by Susan Calder
Paula shoved away her mug. Was that sugar in her coffee or had he sweetened it with something else? She picked up Hayden’s music box.
“I think he told me all that as a threat: if we pursue this, you and I will be bumped off by a medicine that won’t be taken as murder.”
“You think Kenneth would do this?”
“Or Anne. Whoever was Callie’s and Felix’s killer. He or she has a huge motive now to keep the old crime quiet.”
“Anne has access to her husband’s heart and diabetes medication.”
“So does Kenneth. He’s Anne’s husband’s best friend and could easily help himself to something from his medicine cabinet.” Hayden glanced at his office door. “The buzz from my colleagues in criminal law is the cops don’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone for Callie’s murder; they need a confession, which they aren’t going to get from Kenneth or Anne. Both are logical, strong, and cool. Why would they confess, when any half-baked lawyer could prove the other one had motive and opportunity for the crime? All the lawyer needs is a reasonable doubt.”
“Shouldn’t the cops at least try?” A mechanical sound startled her. She had absently turned the music box key. The instrumental played “What a Wonderful World.”
“I gave Kenneth my word,” Hayden said. “We shook hands. In hindsight, I probably should have walked away and gone to the cops. Kenneth’s a shrewd negotiator.”
“Is a handshake legally binding?”
“I trust Kenneth if he’s on my side, but wouldn’t want to be the person who betrayed him. He hinted, if I did, he and Anne would say I assisted with the body disposal. Who’s left to argue with that?” His voice was hoarse, his sweaty hair stuck up in spikes.
“You have no alibi for Callie’s murder.” She returned the music box to his desk. “You were here working alone that morning.”
“A good lawyer might imply I hooked up with you to keep tabs on Callie.”
She stroked the coffee mug handle.
“I knew Callie had phoned you that week. If I was in the loop, I would have guessed the reason. I’d know I had to act before she got to you and brought it into the open. It’s a neat scenario.”
Too neat. She caught herself sipping from the mug; she clunked it back to the desk. Hayden’s story was ringing true and yet she didn’t trust him. All she had was his word he hadn’t been involved in the crime. For all she knew, he and Kenneth had cooked up that chess-playing story and both participated in the shooting, in accordance with Felix’s story. She supposed Sam was off the hook, swimming in ignorance. Hayden wouldn’t lie to protect him.
“You mentioned a conspiracy,” she said. “Kenneth, Anne, you, but why Dimitri and Sam? Is Dimitri protecting Anne, his mother?”
“Sam and Dimitri are unaware of the old crime and are going along with the Felix murder/suicide verdict so the shit doesn’t fall on Dimitri.”
“If they knew others have motives as strong as Dimitri’s . . . I should tell Sam.”
“No. If he runs to the cops—”
“I’ll tell him not to mention your involvement.”
“Do you have such control over Sam?
She had no control. She sunk back in her chair. “Sam might not go to the cops. He doesn’t care about justice. He proved that by not telling them about Callie’s involvement with Dimitri and proved it again by letting his best friend take the rap for her murder. All he wants is assurance his son is innocent.”
“If Sam has no faith in his son, that’s his problem.”
“I honestly believe he will be satisfied with knowing the truth.”
“Funny, that’s what I thought about you.” Hayden swiveled toward the stack of papers and files on his side table. “I’m not getting any more work done tonight. Might as well go home. Can I give you a ride?”
Paula stiffened. “My car is parked out front.”
“I’ll walk you to it.” He passed her the manuscript. “I expect you’ll want this back.”
She returned it to her briefcase. “I don’t suppose Kenneth told you about Felix’s novel.”
“He may not have known about it.” He caught her expression. “And don’t you ask him about it either. I repeat: stay away from that group.”
Paula drove through the empty downtown streets, thinking it wouldn’t be fair to Hayden to give the cops his information. He had put himself at risk by going to Kenneth for her sake. It would also be pointless. Best case scenario: the cops investigate and arrest all three—Kenneth, Anne, and Hayden—who hire sharp lawyers to muddy the waters so much that everyone gets off, after years of stress and career ruin for the two who were innocent of Callie’s murder. One of those two was probably Hayden. Did it matter who did it? The public was safe; there would be no more killings unless Anne or Kenneth or, she had to admit, Hayden panicked and killed the others off. Could the innocent two be sure that would never happen? Might a murderer wait until this all blew over and seize the first opportunity to bop off the co-conspirators with a needle poke? Why risk a death-bed confession? Murder got easier each time and this person had killed twice, or three times if you count the accidental shooting of the boy, if that was an accident. Knowing their guns were loaded, one of them might have fired on purpose, out of anger at the boy’s taunts. And that person might view outsiders with knowledge as a continuing threat: Hayden, her, and even Isabelle. Eliminate anyone who might one day testify. As long as the killer was out there, Paula would never feel safe. If that killer was Hayden . . .
There was a chance it was, but she didn’t believe it. Kenneth, too, had always struck her as, essentially, decent, but who knew what he’d done to make his oil business a success? It was surprising he took charge of the cover-up. Had he sensed, if he threw his lot in with the group, Callie would turn to him? Paula hoped he was happy with his devil’s pact. Unless Kenneth was the one who killed Callie.
Paula sped along 9th Avenue. Her lit office suggested Nils was working. Should she stop and chew this over with him? No. It was bad enough that she had involved Isabelle, who would soon be moving in with Erin. Isabelle was sure to blab to Erin about their discovery in Felix’s house, which would drag Paula’s daughter into the mess. Isabelle would have to go back to Montreal, for Erin’s and her own safety. She would be disappointed.
The 8th Street railway barrier lights flashed. Paula could be stuck twiddling her thoughts for ten minutes while the train shrugged past. She floored the accelerator and zoomed across the tracks; the barrier bar skimmed her rear bumper. She signaled a left turn. No. She couldn’t go home now. It was wrong to keep this information from Sam. For the rest of his life he would believe his son was a killer. Dimitri would lose his father’s love and respect. Paula would explain, she would force Sam to realize it was fruitless to tell the cops, who were as boxed in as they were. Nothing further could be done.
Paula cruised past the Stampede grounds. At the C-train tracks, she skidded to a stop. The light rail cars whipped by.
The one thing she might do is devise a scheme to draw out the killer. As Hayden pointed out, even if he were inclined, he wouldn’t kill her knowing the cops had possession of Felix’s story. Her death tonight, even by apparently natural means, would alert the cops to take the story seriously and they would investigate to the end. The converse was equally true. If she told Anne and Kenneth she had found the story, but hadn’t shown it to anyone yet, one of them might try to bump her off before that situation changed. The attempt would prove guilt. The situation could change as early as tomorrow if the cops got off their tails and started sniffing around. There was an opening between now and then for a fabricated bluff, if she could figure out a way to do it without getting herself killed in the process.
Chapter Thirty
His bare feet resting on the coffee table, Sam read the story without commenting or looking up. Paula held her breath, half-expecting him to shake or turn pale as Hayden had. What if this was a trap? Hayden might have lied or been unaware that Sam was present when the group sho
t the boy. She glanced at the hall and prepared to bolt at the first bead of sweat on his skin. This was paranoia to the max. She couldn’t stand it.
The gas fire crackled, giving off no heat she could detect. Wasn’t Sam freezing in his T-shirt? Behind him, a beer bottle stood on the baby grand. Had he been playing the piano when she arrived? She’d assumed the piano was for Callie or possibly Dimitri. Sam turned over another manuscript page; he must be into the meat of the story. No comments, no pallor, no shakes. While she had given him the gist of Hayden’s revelations, she would have expected some response to seeing the details in print. She eyed her getaway to the front door. Sam was finishing the last page.
“Wow.” His voice and face were strangely calm. “But, in a way, I’m not surprised. I’ve always had this sense of being outside that clique, that there was some kernel I couldn’t crack. I thought it was because I’d been away all those years in the States or was raised working class, but, wow.”
“I’m sure this is the reason for the murder,” Paula said. “One of them did it to hush up the old crime, to avoid embarrassment and prosecution. Dimitri’s innocent.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t look too happy about it.”
His hand scrunched the papers on the cushion next to him as he got up. She followed him to the baby grand. Sam faced her, his dark eyes solemn.
“It’s a reason for murder,” he said. “It doesn’t let Dimitri off the hook. This is the first time I’ve said it aloud. My son could have killed her.” His voice wavered.
“Why are you so convinced he did? I know Callie dumped him, he stalked her, has a temper—”
“—had access to my father’s gun, knew where Callie would be that morning, had a key to Felix’s house, was in town when both Callie and Felix died, with no alibis for either murder. I’d say that looks pretty bad.”
“It’s all circumstantial evidence. I wish the cops had arrested him.”
“Why?” He drew back, hitting the piano. The beer bottle tottered.
“Dimitri’s arrest would force Anne to come forward. Killer or not, she wouldn’t let her son take the rap. She wouldn’t have killed Callie—if she did—had she known he might be charged with the crime. I know that much about Anne. You might know more, since you and she were together once.”
They had been lovers, had produced a child. Sam had this strange mix of confidence and confusion that could appeal to single-minded person like Anne—and her.
“That was a long time ago.” Sam edged across the hardwood to the sideboard. “We were really only together a few months, until she got pregnant and I callously dumped her, if that’s what I did.” He ran his hands over the crystal candlesticks, one of which Paula had thrown at him during her last visit. “In his story, Felix speculated that Anne got pregnant on purpose. I think, now, he was right. She was also fat as a child. Her mother put her on diets and told friends she wished Anne was as pretty as her sister. Her father was a macho guy who got daughters instead of the sons he wanted. Anne went hunting and fishing, even to the target range with him, but it was never enough. The result was a coldness I didn’t see in her at first. I don’t think Anne had much use for me, once she was pregnant.”
Paula shivered. “You think Anne is the killer.”
Sam picked up a candlestick.
She stepped back. A hiss drew her gaze to the fireplace. “If it was Anne, she inadvertently set up her son. She’d have hoped the murder would be settled as a random crime.”
“Plan B in her case would be me,” Sam said. “Everyone knows the spouse is the automatic suspect. Anne had seen Callie and me together and would have noticed my indifference. She also knows me well enough to guess that after a couple of years I’d lose interest and might be having an affair that the cops would dredge up as evidence.”
“Two years is your shelf-life with women?”
“I’d like to believe I could change.” He scanned her from head to toe, looking serious and sincere. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, lately. I think I’ve been overly attached to Dimitri because he was the only person I was sure would never dump me. Dimitri’s grown up. He doesn’t need or want the whole of my love any more . . .”
Her cheeks warmed. He said the love-word more easily than she did. This wasn’t the time for romance. She forced her thoughts back to business. “We’re assuming both Hayden and Kenneth have told the truth.”
“I don’t think Kenneth did it.”
“Why not?”
“He’s been too obvious about his anger and undying love for Callie. A smart killer would have covered up his feelings more. Kenneth’s smart and shrewd.”
“And depressed since Callie left him for Dimitri, so depressed he might have figured he had nothing to lose and didn’t care if he got caught. He was the clean-up guy before and had two motives to get rid of Callie. It might have been a love crime, in part, after all.”
Sam moved the candlestick from hand to hand. “About your guy Hayden . . .”
She shuffled her feet on the hardwood floor, which felt cool through her stockings. “I’m almost sure he was telling me the truth.”
“What about the doctor, who was involved with the boy? He has the biggest motive of all to keep this quiet. It would ruin his humanitarian image. What if he came back?”
“I thought of that, too. Was he at the funeral?”
Sam shook his head. “I only met him a few times when he lived with the group.”
Paula pictured the rows of heads in the church from her seat near the back. “No one’s mentioned him being there. You’d think they would. He was an old friend.”
Sam returned the candlestick to the sideboard. “I don’t want it to be Kenneth or Anne. She’s the mother of my son; Kenneth’s my squash partner.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “The point is, Sam, there’s nothing we or the cops can do. This is enough, I think, for you to start believing your son is innocent.”
“I’m going to talk to Kenneth,” Sam said. “I won’t involve the rest of you.” He paced between the piano and sideboard. “I’ll say I found the story when I was helping Felix’s sisters clear out the house.”
“What if Kenneth tries to kill you so you won’t give the story to the cops?”
“That would prove he did it.”
“A bit of a sacrifice on your part.”
“I’d be prepared and get out of gun range. He might nick my shoulder or—”
“Hayden thinks the killer won’t use a gun next time. Both Kenneth and Anne have access to medication. You’d die by lethal injection.”
Sam rubbed his cheek, actually considering this wild plan. Anne had called him a drama queen. “A needle is better,” he said. “I mean, easier to defend. I’ll pile on layers of clothing. When he pulls out the weapon, you ride to my rescue and catch him in the act.”
“I’m the knight in shining armor?”
“At work, we get our vision through by tailoring the pitch to the client.”
“Pardon me?” What did this scheme have to do with architecture?
“I’ll tell Kenneth a story that fits his perception. I’d say I wanted to get his version before deciding if I’ll go to the police, since I don’t want to hurt Dimitri and his political career by publicly branding his mother as a criminal.”
“What if the killer is Anne?”
He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, reflecting. “I don’t hate Anne. We have a history. Dimitri would find it hard if she went to jail. I’d prefer it was Kenneth.”
“It’s not who we want it to be, it’s who we believe it is, rationally.”
“Who is it, then, rationally?”
She scratched her head, willing the answer through her nails. “Supposing it’s Kenneth, you could phone him tonight and say you found evidence you want to discuss with him before bringing it to the cops. Make it clear you’ve told no one else.”
Sam glanced at his watch. “It’s already ten thirty-five. I’ll have to
phone right away before he goes to bed. I get where you’re going with this. I’ll suggest we meet early, before dawn, to play squash . . .”
“This is all hypothetical, by the way,” she said.
“Sure.” His eyes looked too eager.
“How much time would you need before I rushed to your rescue?”
“We’ll iron out those details later. You’re staying over?”
“I should go home for some sleep.”
“You haven’t seen my basement digs yet.” He reached for a crystal candlestick. “For atmosphere, how about we light a candle in this thing you tried to kill me with.”
Her face burned. “Don’t remind me of that. It’s embarrassing.”
“It kind of turned me on.”
She tried to grab the candlestick. He twirled it out of her way.
“It was my fault for egging you on,” he said. “I was curious to see how far you’d go.”
“You and your drama queen fetish.”
“Eh?”
Her fingers slid over the candlestick to his hand. They rested on his rough, warm skin. “If I stay over, I’ll call Isabelle to make sure she tells no one about the story. If we do this hypothetical thing, I can’t put her at risk.”
“Then, I’ll phone Kenneth.”
“That won’t accomplish anything if the murderer is Anne.”
“At least, I’ll be safe from lethal injection. Kenneth might offer some proof it was her.”
“Fat chance. He’s too clever and determined to maintain his pact with Anne and too used to playing hardball in business.”
“You’re right.” Sam frowned.
“I could see Anne pointing the finger at him, if she was cornered.”
“If nothing works with Kenneth, I’ll try her tomorrow night.”
“What if he warns her or the cops question her before then?”
“I doubt Anne would fall for it, anyway. She doesn’t much trust me or like me.”
“She talks positively about you.”
“That’s a sham. I’m sure now; her plan when Dimitri was born was to raise him alone. I jumped into the parenting and she resents the fact that Dimitri . . .”