by Carolyn Hart
Max was figuring on his pad:
8:50
Jake takes path.
9:00
Chloe runs through kitchen parking lot.
9:01
Beth Kelly takes path.
9:04/9:05
Beth finds body.
9:06
Beth meets Rusty on path.
9:10
Beth runs through kitchen parking lot.
9:14
Tony Hasty discovers body.
Murder must have occurred—assuming witness’s account is truthful—between 8:50 and approximately 9:04. According to Chloe Martin, O’Neill was alive when she left him. That would have been about 8:58, allowing her time to reach the kitchen parking lot by 9:00. This puts the span of time during which the murder might have happened at 8:59 to 9:04.
Max looked at Rusty. “You went down to the point.” The bloody jacket was proof. “You found him and left him there without doing anything?”
Rusty flushed at Max’s tone. “Hell, man, there wasn’t anything anybody could do. He was dead. I got down, looked. How do you think I got blood on me? I mean, I made sure. Then I thought it over. My God, what a mess. Jake dead, and what the hell could I say I was doing out there? Everybody knew I thought he was a jerk. But hey, you don’t kill a guy because he’s a jerk.”
Max gave him a thoughtful look. “Not even when you think he’s going to hijack the family fortune?”
“Hell, no.” Rusty exploded. He swung toward Billy.
“Look, I swear the guy was dead. It had nothing to do with me or Beth. If I’d raised the alarm my wife was going to want to know what the hell I was doing down there—”
Billy leaned back in his desk chair. “Did you have any conversation with O’Neill at any time last night?”
Rusty flung out his hands. “Not a word. I didn’t have anything to say to the creep. Anyway, why would I have Beth meet me there if I planned to kill him?”
Max’s tone was casual. “It’s never looked like a premeditated crime. Either Chloe Martin killed him and ran away, or she left him alive and somebody killed him after she left. Maybe you got there and heard them quarreling, and after she left, you grabbed up a heavy stick and attacked him. Beth wasn’t there yet. You heard her coming and hurried off into the garden. When you got back to the gallery, you headed again for the point, and that’s when Beth ran into you.”
“Not bloody damn likely.” Rusty’s voice was strong, but beneath his bluster there was the shrillness of fear.
“No way, Max. Not me. I’m not going to be a patsy for anybody. I did exactly what I said. Hell, I wouldn’t dare come here and tell you about the blackmail if I was guilty. I’d have had to pay the damn money. Instead I told the blackmailer to get lost. I figured she’d call Beth, too. And she did. I told Beth we had to come and clear things up. Nope, you can’t pin this on me. And I’m not paying blackmail to anybody.”
Annie rushed inside the police station. She skidded to a stop in front of the counter. “Mavis, is Billy here?” Annie looked up at the clock. A quarter to five. Fifteen minutes until Chloe’s call…
Even at the best of times Mavis never quite looked relaxed, her eyes holding the memory of old terrors despite her happy years on the island since she met and married Billy. Now her face was tired and drained. “He’s got some people in there, Annie. The O’Neill case. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She punched the intercom. “Captain, Mrs. Darling is here. She says—”
Annie leaned over the counter. “I may be able to help him find Chloe Martin, but I need to talk to him about it. As soon as possible.”
“—she has information about Chloe Martin’s whereabouts. There is some urgency.”
Billy’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Good.” Surprise mingled with satisfaction. “I can see her in a few minutes. We’re finishing up. I’ll buzz.” The connection ended.
Billy glared at Rusty Brandt. “You should have strung her along. Said you’d pay. Then we could have fixed up a packet for you, taken it to the drop-off.”
Rusty folded his arms. “I told her I didn’t pay blackmail. I told her to call the cops and be damned. Then I hung up.”
Billy’s face creased. “So all we have is your word against hers.”
“Wait a minute.” Rusty held up a broad hand. “I’m not going to make a complaint. And neither is Beth.”
Billy’s face was about as pleasant as congealed pond scum. “Blackmail’s a crime, Mr. Brandt. Your civic duty is to help the authorities. When and where was the money to be left?”
Rusty flung his hands wide. “I’d help you if I could.” His voice was hearty. “But like I said, I told her it was no go and hung up. I don’t know who called. I don’t know where she wanted the money put.”
Max’s peripheral vision included Beth Kelly. She looked sharply at Rusty, then her face smoothed into blankness.
“I just took it as a wake-up call to get over here and straighten everything out.” Rusty heaved a sigh of relief. “I feel better about everything already.” He pushed to his feet. “Come on, Beth.”
Billy slowly stood. “You can go for now.” It was a growl. “Both of you be here at nine o’clock Monday morning to make formal statements. And I’ll tell you something, Mr. Brandt. You’d be in jail right this minute, but I think you’re telling the truth—you and Ms. Kelly—about what happened last night. Otherwise, the blood on your jacket would be spatters, not soaked in. See you Monday.”
“Mrs. Darling—” The voice was familiar.
Annie swung about, looked up and up. He was so tall, so very tall. “You came to the store yesterday. Bob Winslow.” He loomed over her, shoulders hunched, his long mild face creased by worry. Young Lover Two, and Chloe had hidden from him. Annie stuck out her hand.
He grabbed her hand, crushed it, pulled her farther from the counter before loosening his grip. He spoke in a low voice. “Mrs. Darling, do you know where Chloe is?” He poked his glasses higher on his bent nose. His dark spaniel eyes were imploring. “I heard you talking to her.” He looked toward Mavis. “They say Chloe’s a fugitive.” He shook his head “That’s crazy.” His hands tightened into fists. “It’s nonsense. Chloe never hurt anybody. I’m not going to let them put her in jail.”
“Bob”—Annie beamed at him—“I know Chloe’s innocent. She told me Jake was alive when she left the point. But she is a fugitive, and that’s what has to be dealt with. I’m going to try and persuade the chief to release her to Max and me.”
The door to the office corridor opened. Beth Kelly’s heels clattered against the hard floor, she walked so fast. Rusty Brandt hurried to catch up. “Wait a minute, Beth. Wait a damn—” The door closed behind them.
Annie gave a whoop of relief. “Billy’s free.” She flung hurried words toward the gangling Bob Winslow—“We’ll talk when I come out”—and yanked open the door.
Mavis half rose from her chair. “Billy hasn’t buzzed yet.”
Annie looked up at the clock. Thirteen minutes to five. “That’s okay. I’ll knock.” As the corridor door sighed shut behind her, Annie hurried down the hallway. Was Billy in his old office or had he taken over Pete Garrett’s? It was two doors down. Light spilled from the partially open door. Yes, Pete’s office. Would his unit be gone for a year? The last they’d heard he was in Kabul, interrogating terrorist prisoners. Annie lifted her hand to knock, froze like a statue when she heard Max’s voice.
“…did you see her face? Beth Kelly looked shocked as hell when Rusty claimed he hung up before the blackmailer said where the money was to be left.”
Annie lowered her arm, eased close to the sliver of space between the door and jamb.
Billy was glum. “Yeah. I picked up on that. She knows he’s a lying son of a bitch, but she’s scared to death something will come out in public.” A chair creaked, the wheels rattling against the floor. “It doesn’t make any difference. If neither one will file a complaint, there’s no point in our picking up Elaine Hasty. Besi
des, since Brandt and Kelly came in, there’s nothing more Hasty can tell us.”
Annie pressed near enough to see a slice of the office. Billy stood behind his desk, one hand massaging the back of his neck.
Max’s face furrowed in an intent frown. “Wait a minute, Billy.” Max’s tone was thoughtful. “Maybe she saw someone else.”
Billy gave a hoot of disbelief. “Come on, how many people do you think went down to the point last night?” He held up his hand, flipped his fingers forward, one by one, “We got O’Neill. We got Chloe Martin. We got Beth Kelly. We got Rusty Brandt. Don’t tell me you think somebody else was there!”
“Beth Kelly thought she heard something on the path into the garden.” Max shrugged. “Sure, it could have been a raccoon. And she was spooked by the fog. But maybe there was somebody there. If somebody took that path, who was it? Not Chloe Martin. Annie saw her on the gallery path. I leaned on Rusty, suggested he might have gotten to the point before Beth, killed O’Neill, taken the garden path, circled around to come up the gallery path and meet Beth as she fled from the body. But I don’t think there was enough time. Not if he left the gallery about nine. The murder was either committed by Chloe Martin or it occurred between Chloe’s departure and Beth’s arrival. Somebody else could have followed O’Neill, listened to him and Chloe, then attacked him after Chloe left. The point is that the only way this could have happened was for someone to have followed O’Neill. We know Elaine Hasty was watching out that kitchen window. We know she saw Chloe take the path to the point. Then she saw O’Neill. If anybody followed O’Neill, she knows. She saw Rusty and Beth, but they went independently. If they’re telling the truth, they didn’t follow O’Neill. And like you said, the stains on Rusty’s jacket support his story that he was checking to see if O’Neill was still alive. We better talk to Elaine Hasty.”
Billy gave a huge yawn. “Oh, we can talk to her. I’ll have Lou bring her in Monday. We’ll make sure she corroborates Brandt and Kelly. I don’t think there’s anything else there. But she’s done us a good turn. Her trying a spot of blackmail on Brandt and Kelly has cleared things up considerably. The fact that they came in pretty well clears them. Now if we can find Chloe Martin…”
Annie pushed through the door. She looked from Billy to Max—bless him for thinking hard, for keeping an open mind, for being her own dear wonderful Max—and back again.
“Yeah, Annie.” Billy waved her inside, his eyes stern. “What have you got for me? If you know where that girl is, you got to tell me.” His voice was as hard and unrelenting as a rock.
Annie gave a desperate glance at the clock. Eight minutes to five o’clock. Max always urged her to be tactful, to think before speaking, to emulate the charm and wisdom of Charlie Chan, Earl Derr Biggers’s Honolulu sleuth (“The man who is about to cross the stream should not revile the crocodile’s mother.”—The Black Camel).
With a loud tick, the hand of the old-fashioned clock jerked to seven minutes before the hour.
Annie was no Charlie Chan. She was tired, upset, frantic to make Billy understand, to reach him across the towering barrier of his resentment at Chloe’s escape. Annie strode across the room, her shoes clicking loudly against the tile floor. She reached his desk, leaned forward, slapped her hands against the gray metal surface.
Billy stood with his feet spread apart, arms folded, as easy to move as a mountain. He looked much older than when they’d first met, a tousle-haired giant with a rugby player’s strength and a country boy’s openness. His appealing cowlick now contained streaks of gray. His face was heavier, lines of fatigue and stress cutting a groove from tightly compressed lips. He’d seen the ugliest that humans can do to each other, and those sights had marked his soul.
Annie stared into blue eyes that she knew well, eyes that adored when he looked toward his wife, brightened when he played with his stepson, glowed when voices lifted in angelic praise in church, eyes that now burned with determination to do a job well for a man gone to war and for the island he loved. She looked deep into the eyes of her friend, her dear and treasured friend. Big, brave, insecure, uncertain.
Annie’s face softened. She reached across the desk, placed her hand on a muscular, rigid arm. “Billy, do you remember when Mavis was frightened?”
It was like watching a kaleidoscope move, blend, reform. The elements were unchanged, the pattern utterly dissimilar. His somber face held memory of the days when Mavis had fled an abusive husband, fearing for her life and for Kevin’s. It was Billy who’d found her running down a dark road, her head bloody, carrying her crying toddler. It was Billy who’d brought her to the island, helped her find a job, rented her a cabin at Nightingale Courts. All of this, his love for Mavis, his fear for her when murder came near, his devotion, looked at Annie from anguished blue eyes.
Annie’s hand dropped. “Last night Chloe was scared. Do you remember what scared her? Not a murder charge, awful as that would be. Not being questioned. She was terrified of being locked up. She can scarcely bear to talk about it. You see”—Annie’s tone was thin, as if the words were hard to say—“when she was little—maybe five years old—she misbehaved and her aunt locked her in a closet, a dark closet. Chloe cried and cried and cried, but she couldn’t get out.”
“Five years old?” Max’s voice was grim. He took two steps, stood beside Annie, slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Five years old.” For an instant the office was utterly still, quiet enough to imagine the hiccuping wails of that long-ago child. “If you lock up Chloe, it will be like dangling somebody who’s afraid of heights over a canyon. Sure, maybe there’s a rope, maybe there’s no way to fall, but that doesn’t help. Nothing helps that kind of fear. If you put Chloe in a cell, she will fall to pieces. And”—Annie’s voice quivered—“she said she’d rather die, that she’d walk out into the water. Oh, Billy, I know she shouldn’t have run away. But she’s out there somewhere with no place to go and no one to help her, and night’s coming on and it’s going to rain. I know you have to question her, maybe even hold her as a material witness, but you don’t have to put her in jail to do that.” Annie raced ahead, talking faster and faster, the words running together, hard to understand.
“She can wear an ankle monitor or wrist monitor or whatever those things are. You know, when people are under house arrest and they can’t go places, they wear something that beeps or zings so you know where they are every minute. She can stay at our house. She’ll have to promise to stay at our house and there won’t be any way to remove the monitor—” Annie heard the tick as the minute hand on the clock moved. Three minutes to five. She plunged her hand into her purse, grabbed her cell phone. “And you can ask her all about that night, and she’ll tell you how he was alive when she left the point. I’m sure Elaine Hasty saw somebody else follow Jake because I know Chloe’s innocent. Billy, please!” She ended with a gulp for breath.
Billy stared down at his desktop, his face heavy with thought. And indecision. He kneaded his cheek with the knuckles of his right hand. Finally, he lifted his head, still frowning. “The evidence against her is damn strong. There’s other stuff to check out, but I’m making no promises that she won’t end up charged with murder. Probably second-degree. No premeditation. Still”—his tone was reasonable—“the investigation isn’t over. If she turns herself in—” He looked up at the clock. It was one minute to five “—I’ll agree to a twenty-four-hour monitored detention at your house, providing she agrees to be questioned.”
“Oh, Billy.” Annie beamed at him. “You’re wonderful.”
Max gave Billy a thumb’s-up.
Annie smiled at them both. She yanked out the phone. “It’s all going to work out. Chloe’s going to call me at five o’clock.” Relief pumped her voice. Annie held up the phone. She waited, her face eager. When Chloe called, Annie would explain, tell her she would be safe at Annie and Max’s house. Not locked up. Never locked up.
The minute hand ticked to the hour.
Anot
her minute passed.
Another.
The phone didn’t ring.
Ten
AT FIVE PAST the hour, Billy glanced at his watch. “So she promised to call.” His voice was dour and cold, his gaze sardonic. “I tell you, Annie, she’s acting guilty as hell. And how come you’ve been talking to her? Where is she?” He scooped up a small legal pad, flipped it open, waited.
“I don’t know.” Annie traced her fingers lightly over the buttons of the cell phone. “She didn’t say. Except she could see the water…” Her voice trailed away. “I can’t believe she hasn’t called.”
“If she calls again”—Billy’s voice grated—“get in touch with me. Or she won’t be the only one I put in jail.”
Annie’s chin lifted. “How about Elaine Hasty? Are you going to let her get away with hiding what she knows?”
“We know what she knows.” Billy threw out an impatient hand. “You’ve been listening at doors, so you know Brandt and his lady friend were on the point last night. Hasty’s blackmail is a flop. I can’t help it if they won’t make a complaint.” His face flushed with resentment.
Annie’s eyes flashed. “You can pick up Elaine, interrogate her—”
“What do we ask? We know what she saw. She saw Brandt and his girlfriend.” Billy slammed down the pad. “You want to ask Elaine Hasty questions, you do it. Maybe you’ll be lucky and find out”—heavy sarcasm weighted his voice—“that another five or six people were down on the point. Hell, maybe a baker’s dozen for all I know. Of course, it’s strange they didn’t bump into each other. As a matter of fact we know Brandt and Kelly were there and they didn’t see another soul. Nothing except a body. You can bet they would have told us if they had. Who knows? Maybe Elvis was there. I can’t wait to find out. But not tonight. The only thing that interests me right now is the hunt for Chloe Martin. I’ve got deputies coming to the island tomorrow with dogs. We’ll find her. Right now, I’m going home.” He reached down, grabbed up a folder. “I got these statements to read.” He took a breath, shot her a conciliatory glance. “That was good work on your part, Annie. But”—his frown returned—