Losers, Weepers

by Jessica Thomas

  “There is one small problem, sir. I’m not carrying a handbag tomorrow night, much less a Glock semi-automatic. There is no place to put it. My tux is a sleek fit, and I will not have a great bulge in my hip pocket, nor will I have my jacket dragging down below my knee from carrying it in a side pocket. And a shoulder holster is out. No gun, Son.”

  He lifted his hands helplessly. “Hit him with a rock. Seriously, you better have a weapon with you.” He turned back toward the door as he said, “See you at the station about eight thirty in the morning. Coffee and doughnuts on me.”

  “What? Why? Are you crazy?”

  “Mark Maddock. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. The minute he got a shower and some food, he passed out. When he wakes up, he’ll be sober, with plenty of worrisome thoughts. I’m just as glad he did pass out. I had a lot to do.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said. “You were running behind after your three-hour lunch with Dana? She’s an infant and she’s gay.”

  “I am aware of those two things, Ms. Morality Police. She is also a gutsy kid and our only reliable contact with Zoe and her keepers. You and Jeanine had Mark pretty well rattled. We should get a confession in no time. See you at eight thirty.” He was gone.

  I tossed my clothes on a chair and turned to the bed where Cindy lay, deep in dreamland. I didn’t even bother shooing Wells and Fargo off my side of the bed. I merely curled up in the little space they had left me. It was just fine.

  Chapter 24

  The darling four-legged members of the family woke us early. I got up to let them out and wondered yet again where they found their energy. I stood in the doorway, watching them, my mind a virtual blank. I felt Cindy’s head nestle between my shoulder blades and I asked, “Why are you up? You are the only sane one in the family. Go back to bed.”

  “We have time to take them to the beach before you have to leave,” she answered. “I vaguely heard Sonny say something about eight thirty last night. Shall we take the little buggers for a romp?”

  Cindy and Wells rarely joined Fargo and me for a beach trip, and I was pleased.

  “Sure. That’s a great idea.”

  We rapidly donned last night’s clothes, called the kinder and left, with Fargo shifting around the backseat, complaining that he was supposed to ride in the front seat, and Wells, hissing quietly when he crowded her. A typical family excursion.

  I stopped at the Topsail and picked up Portuguese fried bread and two coffees. Cindy actually broke off a hunk of bread and tore into it like a hungry sailor. Not a typical family excursion.

  We reached Race Point, and I parked right at the top of the paths down to the beach. There were only two other cars there, probably surf fishermen. Fargo scampered down with Wells in hot pursuit—and I had no camera.

  Cindy and I followed more slowly.

  When we got to sea level, I turned and looked out over the ocean to the horizon where the sun was just sending exploratory rays along the whitecaps, making them look like dainty, timeless gold antimacassars on the ocean’s ample armrests.

  “What’s your forecast, Caleb? Fair weather?”

  “Ayup,” I answered in my best fisherman’s accent. “She may blow a little toward evenin’ but thar’ll be no rain, lady. You c’n wear yore best boa t’night.”

  “I’m glad there’ll be no rain, thank you, but I am not at all sure the world is ready for me in a boa.”

  We strolled on. Cindy laughed and pointed. Fargo had rousted a bunch of plovers and they flew away, low over Wells, who performed several athletic leaps and finally did a little jig on her hind feet, front feet waving ineffectually in the air where the birds had been. Fargo gave her a disgusted look and plunged into the water, managing to spray her rather thoroughly, which, of course, had been his purpose.

  I shook my head. “Sometimes they are so human they almost frighten me.”

  “At least they are rarely vicious without a reason,” Cindy said. “Rogue animals do happen, but few and far between. You can usually trace a bad animal to a bad human.”

  “Then no wonder ours are such paragons of virtue.”

  I popped my empty coffee cup into the bag our breakfast had come in. Cindy added hers and I took the breakfast detritus over to one of the trash barrels placed at intervals along the beach.

  We walked slowly back to the car, holding hands and leaning slightly into each other. I turned to her and said, “I love you,” just as she simultaneously said, “I love you.”

  Cindy tilted her head against my shoulder. “Isn’t it nice we’re in accord?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  A soaking shower and second cup of coffee put a finishing touch on my morning’s good humor, and I arrived at Sonny’s office at eight thirty sharp, wide awake and smiling. Surprisingly, so was my brother. He handed me a cup of coffee and actually used a paper napkin to hand me a doughnut.

  “Has Mark just given you an eight-page written confession?”

  “No, he’s still whining that he didn’t do it. But one Richard Merrill arrived at the front desk a little while ago, announcing that he wants to clear his good name in the Charlotte Cohane matter. That probably means he intends to muddy Mark’s.” Sonny flashed his Great White Shark grin.

  “Ah.” I took a bite of the pastry—still warm! “I take it Merrill is Mark’s coworker and buddy—well, used to be his buddy, anyway.”

  “Yep. He’s in the interrogation room awaiting our pleasure. Shall we join him?”

  “Oh, yes. I wouldn’t miss this.” I swiftly finished off the doughnut, wiped my mouth and followed Sonny down the hall, carrying my coffee.

  The young man seated at the table was rather fresh-faced and pleasant looking, with dark brown curly hair and dark brown eyes that looked clear and warm. His posture was straight but not nervously stiff. I judged him to be around six feet tall. He actually rose when we entered the room.

  “Good morning, Mr. Merrill, I am Lieutenant Peres and this—” He was stopped in midsentence by Merrill reaching across the table and extending his hand. Sonny was so startled, he took it. “ . . . and this is my deputy,” he finished weakly.

  I suppressed a giggle, sat down and arranged my notebook and coffee several times until they straightened themselves out.

  “Now, er, Richard. What’s all this about clearing your name? Thus far, you have no police record in Ptown, or in the state as far as we can judge at this time. Not even a parking ticket. What is it you think may cause you a problem?” Sonny smiled his sweetest smile, offering Merrill all the rope he needed.

  “Sir, I’m afraid if I don’t straighten this out personally, you might somehow get the idea I was somehow involved with Ms. Cohane’s death, and I wasn’t, except maybe a little bit afterward, but nothing that would have helped her.”

  “I see.” I was glad Sonny did. I wondered if Richard were kin to Billie at the Rat. “Would you like to start at the beginning, and would you mind if I taped this interview?”

  “Not at all, sir, Lieutenant. Tape away. No confusion that way. I guess you could say it started when we got Mrs. Widman’s sofa and chair loaded on the truck to be re-covered. Her house is maybe half a mile from the Tellman Gallery, and Mark said he’d like to stop by and tell Ms. Cohane he had no hard feelings. He and Karen had been considering a divorce anyway, he said, and he for one thought it was a fine idea. He’d been unhappy for years, but just stuck it out because of his son, Harry.”

  Sonny was clearly speechless. I managed to ask, “You mean Karen and Mark were considering a divorce, and Charlie Cohane was somehow involved in their decision?”

  “Ms. Cohane was the reason for the divorce.” Richard gave a short laugh. “Karen told Mark that the very day the two women met, they knew they were meant for each other, and they were even going into business together. Mark informed her he wasn’t going to sit still while she got involved with some dyke and made him the town’s laughingstock. Karen said, well, then he could sit still somewhere else. A divorce would be fine with he
r. She wasn’t giving up her new business or her new, uh, friend.”

  Sonny finally found his voice. “You mean Mrs. Maddock and Ms. Cohane had fallen in love with each other? Just like that?”

  “Sir, it surely sounded that way to me.”

  Without thinking, I had lit a cigarette. I blew smoke toward the ceiling and said, “That romance is a little hard to believe, and Mark Maddock would never wish any two lesbians well. He hates all gays, and if his wife has discovered she is gay, that would put him right over the edge. If I had any doubts that Mark killed Charlie, I just lost them.”

  “I hate to disagree with you, ma’am, but you’re wrong. Mark did not kill her. I’ll tell you what happened. I parked the truck in the art gallery lot like Mark told me, and we went over to the gallery. There didn’t seem to be anybody there, and we wondered if they’d all gone to lunch and somebody forgot to close the door. We were standing inside the main door, and Mark was telling me to stay there where I could see if anybody pulled into the lot or started down from the house. If anybody was coming, I should yell and tell him. He would be in the office if Ms. Cohane was there, and we would skedaddle.”

  By now Sonny had made the necessary hand motions to tell me he wanted a cigarette, and I slid the pack down the table as he asked, “Why were you going to run if someone came in if you weren’t doing anything wrong?”

  Richard looked unhappy at the smoke, but answered politely. “Mark said he didn’t want to run into anyone he knew. He was afraid of getting teased about losing his wife to another woman. In fact, he said he might look for another job and move farther up Cape, so he didn’t have to listen to it every time he went out for a beer.”

  “Okay, you were standing guard. Then what?” Sonny looked dubious.

  “I was by the main door, as I said. Mark took two or three steps toward the office door, which was closed, and then there was a loud pop! Mark and I looked at each other, and then we ran for the office door. We banged on the door asking was everybody all right. When no one answered we opened the door.”

  He swallowed hard and continued. “I saw a lady running out the back door. She got in a car right outside the door and roared off. And then I saw another lady sort of slumped in an office chair kind of pushed back from the desk with a little bit of blood running down her forehead. Then I realized the back of the chair was a mess. I yelled for Mark and he came over. I picked up the desk phone to call nine-one-one, but he took it out of my hand. He felt her wrist and said she was a goner, which was what we had better be.”

  “Did you leave then?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t know when I first saw the money on the little table by the desk. God, it looked like a fortune all stacked up and neatly banded. Mark had already noticed it and had put some of it in a bag there on the table. Then he quit doing that and picked the gun up off the floor and wiped it with his handkerchief and put it in the lady’s hand. It fell out, which Mark said it would have done if she’d shot herself. He said that we had to make it look like we had never been there and never saw a thing. You see, we didn’t know if the tall lady had been so upset she ran away when Ms. Cohane shot herself, or whether she had shot Ms. Cohane and thrown the gun on the floor as she left.”

  “Did you know Ms. Cohane?” I asked.

  “No, never met her.”

  “Did you notice the gun was on the floor to Cohane’s left side, as if she used her left hand to shoot herself, or as if this other woman made it look as if she had?” Sonny followed up.

  Richard looked down, as if he were somewhat ashamed. “I never even thought of it. You see, the money was beginning to look good to me, too. Mark saw my face and said, ‘Help me get the rest of this in the bag, and five thousand is yours.’ That would get me through another year of college with what I made this summer. And I said okay. It occurred to me somebody just driving by might see our truck with the name on the side. Not that we did a thing to that poor lady, but if we should be seen, and later questioned, it would be a lot better for us if she had some reason to have killed herself. Mark thought a minute, then laughed and agreed, so I did it.”

  “In what way?” Sonny’s dubious look was fading.

  “I saw some plastic gloves I guess they used handling some of the pictures and put them on. The computer was already on, and I wrote a suicide note.”

  Merrill frowned as I lit another cigarette, but didn’t complain. Instead, he said, “I figured if this lady ran an art gallery, she was probably pretty arty herself, so that’s the way I wrote the note. Mark said it was really good, so that’s how we left it. Mark said now nobody would ever figure out whether Ms. Cohane killed herself and the other lady just found her, or the other lady killed her and phonied up the note. He said it was brilliant. Then he just made sure we left no prints on the telephone or anything, and we walked casually out with the bag. We hadn’t seen a soul except the runaway lady.”

  “Didn’t you see anything at all of what she looked like?” I asked.

  “Not really. She had on slacks of some dark color and her hair was blond-ish and kind of long . . . well, not really long, just medium, I guess you’d say. Oh, she was really tall, I think. Almost as tall as me, a good five-ten.”

  “What about her car?”

  “Yeah, it was a dark beige. Kia, or maybe a Saturn, I think. I’m not sure.”

  Sonny looked at me and breathed, “Jesus!”

  I gave him a wink and turned to Merrill. “Do you happen to know a lady named Ellen Hall?”

  He pondered a moment. “No, I think not.”

  “Now that’s strange, Mr. Merrill. You just described her perfectly. But I believe you when you say you don’t know her. You see, we have a lot of herring in this town, and Mark has given you a nice big red one to drag across the trail. And you fell for it. Perjury, if you testify to this in court, could be a real mistake. But if you want to stick with your story, we’ll bring her in for a lineup, and we’ll check her alibi. It’s up to you.”

  He pushed his chair back from the table and held up his hands, palm out, as if he were trying to stop a train. “Now hold on, ma’am. I’m not perjuring myself for anything or anybody. I don’t know her. I never saw her in my life, and to tell the truth . . . she wasn’t even there! Mark thought it would be a good idea to have a stranger there, so she could have killed Ms. Cohane and taken the money. He just told me what she looked like and what her car was like, and said we should both describe them the same way. Look, I want no part of any of this. I only took the money to help me through school. Here.”

  He reached into his hip pocket, and Sonny and I tensed, but he brought out a folded manila envelope, well filled. “It’s the money. It’s every bit there. I was going to give it back anyway. I figured it would be bad luck.”

  “And you don’t know whom you were describing?”

  “I do not. I figured it was just someone Mark dreamed up on the spur of the moment.”

  “The woman you so perfectly pictured, Ellen Hall, was Charlie Cohane’s lover and housemate for fifteen years,” I said. “The only place you went wrong was on the car. She traded the Kia for a Chrysler some months back.”

  “Oh, God. I’m fucked.”

  I could not help but agree.

  Sonny and I looked at each other and smiled. “Now, Mr. Merrill, let me tell you what I think really happened. I think you stood at the front entrance, as you said. But I think you were alone. Mark had gone into the office for his little chat with Charlie. You heard the pop and ran into the office. There you saw Charlie with a bullet wound to the head and Mark holding a pistol. Right?”

  Merrill was searching madly for innocence, and I had to admit that the not-too-bright young man had been led down the old garden path.

  “Lieutenant, ma’am,” he sputtered. “It was an accident. Mark swore it was. Then he thought up this lady and I stupidly went along with his idea, and—worse—I thought up the suicide note. I admit I did that and I shouldn’t have. But that’s all I did, and I am very sorry
to have misled you. Can I go now?” He was pale and sweaty, and his hands were shaking.

  Sonny gave him a pitying look. “Richard, I’m afraid you must be our guest for a while. How old are you? Do your parents live around here?”

  “I’m nineteen. They live down in Rhode Island. Why?”

  “I suggest you call them and tell them to get you a very sharp lawyer. You are under arrest as an accessory to murder, but a good lawyer may be able to cut that down to obstruction of justice.”

  “My mom’s going to kill me.”

  “Yeah, well, better her than the state.” Sonny pressed the intercom and Mendes came to escort Richard Merrill to a cell. “Book him for accessory to murder,” Sonny instructed. “Then give us about ten minutes and bring Mark Maddock in here. Don’t let the two of them see each other,” he said. “Tell Nacho to let him call his mommy as soon as he’s booked.”

  While we relaxed for a few minutes, Nacho brought us fresh coffee and Sonny actually produced a pack of his own cigarettes. Before he lit his, he lit one and handed it to me. I felt as if I were in an old Bette Davis film.

  When Mark walked in, firmly gripped by Mendes, he looked very different from the last time I had seen him. He was sober and clean. His hair was combed, and he was recently shaven. The handsome young man he had been was still in there somewhere. He didn’t know Richard Merrill had turned himself in and confessed all, however inadvertently, and I was sure Mark thought he was in the clear except for the money. And a sympathetic judge might be quite lenient about that if Mark pleaded that when he saw all that cash, his only thought was for his son’s college tuition. He had an arrogant look about him that made me eager to puncture it for him.

  Sonny courteously asked Mark to tell him what had happened that day, and we listened without interruption. Mark’s tale was almost verbatim to Richard Merrill’s first story. He tried to make it that Richard had insisted on stealing the money and that he—Mark—reluctantly complied, but that was about the only real difference.