Marty lifted the picture closer to his eyes and he squinted trying to make out the image of the trowel. “I see what you mean. What is it?”

  “I think its Ambrose’s trowel … the one with pearl inlays on the handle. The one that was in Leslie’s apartment after she returned from Iraq.” Claire locked eyes with Marty. “The one Ambrose claims he doesn’t know what happened to it. This photo was taken five years after Leslie was killed. How did that tool end up in Ambrose’s pocket if Leslie had it in her room?”

  Claire could see Marty’s chest rapidly rising and falling as the significance of Ambrose having the trowel hit him.

  “How did Ambrose get it back?” Marty’s eyes were wide. “He must have been in Leslie’s apartment?”

  “He told me he had never been in Leslie’s place,” Claire reported.

  “He might be lying. He might have gone there and taken the trowel back,” Marty speculated.

  “He told me he didn’t know what happened to the tool.”

  Marty’s face had paled even more. “Ambrose went to Leslie’s apartment, walked in, took the trowel, and killed her?”

  Bear let out a loud bark and Lady whined.

  Claire jumped from the dog’s sudden bark. “It’s possible. I think Ambrose was still obsessed with Leslie. I bet he met with her after Iraq to convince her to start seeing him and when she didn’t agree, it made him wild. I think Ambrose went to Leslie’s apartment to try again. She refused, and in a rage, Ambrose struck her. Ambrose knew ancient cultural burial practices. He understood the importance of sprinkling the body with red powder. I bet he spotted his trowel among Leslie’s things and took it.”

  Marty ran his hand over his face and looked again at the sheet of photographs resting in his lap. “Ambrose has the trowel in this picture, five years after Leslie died. Ambrose must have killed her.” Tears formed in Marty’s eyes and they dropped onto the plastic that covered the pictures.

  Claire hurried over to Marty and put her arm around his shoulders as the man lifted his hand and wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his shirt. “I’m…. I can’t believe this might be the answer I’ve been looking for all these years. Is tonight the beginning of the end of all my searching? Will the case finally be solved?”

  “I hope so,” Claire whispered as she squeezed Marty’s hand. “I hope so.”

  After making tea and sitting with Marty for another hour watching night fall over the city and talking over details of the case, Claire received a text from Ian telling her he was on the way to her townhouse. Claire responded by telling him she had some important news to share and couldn’t wait to see him. She told him to use the key she’d given him to let himself into her place and she’d be back soon.

  Walking in the dark past the Common caused chills of nervousness to rush over Claire’s skin making her uneasy and on edge. She kept looking over her shoulders to see if anyone was following her and Bob Cooney’s words ran through her mind. What are you going to do? Ask the attacker to wait while you rummage through that purse of yours?

  Claire stopped the dogs and said, “Wait a second.” Dropping her bag at her feet, she pushed her hand around the bottom of the purse until she grabbed her pepper spray. “Okay, let’s go,” she told the Corgis while she gripped the small canister in her palm.

  On the sidewalk outside her townhouse, Bear and Lady began acting agitated … growling, pulling on the leashes, and whining. As Claire cursed herself for not leaving a light on inside, she wondered where Ian was. Maybe he took a cab?

  Claire looked at the windows of her place. None of the lights were on. She looked up the street and spotted Ian’s car parked at the top of the lane. Where is Ian? Why is my house all dark?”

  Claire headed for the steps that led to her front door, but then halted. Her heart pounded like a drum against her chest wall. If Ian was inside, why hadn’t he turned on a light?

  Bear looked up at his owner and whined. Lady tugged on the leash.

  “Shhh,” Claire told the dogs and they quieted right away. “Let’s go around back and see if the lights are on in the kitchen,” she whispered.

  The young woman and her dogs hurried a little way down the sidewalk, entered the side alley, and pushed through some bushes to make it around behind the white fence that enclosed her tiny yard. Claire squatted and pushed at the loose slat in the fence so she could peek at the rear of her townhouse. It was completely dark.

  “This isn’t good,” she told the Corgis as her stomach sank. “This isn’t good at all.” Fear gripped her so tightly, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Claire removed her keys from her bag and clutched the pepper spray in her hand. Making sure the slat was pushed to the side, she abandoned her purse behind the fence, and then led the dogs back to the alley to a spot she judged to be equidistant from both the front door and the back of the townhouse.

  Claire looked down at the dogs and raised her arm, pointing to where they’d just come from. “Ready? Go find Ian. Go get him,” she shouted. The dogs raced back to the opening in the fence.

  And then Claire took off for the front of the house.

  Running up the steps to her door, Claire could hear Bear and Lady barking like rabid animals as she shoved her key in the lock and gently pushed the door open. She held her breath and quietly closed the door. Hugging the shadows for a moment, she stood listening to the hullabaloo the dogs were making at the sliding glass doors to the living room. Good dogs.

  Claire attempted to slow her breathing as she tried to sense the movement of someone’s feet or someone’s presence close to her. She wanted to call out for Ian, but since he hadn’t let the dogs in, he either wasn’t inside or he was….

  Claire wouldn’t finish her thought.

  All she wanted to do was dissolve into a puddle on the floor. Fear felt like it was filling her stomach with ice water and as her vision became more accustomed to the darkness, everything seemed to be swimming before her eyes.

  Still gripping her pepper spray, Claire jammed her fingernails into her palms trying to throw off her panic and dizziness. She focused on taking in one deep breath and then letting it out. After three breaths, she slipped her feet over the floor to make her way to the kitchen.

  Bear and Lady were jumping up and down outside the sliding door, growling and barking like maniacs.

  A shaft of moonlight came in from the door and pooled on the living room floor … and Claire saw Ian’s legs illuminated by the light. Her boyfriend was on his back on the floor.

  With a gasp, Claire rushed to Ian’s side and kneeled next to him, her hand touching the side of his face. Blood pooled under his head. “Ian?” The word came out like a sob.

  Despite the barking frenzy of the dogs, Claire froze when she heard the heavy scuff of a shoe on the wood floor. She wheeled to see Malden Ambrose standing in the living room behind her and a shudder of déjà vu raced through her veins as she recalled a previous case when the perpetrator broke into the townhouse and threatened her.

  “You.” Claire scrambled to her feet, rage bubbling up in her chest. “You hurt Ian.”

  “Shut up,” Ambrose sneered.

  Claire could see something in his hand. She lifted her eyes to Ambrose. “You killed Leslie.” Her voice was as sharp as a knife.

  “Too bad you didn’t keep your nose out of it. Then no one else would’ve gotten hurt.” Ambrose lifted his hand and Claire could see his fingers wrapped around the shaft of a hammer.

  While Claire tried to gauge whether her pepper spray would reach Ambrose’s face, the man lunged at her. She jabbed the top of the spray canister with her thumb, but the liquid overshot the mark and missed Ambrose. The man took full advantage of the spray’s misdirection and he wrapped his hands around Claire’s throat like an iron vise.

  Ambrose’s eyes blazed and his face contorted as he choked Claire with such force that she was sure her neck bones would snap. Panicking, she flailed at the man’s arms and scratched at his hands and face. The Corgis wildly clawed at the glass door just yards away from Claire and the sound of their howls dimmed as her hearing started to fade.

  Bob Cooney’s words began to play in her head. Use your body weight. Twist. Commit. Fight like hell.

  Maybe fortune’s wheel had not yet decided where it would stop.

  With a burst of desperation, Claire clasped her hands together the way Cooney had instructed, lifted her feet off the floor and yanked down and around trying to break the hold on her throat. Contracting the muscles in her right leg, Claire used her last bit of energy to punch her foot into Ambrose’s knee.

  The man’s leg bent backwards from the impact of Claire’s shoe on the knee and Ambrose screeched in pain as his hands lost their grip and he fell backwards onto the floor. Claire sprang towards the sliding glass door, grasped at the lock, and pushed it open allowing the dogs to burst in. Growling, they ran at Ambrose and were on him in two seconds.

  Claire dove for her pepper spray, grabbed it, and pushed herself up, wheezing and gasping for air and she stood bent over watching the Corgis’ attack on the man.

  Ambrose thrashed and screamed and, at last, Claire had enough breath to call off the dogs. Rushing to Ian with tears streaming down her face, she searched frantically at his neck for a pulse and her heart leapt with joy when she felt his heart beat against her fingers.

  Claire pulled Ian’s cell phone from his pocket and punched the buttons to make the emergency call, then she lovingly ran her hand along the side of his face before struggling to her feet and hobbling over to be sure Ambrose wasn’t attempting to make an escape. She need not have worried.

  Bear and Lady stood watch over the professor who was still writhing in pain on the living room floor and if he moved too much, the dogs let out menacing growls and snaps.

  While she waited for the ambulance and the police to arrive, Claire clutched her pepper spray in one hand, and with the other, pressed a towel to Ian’s head wound to stop the bleeding. With a groan, he blinked a few times and looked up at Claire with groggy eyes.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered tenderly. “I’m here. We’re together. Help is on the way.”

  28

  Professor Malden Ambrose confessed to the thirty-three-year old murder of Leslie Baker. Ambrose panicked when Claire persisted in her questions about the trowel and decided she was getting too close to discovering he was the killer. He was also the one who sprinkled the red powder over Claire’s front steps.

  Leslie Baker took the trowel from Ambrose’s things a few days before leaving Iraq. Why she took it remained a mystery. Some speculated Leslie wanted to get back at Ambrose for aggressively coming on to her so she stole his trowel as a way to thumb her nose at him.

  After returning from the Iraq dig, Ambrose often called Leslie to invite her to meet for coffee or dinner or drinks. On occasion, Leslie agreed to meet the professor for coffee and each time, Ambrose suggested a liaison and the young woman refused.

  Ambrose was so obsessed with Leslie and furious that she told him she wouldn’t meet with him anymore that one night he arrived late at her building and entered her apartment after trying the doorknob and finding it unlocked.

  He told police that he found Leslie in bed, reading. She was agitated that he had arrived unannounced which only served to further infuriate him. Leslie repeated that she would not engage in an affair with the man and when she started to leave the room, Ambrose attacked her with a paperweight he found on her bookcase and struck her on the back of the head. He dragged her to the bed where he continued to strike her until she was dead. Ambrose covered Leslie with items from the room, a blanket, a rug, a coat. He had no explanation for why he’d done that.

  On his way out, he spotted the ochre Leslie used in her painting and decided to sprinkle it over the body as was the custom of some ancient cultures. Ambrose spotted his trowel on the shelf of the young woman’s bookcase and he grabbed it, took the paperweight, and left the building.

  Claire visited Marty Wyatt at his condo to discuss the case details and Ambrose’s confession to murder. Marty had a bit of color in his cheeks and had more energy than usual. He even made the tea for himself and Claire and carried it to the coffee table by the big windows.

  “The new drugs are having a positive impact,” Marty announced. “I have a better appetite. I’m more optimistic.” He smiled at Claire. “Maybe Lady Luck is shining down on me.”

  “Well,” Claire said, “she must be because your cold case is solved and now you’re feeling better. Things are turning around.”

  “I haven’t felt this good in a hundred years,” Marty told Claire causing her to laugh at his exaggeration.

  “I’m so glad.” Claire’s eyes sparkled at the kind man and she hoped that he would recover enough from his disease to live for years to come. “When you came to my house the night Nicole was there … I was sure you had something you wanted to tell us. Now that the case is solved, are you able to talk about what you wanted to discuss with us?”

  Marty ran his hand over the top of his head. “It’s nothing earth-shattering, but you’re right. I did plan to share something with you. I was sure I didn’t have long to live and I didn’t want to go to my grave with no one knowing.”

  Claire tilted her head. “Knowing? Knowing what?”

  “Why I have been chasing this murder case for so many years.”

  “It wasn’t because it was the first case you were assigned to report on as a journalist?” Claire asked.

  “It was partly that, yes, but there was another reason.” Marty set down his mug and breathed a long sigh. “I met Leslie Baker. It was two days before she was killed.”

  Claire’s eyes widened.

  “I was new to the area. I didn’t know anyone. I was feeling lonely and depressed and like a fish out of water so I went to a pub in Harvard Square to get out of my tiny, empty apartment.”

  Claire waited for him to go on.

  “There was a group of young people standing at the bar talking and laughing. I remember how heavy my loneliness felt.” Marty took a deep breath. “I was kind of shy back then, but I figured, what did I have to lose, so I headed over to talk to them. Leslie was in the group. She was so lively and happy and just full of good cheer. It made me feel better just to be next to her. We chatted, she drew me into the group. I had a great time. Leslie invited me to a party in her building for the next weekend. I went home feeling good, like I was making friends.” Marty looked over at Claire. “Leslie was nice to me.”

  “Why did you feel the need to keep the information secret?” Claire asked.

  “At the time, I was afraid I might become a suspect. It was a foolish fear, but I was scared. People saw me with Leslie two nights prior to her death. I have to admit I had a crush on her from that night. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I guess she didn’t consider Peter her boyfriend at that time. It was one of their off-again times. I met my future wife about a month after Leslie was killed. I never told her I had a crush on Leslie. It didn’t seem right to tell her.”

  Marty went on. “The kindness Leslie showed me never left my heart. It spurred me to search for her killer, to bring her a measure of justice. I wanted her to know someone was still trying to find the person who took her life. I wanted her to know I hadn’t forgotten her.” Marty batted at his eyes.

  “You did it, Marty,” Claire said softly. “You never gave up. Without your persistence, the case would never have been solved. I’m sure Leslie is smiling down on you.”

  Marty had a faraway look on his face.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Claire asked. “Fate, chance encounters, the way fortune’s wheel turns for each one of us. If you hadn’t met Leslie that night, Ambrose would still be free. The killer probably never would have been caught.”

  Claire rested next to Ian in his hospital bed, the two of them watching the small television attached to a metal arm that swung out from the wall. Ian had suffered a nasty smash on the head that required stitches and he had a concussion. The doctor wanted him to stay one more night for observation, and if all looked good, he would be released in the morning with orders to stay out of work for at least two weeks.

  Claire gently ran her hand over the side of Ian’s face.

  “Don’t stop,” Ian told his girlfriend as he squeezed her other hand. “Don’t ever stop.”

  Claire smiled. “I’ll tell Nicole I won’t be able to work at the shop for the next two weeks in order to stroke your face to speed your recovery.”

  “Fine with me,” Ian said and slid a little closer to Claire.

  Ian had arrived at Claire’s townhouse the night Ambrose planned to kill her. He used his key to go inside and disarmed the burglar alarm. Ambrose darted up the front steps and pushed his way inside before Ian had a chance to shut the door. Surprising Ian, he bashed the detective on the head, knocking him out.

  Through the front window, Ambrose saw Claire and the dogs arriving home and he dragged Ian into the living room with plans to finish him off, but Claire had snuck around back and Ambrose heard her say something to the dogs. Ambrose temporarily abandoned the plan to kill Ian and hid in the bedroom waiting for Claire to come inside.

  “I’m starving,” Ian said reaching for the remote to change the channel. “This hospital food isn’t doing it for me.”

  As soon as he said those words, Tony, Tessa, Nicole, and Augustus walked through the door into Ian’s room.

  “I never expected to see you flattened,” Tony told the man.

  Ian laughed. “The only thing flattened is my head.”

  “We brought you food,” Tessa announced. “And flowers and candy and….”

 

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