Karen put her arm around her little sister’s shoulder and led her toward the doorway. I stood out of the way. Nicole was babbling.
“…I killed her, Wes said I killed her, don’t let them hurt me, Karen I didn’t mean to, Wes said so and he’ll leave me if I tell and Daddy will be in prison and I’ll be all alone and I don’t remember doing it but Wes said so, and he said we mustn’t tell and, oh Karen, if he leaves me I’ll be all alone Karen don’t let him…”
“Sh, honey, it’ll be all right.”
Nicole leaned heavily against her sister, who led her from the garage. Nicole didn’t even know I was there. She seemed to sag more with each step, and by the time the three of us had gone through the house to the bedroom, she was dead on her feet. I helped Karen lay her on the queen-size bed. We removed Nicole’s shoes and covered her with a quilt. Karen sat beside her, stroking her hair, whispering, telling her everything would be all right.
I felt intrusive, and I turned to leave. Something on the chest of drawers caught my eye.
It was a glass pipe, like the one I’d found in Clare’s room. Beside it was a vial with several lumps of what looked like sea salt. Ice. Also on the bureau was a framed photograph of Karen standing beside a pretty young woman with long blond hair. She and Karen were nicely dressed, posing in a studio, their bodies partly turned to each other. They were holding hands.
The woman reminded me a bit of Clare. And I remembered that Clare had lived here for a month when she first came to Denver.
I noticed Karen watching me.
She stood up from the bed and spoke softly. “She’s asleep. Let’s leave her alone for a while.”
We sat in the living room on our separate love seats. There were two cats in the fireplace now. The porcelain one stayed put, and the other, a sleek calico, crept up to my feet and sniffed my pant cuff.
“Where’d you get the pipe?” I asked, startling the cat. It leapt up on the seat beside Karen.
“You had no right to snoop around in there,” she said, her voice shaded with anger.
“I wasn’t snooping.”
“And if you’re wondering about the photograph—”
“I’m not.”
“—it’s Teri, the woman who works for me. We’re lovers.” She gave me a defiant look.
“Swell. Now what about the pipe?”
Some of the anger went out of her. She looked down at the cat and ran her fingers along its back. Its tail stood straight up.
“Nicole brought it with her. I hate that shit.”
“Ice?”
“Drugs, period. Look how screwed up it’s got her.” Karen shook her head and grinned crookedly. “She was trying to start my Miata with the key to her Subaru.” The smile left her. Gently, she lifted the cat and laid it over her shoulder, as if she were burping a baby. She stroked it, staring vacantly at the cold cat in the fireplace.
“How long has Nicole been here?”
“An hour or so.”
“Did she call first?”
“No. I answered the door, and there she was. It surprised me, because she rarely visits. She hasn’t been here in months.”
“What else did she tell you about the murder?”
“I could barely understand her. I let her in, and she started pacing around the room, very jittery, rambling on about how mad Daddy would be. I asked her why he’d be mad, and she just jabbered about our childhood, our mother, how Clare never belonged, and so on. I tried to get her to calm down, to lie down. She said she hadn’t been to bed since Monday—four nights without sleep. It frightened me. It’s that damn drug she’s been smoking. She said Wes gives it to her. She tried to light up when she got here. I took it away from her and made her lie down. And that’s when she told me what she’d done. That she’d killed Clare.”
The cat moved, and Karen let it go. It tightroped along the back of the love seat, then stretched out on its belly and closed its eyes.
“I didn’t know what to do, whether to take her to a hospital or call the police. I’m afraid of what will happen to her.”
“Nicole didn’t kill Clare.”
Karen looked at me in disbelief. Or maybe it was restrained hope. “But you heard her admit it.”
“She doesn’t remember killing Clare, only that Wes told her so. He’s got her convinced that she did it.”
“What? No. Nicole wouldn’t admit something like that just because Wes told her.”
“Maybe not normally. But how long has she been smoking ice? Since she’s been married to Wes? That drug can play serious tricks with the mind. And I’ll bet that ever since the murder Wes has been keeping her well supplied.”
“But could he make her believe it?”
“Perhaps.”
“That fucking asshole.”
“Exactly.”
“Why would he do it?”
“I don’t know for sure. Maybe to control her. Maybe to keep your father in jail.”
She blinked once. “What do you mean?”
“Wes may be stealing from Butler Manufacturing. Whatever he’s doing, he probably feels freer with Samuel out of the way.”
“Then…did Wes kill Clare?”
“No.”
“Then my father…”
“Not him, either.”
She looked at me, waiting.
“Brace yourself. It was your brother.”
“Kenneth?”
I filled her in on what I’d learned about Jeremy Stone and what Doreen had confessed to me. She was stunned. Hey, who wouldn’t be? In the span of a few hours she’d believed that first her father, then her sister, and now her brother had murdered Clare.
“What are we going to do about Nicole?”
“She definitely needs help,” I said. “For now, though, I think you’re right—let her sleep. When she wakes up, we’ll talk to her and figure out what to do.”
The phone rang in the kitchen.
Karen went to answer it, then came back and said, “It’s Oliver Westfall.”
When I picked up the receiver, Westfall told me, “Doreen Butler just called. Kenneth’s on his way home.”
CHAPTER 30
I TOLD KAREN TO KEEP NICOLE there until I returned. It didn’t seem prudent to let her go home to Wes. When he found out Nicole was confiding in us, his reaction would be in direct proportion to the size of the secret he was hiding. He might try to shut Nicole up—forever.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If Wes should come here before I—”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle Wes.”
“I don’t want you to handle him. Don’t let him in. If he won’t go away, call the police.”
“The police? But what if Nicole starts babbling about Clare’s murder?”
“Right now Wes is a greater threat to Nicole than the police.”
I walked out and heard her lock the front door and slide the chain in place.
There were no cars in front of Kenneth’s house or in the driveway. Westfall hadn’t yet arrived. I debated whether to wait for him or go in now. He was the one to counsel Kenneth. On the other hand, if Doreen were now confronting her husband, Kenneth might be reaching for a blunt instrument.
I climbed out of the Toyota.
A car turned the corner and approached me from behind—a brand-new shiny black Jaguar Vanden Plas. I guess law school was paying off. The Jag parked a cautionary distance behind my grubby ride, and Oliver Westfall got out. He was dressed for business—a taupe-gray double-breasted suit, white shirt, dark tie.
“Has Kenneth arrived yet?” he asked me as we started up the walk together.
“I just got here myself.”
I rang the bell, then stepped aside for the man in the suit.
Kenneth Butler answered the door in a dress shirt and suspenders. He looked surprised to see us. “What are you two doing here?”
I guess Doreen hadn’t delivered the bad news.
Westfall said, “May we come in?”
Doreen wa
s in the living room, lighting a cigarette with nervous hands.
Kenneth looked a question at her, saying, “It’s Westfall and Lomax.”
“Maybe I…should see about the children.” She started to leave the room.
Westfall stopped her with “You should be here for this, Mrs. Butler.”
“What’s he talking about?” Kenneth asked his wife. “What are you talking about, Oliver?”
“Perhaps we should all sit down.”
Doreen dropped immediately on the couch. Westfall motioned to Kenneth to have a seat beside her. He hesitated, then sat. Westfall took the easy chair, and I remained standing in the doorway, the trusty sergeant at arms.
“Now what’s this all about?” Kenneth demanded, trying to act as if he didn’t have a clue. But there was sweat along his hairline.
“First of all,” Westfall said, “I’m here as your friend and, if you like, your legal counsel.”
“Legal—”
“Anything said here will be held in strict confidence. Secondly, I truly want to help you, but I can do so only if you’re completely honest with me.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Kenneth’s tone was even, but red splotches had appeared on his face, betraying inner conflict.
Westfall sighed. “Kenneth, we know about the deceased Mr. Jeremy Stone and how you’ve been using him to take money from the company.”
Kenneth glared at Westfall, the splotches spreading. Now his entire face was an ugly shade of red. “How did—” Then he turned on Doreen. She seemed to sink into the couch beside him.
“You?”
“Kenneth, I…” Her voice was barely audible.
“Goddamn you!” he shouted, coming to his feet, banging against the coffee table, towering over Doreen. “Jeremy Stone was your idea! And now you’re informing on me?” He shook his left fist at her, index finger extended in accusation. Then he raised his right hand as if to slap her.
“I ought to—”
I moved quickly behind him and caught his wrist. He redirected his rage, whirling toward me, jerking his wrist free, and swinging his left fist in an overhand arc. I leaned out of the way, and he connected with nothing but air. His momentum carried him across the coffee table, and he went down on it, breaking one slim cherry-wood leg with a snap like a pistol shot. He scrambled up from his hands and knees, charging at me in a crouch, head raised, face blood black with hatred.
I got a glimpse of Doreen on the couch, hands covering her mouth, holding in a scream. Westfall had jumped to his feet, but that’s as far as he was going.
I backpedaled away from Kenneth, knocked over a table lamp, caught it, stepped aside as he lunged at me, and hit him with it. Not too hard, just enough to distract him. He stumbled past, reaching for me. I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind him, and slammed him into the wall. He threw himself back, flailing wildly with his free arm, and we danced around the room until I hooked his foot with my heel and dropped him facedown on the carpet, hard enough to rattle the windows. His nose was bleeding, but if anything, he fought harder than before, so I caught his thumb in a come-along hold and applied just enough pressure to make him roar like a bear.
“Hold still or I’ll break your goddamn hand,” I apprised him.
And suddenly someone was pulling my hair and pummeling me with tiny fists.
“Get off my daddy!”
“Leave my daddy alone!”
The Butler tykes to the rescue. And now I felt completely ridiculous, as if we were all involved in a friendly family free-for-all. Doreen hurried over, and for a moment I thought it was four against one. But she pulled her children from me and took them, yelling, out of the room.
Kenneth fought beneath me, arching his back, raising us both off the floor. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold him, and if I let him up, fists would fly. I put more pressure on his thumb and suggested that he hold still. For a reply, he tried to claw at my face with his free hand.
“Westfall, go out to my car and—dammit, Butler, I swear to God I’ll break your hand—there’s a pair of handcuffs in the glove compartment.”
He just stared at me.
“Move it. Unless you want to hold him for me.”
Westfall moved. He returned in a minute with the cuffs. I slapped a bracelet on one of Butler’s wrists, no problem. If Westfall were the physical type, we could’ve wrestled Kenneth’s other arm behind him. But handing me the cuffs had been as rough as the lawyer would get. He watched us from a safe distance.
I told Kenneth to put his other arm behind him. He called me a few nasty names and tried again to claw at me over his shoulder, so I leaned on his thumb until he cried out. He squeezed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and fought the pain. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He let me cuff him.
I climbed off his back and tried to help him up. He shrugged me off, lying there, out of breath. I tucked in my shirt and straightened my jacket, breathing a bit hard myself. Finally, Kenneth rolled over and sat up on the floor, hands behind him. His lower face was smeared with nose blood.
“I’ll get you for this, you son of a bitch.” He spat blood on the carpet and got to his feet, wobbling. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you.”
“Assuming they ever let you out of prison,” I said.
He sneered. “For what I did? I’m a family man with absolutely no criminal record. I’ll probably get a fine and probation.”
“If all you’d done was steal, maybe. But the court’s a bit harsher when it comes to murder.”
“Murder?” His face slowly lost its color. Except for the blood glistening on his chin and the red lump on his forehead, where I’d tapped him with the lamp. “No. I had nothing to do with Winks getting killed.”
Westfall and I exchanged a glance.
“We’re speaking of Clare’s murder,” Westfall told him.
“Clare? You think I killed Clare?”
“I’m sorry, Kenneth, I had to tell them.”
We all turned to see Doreen Butler standing in the doorway. She was twisting her wedding ring, screwing it on tighter.
“For your father’s sake.” She moaned. “Oh, God, Kenneth, you know I love you and—”
“Wait a minute.” Kenneth was shaking his head, a pained expression on his face. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Westfall said, ready to start over as if nothing had happened. And really, the only difference was that some of the furniture was disarranged and Kenneth wore handcuffs, no big deal. “Doreen, get something for Kenneth’s face. Please, Kenneth, sit.”
I put the lamp back in place and righted the cherry-wood coffee table on its three remaining legs. Kenneth sat on the couch and let Doreen wipe his face with a damp towel. He glared at me.
“Take these damn things off.”
“Maybe later,” I told him.
Westfall said, “Tell us about you and Clare.”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you mean.”
Westfall waited. Kenneth gave him a tight-lipped stare. Westfall soaked it up. Kenneth sighed and looked away, shrugging his shoulders.
“Clare confronted me about Jeremy Stone,” he said. “I should’ve seen it coming—or known that something was coming—because a few weeks before that, an employee told me someone named Gil Lucero was asking questions about Stone. I didn’t know who Lucero was or what he was up to, but I was worried. It must’ve shown at work, because Wes asked me what was wrong, said maybe he could help. I told him Lucero was poking his nose where it didn’t belong, that’s all I said. Wes told me not to worry, that he’d take care of it.”
“So he ran over Lucero with a truck.”
Kenneth looked at me. “I didn’t know about that until you told me a few days ago. I thought Wes was just going to talk to the guy.”
“Did Wes drive the truck, or was it someone else?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Can we return to the point here?” Westfall directed.
“Anyway,” Kenneth said, “soon after that, Clare confronted me. She said she knew I was stealing from the company and that Jeremy Stone was helping me and if I didn’t cut her in she’d tell my father. I could see she didn’t really know who Stone was. It didn’t matter, though. If my father had a reason to study the books and started asking about Jeremy Stone, I’d be screwed.”
“Did Wes know about Stone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did you tell him about Clare’s threats?”
“I didn’t tell anyone. I felt I had only one choice—pay her.”
“You gave Clare money?” Doreen asked, shocked. Money meant a lot to her.
Kenneth nodded.
“How much?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Ten— And just where did you get ten thousand dollars?”
“I cashed in one of our CDs.”
“What?” Now Doreen was pissed. And Kenneth was open to attack, his hands pinned behind him. I got ready to restrain her. Well, maybe I’d let her slap him just once. “Why didn’t you tell me about that?” she demanded.
“I didn’t want to upset you.” He gave her a sorrowful look, and she glared at him. Now wasn’t that sweet? They were sharing, switching roles. “Besides,” Kenneth went on, “I knew Jeremy Stone would make us the money back in a few months. But then…well, she wanted more. She phoned here the evening before the murder. We argued. She threatened me, swore she’d tell my father if I didn’t bring her another ten thousand. I told her I needed time. She called back the next morning, and we argued some more. I left the house in a rage. I was ready to go over there and wring her neck. Thank God I cooled down. I drove around for a while, then went to the office. I seriously considered destroying the books. Instead, I wrote her a personal check and took it to her.
“But when I got to my father’s house, there were police cars parked in front, and all the neighbors were in the street. One of them told me a woman had been murdered. It scared the hell out of me. I drove straight home without knowing what had happened. I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be involved.” He faced Doreen. “That’s why I told you to lie for me, to say I’d been home all day if anyone asked.”
Blood Relative (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 4) Page 17