Ricochet

Chapter 25

SHE TOOK OFFENSE, HER EYES TURNING BRIGHT WITH ANGER. “I shot Trotter because he gave me no choice. He fired first. But I had Napoli ’s pistol. Do you think I would shoot an unarmed man? Even now, you believe me capable of that?”

He looked away from her. “Back to the bridge, you took off running.”

“Answer my question, Duncan.”

He responded just as testily. “I’ll answer your question when I have answers to all of mine.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but finally tamped down her anger and continued. “I ran for my life. Even wearing only one shoe, I managed to outrun him. When I glanced over my shoulder, he turned around and was running back toward the car. I suppose he gave up trying to catch me on foot and planned to chase me in the car. Just then I became aware of an approaching vehicle.”

“From which direction?”

“From town. I was running in the opposite direction, toward Huchinson Island. I thought, thank God, help has arrived. I was about to turn back and flag down the driver. But when the car pulled even with mine, it screeched to a halt and Savich got out. I was stunned. He was the last person I expected to see there. I ducked into the shadow of the tower.”

“Why? You and Savich are friends. Okay, acquaintances,” he corrected when he saw she was about to object. “Why didn’t you shout his name, run toward him with arms waving?”

She thought about it, then answered slowly, “I don’t know. The…the purpose with which he was walking toward Napoli. His expression. His being there in the first place. I knew it couldn’t be happenstance.”

“How long did it take you to reason through all this?”

“Seconds. But I didn’t reason it out. Instinct kept me from revealing myself.”

He thought about that, then said, “Okay. He didn’t see you?”

“No. I’m certain of that or I would be in the morgue. He stepped over the wall dividing the lanes and walked over to my car, where Napoli was sitting half in, half out the driver’s seat. They exchanged a few words.”

“What few words?”

“I couldn’t hear what they said. But I heard the gunshot. Savich stood there looking at Napoli, I suppose to make certain that he was dead or soon would be. Then he leaned into the car.

“That’s when I moved. I climbed down the ladder there beside the tower and crouched down on that thing underneath the bridge.”

“Weren’t you afraid? I’ve been on that ladder. It’s scary as hell.”

“I didn’t stop to think about it. I was more afraid of Savich.”

“Okay, so you’re hiding under the bridge.”

“Less than a minute after the gunshot, he closed the car door. Seconds later I heard another car door close. His. I thought I heard him drive away, but my heart was pounding so loud in my ears I wasn’t sure.

“But I couldn’t stay there forever, so I took a chance and climbed back up. There was no sign of Savich or his car. I ran to my car, looked in at Napoli, and knew he was dead. I didn’t stop to think twice. I didn’t even think to retrieve my purse. I ran.” She stopped, took a breath, and looked at him. “You know the rest.”

“How long did all this take?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Hard to say. It seemed to take forever, an eternity, but I suppose it was only a few minutes, maybe three or four, from the time Napoli forced me out of the car until I ran off the bridge.”

“And there were no other vehicles on the bridge?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“We’ve been over that, Duncan. I had no proof. You hadn’t believed anything else I’d told you.”

“Then why did you come to me last night?”

“I hoped that you would be so glad to see me alive…” She let that thought trail off, then said, “But you didn’t believe me last night, either. Not until you saw another woman’s body that Cato claimed as mine.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He sat for a moment, thinking.

Savich had leaned into the car to place Napoli ’s feet inside. He had also retrieved Elise’s wristwatch, which Napoli had been told to take from her for later identification. He had closed the car door, returned to his car, driven away. The whole thing could have taken ninety seconds or less. The puzzle was taking shape, but there were still pieces missing.

“You’ve explained how you won Savich’s confidence. When and how did you place yourself in Cato’s path?”

“You don’t have to put it delicately, Duncan. I placed myself in his bed. When I failed to glean anything incriminating from Savich, I considered how best to get close to the judge. I’m sure you and Detective Bowen heard some juicy gossip about our courtship.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

“Probably most of it is true,” she said. “I lured him. I had to marry Cato in order to get inside his house, inside his head. But, as I learned, he’s scrupulously careful. He never leaves behind a trace of his connection to Savich. No notes, bank deposit slips, receipts of electronic transfers, nothing.

“Twice recently he’s caught me meddling in his study. The night of the awards dinner. Then again the last night I was at home, shortly before you called and told him to bring me in for questioning the next day.

“All the time we’ve been married, I’ve pretended to be an insomniac so I would have a reason for going downstairs at night while he’s sleeping. I’ve searched every room and closet of that house, thoroughly, numerous times, always being careful to cover my tracks.”

“What were you looking for?”

“Any scrap of evidence. But months of marriage to him turned into years. I was beginning to despair that there wasn’t any evidence to be found. I wanted so badly for it to be over, I guess I got careless in my haste. Cato was becoming suspicious. He tried to hide it, but for months, I’d had the feeling that he was on to me, that somehow he knew what I was doing.

“The thought of it terrified me. He and Savich would be ruthless against anyone who exposed them. I didn’t want to die. More importantly, I didn’t want to fail. But I sensed that I was running out of time. When Trotter appeared, I knew that Cato had struck preemptively.”

“What did Trotter say to you?”

“You knew I lied about that, didn’t you?”

“I knew.”

“Trotter looked at me, startled, and said, ‘They didn’t tell me you were beautiful.’ ” She paused. The statement resonated in the close confines of the car. “When he said that, I knew he was no burglar. ‘They’ had sent him to kill me.”

“Poor Gary Ray. You would’ve looked like a vision to him. Blond and beautiful in your nightie. I’m sure he was asking himself why your husband wanted to kill you.”

“Just as you did,” she reminded him gently.

“Just as I did.”

“You were right to doubt me, Duncan. On the surface my life looked perfect. I was living the Cinderella story. But inside that house, when I was alone with him, I could scarcely breathe. I had to endure his touch, and I hated it. Hated him.”

Duncan couldn’t endure the thought of Cato touching her either, so he redirected his thoughts. “Afraid of what you knew, or suspected, Cato hired Napoli to kill you. But Napoli subcontracted the job to Trotter, who bungled it.”

“Cato expected me to die that night in the study, leaving him to continue his lucrative partnership with Savich, worry-free.”

Duncan thoughtfully tugged on his lower lip. “One thing doesn’t gel with me. Savich. What did he think when you married his partner in crime? Didn’t he suspect something fishy?”

“He would have, but I made my own preemptive strike. When I started seeing Cato, I went to Savich and asked him, as a favor, to do a background check.”

“What?” he asked on a laugh. “On Cato?”

She laughed, too. “I asked Savich to learn what he could about the judge’s history. Were there ex-wives, children, legitimate or otherwise? Health records, financial statements, tax returns, things like that.”

“Making it appear you knew nothing about the man.”

“Exactly. By doing that, Savich didn’t suspect that I knew about their arrangement. And to assure he wouldn’t become suspicious, from time to time I’d ask him for a favor.”

“Such as?”

“I would ask him to check out a woman that Cato had been particularly friendly toward. Was he seeing someone behind my back? I’d ask him to investigate a company that Cato was investing in. Was it reputable? Was the investment legal? Stuff like that.”

She paused, then said, “I made my last request of him the morning after Trotter was shot. I went to his office and asked him to nose around, see if there was any talk in the criminal community of the judge having hired someone to kill me. I wanted to see what his reaction would be. He didn’t blink.”

Duncan was thinking that either she was very brave, or her relationship with Savich was friendlier than she wanted him to believe. He remarked on her courage.

“I wasn’t brave, Duncan. I was desperate. I knew Savich would call Cato the moment I left his office. I hoped that by learning of my suspicion, Cato would be disinclined to try again soon to have me killed.”

“You’ve seen Savich since that meeting, Elise,” he said, carefully gauging her expression. “At the White Tie and Tails.”

“That’s right. The day we were all at the country club. You refused to believe me. I thought…I was afraid that you were betraying me to Cato.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know that now. I didn’t then. I went back to Savich to ask if he’d heard anything. Were my fears justified? He placated me, assured me that he’d heard nothing on the street except that my husband adored me and would rather die himself than to have one hair on my head harmed.”

“Dismissing you.”

“More or less, because he knew Napoli would take care of me soon.” She asked, “How did you know about my meeting with Savich?”

He told her about Gordie Ballew. “I found out about his so-called jail suicide right after the judge produced the incriminating photos of you and Savich.”

She shook her head with misapprehension. “You mentioned photos last night. What photos?”

He explained them, but she still appeared perplexed. “I suppose when Napoli was following me for Cato, trying to catch me with Coleman, he stumbled upon me with Savich.”

“Bet he peed his pants. Pictures of you with Savich would be more valuable to your husband than any shots of you and the baseball player. Those photos of you and Savich were Napoli ’s trump card.”

“By the time he played it, he was dead.”

“True. They didn’t serve him too well, but they served Cato’s purpose. He used them to convince us, the police, that you were a lying, conniving female, possibly in bed with a noted criminal, killer of two men, and that when you realized the jig was up, you jumped off the bridge. He had us believing it.”

“You included?”

“Me especially.”

She gave him a long look, then said huskily, “Is that why you were crying last night? Because you thought I was dead?”

He didn’t want to go there. Not right now. “Do you still have the letter your brother wrote you from prison?”

“In a safe deposit box in a bank in our hometown. I placed it there before I moved to Savannah. I’m the only signatory.”

“Good to know.” He reached across her, opened the glove box, and took out a pair of sunglasses. “One of the stems is bent, but put them on.”

“Nobody’s looking for Elise Laird anymore.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

When they got inside the store, he gave her some cash. “I realize it’s not as much as you’re used to spending.”

She frowned at him as she accepted the cash. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back. What are you going to do while I’m shopping?”

“Sit over there in the snack bar, have a strawberry pop, and start planning how we’re going to nail these bastards.”

She got a cart and left him to do her shopping. He claimed one of the booths in the snack bar and sat there sipping a fizzy strawberry drink, while entertaining fantasies of Savich and Cato Laird being led away in chains on their way to the rack. Whatever the hell a rack was.

But he also took out his cell phone and called DeeDee.

“Hey!” DeeDee exclaimed, obviously glad to hear from him. “I didn’t expect you to call today.”

“How’re things?”

“My hair’s frizzy. Worley’s a cretin. You know, the usual.”

“The other things.”

“Did you happen to catch Judge Laird’s press conference this morning?”

“Must’ve slept through it,” he lied.

“The man’s a wreck.”

The son of a bitch had fooled even DeeDee, the most perceptive individual Duncan knew.

“We’re tidying up all that. Dothan made a positive ID with Mrs. Laird’s dental records, then performed the autopsy. She drowned. And get this, she did drugs.”

“No way.”

“Yep. If she was moonlighting for Savich, she also sampled the goods. Dothan found traces of several controlled substances, but they didn’t kill her, so he’s released the body for burial, no word on when or where yet.”

“Anything new on Savich?”

“Nothing except those Kodak moments with the late Mrs. Laird.”

“He got to Gordie.”

“About that,” she said, “you forgot to mention your tussle with him at the detention center.”

“Slipped my mind.”

“Like hell. The gossip reached the Barracks this morning. Depending on which source you believe, either you got rough with Savich and exchanged heated words-”

“Or what?”

“Or it was violent and both of you wound up in the ER.”

“Does Gerard know?”

“He forgave you. Any one of us who had bumped into Savich so soon after hearing about Gordie would’ve reacted the same. The captain has had somebody questioning jailers about his suicide, but nobody knows nothin’.”

“Not surprising.” He took a sip of his drink, a calculated stall. When he felt that sufficient time had elapsed, he said, “I’ve been thinking, DeeDee.”

“Wait, let me grab a pen and pad.” She was back in a nanosecond. “Okay.”

“I want you to find out if Meyer Napoli had any connection to Savich.”

“You mean besides the photographs?”

“Yeah, I mean a personal connection. One-on-one. It’s probably a long shot, but you never know.”

“ Napoli was hardly in Savich’s league. He said so himself-why would he need Napoli?”

“Just nose around, see if anything pops,” he said. “Start with Napoli ’s secretary. She’ll cooperate because she liked her boss and wants to know who killed him.”

“You think Savich-”

“I said it was a long shot.”

“Okay, I’ll call the secretary. Exactly what am I looking for?”

“I have no idea. And something else…” He paused, as though thinking. “It could be beneficial to run some backgrounds on the people we know Savich has hit. Gordie Ballew’s history we already know. But what about Freddy Morris and that Andre Bonnet whose house exploded? Maybe if we scratch around in their backgrounds, we’ll find someone who knows something, overheard something about Savich that we could build evidence around. At least stack up enough to get a search warrant. What do you think?”

He’d known this would be a tough sell and could imagine his partner’s untended eyebrows forming a frown above the bridge of her nose. “I guess,” she said with an apparent lack of enthusiasm. “What do you expect to find?”

“I don’t know. Won’t until we find it.” He hesitated for a strategic time, then sighed. “Aw, hell, I guess I’m grabbing at straws. Skip it. I’ll do some more brainstorming.”

“Is it still raining where you are?”

“The sun’s out.”

“Here, too. Steam is rising off everything. It’s too bloody hot to breathe.” After a telling pause, she asked when he was coming back.

“Coupla more days.”

“How do you feel?”

“Good, actually. Slept late. Went for a long run this morning. Really cleared out the cobwebs. That’s when it occurred to me to check out these guys again. But if you don’t think it’ll do any good-”

“I didn’t say that.”

“As good as.”

“No, I’m on it,” she said grudgingly. “It’s something, anyway, and we’ve got nothing else cooking.”

He had counted on her being glad that he was refocused on Savich this soon. He felt guilty for manipulating her. But only slightly. “Good. Start with Freddy Morris and work backward. Parents, siblings, ex-wives, girlfriends, best friends. Somebody may be dying to unload on us about Savich.”

“We talked to most of those people already, right after the hits.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to revisit them, widen the circle.”

“Okay.”

He pretended not to hear the reluctance in her voice. “And don’t forget Chet Rollins. The guy that got hit in prison.”

“The Irish Spring execution.”

“Right.”

“That wasn’t our case,” she said. “The investigation was handled in Jackson.”

“So maybe the detectives there missed something.”

“All right. I’ll check.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“You sound funny.”

“I was yawning.” He spotted Elise rounding the end of an aisle and coming his way. Time to wrap this up. “In fact, I think I’ll take a nap,” he said to DeeDee. “Don’t forget to call Napoli ’s secretary. Get back to me as soon as you learn something. Bye.”

Before DeeDee could say anything more, he clicked off and switched his cell phone to courtesy mode. If DeeDee called back, and he wouldn’t put it past her, his phone would vibrate instead of ring.

He slid out of the booth and went to meet Elise. He glanced at the items in her cart. “Find everything you need?”

“Who did you call?”

“The office.”

“Why?”

“Habit.”

“Did you talk to Detective Bowen?”

“Got her voice mail. Left a message that I was relaxing, enjoying the time away.”

“When are you going to tell her that I’m alive?”

“When I’ve figured it all out. What did you buy?”

Her eyes were still on the phone he had clipped to his belt, but then she smiled wryly and answered his question. “I won’t be a fashion plate, but I’ll be clothed and groomed. How was the strawberry pop?”

“Want one?”

“I don’t want my lips and tongue dyed red.”

He wiped his mouth. “Are they?”

“You look like Dracula.” She laughed. “Maybe it’ll wear off soon.”

They paid for her purchases- Duncan doing his best not to analyze the panties and bras as they moved along the conveyor belt-and drove back toward Lady’s Island. They stopped at a roadside stand to buy fresh shrimp for dinner. “I can boil water,” he said as he passed the package to her through the passenger window.

After returning to the house, they went for a walk. Strolling the narrow lanes of the island, shimmering in the afternoon heat, he felt as though they should be holding hands. But he didn’t reach for hers, and she didn’t touch him.

When they returned to the house, she excused herself to take a shower. Duncan sat on the front steps in the shade, sweating profusely and telling himself he needed the solitude in order to plan his attack on Savich and Laird, when actually he was escaping the sound of the shower and mental images of Elise in nothing but suds.

Eventually she joined him on the steps, bringing with her a glass of iced tea for each of them and the scent of sweet-smelling soap. Her hair was still damp, sticking up in places. Blond strands were beginning to shine through the temporary brown tint. Catching him looking at it, she self-consciously raised her hand to it. “It’ll grow back.”

“Maybe you should leave it short. It’s…” He was about to say sexy, and amended it to “fetching.”

She was wearing some of her recent purchases, a pair of apple green shorts that came just above her knees, and a white T-shirt, the vague outline of her new bra beneath it. Nothing fancy. Nothing in the least provocative. He wanted to rip everything off her. With his teeth.

Standing suddenly, he asked if she was finished in the bathroom and when she said yes, he went straight into the bathroom, stripped, and got in the shower, the shelf of which was now cluttered with shaving cream in a pastel can, a pink razor, shampoo and conditioner, and moisturizing body wash. Hanging from the shower nozzle was a round sponge thing made out of lavender netting.

“Damn bunch of crap,” he muttered as he picked up the plain ole bar of soap.

But the damn bunch of crap aroused him. He didn’t even turn on the hot water tap.

When he came out of the bathroom, she was sitting on the sofa watching television. “What’s this?” he asked.

“A classic-movie station.”

“It’s in black and white.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Who’s that?”

She frowned at his ignorance. “Natalie Wood, of course.”

“Huh.” He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. “What’s it about?”

“She and Steve McQueen had a one-night stand, which he barely remembered, but she got pregnant. She tracks him down and asks him to help her get an abortion-the movie was made when abortions were done illegally in back rooms.

“Steve McQueen has to come up with the money to pay for it, which isn’t easy, but he finally does and makes the arrangements. Except when they get to the appointed place-this creepy, cold, empty building-they can’t go through with it.

“She becomes hysterical and starts screaming. He-he’d been waiting out in the hall-barges through the door and yells at the abortionist, ‘If you touch her, I’ll kill you.’ Then he holds her while she’s crying. That’s my favorite scene. That, and the one right after when they’re riding in the backseat of a taxi and he puts his arm around her, and she falls asleep on his chest.”

Duncan stared. “Amazing.”

“It’s a good movie.”

“No, I mean you. How did you remember all that? How many times have you seen it?”

“A dozen or more.” Surprising him, she reached for the remote and switched off the TV.

“Don’t you want to see the ending?”

“It’s a fairy tale. It ends happily.”

“Don’t you believe in happy endings?”

Turning toward him she said, “Do you?”