Voted Out

by J. S. Marlo

  The widow opened and closed her mouth without making a sound as tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Janet Finch, I am charging you with the murder of Thomas Finch and Sophie Mink and the attempted murder of Damien Godfrey and Liliane Irwin.” And for the second time in less than eight hours, he read Janet Finch her rights. “The case against you will go to trial and the prosecutor will reveal the true motive behind your actions. All the sordid details of your son’s affair with Sophie will be exposed. Is that what you want?”

  “My son loves his little boy.” Her voice quivered. “It would kill him if his wife divorced him and moved back to Newfoundland.”

  It would also devastate Ethan to be confronted with the truth about his wife’s indiscretions, but Sophie deserved justice. Protecting the feelings of the family she left behind didn’t fall within Jasper’s mandate, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t give it a shot.

  “You’re a good mother and grandmother, Janet. You killed out of love.” By appealing to her motherly nature, he hoped to coax her into making the right choice. “If you were to confess, and give me Stuart Reiter, I might be able to convince the prosecutor to make a deal that wouldn’t see you spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

  She slouched in her chair. “Off the record, who else knows about Jeremy and that wretch?”

  “Her name was Sophie, and she was a victim, a victim of your deadly attack.” In his career, Jasper had persuaded a few suspects to confess in exchange for a deal, but no deals had left such a sour taste in his mouth within minutes of issuing it. “Off the record, I would be careful dragging Sophie’s name into the mud, it may splash on your son.”

  Her nostrils flared as she expelled a snorty sigh. “When I confronted Sophie in her house, she was surprised to hear Jeremy told me all about their affair. She thought only Thomas and Liliane knew. So, who else am I missing?”

  Liliane listed five people when he asked her that same question, but she’d missed a sixth individual. Jeremy’s mother. “Aside from Jeremy and yourself, only Liliane and myself are privy to the truth.”

  “I see.” She rose and began to pace the small windowless room. “Stuart blew up her car over the check. Back in the army, he was an explosives expert. He keeps his material in a hole under the floor of his shed, but he’s not stupid. He knows you suspect him of borrowing Audra’s car and scratching it to disguise the mark that dog owner made on the side. He showed me the note the owner left on the windshield. On second thought, keeping that note was stupid. If the police were to find it in the glove compartment of his car, it would place him behind the wheel stalking Liliane Irwin that morning, wouldn’t it?”

  Along with Janet’s testimony against Stuart Reiter, the note would solidify Jasper’s case. “And where is his car?”

  Officers had searched Reiter’s property and checked his party’s office. Not only had they not discovered the cache underneath the shed, but Reiter’s vehicle remained missing.

  “In the underground parking of the shopping mall two blocks from his party’s office. He doesn’t like to park outside in case it rains.” Another sigh deflated her body. “After Godfrey came to offer his condolences, he became nosy about that check. Too nosy. I spiked his coffee and he passed out in the bathroom. I needed help so I called Stuart, picked him up downtown, and brought him back home. I wanted him to abandon Godfrey and his rental car in the woods, but Stuart was afraid he would remember what happened when he woke up, so he fed Godfrey the prescription pills he stole from Audra’s medicine cabinet a while ago. The suicide note and the empty pill bottle were his idea. He drove the rental car with Godfrey in it to Archie Lane where he begged me to pick him up. I love him. What else was I supposed to do? Then you arrived and he panicked. He forced me to speed away. I swear I didn’t see your police truck until it was too late.”

  For a woman who claimed to love the man, she had thrown Stuart under the proverbial bus without a qualm.

  “Now, may I speak with the prosecutor, please? I’d like to discuss a plea bargain?”

  ~ * ~

  To help save Godfrey’s life, Jasper contacted the doctor at the hospital and told him to cross-reference with Audra’s prescription medication, then he called the Prosecutor’s office. While he waited in his office for a prosecutor to arrive, Jasper sent officers to retrieve Reiter’s car and search the shed again.

  An hour later, the dog owner’s note tucked inside a transparent evidence bag landed on Jasper’s desk while pictures of blasting caps, explosive cords, and other items found in the shed were downloaded on his phone. The new evidence reinforced his case against Reiter. Once Janet Finch signed her confession, Jasper would confront Reiter with the additional charges.

  A knock on his door offered a reprieve from the mountain of paperwork he had attacked while the prosecutor talked with Finch in the interrogation room.

  Officer Welsh peeked her head in the doorway. “The prosecutor requests your presence, Detective.”

  “I’ll be right there. Thanks.”

  Hoping it meant they had reached a deal and a signed confession awaited him, Jasper marched into the room occupied by his suspect and a newly appointed female prosecutor.

  The prosecutor stood. “Detective O’Neil, before we conclude this session, Mrs. Finch would like to have a word with you alone. I’ll wait in the corridor.”

  Jasper straddled the chair vacated by the prosecutor then waited in silence for the door to close. Opposite him, Finch held her head high and her gaze steady. With her hands on the table, she framed a handwritten sheet of paper. A pen was lodged between the thumb and index finger of her left hand, but no signature was visible at the bottom of her confession.

  The door clicked.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if she had reconsidered or reneged on her plea, or decided to request legal counsel. “You wanted to see me?”

  The widow pushed the sheet in his direction. “Feel free to read it. It’s tight and clean, but I will only sign it in front of Liliane Irwin, after she swears to carry my secret to her grave.”

  ~ * ~

  The doctor identified the drug in Damien’s system, and as soon as he adapted his treatment to treat his patient’s specific condition, Damien started showing signs of improvement.

  Liliane hated the idea of leaving his side at the hospital, but the urgency in Jasper’s tone convinced her not to argue. He sent Officer Morse to pick her up. Upon stepping inside the police station, the officer ushered her into a room as clinical and sparse as Damien’s.

  Standing with his back to a large mirror, Jasper gestured toward the only unoccupied chair by the table. “Have a seat, please.”

  Across the table, Thomas’ widow greeted her with a curt nod. “Hello, Liliane. Did Detective O’Neil explain why I wanted to see you before I sign my confession?”

  Confession? “No. He didn’t.” Unable to wrap her mind around the idea that this woman refused to take a chance with a jury, Liliane glanced between the widow and Jasper. “Why am I here?”

  The woman responsible for the destruction of so many lives pushed a sheet of paper toward her. “I’d like you to read this.”

  Liliane skipped over the part where the killer vouched she was sane and not under duress when she wrote the statement, to concentrate on the confession itself.

  It read; I suspected my husband, Thomas Finch, of having an affair with one of his female employees at the election office, so last Wednesday morning, I confronted him in his office. He was alone when I arrived. We argued. He hit me, then he sat at his desk and turned his back to me. For years I suffered his humiliation and abuse in silence, but that morning I lost it. I grabbed the screwdriver on the corner of his desk and stabbed him, then I fled the office.

  Thomas had been the victim of a cold and calculated murder, and yet his widow was painting herself as the victim. Having seen behind the veil of the woman’s real persona, Liliane struggled to rein in her indignation.

  How the screwdriver transitioned fro
m Gloria’s desk to Thomas’ puzzled her, but at the same time Liliane reckoned it didn’t matter if the widow grabbed it on her way in or if Thomas somehow took it. To make it sound like a crime of passion, the tool needed to be within reach—not in the lobby. She kept reading.

  I was scared and didn’t have an alibi, so on a moment of insanity, I framed Sophie Mink after a chance encounter in her neighborhood. She offered me her condolences and invited me to come in for a drink. She was a beautiful woman, the type of woman Thomas loved to seduce, and she was home alone. I spiked her drink while she wasn’t looking, then dragged her body in her car and started the engine. I planted a picture of her on Thomas’ phone so people would think she killed him over an affair then committed suicide out of guilt or shame. Mink didn’t deserve to die. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.

  No arguments would ever convince Liliane that Janet felt any remorse or that she snapped the picture of Sophie in a yellow negligee the same morning she staged her suicide. Besides, who in their right mind carried knock-out drugs in their purse? Stumped by the woman’s audacity, Liliane forced her gaping mouth to close and continued reading.

  Prior to Thomas’ death, I conspired with my lover, Stuart Reiter, to ruin my husband’s reputation and returning officer career by forging an illegal check in his name. Ironically, after Thomas’ death, Liliane Irwin’s and Damien Godfrey’s investigation into that check backfired and jeopardized Stuart’s reputation and career instead of Thomas’. Afraid Irwin or Godfrey might destroy his life, Stuart blew up Irwin’s car, an attempt on her life for which I wasn’t complicit, then I sedated Godfrey to halt his inquiry, but I needed Stuart’s help. He staged Godfrey’s suicide by drugging him with a powerful medication he lifted from Audra Barkley’s home, and abandoning him on Archie Lane where we were later arrested by the police.

  Stunned, Liliane couldn’t absorb the full meaning of that confession. Despite the words written in black and white, she doubted Stuart had acted alone—or without Janet’s directive—when he sabotaged her car. Still, Janet had wrapped a tight noose around her lover’s neck and given the other end of the rope to Jasper. Then again, what kind of man walked around with a powerful drug stolen from a woman’s cabinet? As she pushed back the sheet of paper, Liliane studied the killer. “That’s an interesting version of the truth. How many years will you serve for this twisted admission of guilt?”

  The woman facing her twirled a blue pen between her fingers. “Twelve years in jail with no chance of parole.”

  While she believed Janet Finch deserved a tougher sentence, Liliane also acknowledged a lengthy trial would only prolong the suffering of Sophie’s family without necessarily yielding a harsher punishment.

  “I suppose that’s fair.” The last word burned Liliane’s tongue. “Why am I here, Janet? If you’re seeking forgiveness, you should talk to a priest, not me.”

  Finch tapped the bottom of the confession with the end of her pen. “Before I sign, I want you to promise me you will never ever reveal my son’s affair with Mink.”

  As the meaning of the request dawned on Liliane, so did the motive behind Janet’s killing and confession. “You killed Sophie for the same reason you confessed to her murder. To protect your son.”

  “And my grandson.” The woman had chosen to spend more than a decade in jail instead of risking a trial that might expose her son’s relationship with Sophie. “Will you promise, like Detective O’Neil already did, to keep my secret?”

  Liliane had already sworn to Sophie she would never reveal her affair. Her silence protected both the Minks and the Finchs, and she had no desire to renege on her promise. “Yes, I promise, but I’m not sure I understand why you trust me not to betray your family once you’ve signed.”

  A bittersweet smile tugged at the woman’s lips as she signed away her freedom. “Because despite his best efforts, Thomas couldn’t corrupt you.”

  ~ * ~

  In the case of Janet Finch, a swift justice had been served. Still, as Liliane walked down the corridor of the hospital, a profound sadness overshadowed her relief.

  She pushed open the door to his room. “Damien, you better not die on—”

  Fear constricted her throat when she caught the nurse bent over the railing and the machine that kept him alive unplugged and pushed against the wall.

  The nurse spun around with a glass in one hand, a facecloth in the other, and a benevolent smile on her face. “I’ll be right back with a dry gown. Don’t let him get out of bed.”

  As the pretty nurse moved away from the bed, Liliane’s bewilderment morphed into joy at the sight of Damien licking his lips. “You’re awake?”

  “And thirsty.” His voice was hoarse, but the twinkling in his eyes spoke of his enduring spirit.

  “No water until the nurse returns.” She sat on the edge of the mattress and took his hand into hers. “You scared me, you know.”

  “Why?” His fingers curled around hers when she squeezed. “I wasn’t going to die still married to her. I want to get out of hell, not spend the rest of eternity there.”

  Laughter bubbled in her chest. The drug overdose hadn’t altered the charming personality of the man she’d known for over a decade and loved like an annoying big brother.

  “Do you recall what happened last night in Janet Finch’s house?”

  “That was last night? It feels like weeks ago.” For a man who mere hours ago tottered on the brink of death, he was displaying remarkable coherence. “We shared a drink, then I felt dizzy. I was going to call you, but I think I passed out in the bathroom. I...I remember Stuart Reiter...or maybe it was a nightmare.”

  “What kind of nightmare?” Afraid to plant false memories into his mind, Liliane refrained from asking or suggesting anything specific.

  “He was forcing jelly beans and water down my throat.” A grunt rattled his throat. “I’m thirsty, Lily.”

  The door opened.

  “I’m back.” The nurse breezed in with a new nightgown, a cup, and a straw. “Let’s see if you can drink from that cup without spilling half of it on yourself.”

  “I see you’re in good hands, Damien.” Liliane stepped away from the bed to make room for the chirpy nurse. “I need to go take a shower and stop by the office. I’ll be back later.”

  On second thought, it might be best if she checked the office first to ascertain that Nathalie had showed up and Leonard wasn’t left to guard the fort alone.

  Once in the corridor, she phoned Jasper to tell him about Damien’s weird recollection in case it yielded some importance.

  ~ * ~

  Jasper unlocked the front door with the house key Liliane had entrusted to him.

  While he might impart too much significance on the metallic object in the palm of his hand, he liked to believe it not only provided him with physical access to her home but also symbolic access to her heart.

  When Liliane called him earlier about Damien, she was headed to the election office, but when Jasper stopped by to share the latest developments, Nathalie informed him that Amanda had already given Liliane a ride home. Since nothing urgent demanded his attention at the station, he drove to her place.

  Silence welcomed him when he walked in.

  As he ventured into the corridor, the rattling noise of an exhaust fan reached his ear. He followed the sound into the main bathroom where he turned the lights on. Droplets of water pearled on the ceramic walls encircling the bathtub and the humidity pasted his shirt to his chest. Not too long ago, someone had taken a hot shower.

  I should have come here first instead of stopping by your office. I could have washed your back.

  With these misty thoughts swirling in the wayward section of his mind, he entered her bedroom. At the sight of her naked body lying face down on the bed with only a green towel draped across her buttocks, he rushed to her side but before he could touch her, she stirred, lessening his unfounded fears.

  Get a grip, O’Neil.

  Seated on the mattress, he brushed a red
curl from her face. With her eyes closed, she looked like an angel. His angel.

  A soft moan resembling his name escaped her parted lips.

  He caressed her bare shoulders then trailed his hand down her back and along the edge of the towel. “Am I in your dreams, sweetkin?”

  “Handsome?” Her eyelids fluttered. “What happened?”

  “You’re fine. Everything is fine.” Her skin was soft and warm under his touch. “You just fell asleep after your shower.”

  “Need to go to work.” She gazed at him through narrow eyes without moving. “What time is it? Is it still morning?”

  “It’s around noon.” Exhaustion had caught up with her and he regretted waking her. “Why don’t you close your eyes a few more minutes while I take a shower? Then I’ll drive you back to your office.”

  “Sounds good.” Sleep lingered in her words. “Jasper? Did you charge Stuart for Damien’s overdose?”

  A chuckle tickled his throat. He hadn’t anticipated having this discussion in bed with her hovering between dream and reality. “Can I tell you after my shower?”

  “No.” She captured his hand and twined her fingers with his before they wandered under the towel. “Now. Please?”

  “Well, after we charged him for two attempted murders and for being an accessory to two murders, he lawyered up and challenged some of the accusations Janet Finch had laid against him in her confession.” It didn’t surprise Jasper to hear that Stuart’s version of the events differed from Janet’s. “Among other things, he swore he knew nothing about Thomas’ and Sophie’s murders and claimed Janet begged him to get rid of you and Damien.”

  Liliane opened her eyes and Jasper lifted her fingers to his lips.