Killing Her Softly (20 page)

He wasn't going to make it, she realized with a strangely dispassionate fatalism. Pink bubbles burst on his lips, and she could hear a rattle in his throat.

"Leslie.” She had to lean down to hear him.

"Yes, Jason, what is it?"

He coughed, and more bubbles, a brighter pink, appeared from his mouth and nose. Lung damage. “Leslie, I'm sorry."

"It's all right,” she said gently. “Don't tire yourself. A doctor will be here soon."

He closed his eyes, seeming to rally his strength. She pushed down on the pad, but blood had already soaked through it.

He muttered something else, the words unintelligible to her. She became aware of Simon crouching down beside her, bringing more towels and a blanket, which he used to cover Jason. He replaced the pad on his chest, but as his eyes met hers, he shook his head.

The hot sun blazed down on them, but Jason's skin felt cold, and a violent spasm shook his body. He spoke again, the words garbled. By placing her ear against his mouth, Leslie could make out some of them. “That crow ... Keys ... cellar. Tell Gage..."

"Gage?” Simon lifted Jason slightly, which seemed to ease his breathing. “What about Gage?"

"Tell him—Please, Leslie, forgive me."

His eyes rolled back, glazed over, and his breath stopped.

"Leslie, I'm sorry."

She lifted her stunned gaze to Simon's, saw the genuine sympathy on his face.

She gulped, and tears welled up in her eyes. Dashing them away with the back of her hand, she looked down at the man lying on the ground, his face strangely peaceful. “Poor Jason. He didn't deserve this."

A muscle jerked in Simon's jaw. “No, and I wonder who was responsible. I just realized we've been sitting out here, a perfect target for whoever shot him."

"Shot him?"

"Yes, that was the first sound we heard, a gun shot. My guess is he was shot in the back. That hole in his chest is the exit hole. It's always bigger. And since there were no more shots, I guess they've decided to let you live after all."

"Unless the person after me is someone else,” Leslie said somberly.

"Yeah, that's possible. What did he say about Gage?"

"I'm not sure. ‘Tell Gage.’ Tell Gage what?"

A car ground up the hill, and a moment later Jimmy braked at the edge of the patio. Behind him, another vehicle pulled up, something that looked like a large army jeep on a high frame.

Jimmy gestured toward the vehicle. “This is the nearest thing we have to an ambulance. Most of our accidents happen in the mountains."

A man carrying a medical bag emerged from the jeep and hurried over to Jason, impatiently gesturing them away. Leslie found she couldn't watch as he cut away the blood-soaked shirt and examined his chest. A moment later he spoke. Simon translated, pulling Leslie into his arms. “Just as we thought, he's gone. He wants your permission to remove the body."

Fresh tears threatened. Jason wasn't Jason any more; he was just a body. But no matter how cold and worn out their relationship had been at the end, she felt a deep remorse, much more acute than any grief she'd felt upon receiving the letter telling of his windsurfing “death".

She shook herself. There was no time for tears. She could indulge herself later. Now she had to deal with Jimmy and his questions. And what to do about Jason. She supposed she would have to arrange a funeral. Good thing Papadopoulos was still on Corfu; he would be able to advise her.

"Thank you, Simon,” she said, pulling away. “I'm fine now. Jimmy will want to talk to us."

Simon studied her pale face for a moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “I expect he will."

Leslie looked down at the flagstones, at the pool of blood that was all that remained of Jason. The doctor had ordered his body put into the ambulance and was waiting for Jimmy's okay to leave.

"Did you find anything?” Simon asked in Greek as Jimmy emerged from the dense shrubbery at the edge of the patio.

"Not much. He hid in the bushes and used a rifle. I found a shell casing, but it's a common type and doesn't tell us much, unless he was careless enough to leave fingerprints."

"That's all?” Simon asked, disappointed. Yet, what had he expected? The killer to leave a calling card?

"I'm afraid that's it,” Jimmy said. “But I'm marking off the area until I can get an expert from Kerkira to have a look. So I'm asking you and Leslie to stay out of that part of the garden."

He turned and spoke to one of his men. “Would you ask Cecil Weatherby not to use that path?"

"You mean he's been coming into this garden?” Simon asked.

"What is it?” Leslie said.

Simon repeated Jimmy's words, realizing Leslie hadn't understood the Greek. “How do you know he's been using the path?"

"Flattened grass,” Jimmy said in English. “That path is used regularly. It's well-worn."

"I wonder why,” Leslie said slowly. She shivered as a creepy chill crept over her skin. Had Cecil been hiding in the bushes, spying on her? “Each time we've seen him here, he's come up the driveway."

"Yeah, he has,” Simon said. “But maybe we should talk to him anyway."

"Does Cecil have a rifle?” Leslie addressed the question to Jimmy. “I understand he and Jason had a falling out years ago."

"That's true,” Jimmy said. “But last summer and in the months before Jason's windsurfing accident, they appeared in public on apparent good terms. But I'll check whether Cecil has any weapons.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “Why don't we go inside, and I'll take down your statements?"

By the time Jimmy drove away, leaving a young officer on guard until the forensics expert could arrive, the afternoon was far gone. Leslie rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. Simon came up behind her and gently massaged her temples. She rested her head against him for a moment, giving in to her exhaustion.

"What are you going to do now?” Simon asked.

"I wish I knew,” she said wearily. Nerves were jumping under her skin, and not even his touch could soothe them. “I'd better let Papadopoulos know."

She'd called him that morning, and he'd taken the loss of the box of Jason's papers with surprising equanimity. But how would he react to this, the news that Jason had been alive up until now, and obviously hiding somewhere?

"This is most irregular,” Papadopoulos said after she had filled him in. “Most irregular."

"I would say that's an understatement,” Leslie said. “I suppose we'll have to arrange another funeral. Would you help me with that?"

"A funeral.” Papadopoulos's tone was dry. “Jason didn't have a funeral before. Since there was no body and no relatives to mourn him here, it didn't seem necessary. I believe the village priest said prayers on the forty-day anniversary. Have the police taken the body? I take it you're still at the house?"

"Yes,” Leslie said. “The police have a man in the garden, but since he died outside, they don't need the house for evidence.” She closed her eyes, feeling momentarily sick. In her ordered life in Canada, she'd never thought she'd be part of a violent crime. Two crimes, if they counted Melanie.

"Well, then, I'll come down to Platania when they release the body. Oh, and please accept my condolences."

"Thank you,” Leslie said faintly, not sure she deserved them. “I'll be in touch."

She had just put down the phone when there was a knock on the front door. Simon laid his hand on her arm, stopping her from rushing to answer it. “Wait a minute. Jimmy's man is watching the garden. He can't see the front door."

Another knock, a loud pounding that reverberated in Leslie's aching head. “Go see who it is, Simon. By the sounds of it, he's not going away."

Scowling, Simon opened the door. “Oh, it's you."

Harlan Gage stood outside, oily smile firmly in place. Behind him stood another man, dressed in a raw silk suit. “I understand you had some trouble here earlier."

"You might say that,” Simon said dryly. “What do you want?"

Gage looked past him at Leslie. “Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Adams. I know how you must be feeling. Jason was a friend of mine, too."

Simon made a mental note to have Jimmy check whether Gage owned a rifle.

"I was as surprised as you to find Jason alive,” Gage said. He gestured toward the man at his side. “This is Mr. Wheeler, an associate of mine. He's considering purchasing a house here, and would like to look at yours."

Wheeler nodded at them without offering to shake hands.

Leslie pushed past Simon. “When did you learn he was alive?"

"Why, late yesterday evening, dear lady. Jason came to me at the inn, wearing dark glasses and a hat and scarf that concealed most of his face. He said he'd received a delivery for me that is being held at the house."

"I received nothing,” Leslie said.

"Perhaps it came before you arrived. Jason gave me this."

Gage reached into the pocket of his wrinkled linen jacket and produced a folded paper that he handed to Leslie. She read the scrawled words, going down to the signature.

"Is it real?” Simon asked.

She gave him an annoyed look, chastising him for his nosiness. “It looks like Jason's signature. And the date is yesterday's. We know he was alive then, so he could have written it. I guess we have no choice."

She turned to Gage. “Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Jason gave it to me late last evening. I didn't think you'd appreciate a visit then. And when I came by this morning, you were out."

"This morning?” Simon said. “What time?"

"Early. The car wasn't here."

The car hadn't been there all night. Simon stood aside, holding the door open. “Okay, I guess you can come in and have a look. But I haven't seen anything in the basement."

The crate of cheap wine had disappeared from the wine cellar. Only a cleaner spot on the dusty floor showed where it had stood. The place where the other crates had been was wiped clean, all traces of oil gone.

"Someone's been down here again,” Simon said angrily. “And that might be how the roses were left and the notes taken."

"But how could they get up there, when I kept the door at the top of the stairs locked?” Leslie asked. A knot tightened in her chest; someone could have been spying on her not only from outside, but from inside as well.

"Did we have a good look at it?” Simon asked. “I think the lock can be released from the stair side, although it's a little tricky."

"Can we get on with it?” Gage had dropped all semblance of affability, and stood shifting impatiently from one foot to the other.

"Oh, by all means,” Simon said sarcastically. “Where would you like to look?"

"Jason said there's an old armoire in here. The box I'm supposed to pick up is in it."

"Is it? Then I trust you have a key. It was locked the last time we looked."

Simon led the way to the back of the wine cellar, swinging the flashlight from its cord. The lights remained on, however. Leslie brought up the rear, keeping her eye on Wheeler. If he was anything like Gage, she wouldn't put it past him to swipe a bottle or two when no one was looking.

To their surprise, the armoire was not locked today. Gage swore when he saw what was inside, his tone so vicious that Leslie winced. “Well, what did you expect?” Simon asked. “The crown jewels?"

The box inside the ornate cupboard was the very crate of cheap wine that had been near the wine cellar door a few days ago. “You're welcome to take it, Mr. Gage.” Simon added.

Gage swore again. “He lied to me. He lied.” With that, he turned and stamped out of the room and up the stairs, his footsteps echoing eerily. Wheeler cast them a speculative look, then turned and followed him.

Simon waited until the back door slammed, then went up and locked it. Through the window he could see the two men striding off down the driveway.

"Is he gone?” Leslie asked from the top of the stairs.

"Yeah, and I don't think he'll be back,” Simon said with grim satisfaction.

"His friend didn't see much of the house,” Leslie said.

"You mean you believed that story?"

"No, of course not.” Leslie turned around. “D'you think we should have another look around the basement? The lights seem to be pretty stable."

"Let's go, then."

They explored the cavernous space, searching the walled-off storage rooms. A couple of them were locked, but the keys on Jason's ring, which Simon had lost and Baby had brought to Leslie, opened the doors.

Inside one they found enough canned goods to withstand a siege. “Somebody must have been expecting a famine,” Simon said.

He unlocked the door next to it, and let out a long whistle. “I think we've found where Jason was holing up. Or at least where he kept his clothes. Look, there in the corner. Isn't the box from the attic? Someone's been busy."

"Papadopoulos will be pleased,” Leslie said flatly.

"At least that explains the noises we kept hearing. Do you suppose he brought the roses?"

Leslie gnawed on her lower lip. “I don't know. It's not the sort of thing Jason would do, unless he changed a lot. But then, there was so much I've recently found out about him, he could have, I guess. But why would he call me Allegra?"

"The key question in all of this, I'd say."

"Another question would be, did Jason go in and out through the house, or did he have some sort of secret way to get in the basement? I'd say there must be a way in here without going through the house, because someone's been coming in after I changed the locks."

"Let's look,” Simon said.

"You know,” he said ten minutes later, “this section is next to the wine cellar, but it seems longer.” Beginning at one end, he paced it off. “Okay, let's go inside."

Inside the wine cellar, he counted the steps to the opposite end. “Yes, it is shorter. There has to be another room behind here, probably hidden by the furniture."

Together, they shifted the smaller furniture between the wine racks. Dust rose around them, a clear indication that this stuff hadn't been moved in years. Leslie sneezed as she lifted one end of the ugly Victorian settee, and let out a little shriek when a huge black spider scuttled over her arm.