Fatal Identity (30 page)

“I never want you to wonder about whether I might be guilty.”

“But I wouldn't! I've never doubted you, Brad!”

Brad hugged her and held her close. “I know that. But someday that little seed of suspicion might start to grow. And it's very important to me that you trust me completely.”

“I'll arrange it.” George nodded quickly. “And don't leave town.”

Brad grinned at him. “Once a cop, always a cop. But I don't resent that, George. I know you and Sam were only trying to protect Marcie. That's precisely why I'm volunteering to take that lie detector test. I'm going to prove to both of you that Marcie doesn't need any protection from me.”

CHAPTER 24

Marcie glanced at her watch and sighed. Brad had only been in the testing room for ten minutes, but it seemed like ten hours. She was sitting between George and Sam in the waiting room, a dismal little alcove with yellow plastic chairs, a table with old magazines, and a wall calendar from a neighborhood pharmacy which displayed the previous month.

“Nervous?” George turned to her with a smile.

“No. Not at all.” Marcie didn't smile back as she shook her head. She didn't feel particularly friendly toward George right now. She knew she was being irrational. Brad had volunteered to take this test. But she still blamed George for not believing the man she loved.

“Marcie?” George reached out to touch her shoulder. “I'm sorry I'm being such a hard case, but I'm only concerned for your welfare.”

Marcie forced a smile. “Welfare? That's exactly where I'll be, if I don't get back to work soon. The welfare office. The studio won't send my check until I finish dubbing. And I promised them I'd be there in less than two hours.”

“You'll make it.” George looked relieved at her joke. “I'll drive you myself.”

Sam, who had been silent up to this point, turned to smile at Marcie. “There's no way you can wind up on welfare, Marcie. You inherited a ton of money.”

Marcie nodded. “That's true, but it's sixty thousand dollars less than a ton, thanks to Jerry. The money doesn't really matter. I never expected to have this much anyway. But I can't get over the fact that I was betrayed by someone I thought was a friend.”

“Hey . . .” Sam gave her a sympathetic smile. “Just be thankful you weren't home alone when that friend showed up!”

“I'm very grateful. Did you know I sent Lisa Thomas a thank-you bouquet?”

“Everyone at the station heard about that,” George said, smiling. “Five dozen roses in a real crystal vase. Lisa was thrilled. She told me to tell you she'll be your decoy anytime you want. She's never had anyone send her roses before.”

“She was wonderful!” Marcie smiled a genuine smile. “I wouldn't have the nerve to do something like that.”

“Lisa's a good cop. She may even get a promotion out of this.” George got up and stretched. “I'm going to check to see if they're almost finished. I'll be right back.”

The moment George had left, Sam turned suddenly serious. “You're not really mad at us, are you, Marcie?”

Marcie sighed and shook her head. “No. I'm not mad at you. I realize that both of you had my best interests at heart. But I do think you were picking on Brad. You'll stop when he passes this lie detector test, won't you?”

“I promise.” Sam patted her shoulder. “But you don't pass a lie detector test, Marcie.”

“I know. They explained all that when we came in. The lie detector just tests for guilty knowledge by using a series of physical indices, like blood pressure and galvanic skin response. They also told us that the results aren't admissible in court in the State of California.”

“But they still take themselves very seriously.” Sam grinned. “Did you see the sign on the door?”

Marcie nodded. “
CALIBRATED RESEARCH AND PSYCHOMETRICS
. I was impressed.”

“You shouldn't have been. Just think about the initials, and it'll put everything in perspective.”

“Calibrated Research and Psychometrics.” Marcie thought it over for a moment, and then she started to laugh. “C.R.A.P.? Oh, Sam! That's funny!”

“Somehow I don't think they intended it that way.”

“Should we point it out to them?” Marcie tried to look serious.

“Oh, no. They'd probably change the name, and that would spoil the whole thing. Let's let them discover it on their own.”

George came back into the room, and Sam and Marcie immediately sobered. Both of them had forgotten for a moment that this was serious business.

“It's going to be another twenty minutes. The receptionist wants to know if we want coffee.”

Both Sam and Marcie shook their heads, and George gave them an approving nod. “Wise decision. I saw the coffeepot. It looks just as bad as the one we used to have at the station.”

“That's bad?” Sam asked.

“It's not good. We only washed it once a year, when the chief came in for his annual visit.”

The next twenty minutes passed very slowly, as they paged through old issues of
Reader's Digest
and
People Magazine,
the only offerings on the rickety table in the corner. Marcie read an article about how to save money on her year-before-last taxes, and sighed. She supposed she'd need a tax accountant, now that she was a rich woman. She'd have to remember to ask Sam for advice.

At last the inner door opened, and Brad walked out. He was grinning from ear to ear, and Marcie felt a giant weight slide off her shoulders.

“He wants to see you, George.” Brad waited until George got up, and then he sat next to Marcie.

“Is everything all right?” Marcie snuggled close as Brad slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“Just fine. The examiner told me that there was no way I had anything to do with Mercedes's death. The test proved it.”

“Congratulations, Brad.” Sam reached out to shake his hand. “That took a lot of guts.”

“Hey. I didn't do anything courageous. All I did was take a lie detector test to prove I was telling the truth.”

Another moment passed, and George joined them again. “Okay, Brad. You're definitely in the clear. And I apologize for suspecting you.”

“No problem.” Brad smiled at him. “I know you were only concerned about Marcie. And I appreciate you guys taking care of her while I was out of town. Now that I'm back, I can take over, and you two can get back to your own lives.”

Sam stood up. “That's our cue. Come on, George. Let's give Brad and Marcie some time alone.”

“Do you need a ride to the studio, Marcie?” George turned to Marcie.

“She doesn't need a ride.” Brad got up and held out his hand for Marcie. “I'll drive her to the studio, and stay with her until the dubbing's finished.”

George gave a little wave as he went out the door. Sam hung behind a step and looked at Marcie. “Call me if you need me. You've got the number.”

The moment the door closed behind George and Sam, Brad turned to Marcie. “Why would you need to call
him?
”

Marcie shrugged. She was grateful that Sam had given her his private number, but Brad looked a little jealous. It would be wise of her to downplay the friendly relationship she'd shared with Sam.

“I'm not sure.” Marcie smiled up at Brad. “I guess he means for questions about the estate. Come on, darling. Let's get out of here. If we go straight to the studio, we might even have time for lunch.”

Brad nodded. “Okay. But first I have a question. Will you marry me, Marcie?”

“Of course. I already told you I will.”

“Not eventually. I mean now. Like tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I really don't want to wait, Marcie. When I thought I'd lost you, I almost died. And I realized that every moment we have together is precious. I want to be your husband now, not six months from now.”

Marcie felt tears well up in her eyes. It was true. And if every moment they had together was precious, why did she have to wait to marry Brad? The twins would adjust. Marcie knew they wanted her to be happy. There was no reason in the world to wait, now that the police had caught Mercedes's killer.

“Well?”

Brad was looking down at her with an anxious expression, and Marcie smiled happily. “You're right, Brad. I don't want to wait, either. Let's get married tomorrow.”

 

 

George and Sam walked down the hospital corridor. When they'd left Marcie and Brad after the lie detector test, they'd decided to stop by to see how Jerry Palmer was doing.

“I hate hospitals!” George frowned.

“I'm not exactly fond of them myself. My former partner died in here. Ruptured appendix. The doctors said the operation was a success, but he died anyway.”

George nodded, but he was silent. He didn't really want to go into his reasons for hating hospitals. Over ten years had passed, but he still felt lousy when he walked down this corridor. His wife, Adene, had spent months in this hospital, in the room at the end of this corridor. His daily visits to her had been agony. It had been almost impossible for him to pretend to be cheerful and optimistic, when he'd known that her condition was terminal. George didn't believe that anyone should have to watch the person they loved waste away day after day in such a foreign, sterile environment. That was why he'd mortgaged the house, hired round-the-clock nurses, and taken her home for the last month. Adene had died in her own bed one sunny summer afternoon, surrounded by her friends and family. It had taken him ten years to pay off that debt, but he knew he'd done the right thing.

As they passed an open door, someone called out, “George? George Williams?”

“Yeah?” George stopped and peered into the room. “Keith! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'm just sitting here, enjoying the peace and quiet of this lovely place. Come on in. I'm not contagious.”

George motioned to Sam, and they entered the room. “Sam? This is Keith Lucas. I worked with him in my last year on the force. Keith? This is Sam Abrams. He's a lawyer.”

“Sam smiled. “Glad to meet you, Keith. What happened to you?”

Keith attempted to shrug, but it was difficult because his left arm was in a cast, from his wrist to his shoulder. “Dope deal gone sour. I took three hits in the arm.”

“How long are you going to be in here?” George pulled over two chairs, and they sat down.

“As long as I can. It's safer in here than it is out on the street.”

“You said it!” George sighed. “Are they going to bump you upstairs for a while?”

“Not if I can help it. It's even more dangerous up there. In case you haven't heard the rumors, I'm not very popular with the big brass.”

“I wasn't, either. That's one of the reasons I took my early retirement.”

Keith nodded. “Smart move. Lisa Thomas was in to see me today. She told me about that trap you set. It sounded like a nice piece of work.”

“Maybe.” George frowned. “But I'd feel a lot better if we had a confession.”

“You got doubts?”

“Yeah. Everything points to Jerry Palmer, but it's all circumstantial evidence. Right, Sam?”

“That's right.”

“And you don't think he did it?” Keith raised his eyebrows.

“Nope.” George shook his head. “I've got a gut-level feeling that he's innocent.”

“Then you're right. I know you, George. You always had great hunches. I'll put my money on you any day of the week.”

“Thanks, but I'm not so sure. My chief suspect just took a lie detector test, and he turned out as clean as a whistle. Maybe I'm just losing my touch.”

“You?” Keith laughed. “Impossible! Go with your hunch, George, and stay with your suspect. If you think he's guilty, he is. Say . . . I don't suppose you could smuggle me in a pizza, could you? That's the only problem with this place. The nurses are cute, and they got fifty channels on cable TV, but the food really sucks. I'm dying for a pizza.”

“Do you still like sausage, pepperoni, and extra cheese?”

“That sounds like heaven! But you gotta figure out how to get it past that dragon lady at the desk. They don't allow anybody to bring food in here.”

Sam started to grin. “That's an example of cost effectiveness. Eating their food makes you so sick, they can keep you here and charge you for an extra couple of days.”

“It's true.” Keith nodded. “If you don't believe me, just take a look at that lunch on the tray.”

George reached out and lifted the lid off the tray on the bedside table. “What is it?”

“I don't know.” Keith tried to shrug again. “It looks like oatmeal, but it's green. The nurse that brought it said something about broccoli, but it smells like old tennis shoes to me.”

Sam frowned. “Put the cover back on, before we all get sick, and I'll get you a pizza. Do they have officers guarding Jerry's room?”

“Yeah.” George nodded. “Two rookies. But what does that have to do with . . .”

“Just watch.” Sam interrupted him. “I didn't go to law school for nothing.”

George and Keith watched as Sam picked up the telephone by the side of Keith's bed and dialed. “Hi, Tony? This is Sam Abrams. I'd like to order a large pizza with pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese. I know you don't usually deliver, but a friend of mine is in the hospital, and he's dying from the food in here. Do you suppose you could . . . Thanks, Tony. I really appreciate it. Add on a nice tip, and I'll give you my credit card number.”

While Sam repeated his credit card number and gave directions to the hospital, Keith turned to George. “It's a great idea, but I still don't see how he's going to get it past the dragon lady.”

“Yeah, Tony.” Sam winked at Keith. “Now, delivering this pizza is going to take a little finesse. When your guy gets here, have him tell the desk that it's for the officers on guard duty on the third floor. That'll get him up here. Then he should deliver it to . . . what's the room number?”

“Three-eighteen.” Keith grinned and turned to George. “Sam's right. He didn't go to law school for nothing.”