Legally Dead

by Edna Buchanan

  That day Marian Pomeroy wore hot pink linen slacks with an elastic waist and a matching loose blouse, walking shoes, a large straw sun hat, and oversized sunglasses.

  Keri wore khaki cotton slacks with a beige T-shirt, sandals, and a Marlins baseball cap. Each disappeared, apparently without ever seeing the other, into the nearby straw market. Each eventually hailed a cab and rode off alone.

  Each was dropped off near the same small motel. Marian arrived first, tipped the driver well, and asked him to pick her up at a nearby intersection in precisely three hours.

  Minutes later she knocked on the door of a corner first-floor room. Victoria let her in and they went to work. Venturi was waiting inside. Danny didn’t make the trip. His original idea had him surreptitiously boarding the cruise ship, handling the scene, and then going over the side to be picked up by boat.

  To his regret, the scenario had been simplified.

  Keri arrived at the motel minutes later. When she was certain no one was watching, she knocked, then also vanished inside.

  Marian had changed into a smock. Her hair was already being dyed a soft fawn that complemented her light complexion. As they waited for a timer’s signal to wash out the dye, Keri drew blood from Marian and stored the bag in the minibar.

  Then Keri undressed. Venturi helped strap padding around her hips and waist while Victoria shampooed and set Marian’s hair. When Marian was settled under the dryer, Vicki began to apply Keri’s makeup.

  “This reminds me of my high school play,” Keri said cheerfully.

  “Hold still,” Victoria warned. Working quickly, she covered Keri’s freckles with pancake makeup, then used a narrow brush to apply darker fine lines at the corners of her mouth, making it appear to droop. She stroked then blended more small lines between her nose and mouth. By the time she finished, Keri’s cheeks seemed to sink in as her jowls puffed out, aided by wads of gum inside her cheeks. Small plastic rings inserted just inside each nostril changed the shape of her nose.

  When the makeup was powdered and set in place, Keri changed into Marian’s clothes.

  “Yikes.” She stared in the mirror. “Now I remember why I never wear this color.” Hot pink did little for her red hair.

  “We’ll take care of that right now.” Vicki braided and pinned up Keri’s hair then opened a wig box. She lifted out a soft gray human hairpiece styled precisely the way Marian had worn her hair for decades.

  Keri put it on and pinned it in place. She and Marian could not suppress their giggles.

  “Don’t forget these.” Victoria inserted several foam rubber inner soles into one of the comfortable walking shoes Marion had worn off the ship.

  “Let’s see you walk now,” she said after Keri put on the shoes.

  Keri crossed the room twice. The padding in only one shoe gave her the uneven gait and uncertain balance of a senior citizen slightly unsteady on her feet.

  Keri donned Marian’s big straw sun hat and oversized sunglasses, and carefully concealed the blood-filled plastic bag inside a pocket sewn into the padding around her waist.

  “Here are the souvenirs you two bought at the market today.” Victoria handed Keri a large straw bag with two smaller bags inside.

  “You look fine, dear,” she said, and winked playfully, “but I’m afraid you’re obviously too old for my son-in-law.”

  “Not so fast,” Venturi said.

  “Like me as an older woman?” Keri cocked her head coyly.

  “Hell, yeah. You’re hot. I want you to dress this way back home. The wrinkles, the padding, the wig. I love it. I’m turned on right now.”

  “You are a sick puppy,” she said.

  He gently kissed her mouth.

  “No smooching!” Victoria warned. “If you mess up her face we’ll have to start from scratch.” She checked her watch and picked up a pair of scissors. “Time’s running out. She’s got to go.”

  Keri pulled a chair up next to Marian, who was having her hair cut. Manicure tools and nail polish were spread out on the table.

  “Good-bye, Marian,” she said, eyes glistening. “We can’t cry. My face gets red and my nose will run and I’m not allowed to streak my makeup. So let’s say a happy good-bye.”

  “Thank you, darling girl, for this chance,” Marian said. “My time here with you has been a blast. I’ll never forget it. Please be careful. Get home safely. You’re like a daughter to me. I wish you were mine.”

  “I am,” Keri whispered. “I’ll think fondly of you every day for the rest of my life.”

  “Unlike my own children.” Marian laughed wryly. “You’ll always be in my prayers.”

  They hugged gingerly.

  Keri got to her feet, picked up Marian’s oversized handbag, her straw bags of souvenirs, and walked to the door in an excellent imitation of an older woman’s gait.

  “Bon voyage, baby,” Venturi said. “You know what to do. Be careful.”

  “I love you all,” she said, eyes fixed on Venturi, then closed the door behind her.

  Five minutes later, and two blocks away, she climbed into Marian’s waiting taxi. The driver flipped over the meter. “Back to de ship, lady?”

  “Yes,” she said, in her best imitation of Marian’s voice.

  Back at the dock, she swiped Marian’s cruise-ship identification card, paused as though it hadn’t registered, then swiped her own. She reboarded among a throng of fellow passengers. A few smiled in recognition. She nodded back, then blew her nose, keeping her handkerchief in front of her face.

  She went straight to Marian’s cabin, unpacked the souvenirs, read the letters Marian had written on ship’s stationery, then relaxed until dinnertime.

  She ordered an early meal in her room. A butler brought champagne first and set it up next to a table on her stateroom’s small terrace while she remained seated at her desk as though writing.

  The meal, poached salmon with a salad, arrived a short time later and was served on the small outside table so she could dine while watching the sun set.

  After the waiter left, she hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, showered, washed off the makeup, then cleaned the shower stall and changed back into her khaki slacks, T-shirt, and sandals, which had been rolled up in the straw bag. She pulled on rubber gloves then drank a champagne toast to Marian and her new life.

  She sat, marveling at the sunset, surrounded by endless sky and sea, wondering in amazement what the hell she was doing here sipping champagne in someone else’s cabin. This had to be the craziest thing she’d ever done, and she wondered why it felt so good. She put down the glass and went to work. She used Marian’s digital camera to shoot half a dozen photos of the setting sun, then flushed half the meal and some of the champagne down the toilet, careful not to stop up the plumbing. She left a small amount of champagne and the remaining food so it would appear as though the cabin’s occupant had consumed half her dinner.

  Then she gently tipped over the table and chair on the terrace, spilled the food, and knocked over the champagne bottle. She dropped the camera nearby. By then it was dark. A boiling black sea filled the horizon, and she was glad that they had overruled Danny about going over the side. She took Marian’s blood from the tiny stateroom fridge and stained the railing.

  One of the souvenirs in her straw bag was a coconut with a silly face painted on it. She saturated the coconut with blood, cried out, then hurled it off the terrace with all her might. She thanked God for good aim when it struck the lifeboat hull below and bounced off into the sea, leaving a bloody splotch behind.

  Most passengers on that deck had already gone to dinner. Swiftly and silently, she locked the room, left the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and went to her own cabin without seeing a soul. She quickly dressed for dinner. She wore a stunning black ensemble, lipstick, mascara, and dangly earrings to the bar.

  She danced with several men during the evening and seemed to be in full vacation mode, lighthearted and enjoying herself. After retiring to her stateroom, she called Mi
chael’s home phone to leave a message.

  “Wanted to say good night,” she said, her voice dreamy. “It’s so relaxing out here on the water. Having a wonderful time. ’Nite, Mikey. Sweet dreams.”

  He and Vicki heard it when they arrived back in Miami a few hours later. Elated, they called Danny with the news.

  No one missed Marian Pomeroy until morning, when someone saw blood on the lifeboat hull and looked up. They knocked, then checked her stateroom. What they found was alarming.

  Keri, in a two-piece mint green swimsuit, her fair skin slathered with sunscreen, was lounging near the pool with a good book when passengers first became aware that something might be wrong.

  The ship was searched from top to bottom. When no sign of Marian Pomeroy was found, the ship’s captain alerted the Coast Guard, the Jamaican authorities, and the FBI. The ship heaved to and retraced its course, searching the waters cruised shortly after Marian Pomeroy’s last meal was served.

  The evidence seemed clear. The missing passenger, an elderly woman, weary after going ashore, had dined alone in her room. She’d consumed much of her meal. The champagne bottle was nearly empty.

  No foul play was suspected. Her purchases, her identification, her money and passport were all in her stateroom, along with several letters ready to mail. None appeared to be a suicide note. In one she wrote:

  As you may remember, the anniversary of the day I met your dear father was this past week. I felt so swept away by nostalgia and happy memories that I sprang into action! In his honor I gave away a great deal of money to those in need. It was the best thing I have ever done! He’d be so pleased, and I have never been happier. As a result I plan to scale down my lifestyle considerably when I return to New York next week. The brownstone had grown to be way too empty, and too large for me. Until I am settled in a smaller place, perhaps on the Jersey side of the GW bridge, I thought I’d stay with each of you for a few months to get to know you and your children better. It will be great fun. I’m bringing you all souvenirs from Montego Bay and Cozumel. See you soon, my dears. Your father would be so pleased.

  Love,

  Mother

  In a separate letter to her attorney she was more clear:

  My late husband and I provided substantially for our children during our lifetime, and I have given a great deal of money to the foundation during the past three decades. Therefore I recently made the decision to use my remaining resources to help deserving recipients directly, one-on-one, rather than through the many layers of charitable organizations. It gives me such joy to see their faces! I cannot wait to tell you all of their stories. Warmest regards, Marian

  As the ships and planes called off their fruitless search at dark, Claire Waterson’s flight was landing at Heathrow. Newly blond, professionally made up, and wearing a brilliant blue suit, she boarded a train to her destination.

  Investigators boarded the cruise ship, examined the scene, inspected Marian Pomeroy’s camera, and concluded that the avid amateur photographer had climbed up on her chair in order to focus from a wider angle. She may have suffered a dizzy spell due to a stroke, exhaustion, or champagne-induced high spirits. Whatever the reason, she tumbled over the railing. Her body glanced off the lifeboat hull then plunged into the sea.

  Few passengers recalled speaking to the missing woman. One couple on the deck below recalled hearing a cry at sunset but assumed it had come from fellow passengers engaging in horseplay during happy hour by the pool.

  The young doctor from Miami, taking a break from her busy practice, did not recall meeting or even seeing the wealthy widow from Manhattan.

  The ship’s security cameras yielded a few glimpses of the missing woman, always alone, both before she went ashore and after her return with the bag of souvenirs found in her stateroom. Marian Pomeroy’s body was never found.

  When her photo, shot by the ship’s photographer, was released to the media, many in Miami recognized her instantly: Marian Pomeroy, the missing cruise ship passenger, was the kindly grandmother who gave away big bills to strangers, as her shipboard letter confirmed.

  Psychological profilers who studied the case and the letters to her children found no signs of depression or suicidal tendencies, despite the fact that she had in recent days divested herself of most of her assets.

  The conclusion, after an inquest, was that she climbed on a chair, then lost her balance while trying to snap a more dramatic picture of the sunset. She struck her head on the lifeboat and was most likely dead or unconscious before she hit the water.

  The blood on the railing and the splotch on the hull matched the missing woman’s DNA.

  Marian Pomeroy was declared legally dead due to a regrettable accident.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Venturi’s hotline rang as he broiled burgers for him and the dog.

  “You watching CNN?” Danny asked.

  “No.”

  “Homicide in Minneapolis. A guy whacked and dropped off a bridge into the river. Somebody wanted to make a statement, to tell the world, ‘Look what I did!’”

  “So? There’ve been six murders here in six days.” Venturi opened the packet of cheese slices to top the burgers.

  “Yeah, but my spook hotline says the Minneapolis victim didn’t exist. His ID didn’t check out. He was somebody else, somebody in the witness protection program.”

  Venturi turned off the broiler. “Did you hear a name?”

  “He was initially identified as Louis Messineo, operated a trucking business in the Twin Cities.”

  Venturi dropped into a kitchen chair, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

  “Thought I’d give you a jingle,” Danny said casually, “in case he was one of yours.”

  “Christ, Danny! He is. He was. He’s one of my cases! I was his contact agent. Real name, Dominic DelVecchio. He testified in a string of extortion and conspiracy cases over in Jersey. What the hell happened?”

  “CNN and Fox say he was shot multiple times, then thrown off a bridge into the Mississippi. Get this: no fatal bullet wounds. Shot in the kneecaps, elbows, shoulders; alive till he hit the water.”

  Venturi sprang to his feet and walked the floor, running his hand through his hair. Scout plodded behind him. “How did they find him? What did he get himself into? Last time I checked, when I was still on the job, he looked like he was on the straight and narrow, though that doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  “Let’s see WITSEC claim again that they never lost a protected witness. It’ll be interesting to hear what they say when the press starts asking questions.”

  “I can tell you right now,” Venturi said. “They’ll blame DelVecchio. They claim they never lost anybody who followed the rules. What they don’t say is that one of the rules is ‘Don’t get killed.’

  “Damn! The Marshals Service will probably want to talk to me. I’m the one who relocated him to Minneapolis and had the most contact with him. Maybe I should call them. I should offer my help. But given the circumstances when I left…”

  “Don’t kick a sleeping tiger, bro. Don’t ask for grief from men in suits. If they really need you, they’ll find you. Look, we need to talk, ASAP, about something important. I can stop by or you can come for dinner. Bring Vicki if she’s home.”

  She wasn’t. She was out apartment hunting with a pushy realtor whom Venturi strongly disliked.

  He felt comfortable in the house, decided to buy it, and was about to close on the sale. He’d improved the roof and the security gate. Vicki had planted a garden. He hoped she’d stay.

  He and Scout went to Danny’s. The kids were delighted. Luz seemed quiet. Her pregnancy was beginning to show. Warm and delicious aromas wafted from her kitchen.

  Danny wore a DON’T TASE ME, BRO T-shirt.

  They ate chicken with yellow rice, peas, and sweet plantains.

  Aware that Keri was out of town, Luz had invited Mirta, the well-endowed nurse, to join them.

  Danny took Venturi back to his study, leavi
ng Luz and Mirta cleaning up and putting the kids to bed.

  “Hope Luz doesn’t think we’re dissing her and her friend,” Venturi said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Danny said. “Did you ask her to procure you a woman? Neither did I. She knows you’re seeing Keri.”

  “Everything all right with you two?”

  “Sure. No problemo.” Danny put down his beer, pulled a chair up close, and lowered his voice. “We’re gonna crash a plane, bro.”

  “That so? And who is ‘we’?”

  “You and me. ‘We’ is us, amigo. I have us a new client. You’re gonna love this guy. He needs our help and can afford to pay his own expenses.”

  “At least it’s not a woman,” Venturi said.

  Danny ignored the remark. “You ever hear of Errol Flagg?”

  “No.”

  “Man, what planet did you fall from? In what century do you live?” He picked up his beer and took an impatient swig. “Ever watch MTV?”

  “Nope.”

  “Read People magazine?”

  “Nope.”

  He gave a huge sigh and shook his head. “You’ve gotta move into the twenty-first century, man. Remember I said I worked private security for a while? Errol Flagg was one of my clients.”

  “Who the hell is he?”

  “Only a rock star. You should only have his groupies,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I had to beat them off him with a stick. I needed a stun gun, a cattle prod, and a baseball bat to protect his bod from hot babes who wanted it.”

  “And he finds that a problem?”

  “He’s got a shitload of problems, all basically because he’s a damn nice guy, too nice for the world he’s caught up in. He’s got it all, and it makes him miserable.”

  “He could quit.”

  “That is the problem. The music biz is like the mob, you can’t quit. When he was young, starting out, and trying to make it, he signed ironclad contracts. He’s tied to a bunch of unscrupulous managers, greedy agents, and recording executives. They’d sue his ass from here to kingdom come if he tried to renege.