Saving Farley's Bog (7 page)

CHAPTER 10

The Ride Home

The drive home was long and depressing. Before the police arrived, Stitch had taken pictures of the body and scoured the cabin for other evidence.

It had taken several hours for the police to check Stitch out and clear him. They weren't used to execution-style murders in Parsons. There were lots of anxious phone calls and scurrying around. It was pretty clear no one knew exactly what to do. They walked all over the crime scene destroying potential evidence. Stitch was glad he'd been over it first. They also grilled Stitch. He was their only lead and they were reluctant to let him go.

Stitch told them what he could about Maxwell. He told them he was working for Maxwell's wife. They were quite interested when he explained how he had tracked Maxwell to the cabin.

The first thing Stitch did when he got on the road was what he dreaded most: He called Molly Maxwell. At first she was shocked. She asked over and over for details of the killing. Then she started to sob. She cried and sniffled on the phone for several minutes.

Then she moved to feeling guilty. If it wasn't for her hiring Stitch, her husband would probably still be alive. It was all her fault. She should have left him alone.

Stitch had waited patiently. When she had finished, he asked her a simple question. “Molly,” he said gently. “Are you the one who agreed to switch your vote for $100,000?”

There was a pause at other end. Then a loud sniffle. “No,” she said at last.

“And are you the one who found a lover and ran out on the family?”

“No,” she said again, this time a little stronger.

“No, you're not, Molly. You acted out of love and concern. You are the one who acted responsibly. Don't beat yourself up.”

Stitch could hear her short, ragged breathing.

“Bob was a big boy. He made some really awful decisions. And they caught up with him,” Stitch said quietly. “You did not make those decisions. He did. Right?”

“I, I guess so,” Molly replied uncertainly. “But why did he do it, Stitch? Was it my fault? Wasn't I a good enough lover? A good enough wife?”

“Molly, I don't know anything about your relationship. That's not my department. But I do know this. No relationship succeeds or fails without help from both sides. I know. I've managed to screw up lots of them. It's easy to blame the other person. It's a lot harder to be honest with yourself. I think that's what Bob was doing. Putting all the blame on you.”

There was silence at the other end. “How did it feel for you these last months?” Stitch asked.

Molly sighed. “Yes. It wasn't working. I tried to talk with him. But Bob didn't want to see anyone. He was a very emotionally closed man. He told me to see someone myself. I was the one who had the problem.”

“Which made it easy for him to justify what he did. Listen, Molly. You are going to need some support. Are you interested in seeing a really good counsellor?”

“I… Well, I guess so. I've never seen a shrink before.”

Stitch shook his head in the car. Why are people so afraid of seeing a counsellor? he wondered. If they broke a bone, they'd be at hospital in a flash. But if they have a broken heart, it's not important enough to get help. There's nothing that can be done. Seeing someone who helps people heal emotionally shows weakness.

“I've come to know several good people in our area,” Stitch said. “Melanie Brooks is super. She is gentle and caring. But she also gets you to figure things out for yourself. I think you'd like her. Would you like her number?”

There was another short pause. “Yes. Yes, Mr. Robinson,” Molly said forcefully. “I would like her number. Maybe it's time I start taking control of my life.”

Stitch grinned. “That's my girl. Give Erin a call. She's my secretary. Tell her you need Dr. Brooks' number. And Molly?”

“Yes, Stitch?”

“You've got a whole life ahead of you. A great life. For you and your kids. I know what a mess all of this has been for you. But it will pass.”

“Promise?” Molly asked in a tremulous voice. She sounded like a little girl. She started to cry again.

“Promise,” Stitch said confidently.

There was a long pause at the other end. “Will you come see me when you get back?”

Stitch briefly squeezed his eyelids shut. What was he getting himself into? “Of course I will.”

“Tonight?” Molly asked more softly.

Stitch sighed. “I won't be in until late.”

Molly seemed to sniffle. “I don't care, Stitch. I just need you here right now. Please?”

Stitch hesitated. “OK. I'll come right to your house.”

“Promise?” Molly asked.

“Promise.”

Afterwards he drove in silence. He wasn't in the mood for music. The car drifted on cruise control around the gentle curves of the expressway. His mind too was on cruise control.

Stitch shook his head. Time to get back to work. He gave the Bluetooth lady instructions to call Daffy.

Daffy answered on the second ring. It was as if he were sitting by the phone waiting. “Yeah, Stitch. What do you have?”

“Ain't good, Daffy. I went out to Maxwell's cabin this morning. He'd been shot.”

Daffy groaned on the other end. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, yeah. Real dead.”

There was a pause. “Dead is good.”

Stitch almost ran off the road. “Dead is good?”

“No, no,” Daffy said hurriedly. “I know it's sad for his wife. His kids. But as far as the injunction goes, it's not that bad. The best thing would have been for him to be here and to have testified.”

“Yeah,” Stitch grunted. “Whoever wanted him dead must have come to the same conclusion.”

“But they screwed up. You have proof he's dead?”

“Yeah, I've got proof!” Stitch said angrily. “I've got pictures of him with half his head blown off! That good enough?”

“OK, OK,” Daffy said soothingly. “Sorry. Did you find the body?”

Stitch took a breath. “Yeah.”

“OK. That was hard. And then you called Maxwell's wife.”

“Yeah,” Stitch repeated tiredly.

“So you're upset. I understand that. But I'm looking at this as a lawyer.”

“Coldly,” Stitch muttered.

“That's not fair, Stitch. But he's dead. Now I have to use that information to help my clients. Who, by the way,” Daffy added, “have blockaded the access to Farley's Bog for the last 48 hours.”

“That's good, I guess,” Stitch said. “So how does Maxwell's death fit into all of this?”

“The acceptance of evidence depends on two things: necessity and reliability.”

Stitch shrugged in the car seat. “Yeah?”

“So before, we had your recorded confession, OK?”

“Yeah.”

“But that only proved that he had said he'd been bribed. Not that he actually had been bribed. He didn't say it under oath. There wasn't even a signed affidavit. Before he was killed, we had reliability going for us. He was testifying to being part of a crime. It could have meant jail time. He was saying something that was not in his personal interest.”

“No kidding. It got him killed.”

“Right,” Daffy agreed. “But getting an injunction to stop a project is hard. The judge has to be sure the grounds are solid. So, if we had this recorded, where was Maxwell? Why should the judge grant the stop order if Maxwell wasn't willing to testify? If we didn't even have a signed affidavit from him?”

Stitch nodded. “That's where necessity comes in. It was necessary before to have him testify. Now that he's dead, he can't.”

“Exactly!” Daffy enthused. “That makes your taped confession incontrovertible.”

“What does that mean? That no one can say it's a lie?”

“Right again. He's been killed for what he said. His taped statement is now reliable and necessary. The judge has every reason to believe it. To believe that the vote change was a result of bribery and blackmail. And that he may have been murdered for his comments. We've got ‘em!”

“Hope so. Listen, I'll be in late tonight. I'm going to see Molly when I get in. Can we get together first thing in the morning?” Stitch paused. “See, there's one more thing. I don't want to go into detail on the cell. But I think I've got something. A clue.”

“Clue to what?”

“To who killed Bob Maxwell. And why.”

CHAPTER 11

Homecoming

It was almost midnight when Stitch pulled up in front of Molly's. He parked the Rav along the curb. Then he leaned back tiredly against the headrest. He closed his eyes for few seconds. He had no idea what to expect. Hysterics? Tears? He hated this part. Usually he had to report to a wife that her suspicions were right. Her husband was having an affair. Or to an employer that his employees were stealing from him. That was bad enough.

But he'd never had a client's spouse die on him before.

Stitch got out of the car and walked toward the house. He automatically pushed the button on his car key two times. The car beeped twice and was quiet.

The spring evening was soft and velvety black. Stitch smelled apple and plum blossoms in the thick air. The quarter moon hung like a bright smile in the sky. His steps seemed muffled.

The outside light wasn't on. In the darkness, Stitch stepped carefully onto the concrete porch. He took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened wide. Molly stood silhouetted in the doorway. Stitch nearly gasped. She was wearing only a white terrycloth robe. And she looked beautiful. Stitch leaned forward. What was it? What had changed? Her brown hair fell softly around her shoulders, framing her upturned face. Her smile seemed warm, welcoming. But it was her eyes. When he had first met with Molly, they were dull and sad. Now they sparkled.

“Hi,” Molly said. “I didn't know what time you'd get here.” She blushed and glanced at her bare feet. “I was taking a shower.”

Stitch stood and looked for way too long. Finally he shook his head and smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean to stare. But, you're, uh, stunning. Literally.”

Molly glanced up bashfully. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“That's true,” Stitch agreed. “But I usually don't mean it. Tonight I do.”

Molly looked at the floor in embarrassment. “Well, do you want to come in? The kids are with their grandmother.” She looked up. “I think they're really confused.”

“You told them?”

Molly nodded. “As soon as they got home from school. It was funny. At first they didn't cry. They were just quiet. Then I saw Barton's eyes fill up with tears. I put my arm around him. Then he started sobbing. I put my other arm around Sarah. At first she was stiff. Then she just put her head on my shoulder and cried.”

Stitch took a deep breath. “Must have been hard.”

“I told them there would be police. Reporters. Lots of questions. I asked them if they wanted to go their grandparents for a while.” Molly looked over Stitch's shoulder. “They're Bob's parents. They love the kids. They're so different from him.” A small smile returned. “How does that work?”

Stitch shook his head. “I don't know, Molly. I really don't.” He hesitated. “Look, I know it's late. If you're too tired, I can come back tomorrow.”

Molly stood out of the doorway. “No, no. Please. Come in.”

Stitch walked into the hallway and followed Molly into the living room. He sat down in the old green couch. Molly smiled as he sank down in the cushions.

“When you come next, I'll have a new couch. Promise.” Her eyes sparkled again. “In the meantime, can I get you a scotch?”

“I'd really like a beer,” Stitch said tentatively. “But not if you've only got Bud Light.”

Molly laughed her tinkly laugh. “I can do better than that. Bob never did know beer. But I like some of the darker ales. Would you like a porter?”

Stitch beamed at her. “Yes, ma'am.”

Molly glared at him dangerously.

“Uh, yes please,” Stitch said hastily.

While Molly got the beers, Stitch spread out some papers on the coffee table. He took the glass Molly offered. She sat down in the rocker. She turned it so she faced him directly.

“This has been a hard day,” Stitch began. “I don't want to make it harder.”

Molly leaned forward. The top of her robe gaped slightly revealing the tops of two small, lovely breasts. “Don't try to be so considerate, Mr. Robinson,” she said playfully. “It doesn't suit you.”

Stitch chuckled. “OK, then, Mrs. Maxwell. Let's get started.” He paused. “As you know, I followed your husband at your request. You are my client.”

Molly nodded.

“We started with a missing person. Now we have a murder. And probably a lot more.”

“More? Like what?”

“Your husband admitted that he had been blackmailed and bribed. That was why he changed his vote on the shopping centre.”

Molly continued looking at him steadily. “I thought as much.”

“I think there's even more than that. Mob involvement at least. Maybe money laundering. I'm not sure. But your husband stumbled into a real hornet's nest.”

“Poor, naïve Bob,” she said sadly. “He so much wanted to be someone.”

Stitch nodded. “I need two things. First, I would like your permission to go further with the investigation. You could decide to end it here. But this isn't just another murder. It affects more than you and your children. It affects all of us. There's a lot of money behind it. Money, I suspect, that has ruined lots of other lives. Other towns.” Stitch stopped and looked into Molly's soft brown eyes. “I want to find out where it's coming from.”

Molly sat quietly in her chair. She gazed emptily out the window. “I haven't loved Bob for a very long time,” she said at last. “But he was my husband. In his own way, he tried to be a good father.” She looked back at Stitch. “We were happy once. Really.”

Stitch said nothing.

“He was a good man,” Molly continued. “I wish I could have made him happier.”

“And you wish he could have made you happier. But he couldn't. He didn't,” Stitch said softly.

One corner of Molly's pretty mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “True. But he was a good man. He deserved better than this. I want to know what happened, too.” She gave a slight nod of approval. “I want to know who killed Bob.”

“Good,” Stitch said. “Then you will continue to be my client. What I find goes to you.”

Molly nodded again. “You said you needed two things.”

Stitch hesitated. “Molly, when I met with Bob two days ago, I recorded my interview with him.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Go on.”

“What he admitted could put a hold on the development at Farley's Bog. But I collected this information as your employee. I will not release it unless you give me permission.”

Molly sat up. “What will it mean? When it's released.”

“I'm not entirely sure. But it will be used by a lawyer. It will be in the papers. Your husband's life will be laid wide open.”

“Do you think it won't be otherwise?” Molly smiled ruefully. “I've already been called by the Parson's police. Oh, and the Mapleton cops as well. They were following up on the report they received from Parsons.”

Stitch nodded. “I had to tell the police what I knew. I said nothing about the blackmail. Just that your husband had gone missing.”

“And how long do you think it will be before the press gets this?” Molly asked. “Before people begin to put two and two together?”

“Not long. But, unless you give me permission to have the recording used in court, it will be too long to save Farley's Bog.”

Molly stared at the papers on the coffee table for a moment. “What do I need to do?”

“I need you to sign a letter of consent.”

“I see. Well, I'm happy to give my consent.” She smiled. “I guess you could say I am a consenting adult,” she added impishly. She got up from the chair.

As she stood up, her white robe fell open. She wore nothing underneath. Stitch looked at her and something turned inside him. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

Molly walked toward him. Her robe drifted from her shoulders. She took Stitch's hand. “Let's go get a pen I can sign with.”

She pulled Stitch gently up from the couch. “It's in the bedroom,” she whispered.