“And from what I understand, he didn’t really get out much. He wasn’t keen to be around other people, correct?”
“That’s right. He’d been like that ever since middle school when kids bullied him about his glasses and his lisp. He had friends, mind you, but not many. He was the kid that, in high school, was in the chess club and the debate team.”
“Do you know if he had any friends at the time of his death?” Avery asked. She was very aware of Kellaway standing beside her, listening intently.
“No one close,” Phyllis said. “The only people I ever really heard him talk at length about were some of the people he worked with. They had weekly Skype calls to go over stuff. I think the virtual workspace was good for him. He got to socialize without having to really be around people.”
“And did he ever speak negatively about the people he worked with?”
“From time to time, sure. His boss was strict and sometimes overbearing with deadlines. But Alfred was never overly mean about it, you know?”
“And how about the two of you?” Avery asked. “Did the two of you have a healthy relationship?”
“I suppose,” Phyllis said, setting her now-empty plate on the coffee table. “Alfred got even more closed off and private when his father passed away. So sometimes he’d come to me with issues a young man should go to his father about. It took us into some strange conversations for sure. So yes…I’d say we had a good relationship. The only arguments we ever had were when he would push me to start eating better.”
“And did he broach that topic out of concern or something else?” Avery posed.
“Genuine concern,” she said. “He was afraid of losing his other parent. And believe it or not, I didn’t always look like this. I started binge eating when my husband died and food has always been the thing that calms me.”
“Mrs. Lawnbrook, I have another question…a strange one, perhaps. I was wondering if you knew of any pets Alfred might have had in the last few years.”
“No, he never had a pet. We had a cat here when he was young and it got out one day. A neighborhood dog pounced on it and pretty much devoured it right in front of Alfred. Ever since then, he’s refused to have another pet.”
“So then I take it he never would have had any reason to frequent any local pet stores?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”
“It all goes back to the spiders…trying to make sense of why they were used by the killer. Can you think of any link at all that your son might have had to spiders or insects?”
Before Phyllis responded, a thought came to Avery, It made her feel foolish and, for the first time since calling Connelly yesterday, like she maybe wasn’t ready to come back.
You were there and you missed your chance, she thought. It was obvious, right in front of you…and you missed it.
“I don’t know if it counts or not,” Phyllis said, “but he did go the museum quite a bit. The science museum. They’ve got that lovely butterfly garden, you know?”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Avery said. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone that Alfred might have gotten to know well while visiting the museum, do you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, thank you for your time. Please call us if you think of anything else that might help with the investigation.”
When they left the house, Avery barely noticed that Kellaway was still staying quiet and reserved. She wasn’t pouting, exactly; she was simply letting her know that for now, she was not going to speak unless spoken to. And for now, that was fine with Avery. She was too busy beating herself up for not exploring this avenue when she had been at the museum earlier.
It did seem strange, though. Johansson seemed to have known about the case. And being one of the museum’s entomologists, he was likely a prominent figure in the butterfly garden. Wouldn’t he have seen Alfred at some point if Alfred frequented the attraction?
Probably, she thought. But he probably sees hundreds of visitors a week. And pictures of Alfred aren’t very widespread in the media yet.
Still, it was curious…and it gave her the best lead she’d had so far.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Back at the museum, Avery wasted no time in paying a second visit to Johansson’s office. However, she found it empty, the pictures of all of those insects seeming to stare at her as if they were Johansson’s protectors. Vacant, the room was eerie. It was all too easy to imagine that the insects all over the walls had come to life and devoured Johansson.
“You know this guy?” Kellaway said, finally breaking her silence. She made a not-so-subtle expression of disgust as she looked at all of the pictures.
“We may have spoken recently,” she said.
They left Johansson’s office and used a nearby museum directory to find the location of the butterfly garden. The garden was a permanent exhibit that was located on the side of the building that allowed it to overlook the Charles River. As they approached the entrance, Avery and Kellaway found that there was currently an elementary school group touring the garden. They stayed a good distance behind as they entered the garden. Avery tried to keep her eyes out for an employee to assist but was a bit distracted by the sights.
It really was a beautiful place. The greenery was well maintained and the high arched glass ceilings gave the garden a free-floating feel. As the kids several yards ahead of them chatted and giggled, a member of the grounds crew came into view—a middle-aged man, tending to the soil along a large canopy of miniature trees and flowers.
“Excuse me,” Avery said, flashing her badge in a way that, even after her three-month absence, came to her in a mechanical way. “Could you perhaps tell me where Donald Johansson would be at this time? He wasn’t in his office.”
“I have no idea,” the groundskeeper said. “He pops in here from time to time, though.”
“Is there someone around that we could speak to in order to verify a frequent visitor?” Kellaway asked.
“Yeah. That would be Leslie Vickers. She’s the one leading the kiddos through the garden right now. She’ll pass it off to one of her assistants at the end, though. I imagine her part is close to being wrapped up if you want to follow along.”
Avery and Kellaway gave their thanks and once again found themselves following behind the school group. Avery looked to the front of the single file line of first graders and saw a tall and poised woman of about forty. She seemed to notice the two women walking a bit behind the line of kids but did her best not to let that distract her.
Within another three minutes, the woman—apparently Leslie Vickers—came to a stop at a space that looked like a miniature courtyard. The kids took seats on a series of benches and chairs that lined the circle, looking to her as she finished her spiel about the wonders and the beauty of not only butterflies but all of nature.
When she was done, the woman smiled at the kids and walked away as a young and far-too-cheerful assistant stepped in and started talking to the kids.
Vickers approached Avery and Kellaway with a hesitant smile. “Is there something I can help you ladies with?” she asked.
“I’m Detective Avery Black,” Avery said, again flashing her badge. “And this is my partner, Officer Kellaway. We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on a murder case we’re working on right now. The victim apparently frequented the butterfly garden quite a bit.”
Vickers’s face seemed to deflate. Avery could tell that Vickers already knew where this was headed.
“Are you talking about Alfred Lawnbrook?” she asked.
“I am,” Avery said. “How did you know?”
She shrugged sadly and leaned against a nearby wooden planter. Over her head three butterflies took off in a colorful blur. “Alfred came in here a lot. Some of us took the time to know him. He was shy but once he warmed up, you couldn’t get him to stop talking.”
“I take it you spoke with him on a few occasions?” Avery asked.