The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery)

by Girdner, Jaqueline

  He looked down miserably at me, his sorrowful eyes not even halfway visible below his brows. I closed the distance between us in a few urgent steps.

  “Been thinking,” he growled softly. “About Craig, me, you.”

  I nodded my head cautiously, feeling a chill that didn’t come from the night air. This was about us, not murder. Had I finally lost him?

  “Been a real jerk,” he finished glumly. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “That’s all?” I burst out. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his still muddy chest. “I love you, you…you big jerk,” I said.

  He raised my chin and looked me in the eye. “Really?” he asked.

  “Really,” I answered. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him gently.

  “Jeez, you guys!” whined Felix.

  Wayne returned my kiss with passion. I held on tight.

  “We’ve got a murderer to catch!” Felix reminded us impatiently. “Break it up, okay?”

  Wayne removed his lips from mine slowly. I gave him one more quick kiss on his cauliflower nose, for luck. Then we joined Felix on the redwood bench.

  The three of us sat there and talked in the cool night air. About the spa people. Then we talked some more. About motives. And more. About backgrounds. And still nothing clicked. I was getting sleepy again. But it felt safe and comfortable there on the porch, so I just leaned against Wayne and listened to Felix spin bizarre scenarios.

  Felix had almost convinced himself that Suzanne was Avery Haskell’s illegitimate daughter, when Don Logan came wheeling by. Felix lifted his hand in greeting. But Logan rolled down the ramp without returning the gesture.

  I sat up abruptly, remembering the thought that had tickled my mind earlier.

  “Eli and Suzanne,” I said. “They had a law practice in common!”

  Felix turned to me. “So?” he asked sourly.

  “What if the murders have to do with one of Suzanne’s cases? All Suzanne’s cases were Eli’s cases too. He was her boss. So what if one of those cases—”

  “What about Jack Ireland?” Felix interrupted. He could rattle on indefinitely about his own theories, I thought angrily, but I mention one of mine and he torpedoes it.

  “I don’t know about Jack,” I snapped. “Maybe he saw the murderer do it or something. But the point is Suzanne and Eli.”

  I was wide awake now, excited. I stood up and wagged my finger at Felix. “And this is a theory we can check,” I told him. Then I began to pace. “If we can get Eli’s permission, we can call his secretary. Have her go through all the cases Suzanne has handled. Find the link—”

  This time it was Wayne who interrupted me. “Won’t work,” he said softly. “Case files are confidential.”

  Damn. I stopped in my tracks. But I wasn’t finished with the idea yet. “How about Eli?” I proposed. “We could tell him the theory and have him go through his cases.”

  Wayne shook his head gently. “You heard how Eli feels about his clients. Man’s not going to give out incriminating information—”

  “And anyway,” Felix broke in. “If the murderer is one of Suzanne’s clients, don’t you think Eli would have realized it by now? He knows the names of all the people at the spa. He’s got a functioning brain. Don’t you think he would have checked them out against his files?”

  “Not necessarily,” I answered defensively. “And maybe the murderer isn’t a client! Maybe the murderer’s a friend of a client, a child of a client, maybe even someone on the other side—”

  As the door behind us opened I realized I had been shouting. I snapped my mouth shut and turned to the door.

  Ruth sprang toward me, her gypsy face now wizened with distress. “They told me Eli was assaulted!” she cried. “But they wouldn’t tell me his condition.” She twisted her hands together as she spoke.

  I wanted to comfort her. To tell her Eli was conscious and well. She may be the murderer, I reminded myself. I shouldn’t tell her anything. I looked into her anxious eyes. Did she know I knew Eli’s condition?

  Finally, I compromised. “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I murmured gently.

  “But I’ve got to know,” she insisted. “I have to face whatever’s happened.” Her voice grew calmer as she said this, as if she’d been hypnotized by her own words. Her eyes lost focus. “I’ve figured out where he is. I called the hospitals. He’s at Lakeside General. I’m going to see him there.”

  “Will they let you see him?” I asked.

  “I’ll find a way,” she answered, her voice regaining determination. She was a formidable woman. She probably would find a way.

  She grabbed my hands and sandwiched them between her own. “Wish me luck,” she ordered, smiling.

  I smiled back. “Good luck,” I whispered, and hoped she wasn’t the murderer.

  She dropped my hands and rushed across the porch to the stairs, a hurricane in a purple caftan.

  “Ruth, hold on a minute,” I called, remembering Eli’s first words in the mud bath. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Walk me to my car,” she shouted over her shoulder.

  I shot Wayne a quick glance. He stood up, but I motioned him back down. I would have better rapport with Ruth alone. And the parking lot wasn’t far.

  I trotted down the stairs in her wake and caught up with her at the edge of the graveled lot. I could still hear Felix’s voice expounding a new theory from the porch. I could even hear the whir of Don Logan’s wheelchair, sounding only yards away. It’s strange how sound travels in the silence of the night.

  “My car’s at the far end,” Ruth said. She kept on walking as she pointed into the darkness of the parking lot. “What did you want to know?”

  “Do you know if Eli speaks German?” I asked. I thought that was the language he’d spoken when he first awakened in the mud bath, but I wasn’t sure.

  “German?” was Ruth’s distracted reply. She shot me a quick glance. Admittedly, it was an odd question.

  “I have a reason for asking,” I assured her. And I did. What if Eli was part of a Nazi spy ring? I can only blame Felix’s influence and the hour for my flight of imagination. It had to be past three o’clock in the morning.

  “German,” Ruth repeated, scrunching up her face in thought. “Now I remember,” she said finally. Her face relaxed. “Eli was born in Germany, I think. His father was German. It seems to me he was a boy when he and his mother escaped the country. They got out before the worst of it. But his father died in the camps.”

  “Then Eli is Jewish?” I asked stupidly.

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” she returned my question. I took that for a confirmation. So much for my Nazi spy theory, I thought, now embarrassed by my own imaginings.

  “Here’s my car,” Ruth said, pointing to her ancient Volvo looming menacingly before us. I wished she hadn’t parked so far away. It was dark out here, with only the moon for light. And quiet. I couldn’t hear Felix anymore.

  She opened her door and hopped in. Then she rolled down her window. “Thanks,” she said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For helping me with my perspective,” she answered. Her Volvo erupted into noisy life before I could ask what she meant.

  “Give my love to Eli,” I called out.

  She blew me a kiss and drove away.

  It seemed even darker in the parking lot without Ruth. And once she was gone I felt the watcher’s presence again. Forget it, I told myself. But I couldn’t stop the trembling that took over my body. Just exhaustion, I assured myself, rubbing my arms vigorously. Get back to the light now, my mind screamed. I inhaled deeply, then turned and took a step back toward the safety of the porch.

  I centered myself as I took my next step, stepping heel first as in tai chi. That was better. Stronger. My mind stopped shrieking fear.

  Then I felt something slip lightly over my head.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  IT GRAZED THE tip of my nose before settling down around my neck. I kne
w in an instant that it was a rope. And that it was tightening from behind me. And in that instant I could hear my tai chi teacher’s voice telling me not to resist. Telling me to go with the movement.

  I stepped backwards quickly. And kept stepping, toe-heel touching the gravel lightly, until I felt the rope go slack. I took three more long steps for good measure, then turned to face the murderer.

  Don Logan sat in his wheelchair, a few yards away from me in the moonlit parking lot. He gazed at me cheerfully. I could just see the broad smile on his face under the shadow of his cowboy hat. The other end of the rope that was looped around my neck was grasped firmly in his hand. He gave the rope a slight jerk that rippled up to my neck but didn’t tighten the loop. I stepped closer. Now I could see his eyes too. I estimated a yard or so of slack in the rope between us. I took a good look and saw that it was the same white nylon rope that was strung all over the spa to cordon off the construction areas.

  “You’re not as stupid as the others,” Logan drawled. He whirred his wheelchair a few inches closer to me, then continued. “They all struggled against the lasso. I hardly had to jerk it, they were so quick to choke themselves. Stupid as a bunch of cows.” He laughed. He hadn’t looked this happy since I’d met him. “Lucky these wheelchairs come with seat belts,” he added with an sardonic wink. “The way the bitch struggled, could have pulled me right out of my chair.”

  I brought my hands up to the loop of rope around my neck. The smile left his face.

  “Don’t touch it!” he warned in a low whisper, jerking the rope again. The knot slid around to the front of my neck. Then the loop contracted. “I can pull it tight before you ever have a chance.”

  I dropped my hands and looked up toward the porch. Was anyone watching? My heart was beating in my ears. I could feel sweat prickling all the pores of my body.

  “And don’t scream either. They’d never get here in time.” His eyes were glued to my face as he wrapped the rope around his hand, taking up the slack.

  I returned his look, all the time wondering if I could lift the loop over my head fast enough to beat him. I just wasn’t sure. It was still fairly loose around my neck. I was sure it would clear my head if I lifted it. But how fast could he yank it tight? His upper body was powerful. He was quick too. And I was no cowboy. Then I realized. Don Logan was.

  That first day on the porch, Logan had even told me that he worked a ranch. And the cowboy hat! Why hadn’t I ever put it together? Cowboys, roping. All the victims had been lassoed. If you can’t reach someone easily from a wheelchair, what a great way to catch them.

  “Isn’t quite like calf-roping,” Logan mused. “A little more challenge. But I can handle it.”

  He smiled as he explained. “See, you ease out the rope, then jerk it!” He gave the rope around my neck an illustrative jerk, tightening the loop a half inch more, then laughed. A trickle of sweat ran into my eyes. I hoped the amount I was sweating would make the rope slippery.

  “Then you play the rope while they struggle,” he continued cheerfully. “The bitch struggled so much, I was afraid I’d tip over. But I just kept moving my chair, synchronizing with her movements. This chair’s a lot like a horse in some ways.”

  Logan focused on my eyes to see if I appreciated his lecture. If it kept him from yanking that rope tight, I’d be glad to listen to him all night long.

  “What about Jack?” I asked.

  He smiled broadly. “I thought he would be a mite more difficult. So I waited till he started his bike. Then I roped him and pulled him clean off it. The bike stalled, but that was no problem. I roped it too, and pulled it over on him. Thought they might think it was an accident.”

  “But his head—” I began.

  “Oh, that.” He whooped and slapped his knee merrily. “They leave the damnedest things out around here. Rope all over the place. Even hammers.” He paused. “I used a hammer on him before I pulled the bike over. Didn’t feel like toting him over to the mud bath.”

  I shivered and sweated some more. Couldn’t someone hear us out here? But I didn’t dare look up at the porch to see.

  I raised my voice slightly to ask the next question, hoping that Wayne or Felix would hear me. “How’d you get the other two into the mud bath?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” he answered ruefully. He shook his head. “I could only get so close to the bath. Then I gave them the old heave-ho. But there’s only so much you can do from a wheelchair. That old man didn’t land right. He was too heavy.”

  I remembered Eli’s twisted legs. Logan was peering into my face now.

  “You found the old man, didn’t you?”

  I nodded my head slowly, carefully.

  “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” I answered. Then I spoke with more bravado than I felt. “And he’ll remember you once the shock wears off.”

  “Not likely,” answered Logan. He cocked his head as if considering the possibility. “First of all, I got him from behind. And his glasses went flying right off. By the time I dragged him over to the mud bath he was already unconscious. No, he never knew what hit him.”

  Logan eyed me seriously. “You’re the only one I have to worry about,” he said. His voice had a hint of regret. He jiggled the rope lightly. I thought up another question fast.

  “Why?” I asked. I wasn’t just playing for time. Afraid as I was, I was still curious. “Why did you kill them?”

  He looked down at his own crippled legs in answer. Then he brought his eyes back to my face. But his eyes were out of focus now.

  “You wouldn’t believe how your life can entirely change in a moment,” he said. His voice was low and bitter. “Two years ago we were heading back home from the in-laws. Over the Golden Gate Bridge. My wife was driving. She was in the center lane, trying to make time. There aren’t any dividers on that bridge, you know.” He focused his eyes on mine momentarily. Then he looked through me, and went back to his story.

  “My son was sitting between us in the front seat, playing with his baseball cards. I was half asleep. Then I heard my wife shout. It was the last thing I ever heard from her.” He paused and swallowed. His eyes were shining, either with rage or insanity, or both. “I looked up and saw what she was shouting about. A Lincoln Continental had crossed the center line. It was coming at us, full speed. She swerved, but it was too late.”

  Logan brought his shining eyes back to mine. His voice was hard as he spoke. “It was a long time later before I found out anything about the drunk that hit us. They kept me doped to the gills at first. I figured out my legs were paralyzed pretty quick. It’s hard to miss when they keep asking you if you feel anything and you don’t.” His bark of harsh laughter rang out like a shot in the silent air.

  “Then they told me my wife and kid were dead. Just like that. I wanted to die, too.” He paused. Then a trace of a smile twisted his lips. “But I found a reason to survive. A reason to go through the torture they call ‘physical therapy.’ A reason to live in this goddamn wheelchair.”

  He bent forward, peering into my eyes. “Do you want to know what I found to live for?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Revenge,” he whispered. His smile broadened. I shivered, shaking the sweat from my forehead into my eyes. I reached up a hand to wipe the sweat away.

  “I told you not to do that,” Logan snarled and gave the rope another jerk. This time I felt the loop tighten more than an inch. I wasn’t sure that it was still loose enough to clear my head—if I decided to chance lifting it off. At least it wasn’t choking me. Not yet anyway. Logan bent his head up at me, glaring.

  I took a big breath. “Why Suzanne?” I asked.

  He smiled and relaxed in his chair. “I thought you’d figure it out,” he teased. “You were on the right track.”

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Want a clue?” he asked.

  “Please,” I answered softly.

  “It was one of that bitch’s cases. You were right about th
at.” He gave the rope a playful tug. This time I moved my head with it so that the loop didn’t tighten. But with my head forward, I was off balance. “Can’t you figure it out?” he asked.

  Suddenly I had it. “Drunk driving,” I whispered. “She defended drunk drivers.”

  “Bingo!” he answered, infusing the word with all the good cheer of a game show host. “When I first got moving again I thought I’d kill the drunk. But he had already died in the accident. Then I thought of the drunk’s fat wife. But she was a pitiful woman. There wouldn’t have been any point to it.”

  Logan sighed heavily, then continued. “So I sued the estate. The wife came waddling up to me afterwards in the courthouse corridor. She said she was sorry. She blubbered all over me. Told me she’d do anything she could to help.” He shook his head in disgust.

  “Pitiful,” Logan repeated. “But she did do something for me that day. This tall blond bitch came walking by, all dressed for success. The wife said the bitch was Suzanne Sorenson, the one who had saved her husband’s license with some fancy legal bullshit.”

  “And you killed Suzanne for that?” I asked in disbelief. I shouldn’t have spoken.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Logan snarled. He looked into my eyes angrily as if it had been my fault. “The bitch got him his license back two weeks before he hit us! Two weeks before he killed my wife and kid!”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. I really was. I wasn’t sure if Logan heard me, though. He jerked his eyes away from mine and stared out into the darkness over my head.

  I listened to the sound of my own heartbeat in the silence. Then I thought I heard another sound. Something in the trees. My eyes wanted to look, but I knew that would be a mistake. I strained my ears but the sound wasn’t repeated. Had Logan heard it? He was still staring past me.

  “Did you come here to kill her?” I asked. If there was anyone moving out there, I wanted to cover the sound.

  Logan turned his eyes back to me slowly. Then he shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I came here to get away. To get past the anger. Doctor’s advice.” He laughed harshly again. “And there she was, the bitch who’d killed my wife and kid, bragging about getting people’s licenses back for them.