by Louise Clark
Quinn shifted uneasily. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We weren’t talking about Phoebe being the killer.”
“She is genuinely upset at his death,” Christy said. “It’s her husband who is the murderer.”
“Russell Beck?” Patterson was shaking her head. “The man had an exemplary record in the Forces. He is employed by a top-notch security company that thoroughly screens its personnel. If there was anything to find in Russell Beck’s background, they’d have seen it and he would never have gotten the job.”
“Jarvis asked for him,” Quinn said. The words hung in the quiet that followed.
“Jarvis was doing his network thing again,” Christy said. “Helping his mistress’s husband find success. In the beginning all Russell Beck knew was that his wife worked for Jarvis, so he was fine with Fred’s help. He didn’t know about the affair. But when he found out he was furious. He decided to eliminate Fred.”
“He has an alibi. He was with his wife. They were going to a party.”
“Where?” Christy asked.
“Yaletown.”
“Were they apart at any time?” Quinn asked.
“He let her off at the front entrance to the building where the party was being held while he went to park the car.”
“How long did that take?” Quinn demanded.
“A half an hour. He claimed he had a hard time finding a spot.” Patterson shifted uneasily. “Okay, so it’s not far from the apartment building to Patterson’s office space. But … ” She broke off, realigned her thoughts and said, “It is possible, I suppose. I’ll check it out.”
“And you’ll release Tamara,” Quinn said. “She isn’t your killer.”
“She is until I can prove otherwise,” Patterson said. “Look, Mr. Armstrong, as far as Inspector Fortier is concerned, we are looking for the other members of Dr. Ahern’s cell. The taskforce has its primary suspect. The scenario you and Mrs. Jamieson have presented me is plausible, but you don’t have any proof.”
“Beck was a skilled marksman in the army!” Quinn said.
“Not proof.”
“What about Jarvis’s history of sexual misconduct?” Christy asked.
“You said that Phoebe Beck believes her husband was unaware of her relationship with Jarvis?”
Christy nodded. “Yes.”
“Then you have no evidence Beck targeted his boss. All you’ve got is a hunch. It’s not good enough.”
“You can’t keep Tamara caged for something she didn’t do!”
Christy heard the anguish in Quinn’s voice. Patterson must have heard it too. “Counsel has insisted she have regular medical checks and her doctor reports that Dr. Ahern is dealing with her incarceration with remarkable composure.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Composure? You mean she’s gone inward? Like catatonic?”
“No, she’s simply calm.” Patterson shook her head, then she laughed. “She’s driving Fortier nuts. No matter how often he questions her, she refuses to confess. She continues to assert that she didn’t commit the crime and she says that time will absolve her.”
“She trusts the system,” Christy said.
Patterson shot her a look. “Maybe.”
“Well, I don’t,” Quinn said angrily.
“I’m not surprised.” Patterson glanced at her watch. “All right, Mrs. Jamieson, I’ll check out your leads.” She hesitated, then added, “Don’t expect much, though. The case is pretty much closed.”
She moved around the car, to the driver’s door, and slid inside.
Christy caught Quinn’s hand and squeezed as she watched Patterson drive away. “She may not promise much, but she’s thorough. She’ll check out what we’ve told her.”
Quinn stared at the retreating car as it turned onto the narrow road that exited the park. “That won’t be enough. You heard her. They have their killer.”
Chapter 29
Christy listened to Isabelle Pascoe, the office manager at the Jamieson Trust, as she listed the current holdings of the Trust. Less than two weeks ago, she had been amazed that Harry Endicott had found the Jamieson fortune. Now that the funds were beginning to trickle back into the Trust’s accounts she was in the office to review the Trust’s public persona, its mandate and official goals.
She and Isabelle were deep in the discussion when Bonnie King, who manned the front desk, poked her head in the door and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but … ” She paused. Her eyes were wide and she shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “There’s a policeman in reception.”
Christy had looked up when Bonnie arrived. Now she frowned. “Did he say what he wanted?” She wondered if it was Fortier come to chide her for getting involved in the investigation.
“Her. It’s a woman. She said her name was Detective Patterson.”
Christy sat back in the big, leather covered executive chair. “Detective Patterson and I are old friends.” She looked at Isabelle. “Can we finish up later?” When Isabelle nodded, Christy said to Bonnie, “Send the detective in.”
Bonnie disappeared and Isabelle gathered up her papers. When Bonnie returned with Patterson, Christy stood and came around the desk. “Detective Patterson, this is Isabelle Pascoe, who manages the day-to-day working of the Jamieson Trust. Isabelle, Detective Patterson was the officer in charge of Frank’s murder case.”
“Yes, I remember,” Isabelle said. “A pleasure, Detective,” she said as she slipped past Patterson and through the door. She closed it behind her, ensuring Christy and Patterson had privacy for their conversation.
“Please sit down, Detective,” Christy said. She indicated the conversation area by the window that looked out on the spectacular view of Vancouver’s harbor.
Patterson looked around the office as she settled in one of the comfortable chairs. She had the faintest of smiles on her lips as she said, “I seem to remember that this was Gerry Fisher’s office.”
Christy perched on the end of the leather sofa. She nodded. “It’s the office of the CEO of the Trust, which is now my position.”
Patterson raised her brows and her smile deepened. She took another look around, then got down to business. “I spoke with Colin Jarvis, Leslie Bankes, and her boyfriend, Kevin Howarth. They all confirmed the stories you and Mr. Armstrong told me yesterday. I also dug more deeply into Russell Beck’s background. It turns out he has a history of violence issues stemming from a volatile temper.”
Christy leaned forward. “Does that mean you believe he’s the killer?”
“It means there’s a possibility he could have done it. He had the opportunity, the shooting skill, the personality, and, if he knew about his wife’s affair, the motivation. What I don’t have is proof. I don’t even have enough evidence to request a search warrant to look for the murder weapon in his home or vehicle.”
“What do you need by way of proof?”
“Something concrete. A witness who saw his car in the garage. A tape from a surveillance camera that shows him entering or exiting the garage during the murder timeframe.”
“There were no video cameras in the garage?”
“Not where Jarvis was shot, which suggests that his killer knew the building’s security system and the location of the cameras. That’s a point incriminating Russell Beck, but it’s only circumstantial. The exit and entry cameras show no vehicles coming in or out of the garage during the time in question. Again, this implies the killer knew the security set up and parked outside the garage. However, if the killer was a professional he would have scoped out all the security measures ahead of time and created a plan to deal with them, so that’s no proof.”
Christy tapped her chin. “What about the phone call that drew Jarvis down to the parking garage?”
“Made from an anonymous pay-as-you-go phone.”
“That’s strange,” Christy said, frowning. “Why would Fred Jarvis go down to the parking garage if he received a call from someone he didn’t know?”
�
�The assumption is that the call was from Tamara Ahern and that she asked to meet with him.” Patterson made the statement blandly. Her eyes were watchful. “Since Dr. Ahern is currently using a pay-as-you-go phone, rather than a smart phone with a monthly account, Inspector Fortier believes she and her network had access to a number of completely anonymous cell phones.”
“Her network,” Christy said scornfully. She shot Patterson a sharp glance. “Does Fortier still believe Quinn is part of that network?”
Patterson pursed her lips. She looked, to Christy’s mind, like a woman who had to apologize for something she hadn’t done, and didn’t like it. “I cannot confirm that statement.” She paused and her eyes narrowed a little. “I can’t deny it either.”
Which meant that Quinn was still on Fortier’s suspect list and that he might, at any time, be suddenly hauled in for questioning and who knew what else. Christy drew a deep breath. “Do you think Fortier would consider reexamining Russell Beck’s testimony?”
Patterson shook her head. “Not with the evidence I have now.”
Christy felt a nasty sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What will happen to Tamara?”
“Dr. Ahern will be held without bail until her trial, then her fate will be up to judge and jury.”
“How long will that be?”
Patterson shrugged. “Several months. A year, perhaps more.”
A year was a long time to be held in custody for a crime you didn’t commit. The knowledge that Tamara was again locked in a cell, though this time in a very different situation, would tear Quinn apart.
In these past few months, since they had split in March, Christy had come to realize how much she cared for Quinn. How much she wished she could redo those days after they returned from California.
That’s all the redo was, though—a wish. Even though that look the other day had given her some hope, she knew Quinn was involved with Tamara now and the best she and he could be was friends. And if that was what they were to be to each other, well, friends helped friends.
She looked at Patterson. “What kind of evidence do you need?”
Patterson frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What if Phoebe Beck admitted Russell knew about the affair? That he’d taken way longer than anyone would expect to park? That she suspected Russell of killing Fred? Would that be enough to get a search warrant?”
“It depends how the information was provided. If Phoebe came to me and told me this, yes, I could act on the information. If she told you and you came to me? No, it’s hearsay and not enough.”
“What if I recorded the conversation with her and gave you the recording? Would that work?”
“It might, particularly if we were able to confirm the allegations with substantive evidence.” Patterson hesitated then said, “Look, Mrs. Jamieson, I didn’t come here to convince you to put yourself in danger to acquire proof that Russell Beck is a murderer. I wanted to let you know what I’d found out. That was it.”
“You haven’t asked me to do anything, Detective.” Christy stood up. When Patterson followed suit, she extended her hand. “I’ll be in touch if I have anything further for you. Good day, Detective.”
She thought a lot about that conversation on her commute home from the Trust’s downtown offices. The more she thought, the more strongly she felt that confronting Phoebe with what Russell had done was the only way he would be apprehended and Tamara freed. She ran into a glitch when she floated the idea by Ellen, who thought she was crazy to even consider revealing Russell’s deed to Phoebe. She took the critique seriously, but after an almost sleepless night she was more certain than ever.
Now it was the next morning and she was standing on the sidewalk in front of her townhouse defending herself. “I’m going down to Fred’s campaign office this afternoon. I spoke to the office manager yesterday. He said Phoebe would be there today, finishing up a few details.” She meant to sound determined, but she knew there was an edge of defiance to the statement.
“Not a good idea,” Roy said.
“It’s a bloody stupid idea,” his son muttered.
“Thank you very much,” Christy said. She lifted her chin in a disdainful way and added a disapproving sniff to her tone.
Quinn simply raised his brows and said, “You don’t have a plan, Christy, you have an idea, and it’s a bad one.”
“It is not!” She looked around at the assembled group. They were waiting for her when she returned home from dropping Noelle for her second to last day of school. “Russell Beck is the murderer, but Patterson can’t touch him unless she’s got evidence. My plan,” she emphasized the word, “is to push Phoebe into believing Russell is dangerous.”
“Exactly,” Ellen said. She was the one who had organized this intervention. She was of the opinion that there had to be another way, a better way, to bring Russell Beck down.
But there wasn’t. Christy was sure of it. “Look, school ends tomorrow with a special assembly for the kids. Parents are invited to attend, and I want to go. That means I need to clean this up today. This afternoon.”
Trevor McCullagh’s car drove down the road and parked in front of the Armstrong’s driveway. Trevor and Sledge piled out. “I got here as quickly as I could,” Trevor said. “What’s up?”
“Christy wants to confront Phoebe Beck in the hopes of acquiring enough evidence against Russell Beck to prove to Patterson that he’s the killer,” Ellen said.
Trevor’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “Russell Beck is ex-military, isn’t he?”
They all nodded.
“Dangerous man,” Trevor said. He shook his head. “What if Phoebe is in on it?”
“I don’t believe that’s possible. She’s genuinely distraught about Fred’s death,” Christy said.
“She could be a good actress,” Roy offered. His eyes had the wild, glittery look that suggested he’d been in the midst of one of his creative binges before the intervention call came. He’d probably been up all night, lost in a world of his own creation. “Maybe Fred was about to dump her, so she and Russell conspired together to get their revenge. She, because she’d been tossed aside. Russell, because Fred had cuckolded him. She told him where Fred would be and organized an alibi by going to the party. He called Fred, arranged to meet him in the garage, and shot him. Then he joined Phoebe at the party and explained his tardy arrival by saying he had trouble finding parking.”
“That’s probably what happened,” Christy said.
Roy brightened. “Really?” He sounded pleased.
“Yes. Except that Phoebe didn’t plot revenge with Russell. He planned it all. He took her to the party, dropped her and said he’d find a place to park and he’d meet her at the party. He then called Fred, arranged to meet him in the garage, then shot him. Phoebe is innocent.” Christy glanced at each of them. Trevor still looked worried. Beside him, Sledge was half sitting on the edge of the flower box at the end of the walk, relaxed, but watchful. Ellen was standing on the porch stairs glaring at her. Stormy the Cat sat beside her, observing, though Frank was saying nothing. Roy and Quinn stood on the sidewalk, between their house and hers, watching. Quinn’s expression was disapproving. Roy’s was interested as he observed the scene.
“I can make Phoebe talk,” Christy said, quietly, for emphasis. “I’m sure of it.”
“To what end?” Trevor said. “Unless Phoebe goes to the cops herself, Patterson can’t use her information.”
“Phoebe loved Fred and I think she’s afraid of Russell. If I can make her see that Russell is the killer, I think she will go to Patterson.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Quinn said.
Christy put her hands on her hips. “What’s so dangerous about going to an office and talking to someone? I’ll be fine.”
“You’re probably right,” Roy said. His son glared at him and he shrugged. “What? Are we supposed to gang up on Christy when all she’s doing is speaking the truth?” He turned away from Quinn to smile at Christy. “You�
�re a smart, capable woman and more than able to handle yourself with this Phoebe person.”
Christy smiled back gratefully. “Thank you, Roy.”
Roy held up a forefinger. “Not finished yet. I’ve got a but in there. Quinn’s right. Going in on your own is dangerous. You need backup.”
“I’ll go,” Quinn said. His voice was rough with suppressed emotion. He looked Christy in the eye, his expression daring her to refuse his help.
Which she had no intention of doing. “Thank you, Quinn. I’d like to leave about twelve-thirty, so I can get there by about one. Can you be ready then?”
Quinn nodded.
Trevor said, “Wait.”
They all looked at him.
“Quinn can’t be Christy’s back up. Didn’t Patterson say that Fortier still suspects him of being part of Tamara’s network?”
Christy nodded.
Trevor shrugged. “If Quinn is involved, anything that comes out of the interview could be seen as tainted, coerced even. Someone else has to be backup.”
An exchange of looks passed amongst the men. Christy gritted her teeth. “You guys are being ridiculous. If it’s inadvisable for Quinn to come, I’ll take Stormy. Phoebe can hear Frank and she associates the cat with Fred’s funeral. His presence will help make her talk.”
Not enough, babe. Stormy hopped down the porch steps to twine around Christy’s ankles. I’ll go and I’ll help, but you need human back up.
“Looks like the job’s mine,” Sledge said. He remained half sitting on the edge of the planter, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. The sun glinted down on his shaggy, perfectly styled hair and he smiled a lazy, got-it-under-control smile.