Secrets, Lies & Homicide

by Patricia Dusenbury

  She made a mental list of the changes required for the Currier's bathroom, starting with costs from the plumber. The electrical was an additional circuit, she could estimate that. Jack would be able to tell her what extra structural work was required. Labor costs for tile and marble work were similar. Thank heaven she'd done drawings for the luxury bath option. They were somewhere in the Currier file. Brochures for the fixtures were with them.

  Jack and the plumber both should be at Tony's house this morning. Reggie, their HVAC guy, should be there too. He'd cancelled a meeting yesterday afternoon, and she was determined to talk to him ASAP. The central hall would have to include specialized humidity control to protect Jim Burke's paintings. Reggie was an excellent engineer but, if left to his own devices, ignored aesthetics.

  She walked into Tony's house and interrupted a heated discussion.

  "Reggie wants to drop the hall ceiling and run the extra vents above it," Jack said.

  "Can't you run them through the attic?" she said.

  "It's going to cost," Reggie said.

  "That's okay. Put the numbers together and we can talk about it, but we're going to do it right."

  "That's what I told him," Jack said.

  "Nothing wrong with double checking," Claire said. "Where's the plumber? I need his help with a change order on the Currier project. I need to talk to you, too, Jack."

  By noon, Claire was back at the office, preparing the Currier's change order. She faxed the finished document to Dave's office then called to be sure someone had noticed its arrival. It was, she explained to the woman who answered the phone, important that Dave sign and send it back as quickly as possible.

  "Dave's at lunch. I'll mention it when he returns."

  "He's expecting the fax. I'll call again if I haven't heard back in an hour."

  She locked the office and ran down to the corner deli to get herself a sandwich. When she returned, the signed change order sat in the fax machine. "Thank you, Dave," she murmured and called Jack.

  "I have Dave's signature. We're back on track. Have things settled down over there?"

  "Burke stopped by, looking for you. Said it was personal, nothing to do with his house." Jack's tone conveyed his disapproval.

  "I'm sorry I missed him." She'd been wondering why Tony had no time for her until Friday. The visit made her feel better. "Or maybe not. This has been a crazy morning."

  "You've already done a full day's work and then some. Everything's under control, why don't you treat yourself to an afternoon off?"

  "I can't. I have to modify the Currier's permit ASAP, and that means a trip downtown."

  She threw away the remains of the now soggy sandwich and was halfway out the door when the phone rang. Caller ID said David Currier, and so she ran back to get it. The call was from Anne.

  "You won't believe who's going to call you."

  "Who?" Claire played along although she really wanted to ask if whatever this was couldn't wait until tomorrow.

  "Just a few minutes after you left, Dave had gone to work, and I was standing on the sidewalk, thinking about what I want to do with the landscaping, when Laura Bethea pulled up and waved me down. Laura and I met last year when I served on a committee she chaired at Saint Agnes. She's an alumna, very active, and my daughter is a student there.

  "Laura said she drove past often and always admired the house. She asked if Dave and I were the new owners. We started talking about fixing up old houses and of course your name came up." Anne paused. "You don't know who she is do you?"

  "No," Claire admitted.

  "Bethea is her married name. Laura is a Devereux. Surely, you've heard of them. Old New Orleans money." Anne laughed. "She'd be a wonderful connection for you."

  "I do know who she is. Thank you for the referral," Claire said, although she couldn't imagine Laura Devereux Bethea hiring her company, not if this was the same Laura who had seen her with Geneviève. "Dave has signed your change order. We're set to begin work tomorrow morning as planned."

  "I knew he would, but you were wise to insist," Anne said. "And while I have you on the phone, I want to talk about the landscaping."

  A long fifteen minutes passed before Claire was able to extricate herself. She liked Anne, who was an amiable and enthusiastic client, and approved of her ideas for landscaping, which would require yet another change order, but she was exhausted. She grabbed her purse, walked out the door and bumped into a slender woman who was about to walk in. They both jumped back. Claire and Roger Devereux's niece stared at each other a moment then both spoke at once.

  "I'm sorry," Claire said. "I didn't hear you at the door."

  "I'm sorry, I was just about to knock. I'm Laura Bethea." "Anne Currier recommended you, and I was in the neighborhood."

  "Anne told me, and I'd like to talk to you, but I'm afraid you caught me on my way out."

  "I want to talk to you about a house I'm considering. Could we go inside for just a minute?"

  "This really isn't a good time," Claire said. "What about tomorrow?"

  "Not tomorrow." Laura shook her head as if she was going to insist upon talking today, but stopped when Jack pulled into the driveway. She turned and stared at his truck.

  Jack walked toward them. "I'm glad I caught you," he said to Claire. "Reggie is right behind me. He wants to see your original drawings for the Burke project."

  "Jack, this is Laura Bethea. Laura, Jack Giordano, my partner." Claire was relieved to see Jack. Laura had given no indication of leaving, and she didn't want to argue with her, not if she really was a potential client. "Laura wants to talk to us about a project," she said. "I was just suggesting tomorrow. Or Friday. Some time next week, just not today."

  "I'll leave that to you ladies to arrange." Jack pointed to another pick-up that had pulled up to the curb. "Reggie and I have some negotiating to do. Claire, as soon as you finish here, come on in and join us."

  "Be right with you." She held her hand out to Laura, who took it reluctantly. "It was nice meeting you. I'd like to talk about your house. Do you have my number?"

  "I'll be in touch." Laura backed down the steps, clutching her purse.

  Claire watched her depart. Why hadn't Laura acknowledged their earlier encounters? She must have recognized her.

  Laura Devereux Bethea was a strange woman. Her hand had been cold and damp, her shake limp, like a dead fish. Claire had heard the expression, and now she knew exactly what it meant.

  CHAPTER 30

  Tony had finished his part. He told the guy from the advertising agency that he wanted some fresh air. "I'll be outside if you need me."

  He walked around the lot, admiring the shiny automobiles and removing imaginary specks of dust from polished fenders. The sales force was inside, watching the commercial being shot and drooling over Kerri. Let them have their fun; he'd see her later. He opened a door and inhaled the leather infused new car smell. He'd worked in the service department at Landrieu's Chevy-Buick summers when he was in college, and he got a kick out of seeing Tony Burke Ferrari & BMW in big letters on the building.

  The employees had assumed he was lending his name in exchange for a cut of the profits, but they knew better now. After observing and interviewing every member of the staff, from the sales manager to the guy who cleaned up the service area, he'd decided to keep the manager and leave the service department as is, but half the sales force needed to be replaced or retrained and quickly. Less than a month and he'd be back in Italy, preparing for the upcoming season. Even that was cutting it tight. The first race was March 27th.

  A Lexus pulled into the entrance, paused, backed-up, and parked on the street. A slender blonde woman got out and walked quickly toward the showroom. She showed no interest in any of the vehicles she passed and twice glanced back over her shoulder as if making sure she wasn't being followed. People who don't drive their car onto the lot are usually asking directions or looking for a bathroom, nothing to do with buying a car, but neither makes them nervous.

&nbs
p; Tony stepped out where she could see him. "Hi. Can I help you?"

  "You're Tony Burke." She stopped short and held her purse tightly against her chest. Did she think he was going to grab it and run?

  "And you are?" He kept his distance.

  "I want to buy my husband a new car, a surprise for Valentine's Day." The blurted statement might explain why she left her car on the street but not her strange behavior.

  Tony took stock. Expensive car, expensive clothes, designer sunglasses and heavy gold jewelry. He decided to go along with her. "Your husband is a lucky man." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Do you have any particular car in mind?" Only five days until Valentine's, so it would have to be something already on the lot, a BMW. They only had two Ferraris in stock, a demo and the one he drove.

  "I really don't want anyone I know to see me here. They might mention it to my husband." She looked back at the street. "Can we go inside?"

  "Of course. They're shooting a commercial in the showroom, so we have to go in the side door." He gestured for her to go first. "Walk in front of me, and no one driving past will be able to see you." Not that anyone was likely to look, but the customer was always right, even if this one was so high strung she twitched.

  He ushered her into an empty office and handed her a brochure. "Why don't you look at this while I get a salesman to help you?"

  "No, don't do that." Her jitters returned. "Don't tell anyone else I'm here."

  What would he tell? Now that he'd had a good look at her, she looked vaguely familiar. He'd seen her before, but he didn't know where, and he didn't know her name. Whoever she was, she was practically psycho about not being seen. Tony hoped she wasn't psycho period. Last year, a disturbed woman had stalked him, claiming he was the father of her child by osmosis or something. He showed this woman to a chair and sat down at the desk but left the door open.

  "It's really Valentine's and birthday combined. He'll be fifty next month," she said.

  "Fifty is a big birthday." He waited for a reaction and got none. "Valentine's Day is my birthday, and no one's ever given me a car." He pointed to the unopened brochure in her hand. "Do you see anything you like?"

  "I don't know a lot about cars. I'm shopping around to see what there is."

  "Well, let's narrow it down. Do you want a convertible or a sedan?"

  "Not a convertible. It's too hot half the year, and the fumes are awful, especially if you get stuck in traffic."

  "That's hard to argue with." And the first hint that she was capable of rational thought.

  She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and began leafing through the brochure.

  "If I were turning fifty and someone was giving me a car, I'd want a 540i." It was his favorite of the new BMWs, not a Ferrari but responsive and fun to drive. He pointed it out and went through the features.

  She glanced at the pictures of the car then stared intently at him. Her pupils looked normal size, not dilated or pinprick. "It's nice looking." She was still clutching her purse as if it held the secret to immortal life.

  "It's even better driving. You can take one for a spin. Let me get a salesperson to help you." Maybe she'd be more comfortable with another woman. He stood and reached out a hand to help her to her feet.

  "I told you. I don't want to talk to anyone else." Her frown said she expected people to do what she asked. "Why can't you take me for a test drive?"

  "Only salesmen take customers out. House rules." That it was his house and he made the rules was beside the point. "But I can show you the car. We have several on the lot."

  Tony didn't know why he was continuing this farce. Interacting with customers set a bad precedent. He didn't want racing fans cluttering up the lot in the hope of seeing him, and if she was for real, the sales force wouldn't appreciate his taking a customer.

  "Thank you. I'd like that."

  She followed him outside and, when he opened the car, got in on the driver's side. She seemed to relax as he helped her adjust the seat and showed her the controls, but she kept the purse in her lap rather than set it on the floor or on the seat beside her like a normal woman would.

  "I can let you have this car for fifty even." He pointed to the sticker on the window, which said $53,900. "Fifty thousand dollars for a fiftieth birthday present. I want to get into the birthday spirit." If she actually bought anything, he'd throw the commission into the pot for the monthly sales bonuses.

  "Can you put it in writing? I'm almost sure this is the car I want, but it's the first one I've looked at." She half shrugged, a helpless gesture that struck him as totally out of character. This woman might be nuts, but she knew what she wanted.

  "I'd be happy to," he said. "Let's go back inside."

  He talked to her while he filled in a cost sheet. "You're smart to comparison shop. You should look at Mercedes, Lexus, Jaguar. They make fine sedans, but the 540i is a fine sedan that's fun to drive. Tell you what. I'll let you take it out for a spin."

  "Really? I can take it out by myself?"

  "I'll just need to make a copy of your driver's license."

  "I don't want to drive it. I was just surprised that you'd let me."

  "You strike me as trustworthy." He shrugged. "It's almost too bad this is a surprise. If your husband had the chance to test drive all the cars you're considering, I bet he'd choose this one."

  "You're quite the salesman." She smiled for the first time.

  "It's easy when you've got such a great product." He passed the completed cost sheet across the desk.

  "Could you please sign it and write that this price is guaranteed by you? In case I come back and you're not here."

  He took the price sheet back, wrote out a guarantee and signed it with a flourish. Then he put it and the brochure into one of the dealerships envelopes. "Here you go. Signed, sealed and we're ready to deliver as soon as you make up your mind. Today is the ninth. Give us at least a day to prepare the car. Nothing goes out until it's been cleaned and prepped."

  "Thank you very much, Tony. I'll be in touch." She took the envelope.

  "Give us a call when you make up your mind. If I'm not here, whoever you talk to will honor that price."

  He walked her to the door and held out his hand.

  After a tiny hesitation, she took it. Hers was icy cold and damp.

  He still didn't know her name, and she clearly didn't want him to.

  She hurried back to her car, the envelope still in her hand. She hadn't put it in her purse, and he wouldn't have been surprised to see her throw it away, but she kept it. He watched her car merge into traffic, making sure she was really leaving, before he walked back to the showroom.

  It wasn't even three o'clock, but the crew was already packing up their equipment, and Kerri was nowhere to be seen. The director came over full of praise for her professionalism, beauty and charm. "I never thought I'd work with someone like her, not doing a commercial for a local dealership. How'd you talk her into it?"

  "We're old friends," Tony said. "Where is she?"

  "Changing."

  When Kerri emerged from the makeshift dressing room, Tony asked her if she'd like to go for a ride in the country. He had to talk to a man about a horse.

  CHAPTER 31

  The fax from CODIS came in a little before ten Friday morning. A note on the cover sheet said testing the additional samples wouldn't be done until Monday, but Lucy, the lab tech doing the analysis, thought he'd want these results as soon as they were available. Lucy was right.

  Mike scanned the summary.

  Finding number one transformed Tony Burke from semi-prime suspect to innocent man. The four DNA samples came from four different individuals. The skin found under the victim's fingernails wasn't his, nor did it belong to the victim. They had the killer's DNA, and if they ever solved the case, they should be able to get a conviction. The next finding described relationships among the individuals who had provided the DNA samples. It made no sense.

  A second reading did nothing to dispel
the confusion, and so Mike tried a diagram. He drew a circle for each DNA sample and labeled the first one GB, the victim. He drew an arrow to the next circle, wrote maternal under the arrow and labeled the circle TB. Funny, Burke's initials were a disease. DNA from the skin scrapings found under the victim's fingernails shared sequences with TB, but none with GB. The killer was related to Tony Burke but not to his mother.

  Mike labeled the third circle SKIN, drew an arrow from it to the TB circle and wrote "paternal" beneath that arrow. He wrote JB in the last circle. No arrows, because DNA from the bones found in Jim Burke's studio came from an unrelated individual. Mike crossed out the J, leaving that circle labeled B, for bones.

  He studied his diagram and saw what must have happened. He'd told Lucy that there'd been a second murder, related to the first. Could they speed things up? She'd done a rush job as requested, but she'd become tired or careless or both and had screwed up. The results from the skin had been switched with the results from the bones.

  Mike didn't want to think about what this would do to the admissibility of DNA evidence if they ever matched the skin scrapings. He threw the fax down on the desk. Using DNA had been his idea and he'd pushed hard. Vernon, who'd been skeptical from the beginning, wasn't going to be gracious about the botched results.

  He called Lucy. "We have a little problem." He explained what he thought had happened and asked her to investigate the possibility of a mix-up.

  "That didn't happen," she said. "It's impossible. We have procedures, layers of safeguards. We have to. Our findings are used in legal proceedings."

  "I'd like to speak to your supervisor." There was no point in arguing with her.

  "He's at a meeting out of the office. I'll give him your message when he returns." Click.

  He tried to call Bea, but her phone was out again. If he ever found out who was behind that sabotage, he, or they, would be walking a beat. Muttering under his breath, he walked down the hall to Bea's office. She was there, eating the omnipresent cookie and working on a laptop.