by Jane Gorman
A swarm of men in suits surrounded her, gray and black pilot fish circling, feeding off her leftovers. As long as she was strong and successful. Once she lost her edge, they would find another host to swim with.
The hostess saw the group coming. She grabbed a handful of menus and greeted Senator Marshall. She then followed the group to a round booth tucked into the corner, where she distributed the menus as most of the group slid into their seats. Their usual table, apparently.
Adam downed the last of his whiskey. He shared a look with Sam, who nodded and stayed where he was, then he stood, straightened his pant legs, and walked over to the senator’s table.
He picked up the stream of her conversation as he approached. Something not particularly witty, but everyone at the table laughed anyway. She saw him coming, he knew that. They made eye contact as she glanced his way out of the corner of her eye without turning her head. She didn’t change her position or stop her flow of chatter.
He stood by the table and didn’t wait for her to acknowledge him. “Senator. I had hoped to talk to you privately.”
She didn’t turn her face toward him. “Please leave, Detective, this is not appropriate.” She spoke as if addressing a man across the round booth from her.
“I know why Jay was killed.”
By now all other conversation at the table had stopped and Adam felt every eye on him. Every eye except the senator’s. “Leave now, Detective,” she said, again not to him.
“I know about the deleted hospital records.” He didn’t want to bring up blackmail in front of this group, but he would if he had to.
He didn’t have to.
She sighed and slid off the end of the bench. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll be right back.” She walked across the room to the end of the bar, apparently expecting Adam to follow her.
She spoke as soon as she reached the bar. She was used to people following one step behind her. “Listen to me, Detective. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’ve gone too far.”
Adam nodded, as if considering her words. He frowned as he answered. “I think Jay died because of what he knew — and what he was willing to do with that information.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Jay Kapoor was a blackmailer, among other things. I think he was blackmailing you.”
“Me? That’s absurd. I’ve done nothing wrong. My record is spotless.”
Adam frowned and raised his eyebrows. “Well” — he grinned and shrugged his shoulders — “except for those accidents Debbie kept having that you worked so hard to cover up.”
Her eyes flashed. Adam had never really understood that expression before. It had seemed impossible to him. How could someone’s eyes flash? Now he understood. He felt the rage surge out of her as if he had been struck by lightning, though her body language didn’t change. She still stood by the bar, one hand resting on it lightly, a smile just visible on her lips.
Her words came out like the hiss of a snake. Or perhaps the way a shark would talk, if it could. “If you breathe one word of that to anyone, ever, I’ll ruin you, Detective. I’ll see you living in rags in the gutter before I’m done with you.”
“It’s no use threatening me, Senator.” Adam didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t take a breath. “I’m not the only one who knows.”
She glanced at Sam, who raised his beer in a toast. She bit her lip. Her posture still hadn’t changed. The smile hadn’t left her face. Any paparazzi looking for a shot would see her having a friendly conversation with a constituent. Adam knew she was thinking. Furiously.
Finally, she looked up at him and her smile widened. Her voice was normal when she spoke. “I couldn’t have done it. I was on the drive when the shot was fired. How could I have shot Jay?”
“Maybe. It was someone inside the house, that much we know. Mr. Marshall was inside the house at the time. Alone.”
Lisa Marshall shrugged as she laughed, her voice now light and airy. “I seriously doubt my husband would have the balls to kill anyone. But” — she changed tack without batting an eye — “if he did, I don’t know anything about it.”
Adam loved the way she was willing to throw her husband under the bus in the same breath as castrating him. He laughed along with her. Just two friends having a pleasant conversation. “We’ll see,” was all he said.
She stopped laughing as she turned from the bar. She took only one step, then paused. She stepped back toward Adam. So close he felt swamped by the sickly sweet scent of her perfume. He took a step back, then wished he hadn’t as he saw the satisfaction in her face. “You’ll see all right, Detective.” She smiled. “I’ll be contacting your commissioner about this baseless accusation.”
The tip of her tongue touched her blood-red lips as she looked him up and down. He felt like a steak she was sizing up for lunch. “And once you’re unemployed and unarmed, Detective? I’d watch your back if I were you.” She smiled as she returned to her table.
41
“John Marshall pulled the trigger. He must have.”
Adam acknowledged the truth of Sam’s statement with a nod. “We can’t prove it.”
“Not yet.” Ramona’s optimism was still appealing. Adam smiled at her, but looked away when they made eye contact.
They had gathered in the earthy maze of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, surrounded by dripping fountains, fresh green plants, and galvanized steel. Hidden in plain sight as they toured the monument with other tourists. Ramona hiding from her captain as she used a sick day to help expose the killer. Sam hiding from his DAS as he pursued a case that had already been closed. Adam not sure what he was hiding from. Or who.
“We know who.” He shook his head as he spoke, as if correcting his own thoughts. “We know why. We even know how. So what are we missing?”
“Proof.” Sam’s answer was simple. And impossible.
“There’s something else.” Adam looked out over the Tidal Basin. Thomas Jefferson’s monument glowed back at him across the water. Joggers passed by in single file and in groups as they took advantage of the evening light to get in a run at the end of a long day. “What’s her role in this? If he pulled the trigger?”
“She’s the one behind the killing. He wasn’t working alone.” Ramona’s lips pursed as she frowned. “I’ve been telling you that. Just ’cause he’s the man…” She shook her head as she cut herself off.
“Which leaves us where we started,” Sam said. “Proof.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes running along the text carved into the stone. He stopped and read the words out loud. “‘We must remember that any oppression, any injustice, any hatred, is a wedge designed to attack our civilization.’”
“So’s that why we’re here?” Ramona turned and smiled at him. “To protect civilization itself?”
Sam laughed quietly and turned away, his hands still in his pockets. “Maybe so,” he said as he turned.
Ramona looked at Adam. “How’re you going to explain this to your people back home?”
“Work, you mean?”
“Sure, that too.” She grinned.
Adam put his head on the side, considering the words Sam had just read. “Once we wrap this up, I won’t need to explain anything.” He looked at her, and this time didn’t turn away when their eyes met. “So let’s figure this out.”
They walked into the next segment of the maze. Sam nodded as they approached him. “So what do we know?”
“Marshall pulled the trigger,” Adam answered, ticking the points off on his fingers as he said them. “He was aiming for Jay all along. Jay was blackmailing them over what they did to their daughter.”
“What they did?” Ramona frowned. “Or what she did?”
“He’s the one who pulled the trigger.”
“So we’re back to him. I thought we’d moved beyond that.” Ramona shook her head.
“Uh-uh. I believe it.” Sam shook his head. “I know there’s something off ab
out him. I didn’t peg him for a killer... I should have seen that.”
“No way,” Ramona said. “I don’t buy it. So what, the senator’s an innocent bystander in all this?”
“No. She’s the mother. She knew what was going on, but she kept quite about it. Let him get away with it. Used her influence to keep it out of the news.”
They had stopped in the section of the memorial dedicated to FDR’s second term, coming in from the wrong end as they worked their way through the maze backward, in reverse chronological order. Surrounded by stone and brass symbolizing the president’s determination to create work for the unemployed, provide opportunities for those who had none. After a moment, Sam moved ahead and the other two followed.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Ramona spoke to Adam under her breath as they walked. “She’s not afraid. Not the type of woman to let a man bully her.”
“Hah.” Adam couldn’t stop the laugh from coming out as he pictured the woman he had confronted that afternoon. “More likely she was the bully herself.”
Sam stopped. Turned toward them. “Think about it. That fits the profile. I’ve been looking at him all wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Adam turned to face Sam, turning his back to a statue of FDR in his wheelchair, his dog sitting faithfully by his side. Dog and master green with age and weather.
“He’s a victim.” Sam spread his hands wide. “That’s what’s been bugging me. He acts like a victim. Seeking out help without being able to ask for it. Avoiding her calls when he can, running at her beck and call the rest of the time.”
“Maybe he’s just a man in love?”
Sam shook his head at Ramona’s suggestion. “He’s a man in fear.”
Adam nodded. It fit. “Fear enough to kill for her?” he wondered out loud.
42
The front door swung open as Sam knocked on it. As if they were expected. Or someone was.
Sam stepped into the carpeted hallway, Ramona following behind. Adam glanced up and down the road. Acres of neatly trimmed lawn lined the wide street. Three other driveways were visible, curving off into the bushes. He could see only one other vehicle. A BMW, pulled up to the curb in front of a neighboring property.
A lone figure moved at the end of the block, a silhouette at this distance in the twilight. A smaller figure hunched on the ground near it. A man out walking his dog after dinner. Normal. Routine. What you’d expect in the suburbs.
Adam turned back to the stuccoed McMansion and stepped inside, passing through the imposing double-storied hallway into a living room that ran the length of the house.
Sam and Ramona had stopped inside the doorway. Marshall stood by a mahogany end table at the far end of the room, his hand still on the receiver of the phone that sat atop the table. He didn’t seem surprised to see them.
Adam took a breath and looked around. Beige walls surrounded a beige carpet and gold and beige furniture. An expensively furnished room, no doubt. It looked like something right out of a catalog. It told him nothing about the people who lived here. About the man who stood facing them.
Adam stepped around Sam and moved toward John Marshall. John took a step back, behind the table, his back up against the pale gold curtains.
“We talked to your wife, John. She says you did it.”
John shook his head and mumbled something.
“What was that?” Adam took one more step forward then stopped, his head to the side. “Did you say something?”
Marshall shook his head, his eyes jerking from Adam to Sam to Ramona, who blocked his exit.
“I have nothing to say. She’ll protect me.” His voice was calm, quiet. As bland as the room he stood in.
“She threw you under the bus, John. You can tell us what really happened. Before she takes her story to the cops.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marshall’s face hadn’t changed. His voice remained monotone. “I don’t know what her story is.”
“She says you shot Jay, from inside the house.” Adam was glad Ramona had spoken from where she was, without stepping farther into the room. Marshall was scaring him with his calmness, his monotone.
Marshall was shaking his head even as Ramona spoke. “She’ll protect me,” he repeated like a mantra. “She’ll know what to do. I trust her.”
Sam moved slowly, carefully. Flanking Marshall. He stood surrounded now, the three of them encircling him.
His cool broke. Adam saw the tremor in his hands first, before Marshall shoved them into the pockets of his gray silk trousers. But it was too late, he’d lost his control. His legs buckled and he took a quick step forward to the sofa, almost falling down onto it. He kept his hands in his pockets, looking up at Adam and Sam as if he had already been arrested, his hands no longer free.
Adam stayed where he was, casting a warning glance toward Sam. Marshall was trapped and scared. Unpredictable.
“We know your wife was behind the shooting.” Adam kept his own voice calm. Rational. Reasonable. Just explaining the facts. “We know about your daughter. And the blackmail.”
He paused, glanced over at Sam. He sensed Ramona shift behind him, but didn’t turn his back on Marshall.
Marshall sat on the sofa, first looking up at Sam and Adam, then turning his eyes down to the floor. His head moved back and forth, shaking a silent no. Adam waited, watching as the tremors took over, as Marshall’s whole body shook. With anger? With fear? He couldn’t tell.
“Talk to me, John. Tell me.” After a beat, he added, “I can help you. We can help you.”
“We know it’s not your fault.” Ramona’s voice was quiet, soothing. “We know you were only doing what you had to do.”
Marshall looked up at her, his eyes suddenly clear and alert.
“She was our daughter. Our beautiful daughter.” His eyes flickered back and forth between Adam and Sam. “I loved her.”
“Okay.” Sam spoke softly. “Tell us about it.”
Marshall’s head jerked to the right, one eye blinked. “I loved her. I loved them both. I didn’t understand what was happening.”
“What was happening?” Ramona’s voice was a whisper, matching Marshall’s.
He licked his lips. Looked around the room, but never at any of them. “It was small accidents at first. Nothing major. Nothing that would get anyone’s attention. Kids get hurt, you know?” He finally turned his eyes to Adam. Pleading eyes. Begging to be understood.
Adam nodded but said nothing.
Marshall looked away and continued, “It started when she was only three. Just a toddler.” He shook his head. “Kids are supposed to be resilient at that age. Not easily hurt.” He shrugged. “The doctors were surprised. Not surprised enough to ask too many questions.”
“And you?” Adam kept his voice at a whisper as well. “Did you ask questions?”
The look Marshall gave him ran right through him, made him pity the man. Not just rueful. Desperate. Agonizing.
“Of course I did. I never thought... I mean, who would?” He shook his head, then sat up straighter on the sofa. “Lisa was on City Council by then, not a school nurse anymore. She kept having to leave early to take Debbie to see a doctor. The other council members, they felt bad for her. They were very supportive... Lisa appreciated that so much. Appreciated the support, the kind words... the attention.”
“When did you guess the truth?”
“I didn’t, don’t you see?” The strength of Marshall’s response surprised them all. The words echoed around the room. Sam and Adam both took a step back.
Marshall started shaking again. “There was one doctor. She asked questions. She said it didn’t add up. She sent us copies of the hospital records, all of Debbie’s injuries.” Marshall frowned and shrugged. “Then she was involved in a scandal — something about fake prescriptions. She lost her license. Went away. No one else was looking into it. Watching out for Debbie.”
“I remember it,” he moaned then, his eyes still. “I remember it e
very day.” He shook his head as he spoke, the tremors fading as he let loose the memories. The fear. “I saw it the day she killed her. The day Debbie died. Do you know how hard that was?” He looked up at Adam seeking understanding, so Adam nodded.
Marshall continued, “It was in the back yard. Debbie on the swing set, Lisa playing with her, rough-housing.” He shook his head as he spoke and finally pulled his hands out of his pockets. They lay on his lap, the tremors only an occasional shake now. “I remember thinking she was being too rough. It was dangerous.”
“She — what? Pushed her?”
“From the top of the slide. She went over the side. Hit her head on the cement that was supposed to stabilize it. Supposed to make it safe. There was nothing I could do. I watched her fall. I ran to her. There was blood, so much blood.”
Adam shuddered, he couldn’t help himself.
Marshall glanced and him and smiled. Nodded. “Yeah. We called 911. They took her to the hospital, but it was too late.” He shook his head, and his lips turned up into a smile. “I saw Lisa do it. I couldn’t tell anyone. I’d just lost my daughter. I couldn’t lose Lisa as well, could I?”
Adam felt Ramona move then, stepping farther into the room. He put his left hand out, signaling her to stop without turning around.
Marshall saw the gesture but didn’t look at Ramona. “I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter what I say.”
He looked up at Adam. “She was already considering running for mayor at that point. When Debbie died.” He smiled a thin smile. “It helped her, the papers said. The sympathy vote. It helped her win.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Go to the police?”
Marshall grinned again, then jerked forward on his seat, leaning toward Adam. Adam held his ground but tensed, not sure what to expect from this man.
“We’re not monsters.” He said it like a cry. A plea. “Lisa’s not really a killer, I thought. She would never do it again. And we had no more children.” He shrugged, his eyes seeking out the corners in the room as if he could pull an explanation, a justification, from the pale furniture. He shrugged. “Once she won the election, she never had to look back. To think about what had happened.”