Secrets, Lies & Homicide

by Patricia Dusenbury

  Bea remained seated, biting her lip and looking worried. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet ever since the Super mentioned upsetting the Devereux family.

  "Okay Partner," Mike said, "Let's hear it. How did we stir things up?"

  "I don't think it was us. Claire and Tony have been looking for Geneviève's old lovers. You know, trying to prove his accomplice scenario. They might have found something. Tony has a bee in his bonnet about Roger Devereux." She thought a moment. "He said, 'Roger paid Geneviève off, but I'm not for sale.' Whatever that means. But he was shocked by the DNA results. I'm certain he was shocked by the DNA results."

  "Talk to Claire again and remind her this is a homicide investigation. See if she has any more to say. I'll get back in touch with Gilbert and do the same."

  "What about Tony?"

  "Leave him alone, but we'll step up the investigation into his mother's finances."

  CHAPTER 35

  Claire attended church infrequently, but this Sunday she sought comfort and prayed for guidance. She said the Our Father and thought about fathers. The sermon was about Daniel in the lion's den, but her mind wouldn't leave fathers behind.

  Bea had said Tony's memories of Jim Burke were fantasies. What would happen if he was forced to face the truth? When, not if. He might be over his mother's death, but twenty-five years later, he still mourned the man he believed to have been his father. The topic of his father was so fraught she hadn't dared mention her suspicions about Roger Devereux.

  After church she went home and changed into work clothes. Although they were only two weeks in, Tony's house was past the point of no return. It wouldn't take much to finish the exterior, which would make it much more marketable if he decided to sell. The inside was another matter. She stopped by the office to get her truck. She'd take inventory this afternoon and discuss options with Jack Monday morning.

  She pulled up to the curb in front of Tony's house and simply sat there for a moment. One month had passed since she first looked at this house, one month that felt like a lifetime. I'm not the person I used to be.

  The clang of metal hitting stone came from the backyard: several bangs then a pause, several bangs then a pause. Now what? None of her crews worked on Sunday, and the police were supposed to be finished with the studio. She climbed out of her truck and went to investigate.

  Tony stood with his back to her, attacking one of the cinderblock piers with a mattock. His shirt hung from a near-by tree branch. He'd been at it a while. Despite the cool day, rivulets of sweat ran down his torso. She waited until he paused.

  "Hi."

  He turned around, surprised to see her and then wary.

  His expression brought to mind all the times she'd felt someone's eyes on her and looked up to see Tony. Behind the smiles and jokes, he'd always been watchful. Why hadn't she seen the vulnerable child behind the self-confident man?

  "Working on a Sunday?" he said.

  "I didn't see your car."

  "Igor's in the shop. I'm driving a loaner."

  He'd caught the meaning behind her words. She wouldn't be here if she'd known he was. He'd all but said the same to her. Far more than twenty feet of weeds and shrubs separated them, and delivering Bea's message or asking if he'd talked to the police would only make things worse. "Can I help?"

  "Did you drive over in a bulldozer?"

  "Just my truck, but there are tools in the back." She glanced at the studio. "It's falling in on itself, toward the center. Knocking down the outside pillars is doing it the hard way."

  "Claire, I have two good eyes and a degree in engineering."

  "And you don't have anything that will get to those interior pillars." His expression didn't change, and she plowed ahead. "I have chain and a come-along in the truck."

  Still no response, they were both treading water. "I'll get them for you."

  "I'll help you carry them." He leaned the mattock against a tree. "I borrowed the mattock from the guy next door. Not the ideal tool, but this was spur of the moment. My weekend plans changed at the last minute."

  Claire nodded, but she didn't say that her weekend plans had changed too. She didn't trust that path. She didn't trust him I don't trust myself.

  "I've been thinking about how to take it down." She knelt and pointed underneath. "See those three pillars in the middle? They go and the building goes. I think. We can use that big tree to anchor the come-along."

  "You're not still mad at me are you?" He might have been going to put his hand on her shoulder, but the motion turned into a shrug.

  She shook her head no. Mad wasn't the right word.

  "That's good. I'm going to be really vulnerable while I'm running the chain under there."

  She had to smile. "Tony, I'm not going to drop a building on you, not even a small one."

  "I won't be very far under, and I'm quick. Odds are I'd escape." He winked, the old Tony.

  She looked away so he couldn't see her chaotic emotions written on her face.

  Working together, they slid the chain behind the outside pillars, looped it back on the other side and then pulled it tight, capturing the interior. If the center pillars were dry stack like the others, they'd pull over. If not, it was going to take a bulldozer. She started to show Tony how to thread the chain into the come-along, and he brushed her away.

  "I know how to use a hoist." He tapped the come-along. "This is a reflex-lever hoist."

  "Be careful. When a pillar goes, the chain could whiplash. Don't let it catch you by surprise."

  "I appreciate your concern, sweetheart, but I've used a hoist before."

  "To bring down a building? Which reminds me." She fetched two dust masks and two sets of goggles from the truck. "There'll be a lot of dust when it goes."

  The first pillar gave way without much resistance, but the studio didn't move. Tony peered underneath. "No change."

  "You pulled the pillar down. This is going to work." She hoped.

  He replaced his mask and went back to the come-along. The second pillar also gave way easily, but also without affecting the building. The third one resisted. The veins on Tony's forearms stood out as he turned the handle, tightening the chain one link at a time. He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "The entire weight of the building is on that pillar."

  "Do you want to take a break?"

  "I've almost got it." He pushed the handle again, and the chain went slack.

  The studio shivered then sang, a chorus of creaking wood, whining nails, and scraping mortar. The front wall leaned inward, tottered and fell, hitting the floor with a clap like thunder. The opposite wall went next, crashing forward with a violence that made Claire jump. The roof pancaked, leaving only the two side walls. They stood unsupported and wobbly but erect.

  "Fall, baby, fall." Tony reached for her hand.

  As if tipped by an invisible hand, the remaining walls crashed down in unison. Each collapse had raised a column of dust, and by the time those last walls fell, a billowing cloud covered the rubble.

  Claire felt a flash of exaltation. We did it!

  Tony stood close, beside her but barely visible in the dust cloud. What was he thinking?

  They'd both felt Jim Burke's presence inside his studio. Tony had sensed a spirit anxious for release after years of imprisonment. She'd felt that too, as if someone was calling to her, but once they'd gone inside, she'd felt darker emotions, anger and the residue of violence, a lingering evil that made her anxious to demolish the studio.

  "Let's go where we can breathe." She headed back toward the house.

  He took her arm and walked beside her, just as he'd done the day they met. When they reached the end of the path, he put his hands on her shoulder, held her at arm's length and burst out laughing.

  "You should see yourself."

  "What makes you think you look any better?" She joined his laughter. Except for patches where the goggles and mask had been, he was covered in dirty gray powder, darker where it had mixed with his sweat. />
  "You can have the first shower. The upstairs bathroom is still intact." When she hesitated he said, "You want to get that stuff off you. Who knows what's in it. Come on in. No funny business, I promise."

  "I don't have a change of clothes with me."

  "I'll shake them out when you're in the shower. They're just dusty. I was the one sweating." He climbed the back steps and held the door open for her. "Go ahead. You know the way. Yell when you're finished."

  Ten—or was it twenty?—minutes later, Claire turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She stood in front of the sink, searching for herself in the clouded mirror. What are you doing standing here naked and dripping wet? You should have gone home. She rubbed the glass with a corner of her towel, and Tony's wanton woman stared back at her. She thought about pride and standing her ground, but the woman in the mirror didn't care.

  "How's it coming in there?" Tony called.

  "I'm sorry to take so long. I had to wash my hair twice. Where are my clothes?"

  "Lying on the bed. Can I come in?"

  She wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door.

  "I don't want to rush you, but this stuff is forming concrete on my skin. Beware the mummy." Imitating a movie monster, he staggered stiff-limbed past her to the shower.

  "It's okay," she said. "I'm finished."

  He looked her over. "There's a hairdryer in the second drawer. Help yourself."

  "Thank you."

  Tony had shut the door behind him, but there was nothing keeping her in the bathroom, not really. All she had to do was turn the knob, open the door, and walk out. She found the hairdryer. There were outlets in the bedroom; she could dry her hair there.

  She looked at Tony's dirty jeans lying on the floor in front of the shower and heard the water splashing on his body. She plugged the dryer into the electrical outlet next to the sink. Switched to high, its whirr blotted out the shower sounds. She concentrated on drying her hair, leaning over to let it fall forward, combing it with her fingers and refusing to think about what else she was doing.

  The movement in the foggy mirror was Tony standing behind her. She switched the dryer off and turned to face him. They both knew where this was going, but he didn't touch her. His eyes searched hers.

  "Are you sure this is what you want, Claire?"

  He was standing between her and the door, but if she said she just wanted to get dressed and go home, he'd step aside and let her pass. Or she could tell him the truth, that all she wanted from life was to breathe air that had touched his skin.

  "I'm sure." She stepped into his embrace, and he carried her into the bedroom.

  Later, Claire lay in Tony's arms, savoring the closeness she knew wouldn't last, wondering if she could live for the moment and forget the rest. Already, she could feel him pulling away.

  "Detective Washington called this morning." His hand moved to her chin and turned her face to his. "You knew, didn't you?" His eyes had turned stormy. "Was this consolation, Claire?"

  Tears prickled. "This was making love."

  "But you did know." He wasn't asking a question.

  "I knew she wanted to talk to you. I didn't know she had, and I don't know what she said."

  "Don't ever play poker for money."

  "I'm not lying."

  "You're bluffing."

  "What did she say?"

  "They tested the bones. Jim Burke wasn't my father." He released her chin and his voice, angry when he challenged her, had lost all emotion.

  "I didn't know, but I suspected." She laid her head back on his chest and told him about bumping into Bea at the mall and what the detective had said.

  "They'll know more Monday?" he echoed. "More about what?"

  "What if the skeleton wasn't Jim Burke?"

  "Geneviève used to tell me that my father was her one true love. Anyone with a brain could see that wasn't Jim Burke, but I never figured it out. During our famous fight, she swore on her mother's grave that she hadn't killed my father. Killing Jim Burke, now that's something else."

  "Tony, I'm sorry." She searched for more potent words, but it didn't matter. He wasn't listening.

  "I've been asking myself, what did he know? Was he tricked into marrying a woman who was carrying another man's child or was he paid to do it?" His voice broke.

  Claire raised herself up on her elbows and grabbed Tony's shoulders, practically shaking him in her determination to make him listen. "Open your eyes and listen to me. So what if Jim Burke was a flawed human being, we're all flawed. We all do things we regret."

  "What's your point, Claire?"

  "Jim Burke loved you. I saw that picture of him playing with you. You've told me that he always had time for you. Judy Boaz told me he was crazy about you. Next to that, none of this mess about DNA tests means anything. Jim Burke was your real father. The other man was just a sperm donor."

  "Did you just call Geneviève's one true love a mere sperm donor?" His smile was bitter.

  "Forget her; this is about you, you and your father." Claire leaned close. Tony said he could read her face. Let him see the truth in it. "Your father is the man who loved you and took care of you. Jim Burke was your father."

  "I love your mouth. I've said it before, but it's true. Your mouth is incredibly sexy, the way your lips move when you talk drives me crazy." His finger traced the curve of her lower lip.

  She drew back. "You can't use sex as an escape."

  "If you'd cooperate, we both could." She protested, and he became serious. "I heard what you said. Now you listen to me. I don't care who killed Geneviève. I don't care who knocked her up. I'm moving on. Racing season starts soon, and I need a clear head."

  "When do you go back to Italy?"

  "In a few weeks." She stiffened, and he said, "You knew that, Claire."

  "I don't want to think about you leaving."

  "Then don't." He pulled her close.

  CHAPTER 36

  Paul Gilbert sat on the terrace overlooking the garden that separated his home from the street and raised his glass, a toast to the end of the day. Low rays from the setting sun shimmered golden through the deeper gold of the wine, but nagging thoughts marred what should have been a perfect moment. This evening had brought an extremely disturbing phone call from Mike Robinson. Soon he'd have to betray his promise to his father, a betrayal made more painful because, like most betrayals, it was ultimately pointless. What he'd been told, and what his father believed to be true, was a lie and a hoax.

  He brought the glass to his mouth and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of fruit, a hint of dairy, a suggestion of stony mineral. He slid the fine crystal along his bottom lip, enjoying its cold smoothness and letting his anticipation build. He exhaled a slow deep sigh then finally allowed himself a sip of his favorite white wine.

  The average American wine drinker has learned to sneer at Chablis. Before the French succeeded in restricting that appellation to wine from grapes actually grown in Chablis, US vineyards sold vats of mediocre white wine and called it Chablis. Today those wines are called chardonnay, after the variety of grape, and most people remember Chablis as something they used to drink before there was chardonnay.

  All the more for me. Although, in truth, few could afford the price this ten-year-old Grand Cru commanded. A good Chablis is one of the few whites that improves with age, and 1984 had been an exceptional year. He took another sip, letting the wine sit in his mouth for precious seconds before swallowing. If burnished steel had a taste, this would be it. The French called this lingering mineral character gout de pierre a fusil, which translates as gunflint. It should be a verb, not a noun, the taste of steel hitting stone. A bullet...

  The thick walls surrounding his property muted the street noise, but nothing silenced the noise in his head, Mike Robinson apologizing for calling him at home on a Sunday, saying this was a matter of extreme urgency, and asking if he knew who, other than Jim Burke, might be Tony Burke's father. And if he didn't know, would his paren
ts?

  Of course they did, but he'd stalled for time, and Mike had explained further, telling him in strictest confidence that Geneviève had fought for her life. Scraps of the killer's skin had become lodged under her fingernails. DNA analysis revealed that the killer was related to Tony but not to Geneviève. Thus, the identification of Tony's biological father had become crucial.

  The police believed that the same person had killed the aide. Geneviève's death could have occurred in the heat of the moment, but the aide, a nineteen-year old girl, had been executed with two bullets into the back of her head. The killer had to be stopped before he—or she—struck again.

  Mike's words had evoked terrible images: Geneviève clawing at her killer, a young woman lying in a pool of her own blood. Still, he'd listened in silence and remained silent about Tony's paternity. Silent, although murder was a heinous crime, and it was his responsibility as a member of the bar, as a responsible member of society, to help the police apprehend a murderer. Silent because a decades old gift of land and his father's grudging admission didn't constitute irrefutable proof. That would require analysis of Roger's DNA, something the Devereux family vehemently opposed but would not be able to prevent once he told the police that his father said Roger was Tony's father.

  "I'll call you back tomorrow," he'd said. "I want to talk to my father once more."

  "Please assure your father that Roger Devereux is no longer a suspect." Mike paused. "But don't mention the DNA analysis to anyone. We don't want to alert the killer."

  Paul promised to convey the message, but he hadn't, not yet. He was still digesting the astonishing truth that Mike's parting words had revealed.

  Roger only thought he was Tony's father. He, Jim Burke and who knew how many other men had been deceived into accepting responsibility for a child that wasn't theirs. According to his father, Geneviève had seduced several of Roger's friends. He had accused her seeking vengeance on a family and a society that never really accepted her and had been quick to shun her on Roger's behalf. But that was just the beginning.