Dead Write: A Forensic Handwriting Mystery (31 page)

Claudia sat back on the bed, thinking of the matchmaker ’s ambivalence toward Marcus, first giving her his file to analyze his handwriting, then protesting when she had agreed that he could be a suspect.

“But he’s now a client. What happened—they fell out of love?”

“I’m not sure how much you know about Grusha . . .”

“I know.”

Another deep sigh. “Well, of course, Marcus
didn’t
know. The relationship got hot and heavy pretty fast. She wanted him to give her some time so he could get to know her better before she told him about her past. But he wanted sex right away—he got very insistent. She told me that he talked her out of her clothes, but as they were about to do the deed, she stopped him. She told him that she’d had the operation. It had only been a few months since she’d had it, and she was still working through the changes. But she thought telling him was the right thing to do.

“Marcus totally lost it. Seemed to think that her having had a sex change was a personal assault on his manhood. He went ballistic, frightened her with threats. But he didn’t actually do anything; he just stormed out. He refused to have anything to do with her at all for a while after that. Then he showed up at Elite Introductions a few months ago, demanding that Grusha find him his soul mate—said she owed it to him. He knew how much it would hurt her to have to introduce him to someone else. Even now, she’s still half in love with him.”

The pieces of the puzzle clicked neatly into place. Marcus’ paranoia at the party, thinking people were talking about him. The vengefulness that Donna Pollard was describing. He had dated Jessica McAllister, Shellee Jones,
and
Heather Lloyd. Hell, everyone knew he was with Shellee when she died. And Claudia had thought it could be him in the video with Heather. She just wasn’t sure where Ryan Turner fit into the picture.

“After Andy jumped last night, I spoke to a homicide detective,” Claudia said. “His name’s Perez. I’d already talked to him a couple of days before and gave him the whole story then. He didn’t believe it the first time, but now he’s taking it more seriously. He’s working on the investigation.”

“Well, that’s it then,” Donna Pollard said. “Now I’ve given you the finishing touches.”

“You should call Detective Perez tomorrow and tell him what you just told me. Or better yet, get Grusha to tell him so it’s not just hearsay.”

“She wouldn’t do that. It’s so humiliating for her, and she still doesn’t want to believe Marcus could be the one who is behind all the things that have happened. This is really just my conjecture, but I wanted you to know.”

Claudia reached over to her briefcase and brought out Marcus’ file, turned to the handwriting sample.
Charming con artist,
that’s what she’d thought when she first saw it. But a killer? Could Marcus have planned it all to get revenge on Grusha, destroying her credibility, little by little? It all seemed so farfetched.

Then it occurred to her that men had killed for far less than their manhood.

After Donna Pollard left, Claudia booted up the laptop and instant messaged her brother, who was an accomplished computer hacker, and asked him if he could find any information on Marcus Bernard that she had not uncovered in her original search.

Pete got back to her ten minutes later. He’d discovered several lawsuits that had been filed against Marcus’ company. Detective Perez had told her in their first interview that Marcus had been sued more than once and won, but he hadn’t given her any details. Now she learned the reasons for the suits: shoddy construction.

In one filing, the buyer complained about leaky roofs and decks in a luxury condominium built by Marcus’ company. The leaks had allowed deadly mold spores to grow and sicken the entire family. They’d had to move out for several months while the problem was rectified. In the end, after years of litigation, the case was dismissed for lack of proof that the builder had been negligent. In a second case, the foundation of an office building had not been properly bolted in place, but the blame had been shifted away from the builder. There were other claims similar in nature, but none of them had stuck. Marcus Bernard always walked away clean, even from allegations of witness intimidation.

By three thirty, Claudia was dizzy with exhaustion. She powered down the computer, turned off the lights, and went back to bed.

Ninety minutes later, someone was again knocking on her door.

Chapter 30

Detective Izzy Perez. Standing outside her hotel room at five in the morning, looking grim.

For the second time that night, Claudia undid the locks and opened the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms. Rose. May I come in? I need to talk to you.”

She stepped back, pulling her robe tighter around her, disoriented from being awakened. “What’s going on?”

Detective Perez walked in and flicked a glance around the room, not answering her question. “I suppose you are acquainted with Dr. Donna Pollard, seeing as she was at the party last night?”

Even half asleep, she resented his subtly condescending air. “Yes, of course. You know we’re both consultants for Elite Introductions.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Not well at all. I met her for the first time last week. We’ve spoken a couple of times since then.”

“When was the last time you saw Dr. Pollard?”

A homicide detective coming to her hotel room before dawn and asking questions was a bad sign. Claudia could feel her heart rate speeding up, preparing for bad news. “She showed up here earlier, a couple of hours ago. Why, has something happened to her?”

“What time did she leave here?”

“I think it was a little after three. What’s going on, Detective?”

“The station house got a call from her about an hour ago. She left a message for me to see you. She said she’d given you some information that might have a bearing on the Elite Introductions case.”

“And you’re here before it’s even light to ask me about it? I don’t understand. I suggested she call you. Why didn’t she just tell you herself?”

“Dr. Pollard has committed suicide.”

“What?”
That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t have said what she thought she’d heard. But then his mouth was moving again and words were coming out, and she knew she had not misheard.

“She phoned the precinct and told the dispatcher she’d already taken pills and alcohol, and that by the time we got someone out there it would be too late, so not to hurry. But she asked for me to contact you. Dispatch took it seriously.”

“She called the police to say she was committing suicide?”

Perez lifted his shoulders in a pragmatic shrug. “Suicidal people do all kinds of strange things when they’re feeling up against it. What she told dispatch was she didn’t want her body stinking up the apartment for days and someone having to come in and clean up after her, so she wanted to let us to know in advance.”

Claudia thought of how Pollard had become enmeshed with Jessica McAllister and the girl over whom she’d lost her license. And she thought of her handwriting. Putting other people’s needs ahead of her own was characteristic of Donna Pollard’s type. Even in planning how to handle her own suicide, she wanted to cause as little inconvenience as possible to the people who would have to handle her body.

With a sense of unreality Claudia said, “That sounds like what I knew of Donna. Did the dispatcher at least send someone over to try and save her?”

“She was calling from a cell phone,” Perez said. “Refused to give an address. By the time dispatch got it pinned down, they sent a bus over, but she was gone.”

“A
bus
?”

He gave a slight smile. “Ambulance. Sorry, that’s what we call ’em. We send a bus.”

It wouldn’t sink in. “But she was just here. I don’t understand. She never said—”

But she
had
said something. She’d talked about having some last things to say. Without warning, Claudia’s legs gave out and she plopped down onto the bed with a groan. “I should have picked up on it. I should have . . .”

Detective Perez went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. “I’m sorry,” he said, handing it to her, his tough features softening a trace. “I know it’s gotta be a shock, especially coming so soon after last night, but have you got any idea why she would do something like this? Did she have any involvement in what’s been going on at the dating club? Something she felt guilty about?”

Claudia sipped the water, trying to comprehend what she had just learned. “No, it’s not that. When she came here this morning, what she told me was she’s been practicing without a license. With everything that’s been happening at Elite Introductions, especially after the party, the investigation into Andy Nicholson’s death and all, she figured it was going to come out and she would be in big legal trouble. I guess she couldn’t face it. Oh my god, I can’t believe this.” She wiped her hand over her face. “Does Grusha know yet?”

Dark shadows tinted the bags under Perez’ eyes. He looked as worn out as Claudia felt. “I’ve tried all Ms. Olinetsky’s numbers, but nobody’s answering. Ms. Rose, I need you to tell me everything Dr. Pollard told you last night. What she was referring to in her message.”

“Yes, of course. Oh my
god.
” Her head was buzzing. She felt as if she’d slammed headlong into a wall.

She told him about everything, including Grusha’s sex change, just leaving out her incarceration, which he either knew about if they’d fingerprinted her, or he could discover for himself.

“Dr. Pollard had pointed me toward Dr. McAllister because of his behavior toward his daughter. She’d been seeing her for therapy. Like I told you before, he also scared the crap out of me when I had dinner with him and he acted like a crazy man. And his handwriting had some red flags, but it’s impossible to predict that someone is going to act out on potential for violence.”IT

“Okay. And what about the other guy’s handwriting, Marcus Bernard?”

She told him what she had seen—the signs of a charming con artist. “I can see him contracting someone to do the dirty work for him, but I don’t know whether he would do the killings himself. Except for Shellee Jones. I guess he could somehow have gotten peanuts in her food. But then, Ian was there, too, just a few minutes before she died.”

Perez checked his notebook. “Mr. Bernard and Dr. McAllister were both questioned with everyone last night. So far, there’s nothing that ties them—or anyone else—to spiking the drinks. In fact, we have to wait for the tox screen to see what was in the glasses that were recovered. I’ll talk with them both today, see if they have alibis for the other deaths. We’ll still need some physical evidence that these people didn’t die accidentally. Otherwise it’s a circumstantial case. Circumstantial cases are hard to make.”

“What if I’ve got it all wrong and it’s neither of them? What about John Shaw, the photographer? He’s definitely on a different plane than the rest of us. He might find a way to rationalize killing.” She gave him a troubled look. “I’ve even wondered whether Grusha herself might be behind the whole thing. She brought me in, but she’s obstructed me at every turn. I’ve asked myself whether she could be setting someone up. But I can’t think of a reason why.”

“That’s why we do an investigation.”IT

“If it’s Marcus, he’s good at walking away from things. I looked up the lawsuits against his company.”

“A civil lawsuit is one thing. If he’s involved in homicide, ma’am, we’ll do everything we can to get him; I can promise you that.” Perez stifled a yawn. “Don’t let it drive you nuts, Ms. Rose.”

Claudia managed a weak grin. “Right now, Detective, that would be a short drive.”

Chapter 31

Sunday. The day after Andy Nicholson jumped to his death. The day Donna Pollard had killed herself. Claudia had been in Manhattan for nearly a week, and she wanted to go home. Leave Grusha and her problems to the cops.
Their problems now.

The hotel room seemed like a cell. At nine, she called Susan Rowan.

“Jesus H. Christ, Claudia,” Susan exploded through the phone. “What the hell happened? I saw it on the news last night. Were you there?”

“Unfortunately, I was about ten feet away when he went over the edge.”

“I can’t believe it—Andy Nicholson dead! What happened? Channel seven said he was hallucinating.”

“He wasn’t the only one. Somebody put acid or something in the drinks.”

“Too many coincidences, Claudia. I told you something weird is going on in that company.”

“No lie. Well, the police are involved now. They’re looking into everything—the deaths you know about and a couple of others, too.” She didn’t mention Donna Pollard. She just couldn’t. “Listen, I need to get hold of Grusha. Do you have a number for her outside the office?”

“Yeah, I have her cell. Hang on, I’ll get it for you.”

Susan was back in thirty seconds and recited the number for her.

“Thanks, Susan.” Claudia gave a short laugh. “I was gonna say I owe you one, but considering it was you who got me into this mess, I think you owe me!”

“Jeez, if I’d known how it was going to turn out . . . Hey, take care of yourself.”

Grusha’s cell phone went straight to voice mail. Claudia left a message, then phoned the office number. After five rings she got an answering service, where she left an urgent message for the matchmaker to call her.

The last few days had left her edgy and anxious. By ten, she had to get out of the hotel for some fresh air. She changed into jeans and a turtleneck sweater, buttoned herself into her corduroy jacket and boots. A long walk to Central Park would give her time to clear her head. Breakfast wasn’t on the agenda. All the death had taken away her appetite.