I let the other police car pull out, parked in the driveway, and headed toward the house. The front door was ajar, and I heard voices coming from the kitchen.
I found Michael and Sierra there.
“Copper,” Sierra said. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “What about you?”
“We’ve had some excitement around here,” Sierra said.
“So I gather,” I said. “What happened?”
“Michael and I both came home about three hours ago to work on letters to Alliance board members. All of a sudden, somebody started pounding on the door and yelling.”
“Jaz Cutler?”
“Yes!” Sierra said. “Michael tried to calm him down, but he was drunk. He kept calling us thieves and demanding his money back.”
“Sierra managed to sneak off and call the police,” Michael said, “which turned out to be a good thing. The guy pulled a knife on me.”
Whoa! Sort of like what he did to me at the liquor store in Green Valley.
“Then, when he heard the sirens,” Sierra said, “he jumped in his car and tried to drive away.”
“Didn’t get very far,” I said.
“Good thing that pine tree’s as big as it is,” Sierra said, “or he might have gone right on into the Stecklers’ living room.”
“It was good in another way, too,” Michael said. “In addition to assault and battery, the cops nailed him for drunk driving. He had an open quart of tequila in his car. Oh, and a gun.”
“It didn’t help that he called the male cop the N-word and the female cop the C- word,” Sierra said.
“God,” I said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“We’re fine,” Michael said. “And a tow truck is supposed to come and haul the car away.”
“When I saw the police cars, I thought maybe Julia had—”
“You and Michael must’ve really terrorized her,” Sierra said. “The deal’s set to close on Friday, no problem.”
And Jaz Cutler was on his way to jail. Things were definitely looking up. I thought about telling Michael and Sierra the whole story about Jaz and me, but decided to save them the angst. Plus, I didn’t want them telling Mom, who’d be even more upset. Justice had been served, and I was happy to leave it that way for now.
“Where’s Daniel?” Sierra asked suddenly.
“In Texas,” I said. No point in lying again. “Family emergency.” Well, maybe just a little.
I knew Sierra didn’t buy it, but she didn’t pry.
:: :: ::
Thursday, December 29
Ed Bramlett’s funeral wasn’t bad, all things considered. The best part was that the body had been cremated, so there wasn’t any plasticized mannequin to gape at. Ed’s daughter read “O Captain! My Captain!”, and a minister of the nonspecific Protestant variety gave a eulogy so flattering it sounded as though he thought Ed should be deified. Then a man who had gone to high school with Ed spoke briefly, ending with the line, “He was the best man who ever lived.”
I had a hard time believing my ears. David and I looked at each other, which was a huge mistake. We both had to feign major coughing attacks to cover our laughter. Then I noticed that quite a few other people in the assembled multitude suddenly had throat problems, too.
I thought about what Ed Bramlett himself would have thought about a line like that. He would have laughed, too, but he wouldn’t have tried to cover it up. He would have just guffawed, and to hell with what anybody thought.
Ed Bramlett might not have been the best man who ever lived, but as we all sat there trying not to snicker, I appreciated Ed for the first time. He was an unapologetic, opinionated, politically incorrect curmudgeon, and his last few deeds on earth included saving my brother’s ass. He might not merit deification, but maybe he deserved membership in the brotherhood of excellent old bastards.
After I said good-bye to David, Chris Farr waylaid me on my way back to the Max.
“Copper, I’m glad I caught you. I just wanted to say—well—thank you for how you handled Ed. I know it was tough.”
“I had no idea he was dying.”
“Very few people did. That’s how Ed wanted it.”
“Sounds like him, all right.”
“Look, is there any way you can stop by The Light this afternoon? I know you’re on vacation, but—”
“I have an errand I can’t postpone, but after that I guess I can,” I said. “What needs to be done?”
“Oh, nothing!” Chris said. “I just forgot to give you your share of the New Year’s swag yesterday.”
It turns out the arts and entertainment editor is second only to Norton Katz and Alexandra Leonard in terms of how many “comps” he gets offered. If I made it to The Light before he left at five, Chris would let me paw through whatever tickets to New Year’s Eve parties were left. Too bad Daniel cut out early, I thought. But Michael and Sierra might enjoy a night at a fancy club. Especially if the Alliance’s property deal really did close on Friday.
:: :: ::
I called Heather to get a McKimber update.
“Yeah, Richard’s back home,” she said. “Things went as well as we could hope at the school. Jason isn’t thrilled, but he didn’t fight it, either.”
“Are you driving?” I said. I thought I could hear highway noise in the background.
“Yeah, I’m on my way to Reno. Life and business must go on.” She paused. “Thanks for getting the money from Julia, Copper. I don’t know what you did, but I swear Victoria’s smiling at you from heaven.”
“I’m hoping to get Julia to keep up the squeeze on American Beauty.”
“Me, too, but the important thing was to save Jason and Richard from their meltdown. Everything else can wait. Richard has decided to stay in business with me, by the way, although I’m pretty sure he’s going to sell that house. Some people just aren’t cut out to live with homeowners’ associations.”
“Yeah. He needs to be able to wash his car without getting in trouble.”
“You saw him wash a car?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Victoria’s Taurus. In the driveway.”
“Weird. They always took it to a car wash on Blue Diamond. He’s pretty crippled, you know.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he was just rinsing it off.”
But Heather was right. It was kind of weird. His wife’s body had been discovered just the day before, and he was washing her car?
Chapter 25
When I arrived at 1075 Chantilly Court, the street was quiet. No news vans, no cops. But the blue Taurus was in the driveway, which meant that Richard was probably home.
I rang the bell. The drapes moved a minute later, and Richard opened the door. He was wearing a laundered shirt, I noticed, and he’d shaved recently.
“Hello, Copper,” he said. “Come on in.”
Resisting the urge to hold my nose, I stepped inside. But as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I realized the stench was gone. The floor was no longer an obstacle course, and all the furniture was upright. The living room was far from a showplace, but it was so much better than the last time I’d seen it, I couldn’t help commenting.
“Wow!” I said.
“I wish you didn’t sound so surprised,” Richard said.
“I’m happy to see you’ve recovered from the break-in,” I said. “I—”
“Thanks for getting the money, Copper.”
“I’m glad it helped.”
“Victoria’s death is being ruled accidental,” he said. “I just found out this morning.”
Our eyes met, and I saw the question in his gaze.
“Oh,” I said. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“Would you like a Coke or something?” he asked. He started moving toward the kitchen, and I followed him.
“Sure,
” I said. “A Coke would be great.”
The kitchen actually looked clean enough to eat in. The table was clear, and I sat down in one of the chairs.
“I’ve got something to show you,” I said.
Richard handed me a can of Coke and sat down opposite me.
“What?” he said.
I pulled out the envelope of photographs.
“Victoria took these,” I said, spreading them out.
“That’s Rick Mack. He’s a V.P. at American Beauty,” Richard said, pointing at the same man Heather had identified. “I don’t know the other guy.” Then his eyes fell on the last two pictures.
“Damn! That’s Jason. Where’d you get these?”
“Victoria gave me lots of stuff,” I said, evading his question. Richard picked up one of Jason’s photos and peered at it.
“December 15th,” he said. “She died that night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So she talked with the American Beauty guys in the morning?”
“Yes. She met them someplace on her way to the Beavertail.”
“Did she come home that day?”
The look on Richard’s face reminded me of a cornered fox.
“No.”
“Then how did those pictures of Jason get on her camera?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look at them. He was in her car when he took them.”
“How did you get these again?” Richard said.
I took a breath and let it out.
“I stole Victoria’s camera the first time I came here.”
“What?”
“It was in her shoulder bag on the driveway. When you went inside, I took it.”
There it was, my big confession.
Richard was silent for a full minute, and by the time he spoke again, I had identified three escape routes from the house.
“You know I can’t do anything to you for stealing her stuff,” Richard said. “So just give the pictures back and leave. Let that be the end of it.”
I stared at him.
“No,” I said. “I’m not leaving until you explain it to me. If you don’t like it, call the police.”
Richard glowered at me.
I just sat there.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Have it your way.” I unzipped the side pocket on my backpack and fished out my cell phone. “I didn’t call 9-1-1 the last time I was here, but—”
Richard still didn’t speak. I punched the numbers into my phone. Each beep made Richard’s frown a little angrier. I paused. I raised my finger over the call button.
“Victoria came home that day around four,” Richard said softly. I clicked my phone off and set it on the table. “She wasn’t supposed to leave the Beavertail, but I asked her to come home anyway. Jason was having a particularly bad episode, and I needed her help.”
He looked at me and blinked a couple of times. For a second, I was tempted to threaten him with my phone again. But as we stared at each other, I realized he wasn’t stalling. He was pulling his thoughts together. He wanted me to know the truth.
“She got him calmed down, even though a big part of his problem was her. A few days before, when she told him about her—profession—he was upset.” Richard rubbed his head and sighed heavily. “But what really enraged him was that she had lied to him. He just couldn’t seem to get past that. Anyway, they seemed to have worked things out, and Jason asked her to take him out driving. He just got a learner’s permit, and she was teaching him. She was a much better teacher than I am. I just get pissed off and start swearing.” Richard picked up one of the pictures of Jason again. “That kid knows just how to push my buttons.”
Richard stopped talking, but and I didn’t know what to say. I picked up my Coke, intending to take a sip. I set it back down. My stomach was too turbulent to trust.
“They left. An hour or two later, Jason came back. Alone.”
“What happened?”
“Darlin,’ if I knew that—” He paused. “I don’t know. Jason was in worse shape than before Vicki arrived. I tried to get him to tell me where she was, but all he would say is, ‘She can just walk the fuck home!’ I forced him to go with me to look for her, but he was confused, and it was dark by then. We never even looked along the right road. Damn! I should have kept looking. I should have—” He dropped his head into his hands.
“Why didn’t you report her missing?” I said. “I know you hate the cops, but—”
“She was AWOL from the Beavertail. If they found out, she would have lost her job. If she was unhurt, she never would have forgiven me for blowing the whistle on her.” Richard stood up and started pacing. “I told myself I’d call in the morning if I hadn’t heard from her. First the Beavertail, and then, if I had to, the cops. But the early news beat me to it.”
We both just sat there for a while. My head swirled as I tried to process what Richard was telling me.
Suddenly, his head popped up, he gathered the photographs into a pile, and stared at me.
“These are mine,” he said. “You had no business taking them.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m a thief. So press charges.”
“God damn it.”
“Did Jason kill his mother?”
“It was an accident. I still don’t know all the details, but Jason’s remembered bits and pieces. He has nightmares. But other times he knows nothing at all.”
“There was evidence on the car, wasn’t there?”
That surprised him.
“You were washing it when I showed up.”
“They had a fight. She told him to pull over—let her take over driving.” He paused, looking down. I waited, wondering if that was all the story I was going to get. He sighed and went on. “He did pull over. Vicki got out, but Jason didn’t. And while she was walking around the car, he took off.”
He sighed again and shook his head.
“Jason didn’t realize that he hit her, but the mirror on the passenger’s side was broken. The autopsy showed that Vicki died from losing blood from a wound to her neck and shoulder. Their best guess was that she was hit by a car, which is why the police are calling it an accidental death. Well, they’re right. It was an accident.”
He shot me a look that felt like a challenge.
“What I know for sure,” he went on, “is that if the police knew all of this, Jason’s life would be a bigger hell than it already is, and I’d lose him forever. I’ve already lost Vicki. I can’t lose Jay, too.” He stared at the floor. “They can arrest me. They can lock me up. They can shoot me full of poison. I don’t give a flying fuck. They’re just not going to get their hands on my son. This isn’t his fault.”
I looked at Richard McKimber. I had no doubt that he meant every one of those words with his whole heart.
“I’ve got to go out to my car,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
Richard followed me through the living room and stayed at the front door while I crossed the street to the Max.
This was it, I told myself as I opened the door. There was no going back, no changing my mind later. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a new white business envelope. Shutting the door again, I walked back across the road to join Richard McKimber.
“The pictures are yours, Mr. McKimber,” I said. “And so are these.” I handed him the envelope, and he peeked inside.
“The negatives.”
“Happy New Year,” I said.
:: :: ::
I can’t remember driving from Richard’s house to The Light. Seriously, I don’t know whether I took I-15, Dean Martin, or some other route entirely. A vortex of what-nexts, what-ifs, and what-nows whirled around one enormous “What have I done?” in my head.
Because, really—what had I done? I had just given physical evidence to a guy who might have murdered his
wife. After all, I only had Richard’s word that he drove around looking for Victoria. He could have deliberately left her to die in a ditch. Heck, he could have found her and mowed her down. Even if he had told me the truth, Jason might be a premeditated murderer, not just an upset, inexperienced driver. But somehow, I knew none of that was true.
I made a mental list of everything I was sure of. I was sure Bobby Marks didn’t kill Victoria, and I was sure the American Beauty suits didn’t, either, or anybody from the brothel. None of them knew where she was that night.
So who really killed Victoria McKimber? Maybe Jason. Maybe an anonymous hit-and-run driver. But it seemed to me as I sat there in her kitchen that the real question wasn’t “Who killed Victoria McKimber?” It was “What killed her?” It took a whole chain of events, starting with the accident that crushed Richard’s arm. If that hadn’t happened, and if Jason hadn’t had such expensive medical problems, Victoria wouldn’t have gone to work at a bordello. Richard would still be working at Nate’s Crane, and he wouldn’t have entered Victoria in the American Beauty contest. She wouldn’t have won, and she wouldn’t have had to tell her son what was really paying his bills …
But that’s all moot. All those things did happen. So, should her death go unavenged?
My head was spinning. Forcing Julia and her pals to donate money to the Alliance for the Homeless and for Jason McKimber’s therapy seemed like a better penalty than anything a judge and jury might have handed down in either of those cases. And Jaz Cutler was in jail. The criminals had been punished. There had been moral reckonings.
But you’re a criminal yourself, Copper! That silent accusation kept repeating itself in my mind. You’ve stolen, you’ve extorted, and you’ve withheld evidence important to a police investigation.
But another voice kept winning every argument. It was a quiet, little voice, but I heard it loud and clear every time I let my mind slow down. I heard it whenever I stopped thinking about laws and rules and what a judge might say.
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