Patricia Dusenbury - Claire Marshall 01 - A Perfect Victim (28 page)

"I spoke to Claire about an hour ago. She's finally talking about Palmer, and it's all negative.
She says he's a sexual predator with a taste for young girls."

"You believe her?"

"It fits. I reviewed the case notes, looking for connections, and came up with The Children's
Home. Remember how nervous Walsh was when we talked to him? Remember how he fell apart
when you mentioned Palmer's photography hobby?"

"Yeah?"

"Pedophiles often take pictures of their victims. What if Palmer had taken salacious
pictures of adolescent girls, and Walsh found out? That million-dollar donation could have been
blackmail." This was the thought that had been tickling the edge of his consciousness.

"Palmer and girls from The Children's Home." Breton whistled. "You better have the
pictures before you lob that grenade onto the table."

"Claire said Melissa's been his mistress for ten years. She's twenty four."

"Are you sure? She looks older."

"She's twenty-four, and according to Gilbert, she used to live at the Home. I think we can
find other girls, establish a pattern of behavior."

"Say we can, what's the point? Palmer's dead. But if Claire Marshall believes he abused
young girls, there's another motive. She's going to marry the guy, and then she learns about his
nasty habits." Breton rubbed his face. "First we can't find a motive. Now we're at two and counting.
Palmer must have been a real charmer."

"A real charmer who checked out in time to avoid making a million dollar donation that
smells like blackmail. Millions more are missing from his company, and he's the one who moved the
funds. His mistress is the brand new beneficiary of a ten-million dollar insurance policy." Mike
ticked off the millions. "All in all, it was a convenient and profitable death for Frank Palmer--and his
girlfriend."

"Gilbert has been pointing us at her, and it's a good bet he knows more than he's letting
on." Breton narrowed his eyes. "Hey, wait a minute. Are you going where I think you're going?"

"Palmer, the cowboy, and the shooter--all middle aged white men about six feet tall, a little
stocky."

"Them and a thousand other guys."

"A thousand other guys who don't hide behind their hats, who weren't at the airport,
weren't at Hatch's apartment, and don't have sex with fourteen-year-olds," he said, gaining
certainty as he spoke. "Start with Palmer as the killer, and things start making sense. We've agreed
Hatch likely torched the cabin on orders from someone else. Right? Who did Hatch work for?" It
was obvious now, but the fact in front of your nose can be the hardest to see.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Remember Hatch's reaction when you told him Palmer's body was in the cabin? At first, he
thought it was funny."

Breton nodded. "Yeah."

"He knew that Palmer was alive after the cabin burned. Hatch didn't know what the hell
was going on, but as long as we couldn't pin anything on him, he was keeping his mouth shut. I'm
going to call Corlette. Lafourche Parish identified the body."

"It's almost ten."

"I have his home number. My office in five minutes. "

Mike put Corlette on speakerphone, brought him up to date, and laid out the reasons
behind his growing suspicion that Frank Palmer had staged his own murder.

"If Palmer's alive," Corlette said, "someone else is dead. We found a man's body in that
cabin."

"Brilliant, Boy Wonder." Breton muttered under his breath.

"And," the deputy continued, "if Palmer is alive, he's one ruthless bastard. So, where's
Claire Marshall? He would have recognized her at Hatch's apartment. He'd have to be afraid she'd
realize who she saw."

"We think she's at home," Mike said.

"You think? Aren't you watching her?"

"She rents a carriage house on the grounds of a large estate. It's a secure property--tall
fence, locked gate. An officer followed her to the edge of the property and he's been driving past
every fifteen minutes. He says she's there, but no one answers the phone."

"So, that doesn't bother you?" Corlette said.

"I told him to knock on her door. I'm waiting to hear back. Can you find someone awake in
your medical examiner's office?"

"I can wake them up, but the ID was confirmed by dental records you provided."

"I'll talk to the dentist." Mike sent Breton to get the dentist's home number and told
Corlette he'd stay in touch.

The patrol officer reported in. "I was able to access the property through an unlocked
pedestrian entrance," he said. "Her car's gone, no lights in the house, and no response when I
knocked on the door. She left, and I missed it." He paused for breath. "She could've been giving me
the slip. She knows the schedule, and it looks like she left in a big hurry. Her take-out is sitting on
the porch unopened. Her car cover's lying on the ground. But that gate, the way I got in, the lock
was broken."

"Don't touch anything," Mike said. "Lieutenant Breton is on his way. Meet him at the
pedestrian gate."

"I'm on my way," Breton, who had just walked back into the room, echoed. "Where am I
going?"

"Claire Marshall's residence. An officer is waiting for you there. She and her car are gone.
Look for signs she was abducted when she returned home this evening."

"Shit."

"I'm putting out an APB."

As Mike described Claire and her vehicle, it hit him that he cared. Not only because it was
his job to protect the public. Not only because he wanted to get this much too clever killer off the
streets. He cared what happened to Claire Marshall.

Lots of people are vulnerable under a tough façade. She was tough behind a
vulnerable façade, and he liked her for it. He wondered if he was jumping the gun because
he'd lost his professional detachment, weighed the alternatives, and decided it was no contest. If he
was wrong, he'd have egg on his face. If she'd been abducted, they'd already wasted too much
time.

Ten minutes later, an officer called in to report seeing a woman driving a bright blue Miata
on Saint Charles. "This was a good forty-five or fifty minutes ago. She appeared to be alone in the
car, but the top was up and I couldn't really see. I'm sure about the red hair. She was heading
toward the Quarter. Or the highway."

Mike called Corlette and brought him up to speed. "I'm operating on a hunch," he warned.
"This could be a wild goose chase." He wanted that to be true, but his gut told him otherwise.
"Breton's on his way to her residence. We'll see what he finds. What about your medical
examiner?"

"Him, he used the dental records you provided. He's positive about the match. He was
ready to sign the affidavit for the insurance company, but Palmer's executor asked him to hold off
for a week. That's the only thing seems out of line to me."

"Paul Gilbert, one of the men who met you at the cabin, is the executor. Did he give any
reason for requesting the delay?"

"Nothing the medical examiner could remember. I asked him to check his notes and give
you a call. Send us your APB. I'll be at the office in ten minutes."

Mike fixed a fresh pot of coffee and looked out the window at the brick wall that was his
only view. Claire stared out this window whenever he interviewed her. He wondered what she saw
on those bricks. What had she known that she didn't tell him? What was Gilbert up to? The phone
rang and he grabbed it.

"Robinson here."

Breton described a trampled area in the shrubbery next to the front porch and two sets of
footprints between the porch and the driveway. The larger footprints came from the shrubbery
where it appeared a large heavy person had spent some time; the smaller ones were only in the
driveway and on the porch. His interpretation was ambivalent.

"Looks like a man waited in the bushes. He confronted her when she came home, and they
left in her car. There's no indication of a scuffle. She might have gone willingly."

"Or he had a weapon. Treat the area like a crime scene. I'll update the APB with a warning
about a possible abduction and let Lafourche Parish know where we are."

Corlette was waiting for the call. "If Claire Marshall drives into Lafourche Parish, I'll hear
about it," he said. "So, let's proceed with your worst-case scenario. The murderer, possibly Palmer,
has her. Why? And where's he going to take her?"

"He must need her. I wish I knew why." There was a beep on the line and Mike said. "I have
a call waiting."

"I'm going to check on Daniel. This number will ring through to the two-way in my
car."

His call was the Lafourche Parish medical examiner who said there was no question about
the identification.

"It was a piece of cake, but the executor said to hold off on the affidavit because there are
'outstanding issues that require clarification,' whatever that means. And now you want to talk to
me. What's going on?"

"I apologize for bothering you at home."

"No problem. I was just watching TV. You know, it's really too bad the guy dies right before
his wedding."

"Uh huh." Mike said. He'd been so sure.

"It's a tough world," the medical examiner continued. "Anyway it was him. Recent x-rays,
lots of fillings and every one of them brand new--made my job easy."

"All new fillings?" That struck him as odd for a middle-aged man.

"Sure. He was getting himself in shape for his bride. Men and women both do that." The
medical examiner chuckled. "Didn't your Daddy tell you to check a woman's teeth before you marry
her?"

No, but his father had told him to trust his instincts. He thanked the medical examiner for
his cooperation and called Palmer's dentist.

Dr. Menendez answered the phone in the wary manner of a man who doesn't expect good
news from a late night call. He became affable when Mike identified himself.

"Captain Robinson, thank you for calling. I didn't expect such a high-ranking officer to be
dealing with my little issue, but I really appreciate it."

"Excuse me, sir?" What was Menendez talking about?

"As I told Lieutenant Breton, my insurance company won't reimburse any damages not
documented in a police report. I reported the break-ins but didn't mention any damage. I've since
learned it will cost twenty-five hundred dollars to repair the floor, which was scratched when the
file drawers fell on it. The building manager says he has to refinish the whole room."

Now it rang a bell. Breton had mentioned the dentist complaining about kids breaking into
his office. "When did the break-ins occur?" Mike asked.

"Two days in a row three or four weeks ago. Isn't that in the report?"

"I haven't seen the report," Mike said. The timing was right.

"Why are you calling?"

"I'm investigating the death of Frank Palmer. You were his dentist?" Asking the necessary
questions without raising Menendez's suspicions would be difficult if not impossible.

"Yes. I was," came the cautious response.

"Did Mr. Palmer recently have a large amount of dental work done?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. A replacement filling or two."

"Frank Palmer did not have all his fillings replaced very recently?"

"No. The one with all the work was the guy Frank brought in, I forget his name, one of Rick
Russo's veterans." The light came on. "Wait a minute. What's this about?"

"It's just procedure." Mike threw up a smokescreen. "Will you be available tomorrow? We'll
need to see the damage. Then, we'll revise the report and give you a copy for your insurance
company."

They set an appointment for tomorrow at ten.

A detective would stop by Menendez's office, ostensibly to look at the floor. While there,
he'd ask the dentist to check Frank Palmer's file to be sure everything was in order. It would not be.
The body in the burned cabin was Rick Russo's veteran, the one who went missing a few days
before Palmer's "body" was discovered.

Frank Palmer, the great philanthropist, had taken a homeless veteran to his personal
dentist and paid for treatment that included x-rays. Hatch, who had a previous career as a burglar,
broke into Menendez's office and removed two sets of dental records. Everything Palmer needed to
switch the x-rays had been in his desk drawer. The second break-in returned the altered records to
the files. If Hatch had talked, he would have blown the scheme sky high.

Mike called Corlette. "Palmer's alive. He conned us all."

"I was about to call you. One of our patrols saw a man and a woman in a blue Miata half an
hour ago. Before the APB. The woman was driving. She had red hair."

"Do you think he's going for his boat?"

"I don't think he can get it out of there before daylight. More likely he's headed for a
runway and a small plane or another boat waiting down at the Gulf."

"I want to cover all the options," Mike said. Anyone with the money Palmer had stolen
would have no trouble making travel arrangements.

"I'm on the road. I'll call back to the office, have them notify the Coast Guard and Civil
Aviation. I'll send deputies over to the cabin, but those dirt roads are slow going in the dark."

On the highway, they'd been one car in fast-moving stream of vehicles. Now they were
alone on a narrow country road. Neither situation offered an opportunity to escape. Claire wiped
her sweaty palms on her slacks, one at a time, hoping Frank didn't notice this sign of
nervousness.

"You were going to kill me, weren't you?" she said. "Fixing up your cabin was a just ploy to
get me there. They would have found two bodies in the ashes. People would have thought it was
you and Melissa."

She was ten years older than Melissa, but about the same height and weight and both
redheads. Her body would have been badly burned--just like Lou's, whoever he was.
Lou and I.
Two nobodies.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you excessive cleverness is not attractive in a woman?" Frank sat
with his arms crossed, the gun in his right hand inches from her ribs.