One
To him who uses what he has, more will be given in abundance; but to him who does not use what he has, even that shall be taken from him.
Derived from Matthew 25:29, Mark 4:25, Luke 19:26
Of course it happened on a Tuesday—everything happens on a Tuesday. You can never let yourself get too comfortable, River surmised; life has a habit of not cooperating with plans; but this he’d brought on himself anyway.
He’d have liked to think it was only because he was never one to believe in coincidence, and the death of 25-year-old Abigail Green had been no exception. The Greens were one of the community’s wealthiest families, which naturally carried plenty of problems of its own; despite the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Green claimed devout Catholicism, it was well known that alcohol, drug abuse, and general acts of indecency were rampant among most of their five children, two of whom were now out of state. Abigail had been the eldest daughter, as well as one of the only nicer members, and very likely the only virgin left in the family. It was a well known fact that she had never been seriously involved with much outside the home, while her younger brother Oliver, who was twenty-one, and sister Tabitha, who was nineteen, were very well known in the area, as well as in local police records for various DUIs, misdemeanors, and the like. Whatever relationships they got into were public news for everyone; Tabitha had once set a record of fifteen men within a fortnight, and the local tabloids had gone crazy with headlines of 15 Men on This Girl’s Chest! to profess their tacky sentiments.
At the end of May, Abigail had graduated with honors from the local medical college and officially moved out. It was her sister who threw her a going-away party—not because of her accomplishments, but because there was now one less person living in the same house. The sisters’ frequent rivalries were popular local legends, for they had quarreled over nearly everything. Abigail was sentimental and liked keeping things in order; Tabby was a wildcard, unconcerned for personal possessions. Abigail was emotional and clingy, and had friends with their own lives and little time to spend with her; Tabby kept to herself and a few close friends, and hated being associated with her brother and sister in public.
Around 6:00 that night, sisters Abby and Tabby had quarreled yet again over an item from their grandmother Abigail wanted to take with her. The object, which happened to be a small ceramic unicorn, was of no consequence to Tabby, aside from using it as a birthday present for her current boyfriend. While the fight was nothing much (the unicorn reportedly wound up at the bottom of the backyard pool), the tension between the girls was obvious to all, and the end of the night left Abigail in no high spirits.
Four days after this event, Abby was settled in a small but comfortable loft uptown. She had reportedly not been in physical contact with anyone during that time. Three weeks later, she was dead, and the press went wild.
Unfortunately, River was late getting onto the case; he’d gotten hung up in a couple of stolen car cases and hadn’t gotten back until the scene had already been analyzed, prints taken, and the body taken in for examination. For that reason alone, he almost hadn’t taken it, but he did anyway, and began regretting it as soon as he had. The main reason the family was seeking a murder conviction was because her death was alleged to be a suicide, and the Greens were profoundly traditionalistic in this area. If it wasn’t suicide, Abby could be buried on the residential family plot; if she was, she would be buried in the local graveyard. At least they weren’t about to chop one of her hands off if she really was a suicide.
“Well,” the police captain had said when handing him the case file, “if anyone’s going to get to the bottom of this, I’d rather it be someone who can close it off quick. The Greens don’t want any more press than they’re willing to put up with, which sure doesn’t say much, but then, you know. Think you can handle it at this point?”
River glanced over the file with thorough scrutiny but little interest. “Do you want ‘fast’ or ‘accurate’? ’Cause I can do both; just not necessarily at the same time.”
“Just review it for anything that might have been missed,” said the captain dismissively. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got everything, but they’re insisting we double-check. They’re rich, so they can afford to waste the time of at least someone who’s got it.”
That remark was more of a backhanded compliment than an outright insult; River had closed as many as five moderately difficult cases in a week, and was one of the fastest investigators that division had on record, which was saying something. Processing alone took up most of the time needed to solve anything above a missing dog (one of which he had, on one memorable occasion, discovered had been killed by a neighbor’s disturbed kid who’d had enough of its continual yapping). It was a small, fairly wealthy community—depending on which end you lived on—containing mostly mid-forties-to-senior citizens, where not a lot happened, which was, in River’s view, both a blessing and a curse. His biggest case, aside from the Green’s, had been on a teen runaway who had snuck up into Canada and had been discovered working at a coffee shop up in Toronto; the fact that the kid had an alcoholic parent and was going to be emancipated in another two days anyway was what had driven them to River, who had solved it in less than half an hour, not offered to help them bring the kid home, and still charged his full usual fee. Someone had once asked him what his working philosophy was, to which he’d answered that he believed people in general were self absorbed and clueless, and the nicer ones were usually first to die out, mostly due to their own stupidity. It came as no surprise that he had never been asked about it since.
The Green’s case file looked just about as standard as they got: Abby had a gunshot wound to the temple adjacent to her dominant hand; the gun matching the wound was found in her dominant hand with no other prints on it; none of the neighbors had heard the noise of a gunshot during the night; no signs of forced entry or exit to the home, etc., etc. The Green’s biggest question was as to where Abby would have gotten the gun, as the family was strictly against the carrying of firearms, aside from the fact that Oliver alone had gotten into both fist and knife-fights an undocumented number of times at the local bars. It was odd that Abby, the most loyal to the family, would have gotten one without her family’s knowledge; then again, if the sole objective was her own death, maybe that wasn’t such an odd thing after all.
River spent a few minutes scanning the file, trying to find anything that stood out as out of place or even too convenient. The body was discovered by a neighbor who had noticed from the street that the lights had been left on all night, then found the door unlocked. The weapon was a tiny handheld and suppressor, which she would have had to purchase in person; there was no record of a receipt for the gun found in the apartment, which could easily have been thrown away long before that, depending on when the gun had been purchased. Maybe the strangest thing that had been found in the apartment was an ancient teddy bear on the bed, which none of the Greens confessed to having the knowledge of owning. It was very old, like the kind found in antique toy stores, but there weren’t any nearer than twenty miles south of here; no town this high-end would ever sell anything but good quality merchandise.
He took one last careful overview of the file, not looking for anything specific, but just to clarify whether he really wanted to investigate the matter at all. There was still a tiny window to back out now while he could; but what else was he going to do with his time this week?
The first order of business was to take a look at the coroner’s report and compare it with the gun itself. River took the file with him to the evidence office, checking to make sure that Ernie wasn’t there today; being almost seventy and rather hard of hearing, River would never make it through the door if he was. Fortunately, today it was just Sasha, so he was in the evidence room in a matter of minutes.
The evidence he needed was at the back, so he had to walk from one end of the room to the other in order to reach it. When he came to the back of the room, he picked up the bin and turned to carry it to the table to look through it. But just as he turned, he heard a loud sniff and came face to face with a large pair of wet, gray eyes.
Cursing, River almost dropped the bin, which he just managed to shove back in its place on the shelf. The girl in front of him was a slim, stately blonde in a short, business-casual dress with a conspicuously low neckline, her hair swept back in a low knot. Despite this, she was unmistakable at a glance, for her picture was a familiar occupant of the local tabloids; it was Tabitha Green, presently wearing more clothes than she was prone to be seen wearing in public.
“How did you get in here?” was River’s first question.
Tabitha’s face was streaked with tears, but she still managed a look of haughty defiance. “Your friend Allen was in last night; he’s very sweet.” Fishing in her pocket, she drew out a key to the evidence room. Allen was young and new to the department, and also had a bad habit of taking things back with him from work, like keys. This likely meant that Tabitha had “introduced” herself in person to him the previous night at his home rather than at work.
“I think ‘naive’ is the word you mean,” grunted River, laying a gently firm hand on the young lady’s shoulder and escorting her to the door. “You’re not allowed back here.”
“I haven’t touched anything,” Tabby protested, shaking off his hold. “I didn’t know where to wait, and I wanted to see the evidence for myself.”
“There’s nothing to see that hasn’t already been analyzed,” River told her.
Tabitha stood her ground. “And I’ve come to testify.”
“To what?”
“Everything I know about her.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Anything that might help solve this.”
River cocked an eyebrow. “So you think this was a murder?”
“I’m almost certain,” she stated emphatically. “I just need to know; just to make sure—if she—” She choked, swallowing hard.
“Do you have a suspect in mind?” River asked.
Recovering herself, Tabitha faced him with a steely gaze. “Yes.”
This was mildly surprising; River felt his interest in the case sharpening. “I see. Well, just come with me, and I’ll take your statement.”
He led her to one of the waiting areas, where a few chairs and a table were set. Seating her in one, he took out a notebook and pen as well as a small recorder and began writing. In a time when the whole world seemed to be converting to high tech, River preferred manually compiling his notes and copying them into his computer files later; it ensured a hard copy of his work that could be used if something went wrong with the digital and a digital in case anything happened to the hard copy. “All right, just give me your name, age, and relationship to the deceased.”
“Tabitha Anne Green,” Tabby stated professionally. “I’m twenty next March, and Abigail was my sister. Her full name was Abigail Marie Green. And at the estimated time of death, I was across town visiting a friend,” she added hastily, and included the address and phone number to verify.
River scribbled the information down. “And how close would you say the two of you were?” River had his own suppositions on this, but the statement would need her words, not his.
Tabby looked uncertain. “Closer than most, not as close as some,” was the rather sketchy reply. “But I did know a few more things about her than she let on to the public, or even to the family.”
“Like what?” River probed.
“Like the scandal that she avoided getting leaked to the press this past winter,” answered Tabby. “It should be in the police records of this precinct, and possibly in Atlanta.”
New information; that would be useful. “What scandal?”
“Abby was very reserved,” Tabitha explained. “She was modest in the insecure kind of way—never wore anything that would expose too much. But her computer got hacked, and someone managed to record a video through the camera of her undressing in her room. He sent her a message with the video and said he would leak it to the local tabloids if she didn’t send them money. She answered back that she would comply as soon as she could get it, then went straight to the police and asked them to trace the IP address. She said it led to a suspect down in Florida.”
River looked up from his notes. “Someone all the way in Florida was blackmailing your sister?”
“Just some creep who thought he’d found an easy scam,” Tabitha spat bitterly. “He didn’t even know who she was.”
“So how does this connect with Abby’s death?”
Tabitha leaned forward and whispered earnestly, “Because I think he stayed in touch with her.”
River’s pen quickened its pace. “Why do you think that?”
“A couple weeks before she moved out, she started dropping hints that she was seeing someone. Sure, we had doubts about it; she’s never had a serious relationship since she was about fourteen. For a while, Mother and Daddy were worried she might be homosexual, but an incident with one of our neighbor’s boys proved them wrong.” She gave a wry smile, indicating that this was apparently supposed to be funny, then drove on. “But we asked her who it was, and she said it was someone she’d met online.”
“Was this before or after the hacking incident?” asked River, pausing momentarily.
Tabitha bit her lip, trying to recall. “I think it was right after, or maybe about the same time; I’m not really sure. But it must have been after, because that was when Mother warned her about the dangers of meeting people anonymously; she said she ought to know, after what had just happened to her. That’s right, so it must have been after.”
River nodded encouragingly, scribbling it down. “Go on.”
“Anyways,” she continued, “she said she was being careful, and that they were planning to meet in person sometime soon. Of course, that never happened, which wasn’t surprising at all; she was so busy getting ready to move out, she rarely left the house for anything but the family dinner.”
“And what is that?” asked River, halting again.
“We go out to eat Friday nights,” she explained. “Always the same place: that little Italian spot near the Town Hall. But then, the week she moved out, she’d gotten all rucked up about something or other, and I have to admit that we had another one of our, ah, sparring sessions over dinner that Friday.”
“Do you remember what it was about?”
Tabby shrugged. “Oh, just some silly inconvenience or other; I don’t know. But it was on Friday and we were out, so it didn’t last long or go very high. After that, right up until her move she was pretty high strung most of the time, anyway. We thought it was just the natural stress of moving out, but now I’m not so sure.”
River frowned thoughtfully. “So do you think that this person she had met either was, or was associated with, the Florida cyber stalker?”
“I’d be almost one hundred percent sure of it,” Tabitha affirmed, “if it wasn’t for Vic Drummer.”
“Who’s that?”
“The neighbor guy—she had a fling with him for about a month a couple years back. I mean, technically there was actually nothing there, really; he’s a few years younger than her, but she did like him a lot before she found out he was seeing someone already.”
River’s mouth tightened. “Mm-hm, and why do you think that could be connected to the case?”
Tabby flushed, looking down. “Because I was who he was already seeing. She had a few… desperate tendencies.” She smiled slightly, shaking her head. “Our parents didn’t know about it, but she could be so crazy, and that time she almost snapped. I mean, it was a little hilarious—she went on something like a hunger strike and only drank energy drinks for the next four days. Of course, she got miserably sick; Mother and Daddy thought she had some kind of flu, but only I knew about it. But I thought she still liked Vic for years.” She gave a little toss of the head. “Honestly, the whole online thing confused me a bit.”
“So what does this Vic Drummer fellow have to do with your sister’s death?” River questioned impatiently.
“Oh, he’s the only other person I would think of,” said Tabby. “He threw such a fit when I told him why she got sick; he was really angry at all of us, and now his family doesn’t speak to ours.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Small loss.”
“Why would that make him want to kill Abigail?”
Tabitha swallowed again, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think he would, unless… if she… asked him.”
Understanding clicked in River’s brain. “An assisted suicide, you mean?”
“It’s definitely not my first theory,” said Tabby hastily, brushing away fresh tears. “That was my third choice. The second would be an…” She made an obvious effort, “… assisted one with whoever she met online, whether it was the hacker or not. But my first choice,” she said with more of an edge, “is that whoever hacked her got bitter over the incident and came looking for her.”
“Well, it’s a theory.” River scratched down this information hurriedly. “I’ll certainly keep it in mind.”
“Thank you.” Tabby stood up, smoothing her hair and straightening her jacket. “I don’t think she killed herself—I’m dead certain she didn’t. She was a little manic, but not that crazy.”
“Desperate people do desperate things,” said River skeptically, putting away his notes and stopping the recorder. “I’ll do what I can, but I’ll need to talk to the rest of the family; both your parents, as well as your brother.”
“Start with Oliver,” Tabby advised. “He’ll be more cooperative if you don’t consult Mother first. You might want to get him drunk, just to make sure he talks.”
