"It's why I know her so well. Arlene was onto something with the physicians and the failed Century Arts Building project. She wasn't specific, but she told me she was coming into money and would pack in her nursing job. She wanted to figure out how to get the money, get the kids, and unload poor, dumb Bob."
"Do you think Bob got wise and took matters into his own hands?"
"No. Bob is devout to his religion. Arlene's behavior was always a problem for him, but he wanted to keep the marriage together for the kids. He knew if they split, Arlene would get custody because her income was twice his. I tried to tell him maybe not, but he was convinced he wouldn't see his kids again."
Miki connected Bob's religion to the white cards, then discarded the notion. Mentally, Miki drew a dotted line through Bob and Sheila as suspects. They seemed tight at Jo's funeral, but Miki couldn't see them acting together. Sheila couldn't have acted alone, and Bob didn't seem the type. Without guidance, he wouldn't have been able to organize the killing spree either. Carlson was on target. He wasn't a smart man. Miki thought he would have just killed his wife in a moment of anger.
"I'm following you, but wondering why you started the story where you did."
"Susan said you wanted to clear your name, and you were concerned about Troicki."
"That's an understatement."
"I needed to tell you about Arlene. I guess I could have been more direct."
"No, it's okay. The background helps, and it eliminates Bob as a suspect. About John? What can you tell me?"
Silence.
"Wilma, you have to help me here. John might be in a lot of trouble. I'm concerned for our lives, and we need to understand him. I've got this thing narrowed down to John or Troicki as the two people with the strongest motives. Please." Miki gripped her phone, feeling anxious about whatever was coming next.
"Ah . . ."
"Please tell me."
"Before sweet, frail Madeline died—maybe one day—Mr. Gentry went in to see her while I was in the station doing my notes. I spoke with him when he passed the counter. A couple of minutes later, I went to the cart a few feet from Madeline's open door to prepare my medications. I didn't mean to overhear, but John said something about not being able to stand it anymore.
"John was worried about Katie. I know—because he told me once—he spent some money from the settlement on his mother's house so she could quit her job and help with Katie. He put the rest into a college investment fund.
"Mr. Gentry said he would provide for Katie and John shouldn't worry. The two of them sounded very sincere, very friendly, not like the times I overheard them arguing and blaming each other for everything.
"Anyway, I walked past the room—I admit I did it on purpose and tried to be very quiet. I don't spy on my patients, but I felt in my soul something was wrong. I stopped and listened at a place where I could see inside as well. I saw Mr. Gentry hand John a pillow and tell him to think about it."
"Whoa. He told John to smother Madeline?"
"No, but it sounded like what he intended. Then Mr. Gentry told Madeline goodbye in a very final manner."
"Do you think John put the pillow over her head?"
"Yes. Every time I went into the room, it was on his lap. Then he rang the nurse call bell. When I got there, he said she quit breathing. The pillow was leaning against the headboard."
"Tell the police."
"I can't. It would be admitting I knew he was about to do it, and I did nothing to stop her. What would it matter anyway? They had her cremated. It would be his word against mine."
"Gentry. I can't believe it. I thought I knew him. Wilma, I have to tell the police. About Arlene and Troicki, and about John and Madeline—and Gentry, too. It's important you tell what you know."
"I'll lose my license. Maybe go to jail."
"The police will understand the position you're in. Besides, you can say you didn't figure it out until it was too late. Then you were afraid to come forward."
Wilma sounded exhausted. "I'll talk to them if they come to me, I guess."
"Fair enough. I appreciate it. Maybe now I can convince the police to consider both John and Troicki." She disconnected, then looked at the clock on the screen. It was a few minutes before noon. Miki retrieved Cavanaugh's business card from her purse, called the police station, and asked for her.
"After the reception you gave me in the mall yesterday, you're the last person I expected to hear from." Cavanaugh's voice sounded cold or distracted, maybe both. "Ms. Murphy, what can I do for you?"
"I have two thoughts, suspects I suppose, I'd like to run by you."
"What are you doing, conducting your own investigation?"
"I need to look out for myself."
"You're interfering with police business."
"I suppose you could say that, but I do have information." Miki paused, then plunged ahead. She told Cavanaugh about reviewing Madeline's chart, about her encounters with Troicki, and about Wilma's information.
"That's very interesting." Cavanaugh's tone dripped with sarcasm. "I think we have a handle on the case, and we're moving forward."
"Oh? You have a suspect?"
"Catch it on the news. The press conference finished five minutes ago."
"Does that mean I'm no longer a suspect?"
"I suppose it does. At least for the moment."
Miki marched into her living room and flipped on the television, hoping the noon news would carry the story. She settled onto the sofa, then felt a bone-deep chill as anxiety threatened to overtake her. She pulled an afghan over her.
A young, preppy newscaster opened with a review of the murders at Medical Center by the Sea. The picture faded and refocused with a shot of Cavanaugh standing behind a podium, flanked by the mayor and the chief-of-police.
In an authoritative tone, Cavanaugh reviewed what she referred to as salient points of the investigation. "It is my conclusion the killings are the work of a thrill-seeking, creative, revengeful, and very sick serial killer. We have that individual in custody and will be pressing formal charges, I believe, before the day is done."
The audience erupted into a storm of shouted questions. Every reporter appeared to be vying for Cavanaugh's attention.
She pointed to a young female reporter in the front row. "One more question, then I'm done here."
"Who is the suspect?"
"Ralph Troicki, local construction contractor and chairman of the board at the hospital."
The noise level surged upward, and Cavanaugh deserted the podium, leaving the chief and the mayor with the chaos.
As James walked in, Miki muttered, "They're wrong. It's not Troicki."
"What did you say?"
Miki shoved the coverlet aside and stood. "Let's eat. I'll tell you."
While they ate pastrami subs and baked chips, Miki filled James in on the news report and her conversations with Carlson and Cavanaugh. "I think they have it wrong. It looks like Troicki and it smells like Troicki, but it's not. I think John Walden killed those people. Troicki is a bastard. Always has been. He gets his revenge. He doesn't need to resort to murder. Financial ruin. Public embarrassment. He has his ways."
"I see the point." James put a stack of chips in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "What are you proposing to do about it?"
"I want to talk to John. Now that Troicki is in custody, he won't think I have any motive other than being a friend."
"You can't ask him if he killed his wife and the other people."
"Of course not, but maybe I can get a feel for his mental state."
James raised an eyebrow.
"I have to do this. Will you come with me?"
"You know I won't let you go alone."
Miki bagged the dregs of their meal and put it in the trash. "Let's go now. I need to be satisfied the police have it right or be convinced they don't. As of now, I believe they screwed it up."
63
Elsie Walden stood in front of her house, watching her son and granddaughte
r walk down the street to his small apartment. John reached for Katie's hand, but the child moved away. Elsie smiled, thinking Katie was growing up and becoming more independent. Still, with her mother buried the day before, Elsie was surprised Katie didn't seek more physical contact with her father.
John leaned close to Katie's ear.
"No Daddy. I'm a big girl." Katie giggled, sounding self-conscious. Katie stuck her hands in her pockets and scooted ahead.
The apartment door closed behind them, then Elsie went inside to start dinner. John said Katie would be with her for dinner, but he would eat elsewhere. She'd asked where, but he had ignored her question.
The thought of Katie spending too much time with her father made Elsie uncomfortable. Even before Madeline died, Elsie noticed he acted short-tempered with the child while at the same time demanding her attention. However, he was her father, and she couldn't very well stop him. She resolved to make it as convenient as possible for John to leave Katie with her. The passage of time would heal his wounds, and his life would go on. She hoped.
Spaghetti was Katie's favorite dish. The meatballs were browning in the oven. Elsie selected a head of garlic and loosened two big cloves. After trimming the ends, she smashed each piece with the side of her knife, releasing the aromatic scent. She used the point of her knife to lift the tissue-paper-thin peel.
As she positioned the cloves for chopping, the kitchen door burst open and Katie charged in crying.
After dropping the knife in the sink, Elsie pulled Katie close. "Katie, what happened? Tell me."
"Daddy was in the bathroom." Katie hyperventilated, sobbing between each breath. "I snuck out. I want to be here with you."
"Why?"
Tears streamed down Katie's face. Her slender body shook with each ragged breath.
John stomped in, stopping about two feet in front of Katie. He didn't acknowledge his mother. "How dare you leave our home without my permission?" He grabbed Katie's arm and hauled her to her feet.
"Daddy, I don't want to go. Let's live here, please."
He glared at Elsie. "You keep away from this girl. You poisoned her against me. Leave us alone, or you'll never see her again."
"John, I di—"
"You did."
As Katie struggled, he lifted and carried her from the house.
Elsie collapsed into the chair, feeling tightness across her chest. She dug her heart medicine from of the pocket of her blouse and placed a tiny white tablet under her tongue.
When the pain subsided enough for her to breathe, she felt the pill was working. Angina. It'll pass, she reasoned. She stood and crossed the room to the telephone, thinking about John. She dialed Gentry's cell phone. He'll come, and I won't have to explain things, she thought.
"Al," she said, breathless. "John lost it. He threatened to never let me see Katie. He has her."
"Easy now, girl. I'll check on them."
"How long will it take you? Where are you?"
"I'm across town at my lawyer's. I can get there in, say, two hours."
"That will have to do." Elsie hung up the phone and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. The pain in her chest crushed all rational thought. She grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
64
"Turn left at the light." Miki pointed to the next intersection.
"Okay." James touched the turn signal. "Your cell phone is buzzing in your purse, Mom."
Caller ID indicated Elsie Walton. Miki heard gasping when she answered. "Elsie, what's wrong?"
"I'm having a heart attack. I called rescue. They're coming. Check on Katie. John grabbed her from me and took her to his house. He's angry. Please. I called Al, but he can't get there for a couple of hours."
Miki suppressed the urge to reassure her, to tell her John would get over his anger. Instead, she focused on the bigger problem. "Elsie, did they tell you to take an aspirin?"
"Yes, but I'll never make it to the bathroom to get it."
"James and I are on our way. I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Sit still and wait for me."
"The back door is open."
"James, hurry." He stomped the accelerator. All the lights on Sample Road were either green or yellow, except for the red one James slowed for, then ran. Miki watched for flashing blue lights in the side mirror.
The street in front of Elsie's house was empty when they arrived.
"Park in front. Leave the driveway for the ambulance."
He braked and opened his door in one motion. Miki exited the car at the same instant.
Miki said, "Stay here and wait for the ambulance. I'll check on Elsie and help her until they come. Then I'll go to John's and tell him what happened."
Miki found Elsie sitting at the kitchen table. She was pale and perspiring, her breathing labored. When she tried to talk, Miki said, "Elsie, please rest. I'll get you an aspirin."
"John—"
"Then I'll go to John."
"Medics coming in," a voice boomed from the open doorway.
Miki stepped aside and watched as they lifted Elsie onto a stretcher.
While two of the men worked on Elsie, hooking her to a monitor, intravenous infusion, and oxygen, Miki told the third paramedic what she knew. In a matter of minutes, they loaded Elsie into the ambulance and left, sirens blaring.
James joined Miki.
"Go inside and find a key. Lock the place. We can drop the key at the hospital if John isn't ready to help. I'm going to walk over," she pointed to the duplex at the end of the street, "and tell him about his mother. I'm not sure what is going on, but he should know she's going to the hospital."
"Do you think she's having a heart attack?"
"Looks like it to me. She's had a heart condition for years. I saw a bottle of heart medicine on the table. I think it's one of the reasons she retired. This isn't a surprise."
"I'll secure the house, then come to you."
"See if you can find her purse. She'll want her insurance cards and whatnot while she's in the hospital."
"Shouldn't you be the one to look around? I mean, I can talk to the son."
"No, James. I know John. He won't take his anger at his mother out on me. We go way back."
As Miki walked to Walden's apartment, she wondered what she would find. Elsie hadn't given her any more information about John's behavior, but maybe she could talk to him, comfort him, and help him cope with the situation. She'd make sure Katie was safe, then if Walden wouldn't go to his mother, Miki would.
Walden opened the door before Miki pressed the bell. "What do you want? Won't anyone leave me alone?"
"John, can I come in? It's about your mother."
"What? She called you because I'm pissed at her?" He stood away from the door.
Miki pushed by him into the stuffy room. Katie crouched in the far corner, her arms wrapped across her chest, her face streaked with tears. Miki rushed to her and knelt in front of her. "Katie, what's wrong?"
"Daddy took me away from Grandma's house. He told her he'd kill her. He told her to keep away from me." She sucked in a deep breath and sobbed as she exhaled. "I want my Grandma. Daddy scares me."
"Now, sweetie. He's your dad. He loves you."
Katie's eyes popped. She stared over Miki's shoulder. "Daddy's got a knife."
Miki caught her breath. "John," she said facing him, "what's going on?"
"You don't know?"
"No. Tell me." Miki kept her eyes on the knife. She tried to picture her karate instructor poking at her with a rubber knife. Every student tried to disarm him, but only one of the men, a black belt, succeeded. She envisioned the lesson that followed.
"What's happening, John." Miki edged to the side, wanting to draw the danger away from Katie.
Walden followed her movements. Repositioning himself. With long fingers on the black handle, he spun the knife in his right hand.
"Take it easy."
"You. You bitch. You pretend to be my friend."
"I am your friend."
"Why d
id you help kill my Madeline then?"
"I didn't. I tried to help her."
"If you wanted to help her, you'd have gotten a different doctor to take care of her." John continued talking, but he was mumbling, his words unclear. "Now you come for my Katie. You want them both."
"No, I came to tell you your mother is sick. The ambulance is taking her to the hospital. You should go and be with her."
"You're lying. You're always lying to me. Bitch." John lunged for Miki, knife extended in front of him.
Miki jumped to the side, landing in a ready position. She kept her eyes on the knife. "John, I always tried to be a friend to you and your family. Please don't hurt me."
Katie tried to grab her dad's arm, but he pushed her aside. "Daddy, stop," Katie shrieked. "She's a nice lady. She helped Mommy. Please, Daddy. Stop."
Katie's high-pitched voice ripped at Miki's frayed nerves. Miki's fingers trembled, and she tensed the muscles to quiet them, but Walden's smile told her he saw her fear.
Walden lunged again at Miki, but she was ready. She crashed her forearm onto his wrist with all her might. Pain shot into her shoulder, and Walden dropped the knife. When he bent to retrieve it, she kicked him in the chin, knocking him down.
Gentry stepped into the living room from the kitchen area.
Walden scowled at Gentry. "Let me handle it."
"John, stand down. I called 9-1-1." Gentry said, his voice stern, "Leave Miki alone. She had nothing to do with Madeline's death. Only the others did." Gentry crossed the room and bent close to Walden, helping him stand.
"You two. You're in this together." Miki backed away. The men blocked her access to the door, and she couldn't get past them with Katie.
Gentry stood straight. "Miki, I never meant for you to be involved. The hospital—Troicki—took everything from me, my livelihood, my career, even my pride. Do you know that?" He smiled. "I know Madeline's death was an unfortunate circumstance. I'm not like John. I don't believe anyone murdered her."
"You son of a bitch," Walden snarled.
"Back off, John." Gentry grabbed Walden's shoulder. "John couldn't let those people live. He planned to even the score for everything Madeline went through. John started the job. Then after you got us talking, we decided to work together. Different motives. Same results. We took turns." He released Walden. "I'm afraid it got a bit competitive. My last hurrah, you might say."
Plan to Kill Page 25