Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101)

by Jance, Judith A.

  “That was a damned lie, of course. After we questioned her long enough, she finally broke down and told us what really happened. She said her husband was so hard to deal with that she just couldn’t take it anymore, that she couldn’t handle all the responsibility. According to her, she thought the bears would take care of the problem for her. They didn’t, of course. Somebody found him first, but then he caught cold and died of pneumonia anyway. Now we’ve got his grieving widow in the slammer. She’s serving seven to nine, man-two.

  “When we talked to Lucy Conyers a little while ago, I got the same feeling from her that I did with this other dame. Relief that poor Mike wouldn’t be suffering anymore. Made me wonder if maybe sweet little Lucy hadn’t done something herself to help ‘poor Mike’ along.”

  Everything in me said he was wrong. “It wasn’t Lucy,” I declared.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because Lucy was sitting closer to the door than I was. Whoever knocked me down did so while rushing back through the train to one of the other cars. You need to talk to the passengers in those cars and find out who all left their seats during the time the train was in the tunnel.”

  “But Lucy Conyers wasn’t in her seat when it happened,” Jake Ripley said quietly.

  “She wasn’t?” I asked in surprise.

  “No. She claims she was in the rest room in the next car when the lights went off. According to her, she stayed put the whole time because she was afraid of trying to walk on the moving train in the dark, afraid she might stumble or fall.”

  “I would have been afraid of the same thing,” I said.

  “And maybe that’s exactly what happened—she did fall,” Sonny theorized. “Coming back down the aisle from the observation deck, she lost her balance in the dark. She fell against you hard enough that she knocked you back into your seat. There’s no apparent bruising, but it’s a little early for that.”

  “In other words, you’ve already made up your minds as to what happened, and Lucy Conyers is it?”

  Sonny Liebowitz beamed and nodded. “In a manner of speaking,” he agreed. “Lucy brought her ailing hubby on the cruise and train ride hoping for an opportunity that would allow her to unload him before he had a chance to get any worse. Up here, we believe in letting nature take its course—in not rushing things along; know what I mean?”

  “Sounds just like Leave It To God.”

  “If that’s what floats your boat,” he returned with a shrug.

  “That’s not a philosophical position,” I told him. “That’s the name of the organization I believe is targeting Marc Alley.”

  “You got any proof of that?”

  “No. But talk to the FBI suits. They’re on the ship charged with protecting a guy by the name of Harrison Featherman. He’s the neurologist who did Marc Alley’s brain surgery. Leave It To God is made up of kooks who go after cutting-edge doctors. They target the guys who are doing stuff that’s just one step above experimental—the ones using advanced, court-of-last-resort techniques on patients who otherwise would die. Then, when the patients defy the odds and make it, Leave It To God goes after them, too. Their position is that since it was God’s intention for those people to die, they take it upon themselves to make sure that happens.”

  “In other words, the patients are damned if they do and damned if they don’t.”

  “Right.”

  “And Marc Alley is one of those guys who’s supposed to be dead one way or the other. So what’s the FBI doing about all this?”

  “They have their hands full protecting the doctors. They have a list of targeted doctors from all over the country, and Harrison Featherman is evidently on the list. Once we were on board, Agent Dulles contacted me and asked me, unofficially, of course, to keep an eye on Marc Alley.”

  “The FBI’s so short-handed these days that they’ve got to deputize retired cops?” Sonny Liebowitz shook his head and grinned. “Maybe if you’d been doing a better job of it, Mike Conyers wouldn’t be splattered all over that boulder back up the mountain.”

  I let that one pass. “Look,” I said. “Whoever did this must have known the train’s route and the whole program. He or she knew that as soon as the train entered the tunnel, the lights would go off and stay off until we reached the other side of Tunnel Mountain. The killer counted on being able to make his move, hot-foot it to the end of the train, push Marc off, and then dash back to his place without anyone being the wiser. He or she left in the dark and returned in the dark. The only thing he didn’t count on was the fact that Marc Alley wasn’t alone out there on that platform.”

  Sonny Liebowitz held up his hand. “That’s stretching it some, isn’t it—the idea of planning in advance to do the whole deal in the dark? That would be very premeditated. My guess is that this was more a crime of opportunity. Lucy saw her husband standing out on the balcony. As soon as the lights went out, she realized that was her chance to get rid of him once and for all, and she took it. End of Mike. End of story. We’re just damned lucky another person—Marc Alley, for instance—didn’t get hurt or killed in the process. Thanks for your help, Mr. Beaumont. That’ll be all.”

  “What do you mean, that’s all?”

  “I mean we’re done here. We have your name, address, and phone number back home in Seattle. If there’s anything more we need from you, we’ll be in touch.”

  “And what about Lucy Conyers?”

  He grinned. “What about her? I think she’ll be staying over for a while. Extending her vacation, so to speak, compliments of the state of Alaska.”

  “But she didn’t do it,” I objected.

  “In your opinion. Jake, go let Fred and Louie know they can head on into town now. I’m pretty sure we’ve got everything we need. You should also let him know that Mrs. Conyers will be riding down with us.” Nodding, Jake Ripley left the room.

  “Who are Fred and Louie?” I asked.

  “The engineer and the conductor.”

  “You’re telling them to take the train and leave? Does that mean you’re not going to interview anyone else?”

  “Why should we?” Sonny asked with a shrug. “Lucy already told us that she’s got a fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy riding on poor Mike, double that if he dies of anything other than natural causes. She gets rid of the trouble and aggravation of having a sick husband on her hands, and she gets fifty thousand to a hundred thousand bucks in his place. Not bad. That gives us motive and opportunity both. I’ve known murders where what was at stake was a hell of a lot less than fifty large, and I’ll bet you have, too. Not only that, I have a feeling once we have a chance to discuss this with Mrs. Conyers in more detail, that she’ll straighten up and tell us everything we need to know.”

  “As in confess?” I asked.

  “Right,” he grinned. “Save us the trouble of having to convict her.”

  “But she didn’t do it.”

  “Sez you,” Liebowitz returned. “Let me give you some advice, Mr. Beaumont. Go get on the train. It’s a damned long walk from here, even if it is all downhill. And then there’s the bears, you know. They’re pretty damned hungry this time of year—getting ready for winter and all.”

  “You’re a sorry son of a bitch,” I told him.

  “Really. Well, I may be a sorry son of a bitch, but I also happen to be in charge. FBI or no FBI, you’ve got no standing here, Mr. Beaumont. In fact, as an ex-homicide dick from the big city, you’ve got less than no standing. If I was you, I’d make tracks for that train, fella. And don’t let the door slam on your butt on the way out.”

  As if to underscore Sonny’s statement, the train whistle gave two short, shrill blasts. Obviously Fred and Louie had taken Jake Ripley at his word. Not wanting to be left behind to hoof it, I jogged over to the train and pulled myself up onto the last car just as it started to move.

  Beverly was waiting right inside the door. “Where’s Lucy?” she demanded.

  “She’s riding into town with the two detecti
ves.”

  “Why? Is she under arrest?”

  “I don’t know that for sure, but I’d say it’s likely.”

  Beverly was aghast. “They think Lucy killed Mike?”

  “That’s my impression.”

  By now Claire and Florence Wakefield had joined Beverly. “Preposterous!” Claire announced. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Where are they taking her?” Lars asked.

  “Into Skagway.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Beverly asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “There isn’t a whole lot anybody can do. She needs a lawyer, of course.”

  “You have a friend who’s a lawyer, don’t you?” she asked. “What’s his name again? He’s always seemed like a very nice man.”

  “Ralph Ames is a nice man, Beverly,” I said. “He just doesn’t happen to be here.”

  “But couldn’t you call him?” she asked. “You really must do something about this, Jonas. You’re the one who knows how these things work.”

  I know how they’re supposed to work, I thought with a shake of my head. “With someone like Detective Liebowitz running the show, all bets are off.”

  “He’s from Chicago,” Lars put in from the sidelines. “Said he came here because he wanted clean winters for a change. Didn’t like him much. Didn’t seem to have all that much on the ball. That young Indian kid, though, he struck me as being pretty sharp.”

  “What about Ralph Ames?” Beverly insisted. “Couldn’t you at least call him?”

  She was putting the squeeze on me again, using the same kind of tactics that had brought me along on the cruise in the first place.

  “I suppose I could,” I agreed. “I’ll try calling as soon as we get back on board the ship.”

  Florence Wakefield reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone with the face of Minnie Mouse on the cover. “No sense in wasting time,” she said. “Why don’t you go ahead and call right now?”

  And so I did. I called Ralph from a cell phone on a train in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Alaska, and it worked. Once he was on the phone, I explained that I was calling at my grandmother’s behest.

  “Is this the lady you sent me the E-mail about?”

  “No,” I told him. “That’s Naomi Pepper. Lucy Conyers is somebody else.”

  “You’re saying a second passenger on the cruise ship is also being accused of murder?”

  “Right. Different victim,” I replied.

  “You must be a jinx, Beau,” Ralph said with some amusement. “I’ve been on several cruises, but nothing like that has ever happened.”

  “I’m just lucky, I guess. So what do you suggest?” I asked. “The one woman, Naomi Pepper, has simply been advised to stay on the ship unless the FBI agent in charge grants her permission to leave. With Lucy Conyers, though, I’m pretty sure she’s under arrest, or she will be shortly, once they get her into Skagway and book her.”

  “And you don’t think she did it?”

  “No. I’m convinced it was someone from one of the other cars, but the detectives hit on Lucy and they didn’t bother looking any further. I don’t think they even interviewed any passengers from the other cars. I’m worried they’re going to put pressure on Lucy and buffalo her into confessing in order to cover up their own sloppy police work.”

  Ralph thought about that for a second. “So she needs help immediately if not sooner.”

  “Right.”

  “Let me go to work on this,” he said. “What’s your number? I’ll get back to you.”

  “This isn’t my phone,” I said. “Somebody lent me a cell phone so I could call you from here. I don’t have the foggiest idea about the ship’s number.”

  “I’m a big boy,” Ralph Ames said. “If the Starfire Breeze has a number, I’ll be able to find it and get back to you. Now, what are the names of those two detectives again?”

  “Sonny Liebowitz and Jake Ripley,” I told him.

  “And the woman’s name?”

  “Lucy Conyers. Her husband’s name was Mike.”

  I heard the scratch of pen on paper as Ralph jotted down the names. “Good enough,” he said. “Now get off the phone and let me go to work. Tell Beverly not to worry.”

  “I will,” I said.

  Having heard the words straight from Ralph Ames’ mouth, I knew that I wouldn’t worry as much, either. I just hoped Lucy Conyers wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown before Ralph could protect her from what I was ashamed to think of as “the law” in Skagway.

  15

  WE ARRIVED BACK in Skagway in brilliant late-afternoon sunlight. But even though the weather had changed, the group that trudged back up the Starfire Breeze’s gangplank was more bedraggled than they had been when we left during the morning downpour. Without Mike and Lucy Conyers along, the people in our little group were feeling mighty low. They were all terribly grieved by what had happened—grieved and taking it personally. Then, too, none of us had eaten a full meal since forenoon coffee all those hours ago.

  “I don’t think we’ll be coming down for dinner tonight, Jonas,” Beverly told me quietly as we stood in the crowded elevator lobby along with everyone else who had been on the ill-fated train ride. “Lars isn’t quite up to facing the dining room. We’ll just order from Room Service and have a little something sent up to our room.”

  I didn’t need her to tell me that Lars was hurting. His weathered face sagged. The spryness was gone from his step. His usual hale-and-hearty coloring was tinged with gray. In all the years I’ve known him, I don’t ever remember having seen him look worse.

  “Do you think maybe he should go to the Infirmary and see the doctor?” I asked. “Or would you like me to come along up to the room and help?”

  “Oh, no. I think he’s better off working through this on his own. We’ll be fine, Jonas. You do whatever it is you need to do. Hopefully that nice Mr. Ames will be back in touch with you and we can start getting this awful mess straightened out.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I assured her. Whatever that might be.

  Back in the stateroom I was glad to see that the rib-killing roll-away bed had been removed. I located Rachel Dulles’ business card and phoned her in her cabin. “What’s up?” she asked when I identified myself.

  “Did you hear what happened on the train?” I asked.

  “Something about an old man falling off.”

  “His name is Mike Conyers,” I told her. “And he didn’t fall; he was pushed. The problem is, the detectives on the case are convinced his wife did it. They’ve taken her into Skagway for questioning.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t believe Mike Conyers was the real target,” I told her. “I think they were after Marc Alley and missed.”

  There was a pause. “Where are you?”

  “In my room.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she said.

  Hector, the room attendant, was out in the hallway with his cart when I opened the door to let Rachel Dulles in. He smiled and gave me a knowing nod. It’s not what you think, I wanted to say to him. Instead, I followed her inside and closed the door behind us.

  “What happened?” she asked, and I told her.

  “What’s your theory?” Rachel wanted to know when I finished.

  “I think whoever did it, under the cover of darkness, followed Marc down the aisle, shoved him hard enough to knock him over the guardrail, and then raced back to his seat.”

  “Without anyone realizing he’d been gone,” Rachel added.

  “Right.”

  “Only, Marc was knocked off-balance. He fell, all right, but inside the guardrail instead of over it. In the confusion, Mike Conyers is the one who actually went over the top.”

  “So the LITG operative is one of the passengers on the train. That narrows the field a little because the train doesn’t hold all the passengers at once and crew members don’t generally take those trips at all. I’ll check with t
he purser’s office and get a printout of the people who did sign up for the train.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “At least somebody seems to be listening. That’s more than I can say for the detectives on the case. The problem is, just because whoever it was missed getting Marc this time doesn’t mean they won’t try again. And an innocent old woman whose husband of fifty-five years has just died stands accused of murdering him.”

  Rachel wasn’t particularly interested in Lucy Conyers’ plight. “Marc knows about all this then?”

  I nodded. “I told him last night, but he didn’t take me very seriously. After what happened this morning, all that is changed.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “It is changed. I appreciate your help, Beau, but from now on, I’m taking charge of the Marc Alley problem myself.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  Rachel Dulles smiled. “I’m advising you to quit,” she told me. “Obviously Leave It To God has upped the ante. If innocent civilians are getting killed, I can’t in good conscience have you involved.”

  I figured I knew how to take care of myself, but I also knew she was doing what was necessary to keep the Agency from incurring any further liability if something did happen to me. Not only that, I was happy to be let loose of the responsibility. Lars Jenssen may have lost his grasp on Mike Conyers’ coat, but I was the one who had dropped the ball. When Marc Alley went outside, I should have gone, too.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I quit.”

  “I’d better be going then,” she said, starting for the door. “I think I’ll go introduce myself to Mr. Alley.”

  “Let me warn you in advance. He’s not enamored of FBI agents.”

  “Who is?”

  “Wait,” I said. “Before you go, tell me, what’s been happening here?”

  Rachel resumed her seat. “Well, Harrison Featherman chartered a float plane. He left Leila and Chloe here and flew over to meet up with the Coast Guard crews who are looking for Margaret. Just to be on the safe side, Alex went along with him.”