With Deadly Intent

by Louise Hendricksen

Simon grasped him around the neck and yanked him to his feet. “You've had a field day, haven't you?” He twisted the man's arm behind his back. “Now, let's see how you like it.”

  “Freeze mister, or I'll blow your head off.” A cop who looked to be at least six foot five, motioned Amy over to Simon's side with his gun barrel. “Who are you people and what the hell are you up to?”

  “Dr. Amy Prescott,” she said and showed him her I.D. “I'm working on a case.”

  “And you?” he asked, indicating Simon.

  Simon tightened his hold on his captive's arm and the man let out an earsplitting yowl. “Pipe down,” he said and turned to the police officer. “I'm Simon Kittredge, investigative reporter for Global News."

  “Shee-it.” The big cop hunched his shoulders—a maneuver that made him look even bigger. “A couple of lone rangers. That's all we need. Pat ’em down, Valdez.”

  A round-faced, stockily built young man stepped out of the shadows, went over their clothing and extracted Simon's wallet.

  “Checks out, Ballantine,” Officer Valdez said. “She's packing a holster, but her weapon's missing.”

  “You the one doing all the shooting people are complaining about?” Officer Ballantine asked.

  “Some of it,” Amy said. She pointed to Darryl. “He ambushed us and—” She peered at the man and moved in for a closer look. “Good grief, Simon, he's wearing colored contacts. One of his eyes is blue, the other is brown.”

  “What?” Simon swung Darryl around and bent to get a better look.

  “You dirty, whore-hopping bastard,” the man screamed. He spit at Simon. “It would a worked.” The timbre of his voice rose higher with each word. “I'd a got him. I'd a got him good, if you and that smart-assed bitch had a kept your noses out.”

  Simon stared open mouthed. “Oh ... my ... God!”

  Officer Ballantine planted himself in front of Simon and his blubbering prisoner. “Who's the guy and what's his beef?”

  “Correction, Officer Ballantine,” Simon said. “People aren't always what they appear to be.” He leaned over and peeled off the clerk's beard and mustache. “See?”

  “Kee—rist,” Officer Valdez breathed. “He's a woman.”

  Ignoring the clerk's sputtering stream of obscenities, Simon continued. “This gutter-mouthed lady is Mona Sanders, alias Elise Dorset, alias Roger Norman. She's a suspect in a homicide, an attempted homicide and a hit-and-run. She's also an escaped mental patient from Marchmont Hospital for the criminally insane.”

  Twenty-one

  Amy stood as if stunned. The woman they'd known as Elise hadn't been killed by anyone. The whole thing had been a hoax to trap Oren. “Why did you do it?” she cried. “What did Oren do to make you despise him so?”

  “He was a two-timing, double-dealing hypocrite just like every other man.” Bits of saliva spewed from Mona's mouth. “The fool thought he could run out on me. Well, I showed him.” Her eyes went wild. “Nobody—you got that? Nobody is going to mess me over and get away with it.”

  “But he loved you,” Simon said in a quiet voice. “Really loved you.”

  Mona stomped on Simon's toes, jerked her arm free and sprang at him. “Damn you. Why'd you have to come back?” She raked his face with her nails and leaped away. “I knew you'd set them on me.” She crouched like a hissing panther. “I'll get you. I'll get all of you. You'll never lock me up. Never. You hear. I'm too smart for you. I know things.” A sly expression crept over her face. “Things nobody knows I know. I got out once, I'll get out again.” Her laughter spiraled upward.

  “Francine's out of Marchmont,” Amy said. “She's told the Attorney General everything, Mona.” She paused so Mona would get the full effect. “Everything.”

  Mona's laughter ceased abruptly. “They won't find Roger.” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “I took care of that. Cringing coward thought I was going to share the money with him.” She laughed—a primitive, beastlike sound. “I don't share with anybody.” She turned her head right and left, her gaze shifting as though searching for a way out

  “Don't try it, lady.” Speaking in a soft, easy tone. Officer Valdez slowly moved toward her. “Just be cool and you won't get hurt.” Guns ready the two policemen backed her into a cemented corner and cuffed her.

  “Watch her,” Officer Ballantine said, and walked over to Simon and Amy. “Any other little tidbits you want to get off your chest?”

  “She has a bullet wound in her right shoulder,” Amy said.

  “You do it?”

  Amy nodded. “You'll find my pistol and her rifle in the vacant warehouse at the bottom of the hill. And you'd better notify Lt. Salgado.” She winced at the thought of what he'd say. “He's in charge of this case.”

  “Mona's blue Mazda is parked in a lot at the foot of the Hillclimb,” Simon added. “Amy flattened one of the tires.”

  Ballantine regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Seems to me you're uncommonly well-informed about this chick. What gives?”

  Simon ran a hand over his face and let out a long sigh. “We lived together a while back.”

  The tall cop whistled. “That's cold, man. Real cold.”

  Simon gathered up Mona's coat. “Take this with you. I suspect the lieutenant will be interested in its contents.”

  “You two will have to come down to the station. We'll need to check your story and make a report. Ready to move out, Valdez?”

  “Any time, Bill.”

  Ballantine gestured to Simon and Amy. “Let's go.”

  Monday, November 7

  The next afternoon, Amy and Simon entered the police conference room and sat down beside Lt. Salgado. He gave a long drawn out sigh. “What a night!” He rubbed a bloodshot eye. “Everyone should be here soon.”

  “How's Mona?” Simon asked.

  “She's still at Harborview. Amy's bullet nicked the bone, and the woman also has some infected scratches on her back and left arm.”

  “Probably souvenirs from our Manx cat,” Amy said. “Did she tell you what happened to Roger Norman?”

  Salgado nodded. “Two days after she escaped from Marchmont Hospital, she bashed in his head, weighted his body, and dumped him in the river.”

  “God, I never once suspected she had mental problems.” Simon pressed his fingers against his temples and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “That's a lie. Both Oren and I sensed an undercurrent of violence. She got the idea I was having an affair with my female photographer and sent her dead pigeons in the mail. Each one had a wire tied around its neck. The same thing happened to Oren's assistant.”

  Amy swung to face him. “Why didn't either of you tell me?”

  He shrugged. “What difference would it have made?”

  “A lot,” she said through tight lips. “That's the way Cleo died.”

  He regarded her with a stern expression. “A fact you didn't share with your father or me. Remember?”

  The arrival of her father cut off any retort she might have made. B.J. smiled and waved before propping himself against the side wall.

  Grim-faced, Sheriff Calder clumped past her without speaking and chose a chair at the back of the room. Lomitas Island's prosecuting attorney joined him a few minutes later. Next came Dr. Bob Takita, a forensic specialist from the Crime Lab. Last to arrive was a tall scholarly looking man she assumed to be Dr. Laroche, the medical examiner who'd agreed to fill in for her father.

  Lt. Salgado ambled to the front of the room. “I appreciate all of you coming on such short notice. I thought we'd keep this meeting informal so feel free to speak up whenever you like.” He repeated the information about Mona's condition.

  Tom Calder leaped to his feet. “This is all a political cover-up. The senator needs his pretty boy back on the team. So he's dug up this poor demented woman to take the rap.” His gaze darted from one to the other, looking for agreement. He flung out his arms. “Can't any of you see that?”

  “Sit down, Tom,” B.J. said quietly. “You're
out of line.”

  “You...” Calder pointed a bony finger. “You and that know-it-all daughter of yours, you're at the bottom of all this.”

  The prosecuting attorney scowled, grabbed Tom's arm, and yanked him onto his chair.

  Salgado ran a hand over his face. “Sheriff Calder, we're here to gather facts, not make unfounded accusations.”

  “No wonder Mona messed up her life like she did,” B.J. said, as if hoping to get back on track. “I understand she grew up in a foundling home. People in the community called it Bessie's pig farm. According to reports, the woman treated her pigs better than she did the kids.”

  Simon sighed. “That'd account for a lot of her personality quirks.”

  “And her cunning,” Amy said. “She didn't leave her fingerprints anywhere.”

  “Not intentionally anyway,” Salgado said and changed the subject. “Evidently, Dr. Tambor was obsessed with her. According to Mona, he gave her the ten thousand she asked for without a whimper.”

  “Only she didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut,” Simon said.

  Salgado's tired-eyed gaze met Amy's for a moment and a faint flush tinged his cheeks. “You're right. She hit him with a brass statuette he kept on his desk, wiped it clean, and left the baseball bat with Oren's fingerprints on it for us to find. Unfortunately for her, one of the rubber gloves she'd worn came off and fell down the elevator shaft when she pushed in the doctor's body. The prints inside that glove matches hers.”

  He blew out his breath. “Any other questions?”

  “Did you recover the doctor's ten thousand and Mona's jewelry?” Simon asked.

  The lieutenant smiled. “You guessed right about her sport coat. The money and her jewelry was sewed into a series of pockets. A smart move on her part. The bulk changed her appearance and she knew it was safe.”

  Amy frowned. “Why didn't she just leave town?”

  “For the same reason she did everything else,” B.J. said. “In her paranoid brain, revenge overshadowed caution and all other considerations. Once her charade began, she felt she had to get rid of anyone who tried to upset her scheme to make Oren pay for betraying her.”

  “But he didn't betray her.”

  Simon lifted his shoulders and let them sag. “Mona imagined he did, Amy. She distrusted all women and all men. There's no way Oren could have convinced her of his faithfulness. God knows I tried enough times when she threw her jealous tantrums.”

  Lt. Salgado focused his penetrating gaze on Amy. “You've been in this from the beginning. Any ideas about how Mona managed to pull off the hoax.”

  Amy sat up straight and stopped fiddling with the velcro strips securing the wrist splint on her injured right arm. “Mona's plan hinged on convincing us her body had been dumped in the sea. She and Oren had been to Otter Inlet and had gone sailing on our ketch.” Amy glanced at B.J. “Right, Dad?” He nodded and she continued. “She knew where we kept things and that Dad was seldom home in the daytime.”

  Amy contemplated her father for a moment. This was the first time she'd taken the limelight off him in public—it made her uncomfortable. “I think she went to Prescott's Byway sometime in the afternoon of the Friday she disappeared. She wore Oren's shoes and deliberately made tracks in mud where they'd dry and be found.”

  “A cunning move,” B.J. said. “Only she didn't realize how revealing footprints can be.” He smiled at Amy. “Carry on, you're doing great.”

  Amy relaxed a trifle. “In her role as Dr. Tambor's nurse, Mona would have had to do the venipunctures. I suspect she found someone with the same blood type as hers and stockpiled a number of vials.” Amy's gaze swept the group. “As most of you know, a small amount of blood will go a long way if you use a syringe to disperse it. So ... when Mona reached the inlet, she strewed some inside the dinghy, then fastened a long rope to the dinghy's painter.”

  “Hey, that's it. That's where the spindle roll of rope went.” Simon smiled at her and looked around at the others as if expecting them to show an equal amount of respect for her investigative technique.

  When no one responded, he put his arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture. “It's plain as day to me. Mona walked along the cliff and led the dinghy into Orca Narrows. And that's not just supposition, Amy found mashed vegetation and rope fibers on the cliff.” He grinned. “Anyway, in my opinion it was a piece of cake for Mona to put the dinghy right where she wanted it.”

  “For a man, Simon,” Amy said gently. “A woman would have to have been driven by powerful emotion. She had to drag the dinghy high enough on shore so it wouldn't get washed away, turn it over so the blood stains would remain clear, and secure it in a manner that'd look natural.”

  “Yet, she even remembered to brush out her footprints with a branch of Scotch Broom. Amy has a cast to prove it,” B.J. added.

  “Right. You take it from there, Dad.”

  B.J. beamed as he assumed his usual role. “I figure she planned that evening right down to the last detail. She stashed a car somewhere in the vicinity of our byway earlier in the day. When Oren arrived home, she staged the confrontation, knowing he would rush out and try to walk off his anger.”

  B.J. shifted on his crutches and adjusted his body to a more comfortable angle. “She splashed blood on the kitchen floor, and mopped so it'd appear as if Oren had tried to clean it up.”

  “Nice touch,” Lt. Salgado said. “And from your report, she cinched it by dumping blood down the kitchen and bathroom drains.”

  “You got it,” B.J. said. “Evidently, she'd bought a gray wig and beard to disguise herself.” His gaze sought Amy's and she nodded confirmation. “We found gray modacrylic fibers at the crime scene.”

  Simon let out a long breath. “Then all she had to do was roll up the bloody sheet and knife in the rug, go down the back way to Oren's van and set the rest of the scene at the byway.”

  No one spoke for a full minute. Finally, Simon gave another long sigh. “Poor Oren, his career is ruined and for no reason, no reason at all.”

  “Perhaps not,” B.J. said. “He's been dissatisfied with the phony hoopla of politics for sometime. He's going into the Peace Corps and try to get his priorities straight.”

  “Very touching,” Tom Calder said. “But I didn't travel all the way to Seattle to listen to some screw-loose story the Prescotts concocted. They haven't got a shred of hard evidence to back ’em up.”

  “You're wrong. Sheriff,” Dr. Bob Takita levered his hefty body out of his chair and lumbered to his feet. “Dr. Laroche and I spent the morning going over the Prescotts’ work. They made detailed records to document every step of their investigation and the two of us concur with their findings.”

  “Dr. Takita is absolutely correct.” Dr. Laroche stood, removed rimless glasses and fitted them into a case. “Miss Sanders was clever, but not clever enough. Her blood is type B, Rh positive. The blood stains are all type B, Rh negative.”

  Dr. Takita nodded. “And of course we found traces of sodium citrate.”

  Lt. Salgado raised his eyebrows. “Which is?”

  The corners of the doctor's mouth quirked. “Sorry, lieutenant, I didn't mean to be unclear. It's a substance used by labs to prevent the coagulation of collected blood.”

  Dr. Laroche's steely gaze flicked toward Lomitas Island's sheriff and prosecuting attorney. “I'd like this statement to go on record. A great deal of time and false charges could have been avoided if Dr. Prescott had been allowed to test the blood-stained articles at the outset of this case.”

  “Lies.” Tom Calder's feet tangled in his chair as he jumped up. He gave it a vicious kick. “This whole meeting is a farce. A trumped-up pack of lies.” He thrust out his beak of a nose, glowered at the assemblage and honed in on B.J. “You're gonna lose your job over this. I'll see to that.” He pointed at Amy. “And I'm not through with you either.” Pulling himself up to his full height, he marched out and slammed the door.

  Lt. Salgado got to his feet. “Well, I guess that about
wraps it up.” He shook hands with each of them as they left the room.

  He smiled at B.J. “Glad you could come. It's not often I get to meet a legend.”

  “Nice to hear you feel that way, Lieutenant.” B.J. laughed. “Amy and I may set up shop in your neighborhood before too long.”

  Salgado looked at the ceiling. “Oh, God, not another Prescott to heckle me.”

  When Amy and Simon got back to his condominium, Simon slipped a Glen Miller tape into the stereo and they settled themselves on the couch.

  After a few minutes, he reached over and took her hand. “We're both stubborn as a couple of mules. And we've certainly got a helluva lot to learn about team play.” He turned to look at her with a fierce intensity. “Do you think we could make a go of it?”

  “Maybe...” She burrowed her back into the couch cushions. Was she ready to commit to a serious relationship? She chewed the edge of her lip. She had hoped going to bed with him might unscramble her feelings. Foolish of her, when had sex ever cleared up anything?

  “Amy?” His voice had a slight edge.

  She lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his palm. “Let's learn to be friends, Simon. True friends who understand and trust one another.”

  He searched her face. After a long moment, the lines at the corners of his mouth relaxed. “You're probably right, considering our dismal track record.” With a mischievous grin, he hoisted her onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. “When do we begin?” She laughed and disentangled herself. “I think we'd better consult the dictionary first.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright ©1993 by Louise Hendricksen

  ISBN 978-1-4976-2959-2

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com