Promise Me Eternity (31 page)

Chapter 60

_______________________

Sandra Grant and Steven West went again to
Dr. Patterson’s house. When he opened the front door, they got a
surprise. In front of them stood a neglected, unshaven man who
obviously had done nothing but drink all day.

“You’d better come in if you must,” he said
with a shaky voice.

“We can come back in an hour or two,” Sandra
offered.

Simon leaned on the door handle, knowing that
otherwise he would fall.

“No, no, do come in. Have you established yet
who killed my wife?”

Both officers said nothing.

Simon shuffled into the house, leaving the
front door open. The agents followed him, Sandra closing the door
behind her.

Steven said, “Why we’re here, really, is
because the evidence against you is growing.”

“So you think I killed my wife?” He opened a
cabinet door and said, “Want a drink?”

In a firm voice Sandra said, “I’ll have to
ask you to refrain from alcohol during our visit. We won’t have a
drink either.”

Simon hesitated, before gesturing
dismissively. “As you wish. I’ll refrain. Do you want anything
nonalcoholic? Coke, tea, coffee?”

They shook their heads.

“OK, nothing then. Why don’t you sit
down?”

“Where were you when your wife was murdered?”
Sandra asked.

Simon laughed. “I’ve told you a hundred
times. I went for a walk and then—”

“I don’t believe you. Tell us the truth. You
killed your wife, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, it was me. I don’t know why you came
here if you think that I did it. Why don’t you just arrest me?”

Steven said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be behind
bars very soon. We have quite a lot of evidence. But tell us
something, Dr. Patterson. You said you didn’t kill your wife. Did
you move the scalpel that was used to cut her throat?”

Simon looked deep in thought.

“No, I didn’t touch it. In fact, I didn’t
even notice it.”

“So how can you explain that we found your
fingerprints on it?”

Simon panicked. “You’re trying to trick me. I
never touched that scalpel.”

“There’s another thing,” Steven said. “We
found out from the insurance company that both you and your wife
have life insurance. In the case of one of you dying, the other one
gets sixty thousand dollars. Not a bad sum.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’re insured because
Helen wanted it. It wasn’t my idea at all. And it was years ago
when we got the insurance.”

“Some people plan murders years in advance,”
Steven said directly.

“You really are being ridiculous. I tell you,
it wasn’t me who—”

“Your neighbor says you were always fighting
with your wife.”

“Which neighbor?”

“John Melton. He says that you two often
argued in front of him and his wife. Is that right?”

“Listen, they were just pointless little
fights that meant nothing. That fool Melton has always been jealous
of me and—”

“Why would he be jealous of you?” Steven
asked. Sandra sat and listened.

“My roses have always done better than his.
However hard he tries, he never—”

“You’re telling me he was jealous because of
your roses? You’ll have to come up with something a bit more
original than that, Dr. Patterson.”

Simon wrung his hands in his lap. “I can see
you’ve already decided. What I don’t understand is why you don’t
arrest me.”

“Oh, we will, Doctor. Soon, we’ll come with a
warrant. Another day or two of gathering evidence and then ….” He
got up and Sandra followed.

Simon walked them to the door. “See you,” he
said dryly.

“Good-bye,” they replied.

Simon went back to the drinks cabinet. “Damn
police. They’re determined to put me behind bars.” He filled his
glass and staggered toward the window. “But I won’t let them. I
won’t let them do it.”

Outside, Sandra spoke first. “Something isn’t
right.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “What now? You always
find something fishy. Isn’t it obvious he killed her?”

“He didn’t fall for your lie about the
fingerprints on the scalpel. I don’t know what to say. It’s as if
he is resigned to his fate. He didn’t even try to convince us.”

“He’s the murderer, Sandra. True, you’d never
think it looking at him, but you know very well that you can’t tell
a killer by his appearance.”

“I don’t know, Steven. Something’s telling me
….” She looked back toward Simon’s house. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe
he did do it.”

Chapter 61

_______________________

Edna Weiss was walking along a narrow, sandy
path in the park, thinking about Dr. Patterson’s fate. He had
called her twenty minutes earlier, asking her not to come to clean
the house because he was not feeling well. She was
disappointed.

She tended to believe him; he had talked
slowly and his voice shook twice.
Perhaps he has been prescribed
some tranquilizers and took too many, the poor thing
. The
thought that he could be drunk never entered her head.

She peered around to make sure that Bessie,
her collie, was alright. She was sniffing around the nearby bushes.
Edna remembered the headline in the newspaper: Did the doctor kill
his wife?
How stupid. Dr. Patterson didn’t kill her. They always
get the wrong person.
She called for Bessie, thinking the dog
had wandered too far.

Edna sighed out loud and admired the setting
sun. The horizon was a glorious red while the sky was becoming
silvery.

A swarm of tiny flies appeared out of nowhere
and buzzed around her head. “Oh, go away,” she said, waving them
off. “Why did you have to pick on me, of all people?”

When she had finally driven them away, she
stood with her feet planted firmly on the ground.
I know very
well that Dr. Patterson didn’t kill her.
She waved her hand
again.
Someone else killed Helen.

Chapter 62

_______________________

The more Simon thought about his situation,
the more depressed he became. He was holding a half-empty bottle of
beer and thinking about his options. He knew that alcohol was not
his best friend, but didn’t know what else to do.

He had woken with a terrible headache. He
swallowed two painkillers on an empty stomach and washed them down
with beer. Then he thought about what the police had told him:
Obviously, they have enough evidence.

Once, he had read an article about how many
innocent people are wrongly convicted while the real perpetrators
walk around free. The journalist claimed that young police officers
hankered for promotions just as badly as people in business. In
order to prove themselves, they tried to solve as many cases as
possible in the shortest possible time. They didn’t balk at any
means to achieve this and often did not check even the few bits of
evidence they bothered to collect. Some went even further and
falsified evidence in order to close a case sooner. There were even
instances when police officers simply accused someone they didn’t
like and then did everything to get him convicted.

Simon’s train of thought was interrupted by
the telephone. The name Christine Vucci appeared on the screen.

“Hello, Simon, how are you feeling?”

“Not too good. Thanks for asking.”

“What’s happened?”

“The police were here. They said they’re
going to put me in jail and have enough evidence against me.”

“What evidence can they have?”

“I don’t really know. They mentioned finding
my fingerprints on the scalpel that Helen was killed with, but I
know that can’t be true. They were trying to trick me into
confessing, but I have nothing to confess.”

“What else did they say?”

“My neighbor told them that Helen and I
fought all the time. Oh yes, and they found out that we both have
life insurance. Now they think insurance money was my motive.” He
sounded desperate.

Christine said nothing.

“It was Helen who wanted life insurance, not
me.”

“Listen, Simon, all this isn’t good.”

“I know, Christine. The more I think about
it, the stronger the feeling they’ll convict me. I read an article
once …”

Christine listened for a while and then
asked, “Have you thought any more about what I asked you?”

“What?” He was shocked. “Oh, Christine, I
couldn’t do it. I’m not a murderer.”

“Please, Simon, think again. It would save us
both.”

Simon remembered the man who had followed
him. “Damn it, this guy followed me home the other night. After we
left the hotel, he kept tailing me. I had quite a job shaking him
off.”

“What? What did he look like?”

Simon described him.

Christine had no idea who it could be, but
was sure it had something to do with Carlo. “Simon, I know it’s
hard to do what I ask you, but you’d save both me and you. Don’t
you want to help me?”

His voice rose. “Of course I’d like to help,
but killing ….” He slapped his thigh with his left hand. “I can’t
do it.”

“Please, Simon, at least think about it. I
know it all looks very complicated, but it would be really easy for
you. And you’d save us both. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“Then we could live together. Have you
thought of that? We could be happy.”

“I don’t know, Christine. Don’t ask me to do
it. I would never forgive myself.”

“Forgive what? He’s a murderer. Do you have
any idea how many people he’s killed? God would be grateful to you.
Please, Simon.”

He shivered. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

“Promise me that you’ll at least think about
it. Please, Simon, promise.”

The pressure in his head was so strong that
he had to press his fist to his forehead. “OK, Christine, I’ll
think about it, but that’s all I can promise right now. Do you
realize what you’re asking? My God, I don’t dare even think about
it.”

While trying to suppress her tears, she said,
“I know, Simon, it’s terrible, but we have no other choice. Please,
be my savior. Please?”

Simon’s hand was shaking. “I’ll think about
it, but we have to hang up now. I promise I’ll think about it.” He
put the phone down and grabbed the beer bottle.

Christine’s words bewitched him for the rest
of the afternoon. Even though he had drunk more than four bottles
of beer, the alcohol had no effect. His anguish made the beer turn
straight into sweat that poured down his face.

In the end, he pushed the fifth bottle away,
trying to focus.
What if the officers spoke the truth? Do they
really have enough evidence against me? Damn them! Oh, God, I can’t
let this happen. I have to decide. Damn it, maybe it wouldn’t be
that difficult.

Chapter 63

_______________________

Special Agent Sandra Grant finally found
something that might lead her to the solution. In the hairdressing
salon where Helen Patterson had worked, Sandra spoke to one of her
colleagues, who told her that she had seen Helen meeting an older
man. She also told her his name: Robert Miner.

Within an hour, Sandra was on her way. She
was deliberately exploiting her anger in dealing with the Patterson
case when she was so close to resolving the Vucci case. She decided
that after seeing Robert Miner she’d visit a few bars to dig up
additional information.

“Come in, Ms. Grant, please, sit down.” He
gestured toward a beautiful white leather sofa.

She sat down and immediately asked, “I’d like
to ask you a few questions. I’d be delighted if—”

“But of course, go ahead.”

Sandra looked at him distrustfully. Dr. Miner
seemed too nice.

“Did you know Helen Patterson?”

The slightly chubby face which had only
moments earlier been smiling, now became sad. He said, “Yes, I did
meet her. And I read about what happened to her in the paper and I
don’t understand how—”

“When did you last see her?” Sandra
asked.

“That’s the thing. It was two days before she
was killed. She was here late afternoon. I really don’t
understand.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a surgeon.”

Sandra thought of the scalpel and the way
Helen’s throat was cut. “A surgeon, huh? Interesting. And where do
you work?”

“I own a private clinic, doing mainly
cosmetic surgery. I’ve worked there—”

“I understand. I’ll ask you something
personal: What was your relationship with Helen? Did you have an
affair?”

“No, no, it didn’t get as far as that. I
liked Helen a lot and hoped that …. But then her husband ….”

Sandra looked at him with surprise: “How do
you know it was her husband who killed her?”

“It says in the newspapers. Wasn’t it
him?”

Without giving a reply, Sandra asked, “How
many times did you and Helen meet?”

“Only twice on our own. The first time we had
dinner together and the second time she came here.”

“Can you tell me where you were on July the
ninth between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m., at the time she was
murdered?” Sandra’s eyes were glued to Robert’s in the hope of
seeing something, anything.

“Of course I can. I was at home. Asleep.”

“Is there anyone who could confirm that?”

He shook his head. “Sadly, no. I live alone.
My housekeeper left at midday.”

Sandra wasn’t happy with this answer.
What
if he’s the murderer
? She got up. “And another thing.”

“Yes?”

“Would you be willing to take a lie detector
test?” She was trying to check him out. If he said no, then ….