Ricochet

Chapter 23

“SHE’S PRETTY MUCH A MESS.” DOTHAN BROOKS SPOKE IN A reverential undertone. “You know what a floater looks like, and she’s been in the water.” He looked Duncan up and down. “You’re not much drier than she is.”

His hair and clothes were wet. “I’d been out in the weather when I got the call. Didn’t want to take time to change.”

He’d reached the morgue as quickly as possible, having to first jog from his town house to the parking lot of Smitty’s to retrieve his car. He and the ME were standing a discreet distance from the judge, granting him time alone with the corpse on the gurney. The body was entirely covered by a sheet, save for the right hand, which the judge held clasped between his as he wept unabashedly.

The body had been discovered by a tugboat crew beneath a pier where the tugs docked. The Talmadge Bridge was well within sight.

“How come she didn’t surface sooner?” Duncan asked.

“Got hung up on something under the pier is my guess. Fish have had at her. She was a feeding ground. She finally shook loose of whatever was holding her down, and up she came.”

“If she looks that bad, how did he make the ID?”

“Birthmark. Lower abdomen, part of it under her pubic hair. Only a husband or lover would know about it. I told him we could wait on a positive ID until we obtained her dental records, but he insisted on looking at her. Nearly tossed his cookies when he saw her face, or lack thereof. Said no way was that his beautiful Elise.

“But then he saw that birthmark, and I’m here to tell you, he fell apart. Would have collapsed if I hadn’t caught him.” Dothan took a package of peanut M amp;M’s from his pants pocket and ripped it open. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. Any signs of her struggle with Napoli?”

Dothan chewed a handful of the candies, crunching them noisily between his teeth. “Not readily apparent, but they wouldn’t be, considering. I’ll take a closer look during the autopsy. But no bullet wounds or anything like that, if that’s what you mean.”

“Cause of death was drowning?”

“If so, there’ll be water in her lungs.”

“What was she wearing?”

Dothan motioned him over to a sterile table on which lay a wristwatch with a narrow leather strap and three articles of badly stained and sodden clothing. They were filthy, but recognizable. The ME said, “According to the judge the watch belonged to her and the clothes match what she was wearing the last time he saw her.”

“He should know. He bought them for her.”

Duncan left the ME with his snack and approached the gurney, moving to the left side of it so that he was facing Judge Laird across it. He pretended to be contemplating the still form beneath the sheet but actually he was studying Elise’s seemingly bereft husband.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, looked up, and nodded a greeting. “Detective.”

“Everyone working the case extends their condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Mentally he braced himself and lifted the top corner of the sheet. Dothan had understated the damage. His stomach lurched. The organic destruction to the features made them practically indistinguishable as such. However, one ear remained intact. He noted that it was pierced, but there was no earring in the hole. The hair was wet and matted with God knows how many varieties of river matter, but it was the approximate color and length of Elise’s. He lowered the sheet. “It must be very difficult for you to see her like this.”

The judge squeezed his eyes shut. “You have no idea how painful.”

“Are you sure it’s your wife?”

His eyes popped open and he looked at Duncan with reproach. “Of course.”

“I’m not trying to pick an argument with you, Judge. It’s just that people have made false identifications before. You wouldn’t be here if the situation wasn’t already traumatic. You come down here scared, emotionally and physically drained. Under those circumstances, mistakes have been made before.”

“There’s no mistake. Did Dr. Brooks tell you about the birthmark?”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t possibly mistake that.”

“I’m sure. All the same, we’ll rely on dental records.”

“Of course. Whatever Dr. Brooks needs, I’ll make available to him tomorrow.” He gazed at the draped body. “I wish with all my heart that I was wrong. But it’s Elise.” He bent over the hand he was holding. It was a ghastly color, and Duncan knew it must be cold and repugnant to the touch. The judge kissed the back of it. As he straightened, he said, “In times of personal crisis, it’s very difficult to be a public official.”

“You’re in the spotlight even as you’re grieving,” Duncan said, following his thought.

“I understand there’s already press outside.”

“Your wife’s disappearance has been a big story. This is the final chapter.”

“I can’t cope with the media right now. Besides, I want to stay with Elise for as long as possible before turning her over to Dr. Brooks for the autopsy.” He voice cracked and he covered his eyes with his hand.

Duncan walked around the gurney and stood beside him. “I’m sure Dr. Brooks will give you all the time you want, Judge. And we’ll have officers outside to protect you from the press when you leave. Until you’re ready, let our department’s PIO deal with them.”

As he made to go, the judge detained him. “We got off to a rocky start, Detective Hatcher, and we’ve had some cross moments. But generally speaking, you’ve been extraordinarily sensitive to my distress during all this. I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you did for me and my wife.”

Duncan shook the hand extended to him, but as he looked into the judge’s tearful eyes, he was thinking, You wouldn’t appreciate everything I did for your wife, you lying, cocksucking son of a bitch.

She was sitting on the bathroom floor where he’d left her, handcuffed to the plumbing pipe beneath the sink. She’d fought him like a wildcat as he wrestled her into the bathroom and put the handcuffs on her. He left her pleading with him not to leave her there like that. He’d told her it was for her own protection, but the truth was that he didn’t trust her not to pull another vanishing act.

He didn’t trust her not to be in cahoots with Savich, either. Before leaving, he didn’t neglect to set his house alarm. And even though the LED didn’t register a disturbance when he disengaged it upon his return, he climbed the stairs with pistol drawn.

She was alone, just as he’d left her, although she no longer looked angry. Either that or she was simply too exhausted to rail at him as he knelt down to unlock the handcuffs. He helped her to her feet.

“What happened?” she asked. He gave her a few seconds to massage circulation back into her wrists before reaching for her hands again. “Oh, please don’t,” she begged as he replaced the cuffs. “Why?”

“My peace of mind.”

“You still don’t trust me?”

He opened his closet and pulled out a duffel bag, tossed it on the bed, and unzipped it. “Did you bring anything here with you except the rain slicker?”

“No. Did you see Cato?”

“Yeah, I saw him.”

“Where?”

“At the morgue.”

“And he identified my body?”

“She was wearing your wristwatch.”

“ Napoli made me take it off and give it to him.”

“It wasn’t in the car when we found him.”

“Then Savich must have taken it.”

“Must have.” There was much to learn, but not before they were safely away from here. “Where have you been staying all this time?” he asked as he rifled bureau drawers and began throwing items of clothing into the duffel bag.

“In a house on Hilton Head. I paid a year’s rent on it six months ago, but I hadn’t used it until this past week.”

“How’d you get to the island?”

“A while back I bought a used car and kept it parked in a paid lot, so I could leave in a hurry if I needed to. That night I walked to it from the bridge.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “And then drove back across?” One route to the island meant crossing the Talmadge Bridge.

“No, I took the interstate.”

“Going back to the bridge would have been audacious, even for you,” he said bitterly. He resumed packing. “How did you manage to come by a house, car, et cetera when your husband had Napoli following you?”

“I guess I wasn’t under constant surveillance.”

Or Napoli had deliberately withheld some information to use to bait the judge later, up the ante, make more profit. “Where’s the car now?”

“Same place. This evening, as soon as I heard on the news that the search had been called off, I drove from Hilton Head. I left the car in the paid lot and walked from there to here.”

“A rental house and a car purchase. That’s a paper trail a mile wide. A blind man could follow it.”

“Then how come nobody discovered it while I was missing?”

“Good point,” he said wryly. “But I don’t want to take any chances. You’ve got to stay invisible.”

“For how long?”

“Until I figure out what to do.”

“About me?”

“About everything. Your husband produced a body so we would stop looking for you and close the case. I need to find out why.”

“Please don’t refer to him as my husband.”

“You’re married to him.”

“I despise him.”

He held her gaze for several beats, then went into the bathroom and raided the medicine cabinet of toiletries. “How were all those transactions handled? The house, the car.”

“Under assumed names. I bought the car in South Carolina from an individual. It’s registered there. Cato doesn’t know any of this. I’m sure.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said, dumping the double handful of bathroom items into the duffel on top of the clothing. “I don’t like it.”

He checked his closet for anything he might have missed and might need, then took a pistol from the top shelf. Along with a box of bullets, he added it to the duffel bag and zipped it up.

Then he looked around the room, wondering if this was the last time he would ever see it. But he had no time for entertaining sentimental thoughts. He picked up Elise’s slicker and draped it over her cuffed hands.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet. But I can’t keep you here. You’re good to me only as long as you stay dead. Take off your shoes.” She toed off the sneakers without question. He put them in the pockets of the slicker, then hastily wiped up her wet footprints with a bathroom towel. “If anyone comes looking for you, I don’t want them to see your footprints.”

“Who would come looking?”

“You friend Savich, maybe.”

“Savich is not my friend. He for sure wouldn’t be if he knew I’d seen him kill Napoli.”

Leaving that alone for the moment, Duncan hefted the strap of the duffel bag onto his shoulder and took Elise’s hands, pulling her along behind him as he went down the stairs. “I parked my car out back in the alley.” He led her through the dark house to the rear door in the kitchen.

He pulled it open cautiously and scanned the enclosed garden. Like the rest of the city, his walled backyard was saturated from the recent rains. Tops of plants were bent low from the weight of the water. He detected nothing out of the ordinary and no movement other than raindrops splashing into puddles.

He took her shoes from the coat pockets and placed them on the floor then guided her bare feet into them. “Okay, let’s go.” But when he tried to pull her through the door, she resisted. He turned back. “What?”

“Do you finally believe me?”

He stared into her shadowed face for several moments, then said, “Do you have a birthmark partially covered by your pubic hair?”

She gave him a pointed look.

He said, “It was dark. I could have missed it.”

“I don’t have a birthmark.”

“Then I’m close to believing you.”

As he got into his car and started the motor, he thought to check the fuel gauge. More than half full. Good. He was reluctant to make another stop before getting the hell out of Dodge.

But there was one thing he must do. He plucked his cell phone off his belt and called DeeDee. She answered immediately. Without even an opening hello, she said, “How was it at the morgue?”

“Cold.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Judge Laird was still there.”

Because he was lead detective on the case, Gerard had asked him to take that duty while DeeDee was sent to the pier where the body had been discovered to interview the men who’d discovered it. He summarized his brief conversation with the ME and with Laird, aware that Elise was also listening from the passenger seat of his car. He concluded with, “The judge is very torn up.”

“Well, that’s that, I guess,” DeeDee said with her typical practicality. “As you said earlier today, it would be over when her body was found.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

She hesitated, then asked, “How are you?”

“Fine. But I wondered if you could cover for me if I take a couple days off?”

DeeDee expressed concern for his mental and emotional state and told him she didn’t think it was a good time for him to be alone. She suggested he see a counselor and discuss his conflicts regarding the late Mrs. Laird.

He couldn’t talk openly about it, not with Elise sitting on the other side of the console, but he told his concerned partner that a few days away from the office were exactly what he needed.

“I just need some downtime, DeeDee. I want to hang out, get my head straight, then I’ll be right as rain and raring to get back to work. I’ll call you in a day or two.” He said good-bye before she could ask where he was going for this self-prescribed downtime.

“I wonder who she was,” Elise said as he ended the call. “The woman in the morgue wearing my wristwatch. Who was she?”

Duncan had a good guess, but he kept it to himself. There was much he needed to learn before he could trust Elise entirely. “She was a blonde. Approximately your size. And Judge Laird was awfully convincing as the grieving husband. If I hadn’t seen you in the flesh, I would have believed he was weeping over the mutilated corpse of his beloved wife.”

As they approached the Talmadge Bridge, they both tensed and stayed that way until they had crossed it. South Carolina ’s state highway 17 was a dark, narrow, and dangerous road notorious for fatality collisions, but Elise visibly relaxed once Savannah was behind them. She tucked her feet beneath her hips and turned in her seat toward him. He noticed her shiver.

Believing it to be impossible, he asked, “Are you cold?”

“Do you mind turning on the heater?”

He was sweating, but he turned on the heater.

She laid her cheek against the headrest. He could feel her studying his profile while he kept his eyes resolutely on the road’s center stripe. The windshield wipers were fighting a noisy but losing battle against the volume of rain. She said, “You could get into a lot of trouble, couldn’t you?”

“I’m already in a lot of trouble. I was in trouble when I left the morgue, knowing it wasn’t you under that sheet.”

After a lengthy pause, she said, “You were in trouble long before that, Duncan.”

When he dared to look at her, she was asleep.

She was still sleeping when he brought the car to a stop. He extinguished the headlights and got out. The rain had decreased somewhat but was still falling steadily. His shoes crunched on the oyster-shell driveway as he rounded the hood of the car. She stirred when he opened the passenger door.

“We’re here.”

She sat up and blinked. “Where?”

“I’m getting wet.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She got out, a bit awkwardly because of her cuffed hands. “Whose house is this?”

“It belonged to my grandmother.”

The small house was built on stilts, a precaution that had kept it from flooding numerous times. He preceded Elise up a set of steep wood steps. “Careful, they’re slick.”

He found the key under the flowerpot where it was always left, then unlocked the door and held it open for her. “When my grandmother died it became my mom’s,” he said. “But Mom had a near-drowning experience when she was a kid and never gets near a body of water larger than her bathtub. Dad comes here to fish sometimes, but not that often. I’m free to use the place anytime I like, but I rarely do.”

“Why don’t you use it? It looks charming.”

“In the dark it does. In daylight you can see the wood rot, the peeling paint, rusty hinges. It’s practically surrounded by water, so it’s a pain in the ass to maintain.”

When he switched on a table lamp, he saw that she was smiling at him. “You love this house.”

Her small and perceptive smile, her tone of voice, made it a warm, fuzzy moment. This was definitely not the time for warm fuzzies. Brusquely he said, “I used to spend a lot of time here in the summers.”

She moved to the nearest window and parted the curtains to look out. “Where are we?”

“Lady’s Island. That’s Beaufort over there.”

For the most part, the town across the water was dark, but a few lights twinkled through the rain and on the rippling surface of the channel.

Turning away from the window, she took in the details of the room. “It’s small,” he said, sounding more defensive than he intended. He was thinking about the mansion she shared with Cato Laird. “Kitchen,” he said, pointing. Only a peninsula of cabinetry separated it from the living area. “It isn’t stocked. I’ll go out for food in the morning. Bedroom. Bath there.”

She moved toward the open door of the bedroom and peered inside. When she came back around, she nodded toward the piano, which was much too large for such a compact room, an indication of its importance. “Your grandmother’s?”

“She loved piano. The one at my town house belonged to her, too.”

“Do you play?”

He heard himself saying, “Sometimes,” and realized that was the first time he’d ever willingly admitted it.

She studied him for a moment, then asked, “Will anyone look for you here?”

He shook his head.

“Not even Detective Bowen?”

Again he shook his head.

“Have you ever brought anyone here before tonight?”

The answer was no, but he didn’t want her to know that. Already she was learning personal things about him, which, in their present circumstances, she didn’t need to know.

As though to convey that to himself as well as to her, he yanked the telephone cord out of the wall jack with more flourish than necessary, then wound it around the instrument. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“It was left behind in my handbag.”

“You’ve had days-”

“I’ve had no one to call, Duncan. Besides, if I had a phone, you would have felt it when you searched me.”

Reminded of touching her, he turned abruptly and went out, taking his grandmother’s telephone with him. He clumped down the steps to the car, where he locked the telephone inside the trunk and got his duffel bag from the backseat. When he returned, Elise was standing in the bathroom door. “I can’t use it…” She held up her hands.

He unlocked the handcuffs and removed them. She thanked him, then slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

He set the duffel bag on the floor and opened it. After quickly loading the spare pistol, he placed it on top of a knickknack cabinet, far enough back where his guest couldn’t see it. She couldn’t get to it without standing on something.

When she emerged from the bathroom, he sailed a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt in her direction. She caught them against her chest. “Since you don’t have a change of clothes and yours are damp, you may be more comfortable sleeping in those.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He went into the bedroom and took a quilt and pillow from the closet, then carried them into the living room and threw them on the couch. He took off his shoes. “I’m beat.”

“If you want to take the bed, I’ll be fine on the sofa,” she said.

“And have Grandmother’s ghost haunt me forever?” He shook his head. She smiled, but as they gazed at each other across the short distance that separated them, her smile gradually faded. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Cato and Savich?”

“In the morning.”

“There’s a lot to tell.”

“In the morning.”

“All right. I’ll explain everything then. Good night.”

She turned into the bedroom, but he stopped her. “Elise?”

It was the first time he had ever addressed her by her first name, and it surprised them both.

“There is one thing I’ve got to know,” he said. “And I’ll know if you lie to me.”

“I won’t lie to you.”

“Have you slept with Savich?”

“No.” She replied immediately and without equivocation. His need to believe that one thing must have been telegraphed to her by his piercing gaze because she repeated it softly and emphatically, “No, Duncan.”

He felt as though a fist that had been squeezing his heart had relaxed its tenacious grip. “Sleep tight.”

At eight o’clock the following morning, Judge Cato Laird’s press conference was about to be televised on all the local stations. He was already in position on the podium, under the glare of lights, waiting for it to begin. With him was Chief of Police Taylor. Sound technicians were adjusting microphones. Reporters from print and broadcast media were milling about, chatting with one another while vying for the best vantage points.

Savich, watching on his silenced TV, dialed a telephone number. He saw the judge react to his vibrating cell phone, saw him reach for it and lift it to his ear, saw his lips form the word when he answered with a brusque, “Yes?”

“Good morning, Judge. I called to extend my condolences.”

Cato Laird recognized his voice instantly, of course. Savich watched as the judge’s expression changed from that of a bereaved husband to a man who’d just swallowed a raw egg. Savich imagined his sphincter clenching. The judge nervously glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot. He moved away from the police chief, who was talking to a uniformed officer.

“Your upper lip is damp with perspiration, Judge,” Savich said. “You may want to dab some makeup on that before the press conference begins.”

The judge looked toward one of the many TV cameras focused on him, realizing that Savich was out there, watching him. “Hello, from TV land,” Savich said, enjoying himself immensely.

“Thank you for the call,” the judge said for the camera, then turned his back to it.

“I assume the cadaver met with your approval?”

“Yes. She was perfect in every regard.”

Savich laughed. “With a fortuitously placed birthmark.”

“That certainly helped at this critical time.”

“Glad to be of service, Judge. You’ll find her dental records in your mailbox at home, labeled with your wife’s name, of course. How fortunate for us that we have such a harmonious quid pro quo relationship. You needed a body.”

“Yes. Detective Hatcher is an extremely thorough investigator.”

“And Elise was proving to be a nuisance even in death. She wouldn’t surface. Luckily I had a stand-in waiting in the wings, a woman who needed killing as much as Elise.”

“I’ve always relied on your willingness to help, as well as your seemingly endless supply of resources.”

Savich chuckled. “Happy to oblige.” He saw Laird glance uneasily toward Chief Taylor, who discreetly tapped his wristwatch.

The judge said, “I so appreciate your call, but they’re ready to get under way here. I really must run.”

“Do not hang up on me, Cato.” Savich saw the judge’s shoulders tense at his imperious tone.

“I wouldn’t think of it, except that I’m pressed for time,” he said tightly.

“ Napoli had only seconds to call me from the backseat of Elise’s car when she returned to it. But everything went according to plan. I was to pick him up on the Talmadge Bridge. Until I arrived, he would pretend to be a stranded motorist with a broken-down car.” He chuckled. “When I arrived, he looked a sight. He told me your dearly departed put up an admirable struggle before he sent her over the wall.”

“I didn’t realize that you’d spoken with him.”

“Briefly. Very briefly. Before I killed him, I wanted assurance that the problem of your wife had been taken care of once and for all.”

“Thank you again for that attention to detail. I’ll be certain to return the favor.”

“I’ll be certain that you do. However, I didn’t kill Napoli strictly as a favor to you, Cato.” He paused, subtly alerting the judge that the tenor of the conversation was about to shift. Finally he said, “Your hired gun Napoli mailed me a set of those interesting photographs.”

There followed a telling silence broken only by Laird’s rapid breathing. “I can explain those.”

“No explanation necessary, Cato. It’s clear that those pictures of Elise and me were to be used if ever you felt like double-crossing me.”

“Not at all, not at all,” he said hastily and in an undertone. “Please have no worry about that.”

“I’m not worried,” Savich said smoothly. “Our partnership remains as solid as ever. You and I don’t have a problem. As long as Napoli was telling the truth, that is.”

“The truth about-?”

“Elise’s death. It wouldn’t have been out of character for Meyer Napoli to go to his maker with a lie on his lips. She may not be dead at all.”

“Not possible.”

“Don’t be a fool, Cato. Anything’s possible.”