by Eve Gaddy
“He’s dead, Doc. Died yesterday afternoon.”
Dead? Henry Young was dead? “How long after he saw Emmitt did he die?”
“Don’t know, Doc. In fact, we’ve only got your word for it that he even talked to Mr. Rickerby, and if he did, that he was alive when Rickerby left him.”
“Are you accusing Emmitt of killing the man? Why the hell would he?”
“We’re not accusing anyone, Doc. He was an eighty-six-year-old man with a heart condition, who died of a heart attack. Looks like you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Not freaking likely. There’s no way this heart attack was a coincidence.” But could he convince the reluctant cops of that fact? The odds of that didn’t look good. “Will there be an autopsy?”
“Doubtful,” Olivetti said. “The family doesn’t want one, and we don’t have enough reason to force the issue.”
“So you’re just going to let a man be murdered—again—without doing anything about it.”
“Doc, it seems to me all you’ve got is a lot of hearsay and innuendo. We’ve got no reason to believe Henry Young’s cause of death was anything but natural. I’ll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, we’ll continue the investigation into Emmitt Rickerby’s burglary and attack.”
Sure they would. Without exploring the scenario that the burglary and attack were directly related to Henry Young’s confession, he doubted they’d get very far.
Great. Just great.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“WHY DID YOU want to see me, Dad?” Glenn asked when Lawrence answered his door the next morning. “This isn’t a good time for me.”
Lawrence believed that. Glenn looked like shit and had whenever he saw him lately. Well, it was past time for his son to step up and be useful. “Never mind that. What’s going on with that wife of yours?”
He laughed humorlessly. “She won’t be my wife for long. I’m due at my lawyer’s to sign the final divorce papers in an hour.”
“And you’re just gonna sit there and take it? Let your woman, your wife, disrespect you? She’s screwing a nigger. You know it, and yet you’ve done nothing about it. How can you let him get away with taking your woman? Putting his hands on your wife? You’ll be a laughingstock.”
Glenn shrugged. “Women have affairs all the time. What Claire is doing is nothing new.”
“I wouldn’t stand for it. I wouldn’t take that disrespect.”
“What do you expect me to do? Kill her?” he asked flippantly.
“Not Claire. Him. Jonas Clark.” Lawrence had thought long and hard about the situation. Glenn could kill the bastard and solve a lot of Lawrence’s problems. No one would care about Calvin Davis’s death once Clark was out of the way. With Lawrence’s help, they could make Clark’s death look like an accident. And if Glenn did get caught, well, heat of passion and all that. A good lawyer could work with that. Unlike if Lawrence did it and were caught. No, much as he’d like to, he couldn’t risk killing Clark. Not until he’d exhausted all other possibilities.
“Oh, sure. I’ll just pull out my gun and shoot the son of a bitch. That’ll solve all my problems.”
“It would solve one of them. With him out of the picture, Claire might start to see reason.”
Glenn stared at him. “You’re serious. Are you fucking kidding me? You want me to kill a man?”
“Why not? We could make it look like an accident.”
“Why not? Because that’s insane. No woman is worth the risk of me going to prison for the rest of my life. Shit, what if they gave me the death penalty?”
Lawrence shrugged. “You’re the one who looks like a fool having your wife carry on with a black man. Don’t you have any pride?”
“Too much to kill a man over a damned woman. She’s not that important.” He hesitated, looking at Lawrence closely. “What’s going on with you? Why would you bring up murder, even jokingly?”
“If you don’t want to man up and take care of the situation, then don’t.” He should have known the boy would be too much of a pussy to tackle the problem. He might have to do what needed to be done himself. Just like he had before.
“You want Jonas Clark dead, don’t you? Why? And don’t try to tell me your reasons have anything to do with me or Claire. Why do you want Clark dead?”
“Get over yourself. I was trying to help you regain some self-respect. I should have known better. I didn’t raise you to be a chickenshit.”
“You didn’t raise me to be a murderer either.” Glenn stood and walked to the door. Turned around. “You’re not going to do something crazy, are you? Like try to kill him yourself?”
“Of course not. It was just talk.” Obviously, he couldn’t count on Glenn in the matter. And he didn’t need his son freaking out, either.
“You’re sure as shit talking crazy. What’s this about, Dad?”
Lawrence didn’t answer. If he couldn’t convince Glenn to man up, he would have to take care of the matter himself. Even after all these years, he still felt a thrill whenever he thought about shooting Calvin Davis. Taking care of Dervish shouldn’t be hard. Getting rid of Jonas Clark would be more of a challenge, especially to do it and not incriminate himself. But he’d figure something out.
Glenn waited, and when Lawrence continued his silence, he just shook his head and left.
CLAIRE LEFT THE lawyer’s office and then pulled out the divorce decree. There it was, signed and sealed. Her divorce was final. She was free. Free to love Jonas, free to never have to see Glenn again. She stuffed the papers back in the envelope, wishing she didn’t have to think about Lawrence, but that was a futile hope.
Lawrence Westbrook, murderer?
If only Emmitt hadn’t been shot. The lack of information was intensely frustrating. What little they knew wasn’t encouraging. When Emmitt had regained consciousness the evening before, he’d been very confused. So confused his doctors wouldn’t let him talk to the police until the following morning. By now Jonas would know what had been said, but she didn’t know how the conversation had gone. She’d been tied up with her lawyer.
She pulled out her cell, intending to call Jonas.
“Claire, I need to talk to you.”
She turned around to see her ex-husband. “Are you kidding me? I have nothing to say to you, Glenn. We’re divorced.” She waved the papers. “Final papers.”
He scowled. “I’m aware of that. I still need to talk to you.”
“What’s this about?” They’d signed the papers at different times precisely so they wouldn’t have to deal with each other in person. She should have known Glenn’s cooperation was too good to be true.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just talk to me,” he said irritably. “You’re being absurd.”
“Am I? I think I have reason.”
Glenn ground his teeth audibly. “If you care about your precious lover, you’ll talk to me and get this over with. There’s a vacant office right there.”
With misgiving, she stepped inside, putting her hand in her pocket to feel the reassuring outline of her cell phone. “What do you want and what does it have to do with Jonas?”
Once inside, Glenn didn’t seem to know how to proceed. She watched him pace, mutter a curse. He was never indecisive. Even when wrong, he wasn’t undecided. What was going on?
“What about Jonas?” she repeated.
He finally stopped pacing and glared at her. “You’re really high on my father’s shit list. So is Jonas Clark.”
“There’s a news flash. So?”
“He’s talking crazy. He seems to have more invested in our marriage than I’d ever imagined.”
“Define talking crazy.” Lawrence, a possible murderer, talking crazy. Not something to inspire confidence.
“Jesus, I can’t believe he meant it. But I’ve never seen
him quite like that.”
“For God’s sake, get to the point. What did Lawrence say?”
Glenn glared at her again, as if this was all her fault. “He wants me to kill Jonas Clark. He came right out and suggested it.”
Her stomach rolled. “Why? Why would he want Jonas dead? And why would he expect you to kill him?”
“I assume because he thinks getting rid of Clark will solve my problems with you. But I don’t believe that’s the reason. He could just be talking. He sounded so cavalier. So matter of fact, as if I could just take care of this small problem and get my life back on track. It was . . . bizarre. I can’t be sure . . .” his voice trailed off.
“Why tell me this? Why now? If you’re really concerned you should talk to the police.”
He scowled. “I’m not turning my own father over to the police. It’s just talk, after all. Besides, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
No, he wasn’t. Glenn would never have said a word to her if he hadn’t been extremely worried. “What was your answer?”
“I said you weren’t worth going to jail over. What the hell did you think I’d say? Oh, sure, I’ll off the guy?”
He still hadn’t answered her question. “So you told me out of the goodness of your heart.”
“I told you because if my father does do something crazy I don’t want to take the fall for it. I’m not going to jail for a crime I didn’t commit, and it would be just like you to try to blame me for it.”
“The only thing I ever accused you of was beating me up, and you know damn well that was true. Which makes me wonder why you’d come to me about something like this.”
He made an impatient gesture. “For Christ’s sake, Claire, I don’t want my father going to jail either. If my father is unstable enough to follow through, no telling what could happen. He might get lucky and manage to kill the bastard. Not that I’d cry over that possibility, except for the fallout and how it would affect me. And my father, of course. So I decided to warn you. It’s probably nothing.”
“If you’re so concerned about Lawrence’s mental state, you should get him to a doctor sooner rather than later.” If Lawrence was the murderer, then she could readily believe he could kill again if he felt threatened. And if he didn’t feel threatened, why would he ask Glenn to kill Jonas? She didn’t believe for a minute that anything Lawrence had said was casual. Lawrence had been serious. Dead serious?
She needed to talk to Jonas because she had no idea how to proceed with this information. She should tell the police. But she knew they wouldn’t put much faith in anything she—the disgruntled ex-wife—had to say about Glenn or his father. Still, she had to tell them. Clearly Glenn wouldn’t.
He laughed. “Oh, right. We’re talking about my father. You should know him well enough to know he’ll never see a shrink. Not voluntarily. He’s always said they’re quacks just in it for the money.”
“Glenn, he threatened to kill a man.” And probably already had, at least once. Although she doubted Glenn knew of his father’s guilt. Not in light of the current conversation.
“No, he didn’t.”
“He wanted you to kill a man. Same difference.”
“I don’t want to discuss this further with you. I’ve warned you, and you can tell that black bastard you’re sleeping with or not. Makes no difference to me.” He jerked open the door, turned, and said, “Don’t forget, if something does happen, I had nothing to do with it.”
Good God. She had to talk to Jonas.
AS SOON AS SHE got home from the lawyer’s office, Claire called Jonas, but she got his voice mail. After leaving him a message to get back to her, she looked around for something to do. She was still short on sleep but knew she was too wound up to even make the attempt. She eyed the journal on the coffee table—Rachel’s journal that seemed to call to her whenever she had a spare moment. And even when she didn’t.
She picked up the journal to pass the time before Jonas arrived.
Rachel’s Journal—July 31, 1859
I fear for Sarah’s life.
Helping an unknown fugitive escape is a far different matter than helping one’s sister leave everyone and everything she knows behind. Knowing I will never see her again. I could tolerate that, if I were assured that she and the man she loves (how odd still to me that she loves a slave) could gain their freedom. But I fear something terrible will happen. Is it simply uneasiness or is there more to it? I do not have the sight, yet odd things have happened in my dreams. People long dead have spoken to me in my dreams. People such as my dear, departed mother. Yet on this subject she has remained silent.
I have tried to reason with Sarah, begging her to wait. She will hear nothing of it. She is determined to leave when Elijah does. Finally, today, she told me why. She is with child. As my own child grows heavier within me I realize I should have known, no matter how she tried to hide it.
Sarah cannot stay, that much is clear. She says there is very little chance the babe is Victor’s. She believes he is the one who cannot sire children, no matter that he blames their lack of child on her. So the child is Elijah’s. And her pregnancy must be hidden from Victor at all costs. But can she hide it, long enough to get away? God only knows what Victor would do if he knew.
No, I know. He would kill her. Is this why I cannot sleep? Why my dreams are so uneasy?
And no matter how much I will miss her, I know it is best she goes. My sister cannot have a child of mixed race and give it any sort of life. Not here in Texas. Best they go to Mexico where I hear there are colonies of folks of different races. I cannot imagine a world where that sort of tolerance exists.
Perhaps one day, in the future, there will be a world where love is the important element and not the color of one’s skin.
But that world is not mine.
“OH, MY GOD, JONAS. Is Emmitt worse?” Claire asked when she opened the door to him late that afternoon. He’d come straight to her apartment from work. She’d never seen him as tired and despondent as he was now.
“No, he’s better. Still can’t remember anything from yesterday, though.” He sat on the couch, weary and dejected. She took a seat beside him.
“Then why do you look so upset? Have the police talked to the night watchman? Didn’t he corroborate what you told the police about your conversation with Emmitt?”
He laughed without humor. “No, they didn’t talk to him. And they won’t now, or ever.”
She had a bad feeling, but she asked the question anyway. “Why? What happened?”
“He’s dead. Henry Young is dead. Olivetti called and told me before I left the hospital. So unless Emmitt remembers something about that meeting, or about the attack, the cops are treating what I’ve told them as hearsay. Emmitt needs to corroborate my story. Even then there’s no guarantee the police will look on it as a solid lead.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment. “Henry Young is dead? How did he die?”
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Heart attack.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Isn’t it, though. I need an aspirin. My head is killing me.”
She went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, along with the aspirin bottle, bringing both to him.
After twisting the top off the water bottle, he took a long drink, then popped a couple of pills. “Thanks.”
“You don’t believe Henry Young’s death was natural.”
“Not for a minute. I think it’s too goddamn coincidental to be natural.”
“He was old. Did he have a heart condition?”
“Yes. Which is why the cops aren’t buying my theory.” His eyes flashed when he looked at her. “Goddamn it, Claire, the man was murdered. I’m sure of it. Everything fits together too conveniently for these to be a random occurrence of events.”
&nb
sp; She sat beside him, rubbed his arm comfortingly. “It does seem odd that he would die immediately after recanting his testimony to Emmitt. And then for Emmitt to be a victim of an attack the very night he talked to the man.”
“Odd is putting it lightly. I asked the police about an autopsy, but they’re reluctant to push for it. The family doesn’t want it.”
“Even though he might have been murdered?”
“No one but you and I believe he was murdered. His family says he’s been having health issues for some time now. And he was eighty-six.”
“Perhaps we can demand it.”
“Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”
Hesitant at first, she decided she had to bring up her conversation with Glenn. “There’s something else we need to talk about. It has a bearing on all this.”
“Can it wait?” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m so tired I can’t even think. I’ve got to get a few hours of sleep.”
She knew that feeling of being at the last of your reserves. Jonas looked beyond that point, to utter exhaustion. “All right. Get some rest. We can talk more after that.”
She watched him walk into the bedroom, his posture not only weary, but almost . . . defeated. She hated seeing him like this, especially when there was nothing she could do to help him.
Jonas needed to be aware of the threat against him. She didn’t relish being the one to tell him. Before he’d come over, she had debated calling the police to alert them to what Glenn had said, but decided to talk to Jonas first. Even if Lawrence hadn’t been serious, Jonas and the police needed to know what had been said. If they were fortunate, Lawrence’s threats against Jonas, his attempt to coerce his own son to murder Jonas, would force the cops to look deeper into Henry Young’s death and consequently, Calvin’s death and Lawrence’s phony alibi.
If the police ignored this new development, as she was afraid they would do? At least she and Jonas would be forewarned.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE LATE AFTERNOON sun streaming through the blinds woke Jonas. He groaned and rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep, but he gave up on that idea quickly. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.