Natural Suspect (2001) (17 page)

Devin pulled up alongside and took a look in the Bentley. It was Julia, all right, and she seemed to be singing at the top of her lungs.

Devin waved at her, then tooted the horn, but Julia drove on, merrily oblivious to everything.

Maybe it was better this way, Devin thought. Instead of pulling Julia over, which wasn't working anyway, she'd follow her. Her destination might reveal more than she would ever reveal herself
.

Devin dropped back and cut in behind the Bentley and followed it like it was a white Bronco on the Santa Monica Freeway, the only difference being that Julia didn't have a clue she was being followed. Also that there were no helicopters or news cameras tracking her progress. But Devin wondered if her motivation might be the same. Could it be a guilty conscience that was driving Julia's flight? Oh, God, she thought with a sudden sinking in her stomach. Could Julia be suicidal?

She pulled up tighter to the Bentley's bumper and followed at a closer distance as Julia drove on toward the city. She left the Long Island Expressway for the Brooklyn-Queens, then crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge into Lower Manhattan. Was she headed for Wall Street? Devin wondered--but then the Bentley turned left, then left again, and continued south along the East River seaport. Julia seemed to be driving purposefully, although as she passed under a streetlight, Devin could see that she was still singing.

The right blinker switched off for the first time in thirty minutes, then the left one came on, and slowly the Bentley turned down a narrow street. At the end of it stood a ten-foot-high chain-link fence broken only by a drive-through security gate. The bar of the gate swung high as Julia approached it, and she drove through and made another turn around the corner of a building.

Devin stomped on the gas, but the bar descended before she could follow. She lowered her window and studied the security box, but there was no indication of what was required to open the gate. She backed up and parked in an empty space along the fence, then got out and ducked under the bar and ran after the Bentley.

As she rounded the corner of the building, she realized where she was, and an alarm went off in her brain. This was the Commodore Marina, a place where Wall Street tycoons could conveniently berth their yachts so that when they were in the mood for some ocean air, al
l t
hey had to do was put on their skipper's caps and order their drivers to take them to the Commodore. Arthur Hightower kept his yacht here, she remembered. It was called the
Silver Girl VI
, the latest descendant of the first
Silver Girl
, which he acquired after cornering the silver market with the Hunt brothers back in the eighties.

Devin spotted the Bentley, and it was heading toward her. She shrank back into the shadows of the clubhouse as it passed. But the driver wasn't Julia. It was a young man in a sailor's cap.

Frantically Devin scanned the marina in search of Julia, and at last she saw her climbing aboard a long gleaming yacht while its captain and crew stood at attention on deck.

"No, wait! Stop!" Devin shouted and sprinted for the yacht. But its engines were already purring; it was slipping out of its berth and moving into the harbor.

"Julia! Don't do this! Come back!" Devin screamed.

But Julia couldn't hear her. She was standing on the forecastle with her head thrown back, her arms flung wide, her mink coat whipping in the wind, and she was singing so loudly that Devin could hear the words where she stood.
"Sail on
y
Silver Girl\ sail on by. .. . "

"Nooo!" Devin wailed. "Don't do this to me!" She stamped her foot so hard she broke the heel off her shoe, then just to spite herself she stamped the other foot until that heel broke, too. She stood there, three inches shorter, and cursed like a sailor as the yacht glided out to sea and into the black depths of the night.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice spoke behind her. "Aren't you Devin McGee?"

She started to spin on her heels until she remembered she didn't have any. Slowly she turned around. Behind her stood a nice-looking man of about thirty with curly dark hair and big dark eyes. "Devin Gail McGee, to be precise. Who are you?"

"My name's Patrick Roswell."

Her eyes opened wide. "From the
Gazette?"

"You've heard of me?" he said, amazed.

"Just today. I think we may have a mutual enemy."

"Huh?"

"Six-foot-six, likes to play dress-up?"

"Oh, God," he said, gulping. "He came after you, too?" His eyes darted to her feet.

"Yes," she said, cringing. Her sodden, broken shoes were such a disgrace that this man apparently couldn't keep his eyes off them. She tried to hide one behind the other as she spoke. "He came to my office today and said that you and I should talk."

"Did he tell you how long you had? Because I found out he lied about the thirty-six hours."

"What?" she said, confused.

"He didn't--? I mean--did he hurt you?"

"Well, no. Not really."

"Oh. Good."

Was that relief or resentment in his voice? "Anyway," Devin continued, "I called you today and left a message on your office voice mail. You didn't get it?"

He shook his head glumly. "It's disconnected. I--I got fired today."

"Oh." Devin stared out into the harbor. "What do you know? I think I just got fired, too."

He followed her gaze. "Was that Julia Hightower?"

Devin nodded bitterly.

"Wow," he breathed. "What happens to the murder trial now?"

"If she's not in court tomorrow morning, Judge Hardy will revoke her bail and issue a bench warrant for her arrest. Then he'll probably declare a mistrial and dismiss the panel. Damn it!" she cried. "Why'd she have to pull this stunt now? The message our friend Stretch seemed to be giving me is that she's innocent. But after tonight, everyone will assume she's guilty. I'll never be able to get an untainted jury after this. Even if she comes back."

"But you know," Patrick said hesitantly, "maybe this is a good thing."

"What are you talking about?"

"Stretch gave me the same message. That Julia didn't do it. Devin, there's more to this than meets the eye."

She turned. "Thats another thing Stretch said to me."

"Until you--we--figure out what's going on here, maybe it's better to call a time-out in the murder trial."

"When it's out of your control," Devin murmured, "get it out of the courtroom."

"Exactly."

She reflected a moment. Perhaps Julia's
hiatus
--a better word than
flight
--was actually a golden opportunity for Devin to do some digging and try to get to the bottom of all this.

"Wait a minute," she said, her head snapping up. "What are you doing here?"

"Tailing a suspect," Patrick said. He pointed to a smaller yacht at the other end of the marina. "She's in there right now."

Devin's eyes moved between Patrick and the yacht. "Fill me in?" she asked, intrigued.

"Sure. Could we sit someplace--?"

Briefly she considered, then made up her mind and pointed to her car.

Patrick's pain evaporated
in the heat of his excitement as he sat in the front seat of the Taurus and related all he knew about the mysterious woman named Cordelia. But it was the woman named Devin who was making his heart flutter. He couldn't remember ever sitting so close to a woman so lovely. And she was smart, too. He could see the wheels spinning in the irises of her eyes as he told her all about Robert Rutledge and Henry Cloutier and Joe Kellogg.

"So she dropped Henry off at seven," he wound up his tale, "--and broke up with him, too, I'm pretty sure--and drove straight here. She went aboard that boat, the
Starry Night
, a couple of lights went on inside, and I've been waiting here ever since."

Devin nodded musingly. "It must have something to do with Hightower Oil. Remember how Arthur deflected that takeover bid a few years back? What if this Rutledge guy decided to take a run at him? And Arthur just wouldn't budge?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Patrick said. "But is Cordelia working^r him or
against
him?"

"Look!" Devin's eyes were riveted on the
Starry Night.
"Is that Cordelia?"

A woman stood backlit at one of the windows, still and watchful.

"Yes," Patrick whispered.

"She looks like she's waiting for somebody."

"Maybe we better wait, too."

Devin nodded. After a moment, she reached down and slipped off her shoes and tossed them into the back. A little shiver traveled down Patrick's spine at the intimacy of the gesture.

"I guess--" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I guess you found out that I wasn't really a reporter at the
Gazette?"

She shrugged. "So? I'm my own secretary and paralegal. There's nothing wrong with wearing multiple hats."

He gazed at her in silence while a symphony played in his head.

Suddenly a grinding of gears sounded behind them; then a wash of headlights poured over the trunk of the Taurus and started to rise up into the rear window.

"Duck!" Devin whispered.

They both dived center and sideways, but Devin dived faster, so Patrick ended up with his chin resting on her back, while her head was rather firmly resting in his lap.

"Umm," Patrick said after a frozen moment. "You think we could switch places here?"

"What? Why?" she whispered, then a second later, "Oh."

He blushed, and she gave him a pat on the knee that was meant, he imagined, to reassure him, though it had a decidedly different effect.

The engine gears ground again, and as the headlights passed up and over the car, Patrick sat up and so did Devin. He shifted uncomfortably to the far side of the seat.

"McGinty's Meats," she said, reading the name on the side of the truck. "Delivering at this hour?"

He jerked forward. "McGinty's!" he exclaimed. "That's where Stretch told me I'd find Joe Kelloggs body."

They watched in horror as two men emerged from the back of the truck, each one grasping a handle of a large freezer chest, which they heaved aboard the
Starry Night.

"Oh, God," he gasped. "Could that be it?"

"They couldn't fit him into that chest. Could they?"

"Believe me, they could," Patrick said.

Cordelia came out on deck wearing something long and flowing and white. She looked like Ophelia, or maybe Lady Macbeth. One of the truckers handed her a clipboard, and she scanned it, then signed it and handed it back.

"But I don't know," Patrick said. "Seems funny to sign for a corpse."

"Duck," Devin cried again as the truck headed back out the gate.

This time Patrick was ready. He dived first and ended up with his head in Devin's lap.

"Know what I could go for right now?" Devin whispered as they lay motionless across the seats.

"What?" Patrick tried to find the correct way to turn his head. He was no longer sure that this was a better position for him.

"A cheeseburger." The truck passed by, and she sat up straight again.

"You like cheeseburgers?" he said, sitting up.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes dreamily. "Big juicy ones, with the cheese all melted and blistering over it."

Patrick nodded appreciatively.

"And the bun lightly toasted," she went on. "The lettuce and tomato cold and crisp."

He licked his lips.

"With fries on the side, hot and salty."

"Oh, God," he moaned out loud.

A second flash of headlights penetrated the car, and he grabbed Devin and kissed her long and hard.

"Wow," she said, stunned, as they broke apart. "That was fast thinking. I didn't even hear that car coming." She turned to watch as a red sports car slowed for the security gate and then drove through as the bar lifted.

"Know what else I was thinking?" Patrick said, breathing hard. "The
Sweeney Hotel seems to be the intersection of a lot of different paths. I think we should go there and check in--I mean, check it out."

"Good idea," she said. "Especially since I'm a little nervous about going to my apartment tonight. Let s get a room at the Sweeney and see what we can find out."

A room?
Patrick thought, his heart boomeranging inside his chest. "Great," he gulped.

"Wait a minute," she said sharply.

Damn,
he thought.

"That cars headed for the
Starry Night"
she said. "And look-- Cordelias coming out to meet it."

Patrick leaned forward to watch. Cordelias face was turned down; she seemed to be speaking to someone below her on deck. Then she stooped and lifted a small child into her arms. It was a chubby little toddler, a bouncing baby boy, and she held him close as a man jumped out of the sports car and climbed aboard. Cordelias face glowed in the starlight as he approached. He took the little boy from her and swung him in the air, then cradled him in the crook of his arm as he leaned in to kiss Cordelia.