False Front (7 page)

‘What happened?’

‘She had a plan. She was getting away from him. I was very supportive of that plan. I warned her that even with a legal divorce, she could not remarry. In God’s eyes, she would be married to Dad for all eternity. That did not mean she had to live with him. But to wed again would put her soul at forfeit.’

She counseled her mother? Lucinda thought. What a self-righteous little snot.

‘I think my dad killed my mother because he found out about her plan.’

‘What was her plan?’

‘She had a meeting with an important client. She said it was all settled. She would meet with the client at nine the next morning. After that meeting, she would be set. She’d have financial independence and could just walk out of that house and not look back. She planned to be gone before Dad got home for dinner.’

‘Do you know the name of the client?’

‘No,’ Molly said, shaking her head and sobbing.

‘Your mother wasn’t expecting your father home before dinner time?’

‘No. She was certain of it. She was sure she’d be gone by then. She had an overnight bag packed and in the trunk of her car. She planned to hire someone to gather up the rest of her things. She didn’t want to forewarn Dad by making any obvious preparations.’

‘But your father got home earlier than that – much earlier.’

‘Yes. He came home early to kill her. And she promised to come visit me and the kids just as soon as she could – later this month, she said. But she never got a chance. The kids were so excited that Nana was coming. But now? What can I tell them now?’ Molly collapsed on the table, her forehead resting on folded hands.

‘Why are you certain that your father killed her?’

Molly’s head jerked up and a cold, hard emotion took over her face, making her cheekbones stand out and her lips compress as thin as a thread. ‘He always had to have his way. She was defying him, leaving him. That would not be acceptable to that man.’

‘Why are you so harsh on your father?’

Molly sighed and bowed her head. When she looked back up, pain creased her forehead and the corner of her eyes. ‘When I left school for Matthew, Dad hired a private detective to track us down. When he found us, he hired a couple of thugs to beat the crap out of Matthew. He nearly died in that hospital in Madison. He nearly died before he saw the birth of his son.’

Lucinda sat quietly, absorbing the dysfunctional truth of a family who should have had it all. She watched Molly, bent over the table once again, her shoulders heaving. A shudder raced through Molly’s frame. Then she raised her head. ‘I hadn’t intended telling you all of this.’

‘Mrs Smith, do you think that your father killed your mother himself – or do you think he hired someone?’

Molly thought for a moment and said, ‘I’ve never seen my dad do anything violent. I’ve never seen him inflict any physical harm to anyone. And he does have a habit of hiring people to do his dirty work. But this? It seems so personal. Maybe this time . . . I don’t know. I could see it happening either way.’

‘Why, then, do you think your father is insisting that your mother did not commit suicide?’

‘Is he? Really? That is a surprise. But my dad is very, very smart. And very crafty. It makes good cover for him, doesn’t it?’

Lucinda couldn’t discount the theory she and Molly shared, nor could she prove it – not yet. That left her with another problem. A wealthy man like Frank Eagleton was a flight risk. He could move money overseas and follow it at will. Right now, she knew his passport was in the top drawer of his dresser but she’d have to release the house soon. When she did, would he make a beeline for another country? Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of any legal justification to confiscate his passport at this time. But what if his passport was simply misplaced? If he wasn’t able to locate it where he left it? If it was somewhere he’d be unlikely to find it? Lucinda smiled.
That
could be arranged.

ELEVEN

B
efore Jake reached his destination, he received another call. ‘She’s here and she’s growling,’ the office secretary said.

Jake’s first thought was Lucinda. Had he done something to piss her off? ‘She, who?’ he said.

‘Sandra. Sandra Goodman. And she wants to know why you aren’t here. She wants to know why she was not immediately informed that you were a person of interest in a murder investigation.’

‘Person of interest?’ Jake said.

‘Yes. What’s going on, Jake?’

‘I’ll be right there.’ He disconnected the call and whipped on the off-ramp to cut across town. The area director never dropped by a field office unless a career was balancing on a precipice. Most people thought she was happiest when she was able to give the fatal shove over the edge. He popped a
Best of Stevie Ray Vaughn
CD into the slot and cranked up the volume.

Sandra Goodman stood near the front door as Jake walked into the office. She made a show of looking at her wristwatch and said, ‘Keeping bankers’ hours, are we, Agent Lovett?’

Jake clenched his jaw, biting off his words before he could speak them. He was determined not to get defensive or squabble with her in front of his staff. ‘My office, please, Director Goodman?’ he said as he walked past her.

‘Something to hide, Agent Lovett?’

He didn’t pause or turn around, refusing to respond to her baiting in any way. He went straight to his office, walked around to the other side of his desk and folded his arms on his chest.

She walked in and stopped in front of his desk, planting her palms on its surface and leaning towards him. ‘Start talking.’

‘Please close the door,’ Jake asked.

She snorted. ‘Paranoid, aren’t we?’

Jake did not respond until she turned around and pushed the door shut. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I think you know, Agent Lovett.’

‘Please ask me specific questions, Director. I’ve been up most of the night and want to tell you exactly what you want to know.’

‘Why didn’t you inform me immediately that you were a person of interest in a murder case?’

‘I am not a person of interest in a murder case.’

‘Really? So why did you rush to the scene and answer the investigator’s questions?’

‘To help the investigation.’

‘Out of the goodness of your heart? Out of camaraderie with local law enforcement? Out of an idealistic vision of your mission?’

‘Because I might have information relevant to the death investigation.’

‘You mean, you wanted to insinuate yourself into the case, hoping to ensure that their inquiries were directed away from you.’

‘What are you getting at, Director?’

‘You were possibly the last person to see this man alive, correct?’

‘Possibly but unlikely. Too much time had elapsed.’

‘Your business card was found in his pocket, correct?’

‘Yes. He’d been to see me that afternoon.’

‘Step out of your own skin for a moment, Agent Lovett. Let’s say you arrived at the scene of a murder victim. The victim has no identification on him. He has no cell phone. Nothing but another person’s business card in his pocket. Wouldn’t that person be a person of interest?’

Jake felt a tightening in his sternum but gave an honest answer anyway. ‘Yes, he would.’

‘Would you not suspect this person was the possible perpetrator?’

‘I might.’

‘Bullshit, Agent Lovett. You definitely would. Where were you last night at the time of the crime?’

‘Home. In bed.’

‘Any witnesses to verify that claim?’

Jake flushed. ‘No.’

‘Any calls to your home landline at that time?’

‘No.’

‘Any calls on that line at all that evening?’

‘No. Only on my cell.’

‘It’s clear to me, then, that you are a suspect.’

‘Did you talk to the sheriff?’

She ignored him. ‘You are a suspect – at least until a better lead comes along. If you are involved in this investigation in any way, it will be compromised. Can’t you see yourself on the witness stand now? The defense asks: “Agent Lovett, wasn’t it in your best interests to divert suspicion to my client? Wasn’t that the only way to take the investigation away from your activities on the night in question?” Wouldn’t that be dandy?’

Jake wanted to object but realized it was a valid point. Once the defense learned of his business card in the victim’s pocket, he would be a possible vehicle for creating reasonable doubt.

‘And this report you wrote about your meeting with Rowland? Doesn’t it read like a plan to discredit him? To make him appear irrational, disturbed and somehow contributing to his own demise? “He appeared to be consumed by a conspiracy theory that was only in his mind.” You wrote that, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And just how do you feel about his “paranoid delusions” now, Agent Lovett?’

‘I think they had a stronger basis in reality than I suspected.’

‘You know what I think? It’s either a stupid assessment or a crafty one. And you’ve never struck me as a stupid person, Agent Lovett. That makes crafty the more likely conclusion.’

‘Director Goodman, it was a faulty judgment. There was no malevolence or hidden purpose behind that report.’

Goodman spun away from his desk and turned her back to him.

Jake waited, wanting to rush to his own defense but knowing he didn’t dare.

She turned back. ‘I wish I could believe you. I want to believe you. But at this point in time, I just don’t know. For that reason, you will distance yourself from this investigation immediately. You will turn over every scrap of paper and tidbit of information you’ve obtained to the Hanover County Sheriff’s Department. You are to tell them to feel free to ask you any questions but to take care not to provide you with any investigative information or to involve you in a law enforcement capacity.’

‘But I told Sheriff Cummings—’

‘I do not care what you told him. You will now tell him you are out of the investigation. Is that clear? And I do not want you in the field investigating any case until we put this all to rest.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘If I find out you’ve disobeyed this order – and I don’t care if it’s all praise for your heroic, single-handed solving of the case – you can say goodbye to the FBI. I will see to that. You will be a dead man in our eyes – but we won’t mourn your passing, we’ll spit on your grave.’

Jake watched her back as she strode out of the room. He doubted she had as much power as she wanted him to believe and fear. Her over-the-top dramatic flourish at the end of her little speech told him that. Nonetheless, for now, he’d appear compliant. He’d lay low for a while, ready to make a move if it became necessary. On his personal scale of justice, a victim always outweighed the bureaucracy.

TWELVE

L
ucinda lifted the yellow crime scene tape across the three steps leading to the landing at the front door. She pulled off the seal on the door and let herself back into the Eagleton home. For her, the best time at the scene of a murder was after the evidence was collected, the people all gone, the bustle at an end. Now she could absorb the environment without distraction.

If the unknown client scheduled for a meeting at 9 a.m. that morning was the person who killed her, how could it have played out? She imagined that Candace could have left the door unlocked in anticipation of her visitor. That person arrived early, snuck upstairs and surprised her as she prepared for the meeting.

Alternatively, Candace could have come downstairs at the sound of the doorbell, opened it for her visitor and been chased or retreated upstairs when she sensed danger. Or she could have gone back upstairs for another purpose? But what could that be? Or she could have been taken upstairs by force? That was unlikely. Evidence of the application of force was only seen by the small marks by and on the inside of the bedroom door frame.

Is it possible that ‘client’ was a code name for ‘lover?’ Was Candace having a surreptitious sexual encounter that went wrong? She did take great pains with her personal preparations for the meeting – well-dressed, make-up and perfume. Her outfit, though, wasn’t flirtatious or seductive. Candace was dressed for success. Someone she wanted to impress was due to arrive that morning.

But what if that was the image she wanted to project to a lover? What if he came and then went upstairs? What could have gone wrong? She could have planned the meeting to dump him. To tell him it was over. That would have explained the clothing she wore. And then in a fit of rage, he . . .

No. It was not a crime of passion. It was too clinical. Too planned. Too precisely staged. Lucinda walked up the stairs and crossed half across the arched walkway. She looked down into the foyer. She imagined Candace shouting, ‘Come in, the door’s open,’ from a position in this spot. Possible if it were a lover. Not likely if it were a client.

What if Frank Eagleton stumbled on this illicit tryst? If so, wouldn’t Candace be naked or at least partially unclothed? But still, it does not appear to be a crime of passion. That would mean Frank knew about the affair. Knew and planned the killing in advance.

She pulled out her cell and called the morgue. ‘Doc Sam, please?’

‘Who is this and what do you want?’ a gravelly voice grumbled.

‘And top o’ the morning to you, Doc Sam.’

‘Pierce? I was getting ready to call you.’

‘About what?’

‘You first. Why did you call?’

‘I wanted to know if you saw any indication that Candace Eagleton was dressed after her death.’

After a long pause, Doc Sam said, ‘No. And thinking back, I do not recall anything to indicate that. I’ll look over the photos and see if I can find anything I missed.’

‘Sure would surprise me if you did,’ Lucinda said.

‘Yeah, well, I’m just full of surprises.’

‘Why did you want to call me, Doc?’

‘I found a possible injection site on the back of her hand. I dissected the area and I am certain of it.’

‘Injection of what?’

‘Won’t know until we get the toxicology back. But I did locate her primary care physician. She hadn’t visited him in the last couple of days. It could have been another doctor but he doubted it. He said she always came to him for a referral before going to any specialist.’