Sweet Poison (25 page)

Christopher’s gaze shifted, drifted around the room as he sat back down. “I don’t know. A couple dozen maybe.”

Luke had no idea it had been that much.

“On the day Charity died, how many times would you say you talked to her?”

“What’s the point? I talked to her a lot. She was deeply frightened of Keen. She often called just so she wouldn’t feel so alone.”

“Would you say she called you most of the time, or that you called her.”

Christopher’s gaze grazed Luke, but didn’t linger. “I don’t understand the intent of your question. We both called each other. We were friends.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that you called her thirty-one times during the last week of her life.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“That’s an awful lot of calls.”

“It’s a matter of opinion.”

“And on the day she died?”

“She called me a couple times in the morning. I called her back a couple times in the afternoon. I talked to her twice that evening.”

“What time?”

“I called her around eleven.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I wanted her to know that Corey Hodge had raped a woman and gone to jail for it. I thought she should be warned because Luke told me they’d been talking earlier in the evening. I had no idea that she was actually with him at the time I called until she told me.”

“You didn’t talk about Keen?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to her again that night?”

“I asked her to call me when she got home, just to make sure she was safe. When she did, I told her to lock the doors and windows, pull the blinds, and call if she had any more problems.”

“You spoke for almost ten minutes.”

“It’s possible.”

“But you never saw her that night?”

“No. What are you suggesting? That I was the one who killed her? Where’s this coming from?”

“Did you?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Do you own a taser, Mr. Cornish?”

“A taser? No. Give me one reason why I would want to hurt Charity.”

“Maybe she knew something you didn’t want to get around. Like, oh, say, that you were sleeping with your parishioners? Maybe you thought she was about to turn you in.”

“This is just nuts,” said Luke, moving to the edge of his chair. “Did Keen tell you that? He’s lying. He’s evil. I can’t believe anyone would take his bullshit seriously.”

“Keen thought your bishop would.”

“Then why didn’t he tell her months ago? Why didn’t he tell that to the police when they were investigating him for attacking me? Why did he save it until now, until he was a suspect in the murder case? Don’t you get it? He’s manipulating you. Throwing sand in your face.”

“It’s possible,” said Emerson mildly. “But it’s equally possible that he’s telling the truth.”

“I think this discussion is over,” said Luke, cutting him off. “If you want to talk to Reverend Cornish any further, you’ll need to do it through his lawyer.”

“Luke, no. I don’t need a lawyer.”

Luke fired off a look that silenced him.

Emerson took his time returning the notebook to the pocket of his
raincoat. As he got up, he nodded to Christopher and said, “I can find my own way out.”

Julia had just pulled into the drive at the house in White Bear Lake when her cell phone clicked through. She heard Jane’s voice say hello.

“Hi, Jane. It’s Julia.” She could picture the contortions Jane’s face was going through, not knowing whether she should hang up or take the call. “I wanted you to know that I talked to Peter yesterday.”

“Peter? My brother Peter?”

“Yes. He told me all about the concerns you share over your father’s health. I’ve started donating some of my free time at the campaign office—that’s where we spoke. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I had a phone conversation with your dad last night. He’s agreed to let me give him a full physical in the privacy of his home tonight. I’ll draw the blood myself, make sure all the standard tests as well as a few extras are run.”

Jane explained what she’d seen in her dad’s office the other night. “I don’t even want to think this,” she added, “but can heart problems cause dizziness?”

“Yes, it’s possible. Does he see a cardiologist regularly?”

“Not that I know about.”

“Well, okay. I’ll bring along a portable ECG. Don’t worry, I’ll cover as many bases as I can. As soon as the election is over, we can bring him in for further tests if necessary. I’ll put a rush on the blood work. I can’t promise when it will be back, but I hope we’ll have most everything in a few days. Your father’s concerns seemed to be mostly political. He doesn’t want the public to know he’s seeing a doctor because of the conclusions some people might draw. I assured him of my complete discretion.”

“You’re good at keeping secrets.”

Julia almost laughed. “Yes, I am. So, that’s all I wanted to say. I hope it will put your mind at rest to know that a doctor is actually looking after him. Talk to you soon, Jane. Bye.”

Julia folded her phone shut before Jane could say anything else. She
wanted this to be quick. In and out. No strings. Just hi, I’m helping, bye. Jane would be grateful, even if it was a grudging kind of gratitude. But that’s all Julia needed. Just a tiny wedge. With Kenzie out of the way, packed off to Nebraska where she belonged, Julia could afford to be patient.

W
ayne McGill, Corey’s floor boss at the Chrysler dealership in Crystal, left the service floor at noon on Monday, saying that he had an appointment for a root canal. He wouldn’t be back the rest of the day. Corey didn’t know he was leaving until he was ready to walk out the door. That left him with a problem.

Corey liked McGill because he was an ex-con himself and because he’d talked the maintenance supervisor into hiring him on a temporary basis. He’d been taken off temporary status a few weeks before his ankle bracelet was removed. Even though fixing cars would never have been his first job choice, the money was good and so were the benefits. He’d been able to put a fair amount of cash away during the time he’d been out. Mary wouldn’t take a dime from him, although he did buy groceries every week. And now, with the possibility of moving into Serena’s house becoming a reality, he was glad he had some money squirreled away. First thing on the agenda was to get Serena a ring. But that might have to wait a few days.

The thought made him smile as he knocked on the supervisor’s open door shortly before quitting time. “Excuse, me? Milt?”

Milton Cox was a heavily built fifty-year-old-guy who’d worked at
various car dealerships around town for the last thirty years. No matter what he was doing, he always seemed harassed. Even at lunch, he’d glare at his hamburger like it had just delivered some bad news. But Milt was generally fair and tended to leave most of the decisions to Wayne. Corey would have much preferred asking Wayne his question, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Yeah?” said Milt, studying something on his computer screen. He had a weak chin. Several of them.

Corey was pretty sure he didn’t even know who he was talking to. “I need tomorrow off. I’ve, ah … got some tests that need to be run at my health clinic.” What he really needed was time off to get rid of Johnny’s stuff at Serena’s house.

Milt peered at him over his bifocals. “Kind of last minute isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well. Can’t be helped.”

“You’re Hodge, right? The con?” He trained his eyes on the jail-house tattoos on Corey’s upper arms.

“Yup.”

Milt examined him for a few seconds, then reached down and picked up one of the local newspapers. “I been reading about you.” He held up the paper.

Corey felt his jaws tense.

“Says here the cops think maybe you killed a woman. Last week. What a shocker, huh?”

“Look, if they had anything on me, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Cox smiled, let the paper drop to his desk.

Corey could see where the conversation was headed. “So, do I get the day off?”

“Sure. Fine with me. Take the week off. In fact, don’t bother coming back at all.”

“You’re firing me?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Milt licked his lips, eyed him like he was about to take bite out of him. “Clean out your locker. I’ll call the business office. You can pick up your final check on your way out.”

“This just fucking sucks. I’ve done my job. Ask Wayne.”

“You were late last Friday.”

“That’s because the cops hauled me in.”

Milt held his palms up, shrugged. “Is that my problem? Ever heard of a phone?”

“So I forgot. I had kind of a lot on my mind.”

“And you came to work late a few other times.”

“It’s the traffic. When there’s an accident on the fucking freeway, what am I supposed to do?”

“Watch your mouth, boy. Now, if you want to fight about this, I suggest you get a lawyer. In the meantime, take your crap and leave. I don’t wanna see you around here after today.”

Corey threw his arms in the air. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he said as he stomped out, adding one last
fuck
just to make sure Milt felt as harassed as humanly possible.

That evening, Jane came down the stairs from her second-floor office at the Xanadu club, dressed in one of her specially made tuxes. Dinner and dancing at the Xanadu were accompanied by a live orchestra playing twenties and thirties jazz. Tonight, the music hurt her head. She was tired, her headache had returned, and she was in a foul mood. She stayed in the dining room doing her usual meet and greet until she couldn’t stand it another minute, finally retreating to her office, where she called Mary.

“The police came back with another search warrant this afternoon.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. Was Corey there?”

“No, he was at work.”

“Did they find anything?”

“They wanted his laptop.”

“He has a laptop?”

“It was the first thing he bought when he moved back in here. He was always a whiz at computers. Every few months, while he was in prison, he’d ask me to send him this new book or that. He wanted to keep up with the new technology, the new software. Anyway,
what bothered me the most was they asked if Corey ever drove my van.”

“Does he?”

“Sure, every now and then. But he’d never take it without permission. The police asked if they could look in it, and dumb me, I said sure. They found a tube of lipstick under the passenger’s seat. It wasn’t mine. I had to tell them that.”

“Do any of your female employees ever use your van?”

“Well, sure, every once in a while.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, then.”

They talked for a few more minutes. Jane finally begged off, saying she’d call when she had something new to report.

Lifting a bottle of brandy out of the bottom drawer of her desk, she poured herself a shot, and downed it. And then she phoned Nolan, her PI buddy. He didn’t answer his cell, so she left a message, asking him to stop by the club tonight if he had a chance. If not, she asked him to give her a call tomorrow.

Shortly after eleven, she returned downstairs and wandered into the bar. Monday nights were usually fairly quiet, but tonight the din was almost more than she could stand. She ordered another shot of brandy from the bartender. While she was sipping it, she noticed Nolan come in the front door. He was a big man, African American, powerfully built. Everything about him screamed cop, from the look in his eyes to the way he held his body. She downed the shot in one neat swallow.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he shouted, looking around.

“You don’t like my bar?”

“The noise level could wake the dead.”

“Okay. But you have to drive.” She set the shot glass back on the counter and followed him out.

They ended up at a rough neighborhood dive in North Minneapolis, The Tick Tock Lounge, one of Nolan’s favorite haunts because of two things: the jukebox stuffed with hits from the fifties and sixties, and the aging group of his old snitches who still hung out around the pool tables.

Thinking she’d had enough booze for one evening, Jane stood at the bar and ordered a tonic water, extra ice, and three olives. The bartender and a few of the patrons turned to check out her tuxedo, but they lost interest pretty quickly.

“You’re in a weird mood,” said Nolan, asking for a tap beer.

“How is my life screwed up, let me count the ways. First off, my girlfriend left me.” She figured she might as well get it over with. He’d find out sooner or later.

“Sorry to hear it. Is it temporary or permanent?”

“The latter, I think.”

Nolan paid for the drinks because Jane didn’t have her wallet with her. They carried their glasses over to a booth in the back, farthest away from the music speakers.

“So, what’s up?” asked Nolan, taking a long thirsty sip of his Leinenkugel.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you. Corey Hodge. Know the name?”

“I figured we’d end up there eventually. I been following the Charity Miller murder in the paper.”

“You think Corey did it?”

“That would be my theory.”

“Do you know anything about his first arrest?”

“Sure. I didn’t work the case, but a buddy of mine was the primary. What do you want to know?”

“Do you think he was guilty?”