The Undertaker's Widow

by Phillip Margolin

  "No further questions. Thank you, Detective."

  "What's your take on Anthony? Is he an honest cop?" Garrett asked Crease in a whisper.

  Crease thought about the question before answering. Then she leaned close to her attorney.

  "Lou's a straight arrow. He won't lie."

  Garrett looked at the witness.

  "As I understand your testimony, Detective, you and Officer Yoshida went to the Hoyt estate, James Allen met you, you told him you wanted to enter the bedroom, he said that was great and he took you upstairs and let you in. Do I have that right?"

  "No, ma'am. That is not what happened."

  Garrett looked astonished. "Oh! What part do I have wrong?"

  "When I first asked Mr. Allen if Officer Yoshida and I could go into the bedroom, he wasn't sure that he could let us in."

  "In fact, he specifically told you, did he not, that the room was locked and that Senator Crease had instructed him to unlock the room only for the cleaners?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Did you take 'no' for an answer?"

  "No, because the defendant had no reason to believe we would need to take a second look at the room when she left for eastern Oregon. I assumed that she wouldn't want to block a police investigation."

  "Well, Detective, weren't you also assuming at this time that Senator Crease may have hired Martin Jablonski to kill her husband?"

  "That was a theory."

  "If that was true, she would have every reason to impede a police investigation, wouldn't she?"

  Anthony hesitated before answering, "I guess so."

  "And every reason to want to forbid you access to the crime scene."

  Anthony did not know what to say.

  "I'll assume your lack of response constitutes agreement, Detective," Garrett said.

  "Objection," said Riker, who was obviously upset by the course of Garrett's examination. "Detective Anthony did not just agree. Ms. Garrett is putting words in his mouth."

  "Sustained," Quinn said. "Detective, we need a yes or no for the record."

  Anthony looked helpless. Finally, he answered, "I guess she would have a reason to deny us access to the room if she was the killer."

  Garrett's lips twitched. It was bad form to grin in court when you scored points, so she had to suppress a big smile.

  "It is true, is it not, that Mr. Allen tried to reach Senator Crease by phone to see if she would agree to let you in the room, but he was unable to talk to her?"

  "Yes."

  "He then reiterated to you that his instructions were to keep everyone but the cleaners out of the room?"

  "Yes."

  "That upset you, didn't it?"

  "I wasn't upset."

  "You didn't become agitated and raise your voice?"

  "I ... I was concerned about the cleaners and I was certain that ... I mean, well, it seemed to me that Senator Crease would have let us in if she was asked. That she wouldn't have objected to the police going in."

  "Even though you just said that she had every reason to keep out the police if she was a murderer?"

  "I . . . Honestly, that didn't go through my mind, about her refusing."

  "You just wanted to get into the room?"

  "Yes."

  "So you applied pressure to Mr. Allen."

  "No."

  "You didn't lean into him?"

  "I may have."

  "You didn't sound annoyed?"

  "I . . . That may be so. I was concerned."

  "You made Mr. Allen change his mind, did you not?"

  "He changed his mind. I couldn't force him. I didn't. It was his decision."

  "You're telling Judge Quinn that you didn't use your authority as a policeman and your size to intimidate Mr. Allen?"

  "No. It wasn't that way."

  Garrett hesitated for a moment. Then she said, "No further questions, Your Honor."

  Quinn studied the detective. He sounded a little desperate, but he also sounded like an honest cop. The judge did not doubt that Anthony had applied some pressure to Allen to convince him to change his mind, but it made a difference if the detective simply used his powers of persuasion as opposed to coercing the housekeeper to open the bedroom door. However, the line between persuasion and coercion could be very thin when the person who wants a result is a police officer.

  "Our next witness will take a while, Your Honor," Cedric Riker said. "This might be a good time to break."

  "Who is the witness?"

  "Officer Yoshida. He'll be explaining the basis for probable cause and talking about the exigent circumstances."

  "All right. Let's break for the day. I'll see everyone at nine in the morning."

  [2]

  Quinn did not want to go back to his barren apartment, so he stayed in his chambers to work on cases that he had not been able to get to because of State v. Crease. The corridors of the courthouse were deserted when Quinn turned out the lights in his chambers and locked the door shortly before seven. The courthouse floors were marble and the ceilings were high. The slightest noise was magnified. At night, the silence in the darkened halls was eerie. Quinn walked down the corridor. The elevators were around the corner. When he was almost at the end of the hall, Quinn paused. He thought he heard a footfall. He stopped to listen, but the hall was silent. Maybe a security guard was walking rounds on the floor below. Sound carried in odd ways in an empty building at night.

  Quinn turned the corner. There was a bank of two elevators on either side of the wide marble stairs. Just as the judge pressed the Down button to summon one a scraping sound made Quinn's breath catch in his chest. He stepped away from the elevators and peered down the deserted hallway in both directions. Quinn jumped, then sagged, startled by the bell that signaled the arrival of the elevator.

  Quinn took the car to the lobby. The empty courthouse had spooked him and the dark, deserted streets looked threatening. The rain had stopped, but a stiff wind forced Quinn to turn up the collar of his raincoat. He hurried along the three blocks between the courthouse and the garage where the county rented parking spaces for the judges.

  During the ride home, Quinn tried to think about the evidence he had heard, but he found himself thinking about Laura and how lonely he would be all evening. Quinn decided to call Laura as soon as he got home. Maybe she was ready to talk about their future.

  Quinn opened his door and turned on the light. He shut and locked the door. A man in a black ski mask, turtleneck and jeans stepped out of the judge's bedroom and pointed a gun at Quinn.

  "Stay calm,'' the man said. "I'm not here to hurt you or rob you, but I will hurt you if you don't do as you're told. If you're smart, I'll be gone in a few minutes and you'll be just fine. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes," Quinn answered, trying to keep his tone neutral so the gunman would not hear how frightened he was.

  The intruder gestured toward a chair that stood in front of a low coffee table.

  "Sit down."

  Quinn did as he was told.

  "How did Andrea Chapman die?" the man asked.

  "I told the police that I don't know anything about that."

  The man reached behind his back and pulled a manila envelope out of his waistband. He tossed it onto the coffee table.

  "Open it," he commanded.

  Quinn raised the flap.

  "Now, take out the photographs."

  Quinn removed three 8V2 by 11 black-and-white photographs. All three shots showed Quinn and Andrea Chapman in the Cove of Lost Souls. Quinn's stomach rolled. The man pulled back the hammer of the gun and pointed the barrel at Quinn's head. Quinn blanched.

  "I repeat, how did Andrea Chapman die?"

  "She was murdered," Quinn stammered.

  "Yes, but how was she murdered?"

  "Drowning. She was drowned."

  There was a slit for the mouth in the ski mask and Quinn saw the man's lips curl into a cruel grin.

  "I hear that drowning is a peaceful way to die once you give in to it.
Andrea didn't have it that easy."

  The man paused as if recalling a fond memory. When he spoke again, it was in the tone that confidants use with one another.

  "Andrea's skin was smooth and her body was very firm. You would have enjoyed playing with her. I did. Oh, she cried and begged at first, but I soon put an end to that. Do you want to know how?"

  This time the man's smile was wide and self-satisfied. Quinn's stomach clenched and bile rose in his throat. The man chuckled.

  "Don't go in much for rough foreplay, do you? It's one of my favorite things. After a while Andrea was willing to do anything I asked, even to the point of inventing her own little sex games, to avoid the pain."

  The man paused. He eyed Quinn curiously, holding the judge's gaze the way a hypnotist traps his subject. The smile faded suddenly.

  "Unfortunately, I had business to attend to, so I was forced to rape Andrea brutally, several times. Then I selected a very sharp hunting knife and engaged in some creative dismemberment."

  Quinn gagged and fought with all his might to keep from throwing up.

  "Don't worry, Judge. You won't have to see any pictures. In fact, if you do as you're told, neither you nor anyone else will ever view my handiwork. But if you disobey me there will be terrible consequences for you.

  "Tell me, Judge, what do you think would happen if the St. Jerome Police received an anonymous call telling them where to find the body of Andrea Chapman? What do you think would happen if the St. Jerome Police received copies of these photographs? Did you know that there is an extradition treaty between the United States and St. Jerome? Did you know that hanging is the punishment for murder on St. Jerome?"

  Quinn had trouble breathing. He felt as if his body had turned to water.

  "What do you want from me?" Quinn managed.

  "One thing. If you do that one thing, you'll be safe. If you don't, Andrea Chapman's body will be found, the police will get these pictures and you will rot in a rat-infested prison on St. Jerome until the day you are hanged by the neck in the prison courtyard. Now, ask me what the one thing is."

  Quinn hesitated.

  "Come on. You can do it. Ask me how you can save your life."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Everything in your power to see that Ellen Crease is convicted of the murder of her husband. Once the jury returns a verdict of guilty, Andrea Chapman'6 body will disappear forever and all copies of the photographs you are holding will be destroyed."

  "I . . . I can t rig the trial. She could be sentenced to death."

  "So could you. Do you have an alibi for the day Andrea died? Can you explain where you went in your rented car?" The man walked over to Quinn and held out his hand. "Please hand me the photographs, Judge."

  Quinn's hand shook as he picked up the pictures. The man took them and walked to the front door.

  "'You know what you have to do to save your life. Keep your mouth shut, do it, and you'll survive."

  The door closed and the man was gone. Quinn concentrated on fighting the nausea, but it was no good. He raced into the bathroom and threw up several times. Then he collapsed on the bathroom floor. Quinn remembered Andrea's smile, her laugh. An image of her running toward the sea came to him unbidden. Then, superimposed on that vision was an image of her body beaten and mutilated. Quinn squeezed his eyes shut and willed the vision away. He leaned against the bathroom wall and breathed deeply.

  After a while Quinn struggled to his feet, cupped his hands and gulped cold water from the tap, then splashed it on his face. He had almost regained his composure when he remembered the call from the detective. Quinn had told him that he had not seen Andrea after he left the airport. The photographs would destroy him.

  Quinn went into his kitchen and poured a glass of Scotch, which he drank quickly. The Scotch burned away some of his fear. Quinn took the liquor bottle into the living room, refilled his glass and collapsed on the couch. He reviewed everything that had happened to him since Andrea sat next to him on the plane trip to St. Jerome.

  The first thought that occurred to Quinn was chilling. Until this evening, Quinn believed that Andrea Chapman's murder was not connected to him in any way.

  Now Quinn knew that Andrea Chapman had been killed to set him up. It was the only way to explain what happened to Laura in Miami. The people who wanted Crease convicted had learned about Quinn's trip to St. Jerome. They had lured Laura to Miami with a fat retainer check so they could make certain that the first-class seat next to Quinn would be vacant. He had been played for a fool from the beginning.

  [3]

  Frank Price eyed Quinn as he let him into the apartment. The judge's tie was loose, his suit coat was rumpled and there were stains on his wrinkled white shirt. His complexion was pasty and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

  "For someone who's just been on vacation in a tropical paradise, you don't look so hot."

  "Too much work," Quinn mumbled without conviction. Price gave him a harder look.

  "How are things with you and Laura?" Price asked as he led Quinn into the living room.

  "Fine. Everything is fine," Quinn said.

  Only after he answered did it occur to Quinn that Price had asked about the health of his relationship with Laura and not the usual small-talk question about the state of his wife's health. Quinn wondered if Laura had talked to Frank at work. Price was watching him closely.

  "We're separated," Quinn confessed.

  Suddenly, Price looked every bit of his eighty years.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

  Quinn heard a slight tremor in Price's voice. Quinn knew that the old man loved him and hoped he would have a good marriage. He could see how much his separation from Laura hurt Frank.

  "I'm living in an apartment. It's just temporary."

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Quinn shook his head. "We'll work it out. I still love her. I think she loves me."

  "If you need my help I'm always here for you."

  "I know that."

  "I put up some coffee, but you look like you can use something stronger."

  Quinn wanted a glass of Scotch, then thought better of it.

  "Coffee will be fine."

  Price carried two mugs of steaming coffee into the living room.

  "I came for some information and I need it in confidence," he told Price.

  "Oh?"

  Quinn wrapped his large hands around the mug for warmth.

  "I'm hearing the pretrial motions in Ellen Crease's case. Do you know her?"

  "We've met at political functions and I know people who know her. We're not friends."

  "What about her husband, Lamar Hoyt?"

  "He was a major contributor to the Republican Party. I've had dinner with him."

  "Frank, can you think of anyone with a grudge against Ellen Crease? I'm talking about something very serious. Something that would motivate a person to want to hurt Crease very badly."

  Price was clearly uncomfortable.

  "This is highly irregular, Dick. This extra-judicial inquiry into the background of a defendant whose case you're hearing. Do you mind telling me what prompted this visit?"

  "I ... I can't explain why I'm here. You're going to have to take it on faith that the information I'm asking for is crucial to a decision I have to make."

  "If you're in some kind of trouble . . . ," Price started.

  "Frank, I know I can trust you. I just can't confide in you."

  "Does this have anything to do with Laura?"

  "No," Quinn lied.

  Price hesitated for a moment, but he could see how desperate Quinn looked.

  "Ellen Crease has always been confrontational and she's made several political enemies, even in her own party. We never minded her ambition when she was running aggressive campaigns against Democratic opponents, though I, and others, did find her methods objectionable on occasion, but I can tell you that she has not endeared herself to the party by challenging an incumbent Re
publican senator."

  "How did she get away with going after Gage?"

  "Crease doesn't feel that she's accountable to anyone. She has a very committed following on the far right and her husband's money."

  "Is there anyone you can think of who would be so upset with Crease that he would try to have her killed?"

  "Why do you need to know that?"

  "What if the man who broke into the Hoyt mansion came to kill Ellen Crease and not Lamar Hoyt? Crease would be innocent."

  "Dick, do you realize what you're doing? You're a judge, for Christ's sake. You have to remain impartial. You have no business playing detective like this. In fact, you're violating your oath by taking sides in this case."

  "I know that, and I can't explain why I'm asking you these questions. Please, Frank, I need your help."

  "What have you gotten yourself into?"

  Quinn looked away. Price was very troubled. For a moment, Quinn worried that he was going to end the meeting. Then Price said, "There are two people I can think of who would have the motive and personality to do what you're suggesting. Lamar Hoyt, Jr., was a constant source of concern to Lamar since he was a child. He is irresponsible and he has a history of violence. I know of two assault charges that Lamar was able to settle out of court by paying off the complaining witnesses. Junior has been quite vocal about his hatred of his stepmother. I assume you've heard about the will contest?"

  Quinn nodded.

  "Then, there's Benjamin Gage. Have you heard the rumors about his connection to Otto Keeler's death?"

  "I never paid that much attention to them."

  "I have no idea if there's any truth to them, but they won't go away. Gage made his fortune in the computer industry with a company called StarData. Otto Keeler and Gage started the company. For a while, StarData looked like it might take off, but it experienced a serious funding problem. Just when things looked darkest, the StarData building burned down. Otto Keeler was killed in the blaze. Gage assumed total control over the company and he used the millions the company received from Keeler's key man insurance and the fire insurance to help StarData turn the corner financially. The origin of the fire was unquestionably arson and there was no reason anyone uncovered for Keeler sleeping in the building on the evening of the blaze. There was never any evidence connecting Gage to the fire, but the police took a very hard look at him for a long time.