The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (29 page)

I sat down on the edge of Craig’s bed, then thought uncomfortably of the possible implication. Me on my ex-husband’s bed. I grabbed Wayne’s wrist and pulled him down next to me. Now I was comfortable. Craig sighed softly and lowered himself into the remaining easy chair.

Felix watched me expectantly. He didn’t have to remind me that this meeting was my idea. So, I asked myself, what did we do now?

“First,” I said, arranging my face into a look of competence, “I’d like to hear everyone else’s theories.”

Felix’s eyes lit up. Of course. He was probably chock full of theories.

“Go for it, Felix,” I ordered.

“You heard her,” Felix said, straightening in his chair.

“Heard who?” I asked.

“Ruth,” he replied, his voice thick with pleasure. He stroked his mustache. Then he recited, “‘This is your last chance.’ That’s what she said to the Beaumonts tonight.”

“And…” I prodded.

“Jeez! Can’t you see? The woman’s the good fairy of death! If everyone doesn’t relate to each other like good little sensitive human beings, then ka-powie! They’re dead.”

Craig was shaking his head in disbelief.

Felix turned to him. “Suzanne was giving you a hard time before she got it, wasn’t she?”

Craig winced at his words, then nodded sadly.

“And Jack Ireland was refusing to stop doing drugs and be a good little boy. Then he got it! Don’t you see? It’s a pattern.”

We sat quietly for a few moments, absorbing Felix’s theory. He was right. There was some kind of pattern there. Was Ruth making the world a more loving place by selective homicide? I found myself shaking my head. I just couldn’t imagine Ruth killing anyone.

“All right,” I said finally. “It’s a possibility.” Then I turned to Craig. “Who do you see as the murderer?” I asked.

Craig took a big breath. “Avery Haskell,” he announced. He ducked his head guiltily. “I’m not saying that Haskell did it, though. I’m just saying he might have.”

I nodded my understanding. “Why do you think it might be Haskell?” I asked.

“He’s a religious fanatic,” Craig answered. Then he shivered. “The way he quotes Scripture.” Craig deepened his voice to a fair approximation of Avery Haskell’s. “‘Let not mine enemies triumph over me,’” he intoned. “It gives me the creeps! And he didn’t like Suzanne. Maybe he convinced himself she had to die for being unwomanly or something.” He sighed and shook his head.

“And Jack?” I asked.

“Jack’s easy,” Craig answered. “Drinking, drugs, fornication. To a religious nut, Jack must have seemed like the devil incarnate.”

I nodded. I could imagine Haskell killing both Suzanne and Jack all too easily. I shook off the image of his unchanging zombie face as he slowly throttled Suzanne. I wanted to keep my mind open.

I turned to Wayne, who sat next to me on the bed, his eyes hidden under lowered brows.

“Lots of possibilities,” he growled. He raised his eyebrows, revealing troubled eyes. “Eli for instance. Easy to breach the code of legal ethics. Would Suzanne have blackmailed him?”

“But he wasn’t even here when Suzanne died,” objected Felix.

“No,” agreed Wayne. “But he could have hired someone.”

Felix nodded slowly, considering.

“Someone who needed the money,” I murmured, thinking of Fran.

“And the hired killer had to kill Ireland because Ireland saw something,” Felix finished. “I like it,” he said with a smile. “But who—”

“Lots of other possibilities too,” Wayne said before Felix could go on. “I agree with Craig about Haskell.” Craig looked up in surprise. Wayne continued. “Bradley Beaumont’s insane. Don Logan’s angry. The Beaumont boy’s unstable.” Wayne scowled down at his hands. “But nothing really clicks,” he finished.

“How about you, Kate?” asked Felix. “Who’s your choice?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m with Wayne,” I answered. “Too many possibilities.”

“Come on,” prodded Felix. He leaned forward attentively, an ingratiating smile on his face. Was this the method he used to pump policewomen? “You must have a favorite,” he purred.

“Okay,” I said slowly. I didn’t like putting the thought into words. But that was what this meeting was for. “I’d add Fran to the list. She’s in financial trouble.” Felix’s eyes lit up like a pinball backglass. This was obviously new information to him.

I turned from his eager eyes and went on. “And she’s put her life into the spa. Fourteen-hour days, eighty-hour weeks. I know what it means to put that kind of time and energy into a business.” I paused, then finished in a spurt. “I have a feeling she would kill to keep it.”

Felix was excited now, nodding enthusiastically and bouncing in his chair.

“But,” I admonished, holding up my hand. “Outside of the improbable case of her being a hired assassin, I can’t imagine how killing Suzanne, or Jack, would have helped her in any way.”

“Eli could have hired Fran,” Felix whispered half to himself. His gears were turning audibly.

“Doesn’t really work,” Wayne pointed out brusquely. “How would Eli know she needed money. How would he know to put the proposition to her? Can’t see her name being listed in
Soldier of Fortune
.”

Felix slumped back into his chair, his face scrunched up like a spoiled child denied an ice-cream cone.

“Wayne is right,” I said. “Lots of possibilities, but no sure fits.”

We sat in glum silence for a while.

“So what are we going to do now?” Felix asked peevishly.

“Organization time,” I answered. When in doubt, make a list. “Who’s got some paper?” I asked.

Craig went to the desk and pulled out a yellow legal pad. As he walked back to his chair his eyes filled with tears. “Suzanne’s,” he whispered. “She never went anywhere without paper.”

“Do you want to be secretary, honey?” I asked him softly. The endearment just slipped out, made of pity and old habits. I swiveled my head around to Wayne quickly. Too late. The damage had been done. His eyes were filled with antipathy as he glared at Craig.

But Craig was oblivious to Wayne’s glare as he sat down and prepared to take notes. He pulled a pen from his pocket and touched it to the top page in readiness.

“All right,” I said. “We do categories. Motive, means—”

“Wait!” shouted Felix, jumping out of his chair. He snatched the yellow pad from Craig’s hand. Craig jerked back in surprise.

“Suzanne might have written something important on this pad,” Felix explained as he scanned the top page. But his eyes were puzzled when he looked up.

“What?” I asked impatiently. When Felix didn’t answer, I got up and took the pad from his hands.

I looked down. Printed across the top of the page in block letters was: SUCCESS IS MINE. I turned the page. The sentence was repeated on the next page and on all of the pages left in the pad. I held up the pad to Craig.

“Is this Suzanne’s writing?” I asked gently.

He nodded sadly. “That was her affirmation,” he said, taking back the pad. “She said it thirty times every morning and every night. She wrote it on the top of every notepad, on every sheet in the calendar. She…” Craig’s eyes brimmed over. “She tried so damn hard,” he sobbed.

I sat down and glued myself to the edge of the bed. It took all my willpower to keep from putting my arms around Craig as he sniffed back tears miserably. Suzanne
had
tried hard. I could almost see her in the room now, tall and proud, her long shining blond hair rippling as she moved against the white backdrop. Suzanne’s determination to succeed had been palpable when she was alive. I could feel it even now that she was dead, emanating from her written affirmation on the yellow legal pad. No wonder Craig had been drawn to her. And for all of her drive to succeed, she had been cruelly murdered.

Beside me, I felt Wayne fighting his empathy for Craig. First he averted his eyes from Craig’s tears. But he could still hear the sobs. He crossed his arms and shifted uneasily on the edge of the bed as Craig brought himself under control again. Finally he cleared his throat.

“Want me to take the notes?” Wayne asked Craig gently.

“No!” snapped Craig, holding the yellow pad to his chest as if it were a baby about to be stolen. “I’m fine.” He settled the pad in his lap and began writing. “Motive, means. What else?” he asked. His voice was rough with the residue of tears.

“Opportunity. Character,” I answered briskly, willing to pretend we hadn’t experienced the brief intermission. “And a column for more information needed.”

“Let’s start with motive,” suggested Felix eagerly. He seemed cheerful again. What had he made of Craig’s breakdown?

“All right. Motives first,” I agreed. “Any ideas?”

It took us over three hours to compile a list of possible motives. Among others, we catalogued lust (Paul Beaumont), lunacy (his father), and lucre (his mother). We even listed love (Ruth Ziegler, a.k.a. the Good Fairy of Death), jealously (Nikki), and political assassination (Terry McPhail). Then there was the possibility of resisted blackmail (almost anyone), silencing a witness (God knows who) or revenge (your guess is as good as mine). Or just plain irritation! Irritation was on all of our minds. After three hours each one of us was getting cranky.

“Opportunity” went faster. In ten minutes we had agreed that everyone had opportunity. Even Eli, if you considered the hired-gun theory.

Then we got down to means. Between them, the victims had been strangled, smothered, dragged and bludgeoned.

“It had to be someone strong,” said Craig softly. I looked into his unfocused eyes and wondered if he was seeing Suzanne’s body again.

“That lets out Ruth,” said Felix, disappointment evident in the slump of his shoulders. Ruth was still his favorite choice for murderer.

“Not necessarily,” I argued. “Just because she’s old and female doesn’t mean she’s weak.” I was in favor of an equal opportunity approach to this murder.

My approach seemed to cheer Felix up. He straightened his shoulders and went on. “How about Don Logan?” he asked. “At least we can rule him out. He couldn’t have done it from his wheelchair.”

“Upper arms are strong, though,” Wayne pointed out.

I agreed with Wayne. “Fran said Don works out every day in the gym,” I said. I wasn’t standing for discrimination against the disabled either. “He may be stronger than anyone else for all we know.”

Craig had written down every motive we’d discussed on Suzanne’s yellow pad, along with pro and con arguments. The room was silent as he flipped another page to note our most recent comments on opportunity and means.

“Last page,” he said without looking up. His voice was tired.

“How about a conclusion?” suggested Felix.

“Well,” said Craig, flipping through the pages. “Adding up all of the data, it seems like…” He looked up at me, his face as aged and hopeless as those seen in an old folks’ home.

“What?” I asked.

“It looks like anyone could have done it,” he finished glumly.

“But we still haven’t talked about character,” I insisted. “Or figured out what other information we need.”

“We need to know who killed Suzanne,” Craig replied. He lowered his eyes. “And I don’t think we’re going to find out.”

“But—” I began.

“Let’s call it a night,” said Wayne softly. He rose up off the bed and stretched out a hand to me. “Discuss the rest tomorrow.”

Unwillingly, I let him pull me up to my feet.

“Check you out
mañana
, guys,” said Felix, jumping out of his chair and jogging out the door with suspicious energy. “Adios,” he added as he clattered down the stairs.

Wayne put his arm around my shoulder. I turned toward the door, feeling as old as Craig looked.

“Wait!” yelled Craig.

“For what?” asked Wayne, continuing to steer me to the door.

“I…I need to talk to Kate,” said Craig. I felt Wayne’s arm stiffen around my shoulders.

I turned back in Craig’s direction. He rose from his chair and approached me hesitantly.

“Kate, I want you to know I’ve been thinking some more,” he said. He lowered his puppy-dog eyes. Then raised them again quickly to see my reaction.

“We’ve all been thinking, Craig,” I answered gently, hoping to deflect what I was afraid was coming. I could feel Wayne as he turned to face Craig. I didn’t have to look to see the angry expression on his face.

But Craig was undeterred. He reached out for my hand and held it. “I’ve changed a lot in these last few days. And I want…I want to give our marriage another chance. I’m serious this time,” he said. “Don’t answer me now. Just think about it. I…” He glanced nervously at Wayne, then went on anyway. “I love you, Kate.”

I pulled my hand back. “Don’t—” I began.

“You,” said Wayne slowly, his deep voice shaking with tension. He stepped forward and leaned his fierce face into Craig’s. “You have ruined the whole idea of marriage for Kate. Isn’t that enough?” The last words were so low they were barely audible.

But Craig heard them. He stepped back as if he had been struck. His face was paper-white.

“Craig, I—” I began.