Swann Dive

by Arlene Kay

  “What’d you do this time?”

  Jem’s baritone edged toward soprano territory. “Nothing! I swear. That woman hates me. She won’t listen to anything I say.”

  “What woman?”

  “Euphemia Bates.” He gulped as if he were oxygen deprived. “She thinks I murdered CeCe.”

  After a moment of stunned silence I told Jem to hold tight and keep his mouth shut.

  I disconnected, plopped down on the bed, and dialed Bolin Swann.

  ONE HOUR LATER, Po transported me to Swannland in the big Mercedes. Despite streaming sunlight and vivid colors, the big house felt grim and forbidding today. It had a funereal air as if CeCe’s loss had sucked the joy from every room. I walked on tiptoe toward the study where I heard the rumbling of deep voices. Po nodded, and I entered, unsure of what I might find. They were a disparate trio—Bolin and Jake bracketing either side of the sofa like bookends, sipping something dark and rich while Euphemia Bates sat in the wing chair opposite them, her spine straight enough to shame a Victorian.

  “I did some checking after you called, Eja,” Bolin said. “Lieutenant Bates feels confident that Jem Russell killed my daughter. Proving it is another matter.”

  Jake’s handsome features were etched in stone. As a physician, he was trained to repress emotion; as CeCe’s lover he seemed numbed by grief.

  “Why would Jem Russell call you?” Jake asked. “I thought you two weren’t friends.”

  I shuddered at the idea of being linked to Jem Russell. “He swears he’s innocent, and he thinks I have influence with Lieutenant Bates.” I curled my lip and nodded at Mia. “Shows how delusional he is.”

  Bolin took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “It seems his alibi fell apart. He was at his condo when Cecilia died. Lieutenant Bates got him to admit that.”

  Jem Russell was the ultimate screw-up who couldn’t even fabricate a decent alibi. Despite the odds I wasn’t convinced of his guilt. Naturally, he’d lied to the cops. Lies were mother’s milk to con men like Jem. He wouldn’t think twice about lying. Jem was many things, but he wasn’t naïve. He could smell a setup a mile away.

  I glanced at the notes I’d scribbled on my pad. The murderer was someone with an intimate knowledge of CeCe’s life and habits. Someone smart enough to lure her to the roof garden against every instinct she possessed. That profile of an aggressive, intelligent killer excluded Jem Russell, a sad sack whose few working brain cells fell south of his belt buckle.

  Euphemia Bates seemed untroubled by those inconsistencies. If she had doubts, she cloaked them in the confident smile of a huntress who’d trapped and bagged her prey.

  Bolin came right to the point. “I understand that Jem Russell has no alibi for that Sunday, Lieutenant. Is there other evidence?”

  “We’re working on it,” Mia said without losing that smile.

  Jake stayed silent, but I fought the urge to speak up. There were many reasons to loathe Jem, none of which made him a murderer. That didn’t make him innocent either. If anyone waved enough money in his face, Jem would cheerfully cooperate. I’d felt all along that he was hiding something.

  “He called me,” I said. “He might tell me something.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “Not going to happen, Ms. Kane. Sorry.”

  “What could it hurt?” Bolin asked. “Once he gets an attorney, he’ll keep quiet.”

  “He already has one.” Deming burst through the door like an uncaged beast, a wild, particularly sexy beast.

  “Dem?” Bolin gave his son a quizzical look.

  “I called Pam. She’s down there now. It’s a Band-Aid. Just temporary.”

  Mia smoothed her jacket and flashed that killer smile at us. “I’m not at liberty to say more. You understand. If he has good legal representation, that’s fine with me.”

  “Who told you?” I pasted a hopeful smile on my face. “About the alibi, I mean.”

  “Confidential informant. Anonymous.” Mia rustled papers on her lap in a gesture that was pure theater. “Sorry I can’t tell you more. At such a preliminary stage nothing’s certain. I should have just phoned.”

  Ever the gentleman, Bolin rose and shook her hand. “Is there anything . . . anything at all that we can do?”

  Mia’s eyes softened for a moment. “We’re still constructing our case, but his motive seems fuzzy. There’s no evidence of violence in his past.”

  Deming snorted like an angry bull. “Motive? Money. It always came down to money with that guy. My sister turned him down, and he lost it. Murdered her.”

  “I don’t think so, Dem.”

  I’d forgotten that Jake Harris was in the room. Now all eyes turned to him.

  “CeCe planned to invest with him, Lieutenant, and she was very shrewd when parting with her money. She discussed his proposition with me. You know, it actually sounded pretty good.”

  More snorting from Brother Bjorn. “That guy only knows one kind of proposition. Sex. His currency of choice.” Deming’s rage was palpable, a thing of awe and beauty.

  Mia stayed statue-still as she processed information. “You’ll need to amend your statement, Dr. Harris. At your convenience. Mr. Russell swears that he’s innocent, and this might bolster his claim. Of course, impetuous people like him are hard to predict.” She drew up to her impressive height. “Good evening, all. I’ll keep in touch.”

  The silence in the room was oppressive. Bolin sipped his scotch without saying a word, Jake looked lost and vulnerable, and Deming—he was another thing entirely.

  When I mentioned the threatening note his reaction was volcanic. He shot out of his chair, splattering scotch all over the floor. “The cops were just here, Eja. Why the hell didn’t you mention it then?”

  I felt heat rise in my cheeks, proof positive of an unbecoming flush. Deming was a bully, plain and simple, and I was sick of his antics.

  “Leave her alone, son. There’s more.” Anika slipped into the room wearing a filmy peach gown. “Tell them, Eja. About our experiment.”

  It took moxy to discuss Wesley Townsend with them. Moxy, a good old-fashioned word my grandma often used. I angled my body to avoid Deming and weasel-worded my way into the narrative. Anika snuggled against her husband, encouraging me all the way with smiles and thumbs-up gestures.

  “You went to his office without telling me.” Deming’s eyes lasered in on me.

  “Let’s not waste time quarreling. Here’s the bottom line: Wesley Townsend is innocent, or at least not guilty of CeCe’s murder.”

  Deming’s expression was positively saturnine. “What the hell!”

  “Listen, darling,” Anika said. “We’re narrowing down our list of suspects.”

  I quickly explained the Hawaiian odyssey. “There. Wesley couldn’t have murdered CeCe.”

  “You’ve heard of murder for hire, I presume.” Deming’s voice dripped icicles.

  Once again, Jake intervened. “I’m no expert on shrinks, Dem, but Wesley strikes me as the cautious type. Risk adverse. He wouldn’t get his hands dirty or risk exposure by hiring someone.”

  “Even someone like Jem Russell?” Bolin spoke quietly. “The location bothers me. It’s too coincidental, using his building. I think Jem’s involved somehow.”

  I nodded. “When Deming and I questioned him, I got this feeling, you know, that he was hiding something.”

  “Stay out of this, Eja. If you blunder into something . . .” Deming wagged his finger.

  “You’re not my father, Deming Swann, or my boss! I’ll do as I please.”

  Bolin shook his head. “Do I have to referee again? Déjà vu time.”

  “They’ve been sparring for years,” Anika said, winking at me. “Come with me, Eja. We’ll get some tea.”

  When we reached the kitchen, she took me aside. “It’s up to us. Jem ha
s a soft spot for me. If he knows anything, I’ll get it out of him.”

  “Jem has plenty of soft spots—in his head! Deming . . .”

  She laughed. “Let me handle my son. Just go with me to the police station tomorrow.”

  “But Lieutenant Bates said . . .” Sputtering had become routine around Anika.

  A fetching set of dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Bolin and Deming are lawyers. Let them handle dull legal things. We’ll tackle the rest.”

  WE NEVER MADE that trip. Anika phoned me early the next morning with startling news: Jem Russell had been released from police custody. He’d never really been arrested, merely detained for questioning. Mia Bates had released Jem without charging him.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Pam Schwartz found a witness. Someone who saw Jem that morning.” Her voice trailed off. “He was arguing with someone about noise—loud music apparently. They almost got into a brawl. The neighbor was very certain.”

  I tiptoed around the critical issue. “What time was it?”

  Anika made a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “Between eight thirty and nine. Both men called building security to complain. Pam said it was solid.”

  Jem Russell was a lucky man. Too lucky. He was involved somehow in CeCe’s murder, and I planned to wring it out of him one way or another.

  “Are you up for a social call?” I asked.

  Anika paused. “You mean . . .?”

  “Exactly. Meet me at Jem’s building around ten.”

  ANIKA EMBODIED elegance, but I barely registered on the style scale. The concierge, a gum-snapper just past puberty, took one look at Mrs. Bolin Swann and waved her toward the elevator. He gave me the fish-eye.

  “You do the talking. I’m only here for moral support.” I guided Anika around the corridor to apartment 2810. “We can’t let him off the hook this time. He knows something.”

  Anika blinked and straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready, don’t worry.”

  I pressed the buzzer and rapped firmly on the door. The big lug was probably cowering, terrified that the cops had changed their minds. More likely he was sound asleep. No matter. I was the instrument of justice, and he wouldn’t escape.

  Anika twisted the knob, gasping as the door swung open. I hung back, but she charged into the condo like Jeanne d’Arc herself. Amidst the clutter of pizza boxes and beer bottles, we saw Jem sprawled on the couch with a newspaper covering his face. That surprised me: I’d never known him to read anything, even the comics.

  “Jem. Jem, dear, its Anika.” She glided up to the couch and gently shook his shoulder.

  He rolled onto the floor with a resounding thud. We both shrieked, freezing in place as Jem’s motionless body lay there. I closed my eyes and prayed for a miracle.

  The Lord has a strange sense of humor. Jem Russell belched, shook himself, and dazzled us with his smile.

  “What’s wrong, ladies? Think I was dead or just hoping?”

  Anika recovered first. She grasped his hand and showing the practical benefits of a personal trainer, pulled him to his feet. “Don’t be silly, dear. We came for your help.”

  Sincerity was never one of his virtues. The bastard hugged her, puffed out his cheeks, and lied. “I’d like to help but I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I asked.

  “I’ve already made another arrangement. A lucrative business arrangement.”

  Anika was cucumber cool. “Whatever you’re making, I’ll double it. Please, Jem.”

  “Sorry, ladies. No can do. You see, I need a business partner to fund my new venture. CeCe was my first choice, but of course that’s impossible now.”

  “Sounds like extortion,” I said. “What would Lieutenant Bates say?”

  He didn’t even flinch. “Let her check with my attorney. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “Stop.” Anika wedged her slight frame between Jem and me. “What do you know about my daughter’s murder? Please.”

  He gave a sly smile, the look of cocksure guys without a clue. “I’ll tell you this much. Ask yourself how CeCe accessed that roof garden.”

  Every nerve in my body emitted distress signals. That very question had plagued me since CeCe’s murder. Possibilities from dumb luck to planned meeting rattled around my brain. All were inadequate, far too chancy for my persnickety pal. Her time was too valuable to waste on anything other than a sure bet.

  “Go on, Jem. Tell her.” Deming Swann, dressed head to toe in black, stood in the doorway with his arms crossed.

  I expected fists to fly, but Jem’s face actually brightened as he looked up. He gestured toward Deming with an exaggerated flourish.

  “Here he is, ladies. My new business partner.”

  “Son?”

  Despite his genial air, Deming was furious. His hands were balled into tight fists, a tell established early in childhood. He kissed Anika’s forehead, but I was not so lucky. He gave me the narrowed eyes and tight lips of the Brother Bjorn stare.

  I returned that glare with interest and then focused my wrath on Jem. “Okay, cut the crap. How did CeCe get on that roof? Don’t lie either. I can tell.”

  Deming nodded, and Jem spilled his guts. “The simplest way possible. She used my key.”

  Nineteen

  GAPING IS UNREFINED, but I couldn’t help it. The simplest possibility was the one I’d never considered. CeCe used a key. Jem’s key.

  “I gave it to her that morning,” Jem said, smacking his lips. “She’d earned it the night before.”

  Deming flexed his fingers as if he might pummel his new business partner.

  “Why did CeCe want it?” I asked. “You said she was terrified of that roof.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say. But I’ll tell you one thing. She had that look on her face. The one she got right before putting the screws to someone.”

  “Did she say something—anything—about who she was meeting?”

  He furrowed his brow, a sign of deep thought in bozo land. “Oh yeah. ‘Checkmate.’ She said she’d reached the endgame, whatever that meant. You know how she loved chess. Never got the hang of it myself.”

  My eyes met Deming’s as if we were visualizing the same scene: CeCe the chess master locked in mortal combat with Bolin. Sunday afternoons were their special time, chess matches in which father and daughter gave no quarter. No wonder CeCe had been jubilant when boarding the elevator that morning. Winning was everything to her. Always had been. She’d gone to that rooftop to vanquish an opponent. The question was which one?

  “Why was she with you that night? After all, she was in love, engaged to be married.” I was prepared to slap that sneer off his face, but Deming beat me to it.

  He strode up to his new partner and grabbed him by his collar. “Enough. Tell her the truth if you want to see that money.”

  “Jeez. No sense of humor.” Jem sighed. “Okay. I got drunk at her place and passed out on the couch. Nothing happened. All she could talk about was that Raven guy.”

  “You mean she was meeting Raven on the roof?” My heart ricocheted back and forth.

  “Nah. At least I don’t think so. She didn’t name names. Said she was playing ‘head games,’ whatever that means.” Jem’s eyes lit up. “She kept looking at some message on her iPad. Whatever it was, she got all excited. That’s when she asked for my key.”

  CeCe would have synced everything with her phone and computer. Unfortunately, someone had grabbed her iPad, stolen her computer, and trashed her phone. She’d been lured to that rooftop and betrayed by someone she trusted.

  “I’ve got our tech guys researching her service provider. They’ll track that message down one way or the other.” Deming’s eyes were glacial shards, dead ice, impossible to read. He looked rootles
s, dangerous. His tenderness toward Anika stood in sharp contrast to his coolness toward me.

  “Can they do that, son, even with her computer gone?” Anika’s emotions were on a short tether. She’d funneled her grief into our investigation, but it was a palliative. The wound had reopened and was exposed to sunlight, raw and throbbing.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. If the authorities don’t subpoena Comcast, we’ll find an alternative.” He ignored me, reverting to the brusque behavior of our youth. My stomach clenched, and I steeled myself for rejection. I was strong enough to endure the pain, human enough to mourn the loss.

  “Come with us, Eja.” Anika held out her hand.

  “No problem. I’ll catch a cab. I really need to get home, or Cato will be furious.”

  I SPENT THAT evening plotting literary mayhem. Writing soothed my soul and comforted my mind. To hell with Deming Swann and his petulance! I’d vowed to avenge CeCe, and that’s one pledge that I would meet. If I spent my days alone, so be it. Alone didn’t mean lonely. After all, I still had Cato.

  The day’s activities took their toll. Despite my pledge to write all night, I awakened at midnight, draped over my keyboard with a raging migraine for company. Cato immediately gave me the canine equivalent of an eye roll.

  “Okay, I’m a bad doggy mom, but give me a break. This stuff is new.” I found his paraphernalia, grabbed the keys, and dragged myself to the elevator. The lobby was deserted, and the cacophony of street noise wafted through the door. I cautiously picked my way down the sidewalk while Cato moseyed along the curb, truculent as ever. That anonymous note and its menacing content kept swirling through my brain in an endless spiral of doom. I was exhausted, desperate for sleep but terrified of revisiting CeCe’s horrific plunge. It happened every time I shut my eyes, unless he was by my side. Deming was a better soporific than Ambien!

  Deep in thought, I followed Cato as he strained toward a fire hydrant. When a dark figure approached, passing me from behind, I shrieked in terror.