by Tim Tingle
“Hello, Rebecca? This is Miranda.”
“Oh! Hello Miranda! So good to hear from you again! What have you been doing lately?”
Not being able to tell Rebecca what she had really been doing lately, namely, cutting up the body of a Federal Judge, and hiding it, she decided not to mention it. Instead, she got to the reason she had called.
“I just had a new pool put in, and so I an having a pool party on Saturday. I called to see if you, Janice, and the boys want to come to the party.”
“That sounds wonderful! Janice is not here right now, but I’m sure she will be free by Saturday. At least, I hope so. I know the boys will jump at the chance. I know I will be there. Can I bring my boyfriend, Stan?”
“Sure! The more the better!”
“What time Saturday?”
“11:00 am until whenever. I will cater all the food and drinks, so bring nothing but your bathing suits. I will e-mail you the directions to my new house out here in Kellerman. I assume your Dad is still in England?”
“Yes, I just talked to him on the phone. Oh, did you know that his book is #1 on the best-seller’s list in England?”
“No, I didn’t! Well, it seems that he is finally getting the recognition he deserves for his writing. Tell him to call me when he gets back, so I can congratulate him!”
“I will.
* * *
Back in England, Travis was seated at the kitchen table in the country estate, Angel was pouring him a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Cream, but no sugar, and ice.”
“Ice? In a cup of hot coffee?”
“Yes, I can’t drink hot beverages because of a war injury. Half my intestines were blown away in Vietnam.”
“You don’t say! Was that the only injury you received in Vietnam?”
“No, I am covered with scars. I was awarded five Purple Hearts.”
“So did you lose any other organs in the war? Any more important organs?”
“By ‘more important’ I suppose you mean sexual organs?”
“Of course!”
“No, I have had five kids since the war.”
“Thank goodness! I was starting to think that I was wasting my time in manipulating things to get you and I alone! I intend to win that bet, Travis!”
“Not a chance.”
“So tell me about this man you were supposed to have murdered in Canada.”
“His name was Ronald Fallon, the founder of Maple Leaf Publications. The same Ronald Fallon who sold my book rights to your father.”
“So you were accused of killing Ronald Fallon, but the surveillance camera proved you didn’t do it?”
“That’s right. A woman beat me to it. I had my knife out, ready to cut his throat, when she shot him. I was a tad pissed off, because I was wanting to kill him myself!”
“Would you have really killed him over such a thing?”
“Oh yeah! No problem! I was a trained killer in the Special Forces, so it doesn’t bother me.”
“Oh my! So here I am, a defenseless woman, looking for love, but instead of a lover, I find myself alone in a country cottage with a killer instead! No one can possibly hear my cries for help! You may rape me all you want, Travis, but please don’t kill me! I promise I will not go to the police!”
“Nice try, but you’re still not winning that bet.”
“You can’t blame a girl for trying! So tell me more about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“About wanting to kill Fallon. About your years with the Special Forces. About your writing! My god, you are such an interesting man, Travis! Tell me more about you!”
“I’m a coal miner. What’s so interesting about that?”
“I have found that coal miners actually have very colorful lives.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I think it is because coal mining is such a drab, colorless job, that you must overcompensate in other ways. You travel the world, you do things that most people don’t do. You write, as a way of expressing yourself in ways that you can’t in your drab, mundane life. You create, because you can.”
“You may be partially right. You seem to be very insightful in figuring out people.”
“I have had a lot of experience at that. This job as a publisher is just a sideline to my real calling. I love to interpret people! Just like I see you as a person who does not like to be in the lime-light. Every time I give you an opportunity to talk about yourself, and brag on your accomplishments, you brush that off, and instead, get me talking about myself! So I think what we have here, Travis, is two people who are more alike than we care to admit! What do you think about that?”
“I think you are probably right. We come from different backgrounds, but we have arrived at the same place, for the same reasons.”
“That is usually the basis for becoming soul mates! Do you agree?”
“That’s a broad statement. There are probably a lot of different reasons for becoming soul mates. There is probably as wide a range of criteria for that, as there are different people on this planet. Similarities and differences have little to do with it. It is the chemistry between two people that make them soul mates. And your definition of ‘soul mate’, might be different from mine.”
“That is true. So tell me, what influenced you to want to write?”
“I liked to read, and I enjoyed a good story. So I wanted to write something that would give others the same enjoyment. It amazed me that fiction just came out of thin air, and it is satisfying to create something out of nothing.”
“You had no formal training as a writer?”
“No. I just read a lot, and noted the writing styles of the authors I read. From that I developed my own style, which some critics have called ‘crude and undisciplined’.”
“I would call it ‘interesting and creative’. An artist in any medium has the right, or the ‘artistic license’, to depart from the rigid traditional forms of his medium. That is the only way to capture the true psyche of younger, less sophisticated generations, of which we are a part. In this way, writing ‘evolves’ over the generations. I admire the fact that your ‘undisciplined’ style of writing, is a reflection of our generation. In later years, it will no doubt become a classic style, which younger generations will emulate, and evolve from.”
“Do you really think so, or are you just trying to butter me up?”
“Oh, I am definitely trying to butter you up, but I also know what I am talking about. I have read thousands of manuscripts, and believe me, I have seen bad manuscripts, and I have seen good ones, and I occasionally see a great one. Yours is one of the great ones, and my father agrees. He has been in this business much longer than I. When we purchased ‘The Relic’ from Maple Leaf, we knew we had a winner, and could not believe that it had been submitted to such a hack publisher as Maple Leaf.”
“Well, that was my fault. I should have shopped it around to more reputable publishers before letting Maple Leaf have it. But I was new to publishing, and didn’t know better. I just hope I am on a better path now.”
“Oh yes! Jester will treat you right! I guarantee it! My father and I were discussing that last night. If we can secure you as a permanent fixture with Jester Books, both we and you will greatly benefit. We already have done a great job in promoting your first book, and we can have the reading public salivating to get your second one!”
“Sounds good. Perhaps I should sit down with your Dad and discuss this thing.”
“Yes, he was thinking the same thing, and he asked me to extend a dinner invitation to you for tomorrow night. I will not be there, just you and he, as he likes to say, ‘getting down to the brass tacks’ of an agreement. Can you make such a meeting at my father’s office, tomorrow at 6 p.m.?”
“I think I can
arrange to be there.”
“Good! I will give you the address, and inform him of your willingness to discuss a deal.”
“And our 5 pound bet has nothing to do with this meeting?”
“Of course not. Our bet is a personal thing, between us. Would you like a touch of brandy in your coffee?”
“Sounds good.”
They talked and laughed on into the night, and early morning hours. And in the process, developed a friendship, and a mutual understanding that would make their relationship different from that point on.
* * *
Janice met Saul Lugman at the police station in Arlington, as she was being brought in for questioning, and he requested to speak with her in private before she was questioned.
“We have a problem, Janice. Penelope is telling a much different story than you told the investigators, so now begins the sticky process of the prosecutor trying to figure out which one of you is lying.”
“But I told the truth!” Janice demanded.
“Yes, and I believe you. But Penelope is saying that the whole thing, the murder, the arson, and everything was your idea.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Of course it is, but the prosecutor still has to question you about it. He is going to try to rattle you by poking holes in your earlier testimony. As long as you stick to what you testified earlier, and he believes you, then everything is fine. You are a much more credible witness than Penelope, because from what I understand, they have already caught her with inconsistencies in her story, so it important that you stick to your previous testimony. If there was anything you didn’t tell earlier, you need to tell me now, so that it doesn’t blind-side us later.”
“Everything I told you before was the truth! Yes, it was my idea for her to call her dad, and get him to meet her in Bates Park, but that was just a ruse, to get him out of the way, so Penelope could go to his house and get her Bible. That was to avoid a confrontation with him. The last thing Penelope wanted was to confront her dad! I agreed to take her to his house so she could go in and get her Bible, but that was just because she didn’t have transportation.”
“And that brings up another thing. She is charged with breaking and entering, and she says you encouraged her to do it.”
“That’s a lie! No one locks their doors in our community. This was where she used to live, and she was merely going in to get something that belonged to her! But I did not encourage her to break in! She didn’t have to break in! She just opened the door and walked in.”
“Okay. I just wanted to be sure we are on the same page. So there was no prior discussion of killing Mr. Deason, or burning down his house?”
“No! Absolutely not! I was just helping her retrieve her Bible from his house, without having to face him. There were no plans for anything other than that.”
“Okay, then that is exactly what you tell them when they ask. Your word against Penelope’s, I think they will be inclined to believe you.”
“I hope so! Gosh, I can’t believe that woman! I tried to help her out, twice now, and she has turned on me both times!”
“Some people you just can’t help, Janice.”
“That is exactly what my husband said!”
“Okay, so are we ready to face the prosecutor?”
“I guess so. Let’s get this over with.”
34
Wednesday morning began in England with Travis and Angel driving leisurely back to London, seeing the beautiful countryside as they went. Angel deliberately took a back road instead of the freeway, because there was more to see, and she wanted to spend more time with him. She had thoroughly enjoyed the previous evening of interaction with Travis. She enjoyed his company because he was easy to talk to on any subject, and nothing she could say or do seemed to shock him. Clearly he had been around the block a few times himself. She liked that in a man. They talked constantly as they traveled, even though they had to speak loudly to be heard over the wind, with the convertible top down.
“I am surprised to see grape vineyards so prolific here.” Travis said. “I had the impression that grapes did not grow well in England.”
“These vineyards have appeared only in the past ten years. They say our climate is getting warmer in the UK, and I guess these new vineyards are an indication of that.”
“Yes, the climate fluctuates over the centuries. I read a very telling statistic in college, that said in the year 1350, wine was the most abundant export from the British Isles. That indicates that the climate of England was obviously much warmer in the 1300’s than it is today. But the fact that vineyards are now popping up in England again, means that the climate is definitely getting warmer. A mere change of two degrees can greatly affect grape production, I am told.”
“Yes, when I was growing up, you simply did not hear about wine being produced in the UK. It simply didn’t happen. Now many a winery has appeared, producing some very good wines. They say that wine, like sex, gets better with age.”
“That saying is actually the other way around.”
“Oh pooh! It can go either way, . . . like me!”
“What time should we arrive at my hotel?”
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Well, my son and mother would probably like me to spend some time with them on this trip.”
“They can see you any time, once you get back home. I can only see you while you are here!”
“If I sign a contract with your father, we can still chat occasionally, if only by phone.”
“That would be no fun!”
“I thought you enjoyed talking to me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I will have to catch up with my group today at noon. I told my son I would meet him at Trafalgar Square.”
“You will have plenty of time to get there. We should arrive at your hotel by 10:30, if traffic is not bad. I talked to my father this morning. He is eager to close a deal with you.”
“It will depend on the details.
* * *
Miranda finally felt like she was ‘over the hump’, so to speak, in her quest to rid herself of Judge Rosewood. She felt like all the bases were covered with regard to putting this thing behind her. The only weak link was Lennie, and that really worried her. She knew that when pressed, Lennie was sure to leak the wrong information, to the wrong person, at the wrong time, and that was why she was going to have to ‘coach’ him a bit more before she could trust him fully. It had been a week and a half since Travis liberated her from the judge’s headboard, and it was still a week and a half before Mrs. Rosewood returned from her European trip. Now was the time to stop and think, . . . did I really do everything I could do to distance myself from incrimination? Is there some small bit of evidence at his house that I might have overlooked? A fingerprint on the refrigerator? A hair in the bathroom? My god, what if my lip prints are still on one of those wine glasses?
The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became. While there was still time, she probably needed to go back to his house, and go over it with a fine toothed comb, to be sure there was nothing there that might incriminate her. She knew that when the judge was determined to be missing, the FBI would get involved, and his house was sure to be checked for fingerprints, and other minute evidence, so she had to clean it well.
And then she had another thought. Why not let Lennie go over there with me, to help? I mean, he knows all about what happened, or at least he thinks he does. As a favor to me, I’m sure he would be willing to do that. I will wear gloves, and Lennie will not, and that way, I will rid the house of my prints, and Lennie will leave his prints all over everything. When the investigators go over the interior of the house, they will find only Lennie’s prints! That evidence, together with me coaching him as to what to say, and not say, will make him look guilty. He already said
he would admit to killing the judge, just to protect me. And then, there were the body parts in his well! If that doesn’t seal the deal, she didn’t know what would!
She stopped to consider this. She would be deliberately planting false evidence against Lennie, a decent person whom she really did like. Could she live with that on her conscience? Probably not, under normal circumstances, but this was not normal circumstances. Lennie was dying, and he wanted to do this for her. It wasn’t like she was twisting his arm to do it. He wanted to do it, because it was, in his mind anyway, the only way he could thank her for being his ‘bestist’ friend. She knew she was taking advantage of him, but it was apparently what he wanted her to do. To her, that cleared away any moral roadblocks.
The Judge’s house should still be unlocked, and she left the security system off, so there should be no problem getting back in. She would wash all the dishes, vacuum the floors, and take the dust bags with her to dispose of elsewhere. She would wipe down everything in the house that she or Travis could have possibly touched, to get rid of fingerprints. She would clean the bathroom, bedroom, living room and kitchen to spotless perfection. This included washing the bed linens, and making the beds. The entire house would be clean as whistle, except that Lennie’s fingerprints would be everywhere.
And oh yeah, she needed to call the Jimmy Hale Mission and get them to come and pick up the freezer from her back porch, after she had thoroughly cleaned it, of course.
But that conjured up another thought that startled her. Perhaps she should thoroughly clean her own house too, for the Judge’s fingerprints, and what-not. Because when the FBI started looking for him, they just might come up with some reason to search her house too, and that could lead to curious and embarrassing questions.
Why? Because in spite of what she had told Travis, the handcuffing incident was not the first time she and the Judge had been in the sack together.
She had met the Judge accidentally, while shopping at Lorche’s Jeweler, a little over six months earlier. She was a sucker for jewelry, and he was there to buy something for his wife’s 50th birthday. They started talking, and hit it off well. Very well. In fact, before the week was out, they were meeting at out-of-the-way hotels for their ever more exotic ‘close encounters’ of the sexual kind. The judge was overwhelmed at her sexual energy, and thought it was his him that turned her on so, but truth be told, every time she made love to the Judge, in her mind, she was making love to Travis. She had to imagine what it would be like, because she had never actually made love to Travis. Even after all the adventures and mis-adventures they had been through together, and all the opportunities they could have made love, he was too loyal to Janice to be seduced by her. So she began the torrid love affair with the Judge, as a consolation. He was the first man she had met, since she won the lottery, who did not appear to be interested in her money.