Thicker Than Water

by P J Parrish

  “I told you,” Scott said. “I told you that you don’t talk, you don’t admit anything. I told you, it’s just a problem, something to be fixed.”

  Scott turned from his brother and crossed to his father’s headstone.

  “You’re not going to be able to handle this problem, Scott,” Louis said.

  Scott looked at him. “I can handle it.”

  “I know what you did to Kitty,” Louis said.

  Scott pointed a finger at Louis. “You don’t know shit. And neither will anyone else.”

  “You killed two girls, Scott. How do you expect to walk away from that?”

  Scott walked behind the headstone, looking down. “Do you remember what you signed the day after I hired you?”

  “That confidentiality agreement doesn’t include you, asshole. Only your clients.”

  Scott looked over at his brother. “Brian, poor bastard that he is, is a client. You knew he was my client before he allegedly confessed to you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I am his client,” Scott said. “Privilege belongs to the client and I’m not waiving mine. And I’m sure when he thinks about it, neither will Brian. And since I never fired you, our agreement is still in place.”

  Louis took a quick step toward him. “Fuck your privilege!”

  Scott’s face was emerging in the light and it was near a smile. “Okay, let’s do that. How about hearsay? That’s always a good one. Or I could argue you were acting as an agent of the sheriff’s office and you had no right to talk to my client outside of my presence.”

  “I’m not a cop!”

  “You sure looked like one tearing my cabana apart.”

  Louis glared at him. Scott’s face relaxed and now the smile emerged.

  “I have one more argument too,” Scott said. “But I think I’ll wait to see if it pans out.”

  “Argue your ass off if you want, I’ll tell my story anyway.”

  “And you know how you’ll come across? Like the lovesick dick you are, obsessed with a dead girl.”

  Louis took another step toward Scott, and Scott backed up quickly, but the smirk never left his face.

  “Self-control is an admirable trait,” Scott said.

  Louis drew in a breath, pointing at Brian. “How much self-control does he have? What makes you think he won’t break down again and tell a jury the same story he told me?”

  Scott glanced at Brian. “Because he knows what I did for him. He knows that I’m the one who got him through law school. I’m the one who made him a lawyer. I’m the one who was always there to clean up his mess. He’s my brother and he owes me.”

  Louis looked back at Brian. He looked like a beaten animal, sitting with his hands between his knees, head down.

  “Blood is thicker than water,” Scott said.

  Louis looked at the grass, his jaw was clenched tighter than his fist. The only thing that kept him from killing Scott was the thought that some way, some how, Brian’s confession could still be used.

  “Besides,” Scott added, running his hand along the rough edge of the marble headstone. “Brian wouldn’t want to disappoint Dad. Would you Brian?”

  Brian’s head shot up.

  “You made a promise to Dad that night,” Scott said. “You remember? After Duvall left and Dad came up to your room? You remember what he said to you?”

  Brian’s eyes teared up again.

  “He told you that you could never screw up again. He told you he had made a deal to save your ass. You remember, Brian?” Scott said.

  Brian didn’t move.

  “Do you remember?”

  Brian nodded slowly.

  “And you promised him you wouldn’t. You promised him you would try harder.”

  Louis’s muscles were so tense they burned.

  “I did try,” Brian whispered.

  “You failed!” Scott yelled. “You failed Dad and you failed me.”

  Brian started rubbing his hands back and forth across his knees.

  “But you can still make things right, Brian.”

  Louis faced Scott. “You sonofabitch. You’re going to ask him to plead, aren’t you?”

  “It keeps him off the witness stand,” Scott said, leaning against the headstone.

  The graveyard fell silent. Louis couldn’t move, his eyes locked on Brian, who was just sitting there, just sitting there, ready to take the blame for everything again. What kind of man was he?

  Scott suddenly laughed.

  Louis turned to look at him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Scott said. “I just realized something. Do either of you see the irony of all this?”

  “Scott, stop,” Brian said. “Just stop.”

  Scott rose off the headstone. “No, listen. Let’s say, twenty years ago, I have sex with the daughter of a cop. When she cries rape, I get angry and kill her with a kitchen knife. Her father is then assigned to handle the case of the next stupid bitch I rape and kill. But he’s too pissed at his dead daughter to do a decent job.” Scott paused. “That is how you explained it, right Louis?”

  Louis didn’t move. He couldn’t believe this. Scott was telling him everything.

  Scott gave a small smile and went on.

  “Wait. It gets better. An innocent asshole is convicted and twenty years later, he hires me, the killer, to help him prove his innocence and sue the state so we can both get a lot of money.”

  Scott spread his hands, looking at Louis. “Surely you can appreciate the irony?”

  Brian was staring at his brother in disbelief.

  “You talk too much, Scott,” Louis said slowly. “Brian may be protected by privilege, but you’re not.”

  Scott laughed again. “Jesus Christ, Louis. Don’t you see? I can tell you whatever I want. No one will believe you.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  Scott shook his head slowly. “You are outclassed here, Louis, outclassed and outsmarted.”

  “Fuck you, Scott,” Louis snapped.

  He spun away, drawing on every ounce of strength he had. He started walking.

  “Louis! Where you going?” Scott called out.

  “To the sheriff’s office.”

  “To do what? We’ll deny everything. We were never here and we never talked to you.”

  Louis spun back. “I’ll kill you before I let you get away with this!” he shouted.

  Scott laughed, coming toward him. “Jesus, Louis, I think you’re more hung up on her than Brian was.”

  Louis turned away. Don’t do it . . . keep walking . . . don’t do it.

  Scott came up behind him. “Let it go, Louis,” he said softly. “She wasn’t all that good.”

  Louis spun and hit him, hard and quick. Scott stumbled backward, but Louis came at him again, taking another swing and connecting solidly against Scott’s jaw.

  Scott stumbled again, grabbing onto a headstone to keep his balance. He wiped his lip, looking back at Louis.

  “Feel better now?” Scott asked.

  Louis hit him again, sending Scott toppling over a stone bench. Scott sat on the grass, looking down at the blood on his hand.

  “Get up!” Louis shouted.

  Scott didn’t move and Louis stepped forward, dragging him to his feet by his lapels. Louis slugged Scott again, but before he could fall, Louis grabbed his suit coat to keep him upright.

  When he was steady, Louis hit him again, then again, each punch driving him backward over a small rise in the grass. Louis could hear someone yelling in the background—Brian, yelling Scott’s name.

  Scott threw up his hands, choking, his face smeared with his own blood.

  “Enough . . . enough,” Scott gasped.

  “It’s nowhere near enough!”

  Louis stepped into another punch, this time knocking Scott to the grass, where he sat huddled, his bloody hand on his mouth. Behind him Louis could see the backhoe that sat near Kitty’s open grave.

  He looked back at Scott. “Get the fuck up.”

&nbs
p; Scott shook his head, holding up a hand.

  Louis grabbed Scott’s coat and started dragging him toward the open grave. Scott fought to twist loose, cursing as he tried to untangle himself from his suit coat.

  “You’re going in the ground, you sonofabitch,” Louis said, jerking him toward the grave.

  Brian was following slowly, his mouth moving, but Louis couldn’t hear him.

  Scott saw the open grave and for the first time, his face registered fear. He began to struggle harder to get out of Louis’s grip.

  Louis dragged him closer. Scott was screaming now, and Brian’s voice was somewhere in the background.

  At the lip of the grave, Louis stopped. He pushed Scott’s face into the dirt, then picked him up by the back of his coat. He held his face over the gaping black hole.

  “You ready, motherfucker?” Louis said.

  Scott spat out a mouthful of dirt. “Stop! Stop!” he screamed. He twisted frantically, wrestling himself out of his coat and Louis’s grasp. Louis let him go. Scott scrambled away on his knees, backing up against the backhoe. He sat there, heaving, wiping his dirty face.

  Louis still had the coat in his hand. He threw it to the ground. A flash of red caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the paper that had fallen out of the coat. It was an Air France ticket envelope.

  Louis looked over at Scott. “You sorry sonofabitch,” he said quietly. “You were going to fucking run.”

  Scott was crumpled against the backhoe, his white shirt streaked with red. He lowered his hand from his mouth and squinted up at Louis.

  “You were going to run out on your own brother,” Louis said tightly.

  “Fuck you,” Scott said, coughing on his blood. “Fuck you and him and that girl.”

  Louis saw Brian out of the corner of his eye, staring at his brother. He threw the ticket at Scott. Scott flinched but did not get up.

  “Her name was Kitty,” Louis said. He turned and walked away.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Louis examined the knuckles of his right hand. The skin was broken and something hurt, like he had cracked a bone. He glanced up at the wall clock. It was after one; he had been here since seven this morning.

  After leaving the cemetery, he had gone right to Mobley. He told him what Brian and Scott had said, but not what happened afterward. Mobely had looked long and hard at Louis’s swollen hand but had not asked the obvious questions. Then Mobley had called Scott, asking him to come in for questioning. Scott had come willingly, bringing Brian. They had been in the interrogation room for more than an hour now.

  A door opened and Louis looked up as Mobley came out. He saw Louis sitting there and came over.

  “You look like hell,” Mobley said.

  Louis realized Mobley had the same beaten look he had the last time Louis had seen him at O’Sullivan’s. Something hadn’t gone right in that room.

  Mobley sank down onto the bench next to him. “They’ve denied everything,” he said. “Scott says they were at the cemetery mourning their poor dead father and you just appeared and started harassing them.”

  “Did he tell you the rest?”

  “No. Why don’t you give it a shot?”

  Louis drew in a deep breath. “I tried to walk away, but Scott kept talking. He laughed about her. He said it was ironic that he was hired as Cade’s lawyer. Ironic, for chrissake.”

  “So you beat the shit out of him.”

  Louis nodded, flexing his hand. “I lost it. And he just stood there while I beat the crap out of him. Just stood there with that fucking smile on his face like he wanted me to keep hitting him.”

  “He did.”

  Louis started to ask Mobley what he meant, but suddenly it hit him. Scott knew exactly what he was doing; it had been part of his game strategy. He knew that if Louis attacked him, Louis would lose all credibility and any testimony that might get admitted wouldn’t be believed. That why he was so willing to show up at the station; he wanted everyone to see his face.

  Louis leaned his head back against the wall.

  “If you push this so-called confession,” Mobley said, “I get the feeling he’ll counter with assault charges. And we’re not talking thirty days here, Louis.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll tell it to anyone who will listen.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to do you any good.”

  Louis stared at the closed door to the interrogation room. “So Scott was right? It’s all privileged?”

  Mobley shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but between the privilege, hearsay and coercion issues, I do know we got one big fucking legal cesspool that will take years to clean up.”

  Louis sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor.

  “It gets worse,” Mobley said. “They’ve hired a big time lawyer from Miami who’s already on his way here to file a motion to try Brian as a juvenile. Sandusky says we’ve got to go by the 1966 laws, and it was general practice back then to try kids as kids. If they do that, Brian will walk away completely because he’s already over the maximum age you can punish juveniles for.”

  Mobley hesitated, watching Louis. “And without Brian facing charges, we got no leverage to ever turn him against Scott.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “And even if the juvenile thing doesn’t work, Scott’s claiming everything we found in the search is inadmissable because the warrants were based on information you gave us—”

  “And that makes it privileged,” Louis said.

  Mobley nodded. “And without the warrants, we can’t even use Brian’s statement.”

  “That’s fucking crazy. There’s no way a lawyer can claim privilege when one of his employees discovers he’s committed a crime.”

  Mobley sighed heavily. “I don’t know about that, but I do know this case is going down the toilet real quick. Even if we could use the evidence, what else do we got?”

  Louis didn’t answer. He knew what was coming.

  “Hell, we got a shaky statement by Brian that some lawyer will get thrown out because we didn’t Mirandize him when he showed up or some shit like that,” Mobley went on. “And we have no way to put Scott at the house when either girl disappeared.”

  “We can look deeper,” Louis said. “We can find witnesses, housekeepers—”

  “All the housekeepers were illegals. Long gone, Louis.”

  “What about the cabana itself. Prints, blood—”

  “We got some preliminaries on the cabana and we’re still looking, but the drywall was clean. Not a single print. Nothing on the wood behind it or on Lou Ann.”

  Louis felt suddenly very tired.

  “What about college friends?” Louis asked.

  “Can you remember which holidays your college friends went home and when they didn’t?” Mobley said.

  “Okay, then, what about Brian’s red Corvette? People keep cars like that. It still might be around, there would have to be blood in the trunk somewhere.”

  “We checked. He wrecked it in sixty-eight. It was scrapped.”

  Louis rubbed his face, and spoke softly. “Maybe Scott told someone else over the years.”

  “He didn’t and you know it,” Mobley said. He let a few seconds go by. “He’s probably going to walk, Louis. I’m sorry.”

  The hallway fell quiet. Louis stared at the floor, the pit of anger in his stomach now an ache that he was dangerously close to getting used to. He knew he needed to let her go. But not yet. “Lance, Scott is a killer.”

  “I know that, Louis,” Mobley said, exhaustion in his voice. “But what do you want me to do? There’s nothing to even hold him on until we finish processing the cabana.”

  “He’s got a plane ticket to France in his pocket,” Louis said.

  “Fuck,” Mobley muttered.

  A deputy came up. “Sheriff, Detective Jensen said to give this to you asap.”

  Louis watched as Mobley thanked the deputy, then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He could hear v
oices behind the interrogation room door, voices that sounded almost like laughter, but he knew his head was playing tricks now, that it was probably only his own anger he was hearing, something he knew he was going to hear for a long time.

  “I’ll be a motherfucker.”

  Louis looked over at Mobley.

  Mobley was reading something in the file the deputy had given him.

  “What?” Louis asked.

  “Remember all those prints I told you we took out of Duvall’s office?” Mobley said. “Guess whose name showed up? Our boy Scotty.”

  “He’s a lawyer, Lance. He must have been in that office at some time.”

  “Yeah, but no one can ever remember seeing him there. Not even that old bag Ellie. Jensen double checked.”

  Mobley was reading something else.

  “And we’ve got a phone call from Duvall to Scott’s direct line in the Brenner law office that afternoon, just after Cade left.”

  Louis waited, while Mobley read more.

  “And get this . . . that old trial Redweld that we thought was taken by Duvall’s killer? Guess where we found it?”

  “Scott’s office?”

  “Yup, in a search we did this morning of Scott’s office. Scott’s prints are all over it and on damn near every paper inside it,” Mobley said. “Plus, that AB-negative report you were looking for was found in his desk drawer.”

  Mobley was grinning.

  “What else?” Louis asked.

  “Our homeless witness, Quince? He was shown a photo line-up this morning. He identified Scott as someone he saw going into Duvall’s building just before nine P.M. Said he remembered him because Scott gave him a buck.”

  Louis was dumbfounded. “How’d you get all that together?”

  Mobley closed the folder. “After I left you at O’Sullivan’s, I got to thinking. So I asked Jensen to poke around, see if he could connect Brian to Duvall’s murder. We got Scott instead.”

  “They can’t suppress that, can they?” Louis asked.

  “Not a chance. This was information we had all along, none of it came from you.”

  Louis looked up at him, knowing that wasn’t entirely true.

  “At least that’s how I remember it,” Mobley added.

  “Did you find the Tokarev?”

  Mobley shook his head. “We’re still looking. When they sold off the gun collection after the senator died, the old guns got scattered across the country through antique dealers. It would be nice, but we don’t need it. We know Charles Brenner had a collection, we can put Scott in Duvall’s office and we know he had motive to protect his brother.”