Death of a Prince

by Susan P. Baker

  He shook his head again. “No. Is that what happened?”

  “Did she tell you that Phillip was her father?” Erma asked.

  “What? I knew there was something weird about this whole thing.”

  “Does that make you mad? That her father would make a pass at her?” Sandra asked.

  “Did he know he was her father?” Raymond asked.

  “No, not then.” Sandra watched Raymond. He still seemed only mildly excited. “But he did when he sexually molested her at age five.”

  “Oh my God.” He collapsed into a chair and practically assumed the fetal position.

  Erma looked like a cloud about to burst.

  “So she hadn’t told you?” Sandra asked. He continued to clutch his stomach and bow his head. “Raymond, you honestly didn’t know? Kitty didn’t tell you when you came back to the room?”

  His head wagged from side to side and a low groan escaped his lips.

  Sandra had a theory that it was possible that Kitty explained pretty quickly what had transpired and that Raymond was so angry that he went downstairs and finished off Phillip. She wanted to bounce that off Raymond, but waited a few moments for him to pull himself together. As she did, she studied her surroundings.

  Phillip’s lower echelon lawyers didn’t do too poorly. Raymond’s office held a top-of-the-line desktop computer and printer, a rack of legal CDs, and evidence that Phillip spent princely sums on Raymond’s continuing education.

  So Phillip had cared about his associates. That was interesting. And logical, she supposed. No one wanted an attorney on staff who didn’t know or keep up with the law. Perhaps Phillip’s firm wasn’t as much of a sweatshop as she’d imagined. But just because he paid for nice offices and continuing education courses didn’t turn that toad into a prince in her book.

  “Hey, Raymond. Don’t go comatose on me,” Sandra said. “You okay, Erma?” Erma still looked puffed up.

  Ray lifted his head. His eyes met hers. He wore his pain like a name badge on his shirt pocket. Instantly she felt an iota of remorse. Maybe he really hadn’t known. So how was she to be sure without asking him?

  “Is that really true?” he asked, straightening up a bit.

  She nodded. “That’s the killer, Ray. That’s her motive. Revenge. That’ll be the basis of the state’s case, if they figure it all out.”

  “They’re going to say that publicly? That Kitty killed her father because he had sex with her when she was little?”

  “No. They don’t know that yet. And I hope they won’t. They’re alleging he abandoned Kitty and her mother. They say she had plans to blackmail him. When he wouldn’t pay and was calling the police, she killed him. And to top that off, they’re going to say she stole his watch and ring, each of which was worth thousands.”

  He bit his lip. “Impossible. He was still alive when I saw him.”

  “His watch and ring were missing the next morning.”

  “I was with her the rest of the time. She couldn’t have done it.”

  “You’ll testify to that then?”

  Raymond’s look was the angriest and most direct she’d seen out of him yet. “Of course I’ll testify. She needs me now more than ever.”

  Erma muttered, “You know that they’ll say you’re giving her an alibi because you love her.”

  “She didn’t do it, y’all. I didn’t do it either. You can cross us both off the list of people who could have killed Phillip. Even if I’d known what he had done to her, I wouldn’t have killed him. I would have pitied him.”

  “Oh, for chrissakes,” Erma said.

  “But Miss Townley, he must have been sick and in need of help.”

  “For the last time, call me Erma before I punch you in the nose.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But don’t you think he needed help if he did that?”

  “Sure, kid,” Erma said.

  Sandra said, “Okay. Okay. Okay. But do you see our dilemma? You can testify, but I can’t put Kitty on the witness stand. They might believe you, but I don’t think they’d ever believe her.”

  His head dropped into his hands. “Oh my poor Kitty.”

  Sandra stood and pulled at Erma’s sleeve. “Come on. It’s time for us to go.”

  Erma picked up her cane and eased herself to her feet. “We’ll be talking more, boy. And we’ll be taking care of Kitty. Don’t you worry about it.”

  Sandra rolled her eyes at the ceiling as she stepped outside the door. “Goodbye, Ray. I’ll be in touch.”

  As they walked outside to the street, Sandra said, “Just what do you think you were doing in there?”

  Erma coughed. “Setting up the reading of the will.”

  “After that. After I got there. What the hell were you doing?”

  Erma looked up and down the street as if checking to see whether the coast was clear. “Working on our case. What did you think?”

  “Our case? Our case? What made it suddenly our case?”

  “You asked me for my help, didn’t you?” She started walking toward The Tremont House hotel.

  “Mother, I swear. You know I didn’t intend for you to run all over town trying to find evidence.”

  Erma got to the corner and stopped. She harrumphed a bit and then headed toward The Strand. Sandra followed her.

  “Where are you going?” Sandra asked. “It’s hot as hell out here.”

  “To get my car. I left it with the valet at Petronelli Brothers.”

  “I don’t even want to know—well, I’m parked back by Phillip’s office.”

  “Well, then. I’ll see you at the office.”

  Sandra turned back. “No. You go home and rest up. I’m going to track down Lizzie.”

  “Goddamnit, Sandra, I ain’t going home. And if you’ll meet me back at the office, I’ll tell you what Lizzie said over lunch.”

  Sandra felt as bottled up as Erma had looked earlier. She turned on her heel without saying anything else and quickly strode to her car. She’d be damned if she was going to have a shouting match with her mother right there on the street in front of God and everybody. But wait until they got to the office.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sandra reached the office before Erma. She had a lot of work to do and no time to fight with her mother. Call her a control freak, but she needed to prepare for any contingency. There were about half a dozen messages on other cases, a couple from Stuart, and one from Kitty at the jail. She saved Stuart’s for later, knowing that they needed to talk about the evening’s arrangements. Kitty, she could do nothing about. An inmate in jail can’t receive calls. Sandra would have to go see her as soon as she could. The remainder she took care of right away, so that she could start outlining Kitty’s defense.

  Sandra was making notes on a legal pad when she heard Erma’s car out back. She hadn’t really expected Erma to come to the office, since she hadn’t shown up right away. She figured Erma had decided to put off a confrontation. Now, Sandra mentally prepared for one. But when she glanced up, the anger left her. Erma’s flushed face and shortness of breath, coupled with her holding onto the doorframe, made it clear that any fight would have to be put off.

  “What in the hell—” Sandra rushed over to help her mother. “I told you that you should be home in bed.” Leaning down, she draped Erma’s arm around her own shoulders and helped her to a chair.

  “Goddamn, you didn’t expect me to stay home for the rest of my life, did you? We’ve got a defense to prepare.” She shook Sandra’s hands off as she reached the chair. “I didn’t think the heat would get to me this bad, though,” Erma muttered.

  “Let me get you some water,” Sandra said.

  “What I need is another shot of bourbon.”

  “Another?” Sandra found Patricia exiting the restroom. “Quick, get Erma a glass of water,” she said. Turning back to her mother, she tugged at Erma’s vest. “You need to get out of these clothes. You’ve probably got heat exhaustion.” Erma shucked her vest and took the water from Patricia when she r
eturned. She swallowed a couple of sips. Sandra produced a cold, wet washcloth and mopped Erma’s brow.

  “Don’t start looking for my will yet,” Erma said. “I’m starting to feel better.”

  “Mother, really, you are too crass sometimes.”

  Patricia was fanning Erma with Sandra’s legal pad. “Miss Townley, how about I get you a stool for your feet?”

  Erma frowned at Patricia. “When did you get here?”

  “Oh my God,” Patricia said.

  “Just kidding.” She chuckled. “Just kidding, really. Both of you calm down.”

  Sandra sighed. “I can’t believe you.”

  “I had to come in, Sandra. I work here, remember? I was going nuts at home.” She snatched the washcloth out of Sandra’s hand and swiped at the back of her neck with it. “Last time I’m wearing a girdle in the summer.”

  “Sure,” Sandra said, rounding her desk again and sitting down.

  “Just give me a few minutes to get my breath.” She kicked off her shoes. “Patricia, finished working on those estates?”

  Patricia gasped. “Well, if you’re sure you are going to be okay . . .”

  Erma just stared at her. Patricia tucked in her blouse, straightened her skirt, and took her dignity back with her to her desk in the next room.

  Sandra said, “I had just started writing out some possible scenarios. If I can have that legal pad back.” When Erma handed it across the desk, Sandra scribbled out the last one before she completely lost her train of thought. She turned her attention back to Erma.

  “What’cha got so far?” Erma pushed her hair off her forehead and then scooted her chair up close to the front of Sandra’s desk, where she propped up her feet.

  “Okay, you ready? Here goes. First, heat of passion. Phillip didn’t know Kitty was his daughter. He had the hots for her—” She glanced at Erma to see if that offended her. He was, after all, her long-time friend.

  “Go on, goddamnit. Forget about our relationship.”

  “Fine.” Sandra continued. “She rebuffed him. He got angry before she had a chance to explain why. Then she does explain. He gets even madder—not at her. At himself. He feels stupid, but with his ego, he can’t admit he was a fool.” She tried to gauge Erma’s response. She stared at her, no visible sign of distress. “And then he’s embarrassed that this beautiful woman is confronting him about something that he did. To him, it was a million light years ago. Another time, another place. He starts to walk out on her before she’s fully had her say. She grabs at him. He yells at her. They struggle and he goes over.”

  “But we both know he was still alive. He bounced off the grass.”

  “Yeah. So here’s the heat of passion defense. He’s really pissed now. He’s screaming up at her. He’s totally lost it. Calls her horrible things like whore, slut, and cunt. She has just as bad a temper as he does. She runs downstairs and tells him to shut his mouth. He keeps up with the diatribe. She finds the handiest thing and clobbers him over and over until he can say no more.” Sandra found herself breathing as though she’d run down a flight of stairs.

  “Just like that.”

  “Yep. Manslaughter.”

  “What did she kill him with, her purse?” Erma asked.

  “Yuk, yuk. All right. I don’t know what the weapon is yet. She could have picked up something on her way out of the house. Something in the bedroom? The living room? Or there might have been something downstairs.”

  Erma shook her head. “Don’t let’s speculate on that. Hank might be able to help us there.”

  “Okay.” Sandra wrote herself a note to check with the medical examiner on what he thought the killer used to break Phillip’s face into bits. “Well, how do you like that one?”

  “Possible. If she has as hot a temper as he did. If she had been holding in her anger all these years. But I don’t think she’s the murdering type. Besides, you may not really be able to walk her with that defense. I can’t see that poor girl doing any hard time in the big house, can you? Let’s keep that in mind though. What’s next?”

  Sandra rolled her eyes at Erma’s euphemism but held her tongue. “Okay, this one is good, but it has its problems. Self-defense. Same scenario, except Kitty runs downstairs to help him because she didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

  “I like it,” Erma said with a grin. “So what happens?”

  “So, Phillip is his usual blustering, bullshitting self and is yelling at her and cussing her the same as before. She gets mad and tells him that she’s going to tell the world that he’s a child molester. He loses it and gets up and begins choking her. At first, she’s shocked that he would try to do such a thing, but she recovers her senses. She grabs the nearest object and beats him in the face with it so he’ll get off her. He struggles and won’t let go until she has killed him.”

  Erma got up during Sandra’s recitation and began to haltingly pace on the Oriental rug that covered the area in front of Sandra’s desk. Erma had bought it with a referral fee from Phillip years earlier and had given it to Sandra as an office-warming gift when she and Sandra became partners. She wiggled her toes in the pile as she listened to Sandra.

  “You’ve got some obvious problems there, besides still not knowing what the murder weapon is.”

  “Yeah, I know. Like no finger marks on Kitty’s neck where he tried to choke her,” Sandra said. “But by the time we get to trial, that would be the state’s problem. If we could get an all male jury, we might be able to sell it. We could dress her in virginal white, have her wear very little makeup, and leave her hair down. By the end of the trial, they’ll all think she’s their daughter. By the way, she does have some minor bruising on her arms and wrists where he grabbed her. And I happened to have film in my camera when she came to see me.”

  “That’s good, but I don’t like it that she doesn’t have any strangle marks on her neck.”

  “I could fix that if you really want me to.”

  Erma gave Sandra the look she used to reserve for when Sandra, as a child, had committed an offense. Then they both started laughing.

  Erma finally said, “Didn’t you say something about his having a separated shoulder? Could he get up and strangle her with his shoulder separated or would that be just too much pain?”

  “I thought of that. Maybe he was so angry that his adrenaline was pumping and he did it in spite of the pain.”

  Erma said, “I’ll call Doc Shepherd and ask her if that’s possible.”

  “If she says yes, ask her if we could use her as a testifying expert. We could use a doctor in our defense.”

  Erma cleared her throat. “Let’s hope we don’t get that far. Doc Shepherd doesn’t like to testify.”

  “Who does?” Sandra made another note. “This one I don’t like at all. Kitty is lying from the get go. She and Phillip have an argument and she bashes his face in while she’s up in his room and then throws his body over the balcony.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Erma said. “Or what if she isn’t really Phillip’s daughter and she’s trying to scam us. What if she murdered him but is trying to get off and then get his money?”

  “Oh, so she’s going to get some money from his estate?”

  “Never you mind, girl.” Erma crossed her arms about her chest.

  “Okay. So what if Raymond is in on it with her?” Sandra laughed. “What if Kitty met Raymond and he’s hooked on her and she persuaded him that this was a great scheme and that’s why he’s covering for her and saying that he heard Phillip hollering and saw him on the ground?”

  Erma chuckled. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I hate to tell you, though. Phillip did have a daughter. And her name was Kathryn Parker. And I’m about positive it’s her. But don’t think I’m not going to check her out, and soon.”

  “Well, if we’re going to make up stories, I wanted it to be a good one.”

  “I guess she could have bashed his face in and thrown his body over the balcony. But from what you say, the
girl is just not the type. Besides, wouldn’t the police have found blood on her clothes, the object she used, and possibly spatter somewhere on the balcony?”

  “I like that. If the state tries to say that’s what she did, we’ll use that against them.” Sandra leaned back in her chair and pulled out the lowest drawer in her desk, which she used as a footrest. “Here’s a more likely scenario: just as Kitty says, she struggles with Phillip and he goes over the balcony. He’s injured and hollering. She runs back to bed and hides. Bubba hears him and goes out there. Phillip verbally abuses him and Bubba sees his chance to make a few bucks and finish the old boy off. He beats in Phillip’s face, takes his watch and ring, changes clothes, and drives to the East End to The Cantina and stays until closing. Afterwards, he dumps the clothes and drives around the island and doesn’t return until the sky starts turning blue. When he gets back, he raises an alarm and pretends that’s the first he’s known of it.”

  Erma leaned over Sandra’s desk. “You’ve been out to see Bubba.”

  Smiling, she said, “Yes. I guess while you were seeing Lizzie. Bubba’s not being real friendly. Or cooperative, either. I’m sure he’s got that jewelry hidden somewhere, if he hasn’t fenced it already.”

  “There’s a ring of truth to that. I’ll never be convinced that Kitty killed Phillip. It had to be someone else. Bubba is a real possibility. Lizzie thinks so, too.”

  “Everyone seems to think so except the police. Well, we’ve got Raymond to back up Kitty’s story. Or almost. There are a few discrepancies. What did Lizzie have to say?”

  Erma settled back in her chair. “She and Phillip had a fight. He kicked her out of the bedroom. She went to one of the downstairs bedrooms.”

  “That’s where I found her on Saturday.”

  “Phillip was going to have a liaison with Kitty, she thought, anyway. I apprised her of their relationship. She wasn’t any too happy to hear that Phillip had a daughter.” “Huh. From a financial standpoint, I’m sure.”