Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan) (34 page)

“Yeah, like I say, it was a big one.”

“Did you show the photo to Dale Colby?”

“No.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but this time he was quiet. She asked, “What did you do about the photograph?”

“Well—I took it because I was curious. See, the signature said ‘To Ernie Grant’ but his ID had said Lewis. And the photo on his ID didn’t match either, so it wasn’t a picture of him. I figured he must be holding the photo for a friend, and if I could find this friend I’d get myself a nice human-interest piece out of it, that’s all. So I called a few Grants in the directory, asked if they knew any pilots. When this one said yes I told him about the crash, and said I’d found a photo for him. He agreed to meet me. When we did—well, I guess he just assumed I knew everything. Started telling me about the guy dressed up like Elvis in the picture, how Lewis’s mistake killed him. Didn’t take long to realize this was the guy who’d put the explosive on the plane.”

“So you had a nice story,” said Holly, her voice tight. “But it never got printed.”

“Uh, no.”

“Would you like to explain why not?”

Nate was silent a moment. Then he said, “The direction these questions are going, I don’t think I want to answer.”

“That’s your decision, Mr. Rosen. You’re not under arrest. Let me just point out that Ernie Grant told me you said you’d keep quiet about the photo. We know that Mr. Grant had just sold some valuable land to a developer so he had the money to pay blackmail. We plan to subpoena bank records and—”

“All right, all right!” Nate flopped his hand nervously. “Yeah, I needed the money. He didn’t. Not really, said he just wanted to hang around with his dog, go hunting—hell, I felt for the guy.”

Wonderful. Blackmail as a humanitarian act. But there’s no time for a lecture, Schreiner, find out about that locked room. She said, “Let’s move on to yesterday afternoon, Mr. Rosen. You were in the office until two o’clock?”

“Yes. Approximately. Then I went out to get some man-on-the-street quotes for the heat-wave story. The weather people were talking about cooler air coming in—well, you know what the weather was.”

“Yes. And you stopped by Colby’s.”

He stared at his fingers.

She said, “You were seen by two neighbors.”

“Yes,” he said at last.

“You rang the bell?”

“Yes.”

Holly waited but he didn’t add anything. She asked, “Did Mr. Colby answer?”

“No. But I didn’t expect him to. I thought he was at the beach. I just rang the bell, well, just in case.”

“You went in anyway?”

“I wanted to find out—see, the trouble is, this story of his got a lot of people nervous. Including me, because it told about the pilot meeting a vet before the crash. I wanted to hear Dale’s taped interviews, to hear what he really had.”

Holly thought a moment. What could Dale have had on those tapes? Priscilla’s account of her brother’s encounter with an unknown vet who upset him. And Mitch’s no-names-given discussion of the rap group. But he wouldn’t have had Ernie’s name. Or would he? She asked, “You wanted to know, because if he published Ernie’s name your payments would dry up?”

The sad brown eyes met Holly’s. “You’ve seen Ernie. If he saw his name in the paper—i
n
m
y
paper—before you cops got there to arrest him, you think I’d be alive long?”

“So you were afraid of Ernie.”

Nate shrugged uncomfortably and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah! Not the world’s most stable guy. It was important for me to know what Dale had. Maybe there was no reason to panic. The front door was unlocked so I went in.”

“What time was this?”

“Three-thirty, maybe a few minutes later.”

“And what did you do?”

“I went to his den. Knocked and waited.” Holly could visualize him, his hands twisting nervously in his pockets as they were now, the bar napkin dropping unseen to the floor. Nate went on, “Nothing happened. So I tried the door, but it was locked. I struggled with it for several minutes. Worked up a real sweat, it was so damn hot yesterday, but I couldn’t push the damn thing open. So I went back to the living room to get those tapes and—”

“You didn’t go into the den at all?” asked Holly sharply.

“No, I just told you, I couldn’t. Locked from the inside.”

“Did you hear Mr. Colby in there?”

“No. I realize now—he must have been in there—already—” His thin mouth clamped thinner.

“You saw or heard nothing from that room?”

“Nothing. But it didn’t worry me then, I thought he was at the beach, you see.”

Holly exchanged a glance with Gabe. This was a clever story, damn it. Admitting only what they could already prove. A good lawyer could make Nate look like the soul of cooperation, waiving counsel, freely answering questions, the innocent little blackmailer and burglar caught up in an unfortunate coincidence. She needed more or he’d slither out from under a murder charge. Presumed innocent. Suddenly angry, Holly slapped the tabletop with both hands and pressed herself to a standing position.

“Thank you, Mr. Rosen,” she said. “That’s all for now. But we’ll be wanting to question you again.”

“Well. All right.” Surprised by the abrupt dismissal, he looked at her uncertainly.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Rosen.”

Nate got up, gave Gabe a thin smile, and ambled out.

“Tail him?” asked Gabe.

“Yeah. Set it up, okay? Let’s hope he makes a dumb move. We need everything we can get against that weasel.”

He was watching her check hastily through her handbag. “Where are you going?”

“Colby’s. I was hoping we’d get a hint from Rosen about how he managed the locked-room trick. But he’s sharp. So I’m going to go look at that goddamn room again.”

21

Holly was glad to see a light still burning in the Colby living-room window. It was midnight and she’d worried that Donna would be in a drugged sleep. She stood on the cement platform and knocked instead of ringing, just in case. Donna answered almost immediately.

“Sorry to bother you again, Mrs. Colby,” Holly said. She saw that Donna was not dressed for bed, she was still in the sleeveless blouse and denim skirt Holly had seen earlier that day. Holly went on, “We’re making some progress toward finding your husband’s killer, and I’d like to see the room again.”

“Yes, please, come in.” Donna stepped back. The hall light glared on her bedraggled blonde hair and on eyes puffy from weeping. She glanced into the living room and said, “Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Thanks, no.” Holly went into the living room. Maggie was slouched in one of the wing chairs, one leg dangling over the armrest. She’d changed from the rumpled blue sundress into a red cotton maternity shirt and white shorts. She said, “Hi. I take it your suspect didn’t explain how it was done?”

“We’re getting there. Shouldn’t be long before we have what we need.”

“And now you want to look at the crime scene again,” said Maggie. “Well, tonight’s as good as tomorrow. Maybe better.”

Holly looked at her sharply. Strange mood here. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“I was just checking on Donna. To see how things were going. To tell her about a phone call I just made.”

Holly plunked herself down on the sofa and pulled out her notebook. Exasperating woman. Just when she thought things were under control she was playing catch-up again. “What have you found out this time?” she asked.

Maggie watched Donna cross the room and sink into the other wing chair before she said, “I’ve found out that Josie and Tina are smart kids. If they keep making good grades they’ll get to college someday.” She flipped a hand toward Holly’s notebook. “You can put that away for a while.”

“It’s top secret that the girls are smart?” Holly asked in a vinegary voice.

Maggie pulled her leg from the armrest of her chair and stretched both feet out before her. “I thought you might want to know how Dale Colby died. Donna and I were getting ready to discuss it. But I can’t seem to remember with that notebook out.”

“You know how it was done?”

“Can’t remember.”

Holly slapped the notebook closed and shoved it into her pocket. So the take-charge hotshot was back in the picture again. Couldn’t trust anyone. She looked coldly at Maggie and said, “Yes, I’d like to know.”

“Oh, hey, come on.” Maggie breezed across the room to perch on the sofa arm. “We’re all on the same team.”

Donna was looking at Maggie with eagerness and fearfulness. “You know how it was done?”

Maggie met her eyes. “Yes, Donna.”

“The lamp? The blood? The stolen tapes? Everything?”

“Yes. Well, almost everything.”

Donna looked down at her hands, squeezed together in her lap. “I want to hear. And I don’t want to.”

“Yeah. Same here,” said Maggie sadly. “But we’ve all got to.”

Donna studied Holly’s face for a moment, then the pocket where the notebook had disappeared, then her gaze dropped to her own knotted hands. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Maggie said. “We’ll start with the phone call. That’s what Donna and I were just talking about, that and the girls. I called Harrisburg. Talked to Felicia Colby’s friend, Nan Evans.”

“About Felicia’s alibi? We did that too,” said Holly. “Felicia was in Harrisburg at four forty-five.”

“Right. But you see, Felicia mentioned that Nan was an old friend. So I asked her another question. I asked why Felicia insisted on a divorce when Dale was so opposed and it made life so rough for her. Nan said it was a secret because of the boy. But she told me Felicia divorced him because he beat her up once too often.”

“Beat her up?”

“The baby had been sick and so dinner was late. He beat her up. The next day she packed her bag and walked out.”

Holly frowned. That was long ago. And Felicia couldn’t have arrived from Harrisburg in time yesterday even if she’d waited all these years for revenge. Holly looked across at Donna, who was still pressing her hands together. “He beat you too?”

“Yes,” murmured Donna almost soundlessly.

“Recently?”

Donna looked mournfully at the window, at the door. Maggie said, “I’m sorry, Donna. But we have to go over it again. So she’ll understand.”

Donna’s gaze returned to Holly. “Yes. Recently. And for a long time before. Starting a few months after we were married.”

“But you didn’t walk out like Felicia.”

“Oh, God, I wish I had! But I thought it was better for the kids. He loved the kids. Back then I thought it was better for them.”

Was this some kind of a con these two were pulling? Holly glanced grimly up at Maggie on the sofa arm. Maggie said, “It’s true. Look.” She ran across to the wing chair, pulled Donna upright, and said, “Show her. Okay?”

Donna hesitated, then lifted her blouse. Holly’s brow contracted despite herself at the sight of the yellowing bruises and red scabs on her rib
s
. Did heaven look on, and would not take their part?

“He used his belt,” Donna explained. “The buckle end.”

“And you didn’t leave him?”

“He always had a reason, he said.” Drooping, Donna sat at the other end of the sofa. “Dinner was late, or the house wasn’t neat—For a long time I believed him. I loved him. I wanted to believe him. If I could just do better it wouldn’t happen any more. I tried so hard! But after a while I started thinking it wasn’t really what I did. I couldn’t control it. It was something in him.”

“You still put up with it?”

“Because of the girls. And because he could be so sweet sometimes. He’d bring flowers—”

Maggie asked, “Didn’t you wonder if it would be better for the children if they weren’t in a violent home?”

“Of course I wondered,” said Donna with some dignity. “But you see, he loved them. He was a perfectionist but he loved them. Told them stories, taught them games. And there was Felicia.”

“Felicia?”

“She kept asking for money. One day on the phone I got so exasperated with her. I asked her why she kept badgering him when she knew we were in debt over our heads for this little house ourselves. And she asked me if I’d ever thought of how far in debt I’d be with kids and only my income. Well, I knew she was right. The house is in Dale’s name. The bank accounts. So I stayed. To be fair to the girls.”

“I see,” said Holly.

“Later—after he lost the job as managing editor—it got worse. He was so frustrated. He bought the guns then. Every month or two he’d go at me with the belt and wave the gun around. And the Parkinson’s frustrated him even more. Ate away at him. He was so afraid it would interfere with his work. And he took it out on me. It got worse and worse.” She was squeezing her hands together again. “For a little while I thought maybe the disease would progress fast enough that he couldn’t beat me any more. But the doctor got it under control, and then the L-dopa came along.” She looked at the window again. “The doctor said he was optimistic about how long Dale would be able to continue as usual.”