Hangman's Root (21 page)

"Well, Vm sitting down," I said. "I'm a lot older than you are. I'm tired." I sat in the rocking chair beside the window and pulled off my loafers. Amy stood uncomfortably for a moment, then perched on the edge of a kitchen chair a couple of feet away and planted her sneakers flat on the floor, as if she were planning to spring up momentarily.

"What I want to say is," she said loudly, "that I killed him."

I stared at her. "You did?" This was something I hadn't bargained for.

She pulled her right ankle onto her left knee. Her face was expressionless. "Yes. Fm the one. Fm guilty. So you can stop badgering Kevin."

"I see," I said. I pushed the rocking chair with my foot, setting it in motion. "Maybe we'd better talk about this for a minute."

She put both feet on the floor again. "I don't want to talk. I said what I had to say. Now I'm going to the police." She stood up, her shoulders determined. "It's not fair for Dr. Riddle to suffer for something I did."

I locked eyes with her. "Sit down," I commanded.

She pulled her gaze away and took a step toward the door. "I said I'm going to the—"

"You're not going anywhere until I've heard your story," I said firmly. "You owe me that much, anyway. And your mother."

"My mother's got nothing to do with this," she said, but she hesitated. After a moment, she sat. "What do you want to know?" she asked, without enthusiasm.

"I want to know how you killed him, and why."

She closed her eyes. "I killed him because ..." There was a pause. Her eyes opened. "Because he abused animals," she said. The words began to come faster. "He was a cruel, sadistic man who tortured and maimed and totally destroyed living beings! When people kill other people, they're held to account. There's justice. But people can murder animals and get away with it!

And not just murder, but torture—endless, unspeakable torture! Miles Harwick subjected helpless, defenseless animals to excruti-ating tortures, and got nothing but praise for it. I did what I did to stop him, to expose him for what he is, an immoral, heartless butcher] I did what I did for the sake oijustice] "

"I see." I looked at her. "Did you write the blackmail letter?"

She lifted her chin, defiant. I saw Ruby in the gesture. "I stole Kevin s computer access code number. I used the computer in the basement of the science building to write the letter and print it out. Then I deleted the file to cover my tracks. But I didn't know about the backup file." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "I was stupid, I guess. But Fm not sorry I was found out. I want the world to know what I did, and why. I made sure that Dr. Harwick paid for his cruelty. I'm prepared to accept the consequences of my action."

"Very laudable. And what was the crime that you were holding over Harwick's head?"

Her hands were clasped between her knees. She twisted them nervously. "That's where I screwed up. I thought I could scare him, but I couldn't."

"The crime?"

She sighed. "He had a lab at UT in San Antonio. I was just a teenager then, but a girl who used to babysit me was taking a class from him. She took me to the lab, and I saw what he was doing to animals. It was awful. Even back then, people were protesting. I thought I could use that old stuff to get him to give up the guinea pig project."

"Your scheme didn't work?"

Her glance flickered at me, then away. "When I saw that he was just going to ignore the letter, I knew I had to kill him. He deserved it, so that part wasn't hard. I don't have any remorse. But I never in the world imagined that Dr. Riddle would be charged with my crime. I can't let an innocent woman go to jail. Anyway, I want the world to know what I did!" Her voice rose. "I want them to know whyV

I looked at her thoughtfully. "And just how was it you killed him, Amy?"

Her jaw tightened and she shifted her feet. Her answer, when it came, was less positive than her claim to be a murderer. "I stole Kevin's key and took the stuff—Beuthanasia, it was called—out of the supply cupboard in that awful place in the basement where Harwick kept his animals. I read the directions on how much to give by body weight. I didn't want to give him enough to kill him, just enough to knock him out. I wanted him to hang, the way he planned for those poor animals to hang. I thought it would be a beautiful irony if he died with the same stuff in him that he planned to kill the animals with."

"When did all this take place?"

She hesitated. "Early Wednesday evening. I saw the light in his office, so I knew he was working late. I knocked at the door and told him I was thinking of enrolling in his class next semester, and that I had some questions about it. We started talking, and when he wasn't looking, I dumped the Beuthanasia into his coffee. He got groggy pretty quick. I had the rope in my bookbag. I climbed up on his desk, put it over the pipe, and hoisted him up." She looked at me as if testing my response. "It wasn't hard, you know. I'm tall, and I'm pretty strong. He was a shrimpy little guy. He didn't struggle a lot."

I rocked back and forth for a moment, digesting her story. "What kind of rope was it?"

Her hand came up and she rubbed her mouth. "Just ordinary rope."

"I see," I said, still rocking. I watched her for a moment, letting her watch me, letting the tension build. Still rubbing the corner of her mouth, she looked at me, then away, then back again. Finally I said, "As a former criminal attorney, I have some advice, Amy. Would you like to hear it?"

She dropped her hand and shifted uncomfortably. "I guess.

Yeah, sure. Fm going to need a lawyer. I might as well hear your pitch."

"Forget about going to the police."

She blinked, startled. "But Fve got to tell what Fve done! There's no point to Dr. Harwick's death if people don't know why he died. And Fve got to clear Dr Riddle!"

"Your cock-and-bull story won't clear Dn Riddle. If you persist in it, it can only incriminate the person you're trying to shield."

Amy looked at me. Her face was pale, her freckles translucent, her mouth so much like Ruby's that my heart ached. She made a quick, nervous gesture. "The person Fm trying to—"

"Kevin," I said.

She jumped to her feet. "That's crazy! Fm not trying to shield anybody! I did it! I killed Harwick! Fm the one who has to

pay!"

"Fm not going to tell you which of your lies will trip you up,"

I said quietly. "Just take my word for it. If you hand this crock of shit

to the cops, you'll be charged with obstruction of justice, not

murder You can't help Kevin by trying to take the rap for yourself."

"But I did it!"

I was rocking again. "Go home, Amy," I said wearily. "Just go home."

She stared at me, teeth working, jaw clenched tight, fighting tears. Then she got up and went to the door. She turned, her handle on the knob.

"Kevin is totally incapable of killing anybody."

"Maybe," I said. "But \iyou don't believe that, how do you expect anybody else to?"

She stared at me. Then she whirled, jerked the door open, and ran out.

I sat there for a few minutes, rocking and thinking. It was possible, of course, that Amy had helped Kevin, but peripherally,

without knowing all the details. If Kevin was charged, she would probably be charged as an accessory, especially if she continued to insist on her guilt. There was no way around it. If Kevin was guilty, so—to some extent, anyway—was Amy.

I was still sitting in the rocking chair, thinking about Kevin and his would-be rescuer, when the phone rang. I picked it up, expecting McQuaid. It was The Whiz.

"You wont have to feed any more cats," she said. "Dottie's out on bail, as of six P.M. Seventy-five thou."

"Fm glad that's over with," I said. Dottie is well known in the community, has a responsible professional position and has other obligations to fulfill—namely, taking care of her animals. She isn't the kind of suspect a magistrate is likely to remand to jail without bail. But where murder is concerned, you never know.

"So how'd the day go?" Justine asked. "You and Ruby come up with anything?"

I told her. "Complicated, isn't it?" I asked, while she was still chewing over my narrative.

"Rich," she said happily. "Riddled with opportunity, so to speak. You got a theory yet?"

"Hey," I said, "I'm hired to come up with the facts. Youre hired to come up with a theory. If I give you both the facts and the theory, what the hell are you getting paid for? Except to make lousy puns."

Her laugh was careless. "Just thought I'd ask. Won't hurt to have two theories to work on. Suicide and murder, for instance, with at least a couple of good suspects for the murder. Locate that New Braunfels greyhound guy. Talk to the parents in San Antonio. Keep flossing—this is a dirty one. And give me a ring tomorrow afternoon so we can see what else you've pulled out."

"Yessir ma'am," I said.

The Whiz tch-tched. "Don't be a grouch. It's not becoming."

I hung up without answering and sat for a long time, rocking

and thinking, thinking and rocking. Khat came in through his cat door to inquire about dinner. I warmed up some cooked chicken Hvers in the microwave and put the stuff in his bowl. He pushed it around with his nose to make sure I hadn't adulterated it with something unmentionable—dry kitty food, for instance. Assured that it was indeed pure liver, he flicked the tip of his charcoal tail and addressed it with gusto.

For myself, I found some leftover mashed potatoes in the fridge and made mashed potato soup—not as good as the real thing, but hot and tasty, with fresh parsley chopped into it and cheddar cheese grated on top. I was sitting at the table, working on my first bowl, when McQuaid showed up.

"There's some soup on the stove," I said.

He picked up a spoon and tasted mine. "Not bad," he said. "Think I will." He found a bowl, ladled it full, and laced it with catsup. He sat down across from me. "Ready to take another look at Meadow Brook?"

"Can we talk first?" I looked away from the catsup with a shudder. "I'd like your professional opinion." I pushed back my empty bowl, folded my arms on the table, and gave him a condensed version of the day's events, down to Amy's confession and Dottie's release.

"Are you asking me whether I think Kevin Scott killed Har-wick?" he asked.

"Yes." I frowned. "But I have a problem with that."

"Right." He tipped up his bowl and spooned out the last of the potato-and-catsup (ugh!) soup. "Riddle's hair in the noose. The rope in Riddle's garage."

"So we're back to suicide with a murder frame-up."

"Not necessarily," he said.

"You're saying that Kevin could have planted the hairs in the knot to implicate Dottie Riddle?"

"Kevin, or Amy."

"But why would either of them want to impHcate Dottie? She's on the side of the animals."

"I guess you're right," he said, licking soup off his mouth. "The girl couldn't have been in on it, anyway. If she had, she'd have known what kind of rope was used."

"Amy thinks Kevin did it, or she wouldn't be trying to cover for him. And she could be charged as an accessory if she helped compose the note or assisted in the break-in." I scowled. "But I was there when Dottie met Kevin in the animal holding facility. I'd absolutely swear he didn't know who she was. And he wouldn't be likely to frame somebody he didn't know."

"So we're back to suicide," McQuaid said.

"Maybe not," I said, pushing my spoon around in the empty bowl. "Maybe this guy in New Braunfels really did have something to do with Harwick's death. Or maybe the killer is somebody who isn't on our list of suspects." I was beginning to wonder whether the key to Harwick's death might lie in the frame-up, in those clues that seemed to point so emphatically at Dottie.

"Or maybe," McQuaid said quietly, "Riddle really is the killer."

"No," I said.

He leaned across the table. "Look at the facts, China. She had the motive, the means, and the opportunity. Not to mention that there are three strong clues pointing directly at her. That's what the D.A. is going to jump on. In comparison with some of the cases he gets, this one is airtight. Believe me. The chances for a true bill are very damn good."

"When will the next grand jury be empaneled?" Adams County is a small county. Unlike the larger counties, where two grand juries with staggered terms sit continuously, Adams has one grand jury that sits only three days a month.

"The middle of next week," McQuaid said. He stood up.

"That gives you at least a week to wrap up your case. How about if we go look at a house?"

"Fm not sure I have time," I said. "Maybe I ought to drive to San Antonio to see Kevin's parents tonight, instead of tomorrow morning. Maybe I ought to call Ruby and—"

McQuaid shook his head, firm. "Look, Bayles. Ruby has things to do. Riddle's already out on bail. The cats have been fed. We've had dinner. Everything else—including Kevin's parents and the greyhounds—will keep until tomorrow." He held out his hand. "Come on."

Just before sunset, the gray clouds lifted like a curtain at the western edge of the sky, and the sun gilded the meadows with pure gold. But it wasn't the sunset view from the master bedroom that finally swayed me, or the discovery that the soil in the garden was rich and thick (hill country topsoil is usually six inches deep, on top of six hundred feet of limestone), or the large, bright kitchen with the window facing east to the rising sun. Or even the window seat in the top floor of the turret, just the right size for Khat and me. It was the little waterfall at the foot of the yard, where the creek splashed noisily over a limestone ledge and into a dark, clear pool beneath, bordered by clumps of maiden hair ferns. Somewhere nearby, I heard a poor-will call into the twilight, slow and haunting. A nighthawk raked swiftly, erratically across the sky. Ruby would have said it was a romantic scene, but it wasn't romance that held me there. It was the sense of having found a habitable wilderness, of standing on the margin between the wild and the tame. In one sense, it was very peaceful. In another, it was very dangerous.

"Well, what do you think?" McQuaid asked, standing a little apart. "Should we or shouldn't we?"

I looked down at the waterfall. A large leopard frog snapped at a bug. "I think we should," I said. "I guess." The frog got the bug on the second try.

He chuckled. "That's what I like. A woman who knows her own mind."

It was very dangerous.

Laurel showed up at the shop at eight the next morning, as I had asked, and after giving me a run-down on the meeting at the Smithsonian and the reception of her pepper paper, went out to the garden to put in an hour of hght housekeeping. It was too early for annual transplants—we can get a frost up to the last week of March—but it was time to clean off the dead leaves and trim the perennials. The comfrey and rue needed cultivating, and the bronze fennel was already sending up licorice-scented plumes. The parsley was up too, prettying the path with its frilly green lace.

I was giving last-minute instructions to Laurel when I heard the phone ring in the kitchen. I almost let the answering machine take it, but I thought it might be Ruby so I dashed inside. It was Rose Tompkins.

"They're gone." She was breathless, tense, holding herself in. "The letter, the disk, they're both gone. You've got to help me, China. I'm in trouble.''

"Somebody broke into the locked filing cabinet?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes," she said. "They smashed the glass in the office door and opened it. Then they took a screwdriver or something to the file cabinet. The letter's gone from the computer, too." Her voice

went up a notch. Her control was slipping. "Miss Leeds is at the dentist again this morning. She'll kill me when she finds out. And Dr. Castle— Oh, that'll be worse. He'll fire me!" The last words were a wail.

She had called me because I knew about the letter. She had called for reassurance. I did what I could. "Of course he won't fire you, Rose. And Miss Leeds won't kill you, either. You didn't steal that letter. You did everything you could to keep it safe." I paused. "Was the file drawer the only one broken into?"