Miranda James - Murder Past Due

I went back to my desk, noticing Diesel once again asleep on the windowsill. I picked up the phone and called the sheriff’s department.

TWENTY-SIX

When Kanesha Berry walked into my office, I could see the thunderclouds forming. “What is so urgent? I don’t have time for some amateur interfering in this investigation, Mr. Harris.”

“I understand that, Deputy,” I said. “If I didn’t think this was significant, I wouldn’t have called you away from what you were doing.”

She did not appear mollified by my placatory tone. I gestured to the chair by my desk. “Please, have a seat, and let me tell you what I’ve found.”

Behind me on the windowsill, Diesel stirred. He always reacted to a harsh tone of voice, and Kanesha had disturbed him.

The deputy took the proffered seat, but her glare did not diminish.

Before I sat down I handed her a folder of the letters I had printed out for her.

“What’s this?” She accepted the folder but didn’t open it.

“It could be evidence of a strong motive for Godfrey Priest’s murder,” I said. “Let me tell you about what I found, and I think you’ll agree this is serious.”

Kanesha nodded before glancing pointedly at her watch.

“When Godfrey showed up in my office three days ago, he told me he wanted to donate his papers to the college archive,” I said. “What I didn’t know at the time was that he had already made arrangements to ship his papers here. They arrived the day after his death.”

“And you waited two days to tell me about this?” The intensity of Kanesha’s glare sharpened.

“Yes, I did,” I said. “Godfrey’s papers basically belong to the college now. In a letter that came with the papers Godfrey pretty much assigns ownership to the college.”

“That may be,” Kanesha said. “But that doesn’t mean you can suppress information that could be relevant to this case. I have a good mind to charge you with interfering with an official investigation.”

“I’m not suppressing it, and I’m not trying to interfere,” I said. “There was simply a delay in telling you about them. I realize that’s not an excuse, but as the person who will have to process the collection at some point, I wanted a chance to see what it contained. A lot of the content won’t be of any use to your investigation whatsoever.”

“It’s kind of you to make that judgment for me,” Kanesha said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. “And how do I know you haven’t already destroyed anything in these papers that might link you to the crime? Or link someone else, like Julia or Justin Wardlaw?”

“You don’t,” I said with what I hoped was a disarming smile. “And if you want to charge me with anything, go right ahead. But first, at least let me tell you what I did find. I think it might be the key to Godfrey’s murder.”

“Go ahead,” Kanesha said. “I’ll listen.” But not for long , her expression told me.

I picked up the inventory of the papers and handed it to her. “This is the inventory that came with all the boxes. It’s very general, which is unfortunate. But the interesting thing is that there is an extra box.”

“What do you mean?” Kanesha was scanning the inventory.

“All the boxes were numbered except one. And the numbers match the inventory. The unnumbered box contains computer disks.”

“You think that box wasn’t meant to be included?” Kanesha handed the inventory back to me.

“Judging by what I found on some of the disks, no, I don’t think Godfrey wanted anyone else to see them. I don’t know why he kept them, other than his unbelievable arrogance. He probably figured no one would ever see them and he would be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Kanesha glanced at her watch again.

“From the letters I found on some of the disks.” I pointed to the folder I gave her earlier. “They’re all there in chronological order. Take a look at them, and I think you’ll see very quickly.”

She still thought I was wasting her time. I could see it in her face. She was also angry that I hadn’t let her know about the boxes sooner. But after clenching and unclenching her jaw for a moment, she opened the folder and began to read.

I watched. She read quickly, and after the second letter she glanced up at me with a frown. I maintained a bland expression, and she went back to the letters. I believe I had finally piqued her curiosity.

Eight minutes later—I timed her—she was done. She closed the folder and looked at me, her expression thoughtful.

“He basically paid someone else to write the books for him,” she said. “And whoever he paid wasn’t happy over the terms of the contract.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I think X—that’s what I’ve been calling the unknown writer—might finally have become so incensed over Godfrey’s treatment that he—or she—killed him.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. She handed the folder back to me. “If X was so unhappy about the contract, why didn’t he or she hire a lawyer and take Mr. Priest to court?”

“Not knowing what the contract stipulated,” I said, “I don’t have a solid answer for that. But reading between the lines, I figure that the contract between Godfrey and X must have bound X to complete secrecy, otherwise the deal was off.”

“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” Kanesha said. “But what’s at stake here? Mr. Priest’s reputation, of course, but what about money? How much could he make from the books?”

“While I was waiting for you to arrive, I did some research on the Internet,” I said. “I found an article published a little over a year ago that ranked the top-selling American writers by their projected annual incomes. Godfrey was in the top ten. According to the article, his annual earnings were in the neighborhood of twenty million dollars.”

Kanesha wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes popped wide open. “That’s significant money,” she said. “How could he make so much?”

“For one thing, the books are published in something like thirty languages, and they apparently sell really well all over Europe, and in Japan, too. Then there are the movie adaptations. If Godfrey had a cut of the profits, that could add up to a lot of money, too. Several of the films based on the books have been big hits, both domestically and in foreign countries.”

“Twenty million dollars a year.” Kanesha shook her head as if she still couldn’t take it in.

“X had to know the books were generating huge income,” I said. “And what if his cut was small compared to what Godfrey was raking in? Add to that the fact that he’s not getting any credit for his work, and he might have become more and more frustrated every year.”

“It’s possible,” Kanesha said. “I grant you that. And it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve been able to discover. But how the heck am I going to figure out who X is? I don’t even know where X lives.”

“I think X lives in Athena,” I said. I explained my reasoning, and Kanesha picked up the folder again and glanced through the letters.

“It makes sense,” she said when she finished. “Now all I have to do is track down some writers’ group that X belonged to.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about looking for needles in haystacks.”

“I can help with that,” I said. “There’s a librarian at the public library who’s been there for about thirty years. If anyone would know about local writers’ groups, she would. Her name is Teresa Farmer.”

“I know her,” Kanesha said. “She does the summer reading program for kids.”

“That’s her,” I said. I tapped the inventory list on my desk. “We can also look in the boxes that contain contracts. There might be some information there. And you can always talk to Godfrey’s agent. She’s supposed to be here for the memorial service tomorrow.”