by Carolyn Hart
The pine trees soughed as the wind picked up off the water, cool and damp with the smell of seawater and rotting clumps of seaweed draped over ocean-scoured boulders. Once past the pines, Annie was out of sight of the gallery. Perhaps a quarter mile ahead rose the green hump, all that remained of the earthworks that had made up Fort Loomis. Live oaks and pines and a thicket of cane obscured part of the mound.
When she reached the site, it was easy to take it all in with a glance: the oval brickwork, the steps leading down to a platform built above the crumbled rocks below the bluff, the steps on the far side of the oval leading up to the lookout point above the ruins. Wind fluttered the yellow police tape strung about the bricked pavement. Drifting pine straw had already partially covered the yellow outline that marked the location of the body.
Annie looked at her watch. It had taken her two minutes and twenty seconds to reach the point. Even if Jake or Chloe walked more slowly, it couldn’t have taken more than three minutes to come from the gallery to this hidden spot. Say three minutes. They talked. Annie had glimpsed a running Chloe perhaps a moment or two before nine o’clock. Jake’s body was discovered at approximately fourteen minutes after nine.
Annie felt a rush of relief. There was time for someone else to have come and gone. If only Billy could be persuaded to consider—
Her cell phone bleated.
Annie’s answer was breathless and hopeful. “Hello.”
“Annie.” Chloe’s voice sounded faint and faraway. The connection crackled with static.
“Chloe. Thank God.” Annie felt such a rush of relief she realized she’d been afraid, very afraid, for Chloe.
“Chloe, please, you have to come to the police station. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get you a lawyer—”
“No.” Chloe’s voice quivered with fear.
Annie held tight to the receiver. The rumble and wash of the sea slapping against the boulders, the caw of a crow, the rustle of palmetto fronds, lonely sounds all, but loneliest of all was Chloe’s plaintive cry.
“Chloe, listen.” Annie was brisk. She spoke with slow and careful deliberation, each word firm and distinct. “I know you didn’t kill Jake. I know you weren’t the only person who went to the point. Elaine Hasty—she’s part of the catering staff—was standing at the kitchen window, and she saw you and Jake and someone else.”
“Someone else? She saw someone else? Oh, Annie, have the police talked to that person?” The words were feverish. “Who is it? What did they say? Someone else—I didn’t see anyone when I left him. I was on that path that comes out near the house.”
“I’m standing on it right now.” Annie looked up the path until it curved behind the pines.
“You are?” There was a note of puzzlement. “Why are you there?”
“For you, Chloe.” Chloe had doubted Annie’s friendship. Annie hoped now she would believe again that she had a friend she could rely on. “I’m trying to figure out what happened. You can help. Tell me precisely what you did last night, every step of the way. Start with talking to Jake in the study.”
“Oh, Annie, when I first saw him in the entry hall I thought it was a dream come true. Oh, God, I was so happy. But almost at once I knew something was wrong.” She sounded forlorn. “He hurried me into the study. I still thought that it was like magic, that I’d put on my prettiest dress and he was there at the party for me. But right from the start everything was wrong. He looked upset. He whispered that he had to speak to me privately and I should go down to the point, that we could be alone there. He showed me the path out the window and said to walk down there and he’d come in a few minutes. I left the study and found my way out.” There was a pause, then quickly. “I pushed the wrong door and stepped into the kitchen. This girl who was at the sink—”
Annie nodded. “Elaine Hasty.”
“—turned around and glared at me, like why was I coming in there. I backed out and went on down the hall and found the back door. I stopped when I was out of sight of the house, it was so dark and foggy. I was scared, but after a few minutes I kept on. He’d told me he’d be there in a little while. I waited for him on that bricked pavement. It was probably only a couple of minutes, but it seemed a long time before he came. When he got there, he took me by the elbow and led me to some wooden steps that went down to this platform above the water.”
Annie looked around, decided there was no one near. She ducked under the police tape. She stayed away from the outline of Jake’s body and moved to the stairway. She walked down the steps and out on the platform, the stiff onshore breeze fluffing her hair and tugging at her clothes. The smell of the sea was sharp and fresh. In daylight, the prospect was clear though bleak and wintry, flotsam beached above the tide line, old logs and tangles of seaweed and occasional shattered planks from sunken ships.
“I heard the waves splashing against the rocks and the pilings, but I couldn’t see anything because of the fog. There was only a kind of soft orange glow from the light up above. That’s when he told me that the party was for him and Mrs. Neville. He said he was going to marry her. He kept on talking, but I didn’t hear anything. There was a roar in my head—”
Annie was thinking fast. Last night the fog had turned this small platform into a hidden cocoon. Annie turned back, climbed the steps to the shore. She looked at a clump of palmettos near the steps. Anyone could have stood there, hidden from view, and heard every word spoken on the platform.
“—and he reached out and touched my arm and said he was sorry. Sorry! I asked him how he could marry someone he didn’t love. He told me she was nice and they had fun together and she could make all the difference in his career. He said he wished it could be different. I screamed at him, screamed that he was going to marry her and he didn’t care about her and I hated him. Then I turned around and hurried up the steps. He grabbed at me and caught my stole. I ran across the bricks to the path. He called out for me, yelled that he loved me. But I kept on running.”
Annie glanced at the outline of the body. Yes, the hands had been outflung toward the path. Jake O’Neill was struck down as he hurried after Chloe. Annie made a fist, shook it in satisfaction. Another point in Chloe’s favor. She pushed away the thought that Billy would insist that Jake left first and Chloe followed, angry at being spurned, determined he shouldn’t return to the gallery and Virginia Neville.
Annie worked it out. If Jake was killed as he called out for Chloe, the murderer was there, waiting, ready. That precluded Tony Hasty as his attacker. Annie looked toward the ruins and the thicket of cane and the pines that shaded the remnants of the fort. “Chloe, did you hear anything when you came up the steps from the platform?”
A long-drawn breath. “I don’t know.” Her voice was uncertain. “What difference does it make?”
“Don’t you see? Whoever killed him may have been hidden nearby. When you left and Jake came after you, that’s when the murderer probably attacked him.” Annie willed Chloe to remember. “Think. Was there anything you heard or saw? Anything at all?”
The connection crackled, buzzed. It was a long moment before she answered, and then her voice was uncertain. “There might have been a rustling sound when I came up the steps. I looked around. But it was so dark and foggy, I didn’t see anything. I guess I thought maybe someone was near or I wouldn’t have looked. I’m not sure. Anyway, I stopped just for an instant, then I heard him coming up the steps and I ran. He shouted. My shoes slapped on the bricks. I reached the path and the oyster shells hurt my feet through the soles of my shoes, but I didn’t slow down. I came around those big pines and suddenly there were the lights of the gallery. I didn’t want to see anybody. I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t ever want to see him again. Or that woman he was going to marry. I took a path that came out in a parking lot and some man yelled at me—”
“Was he standing by a white van?” This was corroboration for Tony Hasty.
“He was in the parking lot.” Her tone was vague. “I didn’t want to talk to anybody.
I was crying.” Her voice was hard to hear. “When he yelled, I ran faster. I got to the road in front of the house and found my car. I drove around for a long time. Finally, I went back to Aunt Frances’s house. When I got to my room, I took off my dress. I hated it.” Her voice quivered. “I rolled it up and threw it in the corner. But I didn’t want it near me. I put on my jeans and a sweater and went to the pier and threw the dress away. Then I just sat there in the fog. When you came, I thought maybe he’d come after me. Oh, Annie, why did someone kill him?”
Annie thought about Jake’s plan to marry Virginia Neville. There were those who would not want that marriage to occur. But there was no proof. Not yet. “I don’t know, Chloe. But if we keep looking”—she thought about Rusty’s jacket—“we may find out why. Listen, you said you might have heard a rustling sound.” Annie looked out at the wind-stirred water, whitecaps rippling as far as the eye could see. The cane rustled. The pines trembled.
Slowly she turned toward the cane. “You heard a rustle. Maybe someone hurried to get behind the cane.” Annie’s shoes scuffed on the bricks as she crossed to the cane. She reached out, touched a stalk. “I think it’s obvious. You came down to the point.” Annie rattled the cane. “Jake came.” She shook the cane. “Someone followed Jake.” A third time she rustled the cane. “That’s the way it had to be.” Her hand fell away.
For the first time, Chloe’s voice was eager. “The girl at the window—Elaine Hasty? Who did she see?”
“That’s the problem.” Annie remembered Elaine’s taunting gaze. “She won’t say. But I’ve told the police. They’ll find out.”
“She won’t say?” Chloe’s voice rose. “Why not? Doesn’t she understand? Annie, the police think I killed him. She’s got to tell them who she saw.” The words tumbled out, gathering momentum like rocks in a landslide. “Maybe if I call her, explain that I’m in trouble—”
“No. That won’t help.” Annie stopped, knew her tone was too sharp.
Silence. Then a ragged laugh. “Was she another of his girls?”
Annie was silent. The silence grew and lengthened until it was as heavy as a pall.
Chloe gave a brittle laugh. “I see. Oh, God, I was such a fool. She hates me, doesn’t she? Because of him. Annie”—the cry was deep and urgent—“what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to be all right.” Annie wished she believed what she was saying. But Chloe could be cleared if Elaine Hasty told what she knew. At the very least, Chloe would not be the only suspect. “We’ll get a lawyer, that young man who came to the store.” Annie felt a surge of well-being. It was time to fight back, marshal what they knew, prod Billy to widen his investigation. “Meet me at the police station.”
“They’ll lock me up.” Chloe’s voice was high and thin, horror paring the sound to a faint, faraway cry of despair. “I’d rather die.” A gasping struggle for breath bubbled over the telephone.
“Hold up.” Annie’s voice was loud. “Chloe, what’s wrong? No one will hurt you. I know Billy Cameron. He won’t hurt you. His wife, Mavis, will be there—”
“Jail…” Chloe was sobbing now. “They’ll shut me into a cell. I can’t get out. It will be like the door.” The words were thin, full of pain. “The door wouldn’t open and I cried and cried and cried….”
Annie paced toward the edge of the bluff, looked out at the white-flecked water. “What door?” Her voice was gentle. “Chloe, tell me.”
The words were interspersed with sobs and quick breaths. “…had to stay with her…Mother was sick…I don’t know what I did…I don’t remember…she locked me in the closet…and I cried and cried….”
“Who locked you in a closet? How old were you?” Despite the cold brisk wind, Annie felt hot and sick.
“I don’t know…maybe five…. Aunt Frances…” Chloe drew a long, ragged breath. “Don’t you see, Annie? I can’t bear to be locked in. I’d rather die. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. The water’s there. I can see it. I’ll walk out—”
Annie held tight to the receiver. “Chloe, stop that. Promise me you’ll stay wherever you are. I’ll talk to Billy. There’s a way. You can wear a transmitter that will prove where you are.” Annie had seen one once at a forensic demonstration, a wristband that reminded her of Dick Tracy comic strips. “Billy’s reasonable.” Oh, God, surely he would be. Surely Annie could make him understand. “I’ll promise Billy that you will stay with us. You’ve got to be calm. Don’t say things like that. You won’t have to be locked up. I promise.” Promises, promises…
“I won’t?” Chloe sounded like a child, hoping, trusting.
“You won’t. I’ll take care of everything.” Annie looked at her watch. “Call me at five.”
Annie clicked off the phone. Five o’clock. She had less than two hours to work a miracle. All right, dammit. Billy had to listen to reason about jailing Chloe. And he had to make interrogating Elaine Hasty a priority.
A noise that differed from the susurrant sound of the wind cut through Annie’s whirling thoughts. She stood still and stiff, her eyes wide. Behind her, over the rustle of the cane and the soughing of the pines and the slap of the waves, she heard footsteps on the bricks. Someone was walking toward her on this isolated, remote spit of land where a man had died, his skull crushed by an attack from behind.
Nine
I’M TIRED OF being screwed over.” A sullen scowl soured Billy’s usually genial face. “I’m telling you, Max, Annie’s gone too far this time.” He picked up a tan folder, slammed it against the desktop. “She’s interfering with an investigation.”
Max kept his voice easy and pleasant. “Billy, the minute she got this information—and you have to admit this is important—she called you.”
Billy shook his head. “I haven’t talked to Annie.”
“She called here.” Max pointed at the phone on Billy’s desk. “You were out looking for Chloe Martin. Mavis said I could use your desk. That’s the only reason I happened to answer. Annie called for you.” Max once again emphasized the pronoun. “She went out to Nightingale Courts because she was worried about O’Neill’s dog.” Billy loved dogs and had three: Gus, an old yellow Lab; Boy, a shepherd-collie mix; and Millie, an agreeable dachshund who was a lady to the tips of her toes. “Turns out Pirelli had already gotten the dog, but Annie talked to Duane and found out this girl—Elaine Hasty—lived next door to O’Neill and they’d had a fight. This is Tony Hasty’s daughter, and she was right on the spot last night with the catering crew. Elaine had a box seat at the kitchen window, and I don’t think she missed any of the players. Annie found out a lot, but not enough. I went out there, but I didn’t get anything. It’s going to be up to you, Billy. You can break the case wide open.”
Billy rubbed his cheek. “So Elaine Hasty saw Chloe Martin go down the path.” It was a statement, not a question. Billy looked like Gus with a bone clamped in his teeth.
“Right. But she saw someone else. I’d bet my car on it.” Max slouched, seeking comfort in the hard metal straight chair in front of Billy’s desk. If he’d been a felon, he might have considered confession as a route to a comfortable mattress in a cell. “In any event, when you talk to Elaine”—Max believed in taking a positive approach—“you can build your case and at the same time”—a bright smile and an easy shrug—“you can make sure we aren’t missing anything.” He glanced at the closed folder holding the statements from last night. “Like Rusty Brandt.”
Billy made a noise deep in his throat. “I know. We got to talk to him pronto. Yeah, I got Brandt on my list to see.”
Max tipped his chair upright. “We can swing by Nightingale Courts, then pay Brandt a visit.” Max stood.
Billy was getting to his feet when the intercom on his desk buzzed. He shot a surly look at the intercom. “I told Mavis I’m not talking to that guy.” He stood by the desk and flexed his hands, cracking the knuckles. “As if I don’t have enough on my plate without having to deal with this character who’s got the hots for Chloe Martin. Did yo
u see him out there when you came in?”
Max gave a swift nod. “There was a big guy. Basketball type. He jumped up when I came in and he looked pretty unhappy when Mavis waved me through.” Unhappy put it mildly. “Who is he?”
“Lawyer. Bob Winslow. I’ve met him at Rotary. Nice enough but now”—Billy turned his big hands palms up—“claims the Martin gal couldn’t hurt anybody, not the type, sweet, kind, helps old ladies across the street. I told him she also goddamn well is a fugitive from justice and the best favor he can do for her is find her and get her here quick. Seems the aunt and uncle called him, asked if he’d seen her. I’m not wasting another minute talking to him. Like I told him, find her, then I’ll talk to him.”
The buzzer rasped like wasps spilling from a crushed nest.
“Dammit, Mavis ought to know better.” Billy leaned over and jabbed the button. “Yeah?”
Mavis was formal. “Captain, Mr. Brandt and Ms. Kelly are here to see you. Mr. Brandt said they wish to speak to you in regard to the O’Neill case. Are you available?”
Billy’s thick blond eyebrows crinkled. “Sure. Yeah. Send ’em in.” He clicked off the intercom. He sat down and squared his shoulders. He was an imposing figure behind his desk. “Hey Max, speak of the devil…”