Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Chapter 15

He fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, trying to control his irritation. “Hello?

“Yes, this is Dashiell Aldridge, who’s this?” Dashiell listened for a moment and then looked up at Regina, his eyebrows raised in surprise. She looked at him questioningly in response.

“Hello Mr. Scofield. How can I help you?”

Regina mouthed “Mr. Scofield”? Dashiell nodded in response. “Yes, I’ve spoken with Mr. Watson….No, none of the suspects have panned out so far, sir.” He looked down at his watch. “Yes, sir. I can be there in half an hour. Do you mind if I bring my partner?” He paused. “Detective Regina Robins, Metro PD…..Very well, sir. We’ll be there soon.”

He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. “What was that about?” Regina asked.

“That was Peter Scofield, the elder son. He told me he’s got some information that might be helpful. He didn’t want to say what it was over the phone, so he invited us over to his office.”

“And you told him we’d be there in half an hour? Dash, it’s rush hour. And his office is back downtown.”

Dashiell smiled. “Relax, Regina. Most of the traffic is heading out, it being so close to the end of the day. And his office is down on K. We could walk there in less time.”

“Not in this heat, Dash.” She shook her head, the hint of a smile appearing at the corners of her mouth.

He chuckled. “Of course not. But let’s go. His office is on 17th and K. Finding parking won’t be easy.”

Dashiell slid into the passenger seat as Regina got behind the wheel. She pulled out into traffic and headed back downtown.

“So what do you think he has to tell us, Dash?”

“I have no idea. But hopefully it’ll be a motive. If we can figure out why Mrs. Scofield was killed, we might be able to figure out who did it.”

Regina nodded. They sat in silence for the rest of the ride. The tension of their fight had been broken, but it still hung in the air. Dashiell wondered what would have happened if his phone hadn’t rang when it did. He didn’t like fighting with Regina. She was his best friend and the only person he spent a considerable amount of time with.

She pulled into a garage near the corner of 18th and K. She flashed her badge at the attendant and he waved her in. She grabbed a spot on the topmost level.

Dashiell exited the car and walked with Regina back up the ramp. They entered the glass doors of the building into a massive lobby and approached the reception desk.

“Dashiell Aldridge to see Peter Scofield.” The guard handed over a roster, and Dashiell and Regina signed in. He then walked them over to an elevator, pulling out a Kastle Key. He pressed the up button and when the golden doors opened, he leaned in, flashed the key over a sensor and pressed the button for the 8th floor. He headed back to his desk as the doors closed.

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Saturday, July 26, 2008

Chapter 14

Dashiell and Regina walked back towards Regina’s car. “So where does that leave us, Dash?”

“That’s a good question. Jessica and Carolyn backed each other up. So unless you believe they are part of a conspiracy, that counts both of them out. And as we’ve discussed previously, it makes no sense for Watson to have done it.”

“It’s possible that the death was natural, Dash.”

“But that doesn’t explain the absence of a soul.”

“Well, Dash, do souls always hang around for a full six hours?”

“Typically yes. And as far as we’ve been able to determine, we were there within three hours. And I’m not aware of any cases where a soul departed in that short a time absent outside influences.”

“Well, Dash….” She hesitated, stopping outside the door to her car.

“What is it, Regina?”

“Is…is it possible Watson was right? Is it possible that something went wrong with the spell?”

Dashiell shook his head. “No Regina. I followed the proscribed spells. I’ve done them successfully before. Something took her soul.”

“But Dash….even you admit it’s been a while since you’ve performed the spell.”

Dashiell stiffened a bit. Regina, the spell was cast correctly. You haven’t doubted one of my spells since the first time we worked together.”

“I know Dash, but….”

“But what?”

“But unless we get something from the toxicology report, there’s nothing to indicate this death wasn’t natural, except for your inability to raise her soul. And all of our suspects have alibis. They don’t have opportunity, except for Watson, and he has no motive. And none of them have the means to make her soul disappear. Occam’s Razor says—“

“I don’t want to hear about Occam’s Razor, Regina. It rarely applies in my line of work, because Occam didn’t deal in the world of the occult.”

“I know, Dash…but we have to face facts.”

“And what fact is that? That I screwed up?”

“I’m not saying that Dash….”

“Then I’m not sure what you’re saying. Either I screwed up or someone killed Mrs. Scofield.”

“Well, Dash, if you come up with a suspect, be sure to let me know!”

Dashiell looked like he was about to respond when suddenly, his cell phone rang.

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Thursday, July 24, 2008

Chapter 13

The office was sparsely furnished, the chairs and desk all slick black matte and chrome. The walls were painted a deep blue. Along the wall to the left of the doors was a large set of shelves on which sat a variety of cameras. Some were old-fashioned, while others were brand new. They ranged from old film 35mm cameras to ultra-modern digitals, with formats ranging from Polaroid to large format.

Dashiell and Regina stepped forward as Carolyn Bartlett allowed the doors to close and walked around the desk to take her seat. Dashiell and Regina sat as well. “I was terribly sorry to learn about Elaine. And to think I saw her just this morning.”

“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about,” Dashiell said. “We understand you may be one of the last people to see her alive.”

“I guess so. Jessica Hill and I went to see her on behalf of Washington Woman. But of course, you know that. I’m sorry. I’m a little shaken up.”

“You knew Mrs. Scofield well?” Regina asked.

“Not really. Elaine and I travelled in some of the same social circles. I’ve done some work for her and the family before. But it was a professional relationship.”

“Yet you call her Elaine,” Regina pointed out.

“Well, as I said, we’ve seen each other at parties and such. That was the limit of our social interaction.”

“Can you tell us about the interview?” Dashiell asked, trying to get the interview back on track.

“We arrived just before ten a.m. and I set up my lights while Jessica asked some preliminary questions. The interview got going in earnest and I went to work. I’m known for my documentary style when it comes to photos for interviews and other profiles. Just before eleven we wrapped things up and I packed up my equipment.”

“You don’t work with an assistant?” Dashiell asked.

“No, not in these situations. Having assistants around tends to hamper the flow of things and that affects the pictures. And I’m still fairly spry for my age.” She smiled.

“And that was the last time you saw Mrs. Scofield?” Regina interjected.

“Yes. Jessica and I left. I came back here and I assume she went back to her office. I’ve been here working ever since.”

“Yes, I wanted to ask about that. You said you were in the dark room. You still shoot with film?” Dashiell asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “For some shots, I do. Elaine Scofield was writing an autobiography. It was a look back at her life and I wanted to evoke that feeling by using an older style of photography. I lit her like they used to light Eva Gardner and other starlets. It was all very 1950s. So I went with three cameras. A digital for archival purposes, as well as medium and large format cameras. Nothing in the digital world can touch the sheer quality of a larger negative.”

Dashiell nodded. Regina was flipping through her notebook.

“Well, that matches up with what Miss Hill told us,” she said. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Bartlett.”

“Happy to help in any way I can, Detective. May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“How did Elaine die?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bartlett, but we can’t discuss those sorts of details in an on-going investigation,” Regina answered.

“Of course, Detective. I was just curious, since the police were involved.” She paused. “It’s probably best I don’t know.”

Regina looked at Carolyn Bartlett’s face, and her own softened. “It was nothing gruesome. Mrs. Scofield was a powerful figure in Washington life and by all reports in excellent health. Her sudden demise was unexpected, and thus we felt it best to investigate pending a cause of death.” Regina hesitated. “I’d appreciate you not repeating that to anyone.”

Carolyn relaxed. “Of course, Detective. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Regina said.

“Well, we should get going, stop taking up your valuable time,” Dashiell said. He had been examining the various cameras on the shelves. He turned to go.

“Just one more thing,” Dashiell said, pausing at the glass double doors. “Did you happen to listen to the interview?”

Carolyn’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Detective, no. I was there while Elaine and Jessica were talking, but when I’m looking through the camera my mind is wholly focused on my work. I tend to tune everything else out. Why?”

Dashiell shrugged. “Just curious. It’s possible she said something that could be of use to us.”

“I’m sorry Detective. You’d have to ask Jessica for her notes.”

“Of course. Thank you for your time.”

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Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Chapter 12

Regina drove them the short distance over to Dupont Circle. While the gallery district hosted a great deal of Carolyn Bartlett’s work, her studio was located in an out of the way building not too far from Dashiell’s own office.

They entered the building and were confronted by a massive granite desk, behind which sat an officious looking man with close-cropped hair. He had a headset on with a microphone perched before his mouth. Behind him was a massive print of a still life, done in black and white. It featured a large white lily in a dark vase. Underneath were the words “Carolyn Bartlett Photography.”

“Carolyn Bartlett Photography, how may I help you?” Dashiell was about to say something when the man behind the desk spoke again. “I’m sorry, she’s not available at the moment, may I take a message?” He typed something on his computer keyboard. “I’m afraid she’s booked on the 17th. It looks like she has an opening on the 23rd.”

Dashiell turned to Regina, who raised an eyebrow, then flashed her badge at the man behind the desk. He gave it the barest glance and then finished typing. “We’ll see you then, Senator.”

He clicked a button on his desk and turned back to his computer, typing rapidly. It appeared for all the world as if he had forgotten Dashiell and Regina were standing there.

Regina began to tap her nails on the granite. After about thirty seconds, the officious little man turned his eyes toward her. “Yes, officer? How can I help you?”

“We’d like to see Ms. Bartlett,” Regina said, her tone a bit snappish.

“And do you have an appointment?”

“THIS is my appointment,” she replied, laying her badge on the desktop and tapping it.

“So that’s a no,” the little man said.

Regina’s upper lip began to curl in an expression Dashiell recognized as trouble.

“Please tell Ms. Bartlett that the police would like to see her,” he intervened. “We have some questions about her photo shoot this morning at Scofield Manor.”

The man’s eyes darted to Dashiell and looked him over. Dashiell felt as if the man could correctly guess the cost of his outfit and how much change he had in his pocket. “I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Bartlett is very busy—“

“Oh send them back, Geoffrey,” a feminine voice arose from the air around the desk. Whoever had installed the hidden speakers had done a very good job.

“Very well, ma’am. You may head back.” He indicated with one hand a path to the right of the wall behind him.

Regina picked up her badge and stalked in the indicated direction, Dashiell hurrying after.

They walked behind the wall with the large painting and the hallway turned to the right, heading into the building’s interior. The walls were lined with various photos of famous people and beautiful places. Dashiell recognized some of them from magazine covers and others from art museums. There were a set of glass double doors at the end of the hallway and a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties was stepping out from them.

She was trim and dressed in well cut slacks, with a black turtleneck. Her hair was silver, not white, and hung loose around her shoulders.

“Good afternoon, officers. I’m Carolyn Bartlett. My apologies for Geoffrey. I was working in the darkroom and he knows I don’t like to be disturbed.”

“Not even for the police?” Regina asked somewhat sharply.

“I’m sorry officer. We regularly see agents from the Secret Service and U.S. Marshalls here, as well as numerous private bodyguards. Many of them try to intimidate Geoffrey and so he’s grown a prickly exterior. My services are in high demand and he’s very protective of my time.

"Now, I believe you said you had some questions about my visit to see Elaine Scofield this morning? Gayle Norton told me what happened. It’s just awful.”

Dashiell stepped forward before Regina said something she might regret. “Yes, a real tragedy. We just have a couple of questions. We’ve already spoken with Jessica Hill. We just need to confirm a few details.”

“Anything you need. I’m happy to help out in whatever way I can. Please, step into my office.” She held the door as Dashiell and Regina stepped inside.

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Saturday, July 12, 2008

Chapter 11

“What do you think?” Dashiell asked as they walked back to Regina’s car.

“I don’t think she did it,” Regina replied.

Dashiell nodded. “I don’t think so either. Her surprise read as genuine to me, and she didn’t act like someone who has been caught by the police.”

“That was my thinking. So where does that leave us?”

“Well, clearly it leaves us with Ms. Bartlett.”

“But they were together. Bartlett couldn’t have killed her without Jessica knowing. Besides, Carolyn Bartlett is a world-renowned photographer. What reason would she have for killing Elaine Scofield? And more importantly, how would she have done it?”

“Both excellent questions,” Dashiell acknowledged. “I suppose when we discover the answers, we’ll have solved the mystery.”

Regina stopped walking and looked at Dashiell. “Would you stop talking like Sherlock Holmes. Doesn’t it make much more sense to say the butler did it? He had opportunity. If Bartlett’s story matches the one we just heard, then we’ll know Mrs. Scofield was alive at 11 am. And by his own admission, the only other person to visit the office was Watson.”

Dashiell kept walking, forcing Regina to match his stride. “That leaves two problems. First, as you pointed out, there’s the question of how he did it.”

“That’s your department,” she cut in.

Dashiell nodded. “Yes. But more importantly, there’s the fact that Watson came to us, well me, in particular. If he did it, why would he come to me?”

“To make himself look innocent, of course.”

Dashiell shook his head. “No, he was already well on his way to that. He could have just contacted the police. There was no evident cause of death which could be tied to him. And if he used an occult means, then there is likely no evidence that the M.E. could identify.

“That means one of two things. One, either it gets chalked up to natural causes, and there is no investigation, or two, you call me and I tell you it’s too late, because more than six hours have elapsed and I can’t raise her soul. Either way, he’s got no incentive to even hint at the occult if he did it.”

They paused as they reached the car. “Alright then. So our only other suspect has no means, motive or opportunity, and an airtight alibi. The Captain’s going to love this.”

Dashiell couldn’t help but smile. “Forget about the Captain. What about the Chief?”

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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Chapter 10

“Dead?!” Jessica Hill’s eyes widened. Gayle Norton’s eyes narrowed. Dashiell could almost read her thoughts. She was redesigning the cover in her mind. Last interview with Elaine Scofield. But she was also clearly thinking of something else.

“What does this have to do with my reporter?” she asked.

“The information we have indicates that she was one of the last people to see Mrs. Scofield alive,” Regina replied. Dashiell hung back, leaning against the wall. He was watching Miss Hill while Regina was talking to Ms. Norton.

“Well, Jessica will be happy to answer any questions you have, so long as they don’t compromise any of her sources.”

Jessica leaned forward in her seat, nodding. Her hands were now clenched in her lap. She looked nervous, but Dashiell didn’t think it was the nervousness of someone who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It looked more like the nervousness of someone who felt the police thought she had her hand in the cookie jar.

“Very well,” Regina said. “What can you tell me about your interview with Mrs. Scofield?”

Dashiell crossed his arms across his chest, a silent mass leaning against a wall, eyes boring into Jessica. He was playing bad cop. He was also waggling his fingers under his arm, hiding the gesture with his elbow. It wasn’t a fool proof spell, even when done on a large scale. And as a small cantrip, it was likely to be almost entirely ineffective. But it would sharpen Jessica’s mind on key details and encourage her to speak the truth, if it worked, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.

“We arrived just before 10 o’clock. Research told me that Mrs. Scofield was very punctual,” Jessica began.

“We?” Regina prompted.

“Myself and Carolyn Bartlett, who the magazine had hired for this shoot.” Regina nodded and indicated Jessica should continue.

“I interviewed Mrs. Scofield for about 15 minutes, while Carolyn set up, then continued as Carolyn shot her. She likes to work with subjects in their personal spaces, and she likes to shoot them as they talk. Additionally, we’d only been given one hour for the whole affair, so we had to work quickly.”

“What was the interview about?” It was a classic policeman’s ploy, pretending not to know as much as you did, in order to try and catch a suspect out in a lie. Dashiell didn’t really think she was a suspect, but knew it was never good to jump to conclusions.

Jessica looked over at Gayle, who nodded. “Go ahead and tell them.”

“It was about her autobiography,” Jessica replied. “It was due to come out later this summer and this was a teaser interview.”

Gayle broke in. “Now, mind you, we don’t go for gossip. But Mrs. Scofield was one of the premier players in Washington life for the last forty years. Her book is going to be a best seller.”

Regina nodded, as if she didn’t blame Gayle Norton for descending into what was essentially tabloid journalism. Dashiell tried not to smile as he sensed Regina fighting not to roll her eyes.

“What happened next?” Regina asked.

“Nothing. We concluded the interview around 11. Carolyn got some great shots. We left.”

“And Mrs. Scofield? How did she seem?”

“Perfectly fine. She was the picture of health, as far as I could tell.”

Regina nodded and got up to leave. She turned toward Gayle Norton. “Would you mind setting up an appointment with Carolyn Bartlett for us? We’d like to speak to her as well.”

“Of course,” Gayle replied. She buzzed out to her secretary and began to make arrangements. Regina turned back to Jessica.

“Just one more thing, Miss Hill. Did Mrs. Scofield show you her manuscript?”

Jessica’s brow furrowed. “No. We talked about it, but that’s it.”

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hill.”

Regina collected Dashiell with her eyes as she headed out the door. They stopped at the secretary’s desk to get Carolyn Bartlett’s address and a time when it would be convenient to drop by, then they left the offices of Washington Woman.

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Saturday, July 5, 2008

Chapter 9

Washington Woman was the premiere women’s magazine of the Metro area. And their offices confirmed it. The furnishings were rich and tasteful, if somewhat subdued. Dashiell sat in a comfortable chair, drumming his fingers on a plush armrest. Regina sat across from him.

A secretary had taken their names and offered them a beverage of their choice. Dashiell had taken a Diet Coke. Regina had declined to drink anything.

His eyes scanned the office, trying to pick out their subject. Washington Woman was modeled on the open air design. A series of desks laid out in a grid, no walls, not even cubicles. There were offices arranged along the outer walls of the building, and in between the offices there was art, heavily representing female artists. Dashiell was no art critic, but he knew a Georgia O’Keefe when he saw one. And he thought he recognized some Frieda Kahlo.

“Where do you suppose she is?” he asked Regina. “I can’t imagine she’s got someplace else to be, with a deadline coming up.”

Regina glanced around. “I imagine she’s closeted with her editor, wondering why a Metro detective is asking to speak with her. And deciding what it is they’ll say to whatever it is we ask.”

The secretary who had first seated them walked back up. “If you’ll follow me, Detective Robbins, Detective Aldridge. Ms. Norton will see you in her office.”

“Ms. Norton?” Regina raised an eyebrow.

“She’s the Editor in Chief. She and Miss Hill are awaiting you.” The young woman indicated with her hand the direction Dashiell and Regina should head. Regina turned to Dashiell with an “I told you so” look on her face.

Dashiell had agreed that Regina should take the lead in this interview. It had nothing to do with Regina being a woman. Regina had suggested it because she had a badge and that tended to cut through a lot of bullshit. They also left the secretary with the misimpression that Dashiell was a fellow detective. It would cut down on questions.

They walked through a frosted glass door and saw two women in the office. One, clearly Ms. Norton, stood behind the large desk. Framed images of various covers hung on the walls. Ms. Norton was tall for a woman, nearly six feet, with long blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. She had black framed glasses perched on her nose, covering blue eyes.

“Gayle Norton,” she said, extending her hand to Regina, then Dashiell. “What can we do for you, detectives?” She included Miss Hill with a hand gesture.

Jessica Hill was sitting in front of her editor’s desk. She was dressed in a grey skirt suit. She had brown hair, hanging down around her shoulders. Her hands were folded calmly in her lap.

“We need to speak with Miss Hill,” Regina said. “About her interview with Elaine Scofield this morning.”

“Has Mrs. Scofield filed a complaint about something? I assure you, my reporter was entirely professional.”

“Mrs. Scofield hasn’t said anything,” Regina replied. “She’s dead.”

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Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Chapter 8

“I assure you, Mr. Aldridge, Mrs. Scofield was in perfect health,” Watson said.

“Well, I’m convinced foul play of some sort is afoot. Otherwise, her soul would be here,” Dashiell explained.

“What if her death was natural?” Regina asked. “Would her soul still hang around? I thought it took a violent end to trap it here. That’s what the ghost stories all say.”

“Well, a violent end will prolong a soul’s stay. Sometimes well beyond the six hours that is typically observed. But any soul is able to be summoned for six hours after death in typical circumstances. Clearly, that’s not what we’re dealing with here.”

“So what’s your next step, Mr. Aldridge?” Watson asked.

“Well, the next step is to talk to the last people to see Mrs. Scofield alive. From what you’ve told me, that would be this reporter and photographer from Washington Woman. Who was it that came to interview Mrs. Scofield?”

Watson reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a small PDA. “The reporter they sent was named Jessica Hill. The photographer was Carolyn Bartlett.”

Regina let out a low whistle. “Carolyn Bartlett? She’s amazing. She’s done all sorts of work. Shot lots of famous people.”

“Yes,” Watson confirmed. “I assumed that’s why the magazine chose her. Mrs. Scofield would have insisted on the best. They sidestepped the need for her to ask by hiring Ms. Bartlett in the first place.”

Dashiell took some quick notes on a small pad. While he was well versed in using computers, for field work he still preferred the old fashioned way.

“Well, Mr. Watson, I don’t think there’s anything else we need from you at this time. I’m going to try and get appointments to meet with Ms. Hill and Ms. Bartlett. Although the second interview could be a bit tricky.”

“I may be able to help you out there, Dash,” Regina chimed in.

“You think the Captain will let you work with me on this?”

“My plate’s pretty clean right now. And you’ve convinced me there’s something funny going on. What with it being Mrs. Scofield, the Chief will want a full investigation, and the Captain will comply. I’ll give him a call on our way to the office of Washington Woman.”

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