The Facepainter Murders Read online

  On the ground level, a large door opened to allow delivery of grain. An interior catwalk ran along three sides, overlooking the works. Ancient chestnut, impervious to insects and rot, joined granite from local quarries as the building's materials.

  Anne and Catherine climbed the wide staircase to the level of the catwalk. Little of the works remained. Below stood the ancient stones that had provided the area with flour. Shafts of light from high windows, glittering with dust, bounced off the metal remains below. Shadows created mysterious shapes and suggested hidden forms.

  "How will they convert it? Are they planning any restoration or preservation?"

  Anne's voice echoed back across the mill works.

  "They plan to preserve a working water-wheel for the sound effect and interest and the exterior. Otherwise, no. I haven't seen any working drawings, but I know plans include an art gallery up here and a theatre. Possibly a small restaurant and patio, by the business office, will be added. I know an extensive garden is planned. There has been some opposition."

  "From whom?"

  "Old mill enthusiasts. They'd like it restored as a working mill and museum."

  "Is that a possibility?"

  "Much more expensive, and there are many of them in Vermont and other parts of New England."

  As they walked along, Anne noticed some words carved in the floor. As she bent over to read them, an explosion of sound filled the old building. A bullet buried itself in the timber above her.

  "Down," she yelled at Catherine.

  But Catherine was lying beside her, behind the low wall.

  "Move, move, so he doesn't know where we are."

  Hands and knees propelled them down the catwalk. Another bullet, this one hitting the wall behind them.

  "There's a window. Do they open?" Anne said.

  "Yes, from the bottom."

  "What's outside this wall?"

  "The millpond."

  "Can you swim? Is it deep?"

  "Yes."

  Another bullet, further away. He was firing into the wall at steady intervals, moving away from them, towards the open door.

  They reached the window. If the latch stuck or screeched, he would find them.

  "Be ready to go fast when I push out. He might hear it."

  There was little noise from the latch itself, but a tentative push at the window brought an ominous groan. They would only have a few seconds.

  "Ready?"

  "Yes."

  Anne pushed; the window gave; rotting hinges screeched a protest.

  "Go."

  Catherine jumped. A bullet splintered the window frame. Anne couldn't stand to jump; he would see her. She turned and slipped over, hanging from the edge. How she hated heights. She pushed away and plummeted into the black water below.

  Deep, she thought, Catherine said it was deep. She held her breath as she went down and closed her eyes. She hit the water straight, her knees up in the cannonball she learned jumping into the Madawaska River at home. She opened her eyes to black-green water. A random memory of herself at twelve, the river, a perfect summer day, the water the same color with the sun shining through.

  At least she hadn't hit Catherine. She surfaced facing the building. A figure filled the window.

  She dove and swam, straight down the pond as far as she could, came up, gasped air, and dove again. Now she was nearer to a bank. After one more dive, she surfaced at the bank, with overhanging branches between her and the shooter.

  No one in the window. Did that mean he knew where she was? She had to move again. Which way? Where was he? Watching from another spot? Adrenaline fuelled her escape, but her energy was draining away; she was cold, and her drenched clothes weighed her down.

  She had to climb out and hide.

  Anne crawled up the bank and into a dense thicket. She listened and shivered for long minutes. Nothing. No sirens either. What happened to Catherine? Maybe the shooter was after her? What if the guy from Brownsville was crazier than she thought?

  She tried to remember what surrounded the pond. A park, she thought, most of it natural, so there was cover. Yes, for the shooter too, she reminded herself. Jogging and bicycle paths. People, she thought with relief, even this early.

  She crept to the edge of her lovely safe thicket and realized she was a few feet from the path.

  A figure in flowing scarlet made stately progress along the path. It was the strange woman from the travel agency, she thought. Should she call her? No, she listened to Catherine and her talk about the murder. Could she be part of this? The caftan she wore could conceal a gun.

  Anne edged back, deeper into the bushes. Sirens wailed, and tires squealed. They were here. She would hide until they came close to her.

  When Catherine hit the water, her one thought was to get out. She knew the pond well from swimming with her boys. At the corner of the mill, underwater steps rose to the surface and on to the grass.The water spilled over the wheel there.

  The steps were slick with algae. Catherine fell, gashing her knee. She lay panting at the top of the stairs for a moment and then she heard another shot. He was still upstairs. She raced across the park to the street where her friend Zoe lived, two houses away. She pounded on the back door.

  Catherine fell against the doorjamb when Zoe opened the door.

  "Call the police. Someone is shooting at Anne at the mill,"

  She sank to the floor and leaned back, panting.

  * * *

  Brad took the call. The squad room emptied as he, Pete, Dave and Adam ran for their vehicles. The two-minute drive to the mill went by in slow motion for Adam, as he remembered the other times Anne had been attacked and came near to death.

  The mill was quiet. No shooting. No body was floating in the millpond.

  "Brad, you and Pete take the mill. Dave, come with me. We'll search this side," Adam said.

  He spoke into his radio, sending another team along the far bank. How normal it looked. A couple walked with their dog, and the woman from the travel agency sauntered along the path.

  * * *

  The couple and the dog approached Anne's thicket.with their dog. The dog knew she was there. He nosed into the underbrush. Good. The man dragged the curious dog along the path and away from her hiding spot.

  Next to pass was a woman in a long red dress. Searching, Anne thought. Anne ground her face into the dirt and leaves, hoping nothing of her clothes showed through. Long minutes passed.

  "Anne."

  Someone called her name. Adam, she was sure. She raised her head a fraction and peered along the path. Yes.

  "Adam," she whispered as they passed. Then, louder, urgently, she called again. "Adam."

  "Where are you?"

  "Here, in the bushes. I'm afraid he's watching."

  "We'll keep you between us."

  Adam helped her up and supported her. Her jeans and shirt, covered with pond scum and dirt, clung to her and she smelled the way they looked.

  "Catherine?" Is she?"

  "She's fine. She made the call to us."

  "Thank God. She wasn't hurt?"

  "Split open her knee. She's gone for stitches. We need to talk to you if you are up to it."

  "I need a shower first."

  "We'll take you home and wait for you."

  "Okay. I'm freezing," she said through chattering teeth.

  After a long shower and hot toddy, Anne felt warm at last. She sat in Catherine's little front room, petting Maggie who lolled on the ottoman at her feet. Adam sat in the rocker across from her. Back from the hospital, Catherine was recovering in her bed.

  "Tell me what happened," Adam asked.

  "Catherine and I were walking along the catwalk on the pond side of the building. I bent down to look at something as he fired and the bullet hit the wall behind me. We crawled along to a window and jumped into the pond. He was still firing. Then he shot at me from the window, but he missed me because I swam underwater. The water was so black he couldn't see me, I guess. I craw
led out from the pond and hid in the bushes until you came. That's all."

  Anne leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes.

  "Did you see him?"

  "I saw a silhouette. I say him, but I don't know even that."

  "Do you have any idea why?"

  "No."

  "Have you talked about the case to anyone?

  "Erin and Catherine. I talked to Erin in Lil's and Catherine on the bench across from the Mill. Adam, I have to rest. I feel terrible."

  "All right. I'll call you later. I'm leaving Dave outside. If Maggie starts barking, call Dave."

  "Yes, I will."

  * * *

  Adam heard the clock in the courthouse tower strike ten as he returned to the station. Time to talk to the boss. Captain Naismith sat behind his desk, feet propped on an open drawer, while Adam put the case and its problems to him.

  Naismith summed up when Adam finished.

  "You have the theft of the paintings, likely involving Bassett, Abbott, and Andrews; the attacks on Trevelyan and Anne and now on Alisse Bertrand and Atkins; the attempt to buy Evan's and the fire. This shooting at the mill. Do you make Bassett or Abbott for the shootings?"

  "Bassett is too big to be the guy at the hospital. Anne thinks if he hit her, she'd be dead, and I agree with her. Abbott was slight. Pete was trying to place him in Culver's when the attacks occurred, but I took him off to work the mill."

  "Could it be one of the women? What about the widow Andrews?"

  Adam grinned at the thought of elegant Alisse Bertrand in the role of 'the widow Andrews'.

  "She has brains, I think, but she's in hospital in Burlington, so she's clear for the attack on Anne and Catherine."

  "You have three violent acts," said Naismith. "The attack on Trevelyan can only relate to Evan's and the paintings; the death of Andrews, likely related to the theft; the attack on Anne at the mill."

  "Yes. Bassett's gone as far as I can tell. He could have done Andrews and been involved in the theft, but likely not Trevelyan out at the house and not in the hospital. Abbott was dead before the shooting started at the mill. He did have a weapon—we're testing it—and he was slight enough to have been the one at the hospital. Alisse Bertrand is a tall woman, too tall for the hospital job. We don't think she was in the country when her husband was killed. She thinks her husband was having an affair here. She's smart and could have been involved in her husband's illegal business but

  "What does the Quebec Surete have to say about her?" Naismith said.

  "A well-thought-of artist, no criminal activity in the record."

  "Do you have anybody else?"

  "Several people around the mill: the woman from the travel agency, and the McDonalds, Al and Bernice, with their dog."

  "Who is she, the agent?"

  "Her name is Janice Maynard. She set up shop about three years ago. Not part of a chain. Erin and I had her put together our trip to Bermuda, and she seems to know her stuff. I have three little things. Anne thinks Maynard eavesdropped on a conversation she had with Catherine about the case, and she was seen walking near the mill this morning, but she walks every morning. She does wear this long flowing robe that could have concealed a weapon. Atkins says Bassett was in her shop a couple of times."

  "Long flowing robes?"

  Naismith peered over his glasses at Adam with a quizzical look.

  "Yeah, she walks around town in an orange wig and these long, brightly-colored dresses. Erin calls them caftans. She's eccentric, but I have no reason to think she's a criminal."

  "Where'd she come from?"

  "No clue. I'll get Brad on it."

  "Anyone else?"

  "No. Anne gets flashbacks when she smells a certain scent, but she hasn't associated it with anyone yet."

  "Do you have someone at Catherine's?"

  "Yes. The press is outside."

  "I'll deal with them."

  Anne wanted to reviewTrevelyan's papers again. Adam sent the file over, hoping something would suggest itself to her.

  He spent the rest of the day report writing and following up forensic reports.

  By five, he finished his paperwork. Dental records confirmed the dead man was Abbott.

  They recovered a gun from the burned-out car, but the tests comparing it to the bullet they found at the motel where Andrews was killed were still pending. Forensic on the bullets and shell casings from the mill were pending.

  Adam signed out and drove home to feed Sam and change. Not the best day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "What are we going to do?"

  The whispered voice was taut with fear.

  "Relax. No one connects us with this and no one will if you stop trying to kill people. What the hell did you shoot the old guy for? What were you doing?"

  "I figured that if they found the picture before we got it back, he would claim it. Maybe he already had it. I wanted to see if he did. He came back and grabbed his shotgun. I had no choice. That woman, that doctor, she's going to figure it out. I heard she solved that case last year and Alisse likely knows something. John couldn't keep his mouth shut in bed."

  "No one's going to figure it out. I want you to stop worrying and get rid of your guns."

  "No."

  "No more killing."

  "I want to get out of here."

  "If you leave now they'll suspect you. Meet me tonight about 1:00 a.m."

  "Where?"

  "Down by the river where we met before."

  "Where did you hide them?"

  "I'll tell you tonight," was the wary reply.

  "Okay."

  Matilde led Adam and Erin to their table next to the fireplace.

  "How was your day?" Erin asked after they ordered their drinks, a bloody Caesar for Adam and Campari and soda for Erin.

  "You heard about the mill?"

  "No, I wasn't out. What happened?"

  "Someone shot at Catherine and Anne. They're both fine."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. Someone thinks they know something, I guess. Panic setting in. Someone took a couple of shots at Alisse Bertrand and Ted Atkins too. She's in the hospital with a bullet wound in her shoulder. Anne told me about that strange reaction she's been having. You were with her when one happened?"

  "Yes. We were at lunch at Lil's. She got a whiff of perfume and felt dizzy and nauseated. The first time it happened, she told me, she flashed back to the assault."

  "Was anyone there?"

  "Dan Abbot had left. Nancy Webb, the travel agent, those two lawyers from the office beside Evan's. I can never remember their names."

  Adam glanced away from Erin, and she stopped talking as Matilde brought their drinks. She was inclined to loiter, so Adam changed the topic to their upcoming trip.

  "Do you still like the idea of a Bed and Breakfast? Some of the hotels have special facilities, spas and so on."

  "Oh, I'm looking forward to meeting the people. Large hotels are so impersonal."

  "I want you to have the best."

  "Remember the picture of that pretty pink house with the verandas up and down and the garden. I'll love it."

  "Do you think you will love a moped?"

  Bermuda tourists couldn't rent cars, but most attempted the ubiquitous little bikes with the distinctive red license plates that identified them to the local drivers.

  "Do they come built for two?"

  "I think so," he said.

  "Anne told me there is an art gallery in the city hall. She will be in Bermuda at the same time we are, visiting her family."

  "I hope she doesn't find any bodies in Bermuda. Do you want to see her there?"

  "I doubt she'll have time. She doesn't go for long, and she spends all her time with her family. It's a small place. We might run into her, but Anne and I decided not to plan anything unless you insist?"

  "Not me. I want you all to myself."

  At that their meals arrived, and the conversation turned, as restaurant conversations do, to the food.
Adam was a meat-eater, sticking to old favorites, lamb chops this time. Erin preferred a grilled whitefish accompanied by a surprising number of vegetables.

  "Good?" he asked.

  "Mmmm."

  Towards the end of their meal, Mary, the owner, approached them to ask if all was well.

  "Excellent, thank you."

  Mary's pleasant face creased into a frown.

  "Something bothering you, Mary?"

  "I think we've had an intruder."

  "What's missing?"

  "That's it. Nothing. I found doors ajar that should have been closed, down in the basement for example. I am so nervous after the fire."

  "I can send someone over, or come myself tomorrow."

  "Would you? I'd appreciate it."

  Erin noticed that Mary had waited until Matilde was out of the room to speak to them.

  "I don't think she trusts Matilde."

  "Neither do I. That woman spends too much time hovering."

  "Could be she's a gossip."

  After the dessert, they strolled back to Erin's. She had changed the display in the store. She told him furniture of this design had been made mostly in Grand Rapids, in Michigan for the common market, sold through the major catalogue outfits.

  Adam leaned back on the sofa, his long legs propped on a footstool. The wooden back and arms of the sofa, ending in lion's head carving, surrounded a new floral-printed fabric. It was high enough and soft enough to be comfortable. An electric fire glowed in a cast-iron fireplace.

  They spent most free evenings here or upstairs in her loft. Adam hadn't moved in, but soon, he told himself, soon he would ask her to marry him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anne found herself back under full protection the next day—guard, escort, bulletproof vest and working at the police station, not the library. She wanted to search the Leclerc family tree for any local descendants who might have a claim equal to Trevelyan's. With Trevelyan's research and internet resources, she might be able to construct a complete family tree.

  Adam and Pete were discussing the possible break-in at Evan's when Anne and Brad came in.

  "I'm going over to talk to Mary and Andre," Adam said. "I want you to find out what you can about the server, Matilde. Brad, you stick with Anne today. I want to know about the Leclercs."