“What does it contain?” I asked.
“I can only surmise,” Simon said. “Roger had shown me the letter and the documentation. I don’t think Wayne saw it. If so, he would have grabbed it, right? No one would have had to search the office again.”
“If I had killed Roger,” Wayne said, “which I didn’t.”
Simon walked around the room and finally said, “Whoever killed Roger Harden wanted the evidence. And I still have it.”
“If you have the envelope,” I said, “why don’t you show it?”
“It’s in my room,” he said. “I can go and get it, but I’m not sure it’s something to show everyone. If it’s what Mr. Harden said it was, it contains information about everyone in this room.”
As Simon and I had planned, I said, “Go and get it. I’ll see that no one leaves the room while you’re gone.”
I expected Wayne or one of the women to grumble about the procedure, but no one did. I had no idea about the contents, but I knew I didn’t want everyone in the room to know about my past. There was no ethical way I could display the contents and not show my secrets if Roger had included mine.
As soon as Simon came back into the drawing room, Wayne tried to rip it from his hands. “As his best friend and adviser, I should look at it first.”
Simon pushed him away. “No.” He thrust a thumb into Wayne’s chest. “I think you killed him. I’ll continue to believe that until I find evidence to the contrary. So you won’t be the person to open the envelope.”
“How dare you—”
“You killed Roger to prevent his reading his announcement to all of you, didn’t you?” I said, hardly aware of the words until they tumbled out of my mouth.
Twenty-Three
“No, no—” Wayne said. “It’s true I wanted to get rid of the letter. It wasn’t just about me. Remember, Simon said that. I didn’t kill Roger.” He dropped his head. “I wanted to destroy the letter.”
“You knew about this material,” Simon said. “I have the documentation you wanted.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. I turned to Paulette. “You knew about the documentation, didn’t you?”
“How would I know?” she asked.
“What were you searching for in Roger’s desk?” Julie asked. “That had to be it. You knew about the letter or whatever it was Roger wanted to announce. You wanted to find the letter and the proof so you could destroy it all.”
“That is a pathetic lie,” she said. “But quite imaginative.”
“We’ll get back to Paulette in a moment,” Simon said. “But first, I want to accuse Wayne Holmestead—and I don’t have to read the contents of this envelope.”
“How dare you!”
“The reason I have said nothing until now is that he had to have had an accomplice. She searched for this.” Simon held the envelope so that everyone could see it. “The only way she could have known about the documentation was by being in cahoots with the killer.”
“Maybe she killed him herself,” I suggested.
Simon shook his head. “No, I know who killed Roger.”
“You think I did it?” Wayne Holmestead said.
“I know you did,” Simon said. He turned to the rest of us. “Remember the little incident with the gun last night? Wayne said someone had shot at him and missed.”
“Everyone knows that,” Beth said.
“So someone else had to have had the gun, right?”
“If we assume it was the same gun.”
“Oh it was.” Simon reached inside his pocket and pulled up a plastic bag. Inside was a gun. “It’s a .32 caliber Beretta, and it holds seven shots. I’m sure the police will discover that it has been fired twice. It’s not a bad weapon if the person knows how to use it. This Beretta has a three-and-five-eighths-inch barrel that—”
“We don’t need a lecture about guns,” Amanda said. “Especially—especially that one—if it’s—if it’s the—the weapon.”
“Oh, it is the weapon all right,” Simon said. “Would you like to know how I found it?”
“Sure—right inside Roger’s desk,” Paulette said. “That ought to be proof enough—”
“Then it would have to have my fingerprints on it, right?” Simon smiled. “The police will be here soon. You’ll notice it’s inside a plastic bag. There will be fingerprints on the gun, and they won’t be mine.”
“What are you trying to say?” Amanda asked.
“They will have Wayne’s prints on it. I’m sure they’ll also have Paulette’s on it.”
A visibly shaken Wayne said. “I—I don’t—I don’t—”
“Save your breath,” Simon said. “Wayne, you killed Roger Harden, and Paulette was your accomplice—or the other way around.”
Wayne shook his head violently. “No! I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t—”
“Oh yes, you did.”
“By what brilliant process of logical deduction did you arrive at such a conclusion?” Paulette asked. She folded her arms across her chest. Her look defied Simon to prove his allegations.
“Two things,” I said before Simon could reply. “First, you had to know about the document or you wouldn’t have searched the office—”
“You can’t prove that’s what I wanted.”
“No, that’s true, and that’s only circumstantial,” I said. “Simon and I have discussed this. After I told him about the gunshot, both of us figured out something obvious—there has to be an accomplice.”
“So why me?”
“We made an assumption. Because you were the person we discovered going through Roger’s desk. We—”
“And fingerprints,” Simon said, “unless you wiped your prints off the gun, I’m sure they’ll find at least one or two.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And how else would your fingerprints get on the gun? Someone other than Wayne had to have fired the gun in the hallway, which was obviously a ruse to throw suspicion off Wayne. The accomplice fired from somewhere down the hallway. Wayne couldn’t have fired the single shot and run down to his room. He’s too large a man to run silently. Besides, even if he could have, he had no way to know that others wouldn’t run from their rooms in time to see him. So, like Simon says, unless you wiped the gun clean, your fingerprints will also be on the Beretta.”
“I agree with all that,” Julie said, “but, Simon, how did you get the gun?”
“Yes, how did you?” Paulette said. “Maybe you’re the one who fired. None of us saw you upstairs after the shot.”
Simon stared at me, and I said, “Tell them.”
“Last night I was broken up. I had just begun to know Roger. I can’t say I knew him well, but we had an excellent beginning of—”
“We don’t have to hear the entire commentary,” Jeffery said. “Just tell us what happened.”
“I went out to the beach to pray.”
“In the rain?” asked Paulette. “I hardly believe that.”
Simon explained again about the small tent. “I like to go there so I can be alone with my thoughts and with my prayers.”
“Prayers?” asked Paulette. “Now you’re going to tell us that you’re some kind of saint who—”
“I was a lawyer and a drug addict,” Simon said quite simply, “and then I became a convicted criminal. After my release from prison, I went to work for Roger. Like many of you did when he learned of your crimes.”
“Are you trying to call us criminals?” Paulette asked.
“I am not trying,” he smiled at her. “The difference between me and the rest of you is that I have paid for my crimes.”
“How dare you!” Wayne said. He grabbed for the plastic bag.
I took the bag from Simon. “He dares, Wayne, because it’s the truth,” I said. “Now let him finish.”
“You see, I became a serious Christian during my time in prison. My life and my values changed and—”
“Oh dear, here comes the awful story of his rehabilitation in prison and a lengthy sermon,” Paul
ette said. “Can we skip that, please?”
“Just listen to him,” Julie said. “He might make sense.”
“This is so totally okay,” Jason said.
Paulette dropped her gaze.
Simon told us that he went down to the beach. He referred to the oak tree that Mrs. Wright often climbed. “I made space on the ground next to the tree. It gave me a wonderful view of the mainland—when the weather permitted.” He told us the rain ended shortly after midnight. He did not hear any shots, although he did see the lights go on at one point. He considered going up to the house but decided instead to remain and pray.
“My heart was heavy. I had lost someone—Roger—who had become important to me. I agonized in prayer for God to intervene and to help solve this heinous crime.” He told us that God had given him a deep love for his former extortioner.
“Sometime after midnight—I didn’t notice the time—but the rain had stopped. I was still inside my tent, kneeling in the dark. I heard footsteps on the gravel path. I wondered if someone wanted me to do something. Roger used to call me at any hour of the day or night when I was inside the house. By my being outside, he would have to come down to look for me.
“There was just enough of a moon peeking through the clouds for me to see who it was. Wayne Holmestead walked right past me—he stopped maybe five feet away. He couldn’t have seen me. Then my conscience bothered me and I wondered if he needed anything. I started to speak, but he took something from his pocket and threw it over the cliff, turned around, and walked rapidly toward the house.
“That made me curious, of course,” Simon said. He had a small flashlight in his tent and walked to the cliff. “I could see nothing—my flashlight isn’t very powerful.” He walked down the ladder and looked around. He spotted the gun. “The nose of the gun had stuck in the sand, and the handle was straight up. It was barely on the rocks. When the tide changed again and started to come in, the gun would have been washed away.” He pulled off his shirt and used it to grab the gun, which he carried up to the kitchen and put into a plastic bag.
“Why didn’t you come in then?” I asked.
“I wanted to pray for Wayne.”
“For me? Why would you pray for me?”
“I knew you must be deeply troubled. I knew you had reacted as you did because of something Roger held over you. I prayed for God to be merciful to you and to forgive you.”
“Simon came into the house a little earlier,” I said, “and he told me what happened on the beach.”
“So this is all settled and we can go back to bed,” Lenny said. “Good show, Simon!”
“There is something else,” Julie said. “The envelope. The documents Roger had.”
“Oh yeah,” Lenny said. “I had forgotten.”
“Or maybe you wanted to forget,” Beth said.
“If this were a made-for-television movie,” Lenny said, “Wayne would try to make a run for it right now.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Wayne said.
“Well, did you murder him?” Julie said.
“No, I didn’t murder him.” His lips quivered, and he said, “But I did kill him.”
“Shut up!” Paulette said.
“Leave him alone,” I said to Paulette. “Let him tell us his story.”
“I did kill him, but—but it was an accident. We fought over the gun, and it went off.”
“Really?” Julie asked. “How did the gun come into the argument? I thought it was kept in a desk drawer.”
“Roger pulled it out. He threatened me. He said he’d shoot me if I didn’t leave.”
“I think you’re lying,” I said. “But that will be for the police and the courts to decide.”
“Why did you kill Elaine?” Julie asked.
“I didn’t kill her. Yes, I did kill Roger. But I don’t know anything about her death.”
“What’s the difference?” Julie asked. “One murder or two? And it will at least be one murder and an attempt to cover it up.”
“All right, I did kill him. But, it truly was an accident, even if you don’t believe me. I was the one who pulled out the gun. He held the letter in his hand. He started to read it. I lunged for the paper—it was actually four pages—and he pulled back, and we fought.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle. Nothing was messed up. Nothing was out of place. Everyone can testify to that. Right?”
“Did you get the paper you wanted so badly?” I asked.
“No, I panicked and ran.”
“You’re lying,” Julie and I both said at the same time.
“Sure he is,” Jason said. “Nothing was messed up in the office. I saw that. I mean, it looked as orderly as Dad’s desk ever did.”
“The more you lie, the more difficult it will become for you,” I said. “Why don’t you confess before the Brunswick police arrest you?”
He sat quietly and said nothing. “Just leave me alone for a few minutes,” Wayne said. “Please. I—I want to think.”
I walked into the dining room and poured myself a cup of coffee.
The morning sun slanted through the slats of the blinds, striping the table with shadows and golden light. I peeked through the blinds. The sun was a warm, bright yellow ball that seemed to chase every cloud off the horizon.
Several others followed me into the dining room. I poured a cup of coffee for Wayne. Although I had no idea how he took it, I added sugar and cream. When I walked back into the drawing room, I handed him the cup on a saucer.
He nodded his thanks but didn’t look at the cup. Automatically he raised it to his lips and took a long swallow. He took two more, drained the cup, and handed it back to me. Simon stood behind me to take the dirty cup back to the dining room.
He nudged me, and I followed him out.
“I’ll put Wayne’s cup into a plastic bag,” Simon said. “It will make it easier for them to compare fingerprints.”
“You’re an amazing man,” I said and struck him lightly on the shoulder.
“Yes, I know.”
A minute later we both walked back into the drawing room.
Wayne stared at Simon and then at me. He dropped his head. “I killed Roger, but I didn’t kill Elaine. That was Paulette’s doing.”
“What? How dare you implicate me?” Paulette said. “You think that if you throw some of this onto me that it will make it easier for you? How dare you—”
I faced Paulette, put my hands on her shoulders, and gently pushed her back into her chair. “You’ll have a chance to speak,” I said softly.
Holmestead turned away from her and directed his attention to me as if we were alone in the room. “Paulette and I were both in the office. She came in two or three minutes after Jason left. Elaine saw her—saw both of us.”
Paulette said, “That’s a lie—”
“Shut up,” Simon said. “I am strong enough to tie you up and tape your mouth if I need to do so.”
As ludicrous as that sounded, Paulette shut her mouth, but the anger was apparent on her face.
“Elaine also saw us come out of the office,” Wayne said.
“Why didn’t she tell us?” I asked. “She could have saved herself as well.”
“Money,” Wayne said.
“You mean blackmail?” Julie asked.
He nodded. “She didn’t know I had shot Roger—not then—but she had seen us. We were the last ones out of the office. After the discovery of the body, while we were all standing around, Mrs. Wright pulled Paulette aside. She whispered that she had seen us coming out of the office.”
“That’s not—” Paulette said, but she stopped when Simon came toward her.
“She told Paulette that she had heard the shot and saw us leave the office.”
“And—” I asked.
“Paulette asked her to be quiet and said that we’d talk to her later. She told me that Mrs. Wright had also said, ‘Be sure to bring your checkbook.’ ”
“That isn’t
true,” Paulette said. “I have no idea why you want to implicate me, Wayne. You’re guilty. You’ve said so. Don’t try to smear me with—”
“But it was your idea to kill Mrs. Wright,” he said. “That’s why.”
“Suppose you finish telling us, Wayne,” I said.
“I don’t know the details.” Wayne said that Paulette told him about Mrs. Wright’s comments. Wayne wanted to pay her off, but Paulette said that was never the way to work with blackmailers. Roger had never let them go and planned to expose them. “She said, ‘Leave Mrs. Wright to me. You took care of Roger. I’ll take care of her.’ That’s all I know.”
“So the two women met on the cliff, and she pushed Mrs. Wright off.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a lie!” Paulette said. “The note part is right, and I did go to the cliff, but he came too. You know there is a large magnolia tree near the oak where Mrs. Wright used to go? He stood behind it.”
“But that’s a dozen feet or more from the cliff,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said. “Mrs. Wright said she would keep quiet if we paid her two hundred thousand dollars. Wayne and I had decided that I would get her to the precipice, and he’d come up behind her and hit her and push her over the cliff. He had a hammer in his hand. She never heard him coming.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t—” his voice broke.
“Oh, shut up,” Julie said. “Don’t go sniveling now.”
“Now I can tell you more,” Simon said. “Roger knew that Wayne and Paulette had stolen from him. What they did not know is that he wasn’t going to expose them.”
Twenty-Four
“Not expose them?” I asked. “Wasn’t that the point of the invited guests and dinner meeting with all of us?”
“No, that wasn’t the point,” Simon said. He smiled at us. “Roger was going to forgive all of you.”
“Forgive us?” Julie echoed.
“And then he was going to ask you to forgive him.”
Everybody Loved Roger Harden Page 17