by Mary Burton
Mr. Marlowe carefully made the sandwich, set it on a plate, and pushed it toward him before turning back to the refrigerator to dig out a couple of beers.
Tim had rehearsed this moment since Amber had come to him days ago. He forgot how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. When she was in his arms after they made love, he told her she could count on him. He would protect her this time. He loved her. But as she stared up at him with large liquid eyes, he saw the unspoken doubt. She didn’t think he had the stones to stand by her. She didn’t think she could count on him. But he would prove his love and devotion.
The old man twisted the top off his beer and carefully set the top on the counter. He opened another beer for himself and held it up. “Happy Birthday to Mike. Big twenty-three today.”
Tim clinked his bottle against Mr. Marlowe’s and drank. The beer was smooth and cold.
Mr. Marlowe moved to a cabinet and found a bag of chips. He scooped out a handful and placed it on the plate next to the sandwich. “She’s going to get away with it.”
“Who?”
“Amber. She killed my boy and that girl. I don’t know how she did it, but she did. And she’ll walk away as if none of this ever happened.”
The sandwich tasted good. He took a second bite. “You think Amber killed Mike?”
“I know she did.” The old man was quiet for a long moment as he drank his beer.
Tim liked the beer. It was top-notch like everything else in this house.
The old man was content to watch him eat his sandwich as he drank his beer. “How is work at the law firm?”
“It’s great. I can’t thank you enough for giving me the reference. I know it made a difference.”
“Good.” A half grin tugged his lip. “Glad to see you finally cut that hair. Pretty damn long the last time I saw you.”
Tim rubbed his hand over his shorn hair. “My walk on the wild side.”
Marlowe’s smile froze. “You spent time in Texas, didn’t you?”
“Sure.” Tim balled up his napkin and tossed it on his plate.
“The cops showed me a picture of a guy in Austin. I didn’t recognize him until now.”
“Really?”
Marlowe looked at him, his gaze hardening as if the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
Tim smiled and reached in his pocket for latex gloves. “Amber told me what you did to her.”
Color drained from Marlowe’s face. “What?”
Dropping his hands below the counter, he tugged on the gloves. “She told me what you made her do.”
He took a step back, the softness hardening to cold steel. “I don’t know what she’s saying, but she’s a liar.”
“No, she’s not. I know her. Love her. Believe her.”
Marlowe’s eyes sparked with a fire Tim had not seen in years. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“When the cops find out what you did to Amber, you’ll be ruined.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“I would.”
“I can crush you without breaking a sweat, kid. Don’t ever think you can threaten me. One call and they can dig into your past and find out if you’re the guy they are looking for in Austin.”
He laughed.
“I will destroy Amber and take you down with her if you get in my way.”
Tim’s good humor vanished. He had known rage. Killed. But never had the anger been so hot and sharp. He shifted his grip around the neck of the beer bottle as if it were a club. Moving with a swiftness he’d learned on the football field, he raised the bottle and lunged across the kitchen island, cracking the glass against the side of the old man’s skull.
Shock replaced that know-it-all smugness and King Marlowe staggered. Satisfaction burned in Tim, egging on his temper.
Kill him!
Tim’s brain morphed from thinking to primal as he moved fast, scrambling around the island and landing hard blows with the bottle on the old man’s face. Marlowe staggered and fell back to the floor. A look of panic and disbelief swept over the old gray eyes.
Tim reached in his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag. With a snap he opened it and straddled Mr. Marlowe. He pulled it over the bloodied head and twisted the ends shut, cutting off his air flow. Tim settled his weight on Marlowe’s chest and held the bag in place as his victim struggled for air. Several minutes passed until finally, Marlowe’s eyes rolled back in his head and Tim was certain he was dead.
Tim removed the bag and checked for a pulse. There was none. Satisfied, he poured out the remaining beer in the sink. He dumped both bottles in his plastic bag as well as the remains of the sandwich. He turned on the hot water tap and when steam rose from the now hot water, he washed the plate and dried it with a paper towel, which he used to wipe down the counter.
As he backed away, his heart still thundered in his chest. He stared at the body, noting how death had robbed all the fire and bravado.
His temper cooled. And with clearer eyes, he now realized he was finally worthy of Amber.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday, October 12, 9:00 A.M.
Jake and Rick drove past a collection of news vans and through the front gates of Mr. Marlowe’s driveway. Jake parked at the top of the driveway behind five squad cars and the forensic vans that were crammed in the front of the circular drive. Officers stood at the ready just outside the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the front entrance and wafted in a gentle breeze.
Out of the car, Jake and Rick strode up to a young female uniformed officer who stood at the base of the stairs. She was tall with a runner’s lean frame and wore her hair tied back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. Her uniform was crisp, sharp, and her shoes polished. Her name badge read GRIMES.
Jake and Rick paused. “We received a call about a half hour ago. Can you fill us in?”
Officer Grimes shifted her stance. “I received a call this morning that the housekeeper discovered a possible homicide. Two units were dispatched, and when I arrived, the housekeeper met me on the front steps. She said Mr. Dalton Marlowe is dead. I found him in the kitchen expired from a combination of head trauma and possibly asphyxiation.”
Rick rested his hands on his belt. “Did the housekeeper see anything while she was in the house?”
“No. As soon as she saw Mr. Marlowe, she ran outside.”
Jake glanced up the stairs to a small camera posted above and to the right of the front door. “Security cameras working?”
“The hard drive in the library has been removed.”
Jake studied the perimeter of the property lined with tall cypress trees that hugged a black wrought-iron fence. “Someone who visited this house often would know how to sneak onto the property, past the patrols, and would know where the camera recorders were kept.” His first thought was Amber Ryder, who’d spent a great deal of time in the house.
The officer nodded. “We’ve two officers searching the perimeter now.”
Jake and Rick thanked Officer Grimes, who logged them into the crime scene, before donning black latex gloves and ducking under the yellow crime scene tape. They climbed the brick front staircase and stepped into the foyer.
More cops milled in a study to the right and he heard several talking in the back of the house. Murder in this kind of neighborhood made the rich nervous and politicians worried so cops showed in force.
They moved through the house toward the kitchen where they found Georgia photographing the body. She glanced up, and for a split second locked eyes with Jake, before she glanced back down at the body. After they made love, she kissed him, and as she dressed, told him she was headed to KC to talk to him about Carrie’s funeral. She had no family so there was no one to make arrangements or take care of the baby. She said Rick planned a call to Social Services to determine what arrangements had been made for the baby.
He knew she blamed herself for what happened.
Having her this close and not being able to touch her frustr
ated him. He missed her warmth, her softness cradled against him.
Georgia now glanced in the viewfinder of her digital camera and then, confirming she had the right shot, looked up at her brother. “He was hit in the head several times with a blunt object. My guess is he fell and then the killer asphyxiated him judging by the bruising and scratches around his neck. The killer likely used a plastic bag.”
“So our killer was strong?” Jake asked.
“I would say so although Mr. Marlowe would have been incapacitated by the head injury.”
“This fact would likely rule out Amber.”
“I agree,” she said. “He also was savvy, or so he thought. He took the time to wash a plate and wipe down the counter.” She sniffed. “And I smell the faint odor of beer. A beer bottle would certainly stun a man.”
“Did you find any bottles?”
“No. I looked in the trash both in and outside of the house and I found nothing. He’s smart enough to know if he touched either, his DNA would be all over the bottles.”
“A shared beer. No signs of forced entry. Sounds like this guy was a friend. Marlowe knew his killer. Liked him enough to share a beer,” Rick said. “That would not have been Amber Ryder.”
“The killer,” she said pointing down the hallway, “might have washed his hands, but there are faint traces of blood on the hallway carpet. He hit Marlowe and picked up a little blood splatter on his shoes. He left trace amounts along the way to the office where the security camera hard drive was hidden. He removed the hard drive.”
“The average killer usually doesn’t put this kind of thought into a crime,” Rick said.
Georgia smirked. “He left something behind. I haven’t found it yet, but it’s here.”
Jake moved toward the body, knelt, and studied the brutally beaten face. “What the hell set him off?”
Rick leaned against the counter. “Yesterday was the eleventh. Mike’s birthday. Maybe that had something to do with it.”
Jake tightened his jaw. “That’s the kind of detail a friend of the family would remember.” He thought about the head injury on the side of Marlowe’s head. “I’m guessing a tall, strong guy. Like Tim.”
Rick shook his head. “Why the hell would a guy like Tim throw his life away by killing Dalton Marlowe?”
“He and Mike knew each other in high school. Tim made it clear he didn’t like him,” Jake said. “We need to find out more about Tim and Mike and their relationship. And I’d bet money Amber plays into this somehow.”
“Where’s the housekeeper?” Rick asked.
“She’s in the living room,” Georgia said. “Very shook up.”
“Thanks, Georgia,” Jake said.
She nodded, turning back to her job as if they were simply two coworkers working a crime scene.
Jake and Rick moved to the living room where he found the petite Hispanic woman holding a rosary rocking back and forth in a chair. Her dark hair was peppered with white and the skin around her eyes lined. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Jake Bishop. This is my partner, Detective Rick Morgan. Can we get you a glass of water?”
“No water for me, but thank you.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you up for that?” Jake asked.
“Yes.”
He sat across from her in a sleek leather club chair and kept his voice low and even as he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Maria Torres.” She looked up at him, mumbled a prayer, and fingered a delicate gold cross around her neck. “I never seen a dead body before.”
“It’s not easy, I know.” He pulled a notebook and pen from his breast pocket. “What time did you find Mr. Marlowe?”
“Just after seven. I come every morning at six to make Mr. Marlowe his breakfast.”
“You don’t live on the property.”
“No. I got my own place that I share with my daughter, Rosa. But if there’s a party and I have to stay late, there’s an apartment over the garage.”
“How old is Rosa?” Jake’s tone was easy, conversational and anyone listening at this moment would have thought he was talking to a friend.
Her eyes flickered with pride. “She’s twenty-one. She’s in school. Very smart.”
“How long have you been working for Mr. Marlowe?”
“Since my Rosa was one year old.”
“So you knew the late Mrs. Marlowe?”
“I did. She was a lovely woman. Very sweet. Intelligent. She used to buy treats for my Rosa.”
“You must have known Mike Marlowe?”
Her expression grew guarded as if an old habit of hiding secrets kicked into play. “Yes. I knew him.”
“What can you tell me about the boy?”
She glanced toward the kitchen almost as if she feared Marlowe was standing there listening. She sat straighter and mumbled another prayer.
“He can’t hear anymore,” Jake said with an assuring smile. “You can speak freely.”
She crossed herself. “I knew Mike since he was a baby. He was a hard boy to take care of. Always getting into trouble. Always looking for something that would bring him pleasure no matter what he hurt.”
“How old was Mike when his mother died?” Jake asked.
“He was fifteen. It was a sad day for everyone in the house. We all wept for the lovely lady.”
“I understand she was sick.”
“Sí. With the cancer. But it was the fall that killed her.”
“One of the teachers at Mike’s school mentioned the fall.”
“Mr. Marlowe didn’t want anyone to know about it. He said it would do no good.”
“Were you here when it happened?”
“I was in the kitchen. I heard her arguing with Mike, and then I heard her fall. I found her at the bottom of the main staircase.”
“Where was Mike?”
“Hurrying down the stairs toward his mother. He said she lost her footing. Said it was an accident.” A long breath shuddered between her teeth. “She passed two days later. She never woke up.”
Jake glanced at Rick whose stark expression telegraphed what Jake thought. Mike had been at the top of the stairs before his mother fell. They had argued. Had it been an accident or had he pushed her?
“What was it like for Mike after she died?”
“He was hard to deal with before, but after she died, he was impossible. He and his father fought all the time. He was running wild, drinking, and sneaking out of the house. His girlfriend was here whenever Mr. Marlowe wasn’t.”
“Amber Ryder?”
“Yes. Mike adored her.”
“What did you think of her?” Jake asked.
“Very pretty. Polite. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Always watching.”
“She was a poor kid and this is a rich man’s house.” As a teen, Jake went into nice houses with his dad on summer construction jobs. Hundred-year-old brick mansions on Beacon Hill that made his Southie row house look no better than a toolshed. He remembered being in awe as well as jealous.
She slid the cross back and forth on the gold chain while she spoke. “It was more than that. Yes, there have always been pretty things in this house, but she was most fascinated by the pictures.”
“What kind of pictures?”
“Of the family. She especially liked the pictures of Mr. Marlowe holding Mike when he was a baby.” She shook her head. “In the pictures, he looked like such a sweet baby.” She crossed herself. “My Rosa said Amber was always flirting with the boys whenever Mike was not around. Rosa would see them all at football games and parties. Amber she said could make any boy do whatever she wanted. Rosa called her a witch. Mike was bewitched. Always sneaking out of the house to see her.”
Rick rested his hands on his belt. “How did he sneak out of the house?”
“There’s a window in the basement. He didn’t think I knew, but I did. He used to sneak out of it when he was a teenager. He would also bring in his friends that way.”
“There’s a small gap in the corner behind the cypresses. It’s hidden, but a few know about it.”
“Can you show me the basement?”
“Yes.” She rose and, turning her face from the kitchen, made the sign of the cross before moving toward a side staircase. She switched on a light and descended the carpeted staircase. Jake’s parents had a basement but it wasn’t the kind of place anyone wanted to spend time. Dark and dank, it had a low ceiling and poor lighting. No one went down there unless it was to do laundry or store something for the season.
This basement had tall ceilings, richly paneled walls, and spot lighting that lit a collection of photographic images of shadowed outlines of a naked woman. The furniture was sleek, elegant. One hell of a space.
The maid moved past the kitchenette area where a small window looked out over the side of the yard. She tested the lock. It worked. “When Mike snuck out, this was always unlatched until he returned.”
As she stepped back, Jake moved toward the window. It was small, but big enough for a man to squeeze through if his build was slight. Like Tim. But the killer had not used the window.
Tim had come through the back door and he left the same way. “You said the gap in the fence is where?”
“On the north side of the fence behind the cypresses.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Torres. Why don’t you go upstairs? I’ll call you if I need anything else.”
She crossed herself. “Yes, thank you.”
Jake and Rick followed and found Georgia bagging the victim’s hands. “Georgia, can you have a look at the fence out back? There’s a gap.”
“Sure.” She rose and grabbed her fingerprinting kit.
The three walked out the back door. The air was cool but the sun bright. Jake moved to the north corner of the yard and pushed through the trees, holding the branches back for Georgia and Rick. The gap hadn’t been apparent until now.
“You think he came in that way?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Well, the killer was good about not leaving prints in the house, but let’s see if he was as smart when he wedged through the fence.”