Fletcher left Susan’s apartment, fighting rage with every step. He paced furiously as he waited on the elevator, thinking that if Aaron were still alive, he might just kill him. A soft bing sounded, and Fletcher stepped onto an elevator that suddenly felt claustrophobic.
What was he thinking? How could Aaron turn so cruel, so malicious over the course of just a few weeks? Violating his own personal code of ethics that he’d clung to since he was a cub reporter? What had been wrong with him? Fletcher leaned against the wall of the car, drumming his fingers on the handrail. Just as the doors opened, Susan’s voice echoed again in his head.
I realized he was hurting, that he was desperate.
Fletcher froze just outside the car, causing one of the residents passing through the lobby to dodge around him. He stood still, staring at the floor, his mind in a flurry of thoughts.
Desperate.
What did that mean? What would push Aaron to the edge? What would he care about that passionately? Fletcher had known the man for more than fifteen years. Aaron was a survivor. It wasn’t the money; he’d taken care of Korie’s drain on his finances. It wasn’t the work, Aaron was far more talented than his Judson books revealed. Fletcher had read some of his rough drafts of other works and the most recent mainstream novel. Excellent work. He didn’t need Scott’s manuscripts. And he had the retreat, his own personal lega—
Fletcher looked up. Legacy. Aaron’s words echoed in his head.
“I have no family, so this retreat will be my only legacy.”
Then Bill’s.
“Talked about adopting a couple of kids…”
Then a second line of Susan’s.
“Never dishonoring her in kind…revenge and glory…”
Aaron wasn’t having an affair with Lily, but he let everyone think he was. He used her to get back at Scott. The manuscript theft was simply revenge.
Scott and Korie.
But he didn’t care about Korie, so why would the affair trigger such rage?
There was suddenly a hard, cold rock in the pit of Fletcher’s stomach. Please, God, no. The unbidden prayer burst into his mind. Let me be wrong.
Maggie remembered the ride to the hospital in Tyler’s cruiser, the siren screaming overhead, and the initial exam, but little else. X-rays revealed a broken rib and a bruised right wrist. Fortunately, there was no concussion, but the doctors wanted to keep her overnight for observation, just in case. They gave her something to make her sleep, and her world once again became a drifting existence, in and out of consciousness. Cookie stayed with her. She thought Lily had come, but wasn’t sure if it had been a dream, since she also saw her mother and Fletcher. She tried to talk to Fletcher, but he kept waving his hand at her, motioning for her to be quiet. Her mother just stood in the doorway, looking solemn and sweet, as she always had.
The darkness faded for a bit, and her eyes hurt from the light. Her body ached, the pain from the rib and the pressure on her chest from the bindings made it hard to breathe, and she could smell cabbage and perfume. Lily’s perfume. Someone helped her sit up and eat something that was hot and spicy. It burned her tongue but was strangely filling and comforting as well. There was the coolness of ice and the sweet sting of soda. She mumbled, but there was lots of shushing, people telling her to be quiet. To rest.
So she did. The darkness came again, softly this time, with the sweetness of drugless sleep but the puzzlement of dreams.
At first she was in a house filled with people. The rooms were small and dimly lit, with people scattered throughout, eating, drinking, lounging on chairs and standing in corners. Everyone was dressed in bright colors—royal-blues, emerald-greens, rich yellows and reds. Maggie wandered through, spotting Fletcher in each room. No matter what corner she turned, he was there. Mostly he was talking to other people, ignoring her, and each time she would start toward him, he would turn and walk into another room, without ever noticing her.
Her heart raced, and a sense of urgency flooded her. She needed him, needed his help. She prowled through one room after another, looking for him, seeing him, only to have him turn away again. Finally, she stopped as a sense of panic threatened to overwhelm her. Why didn’t he see her? Why didn’t he know she was looking for him?
She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and the house slid away, morphing into an open field of wildflowers. She began to run, then fly over the landscape, still searching. There was a calm lake and another house, one dilapidated and wind-worn, made of timbers gray from too much sun and little care.
She stopped and went in. It was an old-fashioned general store, with tin product signs on the walls and a hard-pressed dirt floor. She looked down and her feet were bare and cold. Fletcher was there, behind the counter, and he smiled, brighter than she’d ever seen him. “Babe,” he said softly, affectionately. “Let it be. It is what it is.”
Maggie snapped awake, a cool sweat clinging to her body. She looked around the gray-shadowed room, unafraid. Despite the emotions in the dream, it had left her feeling reassured.
It is what it is.
It was Aaron’s phrase, something he’d picked up somewhere. For so long he’d used it as a reflection of his life, his philosophy, his faith. Aaron was a Christian, which was a side of him that few people besides Maggie knew, because she had drawn it out of him with her own sincere love of God and His people.
He had loved God. Maggie knew that. Aaron couldn’t follow the path, had found giving up his sins hard to do. But he’d never given up on God.
Maggie closed her eyes. “Lord,” she prayed aloud, “I don’t know what was wrong with him, but I hope his faith gave him some peace in the end. He loved You.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I love You. I hope Fletcher does, too. Please help us. That’s all. Just please help.”
Maggie knew He heard. That in itself helped.
Without opening her eyes, Maggie drifted away again, this time to rest without dreams.
Fletcher began to fidget in the cab, and he knew he was close to losing control. He had to stay calm with Korie, or she’d fly into one of her dramatic fits. No accusations, no biases. Just questions, carefully worded. But he hadn’t called her, either. He wanted to catch her as unprepared as possible. Fletcher tried to center himself, to breathe slowly and deeply. Keep the emotions in check and do your job.
He stood outside the building where she and Aaron had shared an apartment, clenching and unclenching his fists until he thought he could do this. This one’s for Aaron, he thought as he went in through the front door. He greeted the doorman, a retired cop who knew the detective well, even knew he was the model for Judson, and the man didn’t hesitate to buzz the Jackson penthouse. Korie sounded startled, reluctant on the speaker, but she agreed to let him in.
Korie and Aaron had bought the penthouse just after they had married. At the time, it had been furnished in clean, modern lines, with an abundance of Stickley furniture and Mission-style accessories that Aaron had adored. Now it looked like a cross between a fin de siècle salon and Jackson Pollock’s studio. Overstuffed chairs, low sofas and textured wall hangings contrasted with canvases filled with bright colors and geometric shapes.
Korie opened the door, a wadded handkerchief in one hand. She’d hesitated about inviting him up, but the touch of common sense she had left had apparently won her over. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly as she ushered him into the living room. “I’m just such a mess.”
“I understand,” he said evenly. “I promise this won’t take long. I just need to clarify a few things before I go back.”
“So are you close to proving Maggie killed him?”
Fletcher put a lockdown on his emotions. “I do think I’m close to a solution.”
Korie flopped down on one of the sofas, spreading her arms wide. “Well, it had to be her. She had the motive—my money—and she was right there with him. She had to!”
Fletcher sat on the edge of a chair. “I’m working on finding all the proof I can, Korie. There’
re still a lot of unanswered questions.”
She leaned back with a sigh. “I know. You have to follow procedure, even though you’re just doing this for me.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, you know I’ll help any way I can.”
“Do you plan to contest the will?”
She smiled. “Not if she’s convicted. I won’t have to.”
Fletcher’s jaw clutched. To cover, he pulled out his notebook and a pen. He clicked the pen with his left hand and referred to his notes. “Did you notice any changes in Aaron over the past few weeks?”
She shook her head. “He was Aaron as usual. Mostly drunk. I suppose you know that we didn’t see much of each other anymore.”
“But you knew he had fired Edward?”
Korie sat up, her face reddening. “As he should have. The man was not a good manager.”
“But you went to see Edward on Friday.” Click.
She sniffed. “Are you going to put me through the third degree? Do I need to brighten the lights?”
“Korie…”
She waved her hand. “Sorry. This is all just very hard.”
“I understand. You didn’t know Edward had been fired.” Click.
She shook her head. “Aaron still saw him a lot. How would I know?”
“You had gone with Aaron to New Hampshire this time. Were you putting things back together?”
She sighed deeply. “I had hoped so. I loved Aaron. I didn’t like it when he wouldn’t speak or was mean.” She pouted a little. “He sometimes did that for no reason.”
“Did he ever hurt you?”
“You mean physically?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated, then looked down. “I don’t want to slander a famous man. His fans—”
“Will want to see justice for you both.” Fletcher loosened his tie. He felt as if he were choking.
She nodded. “Of course. No, he didn’t hit me, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, there was only that one time he got rough, but he didn’t—”
Fletcher tried to stay calm. “Can you tell me about it?” Click.
Korie got up and came to Fletcher, kneeling by his chair. He put his knees together as she laid a hand on his thigh. “I don’t want you to think badly about him,” she said softly.
“I know, Korie. I won’t. I promise. The more I know, the more I can prove.”
She paused, then nodded. “I suppose it’s all right, since he’s gone and all.”
“What happened that day? Tell me what you saw, how you felt.”
Korie dropped her hand away and sat back, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Fletcher focused on his notebook. Click.
“I think I was naive, like a lot of girls are, when the marriage started to go sour.”
“Naive how?”
She shrugged, and her voice softened. “I thought a baby would help.”
Fletcher clutched his notebook, wrinkling the pages. He forced himself to breathe easily. “Are you saying you got pregnant?” Click.
She nodded, then dropped her head forward, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. “Stupid, huh?”
“How did Aaron respond?” Click. Click.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief then looked up at him, her eyes wide. “At first he was surprised, and I thought he’d be happy about it. Then he just got cold. You know, not talking, moody. Just sitting around staring.”
“What do you think was on his mind?” Click. Click. Click.
She looked down and shrugged. “His age, maybe? I mean, I really thought he liked kids. He’d talked about them enough.”
“What happened next?”
“It just got worse. He would say things, wouldn’t sleep with me, drank a lot more. I thought he’d been trying to quit. I’d had enough, you know?” She looked at him, pleading. “I thought he’d be happy. He wasn’t. And I didn’t really want a child. I’m too young!”
Fletcher closed his eyes. Please, no. “What did you do?” Click.
“I got rid of it.”
Fletcher’s pen snapped in half, smearing ink over his hand.
“Fletcher!” Korie leaped to her feet and rushed out, returning with a rag. “Be careful that you don’t get it on—” She stopped, catching the look on his face. “On your suit.”
She stood, waiting as Fletcher wrapped his hand and the pen in the rag, clenching everything tightly. He sat up straighter, and his notebook slid off his lap to the floor. Korie reached for it, but he shook his head. “Just leave it.”
She stopped.
“Is that when he got rough?”
Tears slid down her cheeks and she sat down on the very edge of the sofa. “Yes. I did it for him, and he shoved me down and just left me! I just wanted him to be happy! I couldn’t do anything right!”
Fletcher had stopped caring if the tears were real or not, or whether he kept his cool. “Who was the father, Korie?”
She froze. “What?”
“Who was the father?” he demanded.
Her face hardened. “Aaron, of course. You have no right—”
“Aaron had a vasectomy in 1979.”
“No.”
“Yes!” He stood up, unable to contain the rage anymore. “After his third paternity suit in three years. That’s why he didn’t have kids!” He paced back and forth.
She stood up, facing him. “This isn’t fair. I’m his widow!”
Fletcher stood as close as he could, his face next to hers. “Who was the father? Now!”
She met him, rage for rage. “You can’t do this! You’re a cop! You can’t treat me like this!”
“I’m not on the force anymore, remember? I’ll treat you any way I please in order to find out who killed my best friend!”
“Maggie killed him!”
“Who was the father!”
She backed away, breathing heavily. “I won’t say.”
Fletcher’s jaw tightened. “Then I will drop this right here and now and you won’t get a penny. Maggie will get it all, just like Aaron wanted. After all this time, she was the one he still loved.”
The slap landed across his left cheek, but Fletcher barely winced. He kept talking. “And everyone will know it. I’m under no confidentiality restraints with this, lady. I will tell the reporters all about your fits and your schemes and your infidelity, and those art deals you’re trying to work will go out with the wind.”
Korie blinked first, dropping her gaze. “He was unfaithful, too.”
“Who was the father?”
“Scott.”
Fletcher nodded. He’d expected it. He wanted to hear her say it. He bent down and picked up the notebook, then turned for the door.
“Fletcher, wait.” She met him there. “You don’t think he was killed because I—”
He shook his head. “Nothing is certain yet.”
She looked at the floor a moment, then back up at him. “I’m sorry. I really did love him once. What’s going to happen now?”
He took a deep breath. “I honestly do not know.”
She stepped back, her shoulders drooping, as he reached for the knob. “Oh, by the way,” she said, absently. “That old woman is looking for you.”
He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What old woman?”
She waved her hand in a vaguely northern direction. “You know, the one that lives up next to the retreat. She said your phone was off. She said it was urgent that you call the lodge.”
Fletcher closed his eyes, digging deep for a reserve of calm. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. Whatever,” she said, as she closed the door behind him.
NINETEEN
Judson closed his notebook and shut off his desk lamp. Lee looked at him in disbelief. “Are you just leaving? That’s it?”
Judson nodded. He stood up and reached for his coat. “There’s nothing more to do on this case. You’re going to have to let it go.”
Lee stood, his face red. “But we know he did
it!”
“Yes,” Judson said, tucking his PDA into a pocket. “But we can’t prove it. And after two months, you should realize we’ll never be able to prove it. The evidence is gone. The one witness has gone ex-pat on us and refuses to testify. There’s no forensics to back our belief.”
“This isn’t fair.”
Judson slid a scarf around his neck. “No. But that’s how it is sometimes. Knowing who’s guilty isn’t proof. Sometimes, we don’t get our man.”
Fletcher slumped down in the train seat, the fully rested feeling he’d had that morning completely depleted. There was an odd weariness in his bones he’d not felt since his first year as a detective, when the promotion had opened up a whole new world of depravity to him. It had taken him more than a year to learn to balance the good with the bad, hope with despair, to realize that just as cops are privy to the darkest of human behavior, they can also be witnesses to some of the most golden.
This case. His mind didn’t quite want to classify what was happening as “a case,” but that’s really what it was. It was also a prime example of why doctors shouldn’t treat family and detectives shouldn’t investigate friends.
Or friends’ murders.
When he’d called the lodge, Lily had answered, setting off all his alarms. As she explained the attack on Maggie, his first impulse was to charter a jet; fortunately, common sense prevailed. She was still in the hospital, and Ray had taken up residence outside her room. But clearly, she was going to have to be more wary until this was over. He called Tyler, got his machine and now waited for the return call.
Fletcher stretched in the seat, rolling his shoulders and massaging his scalp. He’d bought a Sunday Times, but after reading the story about the memorial service, he’d left it untouched. Nothing he read about world affairs, cultural events or scientific breakthroughs distracted him from the path his mind was going over and over.
No matter how right Jason was, Fletcher was still uncomfortable with what he was feeling about Maggie. She’d never been far from his mind this entire trip, and if he indulged himself, he could imagine how it must feel to have his hands entangled in those dark red curls, to hold her close. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to kiss a woman this much, yet it felt so wrong. Wrong that it was this soon after his friend’s death. Wrong that he desperately wanted her to be innocent of everything. Instead of finding ways for her to be guilty, he had been trying to explain away her involvement.
A Murder Among Friends Page 17