The Icing on the Corpse (23 page)

I
t's hard to believe a twisted creep like Benning could have a following. But if you judged by his funeral service, he did.

My bail conditions said nothing about staying away from Benning family and friends. So that was good. I didn't have to put a bag over my head. I slipped into the back row as the ceremony was starting.

The forces of good were well represented. At the opposite side of the church was Alvin, wearing black, perfect for a requiem if you didn't count the crimson sneakers. I assumed he was scanning the mourners from behind his sunglasses.

Mrs. Parnell had parked herself off to the side. Not in disguise but, as she likes to say, nobody gives old war horses a second look. A smattering of people huddled here and there. I was disturbed by the ordinary appearance of this small gathering. Somehow you'd expect Ralph Benning's enormous evil to leave behind mourners with a twisted, bizarre look.

I wasn't surprised to see Lindsay or Benning's lawyer. But Conn McCracken and Mombourquette knocked me for a loop. And Constable Miranda Cousins was a bonus. I'd heard the cops like to check out funerals for suspects, but talk about overkill. Especially since the state had slapped Elaine behind Plexiglas and steel.

I found myself calculating their average hourly salaries and adding travel time for good measure. I factored in the cost for the legal aid lawyer who was gamely keeping up the pretence that Benning had been worth defending. Quite a tidy sum. Benning had been a one-man growth industry for the local legal eagles.

Wouldn't the local newspapers love to get their mitts on that idea? I decided to mention it to my questionable friend, P. J. Lynch, since I spotted his tousled red head on the far side of the church. He'd probably include the cost of the assistant crown attorney. Of course, Mia was no doubt pretending that poor murdered Ralph Benning was the victim of a horrible crime, the better to build a case against Elaine. On the other hand, she wouldn't get many excuses to wear that dramatic black hat. And I had to admit, she looked damned good in it.

Mia would count on a prime photo op after this funeral. That hadn't mattered to Lindsay, who was the only person in the church crying steadily. She couldn't have looked worse.

The service was one-size-fits-all. How many times had I been told we celebrate God and not the deceased. The bereaved are supposed to take comfort in the future life. This one was no different. Standard funeral with a sermon on God's will and a few brief mentions of Benning. It must say “Fill in name of deceased here.”

The officiating clergyman appeared never to have met Benning. That was fine with me. Maybe Benning hadn't deserved to be murdered, but he sure didn't merit tears and hankies. I was thankful I'd bucked the family trend and had Paul's memorial at the Unitarian Church. I'd written the eulogy myself. I had stood in front of the friends, family and colleagues and delivered it. Plenty of time to cry afterwards.

My father had recovered eventually.

But it's never good to dwell on Paul in public. There were other targets for my attention. I took another gander at Lindsay in the front of the church. Was she crazy? How could she cry over the man who had reduced her to a tranquillized shadow of herself? A man who would have killed her if he'd had the chance.

She was elegant as always. The deep red of her coat was perfect for her colouring. She projected that touching air of vulnerability. Men would continue to fall at her feet. Merv was already stuck to her side. Sworn to serve and protect. There was something about Lindsay in her red coat. Something nibbled at my memory, but I couldn't quite figure it out.

I turned my attention to Randy Cousins. What the hell was her connection with Benning? A lover? If Lindsay seemed unlikely in that role, how much less plausible was Constable Cousins? At six feet, she would have been taller than him. Her short, spiky hair didn't seem calculated to attract a man. She didn't strike me as the kind of woman he preferred. Rina Benning had once been reedlike and lovely. Lindsay was graceful and petite. Randy looked like she could beat the guys at arm wrestling as a warm-up for a triathlon.

Randy Cousins was strong, confident and attractive. But I didn't think she'd been Benning's lover. But what? Mrs. P. and Alvin were working hard to find out. Time to turn up the burner on my investigation. Especially since my bruised back still ached, and I figured I owed those bruises to Randy Cousins's knees. She had the strength to toss a person into a snowbank and probably the disposition to finish the job.

When people began filing out of church, I leaned back out of the way but not quite far enough to avoid Conn McCracken's eye. Ditto Mombourquette's. And Randy Cousins spotted me. No doubt about it, she knew who I was all right. And she didn't like me much either.

I gave her a merry little wave. From the look on her face, I thought she might pull out her Glock and shoot me for the fun of it. Mombourquette put a steadying hand on her arm as they left the church.

Alvin would find out where she went afterwards and with whom. I stayed in the back of the church until the congregation, the highly paid public servants, the photographers and the reporters cleared away.

The ceremony left me feeling empty. Nothing would undo the damage Benning had done. To the dead, to the living, to himself and to others.

When was it going to end?

On the bright side, I'd figured out where I'd seen Randy Cousins before and why that was important. All I had to do was prove it.

But first, a word with my alleged friend, P. J.

His gap-toothed smile faded as soon as I opened my mouth.

“Don't say a word, P.J. I want to know who those kids were.”

“Kids?”

“Yes. The nephews you managed to collect without having a sister. Or a brother.”

“Okay, Tiger, so they're not
exactly
nephews. They're close friends of the family.”

“Nope.”

“Not
really
close friends of the family. I think of them as nephews but, to tell the absolute truth, they're kids from the neighbourhood.”

The little bastard.

“Wrong.”

“I can explain,” he said.

“Explain this,” I said, showing my middle finger. I didn't bother to give him my neat story idea.

“For God's sake, Camilla. Are you out of your mind?”

“Hi, Conn.”

“What the hell were you doing at Benning's funeral?”

“Last time I looked, it wasn't against the law to go to a religious service. Even for Benning. And, although the forces of law and justice were there in their splendour, you must have noticed I didn't approach any of them.”

“Watch it.”

“And, for the record, WAVE will be having a memorial service next week for Rina Benning. I'll be there too. Count on it.”

“Be careful where else you go. We hear the Crown Attorney's office is howling for your blood. I can't always bail you out.”

“When have you ever bailed me out? Don't bother to answer that. But I would like to know what half the force was doing at Benning's funeral anyway, since that case is supposed to be solved.”

There was a pause long enough to bake a cake. “Where are you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if you're violating your bail restrictions by sticking your nose into this Ekstein case.”

“Oh, great. Now it's the Ekstein case. Like she's been tried and convicted. What was the matter with the Benning case?”

“She did confess.”

“What is this obsession you people have with confessions? How many false confessions do you get? A ballpark figure will be fine.”

“Of course, we get lots of them. Most of them are from nutbars.”

“I rest my case.”

“Don't rest your case too early. Ekstein's a major pain in the butt, but she's definitely in her right mind.”

“I'm beginning to wonder. How can she be if she confessed to a murder she didn't commit?”

“Okay, we've done that one to death. Where did you say you were?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure you're not about to get yourself in a bit more trouble. Not that you couldn't get yourself into all the trouble you want. That's fine with me, except it upsets Alexa.”

“Ah.”

“So where are you?”

“Where am I?” This was beginning to be fun.

“Yes.”

“I'm picking up girl stuff.”

“Oh.” Apparently McCracken wasn't devious enough to ask if picking up girl stuff meant I was heading off to confirm a few new details about his colleague, Randy Cousins. So I didn't have to lie.

“Hey, no problem. I sure don't want Alexa in a snit. By the way, Conn, do you have any idea if Elaine Ekstein's SUV is still impounded?”

“Yeah. Still impounded. And don't get any ideas.”

“I think I left some of my stuff in it. Can I check it out?”

“How stupid do you think I am?” I'm sure he didn't want me to answer. He added, “Don't even contemplate trying to see it. The judge would include Elaine Ekstein's vehicle in those bail conditions. And then slam, slam.”

“Yikes,” I said, “Alexa would go out of her mind.”

“That's right. So start behaving like an adult.”

“I'd like to, but I have this huge problem. I need some information from the SUV. If I'm right, and I believe I am, it could show how the killer set her up. It's worth a bit of hassle.”

“Forget it.”

“You don't even know what it is.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I have no choice.”

“For Chrissake, it will kill your sister if you're banged into the RDC for the wedding.”

“Nice talking to you, Conn.” I hung up.

McCracken held out for ten minutes. I had to hand it to him. He was getting better. This time next year, I'd probably have to refine my strategies. On the other hand, maybe he'd just needed a private spot before continuing our conversation.

“One question,” he said.

“Go for it.”

“Just curious. What were you willing to risk losing your bail and wrecking your sister's wedding for?”

I told him.

The atmosphere in Mrs. Parnell's apartment had changed from my last visit. And it wasn't subtle.

“Hey, Camilla,” Alvin said from the sofa where he was hand-rolling a cigarette. I was a bit worried when I saw the parrot shirt; I thought a big dose of Jimmy Buffett was about to follow, but Mrs. Parnell had
The Siege of Leningrad on.
The volume was enough to shake the sherry glasses. Lester and Pierre screeched steadily from their cage. We were not talking tranquil.

“What is that smell?” I asked.

Alvin issued a thin stream of smoke. He crinkled his brow. I could tell he was thinking hard.

I said, “Look, this is an apartment building with paper-thin walls and a door you can practically crawl under. Is it a good idea to smoke weed in the home of a respectable senior citizen? Do you think no one will smell it?”

“Don't get your shorts in a twist, Camilla.”

“And as for you, Mrs. P., if you don't want the neighbours dashing down the hall to see if the building's under siege and getting a whiff of Alvin's silly cigarettes, turn the stereo down.”