“I have never been so insulted.”
“I have never been so insulted.”
Jamieson was struck by how close she had come to the truth. Had she been insulted enough to kill?
“Did he use it?”
“What?”
“The Viagra?”
Suki shook her head.
“It was over soon?”
“He was…”
“In and out?”
Suki frowned. What did she know? Who had told her about Lance?
“More or less.”
Less, thought Jamieson, clearly less. Could that have anything to do with the murder? Could Suki have killed him because he didn’t satisfy her? Unlikely, but worth pursuing.
“And the KY Jelly? Yours?”
Now Suki was every bit as insulted as she had been about the Viagra.
“No. Of course not. It was for that dry little stick Alyssa. Like the bedroom. Lace and romance. I don’t think they ever screwed.”
Jamieson pursed her lips, rose-pink lips against a pearl complexion. Flawless. Has she ever had a man? Suki wondered.
“Enough details of your intimacy.” Jamieson decided she could pursue that further at another time if necessary. “Perhaps there were events leading up to and after that might be significant. Let’s go back to the supper. You’re seated at the table. What did you talk about? What mood was Lord in?”
The sneaky smile again. “Well, I’ve told you that. We talked about getting back together, of course. That’s what led to – ”
“Liar…” The small high cry of a child, crossed in the playground at recess.
“Liar,” Alyssa repeated, sailing across the room with a sense of purpose.
“Mrs. Lord!” cautioned Jamieson.
“Yes?” they both said.
“One at a time. I want to speak with you one at a time.” She turned to Alyssa. “We have spoken, and I may wish to speak to you again, but right now I am interviewing Mrs. Lord. Please leave the Hall.”
Alyssa pressed her lips together, angry that Suki was being called Mrs. Lord. Angry about being asked to leave the Hall. But she swallowed the anger – Jamieson could see her gulp it down, her larynx rising and falling. Alyssa smiled, unconvincingly, and spoke in a new, soft tone.
“It’s just that I might have a piece of evidence. It may not be relevant, but I’m missing a ring.”
“Lost or stolen?”
“Stolen, I believe. Yes, stolen.”
“You’ve left it somewhere, perhaps. Taken it off to wash your hands?”
“I never wear it. It never leaves the house.”
Jamieson sighed. Side issue. It was undoubtedly a side issue. Like the marijuana plants, forgotten in the Institute room. Forgotten but not gone, she thought, as she smelled the scent now, wafting into the main room. She’d have to do something about them, too.
Jamieson flipped to the back of her notebook.
“Description of the ring?”
Alyssa thrust the appraisal photo at her. Jamieson took a quick glance.
“Missing since when?”
Alyssa shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She didn’t mention that her jewellery box had been upset. She didn’t say that the ring had been gone a long time. Gone, but not missing. Not really. She smiled a sly smile.
Jamieson held up the photo. “May I keep this in the meantime?”
Alyssa nodded, smiled again at Jamieson, frowned at Suki, and headed for the door, gliding smoothly across the room.
Jamieson waited for her to cross the threshold before continuing her questioning of Suki.
“When did you leave Lord’s?”
“Quite early. I was with Ian most of the night, as he’ll tell you. Having a little…uh…reunion.”
“He’ll back you up on that?”
“Of course.”
“Time of arrival and departure?”
Suki laughed, tossing back her thick mane.
“We weren’t using a stopwatch.”
“So neither of you can confirm your time of arrival or departure?”
“Well, there hasn’t been a departure. As for the time of arrival, he wasn’t in bed yet.”
“But he might know?”
“He might…and so might Moira Toombs.”
“Moira Toombs? What’s she got to do with it?”
Suki leaned forward, her tone confidential.
“She’s sweet on him. She watches.”
“Watches?”
“From her window at night. You can see Ian’s house. You can see right into his living room.”
Jamieson sighed. The timing was too close to matter anyway. You couldn’t pin down a time of death as narrowly as these circumstances were forcing. She supposed she’d have to speak to this Moira woman sometime, but not yet.
“You had dinner with Lord, were…intimate…with him and spent the night with Ian Simmons. What am I to make of that?”
“Make what you want of it. Those are the facts.”
“Could you please elaborate on those facts?”
“Lance left me waiting. Just lying there in bed. He’d been up to his Jimi Hendrix thing. He thought it turned me on. It didn’t, but it got him off.”
“His Jimi Hendrix thing?”
“He’d get all dressed up and play his guitar. I peeked around the bedroom door. He looked ridiculous – wearing the bellbottom pants, the orange dashiki, and this lime-green paisley scarf.” She smiled, not a kind smile. “And the Afro wig.”
Jamieson clicked on the photograph of Lord. The scarf was tied around his head, the wig askew, part of it stuck into the wound by the blow of the axe. Lord’s first and last front-page photo would have had him rocking and rolling in his grave.
Jamieson had to agree that it was unfortunate he was wearing the Afro wig.
Suki brought the weapon down with clear control. No trembling of the muscles, the grip of her hands sure and confident. She leaned it against the table, flipped her hair behind her shoulders, and sat down. Jamieson had no doubt that Suki had the strength to have wielded the murder weapon. She was capable, at least physically, of killing Lord.
But had she?
Jamieson lifted the will and turned it over so that Suki could see what it was.
“Do you recognize this?”
“Obviously. It says it’s Lance’s will.”
“I didn’t ask if you knew what it was. I asked if you recognized it, and…” Jamieson fingered the burned patch. “…this.”
How did she find it? Where was it? Where was he?
Suki slumped down, pouting, on the living room couch. His eyes followed her, disappointment in them. Was that when he saw the flashlight out the window and Jim MacAdam at the top of the cape? On his land.
Was that when Suki saw the will on the coffee table?
His will.
Suki shrugged. What did it matter if Jamieson knew?
“I tried to burn it.”
“Why?”
“I was angry. It didn’t mean anything. If I’d really wanted to destroy it, I’d have made sure it burned.”
“Why were you angry?”
“You must have read it. He was leaving everything to her. Even now.”
“And you wanted everything?”
Suki laughed.
“No. I don’t care about that. It’s her I care about. Losing to her.”
“But you didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“The will is not valid. It was revoked by your marriage to him.”
“You mean it’s no good?”
“No good to Alyssa.”
“Is everything mine?”
“I suspect so. You may have a hard time collecting.”
“I’ve told you,
I don’t care. It mattered to her.” Suki broke into a broad smile. “So I won, after all.”
Jamieson thought she was no further ahead, but she pressed on. It had happened outside. Had Suki gone out? Was he dead or alive when she got there? What did she do when she came back in?
Suki was in a panic.
She looked wildly around her. The remains of their dinner on the table. Cooking utensils piled up in the sink. Her fingerprints on everything. She couldn’t think. She’d only make things worse if she cleaned up, wouldn’t she?
Why should she not have had dinner here, with her husband?
Why not?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“It was dark, I know that…”
Ian was seated across the table from Jamieson. She sat upright, a no-nonsense look on her face, waiting to hear what time Suki had arrived at his house on the night of the murder. She sat rigid, pen poised over her notebook, and looked at him, unsmiling. She wasn’t going to let the familiarity she had with him seep into the interview.
“Mr. Simmons,” she called him to underline the official nature of their discussion. “Do you have an idea…any idea…what time she arrived?”
He did not.
“I’d been surfing the net and lost track of time. It could have been nine. It could have been midnight.”
“Later?”
He shrugged, raised his hands, pressed his lips together.
“Could be, I suppose. I doubt it.”
“The reason for your doubt?”
He flushed. “Well, we spent quite a lot of time together.”
“You could have lost track of time then, too.”
“Yes. I suppose.”
He looked and sounded as if he were telling the truth.
What Jamieson would like to know was if Suki were telling the truth. Having an exact time wouldn’t prove who killed Lord, but it would tell if Ian and Suki’s stories matched, and if she were lying. Every bit of information helped the whole puzzle come together. Right now, the pieces were all over the place. She’d at least like to get the outline, the edges framing the whole. Then she could fill it in.
“Did Miss Smythe…Mrs. Lord…come to The Shores to see you – or her husband?”
He flushed again.
“I honestly can’t say. I thought it was me, at first, but…”
“But?”
He lowered his head. Fiddled with the zipper of his slicker.
“I don’t think it was.”
“What do you think?”
He looked up. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Do you think she could kill?” Jamieson asked because he had the most intimate knowledge of Suki.
He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. Jamieson wasn’t surprised he didn’t answer. His reply could be only conjecture, but potentially damning.
There was no reply. Why hadn’t he said no immediately? They were both thinking it.
She tried another tack.
“How would you describe her temperament?”
He mumbled something about passionate nature, fiery temper, regretting it as soon as he’d said it.
“A temper that could lead to murder?” Jamieson knew she was leading him on, but couldn’t think of another direction.
“I suppose so,” he said, adding too quickly, “but you might say that of any of us.”
“You don’t believe that.”
After a long pause: “No. No, I don’t.”
He was still wondering why he’d said any of it when he left the Hall. It was true, but why did he have to say so? Jamieson had led him on. Whatever Suki might be, he was sure she was not a killer.
But she would kill him if she found out what he’d said.
“Mr. Bullock can’t come.”
“Why?”
“He is…unwell.”
The mastermind of Mind Over Muscle ill? Jamieson wasn’t sure Leone O’Reyley was telling the truth. He was hard to read – an odd individual, perhaps odder than Alyssa Lord.
“When will he not be…unwell?”
“I don’t know.” Never again, thought Leone. Ed might never be well again. He was deteriorating, more rapidly every day. Disintegrating. He must keep him going. For himself, for her, for all three of them. Now, more than ever. He was so close to having what he wanted.
“Of course he wants to co-operate.”
“Of course.” Her tone was dry.
“And, of course, he had nothing to do with it.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t say.”
Jamieson raised an eyebrow. “Can’t?”
“Shouldn’t.”
“Mr. O’Reyley, this is a homicide investigation. A double homicide. You could face charges for withholding information. Or it could make you a suspect.”
“But I am already, am I not?”
“That I can’t say – yet. Is there a reason I should suspect you? A reason I should suspect Mr. Bullock, who can’t be here – or so you say.”
He shrugged.
“What about the land?”
“What land?”
“The land that Mr. Bullock gave Lord.”
“A gift.”
“A payment for services?”
Leone inclined his head.
“For services as his body double?”
So she knew.
“You could say.”
“Why wouldn’t I say? Was it blackmail?”
“Not exactly.”
“Unspoken blackmail?”
“Perhaps.”
“How did Mr. Bullock feel about that?”
“He didn’t.”
Jamieson’s eyebrows shot up.
“He didn’t know. I protected him from the knowledge.”
“Why did he need a body double?”
“He didn’t like to expose himself.” Lord knew the truth about Ed. The land was no gift. It was payment to a blackmailer. He knew something Ed didn’t know, and Leone didn’t want Ed to know. He’d threatened to tell. Leone had shut him up.
“Why did he need protection?”
Leone’s eyes were distraught. His face told Jamieson that he wanted to say something, but was struggling.
“At this stage, any information you give me will be confidential. Just between us.”
His tense facial muscles eased, his body relaxed into the chair. Only his hunched shoulders revealed his stress. He leaned forward.
“I beg you to keep this to yourself.”
“I can’t promise that it won’t come out, but if it’s not necessary or pertinent to the case…”
When he said it, it was almost a whisper. There was no one else in the room, but had there been, they couldn’t have heard it. Jamieson could hardly make out what he was saying, and she had sharp ears. She didn’t know if she should believe what he’d said. It wasn’t the picture Hy had given her of Bullock striding his property at dawn.
Leone leaned back, wondering if he’d done the right thing, telling her.
“So you see he had nothing to do with it, couldn’t know…”
“Except where you were that night. He could know that.”
Leone’s brown eyes warmed, as if she had just made a very good joke.
Jamieson didn’t make jokes. She didn’t always get them either.
“He takes a strong sleeping pill at nine at night,” Leone explained. “After that, he is gone, gone until morning.” He smiled. Jamieson frowned and continued the interview.
“Then you will have to tell me where you were that night.”
“I was at home.”
“With Ed, who was asleep.”
Leone nodded. “Correct.”
“Anyone else who might confirm that?”
“Alyssa Lord. S
he was there, too.”
Yes. She had told Jamieson that. She’d said she’d gone there after her rendezvous with Lord, earlier in the evening. Just for a chat. They’d been friends for years, she said. She went home early. Was Alyssa a suspect? She wasn’t strong enough to have inflicted the wound. The spouse was usually suspect number one in a murder investigation. But who was the spouse – Alyssa or Suki?
“Did she say anything about her meeting with Lord?”
The warmth left his eyes. The chin that jutted forward stuck out further, his mouth clamped in a grim line.
“You should ask her that.”
“I have. I want your version.”
Hy’s beachcombing bag still lay on her table. She’d passed by it countless times, telling herself she should rinse the shells and put them somewhere.
She grabbed the bag and took it over to the kitchen, drifting sand on the floor as she went. She spilled the contents into the sink and ran the water over the rocks and shells and driftwood. Many of them had lost their charm, but there were a couple that she slid onto the windowsill above the sink, already a clutter of rocks, shells, and beach debris.
Something sharp cut her finger, and she brought it up quickly to her mouth, sucking at the blood, staring at the weapon cupped inside a mussel, like a pearl in an oyster shell.
It was a small ring, real gold and real diamonds, small, but real. She washed it off. She tried to slip it onto her ring finger. She couldn’t budge it over the joint. It slipped easily onto her baby finger. She held it out. It looked nice. She smiled, pleased with herself. A real treasure. She’d found a copper bracelet before and a silver locket, but nothing as nice as this. Let Ian make fun of her now for beachcombing.
And then she recognized it.
It was the ring in the appraisal photo in Alyssa’s jewellery box, the ring they hadn’t been able to find.
Alyssa’s ring.
She must have scooped it up beside Lord’s body. This wasn’t just another beach treasure. This was evidence in a murder case. She should go directly to Jamieson.
But she didn’t. She called Ian.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Stargazing.” Leone looked up at the ceiling. “After I’d seen her safely home, I was stargazing.”
Jamieson thought she had caught him out.
Mind Over Mussels Page 18