Thicker Than Water (21 page)

When he got back to the cottage, Louis got a beer and went out to sit on the porch. He watched the waves curl in from the gulf, letting his mind drift. Issy rubbed up against his leg and, without thinking, he reached down and scratched the cat's head.

There was an emptiness in his chest, and he couldn't figure out where it was coming from. He took a long, slow drink of the beer.

It was Kitty. She wasn't just his anymore. Now that her case had been reopened, other people would be involved—Vince, Mobley, Scott Brenner and who knew who else. He would still be a part of it. He was officially working for Brenner, Brenner and Brenner now, hired to help find evidence against Spencer Duvall to reopen the Cade case. He had signed a contract this morning and Scott had given him a check for $2,500 as a retainer.

Louis finished off the beer. He needed the money. And the fact that Scott was going to pick up Jack Cade's civil case made him feel like he had helped Ronnie and Eric put their lives back together. But he still felt an emptiness, like he had left something incomplete.

He rose and went inside. The table still held the mess of papers, photographs and files he had accumulated from Kitty's case. He picked up the blurry black-and-white class picture of Kitty.

Give her some peace, Ahnert had said. But it wasn't up to him anymore.

Setting the beer bottle down, he went to the bedroom and came back with a cardboard box. He began to pack everything up, taking down the photos and note cards he had taped to the walls and kitchen cabinets. He slipped the picture of Kitty in a folder and put it away.

When he got to the old copy of
Gulfshore Life
magazine, he paused. He opened it to the paper-clipped page, the one with the society picture of Spencer and Candace Duvall.

How different Duvall looked to him in light of what he now knew about the man. Duvall's expression no longer looked merely dour; now it looked cold and calculated.

What had happened? Why had he done it? Who was Spencer Duvall? The sand-in-the-shoes crusader revered by Ellie Silvestri—or a status-seeking shyster who bargained away Jack Cade's life?

Louis looked at the society picture again. This time he focused on Candace Duvall. Her expression looked different now too—almost predatory.

There were eight other people in the photograph. There was a man standing next to Duvall, a man whose face looked vaguely familiar. Louis read the names in the caption.

Shit
. . . why hadn't he noticed this before? He stared at the man's face, and at the pained expression on Spencer Duvall's face. He flipped over to the magazine's cover to check the date: December, 1973. Maybe it was just a coincidence that the two of them were in the same picture. But his gut was telling him it wasn't.

There was only one way to find out. He had to talk to Candace again. And Ellie Silvestri. If anyone knew if there was a connection between Spencer and this man, it was the two women in his life.

 

 

The maid opened the door and frowned at him.

“Tell Mrs. Duvall I want to see her, please,” Louis said before she had a chance to say anything.

The maid shut the door. A few minutes later, it opened and she nodded Louis into the cold, white foyer. “She's out at the pool,” the maid said, pointing at the far glass doors.

Louis tucked the magazine under his arm and went out to the patio. Candace was lying in the shade. Hayley was sitting in a chair close by, her feet propped on the end of Candace's chaise. Both women wore bathing suits and had wet hair, like they had just gotten out of the pool. Hayley had a big tan towel wrapped sarong-like around her. They both looked up as he came toward them.

Candace took off her tortoise-frame sunglasses. “Hayley says I should be nice to you.”

Louis glanced at the other woman, who gave him a small smile, then went back to flipping through her
Vogue.

“I'd like to talk to you about your husband,” Louis said.

“We've already covered that.”

Louis pulled over one of the chairs. Candace looked at him like he was a reptile that had slithered into her yard, then slipped her sunglasses back on.

“I'd like to know about the early years,” Louis said.

“What do you mean?”

“You and your husband, what it was like. You met in college?”

Candace glanced at Hayley, then looked out over the glittering water of San Carlos Bay. “At a frat party,” she said with a bored sigh.

“I understand you were broke in the beginning.”

“Where'd you get that idea?”

“Spencer's secretary, Ellie.”

“That old bag,” she said flatly. “Yeah, we were broke. I taught elementary school to put Spence through law school. Third grade. I hated every minute of it.”

“I take it things got easier after Spencer set up his practice?” Louis asked.

Candace gave a short laugh. “Oh yeah. Ten-thousand dollars in law school loans, start up costs for the practice, rent on that dump of an office downtown. A cozy little duplex overlooking the tracks. Yeah, it was peachy keen.”

“Not exactly what you dream about when they're putting the Miss Quincy Cucumber Queen crown on your head, huh?” Hayley chuckled.

Candace shot her a look. Hayley went back to her magazine.

“When did things get better for you?” Louis asked.

Candace was twirling a strand of her hair, looking out over the bay again. “Years,” she said quietly.

Louis held out the
Gulfshore Life
magazine. “Did any of these people have anything to do with it getting better for you?”

Candace lowered her sunglasses and looked at the society picture. Then she raised them and looked back out at the water. “They all did. We scratched each other's backs.”

Louis glanced at Hayley. She had put down the
Vogue
and her green eyes were fixed on Candace.

“You were the one who scratched, Candy,” Hayley said. “Tell him what you did for that man.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “Tell me, Candy.”

Candace was quiet.

“Tell him,” Hayley prodded. “Tell him for the same reason you told me, hon. Deep down, you like this rags-to-riches shit. You're proud of it.”

Candace looked at her, then smiled. “Maybe.”

“You're proud of your achievement,” Hayley said, giving the last word a bite.

“Damn right I am,” Candace said. “Spencer never would have gotten anywhere without me.”

Louis's eyes went between the two women, trying to understand the dynamic. It was obvious Hayley held some power here, maybe the threat of outing Candace to her society friends. Status—that was Candace's button and Hayley knew it.

Suddenly, he understood that morose look on Duvall's face in the society picture.

“You pushed him,” Louis said.

Candace shrugged. “Someone had to. Spence would have been happy wearing his Sears suits, defending those wetbacks in Immokalee for the rest of his life.”

Louis leaned forward on his elbows, letting his eyes drop to the patio stones. He pulled in a slow breath before he went on.

“Well, they say behind every successful man there's a good woman,” he said.

Candace sat forward. “You got that right. I picked out his clothes, showed him what to eat and what to drink. He wouldn't leave that dump office downtown, so I made him remodel it.” She waved a hand at the big white house. “I picked out every faucet and piece of tile in this house. Do you think he cared?”

She slumped back in the chaise. “That man was socially backward. I dragged him to parties, taught him how to schmooze. About the only thing I didn't do was manicure his damn toenails.”

Hayley laughed.

Louis drew in another slow breath. “So you got him into the right circles.”

“Yes. It wasn't easy.”

Louis hesitated. He wasn't sure where to go with this now. “What about his work, his clients?” he asked. “Did he talk to you about it?”

“He did in the beginning,” Candace said. “That's why I knew I had to step in and get him on a better track. I told him he had to upgrade his clients, I told him to hire Lyle. Once the money started coming in, I didn't really care. I had done my work, so I retired.”

She started twirling her hair again. “The law bores me to tears,” she said. “Spence bored me to tears.”

Louis was quiet for a moment. There was one last question and Candace was probably the only one now who might tell him the answer.

“I know your husband was gay,” Louis said. “Was Brian Brenner his lover?”

Candace looked at him, then laughed. “Brian? God no. Brian may not be a charmer like his brother, but he is definitely not gay.”

“Do you know who your husband was seeing?” Louis asked.

Candace shook her head slowly. “No one. I mean, there were guys in the beginning, but Spence just kind of . . . lost interest. He was depressed and I told him to get help. When he went on the Trazodone, it killed what was left of his sex drive.”

Candace gave a soft sigh. “Spence wasn't a bad man. I mean, I liked him and we kind of took care of each other in the beginning. That was part of the deal. But then, it was like Spence just kind of . . . I don't know, dried up.”

She was looking at Hayley and Louis followed her gaze.

“Like I told you,” Hayley said, “Spence was kind of sad.”

Candace wasn't smiling. But Hayley had an amused smile tipping the corners of her lips. With her green eyes and sleek dark hair, she looked like a cat sitting there, a smug, pampered pet sitting by her mistress's feet.

Louis rose. He had had enough.

“I'll find my own way out,” he said.

Louis took a sip of his coffee and scanned the pedestrians. He was sitting in a café a block away from the courthouse, waiting for Ellie Silvestri.

He had not wanted to see her in Bernhardt's office. He was hoping that, here, away from her memories of Spencer Duvall, she would talk about him openly. She hadn't asked what he wanted to talk about, but he had the feeling she knew and even wanted to talk.

Ellie was coming toward him, a blur of blue and white weaving through the lawyers and shoppers. He stood, pulling out a chair. Ellie sat down, setting her purse on her lap.

“It was nice of you to come, Miss Silvestri,” Louis said.

“You had me intrigued, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. “With all the stuff in the paper about the Kitty Jagger case, I don't know what to think anymore.”

Louis waved to the waiter. Ellie ordered an iced tea.

“Why did you want to see me?”

“My role in Spencer's murder has changed since we last talked, Miss Silvestri. I'm not working on Spencer's homicide anymore. I'm working for Scott Brenner.”

Ellie drew in a deep, slow breath. “Scott Brenner . . . he's the one trying to get a new trial for Jack Cade.” She paused, the creases in her face deepening. “I've heard things. They think Spencer did something wrong, don't they?”

He knew this was coming, but it was still hard to meet her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “That's why I'm here. I was hoping you could help me figure out why.”

The waiter brought Ellie's iced tea and she took a sip. She still looked distressed. When Louis drew out his notebook, she looked down at it, then back up at him.

“What do you want to know?” she asked softly.

“Tell me what was going on during Cade's trial. How was Spencer doing during that time?”

Ellie sat back, her hands clasped over her purse. “Spencer was working really hard. We couldn't afford investigators, so he was doing the legwork himself. There was a point early on, that he seemed optimistic, but that didn't last. It seemed that the longer the trial went on, the more depressed Spencer got. I think he felt he couldn't help Jack Cade and he took it really hard.”

“Candace told me Spencer was taking antidepressants. Did you know that?”

“Not at first. I thought he was just sick . . . you know, from working too hard. He was almost living at the office and he began to look ill. I remember one night, I begged him to get a checkup.”

Ellie seemed to draw away, and her eyes became teary. “A few days later, he came out of his office in the middle of the day and told me he was going to see a doctor. I was so relieved.”

“Did he tell you this doctor's name?”

“I'm not sure . . . Dr. Mufisso, I think it was. Yes, that was it. I remember he came out of his office and he looked really pale. He said, ‘Cancel everything, Ellie, I'm going to see Dr. Mufisso.' ”

Louis wrote the name down, knowing he would have to follow up on it later, although he doubted the doctor would break confidentiality.

“I guess he was a psychiatrist,” Ellie said. “I found the antidepressants in his bathroom.”

“Did Spencer get better after that?”

Ellie nodded. “A little. The trial ended with the plea bargain and Spence was more himself. Lyle joined us shortly after that and we got really busy, especially with the Kermit case. That lasted for months.”

Louis was about to ask her more about Spencer's state of mind, but Ellie was off in memories again. “George Kermit,” she said. “He was the president of Florida State who was charged with misappropriation of alumni funds. He ended up losing his position, but Spencer kept him out of jail. It was a big deal.”

Louis looked up from his notebook. “Florida State, that's in Tallahassee, right?”

She nodded.

Louis pulled out the copy of
Gulfshore Life
magazine and opened it to the society photo of the Duvalls. He pointed to the face next to Duvall.

“Why, that's Senator Brenner,” she said. “My, he looks young there.”

Louis already suspected the answer to his next question, but he needed to be sure. “Did the Senator refer Kermit to Spencer?”

Ellie hesitated. “Yes, I remember the Senator did call. And after we won, he sent me flowers and Spencer a box of cigars. I had forgotten about that.”

Louis had a feeling the rewards went way past cigars. The Cade and Kermit cases probably weren't enough to make a career, but together they would have been a helluva launch.

“Did the Senator send other business Spencer's way?” Louis asked.

Ellie nodded slowly, like she was beginning to understand. “And sometimes favors.”

“So Spencer and Senator Brenner were friends?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Oh, heaven's no. I mean, they saw each other at all the things Candace dragged him to. But truth be told, Spencer disliked the Senator. He disliked the whole family.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. They just weren't his type.”

Louis set down his coffee mug. “Tell me about the Brenners. Tell me their history.”

Ellie hesitated. Louis knew she was wondering where he was going with this, but he had to hope she would just trust him. Or maybe trust Spencer.

“Well, let's see. The Brenners have been in Fort Myers for generations. Charles was a big attorney here in town for many years, then went on to become a state senator. That was just after his wife, Vivian, died.”

“What did she die of?” Louis asked.

“I'm not sure, but the girls in my garden club back then always said it was pure exhaustion.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “We used to say it was her husband's fault, making her have all those babies just so he could have a bunch of sons. He was always going around town talking about how his sons were going to run his firm someday.”

Louis was about to interrupt when she went on.

“After Brian was born, we said maybe the poor woman would finally get some rest,” she said. “You know, because the senator finally had his heir and a spare.” She paused, shaking her head. “But Vivian had another miscarriage and died. Brian was only a baby.”

Louis remembered the Brenner family plot and the infant tombstones. “Scott told me the babies were called blue babies or something,” he said.

Ellie ran her paper napkin along her glass, rubbing away the condensation. “Blue babies . . . I haven't heard that term in years. Of course, they weren't really blue. That's just what they called stillborns in the old days.”

She was off on a tangent again, and Louis was just about to pull her back when she said something that made him listen.

“It was because of the Rh-negative thing,” Ellie said.

“Rh-negative?” Louis said.

Ellie nodded. “My sister was Rh-negative, so that's why I know about it. Well, poor Vivian, she just kept on having miscarriages and stillborn babies. Back then, doctors couldn't do much about it.”

Louis didn't know what he was hearing, but he knew there was something important in Ellie's meanderings.

“My sister Cecile lost two and she wanted to stop,” Ellie said sadly. “But then she got lucky and the next one was negative. That's my nephew Alan. He's a dentist in Houston.”

Louis was trying to make a connection in his mind. “Only the negative babies survive?” he asked.

She looked at him, like she was coming back to the present. “It depends on the mother. If the mother is Rh-negative, like my sister Cecile . . .”

“Or Vivian Brenner?” Louis interrupted.

She nodded. “Yes, if the mother is negative and her baby is positive, her body responds to the growing baby like . . . well, something foreign and attacks it.” She paused again. “How sad it was for poor Vivian . . . thinking her own body was killing all those babies and she couldn't stop it.”

Louis sat back. He was thinking again of all those little markers in the Brenner plot.

“So that means that
any
baby that survived had to have Rh-negative blood?” Louis said.

Ellie paused. “Not exactly.”

Louis sighed in frustration. “Ellie, this might be important. Explain this to me slowly.”

Ellie looked at him oddly. “Well, if the mother is negative, the babies have to be negative, too, to survive. Except the first baby. That one can be positive and live.”

“Why does only the
first
positive baby survive?”

“It has something to do with the first pregnancy triggering the antibodies to attack any other positive babies.”

Louis set down his pen, his mind working.

“Ellie,” he said, “is Scott Brenner the oldest?”

She stopped to think. “There was Scott, a couple of stillborns, and then Brian came along.”

Louis sat back, looking out across the street, the granite buildings and gray sky seemed to blend together in a milky pool. Things were coming together, connections being made. A negative-blood baby. A teenage boy with no parents to watch him. A powerful client seeking out a backwater lawyer. A weak man with an ambitious wife.

He looked back at Ellie. She seemed to sense that he had been inside himself and she was waiting patiently for him to say something.

“Ellie,” Louis said, “the doctor Spencer went to see, the one you thought was a psychiatrist?”

She nodded.

“Could his name have been Mephisto?”

She looked surprised. “Yes, come to think of it, I believe it was. Why, do you know him?”

Louis closed his notebook. “No. But I know someone who did.”