“Oh yes. At least a dozen or so, I’d say. He always looked reflective when he came in. Maybe a little sad, too.”
“In talking to him, did you get an idea of why he came here so often?”
“He said he liked the idea of metamorphosis—of how butterflies are made from lowly caterpillars. He liked the idea of changing from something that is kind of ugly and always on the ground into this beautiful creature. I never asked him directly, but I assume he had some sort of messed up childhood or something.”
“Did he ever mention spiders to you in your talks?” Avery asked.
“I keep wondering that myself,” Vickers said. “Ever since I saw that awful news report, I kept wondering if there were clues or some sort of foreshadowing as to how it could have happened. But I honestly don’t remember him ever mentioning spiders. If he did, it certainly wasn’t at length.”
“What about other insects?” Kellaway asked.
“No. I will say, though, that there was one day where I offhandedly mentioned beetles for some reason. He seemed to get very uncomfortable; he got up from his seat and started sort of pacing.”
“Was there ever any indication that he had enemies?” Avery asked. “Or even people he was uneasy about?”
“No,” Vickers answered. “He never mentioned a girlfriend or even friends. He sometimes talked about his work and his mom. I also know his father died a while back. But he never spoke ill of anyone or like he was afraid of someone in particular.”
“Do you know if there was anyone else he spoke to frequently?”
“Yes. He and Donald Johansson had quite a few conversations.”
“Really?” Avery asked.
“Yes. I wouldn’t say they were friends or anything like that, but I know for a fact they spoke a few times. Saw it with my own eyes.”
Why would Johansson lie about that? she wondered.
“And do you know where I might find him?” she asked.
Vickers smiled and nodded behind them. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Here he comes now.”
Avery and Kellaway turned to look behind them. Johansson had only just seen them and was frozen in place between two bends in the walkway along the garden. The expression on his face at seeing Avery told her everything she needed to know: he was hiding something.
Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Avery wasted no time. She headed in his direction right away with purpose in her step. “Mr. Johansson, it’s nice to see you again,” she said.
“Oh, yes, you as well,” he said. But his tone indicated that was not the case at all.
“With all due respect,” Avery said, “I can’t help but feel that you were lying to me when we spoke earlier. Or, if not lying, certainly omitting quite a few things.”
Johansson looked to the walkway and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
“I hope you have a very good reason,” she said. “Otherwise, I’d have to go through the trouble of arresting you in front of your coworkers.”
Johansson let out a shaky sigh and nodded. “You mind coming back to my office again?” he asked.
Honestly, Avery would rather stay in the butterfly garden rather than his dimly lit office with all those pictures of insects on the walls. Still, she nodded and said, “That’s fine.”
He led them out of the butterfly garden and back out into Level 2 of the museum. Avery took one last look back into the garden, and then to Kellaway, who had a confused look on her face that she didn’t even try to hide. Avery didn’t let it bother her too much. She had a feeling that Kellaway would be more than caught up within a few minutes.
***
“Yes, I got to know Alfred Lawnbrook during his frequent visits to the butterfly garden,” Johansson said as he sat behind his desk. “He was an isolated young man who clearly had many social anxieties, which is why myself and a few other employees tried to take the time to speak with him.”
“And why did you not see fit to tell me you knew him when I was here a little over two hours ago?” Avery said. “It would have saved me a hell of a lot of time and trouble.”
“Because I was trying to protect someone I care a great deal about.”
“You mean to tell me you knew Lawnbrook outside of the museum?”
“No,” Johansson said. Avery could see that there were tears welling up in his eyes, a clear indication that some kind of revelation was on the way. “But I did know someone that got to know him well. A former museum employee by the same of Stefon Scott. He was released last month. I knew Stefon well because I mentored him as he was coming up in the museum.”
“And what was his affiliation with Alfred Lawnbrook?” Avery asked.
“It depends on who you ask,” Johansson said. “Some would say they had something of a blossoming friendship. But I knew the truth…and I learned it by accident. The truth of the matter was that Alfred and Stefon met in the butterfly garden about a year ago and really hit it off. It developed into a romantic relationship that they tried to hide. They did a good job, except I walked in on Stefon speaking on the phone to Alfred one day. I heard enough to know what was going on so Stefon confided in me. Told me how happy he was but how weird it was, too. He had no idea he was gay until Alfred showed up in his life, apparently. But he also asked me to keep it a secret. And because he had come to be like a secondary son to me here at the museum, I decided to keep that promise when you were here earlier. I do apologize for any inconvenience.”
Putting aside her irritation of having been lied to, Avery continued forward. “You said Mr. Scott was released from the hospital last month. Why was he fired?”
At this point, Johansson was finding it hard to look at her. She could see the mess of conflict on his face—the battle between knowing he needed to tell what he knew battling with a promise made to a friend. Finally, still not looking at Avery or Kellaway, he answered. His voice was thick as he tried to hold back a bout of weeping.
“I knew Stefon very well,” he said. “I can tell you on my heart, on my life, that he did not have it in him to do the sort of things that were done to Alfred Lawnbrook.”
“What did he do?” Kellaway asked. “Why was he let go?”
“He was obsessed with spiders…so much so that he started taking some home with him. When the museum found out, they fined and fired him. We still don’t think he returned all of them.”
Avery got to her feet and slammed her hand down on the desk. “You knew someone obsessed with spiders was involved with Alfred Lawnbrook…and you thought that information did not need to be shared when I was here two hours ago?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Officer Kellaway, please cuff this bastard and read him his rights.”
“But I—” Johansson started.
“Very talkative now, I see,” Avery said, turning away from him while Kellaway dutifully did as she was asked.
Avery pulled out her phone and called up Connelly. She figured if she could get an address for Stefon Scott, this entire case could potentially be wrapped up within the hour. The pleading cries of Johansson from behind her as Kellaway applied the handcuffs seemed to only cement this notion.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Avery parked in front of Stefon Scott’s one-story house forty minutes later. He lived in one of the many small brick row houses in the Bay Village area. When she had called the A1 to get an address and any information on him, she also learned that he was currently unemployed, still not having found another job in the month he’d been gone from the museum.
The timing is almost too perfect, she thought as she and Kellaway climbed the slight staircase to his front door. He was released a month ago for stealing spiders…and Lawnbrook is killed via spiders a little more than a week ago. It’s a cookie cutter timeline that seems almost too perfect.
The door was answered not by Stefon Scott, but by a woman dressed in a black band T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Her hair was dyed a nearly neon red color and she wore a bull ring in her nose and a lip ring in her bottom lip. A tattoo of a large spider adorned her right forearm.