Shadow of Doubt (A Kali O'Brien legal mystery)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “He said . . .”

  I waited.

  “He said . . .”

  “He said what?”

  She drew in a deep breath and looked at me. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, as though she had found herself trapped in a burning room. In one quick, fluid motion, she grabbed my car keys from the seat and darted off the porch.

  She’d thrust herself from the swing with such force that it pitched back, bumping against the house and knocking me off balance. By the time I was able to extricate myself from the swing and follow, she’d already made it to the front of the house.

  I got to the driveway just in time to see my BMW backing onto the main road. The car bucked and then lurched forward, sideswiping a red Honda parked in front of the house next door. The awful crunch of metal on metal was followed by the sharp screeching of tires, and my car flew down the street.

  I ran into the house and yelled to Mrs. Holland. “Quick. Let me have your car keys.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Cheryl drove off in my car.”

  Out front again, I caught a glimpse of my BMW at the intersection. I followed, gunning the engine of Mrs. Holland’s old station wagon for all it was worth. It was low on power and handled like a truck. It was also, I noticed, almost out of gasoline. I hoped Cheryl wasn’t planning any long trek.

  Somehow, I managed to gain on her, just a little. Then she careened around a corner, running a red light in the process. I did the same, slowing first to look for oncoming cars. The distance between us grew again.

  As I pushed the pedal to the floor, I made some quick calculations. It unnerved me to realize that not only was Cheryl too young to have a license, she was probably too young to have a learner’s permit. In either case, it was apparent she didn’t have a lot of experience behind the wheel.

  Cheryl headed past the interstate and out to the farming country along the river. She weaved from shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the yellow line down the center. She veered around a slow-moving tractor and just barely avoided colliding with the pickup coming from the other direction. Again, my relative caution caused me to fall behind. I saw my car in the distance turn right, off the main road. By the time I got to the intersection, she had vanished.

  I turned onto the side road anyway. It was narrow and a good deal more winding, so I took it slow. About a mile in, I spotted my BMW — its front end smashed solidly against the rock wall of a farm house. A cloud of steam rose from the hood. Cheryl was nowhere in sight.

  I pulled over quickly and headed for the house. As I passed by the garage, I noticed a white Lincoln, and next to it a blue Acura with a rear bumper sticker.

  If you can read this, thank a teacher.

  Jannine was apparently not the only owner of a blue car to champion the cause of teachers.

  The front door was ajar. I stuck my head in and looked around. Cheryl was crouched inside the door, her hands and face smeared with blood.

  “Are you all right?”

  She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest and shoulders, and began rocking, moaning softly as she swayed forward and backward.

  “Cheryl? Are you hurt?”

  Nothing.

  “The car doesn’t matter. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  The swaying and moaning continued. Cheryl’s eyes were locked straight ahead. Finally I looked to where she was staring and saw the body of a man sprawled out, face up on the floor, a heavy fireplace poker nearby. A pool of deep red blood was forming at his head. It took me a minute to recognize Jack Peterson.

  Chapter 28

  “What happened?” I asked, my voice a slow croak.

  Cheryl stopped her swaying and rocking, but kept her eyes fixed on the pool of blood. “I don’t know. He was like that when I got here.” She paused. ‘‘Do you think he’s dead?”

  He certainly looked dead. His face was pulpy, and he didn’t appear to be breathing. “I think we’d better call the police,” I told her.

  She nodded but otherwise didn’t move.

  “You stay here. I’ll go look for a phone.”

  Before I’d finished speaking, I heard an ominous growl coming from the doorway behind me. I turned to look. An enormous German shepherd stood on alert, the fur on his back erect, the sharp teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Next to him stood Marlene, holding a gasoline can in one hand and a blowtorch in the other. Her teeth were bared in a smile rather than a snarl, but the effect was similar.

  “Well, well,” she said, setting the blow torch at her feet, “isn’t this handy. You’ve saved me the trouble of tracking you down.”

  I made a move toward her. The dog lunged, and I pulled back.

  “You don’t want to mess with Baron,” she said. “He’s a trained attack dog.” She turned to Cheryl. “Your friend Jack isn’t looking his best, I’m afraid. But if you’d like, you may give him one last kiss.” Her voice was cruel. “Of course, he’s rather beyond your powers of seduction at the moment.”

  Cheryl looked again toward the body. She drew in several choking breaths, then started sobbing.

  “Hysterics won’t change anything,” Marlene snipped.

  “He said I was special, that we were special.” Cheryl’s words were broken by convulsive sobs. “He said he loved me.”

  Marlene laughed harshly. “Love. You youngsters walk around half-dressed, flaunting your bodies. You throw yourselves at men, flirt with them, lead them on, and then you want love, too.” Her lips compressed into a thin line. “Love and sex are not the same, you know.”

  “He said I was special. And I believed him. I thought we . . Cheryl looked at me, her eyes round and frightened. “Then I found those pictures. There were other girls, too.”

  “Jack Peterson took the pictures?” I whispered.

  She nodded, barely moving. “He said he wanted pictures of me, for the times when I wasn’t there. To help him remember. He said I brought him such joy. He said trust and sharing were important.” She dropped her head to her hands. “He said he loved me,” she sobbed. “He said it was all about love.”

  “Well, he didn’t love you,” Marlene said evenly. “He loved me. That’s why he married me. You girls were nothing to him. Nothing but a meaningless diversion, a simple habit.”

  “You knew about this?” I asked, incredulous.

  She gave me a piercing look. “Of course, I knew. Jack and I had no secrets from each other.” She turned to Cheryl. “That is love.”

  “But Mr. Marrero said—”

  Marlene snorted. “He’s the one who started all this trouble. Got all worked up and made a big deal about it. Said Jack was sick. It wasn’t like Jack forced those girls, you know. They were only too willing. Isn’t that so?” she said, addressing Cheryl.

  The heavy sobs had subsided, but Cheryl continued to weep. Her whole body trembled with emotion. “Mr. Marrero said he’d help.”

  “Help?” Marlene’s voice was sharp. “He wanted to stir up trouble, is what he wanted. He tried to talk Jack into resigning. All Jack had worked for — his career in education, his political aspirations, his whole life — down the drain. And for nothing. Just because some stupid little slut didn’t get what she wanted.”

  Cheryl looked up, as though she’d been slapped hard. The pixie face was crumpled and tear-stained. I started to move toward her to offer comfort, but the German shepherd followed with a menacing snarl. I stopped where I was.

  “Jack thought he could reason with Eddie.” Marlene shook her head angrily. “He was sure they could work things out. But after Eddie lifted those pictures from Jack’s office, I knew it wouldn’t work. Jack would never be safe.”

  “I was the one who took the pictures,” Cheryl said. “It wasn’t Mr. Marrero. I found them in his bottom desk drawer. At first I didn’t want to believe it. All those other girls.” Her voice rose a little, then fell. “He said he loved me, but he didn’t. Mr. Marrero was right.”

  Marlene ignored Cheryl. “Eddie Marrero was nothing but a troubl
emaker, a busybody who stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. Thought he had the right to judge others. I had to stop him before he caused irreparable damage.”

  “So you killed him.” My mouth was so dry the words came out in a scratchy whisper.

  She smiled. “Smart girl. Jack said you were smart. He was sure you’d figure it out eventually. I tried to keep you away, but you wouldn’t listen. You ignored every warning.”

  “The bon voyage card,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow and nodded. “It’s a little late to be getting the message.”

  “And the car that almost ran me over Saturday evening.”

  “I knew you’d find the photographs eventually. I’d already checked through Eddie’s things at the house, and Jack had looked through his office. We didn’t know where they were, but once you had them, it would be too late.”

  So Eddie’s office had been searched. And it was Marlene, not the police, who’d messed up Eddie’s files at home. Only he hadn’t taken the pictures in the first place, Cheryl had. Because she knew that without them, it would be her word against Peterson’s.

  The same reason Marlene had been so anxious to locate them herself.

  “Now that you’re both here,” Marlene continued, “I can wrap everything up at once.”

  While she uncapped the can and began pouring gasoline around the perimeter of the room, Baron positioned himself at the door, venting his impatience with intermittent snarls. Gasoline fumes filled the air, causing my eyes to smart and my throat to constrict But it was the image of flames, a wall of fire searing my flesh, that made me almost nauseous.

  I looked around the room for a means of escape. The only windows were small, high up, and closed tight. And the one doorway was blocked by a drooling hundred pounds of hard muscle and single-minded determination. The situation didn’t leave much room for optimism.

  Marlene worked her way around the room. When she came to Jack’s body, she hesitated for a moment, then continued pouring, dousing his body with gasoline.

  “You killed Jack, too?” I asked.

  “I had to. He was going to give up, withdraw from politics, resign his position. After all this, after all I’d done, he was going to quit on me.” She picked up the fireplace poker, wiped the handle on her blouse, and set it back on the hearth. “Can you imagine the publicity? Why, I'd never be able to show my face in public again. My family has been prominent in this community for four generations. My great-grandfather was sheriff and then mayor. Both my grandfather and father were state senators.”

  “And you wanted your husband to follow in their footsteps.”

  “It’s not that I’m condoning Jack’s weakness for the flesh, but he was a man, after all. These things happen. He asked for my understanding and forgiveness, and he got them. But going public with this, that was unthinkable. A disgrace beyond measure. I couldn’t allow it.”

  “Isn’t murder something of a blemish on your family’s good name?”

  “Not if no one knows,” she said. “The police think they’ve solved Eddie’s murder. Even if Jannine’s not convicted, they aren’t going to come back and start looking for the killer all over again. That’s why I was so anxious to keep you from meddling. Everything was rolling along so nicely.”

  Jannine’s arrest. The DA’s sudden eagerness to bring her in. It suddenly made sense.

  “How did you manage to pressure the DA?” I asked.

  “A phone call to a friend, who made a phone call to a friend. A favor repaid. It’s what I tried to explain to Jack, connections are so important You don’t walk away and give up when you’ve spent a lifetime cultivating them.” Cheryl had been sitting quietly, almost trance-like, staring off into space. She turned now to look at Marlene. “You’re going to kill us, too, aren’t you?”

  “You think I’d just let you walk way?”

  “They’ll be able to tell it’s arson,” I said.

  “Only if they think to look. And that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I doubt I’ll be on their list of suspects. Especially when I tell them how Cheryl called here last night, hysterical and overwrought, threatening Jack if he didn’t change her grades. He’s always said she was unstable and given to irrational behavior.”

  Cheryl leaped to her feet. “You’re the one who’s nuts!” she screamed. “You’re a sick, wicked, twisted old woman.”

  She started for Marlene, who turned and hurled the gas can at Cheryl, soaking her blouse and hair with gasoline. When Cheryl stopped to wipe the liquid from her face, Marlene stepped away and reached for the blow torch. I immediately dived for Marlene. And the dog leapt for me, sinking his teeth into the flesh of my arm.

  “Run!” I yelled to Cheryl.

  But instead of running, she grabbed the poker and smashed it across the dog’s head. He turned on her, and she whacked him again.

  Snarling and frothing at the mouth, the dog crouched, ready to spring. His hind feet had barely left the ground when a shot rang out. The dog yelped and fell short. A second shot put an end to the yelping.

  Like a precision drill team, we all three turned and stared in astonishment at the figure in the doorway. The portly highway patrol officer stared back, as stunned as the rest of us.

  Finally he returned his gun to its holster. He scratched his cheek and asked, “That smashed up BMW out front belong to any of you ladies?”

  Chapter 29

  Daryl Benson was dumping a twin pack of sugar into a Styrofoam cup when I flopped into the seat across from him.

  “You want some?” he asked, nodding to the cup.

  I shook my head. Not if I had any hope of getting to sleep that night. They’d given me a painkiller at the hospital and warned me it would make me drowsy. That had been an hour ago, and I was still wound up tight. I could feel the adrenaline flowing like an electric current.

  “Your arm going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. Just sore for a while.” Like nearly every other part of my body. But at least Marlene had been conscientious about Von Baron’s shots. Rabies was one thing I didn’t have to worry about.

  Benson nodded, then introduced me to the woman seated to my left. “Abigail Roberts,” he said, “investigator with the juvenile division.”

  “Call me Abbey,” she said as we shook hands. She had short dark hair and a wide mouth capped with dimples. She didn’t look much older than a juvenile herself.

  “Abigail’s just come from talking with Cheryl,” Benson explained.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Pretty well,” Abbey said. “She’s a gutsy kid. Even in the face of what happened tonight, she was able to give us a straightforward account, from beginning to end. One that showed quite a bit of insight for a girl so young. There’s a woman from social welfare with her now. She’ll have a better idea of how well Cheryl’s going to handle all this, but it’s my guess that with some counseling she’ll come through okay.”

  I thought about the frail frame hunched close against me in the back seat of the police car, about the smile that came out of nowhere when I gave her arm a gentle squeeze. I thought she’d be okay too, but I’d keep my fingers crossed just the same.

  “How about Marlene?” I asked Benson. “Did she admit to killing Eddie?”

  “Not in so many words, but she gave us quite a lot before she clammed up and asked to see her attorney. What we’ve got is almost as good as a confession. I don’t anticipate any problems.”

  “Have you been able to figure out what happened exactly?”

  Benson took a sip of his coffee. “We’ve had to piece things together based on her story and what you and Cheryl told us. But it looks like Eddie had begun to suspect what was going on with Peterson, and confronted him with it. Peterson, of course, denied everything. Cheryl denied it too, at first. But when she discovered that Peterson had been involved with a number of girls, everything changed.”

  Abbey broke in here, speaking softly, her face clouded. “You can imagine how Cheryl felt — hurt, angr
y, betrayed. And above all else, ashamed. She said she thought about killing herself. I suspect she might have followed through except for the fact that Eddie Marrero had already broached the subject with her, and he was someone she felt comfortable talking with.”

  “So she went to Eddie and told him everything,” I said, thinking that, in itself, took a fair amount of courage.

  Benson nodded and picked up the story. “She went to Eddie, who in turn went, again, to Peterson. This time, though, it wasn’t mere speculation; Eddie said he had proof of what had been going on. I don’t know what Peterson’s reaction was initially, but when he discovered the photographs were missing, he assumed Eddie had taken them, and he panicked. He called Eddie Saturday morning, and they agreed to meet. Marlene was worried that her husband would go along with whatever Eddie suggested. She followed them, apparently surprising both men, and killed Eddie.”

  “Peterson wasn’t in on it, then?”

  “Not in the beginning, it seems, but of course he knew what Marlene had done, and he went along with it.”

  “I suppose it was easy for her to get Jannine’s gun,” I said, thinking aloud. “She’s in and out of the house all the time.”

  “That’s the point where she stopped talking to us, but only after she’d admitted dropping by their house Friday night. The Marreros were apparently having a party, and she’d promised to bake brownies.”

  I nodded. I remembered Jannine saying that Jack and Marlene hadn’t been able to attend because Jack had come down with the flu. In retrospect, I could see that it wasn’t the flu that had kept them away, but a bad case of nerves.

  “What amazes me,” I said, “is that Marlene could so readily overlook all that Jack had done, and then go off the deep end because he was willing to admit it was wrong.”

  “It’s hard to figure, but it’s not the first time I’ve run into something like this. I don’t know if she fully understood what was going on, or if she’d deluded herself into believing that Cheryl was the instigator, kind of a combination of Lolita and Fatal Attraction. To listen to her, she certainly seems to believe Jack was guiltless.”