Best Kept Secrets (47 page)

One envelope, however, was different from the others. It was made of high-quality beige paper. There was an embossed return address on it, but it had been exed out on a typewriter, making it illegible. Their address had been typed on, too.

Curiosity won out over her husband's strict instructions that he was to open their mail. Wanda tore open the envelope.

It contained only a blank piece of paper, folded around five one-hundred-dollar bills.

Wanda stared at the money as though it was a message from an alien planet. Five hundred dollars was more than the offering plate contained after a well-attended revival service.

Fergus only took out a pittance to support his family. Almost everything collected went to the church and its "causes."

No doubt this money had been sent by a donor who wanted to remain anonymous. For the last several days, Fergus had been calling up folks on the telephone, asking for volunteers to picket at the gates of the Minton ranch. He solicited money.

He wanted to place full-page antigambling ads in the newspaper.

Well-publicized crusades were expensive.

Most people hung up on him. Some had called him ugly names before slamming down their receivers. A few had listened and given halfhearted pledges to send a supportive offering.

But, five hundred dollars.

He'd also spent time on the phone in secretive, whispered conversations. Wanda didn't know what these covert calls were about, but she suspected they had something to do with that business at the Minton ranch. One of the hardest things she'd ever had to do was lie to her old friend, Reede. He had known she was lying, but he'd been gentlemanly enough not to accuse her of it.

Afterward, when she had expressed concern to Fergus about her sin of lying, he had told her that it had been justified.

God didn't expect his servants to go to jail, where they would be ineffectual.

She timidly pointed out that Paul had spent a lot of time in prison, and had done some of the most inspired writing in the New Testament while behind bars. Fergus hadn't appreciated the comparison and had told her that she should keep her mouth shut about matters that were too complicated for her to comprehend.

"Wanda?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and reflexively clutched the money to her sagging breasts. "What, Fergus?"

"Was that the postman at the door?"

"Uh, yes." She glanced down at the envelope. The money was surely related to those furtive telephone calls. Fergus wouldn't want to talk about them. "I was just bringing you the mail."

She went into the kitchen. He was seated at the Formica dining table that served as his desk between meals. She laid the stack of mail on the table. When she returned to the sink to finish washing dishes, the fancy envelope and its contents were in her apron pocket.

She would give it to Fergus later, Wanda promised herself, as a surprise. In the meantime, she would fantasize about all it could buy for her three kids.

Alex had had thirty-six hours to think about it. While nursing her debilitating headache, she'd lain in bed, reviewing everything she knew and filling in what she didn't know with educated guesses.

She couldn't continue to run around in circles indefinitely.

She was probably as close to the truth as she was ever going to get, short of taking desperate measures. The deadline Greg had set was imminent. It was time to force someone's hand, to get aggressive, even if she had to bluff.

Days ago, she had reached the heartbreaking conclusion that she had been the catalyst for Celina's murder, but she didn't plan to bear the burden of that guilt alone for the rest of her life. Whoever had done the actual deed must suffer for it also.

That morning when she woke up, she still had a headache, but it was one she could live with. She spent the morning reviewing her notes and doing some research, and was waiting in Judge Wallace's anteroom when he returned from lunch.

He didn't look pleased to see her.

"I told Ms. Gaither that you had a full schedule today,"

Mrs. Lipscomb said defensively when he turned a baleful glance on her. "She insisted on waiting for you."

"She's right, Judge Wallace, I did," Alex said. "Can you spare me a few minutes?"

He consulted his wristwatch. "A very few."

She followed him into his office. He took off his overcoat and hung it on a brass coat tree. Not until he was situated behind his desk, trying to look intimidating, did he say,

"What is it this time?"

"What did Angus Minton use to entice you?"

His face became instantly mottled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You confined an innocent man to a state mental hospital, Judge Wallace. You knew he was innocent, or at least strongly suspected that he was. You did that at Angus Minton's request, didn't you? And in exchange, you demanded that Junior marry your daughter Stacey."

"This is incredible!" He banged his fists on his desktop.

"It's extremely credible. On the morning after Celina Graham Gaither was found murdered in a stable on the Minton ranch, you received a phone call or a visit from Angus. Bud Hicks had been arrested nearby, covered in blood and in possession of a scalpel presumed to be the murder weapon.

That was never ascertained because the scalpel wasn't thoroughly analyzed. The autopsy report specified that she died of repeated stab wounds, but a forensic expert didn't have access to the body before it was cremated, so she could have been stabbed by anything."

"Gooney Bud stabbed her with Dr. Collins's scalpel," he stated stubbornly. "He found it in the stable and killed her with it."

"Where is it now?"

"Now? It's been twenty-five years. You don't expect it to be lying around in the evidence room, do you?"

"No, but I would expect to have a record of its dispensation.

No one ever called the late Dr. Collins or his son, asking if they might want it back, even though it was known to have been a gift from his wife. Doesn't that strike you as unusual?"

"God knows what happened to it, or to the records concerning it."

"I think that you disposed of it, Judge. You, not the sheriffs office, were the last one recorded to have possession of it. I checked this morning before coming here."

"Why would I dispose of it?"

"Because if someone came along later--an investigator like me--it would be easy and believable to pass off its disappearance as a clerical error. Better to be accused of sloppy bookkeeping than miscarriage of justice."

"You are obnoxious, Miss Gaither," he said stiffly. "Like most avengers, you're reacting emotionally, and have no basis whatsoever for your horrid allegations."

"Nevertheless, this is what I intend to present to the grand jury. Actually, I'm doing you a favor by telling you what I have. You'll be able to consult with your attorney ahead of time about the answers you will give. Or will you take the Fifth?"

"I won't need to do either."

"Do you want to call your lawyer now? I'll gladly wait."

"I don't need a lawyer."

"Then I'll proceed. Angus asked you for a favor. You asked for one in return."

"Junior Minton married my daughter because he loved her."

"I find that impossible to believe, Judge Wallace, since he's told me himself that he asked my mother to marry him the night she was killed."

"I can't explain his fickleness."

"I can. Junior was the trade-off for your ruling on Gooney Bud."

"The district attorney's office--"

"He was on vacation in Canada at the time. I confirmed that with his widow this morning. His assistant had enough evidence to arraign Bud Hicks for murder."

"A trial jury would have convicted him, too."

"I disagree, but we'll never know. You prevented that."

She drew a deep breath. "Who was Angus protecting--

himself, Junior, or Reede?"

"No one."

"He must have told you when he called that morning."

"He didn't call."

"He had to have called as soon as Hicks was arrested.

What did Angus tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything. I never heard from him."

She came out of her chair and leaned over his desk. "He must have said, 'Look, Joe, I've gotten myself in a jam here.'

Or, 'Junior's taken this boys-will-be-boys thing a little too far this time,' or 'Can you help Reede out? He's like a son to me.' Isn't that what happened?"

"No, never."

"You might have argued that you couldn't do it. You probably asked for time to think about it. Being the nice guy that he is, Angus granted you a few hours to mull it over.

That's when you came back saying that you would do this little favor for him in exchange for a marriage between Stacey and Junior."

"I won't have you--"

"Maybe you even discussed your dilemma with her and Mrs. Wallace."

"This is defamation of--"

"Or maybe Stacey was the one to suggest the terms of the deal."

"Stacey never knew anything about it!"

He shot out of his chair and stood nose to nose with Alex, shouting the words in her face. When he realized what he'd admitted, he blinked, wet his lips, then eased away from her and turned his back. Nervously, he ran his fingers over the row of brass studs on the back of his leather chair. It had been a gift from his daughter, his only child.

"You knew how much Stacey loved Junior Minton."

"Yes," he said softly. "I knew that she loved him more than he deserved."

"And that her affection wasn't returned."

"Yes."

"And that Junior slept with her whenever he felt like it.

You thought you had better protect her reputation and the possibility of an unwanted pregnancy by getting her married as soon as possible."

The judge's shoulders slumped forward and he answered in a low, heartbroken voice. "Yes."

Alex closed her eyes and let go a long, silent breath. Tension ebbed from her like a wave receding from the shore.

"Judge Wallace, who killed my mother? Who was Angus protecting when he asked you to hustle Buddy Hicks through the legal system?"

He faced her. "I don't know. As God is my witness, I don't. I swear it on my years as a judge."

She believed him and said so. As unobtrusively as possible, she collected her things. When she reached the door of his office, he spoke her name in a thin voice.

"Yes?"

"If this ever comes to trial, will it be essential to your case for all this to come out in court?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry."

"Stacey . . ." He paused to clear his throat. "I wasn't lying when I said she didn't know about my agreement with Angus."

Alex repeated, "I'm sorry."

He nodded gravely. She stepped into the anteroom and closed the door behind her. The secretary shot her a resentful look, which wasn't entirely undeserved. She had badgered him into telling the truth. It had been necessary, but she hadn't enjoyed doing it.

She was waiting for the elevator when she heard the gun shot. "Oh, God, no." She whispered the words, but wasn't even aware of saying them as she dropped her briefcase and raced back toward the end of the corridor. Mrs. Lipscomb was at the door to his office. Alex shoved her aside and ran in ahead of her.

What she saw brought her to an abrupt halt. Her scream froze in her throat, but the secretary's echoed through the chamber and into the hallways.

Forty-one

A stream of secretaries, bailiffs, and other courthouse employees had gathered at the door of Judge Wallace's chambers within sixty seconds of the gunshot.

Reede, the first person to make it upstairs from the basement, shouldered his way through them, barking orders to the deputies who had followed him. "Clear everybody out!"

He instructed one to call an ambulance and another to cordon off the hallway. He placed a comforting arm around Mrs. Lipscomb, who was weeping hysterically, and commissioned Imogene, Pat Chastain's secretary, to take her

away. He then bore down on Alex.

"Go to my office, lock yourself in, and stay there, understand?"

She stared back at him blankly. "Understand?"

he repeated loudly, giving her a shake. Still incapable of speech, she nodded.

To another deputy, he said, "See that she gets to my office.

Don't let anybody in."

The officer led her away. Before she left the judge's cham-hers, she saw Reede look toward the grisly sight at the desk.

He ran his hand through his hair and muttered, "Shit."

In his office on the lower level, Alex passed the time by pacing, weeping, gnashing her teeth, staring into space. She agonized in her own private hell over Judge Joseph Wallace's suicide.

Her head was pounding so fiercely, the stitches in her scalp felt like they would pop. She had failed to bring along her medication. A frantic search through the sheriffs desk didn't even produce an aspirin tablet. Was the man totally immune to pain?

She was light-headed and nauseated and her hands refused to get warm, though they perspired profusely. The ancient plaster ceiling conducted every sound from above, but she couldn't identify them. There was an endless parade of footsteps.

The office provided her refuge from the confusion, but she was desperate to know what was happening in the rooms and hallways overhead.

She was chin deep in despair. The facts pointed toward an inexorable truth that she didn't want to acknowledge. Judge Wallace's confession to a cover-up further implicated her chief suspects.

Caught in a bind, Angus would have looked out for himself without feeling any remorse. By the same token, he would have bribed the judge in order to protect Junior, and probably done no less for Reede. But of the three, which had actually gone into the stable that night and murdered Celina?

When Reede flung open the door, Alex whirled around, startled. She'd been staring out the window. She didn't know how long she had waited in the room, but she realized suddenly that it was getting dark outside when he flipped on the light switch. She was still ignorant of what was transpiring upstairs and at the front of the courthouse.