I shiver. This image is too much like the riverside beach to ignore. “Who did this one?”
“Eric North. He gave this to us months ago. North is a local painter of some renown. He spoke at the memorial service — tall, brown hair, good looking. At least my wife seems to think so,” Daniel says dryly.
“I remember.”
“Ever since childhood, Vicky had a special connection to the Columbia River. It’s one of the reasons she moved the church here. She always said that water, especially moving water, had a spiritual component. The veins of Gaia, she called it. We sometimes had services on the shore, or down on the beach by the jetty, where the river empties into the Pacific Ocean.” He clicks off the light.
More than ever, I feel the killer must be connected to the church. Putting her body into the river was almost an act of grace. North’s painting could even have given the murderer the idea.
I assume we’re going back to the office, but instead Chandler takes me to a storeroom. A single bulb illuminates more canvases, wood carvings, pottery, and metal sculptures. I point to one piece which features several broken machine parts welded together haphazardly. “Is this an offering too?”
Chandler grimaces. “Yes. Young Jason Morganstern. Not much talent there, I’m afraid, although I think North was mentoring him some.” He runs a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck. “I simply don’t know what to do with all this. A lot of rubbish, most of it.” He closes the door and we return to the office.
He plops back down in his chair and sags back, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m just the bookkeeper, but there’s no other employees to see to things. I’m the only one with access. I’m trying my best to handle all the details, but I don’t know what’s to become of the church.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chandler. Truly. I never met Victoria, but I can tell she was someone special. Exactly how long had you known her? You said a long time.”
“Eight years. She was so beautiful, so dedicated. I still can’t believe someone would want to kill her. You must be mistaken.”
“I know. It’s an ugly, ugly thing. But you can help me. Please, give me the list of church members with their phone numbers, and if you can think of anything, no matter how small, that seems suspicious or strange, please tell me.” I crack a smile. “You’ll probably have to go over all this again for the Astoria cops, if they’re doing their job. So you might as well have it ready.”
He blanches. “I was hoping that you’d be able to keep them away.”
“You won’t have any choice. It’s a suspicious death.” Here’s the avoidance, first hand, that Claire had described to me. Maybe now I can get some answers. “The cops are going to want to know why you didn’t file a missing person report.”
“I suppose because I thought she’d turn up. I thought maybe she’d gone off on a retreat or something, to work on her book.”
This is the first I’ve heard about a book. “Without telling anyone?” I raise my most skeptical eyebrow. “Come on, Mr. Chandler. It looks strange.”
“Whose side are you on?”
That’s the second time he’s said that. “I’m just trying to find out the truth. If you don’t want to talk to me, fine, but the police won’t back off. If you want them out of your hair, the best thing to do is be honest with them. And me. If I can get a head start, maybe we can wrap this up before they make this even more unpleasant for everybody.” I recall my breakfast with Detective Olafson. “Do you want me to share information with the police? Or run it by you first?”
He rubs his forehead again. I’m beginning to think he’s giving himself a permanent groove.
“I don’t want Vicky’s legacy to be tarnished. Tell me what you find before the APD.”
“Will do. Pay my bills and answer my questions, and you’ll be the first to know about anything.” Loyalty oath with built-in back door in case he stiffs me. Good enough. To get him into information provider mode, I ask him about the book he mentioned earlier. He tells me Victoria was working on a manuscript about utilizing artistic creation to recover from trauma and abuse. The book had exercises and rituals that she thought would promote healing and forgiveness. Daniel was going to handle the publication and printing detail, if and when it ever got that far.
I’m not sure what I think about this type of thing, but I suppose every half-baked guru can self-publish a manifesto these days. And she might have her own experiences to cauterize.
“Was Victoria an abused child?” I think of her icy mother. It wouldn’t surprise me.
He frowns. “It feels wrong to talk about her private life, things she told me in confidence.”
I lean on the desk. “Mr. Chandler. She’s dead. Someone killed her. Her privacy is of secondary consideration now.”
“You’re the only one saying it’s a homicide.” He folded his arms.
I try another tack. “Did anyone else know about the book?”
“I’m not sure. She was hosting a group for abuse survivors, working out the rituals and exercises and things, seeing what helped. Some of those people might know. She also had some services about abuse, and finding love and light through ‘cleansing your wounds.’ I can’t remember if she talked about her book then.”
It seems like Claire would have said something. Is this just another example of Daniel keeping things close to the vest? Or are there other things he isn’t telling me?
I stand and go over to his shelves, checking out the books and objects. This is mostly to make him nervous, but also to get a sense of him. The books are business related. Accounting techniques, opportunities for women-owned
