The First Wife

by Diana Diamond

  In fact, the available lines of inquiry were few. The police records of the investigation probably held much more information than she had been able to access online. They might give her leads, or names of people whom the police had contacted. The records of the inn would be crucial, if a small, cozy inn bothered to keep records. Then there were Kay’s computer files, which might list her plans for that day. For Kay’s computer records, she would need to go back to the apartment. She could do that innocently enough if she went back now, without a lengthy and suspicious absence. For the other answers, she would need to spend a few days near the crime scene or find someone to go there for her.

  Jane turned on the cell phone and dialed the apartment. Mrs. McCarty answered and put her through to her husband without even being asked to. “He wants to talk to you,” she said, and he picked up instantly.

  “Hi, I’ve missed you,” he said casually.

  She rattled off a quick story about a friend coming into town and then explained that she had left her cell phone off. “I feel like an idiot,” she apologized. “I hope you weren’t worried.”

  “No, but now I can call the CIA and tell them to call off the search. When will you be home?”

  “Tomorrow,” she answered, and then asked, “Are you going to be in town?” He said that he was but would probably be late. Jane promised to hold dinner for him.

  It had sounded natural enough. She didn’t detect any hint of suspicion, although she knew she would have to come up with a name or two to explain her overnight stay. She drove north past Lake George and on to the Olympic Village at Lake Placid. Then she headed west, climbing higher into the Adirondacks, toward Lake Saranac.

  The time of the murder and the timing of the business meeting were looming as important pieces of information. According to Leavitt’s testimony, the meeting had adjourned the night before. Apparently Leavitt had arranged transportation to a local airport for the attendees, or had them ferried out by helicopter. He had stayed behind with the limo he used to drive up the mountain road to Andrews’s rescue. Why? If Kay and Bill were planning to stay behind for a day of skiing, wouldn’t Leavitt have been more valuable back at the office? Quite clearly, Andrews didn’t need him there just to provide transportation. His helicopter or his jet would have come back for him. So why did Leavitt stay on in the inn?

  But suppose Kay had been killed the previous night. Then anyone who was at the meeting could have been involved. Perhaps one of the executives. Most likely Selina, who would be faced with losing her position and her lover. In one case, Kay Parker was alone with William Andrews. In the other, Kay would have been alone in the house while her husband was conducting a business meeting down at the inn. Anyone could have left the meeting and driven up the mountain to kill her.

  But then Jane corrected herself. No, in the scenario Leavitt testified to, he was the only one with a car. How would one of the others have gotten to the chalet? And how would Bill have been wounded?

  Of course! It had to be Selina. If she killed Kay, then Bill certainly could have engineered a cover story. But that still left open the question of how Selina would have gotten to her victim.

  Jane reached Saranac and passed the small executive airport where the corporate jet might have landed. It was clearly possible that on learning of his wife’s murder, Andrews sent all his people— including Selina Royce—away to protect them from suspicion. But then why stay himself? And why would—

  Wait a minute! There was another question. How would both Kay and Selina have gotten up to Mountain Ridge? After reading her detective’s reports, would the great Kay Parker have consented to her husband’s mistress tagging along on the flight? Was it likely that Kay would stay put in the chalet, knowing that Selina was at a meeting with her husband just down the road? So if Kay was there, wasn’t it more likely that Selina wasn’t even close to the chalet? Bill probably wouldn’t have allowed her to go to the meeting. And if she wasn’t there, then she couldn’t be the killer. In fact, she couldn’t even have been a witness to the killing, which made her being a blackmailer that much more improbable. The more questions she asked herself, the closer Jane was coming to her most dreaded conclusion. Bill had to have killed his wife. And Selina had remained all these years his lover.

  Mountain Ridge turned out to be a simple crossroads with a few buildings, functioning as an occasional convenience store for the vacation lodges and camps. She passed a police station, probably the one that had responded to Robert Leavitt’s call. A mile farther south was the Bass Inn where, according to Leavitt’s testimony, the business meeting was held. That’s where Leavitt had spent the night and taken William Andrews’s panicky call from his mountain retreat.

  She pulled into the inn, found the lobby empty, and waited until a manager appeared behind the desk.

  “I don’t have a reservation,” she began, but he cut her off with a laugh.

  “In bass season, you need a reservation. But after the foliage, all you need is a credit card.” He explained that most of the inn was closed. “We open weekends during the ski season, but other than that, we don’t even keep help on. Just me and the wife take care of what needs taking care of.”

  Her credit card said “J. J. Warren,” so that was the name she used to check in. “I was here seven or eight years ago,” she said casually as she filled out the reservation form.

  “Is that so? You don’t look like a bass fisherman!” They both laughed.

  “I was here for a business meeting. A few of us flew in one day and flew out that night. About this time of year! I suppose management didn’t want us to have any distractions.”

  “We don’t get a lot of business meetings,” he said. “Unless it’s a bunch of big shots who say they’re going away on business but are really interested in the fishing. I suppose they can have a meeting around the fire and talk a little business so they can write the trip off. But this time of year they’re probably holding their business meetings in Las Vegas. Or maybe Hawaii.”

  “No, this really was business,” Jane countered. “I was with Andrews Global Network. We all traveled so much that we had to go to strange places just to get together.” “Oh yeah,” he said. “Andrews is that rich young fellow lives up on the mountain. His wife was killed up here, wasn’t she?”

  Jane nodded. “Tragic! She was a society woman. Very attractive.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He came around the desk and picked up Jane’s small bag. “He comes up in a helicopter from time to time. At least, that’s what I was told when I asked around about the helicopter. Never met him, but I’ve heard about him.”

  She tried not to make it sound like an interrogation. “He doesn’t stay here? I thought this was his landing site.”

  “No. He lands up at his house and flies from there. Brings his kids every once in a while.”

  “I think his wife was killed the weekend we were here for the meeting. Is that possible?”

  “Not likely,” the manager said. “I remember the state police were in and out when that happened. They sort of took over the place. I don’t remember that we had any guests, except the reporters who came pouring in from all over the state.”

  She tried to hand him a tip, but he pulled back. “No, showing you to your room is the least I can do. There isn’t much else we can offer.”

  Jane put the money back in her pocket. “Bet if you check your records, you’ll find that I was here the weekend that murder took place. That was before I got married. My maiden name was Selina Royce.”

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  She let out a heavy sigh as soon as the door closed. It seemed as if she had pulled it off and that he had accepted her story. If he had guest registrations from that far back, she had no doubt he would look for her name on the day that Kay Parker had died. If he found it, she would ask him over dinner who else had been there that night. Robert Leavitt, for sure, but maybe other players in the sham they had worked on the local police.

  Dinner was at one of the dining-room table
s, lit with a candle while the other tables remained dark. There were just three of them: the innkeeper, his wife, and Jane. Over dinner, Jane explained that she was scouting a group house for the ski season. “Is the Andrews place for rent?” she asked casually.

  “Doubt it,” the proprietor’s wife answered. “It’s never been on the market. But I could recommend a few places. How many in your group?”

  Then the manager got serious. “Did you say you were up here for a business meeting?”

  Jane nodded while she sipped at her soup.

  “Same weekend as that woman was killed?”

  “I think so,” she answered. “I know it was about the same time.”

  “Well, we’ve got records back to then, but no business meeting. The place was pretty much shut down, just like now.”

  “But one of our people must have been here. Wasn’t one of your guests named Robert Leavitt?”

  His eyes widened in recognition. “Yeah, that was the name. He was the only one registered that weekend. And he stayed on for another few days while the police and reporters were here.”

  She decided to stick her neck out. “Were Mr. Andrews and his wife ever registered here?”

  “Not that I know of! I don’t think I ever saw either of them.”

  She was beginning to fill in the scenario. The business meeting had just been a cover to explain why Andrews had gone up to his chalet. Bob Leavitt was doing nothing more than covering his boss’s tracks. Jane hurried through the meal so she could get back to her room and absorb everything she had just learned.

  It wasn’t Bill and Kay who were enjoying a romantic getaway in the mountains. It was Bill and Selina. They must have realized they were being watched and devised this ruse so they could have a weekend together. Leavitt was in on the deception. But then how did Kay Parker get there? Obviously she wouldn’t have been invited. Jane remembered the Mountain Ridge police chief’s comment. He had mentioned a car parked in front of the house, supporting his contention that an intruder would not have thought he was breaking in to an unoccupied house. That made sense if the car parked in front of the chalet had been Kay Parker’s. That would mean Kay had come up on her own, caught the two lovers together, and run for the shotgun. Apparently Selina got to it first and blew Kay’s head off. A nice theory. The only question was whether any part of it was true.

  In the morning Jane was up and out early. When she reached the parking area, she was amazed to see a light snow sticking to the trees and lawns. Her car windows were already covered. She drove carefully away from the inn and headed back toward the town. Only one store in Mountain Ridge showed signs of life. A truck was making a delivery. Past the truck, the lights were on in the police station. Jane parked, stepped inside, and found herself in a waiting area with one long wooden bench. She went to a door marked PRIVATE and knocked on the opaque glass. No one answered, so she went back to the bench to wait. Almost immediately, a weary-looking man in a heavy plaid shirt pushed through the front door, carrying a brown paper bag. His wire-rimmed glasses steamed up immediately.

  “Saw you pull in, so I brought you some coffee,” he said. He opened the door to the private office. “C’mon in! The name is Pete. I’m the police sergeant. Whole darn police department when you get right down to it!” He enjoyed the humor of his standard introduction and held out his hand. The palm was callused and the grip firm. Outdoor living had kept his body younger than the mid-sixties lines on his face. Pete lifted folders and circulars from the crowded desk to clear space for the two paper cups. “Take a seat. I hope you like it black.”

  “The only way to drink it,” she answered, and rolled up a wooden swivel chair to her side of the desk. She rubbed her hands together and then wrapped them around the hot cup. “I’m not dressed for the weather. When I left New York yesterday, the last thing I thought about was snow.”

  “It’ll warm up in a minute. The furnace takes a little time to get started. And this snow won’t last. Probably be up in the forties once the sun gets going.” He sipped from his cup, winced at the scalding heat, and then forced down another sip. “So, how can I help you?”

  “I’m a reporter,” she said. She took out her wallet and presented her press card as she spoke. “I’m doing a piece on an unsolved crime that happened here….”

  “Here? Someone take home a few bass without a fishing license?” He laughed at the thought.

  “No, it was a murder that happened eight years ago. A woman was attacked and killed in her home by an intruder.”

  The friendly expression vanished. “Reporter?” he asked suspiciously. He glanced down at her press pass. “Yeah, I remember that one. That television fella, wasn’t it?”

  “Andrews,” she agreed. “William Andrews.”

  He pushed the press credentials back toward her. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you about that one. State police took over the investigation. They’re the ones you’ll have to interview.”

  “I’ve seen the police reports—at least, the public records—and I’ve read most of the press coverage. But it’s all pretty sketchy. I was hoping you might be able to fill in the gaps.”

  “That was—what?—seven or eight years ago. There’s not much I remember.”

  “Maybe you could check your records,” Jane pressed.

  Pete pursed his lips. “I don’t have any. The state boys boxed up everything.”

  “But you must remember something. I think it was the New York Post that interviewed you. They said you were the only one with real evidence. …”

  He smirked. “That’s probably true. I was the only one looking for real evidence. The state boys were just going through the motions. They kept searching the woods for someone who wasn’t there.”

  “You said that there was a car parked outside the house, so an intruder would have known people were home. Do you remember that?”

  “Sure,” Pete said. “There were plenty of empty houses around if someone was looking to break in.”

  “Whose car was it?”

  “A rental car.”

  “Do you remember who rented it?”

  He gave her a thin smile. “Now, that’s just the kind of question the state people didn’t want answered.”

  Jane sensed an opening. “Why was that?”

  “Why? Politics! Hell, you’re a reporter. You must know how these things work. This Andrews was an important man. The politicians needed his television stations and his newspapers. Nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of him.”

  He crumpled his paper cup with a quick, violent squeeze. “Politicians,” he groused, and tossed the cup into the wastebasket.

  “Why wouldn’t Andrews want the police to find his wife’s killer?”

  “Lady, if you can’t figure that out, you ought to try a different profession.”

  “Are you saying he was the one who—”

  “I’m not saying anything. The state took over the case, so if you want someone to tell you something, you’d have to go see the troopers. Far as I’m concerned, it’s all over and done with. So, unless you want a fishing license or something …”

  He stood slowly, indicating that the interview was over. But Jane stayed seated.

  “Has someone threatened you?” she asked.

  Pete turned his head away and laughed derisively. “Boy, are you a babe in the woods.”

  “Then why won’t you talk to me?” she persisted.

  “Because I like it here. It’s a nice, comfortable job, the pay is okay, and the pension I’ll start getting next year is damn near my full salary. So the last thing I need is politicians from Albany wondering why I’m talking about one of their old, forgotten botched cases.”

  “Even if someone gets away with murder?”

  “Important people get away with murder every day,” he assured her.

  Jane nodded, got up, and held out her hand. “Thanks, anyway, Sergeant. I’ll take your advice and try the state troopers.”

  Pete shook her hand, but h
e didn’t let go. “Take one more piece of advice. Get yourself another story. Mr. Andrews still has a lot of clout up here. You keep asking questions and you’re going to find out just how much clout.”

  “Reporters have to ask questions,” Jane reminded him.

  He patted her hand affectionately. “Watch your back, Miss …”

  “Warren,” she said with a smile. “J. J. Warren.”

  She stepped back out into the waiting room and paused to pull her jacket around her and button it up to the collar. She had pushed Pete about as far as she could. And although he wouldn’t confirm anything, his insinuations had been chilling. The intruder had been a ruse, and the local police chief knew it. He had come to the conclusion that Kay Parker’s murder was an inside job. And the reason her husband wouldn’t have wanted the police to find the killer was that he already knew what they would find. That he, or someone very close to him, had fired the shot.

  Pete had clearly been warned off further investigation and told to keep his ideas to himself. The warning had been graphic enough to frighten him. He seemed paranoid over the Andrews spies that he imagined were still watching him. He was probably afraid that his office was bugged or that she was wearing a recorder. She opened the door, braced herself against the cold wind that was still driving a mist of snow, and started out to her car.

  “Can I give you a lift?” The voice came from a car parked just in front of hers, its source unseen but its tone decidedly familiar. Robert Leavitt stepped out to meet her.

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