Natural Suspect (2001) (24 page)

Harcourt was DOA. He didn't have a thing to tell them. He'd been downstairs in the hall. He must have opened the door to the killer. Or else the killer had been in the house already and had felled him on the way out. Who had a motive to kill Morgan? Who would gain from his death? Only one person. It wasn't a hard one.

Julia was furious at the bad girls of the world. Look how they'd ruined her life! The women who married for money, like Sissy; the women who slept with other people's husbands. She wasn't paying blackmail to one of her own jury. She wasn't talking to flatfoots who were so dim they refused to see that she was incapable of killing a germ, much less a human being. She was talking to Devin, her counsel.

In that blue plastic chair, surrounded by cops, Julia had a sudden flash. She'd tell Devin the truth about her own legacy. She'd insist that Devin sort out the legal questions of blackmail, her false arrest. Everything. She'd have Marilyn and Devin work out the will and business issues together. It was time for the good girls to take their place in the world, to stand up for themselves and make themselves useful. To prevail.

As Julia waited for her girls to arrive, she had other thoughts, too. Being rich wasn't as easy as people thought. Everyone they knew bowed and scraped, of course, but let's face it--no one really liked the rich. She never had liked them much herself. She may have been excited and corrupted by wealth. She'd married the wrong man and allowed herself to be degraded by it, just as Arthur had lost touch with himself in his lust for money and power. Both of them had been disappointed when wealth didn't bring the happiness they'd dreamed of. But neither had been able to do a thing about it. There wasn't a course in every schoo
l o
n how to be a well-adjusted rich person. Money had paralyzed them, and now all the men were gone.

Julia could see activity outside the ER entrance. There was movement with those cops. She imagined herself as the football at a college homecoming. The cops were coming to take her away, to punish her for her selfishness, her sins of omission. Her eyes were puffy. Her heart was heavy. She needed a drink but would never have one again. She wanted to tell someone she was a good girl. She was one of the good ones. The tension built up inside her until she felt she would explode. Then the doors slid open and together Marilyn, Devin, and Robert Rutledge rushed into the waiting room. Marilyn saw her first and oblivious to the uniformed cops, the detective with the hook, the nurses and doctors, the gurneys and late-night emergencies, she cried out, "Mummy, hang in there. I love you."

Julia, pretty shocky to begin with, fell off her chair.

Chapter
12.

T
he food in
the hospital commissary was bad, and the coffee was worse, but after all this group of people had been through, they barely noticed. All of them--Devin and Patrick, Julia and Marilyn, Rutledge and Harrison--huddled around a Formica-topped table sharing secrets, slowly unraveling the tangled web that had ensnared them all.

Harrison snapped his cell phone closed, punctuating their conversation with a decided click. "Got her!"

"Sissy?" Marilyn asked.

"Right. State patrolman nabbed her just before she crossed the New Jersey border."

"Send the poor man backup," Rutledge muttered. "She's dangerous."

"You don't have to tell me. I've known her a long time." Harrison grinned. "I understand she practically crippled the first guy who found her. Took three of them to get the cuffs on her. But they managed."

"So I was right," Marilyn said. "Sissy's a cop."

Harrison craned his neck. "She's . . . something like a cop. Or was, anyway."

"She's in the O, isn't she?" Rutledge said. "And unless I miss my guess, you are, too. Admit it."

Harrison arched an eyebrow, apparently surprised that Rutledge knew the O existed. "I'm afraid I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"Tell us more about Sissy," Julia implored. "Are you saying she was . . . undercover? That she only married my son to get information?"

"She was never supposed to marry him," Harrison explained. "I dont know how that happened. At first, I thought maybe she really liked him. Now it seems clear she saw an opportunity to make a big score--bigger than she had dreamed possible."

"By killing my husband," Julia said.

Harrison nodded solemnly. "And arranging it so that you would be convicted. Leaving Marilyn and her brother to inherit."

Marilyn covered her face with her hand. "I knew that Morgan was scheming to gain control of the corporation. But I never imagined that his wife had killed Daddy." She paused, gathering her strength. "Morgan and I talked about some sort of takeover scheme to convert our interest in Hightower Oil into cash. I knew he had his mistress, Cordelia, lure Daddy to the Sweeney Hotel. She plied Daddy with liquor, then arranged to have a lookalike of Mr. Rutledge persuade him to sign some papers. He told Daddy the papers were just pro forma corporate documents, but actually they transferred control of Hightower Oil to Morgan. Daddy was too smart for them, though--even liquored up."

"So Sissy knocked him over the head?"

"I guess so. She had access to the freezer key, of course. And it was a cinch for her to snag all the matching pearl necklaces and to smear blood on one of Mummy's dresses."

"And I'll bet she put the bomb in my car, too. She didn't want Julia getting exonerated. She wanted her locked away for as long as possible."

Marilyn nodded. "I knew Morgan wanted the money--but I didn't realize what he was willing to do to get it. I'm so sorry, Mummy."

"Don't torture yourself, dear," Julia said. "You didn't know."

"But that isn't the worst of it," Marilyn continued. "When the Sweeney Hotel scam didn't play, Morgan and I allowed Mummy to be charged, even though we knew she wasn't guilty, so that we would gain control of the corporation, if only temporarily."

"How could you know it would be temporary?"

"I had . . . inside information. I knew Mummy had been at the spa at the time of death. And I had . . . talked to Trent Ballard, the assistant D
. A
. handling the case. He assured me the charges were brought only to flush out the true killer. So I thought as long as he's using this charge for his own benefit, why shouldn't we?" She looked up, her eyes wide and watery. "I'm so sorry, Mummy."

Julia reached out and squeezed her daughter's hand. "We've all made mistakes, dear. Let's just put them behind us."

"So what happened to Kellogg?" Devin asked. "Why did that psycho kill him? How did Morgan end up with the body?"

"The psycho?" Julia asked. "Who's this?"

"The clown," Devin explained. "Fran, the Foot Locker employee." She turned toward Harrison. "He works for your mysterious little organization, doesn't he?"

Harrison nodded slowly. "Or did, anyway, until he got on the wrong side of Sissy." He glanced down at his hook. "Not that the world is going to miss him much. He didn't kill Kellogg, though. He may have tortured and maimed him--to send Mr. Rutledge here a message-- but he didn't kill him."

"Then who did?"

"Morgan," Patrick said firmly. "With Sissy's help, probably. I saw him dispose of the body."

"But why?"

"I think I can answer that," Rutledge said. "Joe had been in on Morgan's scheme from the first, since Cordelia lured him to the Sweeney to help out with the attempted scam on Arthur. And he stayed a part of it. Who knows what Morgan offered him--a big chunk of the company, probably. But the guilt was eating him up. He was threatening to talk. He called me and said he had something important to tell me. But he never made it to my office. After the clown cut off his hand, Sissy and Morgan must've finished him off. That's why he couldn't tell you where Kelloggs body was, Patrick. He didn't know. He hadn't killed him."

"Why did he torture me? Why did he cut off my toe?"

"He saw you talking with Joe in a bar. He assumed you were involved in the illegal scheme that Joe was perpetrating with Arthur Hightower"--he glanced at Rutledge--"among others. When he found out otherwise, he cut you loose--although not until after conning you into trying to frame me."

"Why would he do that?"

Harrison shrugged. "Old business. Goes way back. It doesn't matter. One reason or the other, Joe Kellogg is still dead."

"Poor Joe," Julia murmured. "He didn't deserve that."

"Same fate for Morgan, I'm guessing," Harrison said. "Maybe he was threatening to talk. Maybe Sissy just thought he was too dangerous to live. Whatever the reason--she knocked him off. And fled."

"And Harcourt?"

"I can't say for sure. But judging from the evidence at the crime scene, I suspect Harcourt was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw too much--so Sissy had to kill him."

"I still don't understand what this secret organization was doing. Sissy, the clown, you." Patrick leaned toward Harrison. "Why are you people involved?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Harrison replied.

"Come on. At least give me a clue. I'm good with clues."

Harrison took a deep breath, then released it. "Let's just say that Arthur Hightower--with the assistance of the late Joe Kellogg and Mr. Rutledge here--was engaged in some extremely illegal activities. Activities that could not be permitted to proceed any further. Activities that threatened the global economy--the safety of the world itself."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," Rutledge said.

"I'm not. Do you have any idea what you've been playing with? You may think you're just a couple of good ol' boys trying to make a buck with a little old-fashioned price-fixing, but what you're doing could destabilize nations. Not only large ones, but Third World nations. Middle Eastern nations. Nations that are dangerous. Nations with more weapons than they know what to do with. Your activities could put millions of lives at risk."

Rutledge drew himself up. "You have no proof that I was involved in any of this."

"You mean because you had your thugs steal the microchip?" Harrison smiled thinly. "Yes, I know about that. Did you honestly think we wouldn't make copies? Trent is a good operative, in an eccentric sort of way, but no one is infallible."

"If you had any proof, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You have nothing."

"You're wrong. Maybe we don't have enough to go to court, but we have more than enough to know that you're guilty as sin. And to try to stop it. You're a dangerous man, Mr. Rutledge." He leaned in closer. "And mark my words, you will be stopped."

"Don't you dare threaten me, you hook-handed punk. I'll eat you for breakfast." He rose quickly to his feet. "If you try to smear me or accuse me or . . . or . . . inconvenience me in any way, I'll make you wish you'd never been born. I've got friends, see? Lots of friends, in high places. I'm untouchable. So you might as well find someone else to intimidate. Because you don't scare me." He drew his greatcoat tighter around himself "Marilyn, I'll call you tomorrow."

Marilyn looked away. "Robert. . . please don't."

For a moment, he seemed genuinely saddened. "Very well. As you wish." He pushed away from the table and made his way out of the commissary.

"Devin," Julia announced, "as soon as the charges against me are dropped and the jury is dismissed, I want you to take something to a man named Jack Powell for me."

"Okay. What is it?"

"A check."

Devin's eyes widened. "You're not going to pay blackmail money to that juror, are you?"

"Blackmail, no. After the charges are dropped, he will have no claim on me. This money is for his half brother--Arthur's son. I've known of his existence for some time, but I was too cowardly to do anything about it. No longer. From now on, the Hightowers start taking responsibility for their actions."

"It's hard to believe," Patrick murmured, "but I think I finally understand what went on here."

"There's one thing I dont understand," Julia said.

"Whats that, Mummy?"

Her eyes turned downward. "How I could have raised such an evil son."

Marilyn wanted to comfort her, but she knew there was nothing to say. Instead, she clung tightly to her mother's hand, squeezing it, letting her love flow through her to her parent. It wasn't much. But at the moment, it was all she had to give.

As
Robert Rutledge
strode confidently into the chilly night, he was being watched by a pair of dark eyes that managed to stay close without ever being noticed. Most of the time, he favored more flamboyant disguises, but for a stalking job, the basic ninja black was best. He was very good at being invisible, when he wanted to be. And at the moment, he wanted to be.

So you think you're invincible, do you? the man known as Stefan thought as he watched Rutledge make his way to his car. Well, so did Sissy, and she's going down for the count. So did Arthur Hightower and Joe Kellogg, come to think of it. And they're both history. And so are you.

He would wait until the right moment. The right moment to tell the O he was still around (as if a lightweight like Sissy could seriously damage him) and the right moment to finish his job. Because he always finished his jobs. It was a matter of pride for him. He didn't care that much about financial markets, or global price-fixing, or the security of the Middle East. But he cared about his job record. Never in his distinguished career had he left a job unfinished.