The Fallen Angels Book Club (16 page)

“You know, I'm sorry. I was wrong. I can't take this ball of crap. I take that back. I'm not sorry. Are you saying that while I was sitting in prison, prison, Bill … are you telling me you were piecing your psyche together?”

“If you'll let me explain, I—”

“No. I've had it with you. I'd had it a long time ago. You know, the police are looking for you. I'm going to give you to them.”

There was silence on the other end, then, “I understand the police think you killed Rory.”

I hadn't realized how much I still wanted to know he cared about me, and how much he didn't. His unspoken threat cut me like a knife. I knew it would be only a matter of time before his true colors came out. It hadn't taken long but this time I was ready for him.

“That's only because I haven't shown them the photos yet.”

“Photos of what?”

“Remember the photos we took of all the property on the last two claims before we were arrested—I mean, before I got caught and you turned evidence? Well, I came across a few of them when I claimed my stuff from storage after I got out.”

“What's on them?”

I knew he was running through his mental Rolodex, trying to remember what was in the pictures.

“Ask the police to show you copies.”

“You know, Becky, we used to be good together. Because of the way things turned out, I wanted to give you something you could give to the police to get them off your back. Except your attitude is too much for me. You need to learn to get past your anger.” He paused.

In the silence, it was all I could do to keep a few choice profanities from rolling off my tongue.

Bill, on the other hand, launched into his next pitch. “I know what I did was beyond forgiveness. That's why I'm trying to help you. There's big money involved in this. Rory was running his own game inside a much larger one. His greed complicated the works and they killed him.”

“Who are ‘they'? I know Rory's game was blackmail. What's the larger game?”

“Rory ran it like a business. I met him through a guy who was working for him as his private detective.”

“What exactly do you do for a living? How did you and Rory know each other?”

I could almost hear the debate going on in his head: to tell the truth, or not? “I work as a fraud consultant for an insurance firm.”

I couldn't stifle my laugh, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was telling the truth.

“I know, I know. I met Rory's guy in the line of business. He needed my help to do some—some, uh, research and he hooked Rory and me up to work on a couple of deals.”

“Go on. You didn't answer my question. What was the larger game?”

“All I know is it involved a lot of rich people. Rory named his biggest client ‘Jackpot.' He never let me get close to him. My job was to validate the insurance claim information to an appraiser.”

“Insurance information. Who are these people?”

“I don't know that, either.”

Bill's ego didn't allow him to admit easily to not knowing, so a part of me believed his answer.

“What are you doing with Rory's mother?”

“Rory wasn't a bad guy. I met his mom a couple of years ago when he invited me over to try her lasagna.” He paused. “I needed to make sure there wasn't any information lying around her house about me—and, of course, I assisted her at the same time.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I've been helping her clear out the rest of his things.”

“So, how am I in danger?”

I could swear I heard Bill taking a swallow from a drink. If memory served me right, he drank Wild Turkey on the rocks.

“You have sixty seconds,” I added.

“Right, I know you. You'll want to get involved, and that's not healthy. Don't be pokin' your nose around. Let the police do their job. I'm trying to protect you, but I can't be around forever.”

That did it. He'd pushed my last button. “You're trying to
protect
me? Buddy, I'm in bad shape if I have to count on you for protection. Right now, the police think I'm the murderer, so I'm really not anxious for them to move forward with doing their job.”

“Becky—”

“No,
you
stop. Is this all you wanted to tell me?” My voice was getting louder. I took a calming breath.

“No, there's more I want to tell you. I want you to know that I'm so sorry.”

“Don't bother. What are you going to do now?”

Bill couldn't talk without lying. I knew he'd fed me a few. I just had to figure out which ones were the lies. I didn't trust myself to be objective. But I patted myself on the back for my restraint.

“Now? I'm going to go … home. Becky—”

“Your time's up. My name is Hollis.” I clicked off the phone.

I returned to the condo. The police had left the rooms relatively unscathed. I liked to imagine Faber told them not to trash the place. They must have gone through all my books. They were on the shelves but the fiction and nonfiction were mixed-up. Everything was slightly not where I left it. Upstairs in my bedroom, I tried not to notice the scuffs on the floor from moved furniture and the clear signs of closet dishevelment. I crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over my head. Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep.

F
irst thing in the morning, I dropped off my finished statement at Clay Boone's office. It was the best I could do. I just hoped Judge Pine would think so, too.

I felt mentally drained and just plain tired. I'd stalled long enough. With both Mark and Avery out of the office on travel, it was easy to be away for a couple of hours without being missed. All I wanted to do was get my home back in order from the police search. Before long, my kitchen was back to normal and, with a determined focus to triumph over procrastination, I finished putting the bathrooms back together.

I had hoped for a feeling of accomplishment, but none came.

I checked the time. I'd waited to question Rena again. I wouldn't let her put me off so easily. Rory had upset someone. He'd started to blackmail Abby and Richard. Why just those two? Had he stopped there? Maybe he hadn't. Was Rena too new? Did Rory know about Gene's affair? Maybe he had started on Miller, and Miller didn't want to pay.

Killing Rory would be cheaper.

After a little cajoling, Rena finally agreed to meet me the next day after work at the Berkeley Marina. I got there first, and it felt good to just sit and stare out over the bay.

“Okay, I'm here. I had to get a babysitter.” She leaned back on the bench and crossed her arms. “So, what have you found out?”

“After a lot of false starts, not much, but I'm willing to bet the reason why you said you'd see me is because you want to know what I found out about you. Am I right?”

Rena shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her cashmere sweater. She took a dramatic deep breath.

She stared at me a moment. “I talked with Gene. He said I could trust you.”

If she'd hit me with a stick, I couldn't have been more surprised. Gene knew Rena? I hadn't realized they were that close.

“He's right.”

She went on, but her voice trembled. “What he couldn't, or didn't tell me, is why you're taking it on yourself to find the killer.”

I knew I only had this chance to prove myself to her. “The police still have me on their suspect list. Mine is a long story, but I can't completely prove my innocence, either. More than finding out who murdered Rory, I want to identify Abby's killer.” There was tension in my voice.

“Abby was a good person. I get that. Why you? You're not qualified.”

“Granted, I'm taking this on myself. Not only do I have a vested interest, but I think I can get into places and ask questions the police, who have to follow procedures, can't. The thought of going back to prison—well, I'm sure you can relate. It's not an option.”

Rena got up and walked away a few feet then turned back and sat. She seemed to be deciding whether to trust me. She took a sip from a water bottle she'd brought with her.

“After the last Fallen Angels' meeting, I went to my car.” She hesitated. “There was this piece of paper stuck under my windshield wiper. I didn't know what it meant … except now ... except now, after what happened to Rory and Abby, I think it means I'm next to be killed.”

She reached into her purse and produced a folded piece of paper. I reached for it but she held on tight.

“Do you think the murderer is one of the members?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I know you don't want to accuse someone without solid proof. We know what it's like to be accused of something you didn't do.”

She spoke slowly. “Yes. I hated prison. I can't say I was entirely innocent, but I'd never give testimony about anyone when I didn't know for sure … for sure that they … I have a son. I can't leave him again. I ... here.” She handed it to me.

The plain paper had only three words written on it:
The Long Pause
. Rena leaned forward. “
The Long Pause
… that's our next book, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. You have no idea who could have left this for you?”

“The only thing I can think of is that I had to park away from everyone else because I was late again and couldn't get a space. Miller left the meeting first. I left after he did. When I came out, his car was gone.”

Finally, a break. “So, if nothing else, he had the opportunity to place the note?”

“Yes, but—”

“You've got to go to the police.” I wasn't going to see someone else killed because they didn't tell the authorities what they knew.

Rena didn't seem to hear. “You know Rory was killed like in our January book and Abby—well, I heard Abby was killed like the victim in
Storm Crossing
. Do you think …?”

Her voice was strained. She seemed scared. I didn't blame her.

“We can't sit here and speculate. We've got to turn over this information.”

Rena refolded the paper and tucked it back inside her purse. She continued to say nothing, but her wide brown eyes sought mine.

“My son Christopher is five.” Her voice cracked. “I can't get caught up again. When Rory was killed, I was visiting my mom, who watches my son. When Abby was killed, I was at a buyers' conference.”

“You told all this to the police?”

“Yes.”

I held her shoulder. “Rena, you have nothing to worry about, but you can't ignore the note. You could be in danger. I work for a law firm, and I'm going to ask for some help from a friend.”

Her expression became alarmed. “A lawyer … I don't know about that. I can't afford to have anyone make trouble. I can't—”

“No, he's a friend who just happens to be a lawyer. I need his help to do some background checking.” I paused. “I'll introduce you first and you can judge him for yourself. Look, if I were you I'd be wary of exposing my life to a stranger, but we can't deal with this by ourselves. We need help.”

Rena hesitated. I thought she was going to say something else, but then she only nodded slowly.

“Do you know the Snow Museum? At Lake Merritt?”

She nodded again.

“Meet us there Saturday morning. In the afternoon a lot of families are out, but early in the morning, only runners are around. We'll be waiting for you on the bench behind the museum on the lake side.”

“Who's your friend?”

“His name is Mark Haddan. He's a good guy. You can trust him.”

“That's just great, but how do I know I can trust you?”

I wanted to check Lily out for myself. I stopped by the center on my way home.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Lily's voice trembled and her hand shook. “I'm cold; tell them to bring me my shawl.”

I nodded and walked over to the nurse, who was trying to put a videotape in the VCR. She said she'd get her shawl as soon as she finished.

“Lily, we're just about done. Avery Mitchell asked that I continue to work with you to save money.” I spoke directly into her good ear. “I took down everything you said. I think we're through here. Is there anything else?”

She frowned and then a look of fear crossed her face. “Stop it, I said. Stop looking at me.” She tried to rise out of her wheelchair.

I held onto her wrist but she scratched me with her nails from her other hand.

“Ouch.”

“Go away. Where's Portia?”

“Who's Portia?”

The nurse finally heard the ruckus and started toward us. Before she could get midway across the floor, Marla entered the room, walked quickly over and held Lily's head to her chest. The nurse paused, saw things were under control and went back to the VCR.