The Violet Crow (35 page)

“I told Icky he was being ridiculous: You don't hallucinate from a little bit of hash. And I felt sorry for the girl, being buried that way. That was when it occurred to me that I had been given the opportunity to transform this tragedy into something useful. I could make it into a political act, like we'd been talking about in Doggin' 'n' Dissin', and other classes too. Instead of just smashing a few windows, what if I could
get
the CEO of this awful company? Bring him down. Lock him up. Treat him the way he deserves.”

Alison remembered hearing her parents talk about Emmanuel Fischer and how he was causing trouble at Friends Meeting. They'd never accused him of anything like murder, but she'd seen it happen with her own eyes. She and Icky had stumbled upon the underground tunnel just about a month earlier. All of the pieces were in place. She felt like a perfect plan had been presented to her on a silver platter.

“In theory it was perfect,” Alison continued. “But take it from me, digging up a grave is kinda weird. I brought along some of my old clothes—Mom never gets rid of anything. We washed Ginnie's body and dressed her at the Lenape and then wrapped her in plastic as we carried her through the tunnel. It didn't take long, she was so small and light. We wanted her to look decent when people found her. We didn't want the little kids to have nightmares.”

Chief Black frowned, but didn't interrupt. Bruno helped Alison take a drink of water so she could continue.

“We expected everybody to get the connection right away, but they didn't. That was so frustrating. I tried to get Professor Littlejohn to help me. It was his course that got me started, after all. But he just screwed me over …”

“Literally,” Bruno added angrily. Alison had shut her eyes. She was struggling to keep her composure in the midst of these memories.

“Is that what you were arguing about at the shareholder meeting?” asked the Chief.

Alison snapped back to life, fully indignant. “I couldn't believe it. Here he'd been avoiding me all this time. But as soon as I start organizing against NGBS, he tries to take over.

“By that time, I didn't even care that much. I just wanted to get Fischer. That's all I was thinking about. At that point I didn't even know about Jurevicius—what a psycho! I wanted to speak the truth. I had to expose them. I was doing it, not just for Ginnie Doe, but for Icky and Gussie and everybody else as well.”

Alison had to pause for breath. Her chest was heaving and she was having trouble speaking. Bruno held her hand; he raised the cup to her lips so she could sip more water.

“I guess Bruno didn't tell you,” the Chief explained in a low voice. “It was Littlejohn who got shot when the lights went out. They had hidden a sniper inside that giant crow …”

Alison looked incredulous. “He was sitting directly in front of me … Oh my gosh. Is he dead?”

“No. He survived. The bullet smashed his jaw. He's in rough shape and they say he may never speak, intelligibly, again. His room is just down the hall. You can visit if you want.”

Alison thought it over for a moment, then stated without emotion: “He got what he deserved.”

Chief Black rose to leave. “There's one last question that I have to ask.” His voice was stern and serious. “When you saw the girl get murdered, why didn't you come to me right away? By law, that's what you were required to do. Think of all the trouble, all the deaths and injuries you might have prevented.”

Alison lowered her head. Her breathing was labored. Hints of tears showed in her eyes. “My whole thought process was out of whack. The drugs, my friends, my education, everything … I just couldn't believe I could trust you guys. I thought you were the enemy.”

“And now?”

She gulped painfully. “I know I made some serious mistakes …”

Bruno rushed to the foot of her bed. “Things are definitely going to be different from now on,” he announced, pulling aside the sheet and pointing to the little toe on her right foot. There was a tiny pinprick of blood. “See that?” he cried triumphantly. “Few people know this, but that's a sure sign a
dybbuk
was there. These
dybbuks
are demons or evil spirits that possess people. And when you chase them out, you can tell because there's a small spot of blood on the little toe of the right foot.” He gestured toward Alison's toe. “See. There it is, in exactly the right place!”

Just then a nurse bustled in, angry and officious. “Is he ranting on about her toe again?” She frowned and pulled the sheet up to cover Alison's legs. “That mark is from a tiny fragment of the bullet. The doctor says he's absolutely certain of it, without any doubt. Now all of you have to leave immediately. Look at this poor girl, she's all worn out.”

Chapter 68

They tiptoed past Littlejohn's room, taking care not to look in, as if even making eye contact would have been venomous. Quentin's room was in a different wing of the hospital. When they entered, Dr. Fischer was there and the two men were chatting warmly.

“Two for the price of one,” commented the Chief. “Dr. Fischer, we were planning to come visit you next.”

“They released me this morning. Apparently I did not have a stroke—or post-traumatic stress disorder. Though I have to admit, the sound of gunfire in our building did give me quite a start.”

“Glad you're feeling better,” Chief Black said to Fischer. “Mind sticking around so we can ask you a few questions? In fact, it's probably OK to interview you two together. Either of you gentlemen have any objections?”

“Certainly not.” Quentin was in a cheerful mood. “Manny has been telling me about new treatments for malaria and other infectious diseases. I had no idea the kinds of things they can do these days.”

Bruno and the Chief exchanged surprised looks. They were not prepared for such a love-fest between these two. Too bad they had to interrupt them now, but there were lingering questions that demanded answers.

“We just came from Alison's room,” explained the Chief. “She's in pretty rough shape, but the doctors say she's going to be all right.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Quentin. “I hope she's not going to have too much trouble, legally.”

“It's up to the DA,” said the Chief. “I just had a conversation with her. I think she's starting to understand the seriousness of what she did. She expressed remorse. All of that speaks in her favor.”

“I'm glad to hear it. I feel responsible as well. She and Icky both attended Gardenfield Friends School. I knew them when they were children and I feel a bit proprietary … about all of my former students. I could see that they were struggling and I wanted to help them out.” He sighed deeply. “You know how hostile and uncommunicative young people can be. Instead of confronting them and demanding to know what was going on, I thought providing refuge, a chance to think things over, removed from the fray, would offer the greatest benefit. After Newton had that terrible accident …”

“Accident,
shmaccident
,” Bruno interjected. “Icky was murdered.”

“Yes, exactly,” Quentin agreed. “After
Icky
was
murdered
I didn't know what to think. It seemed Alison had gotten mixed up in something terrible, and she was in over her head. I sent her to live at Bennett DeKalb's place out in Burlington. It's so peaceful there. He has an extra room …”

—“And he could send mail for her from Gardenfield without looking suspicious,” said the Chief.

“I know nothing about that,” Quentin stated defensively. Then he sighed. “I am extremely upset that Alison saw fit to use the meeting house in such an inappropriate way.” He nodded toward Chief Black: “Please, make sure she's punished a little bit for that, just not too much.”

The Chief frowned. “It's out of my hands …”

—Bruno was more sanguine. “If she has a good lawyer, she could get off with community service and a suspended sentence. Or how about this: Quentin could make her write, ‘I will not put dead bodies in the meeting house,' a thousand times with a leaky fountain pen. What do you think, Chief?”

Chief Black studiously ignored him.

Now it was Fischer's turn. “I have a confession as well,” he announced. “I wasn't completely frank when Bruno visited me the other day. You probably want to hear what I know about Jurevicius …”

Bruno was about to offer a rejoinder. But the Chief cut him off. “I'd appreciate that,” he said.

“Serge was a difficult person,
always
,” recalled Fischer. “I've known him more than 15 years. But you come to expect and tolerate that kind of behavior in business—and in medicine. There's so much competition. Brilliant people have big egos. And Serge Jurevicius is a brilliant researcher …”

—“You can skip straight to the bad news,” Chief Black growled.

“Of course.” Fischer was clearly nervous. “When you visited me,” he looked at Bruno apologetically, “the subject of Maria, that's Serge's wife, didn't come up. If it had, I would have told you how dramatically Serge's personality changed after her accident. This was understandable, to some extent. She was struck by an automobile near Place de l'Étoile and left largely incapacitated. Caring for her put quite a burden on him. But it also seemed to affect his attitude toward the business. He became very aggressive in getting his own way. His directors had the controlling stake, so there was little I could do. At least the emphasis on agriculture made sense, from a business perspective. I could rationalize that. But the investment in that grandiose building and the security force did not.”

“What can you tell us about the security detail?”

“Not much. They came from France. They were like his private army. They'd come with him, one or two at a time, every time he came back from Europe. And each time he'd return, his nerves were rubbed raw. He was insulting, angry, violent. I guess it was from seeing his wife …”

Bruno spoke up. “Just before he escaped, I asked him if the first victim, the unknown girl, was his daughter. The way he was abusing Alison made me think of that, I guess. Jurevicius became enraged and said something strange.
He said the girl was his wife
. Does that mean anything to you?”

Dr. Fischer looked disturbed. “What an odd thing to say, even for Serge. That girl was only 9 or 10 years old, wasn't she?”

“That's right. Dr. Cronkite thinks she was 10.”

Dr. Fischer wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to the Chief. “You should probably talk to Rhonda, our receptionist. Here's her address and phone number. “I didn't mention it before,” he reddened perceptibly, “because I thought Serge's personal life was none of anyone's business. But the fact is, he was in a relationship with Rhonda since right after his wife's accident. She was his mistress.”

Chapter 69

Matterhorn Road is a cul-de-sac in one of Berry Hill's more exclusive developments. Most of the houses are large and well built and, thanks to 15 years of growth, the yards look reasonably well established.

Rhonda Vick answered the door immediately when the Chief rang the bell. “What took you so
law
ng to get here?” Her voice resonated deeply in the marble-floored, high-ceilinged foyer. Rhonda was still dressed for business at eight o'clock in the evening. She wore one of her fitted wool suits and was fully made up with every hair in place. Again, Bruno marveled at the pure violet hue of her eyes, possibly the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Rhonda led them to the plush-carpeted living room and, without prompting, began telling her story.

“He terrorized me
fwor
years,” she stated, almost clinically. “Most people think he's so intelligent and urbane, but the man I knew was a
mwon
-ster. I think he was insane, I really do.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” the Chief urged. “Tell us exactly what happened.”

“He never laid a finger
awn
me,” Rhonda explained. “That was part of it. I always had to look perfect. I was the first person anybody met
owhr
talked to at the company. He used to say I was his public face. And he put me up here.” She looked around at the walls. “Pretty nice, huh?”

“So you're saying he bribed you with nice things? With luxury and comfort?”

Rhonda crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. “There was no com
fawght
. He threatened to kill me every day. And I could tell he meant it.” She took a puff.
“Why didn't you come sooner?”

“What do you mean?” asked Chief Black. “How should we have known to come talk to you?”

“I gave him a copy of the annual re
powrt
.” She pointed at Bruno.

“And what were we supposed to conclude from that?”

“That you should come
tawk
to me. He's supposed to be a psychic. I thought he'd know and try to read my mind. I've been
cawn
centrating
awn
what I needed to tell you all this time.”

“And what do you need to tell us?” the Chief persisted.

Rhonda became even more agitated. She was bouncing like a bird on its perch, her hand oscillating back and forth in front of her face. “This is so
hawrd
. I've been repressing this for so long. Even though he's gone, I'm still so afraid.”

Bruno sat next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Would you like me to read your mind now? I can establish a psychic link, so you don't have to say anything out loud.”

Rhonda nodded yes. Her face betrayed extreme anguish and extreme relief.

Bruno took a seat across from her. He held out both hands, palm up. Without having to be told, Rhonda took both of his hands in hers. She closed her eyes and sat with her back extremely straight. Bruno whispered to the Chief to dim the lights.