P is for PERIL

by Sue Grafton

  She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a fat brown accordion file. She removed a manila folder and passed it over to me. “These are the newspaper clippings. Plus, one copy each of the two wills.”

  I opened the file and glanced at the first few clippings, dated January 15, 22, and 29 of 1983. In all three articles, Richard and Tommy were pictured, looking solemn and withdrawn, flanked by their attorney in a three-piece business suit. Headlines indicated the two were being questioned in the ongoing investigation of the homicides of Jared and Brenda Hevener. Additional articles covered the investigation over the balance of the year. I didn’t stop to read the wills.

  Mariah Talbot went on. “You’ll notice their aunt Karen’s name cropping up in some of the articles. The burglar was a punk named Casey Stonehart, who’d already been jailed six times for a variety of crimes ranging from petty theft to arson, a minor specialty of his. We believe he opened the safe using the combination they’d given him. Then he dismantled the smoke detectors and set a blaze meant to cover up the crime. Apparently – and this is only a guess – the deal was he’d take the bulk of the jewelry, which he was in a position to fence. The boys would take the cash and maybe a few choice pieces, then submit a claim to the insurance company for the house, its contents, the jewelry, and anything else they could get away with. Oh yes, the cars. Two Mercedes-Benz were destroyed in the blaze. Mr. and Mrs. Hevener were found bound and gagged in the master bedroom closet. They died of smoke inhalation, which is not as bad as being burned alive – lucky them. Neither boy was anywhere in the area. In fact, both by some miracle were out of town and had iron-clad alibis,” she said. “Stonehart, the kid who did the dirty work, disappeared soon afterward; probably dead and buried somewhere, though we have no proof. He’s been missing ever since so it’s a safe bet they got rid of him. An accomplice is always the weak link in these things.”

  “Couldn’t he be in hiding?”

  “If he were, he’d have been in touch with his family. They’re all deadbeats and bums, but loyal to a fault. They wouldn’t care what he’d done.”

  “How do you know their loyalty doesn’t include keeping mum about where he is?”

  “The sheriffs department put a mail check in place and there’s a trace on the phone. Believe me, the silence has been absolute. This is a kid with big dependency issues. If he were alive, he couldn’t tolerate the separation.”

  I cleared my throat. “When was this again?” I knew she’d told me, but I could hardly take it in.

  “1983. Hatchet, Texas. It didn’t take long for suspicion to fall on the two boys, but they’d been extremely clever. There was little to suggest the part they’d played… beyond the obvious, of course. Financially, they cleaned up. For them, it must have been better than the lottery. To all appearances, there was no bad blood between them and their parents, no public disagreements, no recent increases in insurance coverage. There was also very little linking them to Casey Stonehart. No phone records showing calls between the brothers and him. Bank accounts showed no unusual withdrawals to suggest a down payment on Casey’s services. The kid was such a lowlife he didn’t even have a bank account. He kept his money in his mattress; the Sealy Posturepedic Savings and Loan. The three of them did attend the same high school. Casey was a year behind the Heveners, but there was no overt connection. It’s not like they bowled in the same league or hung out together.”

  Anything I’d felt for Tommy had evaporated. “What about the parents’ wills? Anything of interest there?”

  Mariah shook her head. “No changes in the terms since the document was drawn up when the boys were born. The attorney was a bit lax in that regard. The twins had reached their majority and adjustments should have been made. Their aunt Karen was still listed as their guardian if something happened to the parents.”

  “What made the cops fix on them?”

  “For one thing, neither of them can act. They put on a good show, but the feelings were all phony, strictly crocodile tears. At the time, both were still living at home. Tommy was one of those perpetual college students; his way of refusing to grow up and go out on his own. Richard fancied himself an ‘entrepreneur,’ which meant he borrowed and squandered money as fast as it came into his hands. Jared was thoroughly disgusted with them. He considered them moochers and he was sick of it. Brenda, too. This we heard about later from close friends of theirs.”

  “I’m assuming the brothers were charged?”

  Mariah shook her head. “Police investigators couldn’t cobble together sufficient evidence to satisfy the D.A. Of course, the insurance company balked at paying, but the boys filed suit and forced them to perform. Since they’d hadn’t been arrested, charged with, or convicted of any crime, Guardian Casualty had no choice but to pay up.”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand each in life insurance. The home-owner’s and auto claims came to a little over three quarters of a million dollars. This is Texas, don’t forget. Not like real estate values you’re used to dealing with out here. Also, despite his business acumen, Jared never managed to amass much in the way of wealth. Lot of what he did was probably under the table, which is neither here nor there. Anyway, along with the insurance, you add the cash in the safe – which probably amounted to another hundred grand – and the jewelry on top of that, and you can see they did well. Guardian Casualty and Karen Atcheson, the boys’ aunt, are preparing to file a civil suit to recover their losses. We’re convinced the boys still have the jewelry if we can find a way to prevail. I’ve been assigned to handle the preliminary investigation.”

  “Why now when the murders were three years ago? I know proof in a civil case is easier, but you still have to have all your ducks in a row.”

  “Someone’s come forward… an informant… very hush-hush. This is the arsonist, a professional, who talked to Casey twice – once before the fire and then again right afterward. It was his expertise Casey was relying on, because the job was much bigger than anything he’d done in his piddling career.”

  “What was the arsonist getting in return?”

  “A piece of Casey’s action. Once the arsonist found out about the killings, he wasn’t willing to ‘fess up to any part in it. He was nervous about a felony murder charge, or worse – that the brothers would kill him. Now he’s decided to do what’s right and that’s why we think we have a shot at this.”

  “Why doesn’t he go to the cops and let them handle it?”

  “He will if Guardian Casualty comes up with the evidence.”

  I pushed the file aside. “And you’re here to do what?” Mariah smiled to herself as though privately amused. “I’ve been nosing around. It looks like funds are low and the boys are getting on each other’s nerves. We’re counting on the fact they’re having cashflow problems. That’s why Richard agreed to lease the place to you, if you haven’t figured that out. You offered him six months’ rent in advance and he needed the bucks.”

  “How’d you find out about that?”

  “We gimmicked up another applicant, a writer looking for an office away from his home. The cash is the explanation Richard gave when he turned him down. At any rate, the friction between the brothers could really work for us. I’m always hoping one will break down and rat the other one out. We’ve been after them for three years and this is as close as we’ve come.”

  “What’s this got to do with me?”

  “We’d like to hire you to do some work for us.”

  “Such as?”

  “We want you to pass along the name of a fence in Los Angeles. He’s a jeweler by trade. The business looks legitimate on the surface, but he’s actually a fence. He deals in stolen property when the quality or quantity is sufficient to make it worth the risk. With money getting scarce, the boys might be tempted to dip into the stash, which we don’t think they’ve touched.”

  “But they can’t get anywhere close to true value through a fence.”

  “What choice do they have?”r />
  “Wouldn’t they be better off trying to auction some of the pieces through Christie’s or Sotheby’s?”

  “Christie’s or Sotheby’s would insist on a provenance… proof the jewelry was theirs… which they can’t provide. They may try selling to a private party, which is yet another reason we’re stepping up the pace.”

  “So I pass along the information about the jeweler and then what?”

  “We wait to see if they take the bait and then we nail them. The Houston D.A.‘s already talked to the D.A.‘s office here and they’re ready to roll. Once we know the jewelry’s in the house, we’ll ask for a warrant and go in.”

  “Based on what?”

  “We’ll have the fence and the fence will have at least a portion of the jewelry. The boys are going to have a hell of a time explaining that.”

  “What if they don’t make contact with him?”

  “We have another scheme in mind that I’d rather not go into. In the meantime, you might want to see the jewelry.” Again, she reached into her briefcase, this time removing a manila folder with what looked like appraisals and a series of Polaroids. She sorted through the stack, laying picture after picture on the rim of my desk, rattling off the contents. “Diamond riviere necklace valued at $120,000. An art deco diamond-and-sapphire bracelet – that one’s $24,000. Diamond ring with a stone weighing in at 7.63 carats, worth $64,000. And check this one: a necklace with 86 graduated diamonds. That’s somewhere between $43 – and $51,000. Sorry about the pics. These are preliminary Polaroids. All the good appraisal photos are being circulated through Southern California.” She finished dealing out the pictures, reciting prices like a pitchman for a company selling door to door. “What makes you so sure they still have them?”

  “An educated guess,” she said. “We know they bought a safe from a local locksmith. We figure they installed it at the house so each of them could keep an eye on the other. The problem is, we have no legitimate means of getting in.”

  “Funny you should say that. I was there last night.”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Richard was gone. Tommy took me over and showed me around.”

  “I don’t suppose you spotted the safe.”

  “I’m afraid not. There’s barely any furniture and no wall art. I can tell you this – the entire alarm system’s down. Tommy told me Richard set it off so many times they finally discontinued service. Now it’s strictly window dressing.”

  “Interesting. I’ll have to think about that. When will you see him again?”

  “I’m not going to see him again! After what you’ve told me?”

  “Too bad. We could really use your help. He’s taken an interest in a woman more than once and Richard always puts a stop to it. He doesn’t trust his little brother’s tendency to blab. I don’t think Richard realizes what a threat you are.”

  “I’m a threat?”

  “Of course. Tommy’s hustling you and that gives you power – not a lot, but enough. You have access, for one thing.”

  “I’m not going to go sneaking around in there. I’d have no reason whatever to tour the house again. Besides, even if I found the safe, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to open it.”

  “We wouldn’t want you to do that. All we need is the location, which couldn’t be that hard. Once we have the warrant, we don’t want the boys disposing of the evidence.”

  I thought about it briefly. “I won’t do anything illegal.”

  Mariah smiled. “Oh, come now. From what we’ve heard, you’re willing to cut corners when it suits you.”

  I stared at her. “You ran a background on me?”

  “We had to know who we were dealing with. All we’re asking you to do is pass along the information about the fence.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s too risky.”

  “Without risk, where’s the fun? Isn’t that the point?”

  “Maybe for you.”

  “I told you, we intend to pay you for your time.”

  “It’s not about money. I don’t want to be pimped.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I won’t peddle my ass so you can nail these guys. I’m a big fan of justice, but I’m not going to offer up my body to get the goods on them.”

  “We’re not asking you to go to bed with him. What you do in private is strictly your concern.” She closed her mouth, a move I’ve often employed myself, giving the other person the opportunity to work it out.

  I picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk, letting my fingers slide the length as I flipped it end over end. “I’ll think about it some and let you know.”

  “Don’t take too long.” She placed a slip of paper on the desk with a name and address written across the face of it. “This is the name of the jeweler. I’ll leave it up to you how you play out the information. You can bill us for your time and gas mileage. If you decide you can’t help, then so be it. Either way, we’ll trust you to keep your mouth shut.”

  I took the paper and looked at the name. “You have a number where I can reach you?”

  “I’ve been moving around. In an emergency, you can use the number on my card, but I think it’d be better if I called you. I’ll touch base in a day or so and see how things stand. Meanwhile, I don’t want the boys to know I’m here. I’ve been dogging them for years and with this gray hair, I’m not exactly inconspicuous. If they find out we’ve spoken, you’re in the soup, so take care.”

  Chapter 13

  *

  By 1:45, having confirmed my appointment with Fiona, I found myself driving once more along Old Reservoir Road. The sky was a steel gray, the earlier patches of blue covered over with thick clouds again. I flicked a look to my right, taking in the sight of Brunswick Lake. Gusts of wind skipped like stones along the surface of the water, and trees at the shoreline tossed their shaggy heads. I parked, as I had before, on the side of the two-lane road. I reached for my shoulder bag and the brown manila envelope containing my report. I looked up at the house, which was dug into the hillside as though meant to withstand attack. Four days had passed, but with the surfeit of rain, fresh weeds were sprouting across the property.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, but it was better than having to think about Richard and Tommy Hevener. That problem was stuck in my throat like a bone. My first impulse was to bail on the new office space, thus severing all ties, but (cheap as I am) I hated to say bye-bye to more than sixteen hundred dollars. The conflict was thorny. Morality aside, it can’t be socially correct to consort with a couple of stone-cold killers. But how could I get out of my deal with them? Even in California, the etiquette was baffling. Was one polite? Did one confess the reasons for refusing to do business? I thought about the soft light in Tommy’s eyes, then pictured him patiently tying up his mother’s hands before the house was set on fire. If he called me again, should I mention his parents’ murders or simply make some excuse? I wanted to act swiftly. Then again, by breaking off all contact, I was, in effect, refusing to help Mariah Talbot. I seldom shy away from risk and – as she had so rudely observed – I was willing to cut corners when it suited me.

  As I locked my car door, I saw Trudy, the German shepherd I’d encountered on my last visit. She came racing up the road, a spirited pup, probably less than a year old and thrilled to be out in the chill November air. The dog squatted to take a whiz, then placed her nose to the ground, tracing the erratic trail of a critter that had passed that way earlier – rabbit or possum, possibly a waddling raccoon. The dog’s owner, coming up behind, was keeping an eye on her progress in case she stumbled across something much bigger than she. By the time I’d clambered up the stairs to Fiona’s front entrance, the woman and the dog were already out of sight. Henry and Rosie were always after me to get a mutt of my own, but I couldn’t see the point. Why take responsibility for a creature who can’t even use a flush toilet?

  Fiona must have been waiting because I’d barely touched the bell before she opened the door.
Her latest outfit consisted of a long-sleeved crepe blouse modeled on a postwar Eisenhower jacket belted at the waist. Her black wool skirt was tubular and ended mid-shin, thus exposing the least attractive portion of any woman’s leg. Her high heels were chunky, with multiple ankle straps. Perched on her dyed brown curls was a version of the U.S. Women’s Army Corps cap done in sequined velvet. I could smell cigarettes and Shalimar and I was suddenly reminded of my aunt’s jar of Mum cream deodorant, which she’d rub into her armpits with the tips of her fingers.

  “You could have parked out back in the driveway instead of climbing all those stairs,” Fiona remarked. The content was harmless, but her tone was resentful, as if she’d like nothing better than to pick a fight with me.

  “I need the exercise,” I said, refusing to take the bait.

  As she stepped away from the door, she adjusted her watch, glancing down surreptitiously to see if I was late. As usual, I was bang on time and I thought Ha-ha-on-you as I followed her in.

  In the foyer, the painter’s scaffolding was still in place, drop cloths blanketing the floor like a thin canvas snow. Nothing had been touched since our meeting on Friday, and I assumed she didn’t trust the workmen to continue without her. Or maybe it was they who knew better than to go on laboring in her absence. She was the type who’d make them redo all the work as soon as she walked in the door. I could see that the wall still bore patches of three different shades of white.

  When I held out the brown manila envelope, you’d have thought I was offering her a bug on a tray.

  “What’s this?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “You said you wanted a report.”

  She opened the envelope and peered at the pages. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that,” she said, dismissing my labors with a glance. “I hope you won’t object to talking in the bedroom. I’d like to unpack.”