Suicide Season

by Rex Burns

  “Was that you? I saw it on the eye. How’s the girl doing?”

  “She got hurt,” said Bunch. “But she’s going to make it. It’s going to take a long time, but she’ll make it.”

  “Good to hear that, anyway.” He chewed again. “How’d they get onto you?”

  “I went to see Leonard Kaffey,” I said. “He thought I was pulling some deal for McAllister—trying to link Aegis with Haas so McAllister would have grounds for a suit.”

  “Hell, you wouldn’t have grounds for a suit if you had pictures of them kissing each other’s ass. You got to show an unbroken chain of possession.”

  “Nobody else had reason to send somebody after Dev.”

  Lewellen nodded slowly. “Those people are really paranoid, that’s true. It’s not worth it. They got all the money in the world, and most of it tax free. But it’s not worth living like that. What do these two look like?”

  I gave him a description.

  “Can’t place either one. Probably imports. Greenies, probably, just getting started. Which”—he smiled at me—”means you’ve got a good chance of seeing them again.”

  “They have something to prove?”

  “You better believe it. Their first, maybe second solo job for the big boys. They do good with you, they move up in the organization, get a promotion, maybe some territory of their own for sharking or shake-downs. My guess is right now they’re waiting to see what you do. You back off, they go home and have a party. You don’t, they’ll hit on you again.”

  “We’re not backing off,” said Bunch.

  The detective’s eyes slanted toward the heavy figure sitting beside him. “Now I’m supposed to say to you, ‘No vigilante stuff.’ Bullshit. If you get rid of those scumbags, I’ll buy you dinner.” He held up a finger. “As long as it at least looks legal.”

  “How about self-defense?”

  “That’s legal. What do you want me to do?”

  “Can you dig up something on the Aegis Group?”

  “I’ve looked. It’s a legit business. Member of the Chamber of Commerce and everything. No complaints. Can’t hassle them without a reason.”

  “You can’t screen their calls a little? Check out those Vegas connections?”

  He laced his fingers together and bent the knuckles back to crack them. “The unit has to be careful about that. If we have one lawsuit that proves damages to somebody’s tender reputation, there’s no more unit—that’s a promise from the legislature. But”—he heaved himself to his feet and shook hands—”maybe a snoop here, a peek there. Who knows what probable cause might turn up?”

  The first call when we got back to the office was Bunch asking the hospital for an update on Susan’s condition. “They say she’s resting comfortably.” He hung up and stared off across the roofs toward the wall of mountains where the hot sun had begun to bring out dark lines of rock through the winter snows. “Any ideas?”

  I dialed McAllister’s direct number. “Just a long shot.” The man’s private secretary answered and I identified myself. “Is Mr. McAllister available?”

  “One moment and I’ll see.”

  Which is about all it took. “Kirk! I was just thinking of you. Carrie Busey’s murder—have you heard about that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can’t get a damned thing out of the police. I’ve put my lawyers on it, but all they do is tell me what the police’s rights are. Damn their rights—I want to know what’s going on. Have you heard anything?”

  “I know a little about it.”

  “Well?”

  “I know she was shot once from a close distance and that she was found in the office of Vincent Landrum, a private detective who was working for her. I don’t think the police have any idea why she was shot or who did it.”

  “That’s more than my lawyers have been able to find out. But not very damned much.”

  “She’d hired Landrum to look into Austin Haas’s death.”

  “She what? What the hell for?”

  I could see his pale red eyebrows pop up into the age spots that freckled his forehead. “She didn’t think it was a suicide.”

  “That’s nonsense! You know what the police report said. And you know why he did it.”

  “Apparently she was convinced that Haas wasn’t the type to kill himself. That someone else must have done it.”

  “Sheer nonsense!”

  “Yes, sir. But that’s what she thought.”

  “For God’s sake.” The voice pulled away from the telephone to say something to someone and then came back. “Was she killed because of that, Kirk?”

  “I don’t think so. I talked to Landrum and he said he found nothing to contradict the police report on Haas.”

  “Damned right he didn’t.”

  “And Landrum’s still alive. If he had found anything, they’d have tried for both of them. Whoever killed her knew where to find him.”

  “I follow. What about this detective—Landrum? Could he have killed her?”

  “As far as I know, he had no reason to. But the police will check him out for an alibi.”

  “I see. I think I see. No, damn it, I don’t see at all. Why was the girl killed?”

  That led us to the reason for my call. “Mr. McAllister, I don’t know why she was killed. It could have been an aborted robbery or even a thrill killing. Or it might have been something else.”

  “What something else?”

  “I’m not sure—it’s just a feeling. The reason I called is to ask a favor from you. Would you let it be known that you’ve hired Kirk and Associates to try to prove that the Aegis Group stole your plans for the Columbine and Lakeside projects?”

  The line was quiet for a breath or two. “Do you think that has anything to do with that girl’s murder?”

  “There’s no reason to think so at all. But their name keeps coming up. And Haas was working for them.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you telling me everything you know about this, Kirk?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ha! All right, Devlin. I’ll tell some people around town and the word will get back to Aegis, don’t worry. And in fact, I’ll do it right—you are hired, by God, to look into any relationship between Aegis and Carrie Busey’s death.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I HOPED THAT was the right way to go; we were playing hunches instead of fact, and that always brought a lot of risk. But there came those times when a hunch was all one had.

  “Connect the dots, and it makes some sense, Dev. Aegis could lose a lot if Haas is tied to them.”

  “You heard what Lewellen told us. Somebody would have to prove more than just a connection. They’d have to show a chain of possession of the software, and even then the laws governing copyright and trademark are pretty vague when it comes to intangible property.”

  “Yeah, right. But try this on: what if Carrie Busey didn’t tell Landrum everything? I mean, who would? What if she knew all along that Haas had been working for Aegis—and what if she had been helping him? And what if she even knew where that payoff money is? Maybe that’s what Aegis is after—they want that payoff back. It’s got to be a hell of a lot of money, and it would be incriminating. And somebody went through her purse for something.”

  I leaned back and studied Bunch’s face. The left ear had a ripple of broken cartilage along the rim; the wide, square jaw had a habit of sliding forward when he was angry; and the mashed nose went straight down to a bulb of flesh that looked like a small potato. It was not the face of a genius but of a linebacker, which he had been at Wyoming. But that scarred face held a good mind, I knew, and beneath the carelessness he showed toward so many things, Bunch was both quick and sensitive. “What if, indeed.” And what if, for that reason, Aegis Group wanted her out of the way? They had already shown us some muscle, and shooting one unarmed woman was about as easy as hitting another with a car. But if so, why did they leave Landrum alone? How c
ould they be certain Busey hadn’t told Landrum all that she knew?

  We picked up Mrs. Faulk at the hospital around six and took her to one of the new restaurants opening up in the Tivoli Building, a remodeled brewery that sprawled its wings and towers over a city block not far from our offices. Sporadically Bunch and I tried to steer conversation away from Susan and the hospital, but inevitably it came back to her.

  “They did the CAT scan and found some hemorrhaging across from the injury. The radiologist did say it wasn’t as severe as it might have been.”

  “Good—that’s real good.” Bunch had finished eating long before we had and he tried not to keep glancing at my watch. Instead, he read the little card held in a metal clip and set between the salt and pepper and a small rose vase. “This place was built in the 1880s and lasted as a brewery for about a hundred years.”

  Mrs. Faulk looked around the brickwork and period decorations—beer barrelheads anchored to the wall, and old-time advertisements for Hienbrau and Denver’s Own. And, in fact, until the dessert came, we finally managed to talk about things other than the injury.

  “This is very thoughtful of you. I’d forgotten there was a world outside the hospital.” Mrs. Faulk smiled and I saw Susan’s wide, slightly lopsided grin beneath that of the still attractive older woman. Her mother’s face promised that Susan could age as gracefully and as beautifully—if she still had that chance. “But we’d better go before you get too anxious, Bunch.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Faulk, no rush. Enjoy the cake—I was just checking Dev’s watch, that’s all.”

  “I’m anxious too.” She smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Susan had been moved again, from a private to a double room. She lay propped up in bed, the curtain drawn between the two units and another clump of flowers on the stand beside the bed, this one from the staff of the clinic where she worked. In the corner above, her television set flickered. From the bed on the other side of the curtain came the tiny noise of another channel from a speaker beside the pillow, and in one of the chairs, a worn-looking woman glanced up to smile at us politely and then turn back to the figure lying still beneath the thin white blankets.

  “Susan?” Mrs. Faulk’s voice was soft against the tinny buzz of the television speaker.

  Her dark eyelids lifted heavily and she slowly turned her eyes to her mother’s face. A slight smile of welcome and a hand drawn from beneath the cover to weakly grip her mother’s fingers.

  “Hi, Suze. You’re looking a lot better.”

  Her head turned to Bunch and she gropingly offered the other hand. “Liar.”

  I had to strain to hear her whisper. “He’s right. You do.”

  The dull eyes searched me out. “Hi. You okay?”

  “I’m fine. You’re going to be fine, too.”

  The eyes closed on a long sigh, but the faintly smiling mouth said she was still awake. There was an awkward moment of wondering what to say next, and then Mrs. Faulk began telling family stories of Susan as a little girl. Occasionally, amid the muted laughter, Susan’s head would shake gently and she’d whisper “Not true,” and for a while the three of us standing around the still figure created an aura of warmth and protection that seemed to be a tangible barrier against any more hurt. Slowly, Susan’s face relaxed into sleep and at some moment her fingers eased their grip on the hands of Bunch and her mother, and her breath came in steady, shallow draughts.

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Yeah.” Bunch’s heavy fingers softly replaced the blanket over her arms.

  “I know you two have things to do. Why don’t you go—she’ll probably sleep through visiting hours.”

  Bunch glanced at the wall clock. “There’s another forty-five minutes. She might wake up again.”

  “You’re of course welcome to stay, Bunch—I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

  Bunch nodded and settled on one of the leatherette chairs; I lingered a few minutes before excusing myself. I’d promised to see Margaret before going to AeroLabs, and Bunch shooed me out with a wave of his hand.

  Coming out of the hospital was like coming out of an afternoon movie; it was surprising to see that twilight still hung in the sky, and that the rest of the world was uninterrupted in its round of bustling traffic. The insular feel of the hospital lingered in my mind even as I drove through streets crowded with the cars and trucks of the fast growing southern edge of the metropolitan area. But by the time I neared the Belcaro Estates gatehouse, I had managed to shake most of the depression that clung like a faintly unpleasant odor. I could not dismiss Susan’s ill-looking, blank face lying in sleep against the metal bed. It was not an image I wanted to place Margaret in, and, with the caution that had become routine since Susan’s injury, I made a few extra turns and kept a close eye on the rearview mirror.

  “Devlin!” Margaret hugged me tightly at the door. “Come in—the children will be so happy to see you!”

  They were. Shauna’s earlier shyness had given way to a warming grin and the stiff-legged run of a child still learning how to work her legs. And now she lifted her arms for me to hoist her giggling into the air. Austin, too, was glad to see me, and if he was too much the young man to show such enthusiasm, he was still happy to be swung almost as high as the ceiling that he said looked so big when seen from this close.

  “Shauna, Austin—for goodness’ sakes settle down!”

  It took them a few minutes, then Austin had to show me the latest addition to his track-car set and Shauna, wanting attention too, brought out a doll’s dress that I had seen before but pretended I hadn’t. When, after a firmer tone from Margaret, the children finally had their baths and were zipped into pajamas, I read them a story, one warm, small body close against each side and beginning to sag with weariness and that kind of comfort that comes from trust and caring and—yes—love. By nine thirty, they were in bed and asleep, the doors to their rooms slightly ajar to the light of the hallway.

  “That calls for a glass of wine.” Margaret’s shoulders rose and fell with a relieved breath. “And some conversation about something other than grocery prices or Muppets.”

  “In a minute.” My hands glided down to her waist and pressed her gently toward me; she yielded with a fluid, warm motion, leaning her body tightly against mine as we kissed, our lips slowly opening into a long mingling of newness and familiarity.

  “I don’t think I need any wine after that.” She gazed up into my eyes, her own a shade of dark green that I would have dived into if I could.

  “Well I’m thirsty. Among other things.”

  She took a deep breath and pulled away. “Other things. Yes. Biology is so unfair, isn’t it?”

  “It makes its own demands.”

  “And has no social conscience at all. Come on—you can open the bottle.”

  While she lifted a pair of glasses from a cabinet, I peeled the foil from around the cork. “My uncle had a paternal talk with me about you.”

  “Oh?”

  I tilted a splash of wine into my glass, filled hers, and then filled my own. “He wanted to know if I was thinking of marrying you. I told him I was.”

  “Devlin, please … “

  “A man has the right to think. Besides, I haven’t asked you, have I?”

  She was silent for a long moment, studying the glint of dark red in her glass. “I hope you don’t.” She added quickly, “Not for a while, anyway.”

  “I understand that. But he did ask some questions that I should have been more concerned with myself.”

  “Such as?”

  “How you and the children would fit in with my line of work.” I followed her from the tile and wood of the kitchen back through the living room with its scattered tall greenery and into the alcove that faced the fireplace. “I went over to see Susan tonight. Bunch and I.”

  “How is she?”

  “Mostly lucid. Very sleepy still. That could be the anti-swelling medicine.”

  “Here’s to her recovery. A speedy one.”

&nb
sp; “And complete.” We sipped. “But seeing her injured made me think about you and the children.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I wonder how fair it would be for you if we did get married. Even now, I’m worried about you.”

  “But you said that wouldn’t last long. And the future’s not something we have to plan right now, is it?” The shadow of the lamp made her smile slightly sad.

  “Not right now, no.”

  “Then let’s not. Besides, I never feel threatened when you’re around.”

  I thought about that. “Not at all?”

  “Not in any way that I’m going to admit.” She sipped the wine. “Have you found out anything more about poor Carrie Busey? Do the police have anything?”

  I told her what little had turned up, and about Bunch’s idea of her possible knowledge of the theft.

  “Why would she know about it?”

  “She was his secretary. Assuming that your husband didn’t tell her, she could have found out on her own. If so, she might have known something about the payoff, too.” A stray thought crossed my mind. “Perhaps she was blackmailing your husband—that would explain his suicide.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. You said she hired that man to prove that Austin didn’t kill himself.”

  “There are a lot of loose ends,” I admitted. “A lot of things just don’t make sense. But Aegis always seems to be in the background.”

  “It’s so bizarre.”

  “If they thought she knew something, they had good motives to kill her: the threat that McAllister might be to them, the payoff money that’s never been located. And they were behind the attacks on me and Susan.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The first time, they said something. The second time, I saw one of them.”

  “If you know who they are, what about the police? Why can’t you have them arrested?”

  “I know what they look like, not who they are. Or where.” And they knew I wouldn’t be going to the police to explain about breaking into the Aegis offices.

  Margaret pushed her long fingers back through the heavy fall of her black hair. “They sound so cruel.”