Death & the Redheaded Woman

by Loretta Ross

  The porch steps sounded hollow under his tread. There was no movement at any of the windows and no sign of any kind of life inside.

  When he told Wren goodbye that morning, he’d never imagined that he might not see her again.

  He pounded on the Campbell house door. “I’m here, dammit! Fairchild? Is that you? I’m here. Don’t hurt her! Don’t you hurt her. I came just like you asked me to. Are you there, Fairchild? I’m here!”

  There was a step in the foyer and Death braced himself and waited for the door to open.

  It swung inward. Death could sense two bodies waiting in the shadows. The door opened all the way back and he could see the entire entry hall except for two little slices hidden by perspective, one on either side of the door. Then his eyes fell on the parlor door, which also stood open.

  Wren was in the parlor—the Naked Dead Guy Room, she called it. She was tied to a straight chair and there was a strip of duct tape over her mouth. Her blouse was half open and her face red from crying. Her ravaged hair stood out around her head, making her look both vulnerable and wild.

  “Don’t hurt her,” he said. “Just don’t hurt her. You can do anything you want to me, but, I’m begging you, please! Don’t hurt her!”

  _____

  Death stood in the doorway and he looked scared. He was slightly gray and sweating, dusty and disheveled and there was a wheeze in his voice when he spoke. Wren wanted nothing so much as to take him in her arms and comfort him, promise it would be okay. But her arms were still tied tight to the chair and any promise she could have given him at this point would have been a lie.

  Fairchild stepped out on the porch behind him, out of her line of vision, just for a second.

  “Where’s your car?” he demanded when he came back in.

  Death tipped his head toward Wren’s house. “Three blocks that way. Ran out of gas.”

  Fairchild thought about it and apparently decided to accept that as truth. He swung the door closed and motioned with the gun. “Put your hands above your head and go into the parlor. I want you over by the stairway. Try anything stupid I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll let Ten Oeck start carving up your girlfriend.”

  Death raised his hands and moved forward cautiously, coming into the room.

  “You okay?” he asked her as he passed.

  She nodded, still silenced by the duct tape, and Fairchild kicked Death in the back of the knee.

  “No talking! I’ll tell you when you can talk.”

  They put Death against the inner curve of the stairway, brought his hands down and she heard the high rattling noise as they fastened a plastic zip tie around them.

  “Search him,” Fairchild told Ten Oeck. “See if he’s carrying or wired.”

  Ten Oeck searched him thoroughly, but Death ignored the man and just stared at Wren. He seemed to be drinking in the sight, memorizing her. She met his eyes, tried to offer him some measure of reassurance. It would have been easier if she’d believed herself that everything would be okay.

  Fairchild quickly lost patience. “Is he clean or not?”

  Ten Oeck stood up. “He’s clean.”

  “Yeah, good.” Fairchild sounded bored. “Here, hold my gun.”

  “I don’t like guns.”

  “For Pete’s sake! Just hold the damn thing!”

  Ten Oeck reluctantly took the gun and wandered back to stand by Wren. Fairchild spun suddenly and drove his fist into Death’s stomach.

  Death rocked back against the railing as Fairchild hit him again and again. Wren struggled against her bonds, sobbing. Fairchild moved up to slug Death in the jaw and the Marine shook his head and spat out blood.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Just softening you up, tough guy.”

  Ten Oeck watched dispassionately. “I could get him to talk faster,” he offered.

  “Yeah,” Fairchild said sarcastically. He was panting with the exertion of the beating he was delivering and he staggered away from Death now, wiping his forehead. “And then you get carried away and sever the carotid or the femoral artery and he goes and bleeds out before we learn anything. You see? This is why you never accomplish anything.”

  Death’s left eye was swelling. He had a cut on his mouth and a bruise was already darkening his jawline. He glared at the two men. “Just what is it you think that I can tell you, anyway?”

  “I think you know,” Fairchild said. He paced around the room once, then turned again to his captives. “Look, there’s two ways we can do this. I can torture you to make her talk, or I can torture her to make you talk. Frankly, I prefer the first option, because I have much better plans for her, but I’m flexible, you know. So here’s the question, and I don’t care which one of you answers me.” He went back over to Wren and ripped the duct tape from her mouth, then glared at them, first one and then another.

  “What did you do with my goddamn jewels?”

  twenty

  “We never had your jewels!” Death answered. Wren was sobbing too hard to talk, half from the fear and the grief for Death’s injuries and half from a blinding, blood-red rage.

  “I’m not stupid,” Fairchild snarled. “I know where I hid them. I came back to get them and they were gone, and your girlfriend here was the only one who’d been in the house.”

  “Okay, first of all, we never even knew that compartment existed until we found it after you left it open. Second, Wren wasn’t even remotely the only person who’d been in the house. Look around you. You see all those dust covers we pulled off the furniture? Someone came in and put them on everything after your aunt died. Someone came in and cleaned out the refrigerator and got clothes for her to be buried in. More recently, there’ve been members of the Historical Society, representatives of a dozen different auction companies that posted bids for the sale contract, and a small army of law enforcement officials, after your buddy Flow went and broke his neck here.”

  “So you’re saying that one of them took my jewels instead of you?”

  “No, because if you look in that empty compartment, you’ll see that there’s a thick layer of dust with nothing disturbing it except for your hand print.”

  Fairchild scoffed. “There’s ways to fake a thick layer of dust.”

  Death frowned, disbelieving. “Like what?”

  “Like, dust it around with a powder puff. Or fill a baster with dust and blow it into the compartment. Or run a vacuum cleaner with no filter and angle it so the exhaust goes in there.”

  “And you really think that someone who’s found a cache of priceless jewels is going to bother with something like that instead of just taking them and getting the hell out of Dodge?”

  Ten Oeck, leaning casually against Wren’s chair and cleaning his fingernails with the butcher knife, glanced over at her and spoke conversationally.

  “And he thinks I’m the unstable one.”

  She stared at him.

  “You cut people with knives for fun.”

  “Well, yeah. There is that.”

  “You do realize,” Fairchild said, “that if you don’t have my jewels, I really don’t have any reason to keep you alive.”

  “You don’t have any reason to kill us, either.”

  “I don’t really need a reason. You’re annoying and I don’t like you. That’s reason enough for me. Anyway, I think you’re lying.” He walked over and looked Death straight in the eye. “I think you know exactly where my jewels are.”

  Death returned his gaze. “Listen to me. In the last three years, I’ve lost my whole family. My career, my health, my wife, my home. All my plans, all my goals. Everything I had. Everything I was. All my hopes and all my dreams. The only good thing I have left in the whole world is that woman sitting there, and I would do anything—give anything—to protect her.”

  Fairchild just stared for a long minute. “Oh, stop,” he said finally. “You’re breaking my heart.” He paced around in a small circle, then shook his head. “Nope. Nope. I don’t buy it. Those jewe
ls are worth millions. You could buy all the girlfriends you want.”

  “You can’t buy girlfriends!”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I’ve always bought mine.”

  “Look,” Death tried again, “we don’t have your jewels. But we know who took them and we think they’re still here, and if you give us a chance, maybe we can help you find them.”

  _____

  When they’d backed Death up to the banister, they’d pulled his arms down on the staircase side and fastened them together, tied to one of the balusters with a zip tie. He could feel the open edge of the leather tag on the back of his jeans, but he didn’t dare work at getting the P38 free while he was the focus of their attention. On the other hand, he didn’t want them focusing on Wren either. He needed them distracted and he needed time.

  “What do you mean, you know who took them? And if someone took them, why would they still be here?”

  “Because it was your aunt who found them, and she hid them again.”

  “That dotty old woman? She couldn’t find her own ass with both hands.”

  Death wanted to slap himself in the forehead or thunk his head against the nearest wall. “Tell me something. How long have the two of you been working together?”

  Fairchild and Ten Oeck glanced at one another and shrugged.

  “Since this afternoon,” Ten Oeck said.

  “Aunt Ava and Uncle Fred had a cabin at the lake,” Fairchild said. “We used to go there for Fourth of July when we were kids. I was out there using it as a hideout when Martin showed up wanting to use it as a hideout.”

  “I see. And have you talked at all?”

  “Well,” this time it was Ten Oeck who answered. “We considered killing each other, but then we thought we’d have a better chance of finding the jewels if we work together.”

  “And then you can always kill each other later?”

  “Probably,” Fairchild agreed easily. “But if you’re trying to play us against each other, you’re wasting your time. You want us to think we can’t trust one another. Well, we don’t trust one another now. We’re good with that.”

  “You have a really charming family dynamic,” Death said, “but that wasn’t my point. Ten Oeck—Martin—why did you kill Josiah Halftree?”

  “I didn’t mean to!” he replied at once. “That was an accident! You can’t hold me responsible for that. It was totally not my fault.”

  “You stabbed him seventeen times.”

  “I got a little … carried away.”

  “Okay, but why did you grab him in the first place?”

  “He called me up, asking about Ava’s jewels. He said he knew she had some really valuable pieces, and if whoever inherited them wanted to sell them, he wanted to help.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Ten Oeck thought about it. “No! No! God, no! Please, don’t! Aaaaahhhhhh!”

  Death rolled his eyes. “Anything about why he thought Ava had valuable jewels?”

  “Oh, that. He said because she showed them to him. She brought them in thinking they were the lost jewels from the Civil War, but when he told her they were too modern she said she must be getting senile and had forgotten buying them.”

  “You see?” Death asked Fairchild. “Your aunt was looking for the Campbell family jewels and she found the ones you hid instead. Did you look at her obituary picture? She was wearing one of the necklaces you stole. When Halftree told her they were modern jewels, she realized they must have been the ones you were suspected of stealing, and she knew that meant you were a jewel thief and a murderer. That’s why she changed her will and left everything to the Historical Society.”

  “That’s a lie!” Fairchild shouted. “She changed her will because those women at the Historical Society got to her and turned her against me. She would have never disowned me on her own. She loved me!” He thought about it. “Granted, she didn’t know me very well. But, still …”

  “You’re right,” Death said quickly. “She did love you. That’s why she didn’t go to the police. Why she hid the jewels again instead. But she also believed in justice. She wouldn’t have completely gotten rid of evidence of a murder, even one committed by someone she loved. Wherever she put those jewels, she meant them to be found again after her death. Think, Fairchild! You played in this house when you were a kid. You knew about the secret compartment under the stairs and the secret entrance. What other hiding places are there? Somewhere an old lady could get to. Somewhere inside, most likely, because she hid them in the middle of winter.”

  “How do you know she hid them in the winter?”

  “The picture in her obituary was taken at the Chamber of Commerce Christmas party. That must have been just after she found them. She’d have taken them to Halftree as soon as she could, and she wouldn’t have worn them again once she knew what they really were.”

  Fairchild thought about it, eyes narrowed. “You’ve already been searching,” he observed. “Where have you looked?”

  “We’ve been looking in all the closets and cupboards and dresser drawers and things,” Wren spoke up for the first time in a long time. “We looked in all the obvious places, but we haven’t really checked for secret compartments or anything. There was a secret compartment in the desk in the library, but it just had a packet of old love letters in it. Look for drawers that aren’t as deep as they should be. False books, maybe? A lot of people in old times had boxes made to look like Bibles or volumes of Shakespeare. There’s a wall safe upstairs in a room furnished like an office, but it’s standing open and there’s nothing in it.”

  “Okay,” Fairchild said. “Okay, those are good suggestions. I’ll go look. You,” he turned to Ten Oeck, “stay here and keep an eye on them.”

  Ten Oeck held his knife up, balancing it between his hands with one finger on the hilt and one on the tip. He spun it and grinned. “Yeah, I’ll just stay here and keep an eye on them,” he said.

  Wren blanched. Death gave Ten Oeck a tight smile as Fairchild left the room.

  “Good plan, there, genius. You stay here and play sadist with us while Fairchild goes off and finds the jewels himself. And I’m sure that, once he’s got them, he’ll be perfectly straightforward about coming back here and divvying them up with you.”

  Ten Oeck’s face changed and he spun around and charged after Fairchild. “Hey! Wait just a minute! I’m coming with you!”

  Death waited until their footfalls died away, then turned his attention to Wren, who was watching him with a fury growing in her eyes. Her gaze moved over his face and down to his torso. Taking stock of his injuries, he realized. If she’d had her atlatl to hand, Fairchild and Ten Oeck would both be shish kebabs.

  “Are you okay?” she breathed.

  He smiled for her benefit, felt the skin at the corner of his mouth pull against his cut lip. “I’m okay. Fairchild hits like a girl.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m a Marine. I’m fine. Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears and Death saw red.

  “Those sons-of-bitches cut off my braid, Death!”

  He’d feared so much worse that he had to fight not to laugh with relief. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got it at the house. We can probably duct tape it back on or something.”

  While he talked, he was trying to slide the P38 out of its secret pocket on his waistband. He could just get the tips of his fingers under the leather, but he was having trouble getting hold of the tiny implement. If he dropped it, he knew, they were screwed.

  Wren didn’t answer for a long minute, only watching him with her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth. “Death?” she said at last, softly. “Don’t be doing that if they come back in the room. It’s pretty obvious that you’re up to something.”

  “Yeah, I figured. We should have practiced this.”

  “So does that mean that, after we get out of here, I have an excuse to tie you up?”

  “Probably be
a good idea. And you should be able to do this too. We’ll get you a couple of P38s and make you hiding places for them. And then I’ll have an excuse to tie you up, too.”

  She smiled a watery smile at him. Putting on a brave face, he realized, and wondered which of them she was being brave for.

  “Do you think there’s a chance they’ll find the jewels?”

  “There’s always a chance.”

  “And then what?” she asked, and he heard what she wasn’t saying. Will it be okay? Will they let us go? Are they going to kill us anyway?

  He knew she already knew the answer to that. She just wanted him to lie to her, to lie to them both, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  “And then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  He had his fingertips on the P38 now and was edging it out of its pocket. Because of the angle his hands were tied, he couldn’t get a good grip. He barely had hold of it between two fingers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew it loose. When it was free of the leather tag, he shifted and tucked it into his right hand, feeling the sharp corners dig into his palm. He turned it, bringing it up to put the edge of the hook against the zip tie around his wrists. The angle was awkward and he sawed at it desperately, unable to get much force behind each stroke. The situation reminded him of Tyrone Blount, trying to cut his way out of the cargo net with a pocket knife. Still, he refused to despair.

  It was a can opener, dammit! A Marine can opener. It was designed to chew through metal. It would not be defeated by plastic.

  There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs out in the hallway and Death stopped trying to cut the plastic, straightened up and hid the P38 in his palm. Fairchild and Ten Oeck came back into the room, both looking sweaty and disheveled and angry.

  “There’s nothing here,” Ten Oeck said. “We’ve looked everywhere. There’s nothing here.” He shot Fairchild a look. “Can’t I dissect one of them now?”

  “In a minute,” Fairchild said irritably. He was pacing the room, hand on his chin, thinking furiously. “You were wrong,” he said to Death. “My aunt never found those jewels. She was just a batty old woman. You know what she wanted me to do, the last time she visited me in prison? She wanted me to write emails to a publishing company because some book had a white girl instead of a black girl on the cover. She was totally senile. She never found anything.”