Low Pressure

by Sandra Brown

  Dent, who was standing in the open wedge of the driver’s door, jerked his head in her direction, but his surprised reaction went unnoticed by the two police officers, who were fixated on her.

  One gave his partner an inquisitive look, and when his partner said, “Better let him know,” the first said, “Wait here,” and started up the walk toward the house.

  Bellamy smiled up at the other, the one who’d recognized her. “Have you read Low Pressure?”

  “My wife bought it when she read that it was based on a true crime that occurred here. Must be good. She hasn’t put it down since she started it.”

  Bellamy smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  While engaged in this conversation, she was also well aware of the one taking place at the front door of Rupe’s house. After a brief exchange, the officer made a gesture as though tipping his hat to Rupe, then he turned away from the door and motioned them forward. “He says it’s okay.”

  After thanking the officer with whom she’d been chatting, Bellamy went around the hood of the car, and she and Dent started up the walk. Under his breath, he asked, “When did you become an eyelash-batting, breathless Texas belle?”

  “When I needed to.”

  “Why haven’t you ever tried it on me?”

  “Because I didn’t need to.”

  “And who the hell is Jim Postlewhite?”

  “Trust me.”

  That was all she had time to say. They were now within earshot of the front door, where Rupe Collier stood waiting. The damage done to his face was so extensive that if he hadn’t peeled back his swollen lips and smiled, he would have been unrecognizable. The teeth were unmistakable even rooted in red, puffy gums.

  “Well, well, look who the cat dragged in!” The false bonhomie was for the benefit of the police officer, who stood aside for Bellamy and Dent so they could proceed across the threshold and into the two-story vestibule. “Thank you, Officer.”

  Rupe waved him off and closed the front door, then turned to them, his smile still in place. “You thought I’d be angry, didn’t you? Fit to be tied that you finagled your way in here?” Laughing, he shook his head. “Actually, I’m tickled to see you. Come in.”

  He walked past them and motioned that they follow. The hallway was wide and long and dotted with area rugs of marginal quality. From the vaulted ceiling hung three massive chandeliers better suited to a Spanish castle. The rooms they walked past were ostentatiously decorated.

  Finally they arrived at a den that was more tastefully furnished and actually looked like it was lived in rather than there just for show. It had a wall of windows overlooking a limestone terrace and a sparkling swimming pool with a fountain in its center.

  Rupe motioned them toward a sofa. “Have a seat.”

  They sat down side by side. On the coffee table in front of them lay today’s issue of EyeSpy. The picture of them taken on the apartment-building balcony comprised one-third of the front page.

  “Worth a thousand words. At least,” Rupe said.

  Bellamy tried to appear unaffected by both the photo and his remark, which was difficult to do when he was wearing a hyena’s grin and bobbing his eyebrows suggestively.

  “My wife is out of town, and I gave the housekeeper time off, so I can’t offer you anything except a cold drink.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Dent, whose jaw looked carved of granite, shook his head.

  Rupe sat in an easy chair adjacent to the sofa. He said to Bellamy, “Congratulations on your best seller.”

  “I doubt that you’re that happy about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She stared him down, saying nothing.

  Eventually his smile turned sheepish. “Okay, I was a little put off that you didn’t portray the ADA as a more dashing figure, especially since I’d granted you an interview while you were writing the book. The prosecutor should’ve been the hero. He brought the criminal to justice.”

  Speaking for the first time, Dent said, “Did he?”

  Rupe’s sly gaze slid over to him. “I thought I did.” He leaned forward slightly. “Or are you ready to confess? Did you come here today to bring me Susan’s panties?” Dent was off the sofa like a shot, but Bellamy grabbed a handful of his shirttail and pulled him back down.

  The car dealer laughed. “I see you’re still a hothead with a short fuse. Not that I’m surprised. Leopards don’t change their spots. What’d you do, lose your temper in the cockpit? Is that why you almost crashed that airliner?”

  Bellamy jumped in before Dent could respond. “That you even asked Dent if he wants to confess is an indication that you weren’t convinced of Allen Strickland’s guilt.”

  Rupe leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on the padded armrests, as relaxed and confident as a potentate on his throne. “Sure I was.”

  “Was Detective Moody?”

  Rupe snuffled with disgust. “He might’ve been if he’d been thinking with a clear head.” Looking at Dent, he said, “You should know better than me what a drunken brute he was. The screwdriver? He told me about that. And not with remorse.” Shaking his head sadly, he said, “The man was a blight on our fine police force.”

  “Which makes one wonder why he was assigned to be the lead investigator of my sister’s case.”

  “I wondered that myself. Because, from the beginning, Moody botched the investigation. Several times I requested that he be replaced by someone more competent. Sober, at least. My requests were denied.”

  “Were you given a reason?”

  “Bureaucratic politics. That’s what I was told, anyway.”

  Bellamy knew with certainty that he was lying. He wasn’t as good at it as he probably thought himself to be. She didn’t counter any of his statements, figuring that if she gave him enough rope he would hang himself. On the other hand, they could dance this dance all night. His smugness was beginning to grate.

  “Dent and I met with Dale Moody yesterday.”

  He blinked several times but quickly recovered. “Here in Austin?”

  Ignoring the question, she said, “He’s a troubled man.”

  “Shocker.”

  “He had quite a bit to say about you.”

  “I’m surprised that he was sober enough to talk.”

  “He made himself understood. He owned up to some unethical behavior.”

  “Did he now? Did he also own up to this?” He pointed to his face.

  Bellamy was taken aback, although, given the rancor with which Moody had spoken of his former cohort, she shouldn’t have been. What surprised her was that Moody hadn’t told them himself.

  “Surprise attack,” Rupe continued. “He came at me from out of nowhere. I hadn’t had any contact with him since he quit the department and left Austin. All of a sudden, Bam! He’s trying to send my nose out the back of my skull.”

  “What provoked him to do it?”

  “Your book. Didn’t he tell you? He didn’t take kindly to it. He didn’t like how the investigating officer in your story came across. He also didn’t like that I’d granted an interview to Rocky Van Durbin. But why shouldn’t I? I’ve got nothing to hide,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

  “Apparently Dale Moody does. When he read Van Durbin’s interview with me, he got incensed. Crawled out from whatever rock he’s been hiding under, sought me out, beat me up, and left me with a warning.”

  “Which was?”

  “To keep my mouth shut about the Susan Lyston case and everything associated with it. You probably received the same warning.”

  “Actually I didn’t,” Bellamy said.

  “Hmm. Well, I guess he thought you said all you had to say about it in your book.” He looked at Dent. “Were you in on the meeting between them?”

  “Yeah, I was there.”

  “Huh. Judging by the looks of you, Moody didn’t roll out the welcome mat.”

  “Oh, you mean this?” Dent lightly ran his finger over one of the gashes on h
is face. “Moody didn’t do this. Ray Strickland did.”

  Rupe’s head went back several inches. “Ray Strickland? Allen’s brother? No shit? Pardon the French, Ms. Price.” Back to Dent. “Last I heard, he’d been in a terrible car wreck. Almost killed him.”

  “He’s very much alive.”

  “Where did you connect with him?”

  “In the parking lot of an IHOP.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “In the parking lot of an IHOP,” Dent repeated, deadpan. “He’s holding a grudge.”

  “Against you?”

  “Against everybody, is my guess. I’d watch my back if I were you, Rupe.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “You sent his brother to prison, and he died there. The man’s mad, and he’s mean.”

  “He’s mad.” Rupe looked at Bellamy and smirked. “Well that doesn’t surprise me. Your book got a lot of people riled, didn’t it? If you had it to do over again, would you write about your sister’s murder?”

  She didn’t deign to answer. “Tell me about Jim Postlewhite.”

  “You mentioned that name to the cop outside. Who is he?”

  “He was a Lyston Electronics employee. Head of the trucking fleet. He was Allen Strickland’s boss.”

  “You said ‘was.’”

  “He’s deceased.”

  Rupe shrugged. “The name doesn’t ring a bell, and remembering names is one of my strengths.”

  “Search your memory.”

  “Sorry, the name means nothing to me.”

  “It meant something to Dale Moody.”

  “Then you should be asking him.”

  “I intend to.” She tilted her head to one side. “What was it that convinced Moody of Allen Strickland’s innocence?”

  “If he was convinced of Strickland’s innocence, that’s news to me.”

  “Is it?”

  “If Moody was convinced otherwise, why did he give me everything I needed to win a conviction?”

  “You didn’t apply any pressure?” Dent asked. “No arm-twisting involved?”

  “Not everyone has your hoodlum mentality.”

  “What about Ray Strickland’s auto accident?” Bellamy asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Moody says you staged it to keep him from testifying in his brother’s defense.”

  Rupe sputtered a laugh. Then he leaned forward from the waist and said, “Moody has drunk a lot of whiskey. He’s delusional.” Then his eyes narrowed on them. “What is this, anyway? Why the third degree? Surely you’re not taking the word of that burned-out cop over mine. If you are, you’re making fools of yourselves. My slate is clean. I only did my duty and carried out the law of the land.”

  “Try selling that to Ray Strickland before he guts you.”

  Rupe shot Dent a fulminating look, then came back to Bellamy. “Turning the tables here, mind if I ask you something?”

  She gave a small nod of consent.

  “You took license with every character in your book, including your sister. No offense, but Moody and I learned things about her that’d make a sailor blush. She was a little more… worldly… than you made her out to be in the novel.” He looked at Dent and winked. “Am I right?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Rupe only laughed. Going back to Bellamy, he said, “I just wondered, by painting her purer than she was, were you being respectful of the dead, or just naive?”

  “I portrayed her the way I remember her.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on, now, you can tell me. Just between us,” he said, winking again, “did you love her all that much? Or even like her? Weren’t you just an itsy-bitsy bit jealous of her?”

  “Where are you going with this?” she asked coolly.

  “Nowhere. Just thinking out loud.” He thoughtfully tapped his fingertips against his lips. “If you’d been a little older at the time, I’d have wanted to know exactly where you were when she was killed.”

  Bellamy realized he was only baiting her, but it was working. Her palms were damp when she slid the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and stood up. Dent stood up with her and placed his hand on her elbow as though sensing her unsteadiness.

  She said to Rupe, “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “Not a problem.” Looking very pleased with himself for having derailed them, he slapped the armrests of his chair as he pulled himself out of it.

  He followed them from the room and down the hallway. He opened the front door and, with a flourish, motioned them through it. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Bellamy stepped over the threshold, then turned back. “Moody has drunk a lot of whiskey, but when he was more sober, he took extensive notes, especially during his investigation into my sister’s death.”

  “That’s right, he did,” Rupe said. “He was known for his note-taking. But, along with all the documents and such, Moody’s notes went into the case file, which—”

  “He copied. Before you had the original destroyed.”

  Chapter 23

  Where did you come up with this Postlewhite?”

  Dent had been itching to ask her, but he’d waited until they were in her car. Per usual, he had insisted on driving.

  “Yesterday, when I scanned that page in Moody’s file, the name registered with me because it was starred on the original and underscored in red on the copy. I meant to ask what that signified but got distracted by everything else he was telling us and never went back to it. It occurred to me that if it was noteworthy to Moody, it might be to Rupe.”

  “Good move, A.k.a. You said ‘Postlewhite’ and Rupe looked ready to hurl.”

  “He definitely paled beneath his bruises.”

  “I only glanced at that sheet in Moody’s file, but there were all kinds of scribbles on it. Notes. Names. How did you remember Postlewhite’s?”

  “Well, beyond it being starred and underlined, I remember him. One day when I was visiting Daddy at work, he came into the office to leave some paperwork. After being introduced, he told me to call him Mr. P. and made a big deal of my being there, treated me like an honored guest, talked to me about school, asked me what my favorite subject was. Like that.”

  “He took notice of you.”

  “At a time in my life when few people did. I never forgot his kindness. I saw him from a distance at the barbecue. He waved at me. He was a nice man.”

  “I doubt that’s why Moody put a star next to his name. Any idea?”

  “None. But I think Rupe knows.”

  “I’d bet money on it.” Coming to a stop sign at the intersection, he asked if she wanted to stop at her parents’ house. “While we’re in the neighborhood.”

  “Would you mind? When I moved into my house, I left some dress clothes behind to be packed up later.” Looking sorrowful, she added, “I’ll need them soon.”

  When they pulled up to the gate, she gave him the code and he punched it in. As he followed the driveway up to the house, he said, “Place hasn’t changed much. Still makes me feel like I need to pull around to the rear, so if it’s all the same to you I’ll wait in the car.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  She rang the bell and was greeted by a uniformed housekeeper, who peered around Bellamy to curiously scope him out. She asked something, Bellamy replied, then the two went inside. In under ten minutes, Bellamy came out carrying a suitcase. He got out and helped her place it in the backseat.

  “Different housekeeper from the one I remember,” he said.

  “Helena has been working for my parents for about ten years. She’s very concerned about Daddy. Olivia’s keeping her updated, but I also promised to call her as soon as I heard anything.”

  “Where to now?”

  “Haymaker.”

  “I agree. We need to get Moody’s cell-phone number out of him.”

  “He’ll be reluctant to give it to us.”

  “My hoodlum mentality may come in
handy.”

  She smiled. “I’m going to depend on it.”

  “Long drive from here to his place. Call first, see if he’s there.”

  “That would warn him that we’re on the way.”

  “Not if you hang up when he answers.” He passed his phone to her. “Use mine. No name shows up.”

  Before leaving Haymaker the day before, they had obtained his land-line number as well as that of his cell phone. Bellamy called each of them twice but got voice mail on both. “So now what?” she asked, visibly frustrated.

  “We fall back and regroup.”

  Ray complimented himself on his stamina and self-discipline.

  He’d been inside Bellamy Price’s closet for going on five hours, patiently waiting for her to come home. He didn’t know when that might be, but she had to return eventually. Whenever that was, he would be ready, physically and mentally.

  Getting into her house had been easy, the only challenge being to kick a curious cat out of the way as he’d slipped in through an unlocked window partially concealed by a tall shrub. The house was silent and empty and smelled of cleaners and fresh paint.

  The message he’d left on her wall had been painted over, which didn’t bother him much. That had been a dumb idea. This time he had something better in store. Her walls may get streaked with red, but it wouldn’t be paint.

  Before taking up his post in her closet, he’d opened her bureau drawers and played with some of her underthings. Just for the heck of it, just because he could, just because it gave him a naughty thrill that would have shocked a snooty rich girl like her.

  He wasn’t around women much, and none he’d ever been with had worn stuff this nice. He’d liked the feel of her silky, lacy things against his face, his snake tattoo, his belly. But after a time, he’d reluctantly refolded everything he’d handled, put the articles back as they’d been, and closed the drawers.

  He’d considered hiding beneath the bed, then opted for the walk-in closet. He would have better mobility. She would open the double louvered doors and there he would be.

  “Surprise!” Saying it in a stage whisper, he’d practiced his lunge several times.