Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (16 page)

After coming off the emotional rollercoaster of cleaning out Merry's apartment, I wanted to tell Whip about Mrs. Curry right away. I'd been going to the jail every other day or so, but I didn't want to wait until my next scheduled visit. We were lucky because the police relaxed their restrictions and allowed me nearly unrestricted access. Could Whip's friend, the police chief, have stepped in? I hoped so. We might need that connection again later.

The booking area roiled with a dozen people under arrest and their handlers and lawyers who shouted to get the attention from the desk sergeant. Ten minutes after I arrived, Pete unlocked the door from the cells. Once again, I looked around the interview room. It would look less like the room of no hope from a bad film noir with a fresh coat of paint to hide stains, streaks, and years of handprints. I was so wound up I blurted out everything we learned almost before Whip took his usual seat.

“Odd. If your Miss Marple overheard Hunter demand the money, doesn't it prove he killed Merry?”

“Not really. Remember, you didn't know I'd cleaned out the safe-deposit box until after you were arrested.”

“Yes, but we didn't tell anyone. Hunter had access.”

“Hunter made a mistake.” I reached into my handbag, pulled out a tissue, unwrapped the key, and showed it to Whip. “Merry's key is in my bureau. This was on the floor in her apartment.”

“This should prove I didn't do it.” Whip's eyes flickered. “Why didn't the cops find it? I thought they searched her apartment.”

“I don't think it was there when Merry died. There's more.” I told him about the missing jewelry, cell phone, and handbag. “Her bedroom was trashed. The police didn't mention that. Most important, I found no trace in the apartment.”

“What do you mean, ‘trace’?”

“We always see fingerprint powder used at a crime scene on television, don't we? The CSI people grab jars of powder and brushes when they test solid surfaces. They don't clean up afterward, do they?”

“I don't think so. Ask Jerry. He'd know.”

“We found the normal accumulation of dust on the hard surfaces but no fingerprint powder. If they'd conducted a thorough search, wouldn't you think the police would have found this little key? After all, I found it, and I'm no professional.” I returned it to an inside pocket in my handbag. “I asked Vince for the police report. I want to see if they mention the state of the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“Em says Hunter came back. She thinks he went to the bank and found the box empty. He got so angry he confronted Merry and killed her. The police tape was ripped. Em knows he did it. He ripped the bedroom apart. When he didn't find the money, he threw the key on the floor and left.”

“You may be right. How can we use this?”

“I'm not sure. That's Vince's problem. Em took pictures and sent them to Alex. See, the bedroom's ruined. The living room's normal.” I laid a stack of photos in front of Whip.

“Here's where I found the key.” I pointed to the edge of the couch.

“Give these to Vince.”

“Of course. You can't imagine how weird it was standing where Merry died. I hoped for some kind of sign, a ripple in the Force, anything, to let me connect with her. Some people believe the spirit of a murdered person remains near the place of death. I couldn't feel her presence.”

I bet Whip wanted to laugh because I'd hoped for a sign to help me with my grief. Maybe the key was it, and I was too earthbound to see it.

Vince arrived with news just as I was getting ready to leave. Whip would be arraigned in two days at which time he'd enter his plea. Afterward, they'd see the prosecutor's case.

Things weren't moving as fast as Vince originally predicted. Whip had sat around far longer than was usual. The idea of a rapid trial didn't carry as much weight when a murder was involved. The police could delay as long as they continued to build a case against him.

“They'll probably go for manslaughter, although the district attorney might try to make this a signature case to support his bid for re-election.”

“Why?”

“He hasn't won a murder trial in four years. He could go for murder two, but I don't think that's likely. He needs a conviction on which to hang his campaign.”

“I don't see how they can charge Whip with murder,” I said.

“The district attorney will try for as high a profile case as possible.”

“Any chance they'll let me go?” Even to me, Whip didn't sound hopeful.

“Snowballs in Hell, Whip.”

“Terrific. A political volleyball to satisfy some prick's ambition. Where's the justice in that?”

“Cut the crap. Justice and politics repel each other. We'll ask for dismissal on lack of physical evidence.”

I told Vince about my visit to Merry's apartment. He made little of the fingerprint powder, but he jotted a note to look into it further. Maybe we could get this thrown out on sloppy police work. “Here are the photos Em took at the apartment yesterday. Will you compare them with the official police file?”

Vince put them in a new folder he labeled “Apartment.”

“Now, do you want the charges dismissed? Or do you want to be found not guilty?”

Good question. No one was found innocent, just not guilty. I could split that hair seven ways from Tuesday. I already knew what Whip's answer would be.

“Dismissed.”

“I agree. We want the charges dismissed with prejudice.”

“With prejudice?” I'd never heard that term before. It didn't sound good to my non-attorney ear, though.

“If the charges are dismissed with prejudice, you can never be charged for the same crime again. If charges are dismissed because of lack of evidence, the police can and probably will keep the case open. If they ever find anything, they can come after you again. There's no statute of limitations on murder.”

We spent another hour going over what to expect and made a list of the clothes Whip wanted me to bring. At least he wouldn't be led into the courtroom in chains and an orange jumpsuit. Much as I hated to have Emilie and Alex hear their father charged with killing their mother, I wanted him to see the kids, talk to them, and hug and kiss them. I hoped he'd get the chance.

I putzed around making dinner and trying to figure out what to do next. Alex was upstairs, and I hadn't seen Emilie since I got back from the jail. She might be taking a nap. God knows, she must be emotionally drained from going to her mother's apartment. I needed a nap, too, but early to bed would suffice.

Dinner wasn't quite ready when Emilie and Alex came downstairs together. Odd. Standard practice was to call them several times, particularly Alex. When he was online, the world could end and he'd only become aware of it when the power went off.

The kids were deep in conversation. Emilie put a pad of paper upside down beside her place at the table. Without being asked, they got out four settings.

“Four? We're having company?” I'd made enough pasta and sausage to feed a small army. Alex was going through another of his growth spurts and inhaled everything biodegradable.

The doorbell rang, and Emilie went to answer it. I was pleased when Johnny entered with a bottle of Tuscany Rustico cradled in one arm. He kissed me on the cheek, ruffled Alex's hair, and leaned against the counter.

“Rumor has it you're making spaghetti.” Johnny winked.

“I called Uncle Johnny, Mad Max,” Emilie said. “We need a family conference, and Dad's not here.”

Hmm, a conspiracy. One I hadn't concocted. I put salad on the table, filled bowls with pasta, meatballs, and sausage, and ladled my homemade sauce over it all.

We ate and chatted about junk and nonsense. Whenever I looked at Johnny, he just shrugged and glanced at Emilie and Alex. I knew who was in charge of this scenario.

Emilie and Alex cleared the table without prompting.

A first.

That left me alone with Johnny and half a bottle of wine. I refilled our glasses and smiled over the rim. Johnny's eyes twinkled. The dishwasher started. We waited for the kids to return.

“I called Uncle Johnny because we need his help.” Emilie plopped back into her chair. “He always helped Mom when Dad was out of town.”

I was glad Emilie found Johnny's presence as comforting as I did.

“I talked with Mr. Zimmerman, too, because we'll need Uncle Johnny during the day sometimes.”

“You called Tops?” Johnny raised his left eyebrow. “He's okay with this?”

“Why wouldn't he be? He said we can borrow you whenever we need. He promised to do anything he can to bring Dad home.”

“Great!”

Johnny told me just after Whip was arrested he was worried about getting away from the office without being AWOL.

“Remember, Mad Max, you said we need a plan. Anyway, me and Alex…jeez, I mean, Alex and I started a list of stuff we know and stuff we don't know.” Emilie put the pad in the center of the table.

Johnny and I poured over the list.

“Great start, guys,” I said, “but not everything's accurate.”

“Like what?” At eleven, Alex hated to be told he was wrong. About anything.

“Like we don't know Dracula took Mom's jewelry. We think he did.”

“Well, we know he killed Mom. Mrs. Curry heard it.” Emilie stared at her list.

“Mrs. Curry heard someone shoot Mom. She didn't see anyone.”

“He had to have done it.” Alex's voice rose in frustration.

“I agree.”

“What Mad Max's saying, Alex, is we don't know these things. We think they're true, but we have to prove them.”

“All we really know is Dad didn't kill Mom.” Emilie looked crestfallen.

“Your father would never have killed your mother. If he wanted to kill anybody, it would have been Dracula.”

“The police think Dad did it, though.” Emilie sighed.

“They're idiots,” Alex said.

The police were fools if they thought Whip capable of murder.
No, wait.
We were all capable of murder, given the right circumstances, but Whip wasn't capable of cold-blooded murder. Not the cold-blooded murder of the mother of his children, no matter how angry and hurt he was by Merry's betrayal. I'd never believe he could have done it.

“We've got a lot of work to do before Dad can come home.” A pattern emerged in what we were missing. The task was daunting, but we should be able to do it if we made baby steps and worked together.

“May I see the list?” Johnny reached out his hand. “Let's see if I can make it more accurate. Then we can decide how to get the answers to the unknowns.”

Johnny drew three columns on a clean piece of paper and moved things around.

“Jeez, we don't know much, do we?” Emilie looked discouraged.

“It's not all that bad. We know your dad didn't kill your mom,” Johnny said. “He worked late that night.”

“Were you there all the time?”

“No. Tops and I left around eight-thirty, after scarfing down some pizza.”

“Dad doesn't have an alibi for the time Mom was murdered, does he?”

None of us wanted to admit the lack of a verifiable alibi. There it was, front and center and unavoidable, the pink elephant in the kitchen.

“Not really. Let's say you left just after eight-thirty. Let's agree Mrs. Curry is right about the time
CSI
started. It'd be a real stretch to get from the office to Merry's apartment on the far side of Richmond near Chaminade.” I steepled my fingers under my chin.

“He could do it, but he'd have to have been flying,” Johnny agreed.

“Wonder if there were any construction delays on I-95 that night.”

“I can find out.” Alex had something else to pursue.

Emilie told Johnny about our visit to the apartment and Mrs. Curry's remark about the money. We left that as a known, because we had an earwitness. Plus we had pictures from Emilie's cell.

“The police have pictures too. They'll be presented at trial. Vince'll see them after Dad's arraigned.”

“When's that?” Emilie had a small catch in her throat.

“Day after tomorrow. I assume you want to go.”

Three heads nodded.

“So, what else do we know? Do we know what kind of gun killed Mom?” Alex, Mr. Serious, asked. “I mean, Dad has lots in the safe. Was one missing?”

“It was a twenty-two. Dad's guns are all nine-millimeters. We know where they all are.”

“Whew!”

I was surprised by Alex's reaction. Did he harbor a tiny doubt his father wasn't innocent? I stared at him. No, he was just relieved his father's guns were a different caliber. Simple as that.

Emilie stared at the list. “Has anyone sold Mom's jewelry? If it turns up in a pawn shop, we should be able to find it.”

“Could be on eBay. I'll check.” Alex seized on another way to use his computer skills.

“Good idea. I'll hit the pawn shops.” Johnny echoed Alex's enthusiasm.

“We had insurance riders and pictures, so when we find it, we can prove the jewelry was Merry's.”

“If the police didn't see the messed up bedroom, doesn't that prove Dracula came back?” Emilie dwelled on that point. “After all, we didn't break the police tape.”

“It just proves someone came back, not necessarily Dracula.”

“There are two more questions,” Emilie said. “Why was Dracula turning Mom into Kiki?”

“Kiki?” Johnny's pen was poised to add to the list.

“We don't know who she is,” I answered.

“Kiki's a person?”

“We think so.” Emilie told Johnny about finding napkins of doodles with “Kiki and Andy” along with other variations of her name with Hunter's. She rolled her eyes. I let her get away with it this time, because I agreed with her assessment of her mother's silliness.

“It's also Dracula's password.”

“His password? On what, his computer?”

Alex blushed bright red and picked at a crumb on the table. “Um. Yeah.”

“Alex Pugh, you are not to do anything illegal. Do you hear me?” I was furious. “My grandson is not going to end up in jail next to his father. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Alex mumbled.

“I'll work on Kiki.” Emilie saved Alex from more of a tongue lashing.

“There must be a thousand more things, but I can't think straight.”

The effects of the wine and the stress of the day were hitting me. Funny, I didn't mind saying I couldn't think straight. Like Eleanor said, I didn't have to be the only strong one all the time. Johnny was here. I could lean on him.

“Good time to stop. Do you want to give each of us our ‘to-do's'?” Here was strong, tough Johnny asking for his “honey-do” list. I burst out laughing.

“Let's divvy this up and see where it gets us. I'll ask the police about the stuff that's missing—Merry's purse, cell phone, and jewelry box.”

“I'll help Alex with the jewelry.” Johnny wrote their names next to each task.

“Alex can find out where Dracula came from and who he is,” Emilie volunteered.

“Yeah,” Alex nodded.

“You guys can help, but you have to make me a promise.” I put on my sternest, most grandmotherly voice.

“Promise what?” Emilie and Alex shared a wary glance.

“If I feel there is so much as a nano-inch of danger to any of this, you'll stop playing detective at once. Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.” Emilie clearly didn't like it.

“There's no such thing as a nano-inch,” Alex sassed.

“Whatev-ah.” I rolled my eyes in perfect mimicry of Emilie. “Pinky swear?”

I had to drag it out of Alex. “Pinky swear.”

We reached across the table and hooked little fingers. We were a team with two priorities: proving Whip innocent and Dracula guilty.

“Let's go get Whip out of jail,” Johnny said.

“I'll type this up and put it on the fridge, so we can track our progress,”

Alex grabbed the paper and ran upstairs. “‘Night.”

Emilie kissed and hugged me. “Thank you. For everything. I love you.”

“I love you, too, dear child.”

She kissed Johnny on the cheek, surprising the heck out of him.

“Well, we have some place to start, don't we, pretty lady?” Johnny took my hand and held it. “You look about done in.”

“I am, but I'm not too tired for a nightcap and a hug.”