Stuart laughed. “The examining trial. What makes you think—”
“Because I don’t think Edgar has enough evidence yet to go to a grand jury. I don’t think he’ll risk the grand jury no billing her—ego-wise or otherwise. It would look terrible in the papers, and he’d play hell getting a true bill later from another grand jury.” She took a drink of wine. “Besides, can you imagine what I could do in court if he did get another grand jury to indict later? I’d use that like crazy in her defense. No, the way I figure it, knowing Edgar as I do, he will carefully and methodically put all the facts together until he can present an airtight case.”
“Then why did he have her arrested and charged with capital murder?”
“I don’t know. My best guess would be that Lucien wanted something to tell the press. From what I hear, they’ve been all over him since Saturday afternoon. There’s an election looming, you know. It would be like Lucien to grandstand.”
He nodded. “That would make sense.”
“See, it doesn’t matter if Kitty is released later on. When they really do have the real perpetrator in custody, they can apologize to Kitty. They don’t give a shit what happens to her—how she’s traumatized over this thing.”
“Calm down. You’re getting off the subject.”
“It makes me damn mad, though. Think about it. If you were Kitty, how would you like to be locked up with all those whores and drug users?”
Stuart frowned. “I haven’t been inside a county jail in a long time, but my recollection of it is that it’s pretty grim. I take it you’re doing all you can to free her?”
“Of course. I’ve got a bond hearing set for Thursday at ten-thirty in front of Judge McWheeter.”
“McWheeter?” Stuart laughed. “Isn’t he the one—”
“Yep. He’s a real womanizer. I’m hoping he’ll feel sorry for her when he sees her, and set a reasonable bond. Edgar got it fixed so there isn’t one right now.” She munched on another piece of broccoli. The lemon sauce tasted tart and sweet at the same time. She wondered how Stuart managed that.
“This Edgar sounds vicious.”
“He is. If you knew him, you’d know that. He told me once that it was better that an innocent man be executed than a guilty man go free.”
“So he’s the kind of prosecutor that always believes the worst. Sweet guy.”
She sighed. “So you’ve got an idea of what I’m dealing with.” She finished off her shrimp and followed it with a swallow of wine. “By the way, have you seen Raymond? How’s he taking it?”
Stuart shook his head. “The boy is inconsolable. The murder was bad enough since he idolized Phillip, but for Kitty to be accused has really been hard on him. I think he planned to go to church tonight to pray for guidance.”
“And he can’t know about the cap murder charge yet, unless Kitty was able to call him from the jail,” Sandra said. “Poor guy. He seems so dedicated to her. I wonder . . .” Stuart got up and began clearing the table. “What?”
“Do you think he knew Phillip had invited Kitty up to his room?” She carried her plate into the kitchen behind him and set it on the counter. Finding a pair of rubber gloves under the sink, she put them on and began rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher while Stuart cleared the table. It crossed her mind for a moment that they were like old married people. She quickly shook off a feeling of suffocation.
“What are you getting at?”
“Do you think he wasn’t really asleep when Kitty went up there? Maybe he woke up and followed her. Maybe he listened outside the door and heard a struggle. Maybe Raymond burst in and saw them struggling and threw Phillip over the balcony.”
“I don’t think so. Raymond is too slow to anger.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Phillip abuses him—abused him—almost every day at the office and Raymond never even flinched.”
“Like what did he do?”
“Well, during the trial last week, Phillip got so angry at Raymond that he took hold of his ear and pulled him down the hall during a break. ”
“In front of other people?”
Stuart nodded.
“That makes me sick to my stomach. And Raymond let him do it? What did Raymond do?”
“Nothing. Rubbed his ear and made it even redder if that’s possible. Apologized to Phillip for what he forgot to do.”
“What did he forget to do? Never mind—it doesn’t even matter. That’s so disgusting. How could Phillip do that to someone, another attorney? How humiliating.”
“Phillip really got out of hand sometimes, Sandy. I often wondered if there was something wrong with him. Medically, I mean.”
“Like a chemical imbalance?” She made a mental note to mention it to Erma.
“It would make his behavior more excusable. The way he was,” Stuart paused and shook his head, “it’s almost intolerable to think that he was that way solely out of meanness. What would make a man so mean? Especially a rich man. A man who didn’t want for anything? I often wished I’d seen that side of him before we became partners.”
“Maybe Raymond had enough. Maybe Kitty came running downstairs and told him that she’d flipped Phillip over the balcony and Raymond ran outside and finished him off. It would have been the perfect opportunity.”
“Wouldn’t Kitty have told you if Raymond ran out like that?” Stuart had stacked all the serving dishes and stood next to her at the sink.
“She could be protecting him. Kitty could be willing to go to the executioner for Raymond.”
“But, would Raymond let Kitty do it? That’s the question. I don’t think so.”
She chewed her lip. “Maybe he’s considering it right now as we speak. Maybe he’ll go confess tonight.”
“In your fondest dreams.”
“No. I’d like it better if he waited until the trial. I could use the publicity. ”
Stuart put her in a headlock and kissed her hair. “You’re terrible.”
She twisted out of his arms. “I’m a normal criminal defense lawyer. Always working on her rep. Reputation is everything.” She laughed.
“Well, I think if you’re staking your reputation on Raymond having killed Phillip, you’re in for a lot of disappointment.”
“Yeah. I guess he doesn’t really seem the type.” She put a plate in the dishwasher and turned back to Stuart. Standing on her tiptoes, she looked him dead in the eye. “But what about you? Where were you?”
“Me?” Stuart laughed. “Okay. I confess. I threw Phillip off the balcony when I came to Kitty’s aid.”
She took the next plate from him. “You could have.”
“Yes. I could have. All right. How’s this scenario? I couldn’t sleep so I was wandering around in the moonlight when all of a sudden I heard an argument from up above and Phillip came flying down. I’m having financial difficulty and saw my chance to steal his thirty-five-thousand-dollar Rolex and ten-thousand-dollar diamond ring, so I clobbered him in the face and took them and then ran up to my room and jumped into bed before anyone saw me.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. But you admit you could have killed him, don’t you?”
“Sweetheart, based on what you’ve told me, anyone who was there that night could have killed him.” He pulled her to him. She rested her two wet rubber-gloved hands on his chest. “Does it turn you on to think that I may have committed a murder? Does it make you want to come to bed with me two nights in a row?”
Sandra found herself giggling like an adolescent. She’d never admit it to him, but it did give her an oddly euphoric feeling. When it got right down to it, Stuart was a suspect. Not that he could have done it any more than Raymond. But someone had to have killed Phillip if he was killed after he hit the ground. Stuart cupped his hands on her bottom, pulled her up against him, and nibbled on her neck. She pushed him away. “You want to get your kitchen cleaned up or not?”
“You going to come to bed with me or not?” he replied, his voice husky.
&nbs
p; She smiled. “In a few minutes.” Handing him a sponge, she told him to wipe the table. She got another one and went over the stove and countertops as she thought about all the possibilities she could raise in Kitty’s defense. She thought that Lizzie probably had the most to gain, but remembering the way she had been the other day, how could she have done it? Talk about heartbroken. Unless her behavior resulted from her regret at having done him in, as they say. Then there was Carruthers. Her thoughts always came back to Carruthers. Now there was someone who could benefit from a Rolex watch and a diamond ring. He wouldn’t have to be a personal slave to anyone for a while if he could sell that watch and ring for half what they were worth.
After she finished wiping down the countertops, she watched Stuart straightening the dining room table and chairs. She enjoyed being with him like that, each of them sharing the household chores. Oh, why were her feelings so ambiguous?
Physically, they were a pretty good match. He had a nice body. His polo shirt stretched across his biceps. At fifty he still only had just a tiny paunch below his waistline. His legs were muscular from his almost daily jogs down the beach. He had just the right amount of body hair—not too much on his chest and back, but a smattering—enough to be really sexy. Why couldn’t she make up her mind?
Stuart caught her watching him. His solemn face changed into a bright smile as she switched on the dishwasher and peeled off the rubber gloves. When he returned to the kitchen, she said, “I’ve been thinking. What do you want to bet that Bubba Carruthers is the killer?”
Stuart tossed his sponge into the sink and dried his hands on a dishtowel. “What do you want to bet that I can make you quit thinking about this case for the next hour or so?” Stuart reached for her T-shirt and began pulling it over her head.
She laughed and reached for his belt buckle. “Want to take another shower together?” Her heart already beat a little faster. She had wanted to go over all the suspects with Stuart and see if he could help her narrow it down since he had been there. There was a lot to do before the examining trial the next week, but she still had plenty of time. The following day she would go out and see Bubba Carruthers. Right then, she had better things to do.
CHAPTER NINE
Phillip’s house appeared dejected, as if it knew its owner would not return. It had an unkempt look as well, not quite as tidy as it had been just a few days earlier. It didn’t help that Bubba had parked his pickup on the blanket of Bermuda grass that paralleled the curving driveway from the beginning of the property line all the way to the canal slip.
Then there was Bubba himself. He stood behind the truck, the water hose dangling from one hand, a rag in the other, a smoking cigarette glued to the corner of his lips. When he spotted her, he dropped the rag into a bucket and swallowed from a beer while not removing the cigarette from his mouth. Some trick. If Phillip had been alive, Bubba would never have engaged in such behavior. He never would have even contemplated it. Phillip’s regular gardener worked long hours keeping the grass alive during the island’s harsh summers. He grew squeamish if people even walked on it, much less parked a vehicle on it.
Sandra pulled her Volvo into the driveway and cut the engine. Bubba acted like he didn’t see her, but she knew he had. He pretended to be in his own little world, his radio blaring from atop a table under the house. She wondered how many beers he’d consumed.
“Hey, Bubba!” Sandra waved. She got the distinct impression that he would acknowledge her presence only when he was good and ready.
Getting out of the car, she slammed the door behind her and crossed the driveway until she was so near his truck that he couldn’t avoid seeing her. She only hoped he didn’t turn the hose in her direction. “Can I talk to you a minute?”
He finally made eye contact. Finishing off his beer, he crushed the can like he’d wring out a washrag, and tossed it against the house where it came to rest next to the faucet with several others. When he came out from behind the truck, she could see that he wore only a dirty white T-shirt and cut-off blue jeans that were brown around the edges. His feet were bare, another thing Phillip never would have allowed. And there was dirt under his overgrown toenails in spite of his standing in wet grass. Dropping the hose, he leaned over the faucet and turned it off. He grabbed another beer and followed her under the house where he sprawled on a bench, his elbows resting behind him on the picnic table.
Lighting another cigarette from the one in the corner of his mouth, Bubba let the smoke wander upward as he spoke. “What can I do for you, Miss Sandra?” His smile was little more than a leer.
If anyone ever appeared to fit the stereotype of a criminal more than Bubba Carruthers, she’d never laid eyes on him. She couldn’t help noticing that his teeth were yellow around the edges and gray in the middle.
“Wondered if I could ask you a few things about the other night?”
“Yeah? Like what?” He wore a couple days’ worth of beard. A scar ran across the bag under his left eye. Sandra was close enough to see that even though it was eleven in the morning, he hadn’t washed the sleep out of his deep-set dark eyes.
“Well, for starters, like where you were when Mr. Parker fell over the balcony?”
“I don’t know when he fell over the balcony.” His tiny eyes stared past her.
He was so repulsive that she could hardly sit still. The only clean-looking thing about him was his crew cut, and she thought that was because it was so black the dirt couldn’t be differentiated from the natural color of his hair.
Averting her gaze, Sandra was thankful that she’d sat upwind. She pondered whether to say anything to him about his behavior—his demeanor and his mode of dress—then thought better of it. In a few days, Phillip’s beneficiaries would deal with him. It wasn’t her place. She didn’t want to criticize him and thus jeopardize whatever information she might be able to get out of him. Glad that she’d had the time to formulate her thoughts before opening her mouth, just as in a careful cross-examination, she hoped to extract as much information out of him as possible. She smiled. What she wanted to do was knock the smirk off his mouth, but she smiled anyway. “You found the body, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but later. Not when he fell. By the time I found him, there was already a skin on his blood.”
“A what?”
“You know,” he stared at her and grinned, “the blood was thickening up like tomato soup when you let it cool off in the pot, only darker.”
“I get the picture.” She had the feeling he enjoyed describing that for her. “Is there anything you can tell me about Friday night? Anything at all that you’ve remembered?” Clusters of sweat beads clung to Carruthers’ upper lip like a jewel-embroidered collar. She wondered whether it was the heat or the fear of someone finding out the truth. Carruthers puffed on his cigarette and didn’t answer.
“Maybe we could start from when I went home. Do you remember when I left, Bubba? You were still behind the bar, serving drinks, perhaps cleaning up a bit. What happened after that?”
Bubba shrugged and hung back, his elbows on the table behind him, his legs spread wide. “The party, it pretty much ended when you and Mr. Stuart went outside. I was finishing mopping up behind the bar when Mr. Stuart came back.”
She nodded. “So did you come downstairs then?”
“No. Mr. Phillip, he said I could have the leftover food, so I was eating when they started fighting.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Phillip and Miss Lizzie. You could hear her screaming at him.”
“Who else was around?”
“Mr. Stuart had went into his room. Miss Kitty and Mr. Raymond had went to their room, so it was just me. I was afraid they’d come out and think I was deliberately overhearing, so I packed up and brung my plate down here.” “You went to bed then?”
He shrugged. “Well, not exactly. I ate and went down to The Cantina. If Miss Lizzie pushed him off, it must of been after two when I got back.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute.
Miss Lizzie pushed him off?”
“Didn’t she?”
“You don’t read the papers?”
He looked over her shoulder into the distance again. “No, ma’am, Miss Sandra.”
“Why do you think Miss Lizzie pushed him off?”
“She was awful mad. She was cussing him and calling him all kinds of names. I just figured she’d had enough of him.”
“Enough to kill him?”
“You never know what sets people off nowadays.”
“Do you think Miss Lizzie would steal from Mr. Phillip?”
Carruthers’ eyes wavered like warning flags in a rough wind. “Like really steal something? Like more than take something without asking?”
“Yes, like money or jewelry or something like that?”
“Is something missing?”
“Do you know of something that is missing, Bubba?”
He shrugged again. “Nothing I can think of right offhand.”
“Did he keep valuables out here?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Not usually. Unless he was going to stay for more than a few days. He carried a lot of cash, though.”
“I was aware of that. And he had a dreadful habit of flashing it in people’s faces, too.”
“Yeah. I tried to tell him once not to do that, but he got mad and swelled up like a blowfish.”
“I’ve seen him do that.”
Carruthers laughed. “He couldn’t take no joke.”
“So what usually was here? What usually were you in charge of?”
“Say, what are you getting at?”
“You want me to be straight with you, you be straight with me. You know what I’m saying?”
“Okay. Okay. Mr. Parker usually kept his old BMW out here. I had to keep it washed and waxed and the tank topped off. And take care of his little Sailfish that he liked to sail around the slip in. He kept the big boat over at the Yacht Basin. There’s a mechanic there that looks after it.” He crossed his arms and looked at her.
She waited a few moments. “I know that’s not the extent of your duties.”
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