“Hey, I’m not the only person who travels. Most people travel. Carl! Carl even does some of the same shows I do. I’m sure most college kids around here travel, too. And I didn’t do anything. And you have nothing on me. I’m walking out of here.”
“Yes. You can go right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You mean I can just stand up and walk out—and I can go to work unembarrassed because the information out there was that I was trying to help the police?”
“Yes.”
“Cool.” Matt stood slowly, as if waiting for Jon to tell him it was a lie.
Jon stood as well, and Matt looked at him suspiciously.
“Matt, no one is going to jump you. You’re free to leave.”
Matt nodded and walked to the door of the interrogation room, opened it slowly, looked back, and walked out.
Jon started to shuffle through his notes. The door opened. Matt was back.
Jon looked at him questioningly.
“Nope. There’s a brutal killer out there—a guy running around with a knife who’s proven he can use it. And you think that Michael Westerly is involved—”
“I never said that to you,” Jon interrupted.
“But you think he may have a partner,” Matt went on. “You’ve told people I was helping the police, like maybe I know something. If I go out there, I’m liable to get a knife in my back!”
“This killer has never gone after a man,” Jon said.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Matt seemed sincerely frightened. “Look, I don’t think I’m a complete squawking chicken, but I’m not the bravest guy on the block, either. Hell yes, right now I’m scared.”
“You want a police escort?”
“I can have a police escort?” Matt asked hopefully. “I need to go home and shower and then get to the bar. The actor thing only pays when I have an acting gig. I’m surviving by bartending, and I need to show up for work tonight. But I’m in a really bad position—you kept it from going around town that I was suspected of committing a heinous murder. But to the murderer, me ‘helping’ the police has to incite some not very happy feelings. Can you do something for me? I mean, who knows, maybe I’ll realize something. You know, remember something from the bar, from seeing people around town... Maybe, in the end, I could help.”
“I think I can get you a police escort,” Jon said. “Let me check on that. I can also call on some of our people out of Boston.” He paused. It was difficult to think that this man could have been guilty of murder. He’d learned, however, that the friendliest face could mask a heart filled with hatred and evil.
If Matt was innocent, would he be seeking protection? Just how good of an actor was Matt Hudson? One way or the other, having him watched would be a good thing, Jon decided. It would keep him in line, and if he did need protection... He was almost like bait.
Jon lifted a hand. “If you want someone watching over you, give me a minute.”
He stepped out to talk to Ben and find out if the department could afford to put another officer on protection duty. They made arrangements for Matt to be covered.
Then his phone rang. It was Rocky. Jimmy Marino was conscious—and talking.
Jon spun on his heel and immediately left the police station so he could hurry to the hospital.
When he arrived, he nodded to the cop in the hall—a young man who was alert and stood when Jon approached—but who had been playing phone games, bored with a guard duty that didn’t seem to require any real action.
Rocky came out into the hall just as Jon showed the young cop his credentials.
“He’s up and talking,” Rocky said. “And doesn’t mind starting all over again. He was surprised to wake up and find more than just his sons in the room with him, but an FBI agent and friends, too. But he was quick to be grateful. Said he’s only surprised because what he had to tell the police didn’t seem worthy of a murder attempt on him. He’s damned glad we’re around.”
“Does he know what happened to him?” Jon asked.
“He remembers leaving the restaurant to drive home. And then staggering pain—and nothing from there. Go on in. Devin and I will get some coffee. The hospital staff and the doctor are being very accommodating, but I don’t want to push it with too many people in the room. His sons are down in the cafeteria. We’ll keep them down there for a bit.”
“Thanks,” Jon said.
As Devin came out to join Rocky, she caught Jon’s arm, looking at him gravely. “Everything corroborates what Kylie...experienced,” she said.
“What’s your plan from here?” Rocky asked him. “Anything on Matt Hudson?”
“I can’t help but believe the guy. And I’m the one who suspected and tackled him,” Jon said. “My instincts are usually good, but I don’t discount anything. He asked for protection. Detective Miller had no problem providing it. Here’s the thing—and it’s not a bad thought on Matt’s part. He’s grateful that the story went around that he was helping the cops and not that he was a suspect. But if that’s the word on the street, he could be in as much danger as anyone else. Anyway, I was thinking of hanging out at the Cauldron for a while. I’m not sure what we’ll find there—”
“But a matchbox advertising the place was found near one of the previous victims,” Rocky said.
“Right. And while I don’t know how often Westerly is in there, we know that Matt will be bartending and Carl Fisher—someone else who has curiously traveled to the murder destinations—hangs out there doing what he can to gather clientele,” Jon said. “It’s a local hot spot. With no better plans for the night, I thought I’d see what I could see. Have dinner. Watch if anyone is watching Matt.”
“It’s so frustrating that no one has anything solid on Westerly,” Devin said. “Except that now there are a couple of people who would testify that he might have been the man having an affair with Annie. That wouldn’t prove murder.”
“No,” Jon said softly. “But it could ruin a political career.”
“Exactly,” Rocky said seriously. “All right, go talk to Jimmy. If Westerly did manage to do this to him, the man is afraid—and very dangerous.”
Jon went in to the hospital room. Kylie was seated on one side of the bed in the large hospital chair that could be turned into a sleeper.
Marla was on the bed at Jimmy’s side, avoiding the IV and heart monitor lines. She hopped up when Jon entered and hurried over to give him an unabashed hug.
“This is him, Jimmy—the man who was right there for you!” she said.
“Thank you, thank you,” Jimmy told him. “And you ask me anything.” He was sitting up in his hospital bed and looked damned good for someone who had gone through a heart attack and a car accident to boot.
Jon glanced over at Kylie; she was looking at him expectantly. He offered her a quick smile and gave his attention back to Jimmy for the moment. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“Thankfully, I’m doing fine,” Jimmy said. “I woke up to all these fine folks around me. Grateful that Marla was okay and that you people—especially this young lady,” Jimmy said, pausing to smile at Kylie, “made such an effort to keep Marla safe and bring her to me. I’ll admit, too, that I’m feeling wicked angry. I mean, I’m no fool. I take my health seriously. There was no reason for what happened to me.
“Don’t let him get started,” Marla said. “This guy didn’t slowly blink and come to. He opened his eyes and wanted to get out of bed right away. His sons managed to keep him in it, and his nurse and then his doctor arrived to explain his injuries and that they were monitoring his heart.”
“I understand all that,” Jimmy said testily. “I’ll be careful. I’m in the bed, right? I listened to the doc. I know my ribs are fractured and they need to monitor my ticker. But I want to talk. This is important. And here’s the thing—I’
m naturally suspicious of politicians. I admit, I don’t tend to like them. Maybe they can’t help it, maybe lying is part of the game. But with this Westerly, it goes beyond that. There something behind that smile. Something wicked evil.”
“Politicians tend to be...politicians,” Kylie murmured.
“Didn’t vote for the fellow. Oh, he’s articulate, he talks a good talk,” Jimmy said. “Everything about him is smooth, like he’s playing a role all the time. He’s well-spoken, and I bet people don’t realize that most of the time it’s double-talk. Of course, this means nothing. I mean, I can testify in court that I didn’t like the way he looked at a woman—a sweet, giving young woman who’s now dead. But I sincerely believe she’s dead by his hand.”
“I saw the way he looked at her, too,” Marla said passionately. “Something was going on. On one hand, it was the look of longing. Lust, maybe. Then his wife was there—and I think there was a look of fear. Like he was worried about getting caught. I saw it all, too.”
“Right,” Jimmy said. “But it wouldn’t prove anything against him.” He paused, letting out a breath. He looked at Jon. “I do understand that you saved my life. For that, sir, I thank you sincerely. I’m pushing seventy and I’ve lost a lot. But I have wonderful sons and an amazing friend here... Marla makes these years very precious to me. And I know that this lovely young lady—” he nodded toward Kylie “—was her salvation. I would do anything to help you. I just don’t know how I can.”
“All our lives are precious, sir, as long as we have breath in us,” Jon said. “And I appreciate your words. I’m not really the one who saved your life—doctors did that. I had the sense not to break your neck while getting you extracted from the car. You’ve been helpful. Anything you can tell me just may be the thing that gives us a direction to go in, Mr. Marino.”
“Jimmy, please, call me Jimmy,” Marino said. “Who has a name like Jimmy, and doesn’t have people use it, huh?”
Jon smiled. “Okay—Jimmy. What we need to know is where you were before the accident that evening. There were high levels of salt and another chemical in your system. Could be natural, but that ‘could be’ isn’t really probable. We believe someone may have tried to bring on your heart attack. I doubt they could have planned exactly when you’d have a heart attack and strike the hotel, but a heart attack while driving would certainly add to the possibility that it might kill you.”
Jimmy nodded. He looked at Marla and squeezed her hand. “We were together until about noon. My lady was heading down to see her daughter. I was on my own. I puttered around the house a bit, and then headed to the Cauldron. There were tons of people there. I met up with a few fellows from my Masonic lodge. We were just talking, rehashing the good old days, Halloween nights with Wiccan friends, spooky old houses we put together ourselves for charity...” He took a breath, looking around the room. He shrugged.
“Do you remember specifically who was there that night?” Jon prompted.
Jimmy thought about it. “Matt and Cindy were working the bar, as usual. That tour guide, Carl Fisher, was in there—but he’s always trolling for customers. Not that he’s the only tour guide who does that. I just know and like him, so I noticed he was there.” He glanced at Marla. She smiled encouragingly at him.
“But tell them... Westerly’s wife was there, too,” Marla said.
Jimmy nodded. “She and several women from one of her clubs had a little section in the back, next to the stained-glass windows that look out to the street. But she’s way too high and mighty to socialize with the likes of us.” He let out a sniffing sound. “We look like a pack of battered old dogs. Guess she wouldn’t realize that Will Norman is an old computer genius, worth really big bucks. Or that Sammy Tyson writes one of the most influential political blogs out there.”
“She’s not a nice woman,” Marla said. “Sandra Wasserman Westerly is her name. Her family comes from the right part of Rhode Island, if you know what I mean. She has a great political smile. On TV and at speeches and rallies, she looks like the nicest sweetest woman in the world. Except no equal rights for that woman, she’s just her old man’s big-time support, perfect little wife. If she kissed my baby, I’d halfway scrub the poor little tyke’s skin away.”
Jimmy grinned. “I like my women feisty,” he said, looking tenderly at Marla.
Marla shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a terrible human being. It’s just that, well, I think that woman uses her husband as a stepping stone. She likes being elite. I think he could do anything at all, and so long as it didn’t interfere with her garden clubs or balls or ability to hobnob with the elegant people, she wouldn’t care in the least. She’d defend him to the end.”
Jon had to admit, it was natural to wonder if a wife was lying when she gave an alibi for her husband.
“Tomorrow, he has a speaking engagement in Boston,” he said. “They’ll both be away from Salem. I’m afraid we can’t let down on our guard, though, just in case others are involved.”
“We’ll stay vigilant,” Kylie said.
He smiled. Kylie had been so reluctant at first to believe any of it, or to be involved at all. Now, she was passionate and indignant, determined to have justice.
“Whatever caused this all to come about, I believe that someone thinks you know more than you really do,” Jon told Jimmy, “not that you merely suspect Westerly is dangerous. I think that someone might have overheard you the night you were speaking with Marla. They might have planned to take advantage the next time you were out on your own.”
“You have no evidence,” Jimmy said, sadly shaking his head.
“Not yet. But if Westerly did something to you or had someone else act on his behalf, then he’s nervous. For now, do what the doctors say and do your best to relax,” Jon told him.
“You know, the cop outside is a nice kid, but...” Jimmy began softly.
“Rocky—Special Agent Craig Rockwell—and Devin will be here, too. You’ll be safe,” Jon assured him.
“What happens when I have to leave?”
“That won’t be for a bit,” Jon said.
“What are you going to do?” Jimmy asked.
“Find the truth—and a way to prove it.”
Thirteen
Matt seemed to bear Kylie no ill will.
She and Jon were in seats at the Cauldron’s bar while waiting for a table. Matt paused in front of Kylie, offering her a rueful smile. Jon was chatting with someone seated on his other side.
“So, you seem to be really friendly with the FBI guy, huh?” Matt asked her. “Maybe I’ll get you both back to the Old Burying Point to show you the stone I was going to. I swear, Kylie, I meant you no ill will in any way, shape, or form.”
She offered him a sincere smile. “I believe you. I’m sorry you spent a night in jail.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad, really. A lot of people around here are suddenly impressed with me. If the cops think I’m worthy, so do they!”
“Well, if anything good comes out of it, I’m glad,” Kylie said.
Jon turned back to them.
Matt lifted his hands. “I’m innocent!”
Jon nodded. His smile was tight, but apparently, whatever he and Matt had shared, things were all right with them now.
“The guy closest to the tables at that end of the bar is my cop bodyguard,” Matt said. “Nice guy, I like him. Midtwenties but looks like a wrestler.”
“Good. So, you feel safe?” Jon asked him.
“He instills confidence, for sure. Excuse me—customer heading this way.” Matt moved on.
“What are we looking for?” Kylie whispered.
“I’m not sure. Actually... I think maybe I am,” Jon said softly.
“Oh?”
“The ‘garden club’ has arrived. Be nonchalant, but the perfectly dressed woman over there with the perfectly bru
shed hair is Sandra Westerly.”
“Oh?” She started to turn to look.
“Hey! Don’t be obvious.”
“Sorry! I guess Westerly hasn’t left for Boston yet. Or she isn’t going with him.”
“We’re not that far from Boston. He could easily plan on leaving early in the morning.”
“The ladies’ room is right next to her. I think I’ll wash my hands... You never know what germs you might pick up in a hospital.” She stood and pretended to laugh casually at something he said. As she headed to the ladies’ room, she allowed herself a good look at the woman in question.
Sandra was about her husband’s age, an attractive woman, tall and slim. Her clothing was modest but excellently tailored, a skirt suit with a brocade vest and white tailored blouse. She had stopped at a table with two couples to offer them generous smiles and chat while she waved the friends who had arrived with her on to follow the hostess—they evidently had reserved tables toward the back of the restaurant.
Kylie went into the ladies’ room, a place decked out with murals of various movie witches and sinks that resembled cauldrons.
She was washing her hands when Sandra came in behind her. Kylie pretended not to notice her, but as she glanced up into the mirror over the sink, it was impossible not to realize that the woman was staring at her.
“You’re a witch,” Sandra stated softly. “It’s you—I know it’s you. There are rumors going all around about my husband, and they are your fault. People talk, you know. You were here, and his picture came on the television and you made it seem as if you were terrified. As if he was some kind of a monster. Anyone who thinks my husband is guilty thinks so because of you! Witch. Bitch. What was it, your pathetic way of garnering attention?”
Sandra kept her distance, almost as if she was afraid she might fly at Kylie with claws bared if she came too close.
Kylie wasn’t afraid of her—not that she was any kind of a fighter. But they were in a busy, public place. The door might open at any minute. And though she might not have taken any karate lessons, she was probably stronger than Sandra.
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