in the Campbell’s driveway. “Listen, it’s not my say of course, but I hope you buy the place. I don’t thing Peggy’s folks are too well off and they could use the money to take care of Sean. Set up a college fund or something. Poor little thing deserves a break, don’t you think? He’s got a lot of baggage to carry through his life, having a father who’s a murderer.
A man who killed his family.”

***

The agent’s name was Ted Geraci and he had an air of expected disappointment about him. The house had been on the market for some time, it’s curbside appeal overshadowed by what had happened within. After shaking hands with Scarne, he said, “I see you were talking to one of the neighbors. I bet she gave you an earful.”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” Scarne lied. “Actually, she seemed quite hopeful the house would sell. Said it’s a wonderful neighborhood for children.”

“Oh, it is, it is,” Geraci said, with a glimmer of hope. “And the school system is top-notch, top-notch. Do you have children, Mr. Stone?”

Scarne had decided to try out the writer’s name Nigel Blue had stuck him with.

“Yes. A boy and a girl.”

“I have two, myself, both girls. Schools are important, and this district has some of the best. Some of the
best.”

“That’s good to know. Perhaps we can see the house?”

“Of course. Of course.”

Scarne followed the agent up the walkway, wondering if he always repeated himself.

“You can see that the grounds are immaculate,” Geraci said. “Immaculate. The owners have hired a professional landscaper to keep the place up.”

Once inside, the tour didn’t take long. It was an older house, Geraci said, with the basics: living room, kitchen with a dinette, three bedrooms, two baths,
a small laundry room and a two-car garage. 

“House has an intercom,” he said, walking over to a speaker built into the wall in the kitchen. The panel had a volume-control knob and push-buttons labeled Rear Patio, Front Door, Radio and  Door Talk. “It’s also hooked into a Surround Sound system so you can pipe music into every room. Kind of unusual in an older home.”

Geraci immediately regretted his reference to the structure’s age.    

“The place is solidly built. Solidly built. They don’t make them like this any more. Not any more.”

Scarne was tempted to ask Geraci why, if that was the case, he sold newer and less solidly built homes. Instead, he acted as an interested potential buyer, asking about price, the plumbing,  air-conditioning and utility bills. As he expected, the place was spotless. The forensic people would come up empty.

As if he was reading Scarne’s mind, Geraci said, “The family had the placed cleaned after the, ah, incident, and a cleaning service comes by every other week. Every other week.”

When they got to the master bedroom, Geraci became less talkative and seemed nervous. It was, after all, where most of the “incident” had occurred.

“Is that blood,” Scarne said at one point, staring at a spot on the floor.

He couldn’t really see anything, but he was a bit annoyed at the “incident” comment and wanted to give Geraci a jolt.

The poor man ran over.

“I don’t see anything. They replaced all the bedding and carpets in here. This hardwood floor is new. Brand new.”

“Must be a shadow,” Scarne said. “Can I see the other bedrooms
?”

He was only interested, of course, in the baby’s room. Which, when they got there, was empty.

“I thought you said they left the furniture,” Scarne said, looking into the yawning space.

“Well, I didn’t mean this room,” Geraci said. “The grandparents naturally took everything for the baby. Crib, dresser, all the furniture. They couldn’t bear to take anything else in the house, but I guess they wanted to make the poor kid’s transition less traumatic. Keep the stuff he was familiar with, you know. Made sense. Made sense.”

It did make sense, and I should have realized that, Scarne thought bitterly. If the cops didn’t have the nanny cam, then the grandparents probably did. They might not even know they had it. It was probably hidden inside something innocuous, like a child’s toy sitting on a dresser or shelf. He knew he could find the grandparents easily enough, but what story could I give them? “Can I look through your grandson’s teddy bears? There might be something that could clear your son-in-law of your daughter and granddaughter’s murders?” What would be the point? There was probably nothing useful on the nanny cam and all he’d accomplish was to hurt an already ravaged family. They’d probably throw him out on his ear anyway.

Scarne was mulling over his dilemma when he spotted something on the wall next to the door. He remembered something the neighbor said. Was it possible? He turned to Geraci.

“Can I see the patio?”

It wasn’t much of a patio.

“The yards are kind of small in this neighborhood,” Geraci said apologetically. “But you can see how nice and shady it is, and you can certainly have a nice barbecue.”

Scarne grunted noncommitedly and made a show of locking the patio door when they went back into the house. Geraci didn’t notice that he left it unlocked.   

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” Scarne said. “I’d like to bring the wife back, if you don’t mind. She has the final say on all these things.”

“Don’t they always,” Geraci said in a man-to-man voice. “Don’t they always
?”

When they were outside, Scarne declined the offer of a ride from the agent, telling him he’d call a cab after taking a walk to “check out the neighborhood.” They shook hands and Scarne said he’d be in touch. The agent, sensing a live one, left in a better mood than the one in which he came.

As soon as the man’s car turned the corner, Scarne looked up and down the block. The gardening neighbor was still at work but facing away from him. She wouldn’t wonder what he was doing in any event. No one else was about. He calmly walked back to the house and went to the rear patio and through the unlocked door. Stopping in the kitchen, he went through the drawers until he found some knives. Taking one he thought might be suitable, he went back to the nursery and began unscrewing the panel that fronted the Surround Sound speaker by the door. It was the same as all the other Surround Sound panels in the house, save for one feature. It was missing the volume control. There was only a hole where the knob should have been. The neighbor had said that her husband was an expert electrician who helped Matthew Campbell install both the sound and intercom systems, as well as the nanny cam. Well, good old Ralph would surely be helpful with the intercom, but surely anyone could place a nanny cam in a room. They were tiny and fit in just about anything. Scarne suspected that Matthew Campbell needed his expertise for something more sophisticated.

The Phillips screws came out easily, even with the knife. The panel was meant to come off quickly, Scarne realized. A quick look inside the recess in the wall behind the panel told him he was right. Amid the wiring and other parts of the sound system was a small black box. He reached in and unplugged the wires attached to it. He’d seen the surveillance model before. The device fit easily in the palm of his hand. Its aperture would have peered directly out the volume control hole and the camera within would have been able to scan most of the room, although it was specifically aimed at the baby’s crib and dressing table behind it. He opened the box
, unplugged the 16GB Micro SD card from the video camera and put it in his pocket. Then he replaced the camera and reattached its wires.