Thicker Than Water

by P J Parrish

  “You ungrateful little bastard,” Cade said.

  Louis put up an arm to push Cade back, but Cade swatted it away.

  “I told you to leave it alone,” he said. He walked off toward the trailer.

  Louis looked down at Ronnie. He wasn’t watching his father; he was looking over at the corner of the shed.

  Eric was standing there. Louis could tell from the hard line of his mouth that he had heard every word.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The picture of Kitty was lying on his dresser. He picked it up, looking at it. His anger at Ronnie Cade was still simmering. And his imagination was kicking in now, too, flashing ugly pictures across his mind. Pictures of Ronnie Cade, the red truck, and Kitty’s bloody body lying in the back of it with the dirt and fertilizer.

  He stuck Kitty’s picture in the wood frame of the mirror.

  Pulling on a clean sweatshirt, he went back out to the kitchen.

  It was all there, spread out for Susan to see. The autopsy reports and the police files covered the kitchen table. The newspaper clippings were taped to the walls along with crime scene pictures of the dump. Colored note cards detailing aspects of the case were stuck on the doors of the kitchen cabinets.

  He had called Susan’s office as soon as he got back from the Cade place. He didn’t tell her anything, just that they had to talk. He was surprised when she easily agreed to come out to his cottage.

  His eyes swept over everything he had collected. Susan wouldn’t be able to put him off now. She wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye to the idea that whoever killed Kitty also killed Duvall.

  But she still wasn’t going to like it. Especially when he told her about Ronnie. It was going to throw a major wrench into her defense. To get Jack Cade off, she was going to have to make his son a suspect. If Cade didn’t fire her first.

  A crunch of gravel on the drive drew Louis’s eyes to the open window. He recognized the diesel wheeze of Susan’s old Mercedes and went to the screen door. The headlights went out and he saw her door open. He was shocked to see Benjamin get out of the passenger side.

  “Okay, I got here as quick as I could,” Susan said, coming onto the screened porch.

  Louis couldn’t hide his annoyance as he nodded at Benjamin, who was hovering behind Susan, looking around at the cottage with bored eyes.

  “I had to pick him up from his saxophone lesson after work,” she said.

  Louis shook his head, as he led her inside the cottage.

  “I’m really tired and I wasn’t about to drive all the way home and back out here,” Susan said. She motioned to Benjamin to sit. He flopped down on the couch.

  “We need to talk about Kitty,” Louis said, lowering his voice.

  She sighed. “Kincaid—”

  “I found out why Cade took the plea.”

  She stared at him. Then she turned to Benjamin. “Ben, Mr. Kincaid and I have to talk. You mind waiting out on the porch?”

  He gave her an exasperated look. “What am I supposed to do out there?”

  “Go get your sax and practice.”

  “I just got done playing. My lips will fall off if I play anymore.”

  “You have two choices, Benjamin. The porch with your sax or lifelong groundation.”

  Benjamin slunk off toward the car to get his saxophone.

  Susan slipped her purse strap off her arm and dropped it into a chair. “Okay, talk,” she said.

  “Cade took the plea to protect Ronnie,” Louis said. “He thought Ronnie killed Kitty.”

  Her face registered astonishment, then something else that Louis couldn’t quite decipher. Irritation, probably, just as he expected.

  “How did you find this out?”

  He told her about his meeting with Joyce Novick and what she had revealed about Ronnie. When he told her about his visit to the Cade place, her expression turned from irritation to exasperation.

  “You should have gotten some proof before you went storming over there,” she said. “You have any idea what a bad spot you’ve put me in?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She turned, smoothing her hair, frustrated. “Why would Cade think his own kid killed Kitty?”

  “Duvall told Cade that if he didn’t plead, he would offer Ronnie up as a suspect. Cade must’ve gotten nervous and pled to keep his teenage son from going to prison.”

  She drew her lips into a line. “You’re telling me Duvall forced Cade to plead, knowing he had another suspect? No lawyer would do that.”

  Louis nodded. “It explains why he never submitted the vaginal report.”

  Her eyes flared. “Maybe Duvall never submitted it because it was the same as the damn panties—O-positive.”

  “The prosecution never submitted it either and if it was O-positive, it cemented their case against Cade.”

  “How do you know they never submitted it?”

  “I read the trial transcript.”

  She looked at him, stunned. Then she shook her head. “Do you believe Ronnie killed Kitty Jagger?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you believe Ronnie killed Spencer Duvall?”

  Louis drew in a breath. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re blowing your theory,” Susan said. “I can’t use any of this and all you’ve done is rip that poor family apart even more.”

  Louis started to strike back, but he saw her looking at the files spread on the table. He watched her eyes as they swept up to the cards taped to the cabinets and all the photos taped to the walls. Then they came back up to Louis’s face.

  Susan picked up Kitty’s autopsy report. “God, Louis,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

  “My job,” Louis said.

  She set the report down, without looking at Louis. The low wail of a saxophone drifted in from the porch. Susan rubbed her eyes.

  “Where’s your john?” she asked, not looking up.

  Louis pointed toward the bedroom. She got up and left without saying a word.

  He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. He stood at the window, listening to the moan of Benjamin’s sax mingle with the rustle of the wind in the palm trees.

  When he tipped his head back to take a swig of beer, he saw Susan standing at the door of his bedroom. She was holding something, her brows knit. It was the snapshot of Kitty Jagger in the pink bathing suit.

  “This is her, isn’t it?” Susan asked.

  “Kitty,” he said. “Her name is Kitty.”

  He felt a twinge of annoyance, like Susan had somehow violated his privacy by taking the snapshot off the mirror. He held out his hand.

  When she hesitated, he took the picture. He looked down at Kitty’s face. It was easier than looking at Susan’s.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said quietly, sitting down at the table.

  “What?”

  “Sit down, okay?”

  He slipped into the chair across from her.

  “I was going to tell you tomorrow at the office, but when you called, I thought I’d better come out here tonight and tell you in person.”

  Louis leaned back in the kitchen chair, his grip tightening around the beer bottle.

  “Jack Cade wants you gone,” Susan said.

  “Gone? What, fired?”

  She nodded. “He said—”

  “What did you tell him,” Louis demanded.

  “Kincaid—”

  “What did you tell him, damn it?”

  “When he called me, I asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. Now I know.” Susan looked away. “I’m sorry, Louis, this is Cade’s call, not mine.”

  Louis slammed the bottle on the table and jumped up. “You’re firing me? I don’t fucking believe this.”

  The saxophone playing stopped suddenly. Susan glanced out toward the porch, then looked back at Louis.

  “I don’t have any choice,” she said, her voice low. She paused for a second. “It’s better this way.”

  �
�Better for who?” Louis said.

  “Don’t yell at me, Kincaid.”

  “Better for who?” Louis repeated.

  “Everyone. Cade, me. And you.”

  Louis shook his head. “Don’t you see what Cade is doing, Susan? He’s protecting Ronnie again! He doesn’t want me going after him.”

  “Louis,” she said firmly. “It’s my job to protect Jack Cade. And that is what I have to do.”

  “So you’re going to just ignore everything I just told you?”

  She was looking at the door. Benjamin was standing in the doorway, holding his saxophone, watching them both.

  “Go get in the car, Ben,” Susan said.

  “We going home?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes. Go wait in the car.”

  Ben glanced at Louis, then turned. Louis watched him pack the sax back in its case and head out to the Mercedes. Susan rose, went to the chair and picked up her purse, taking out her keys.

  “I’ll try to get my boss to pay you through the end of the month,” she said.

  “Don’t bother,” Louis said.

  Susan hesitated in the doorway. “Look, you did good work for me. That stuff about Hayley and Candace, I can use it.”

  “Winning the case, that’s all it’s about to you, isn’t it?” Louis waited for her to fight back.

  But she didn’t. There was no fight in her eyes. All that was left was something perilously close to pity. Her gaze dropped to the picture of Kitty still in his hand.

  “You can’t save her, Louis, it’s too late.”

  Louis tossed the picture down on the table. But he still couldn’t look Susan in the eye.

  “Your son’s waiting,” he said.

  She started to say something but didn’t. He didn’t see her leave, just heard the slap of the screen door.

  Save her? She was already dead, for God’s sake. He knew that. Didn’t he? Or was he starting to hear her talking, just like Bob Ahnert had warned?

  He heard a ringing somewhere in the back of his mind and it took him several seconds to realize it was his phone. He grabbed it.

  “Louis? It’s Vinny.”

  “What do you got, Vince?” Louis asked.

  “I got nothing. No report, no sample. They said the policy back then was to return or destroy everything after a few years.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Louis.”

  Louis hung up, letting out a long breath. He went out on the porch. Through the gray mesh of the screen, he watched the red taillights of the Mercedes disappear down the dark island road.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It was rare when he drank alone anymore. Since leaving Michigan, he had slacked off, and when he did drink, it was usually over at Timmy’s Nook, where Bev treated him like a son and there were plenty of people to talk to. People who kept a man from thinking about the parts of his life that drove him to the bar in the first place.

  But he wasn’t in Timmy’s now. He had wanted to go someplace where no one knew him and he didn’t know anyone. So he had found his way over to Sereno Key and to the scarred wood bar of the Lazy Flamingo.

  Louis picked up the Heineken and finished it off. He considered leaving, but didn’t want to go home to the empty cottage. There was a ripple of laughter from the group in a booth as Billy Joel’s “Innocent Man” came on the jukebox.

  Louis waved at the bartender, a thin man with a shaggy mustache. “Hey, bring me a shot of brandy, would you?”

  Louis’s eyes drifted to the two men at the end of the bar. One was chubby, with a trim gray beard and a colorful tropical shirt. The other was younger, his blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wore a neon green tank top. They were laughing, the older man’s arm on the younger man’s shoulder.

  The bartender set the shotglass in front of him. Louis reached for it, gulped it down and closed his eyes, giving a slight shiver as it burned its way down to his belly.

  He was about to get up to go home when he felt a slap on the back and spun around.

  Dan Wainwright’s beefy face was grinning at him.

  “Hey, Dan.” The words came out in an edgy breath.

  “Jeez, you’re jumpy. What the hell’s the matter?” Wainwright said.

  “Sorry. Thought you might be Jack Cade.”

  “Cade? Why?”

  “He’s real pissed off at me right now.” Louis waved for the bartender. “What are you drinking? My treat.”

  “I wasn’t. I just got here and saw you sitting here. Bud’s fine.”

  Wainwright waited until the bartender brought their drinks. “I heard you’re working for Cade’s defense.”

  Louis waited for the look of reproach, but there was none in the Sereno chief’s eyes.

  “I was. He fired me today.”

  “What did you do to piss him off?”

  “Long story,” Louis muttered.

  Wainwright didn’t press it. Instead, he gave Louis a smile. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

  “Same here,” Louis said.

  They fell into an awkward silence that was broken by a trio of laughing women who had squeezed up next to Wainwright. Wainwright tapped Louis on the shoulder and motioned toward a booth, walking away.

  Louis sucked down the second brandy, then picked up his water glass and followed.

  Wainwright settled into the booth and Louis slid in across from him, his gaze drawn to the window. It was a pitch-black, moonless night, and the green and pink floodlights cast a surreal glow on the fluttering palms.

  “So why’d Cade fire you?” Wainwright asked.

  Louis rubbed his face. “I accused his son Ronnie of murdering Kitty Jagger.”

  Wainwright’s expression didn’t change, but his eyebrow twitched. “Can you prove it?”

  “There was a semen sample and it’s disappeared. I can’t prove shit without it.”

  Wainwright took a drink. “What semen?”

  “The shit inside her,” Louis said, irritated. Then he realized that Wainwright didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about. Susan was right. No one gave a rat’s ass about the Kitty Jagger case. It was ancient history, yesterday’s papers.

  He let out a breath. “Sorry, Dan,” he said. “Bad day.”

  Wainwright put up a hand. “No problem. Tell me about this sample thing.”

  Louis hesitated. He wanted to talk about Kitty, but no one had wanted to hear it. Maybe Wainwright would understand.

  “Two semen samples were taken,” he said. “One from Kitty Jagger’s panties, the other vaginal. The results from the vaginal sample are missing from the original police files.”

  “The state lab?”

  “No record. I tried. No one has a record anywhere.”

  “The prosecutor’s office would have it.”

  “Yeah, Vern Sandusky is just going to hand it over. Right.”

  “He might.”

  “Give me a break, Dan. There isn’t a prosecutor in the world who would voluntarily reopen a case where there’s been a conviction. You know that.”

  “What about Spencer Duvall’s records? He would have it too.”

  Louis looked up, his mind trying to work through the slosh of the brandy. “Mobley has that.”

  “What?”

  “Jack Cade’s old legal file. It was on Spencer Duvall’s desk when he was shot, so the cops took it.”

  Wainwright took a long swallow of beer. “Kiss that idea goodbye. Mobley’s an idiot.”

  Louis shook his head. “Maybe not. I might be able to convince Mobley to let me take a look.”

  Wainwright leaned back in the booth, considering Louis. “I got to ask you this, Louis.”

  “What?”

  “Why bother? Why bust your balls on a closed case?”

  Louis stared at him. “Because someone has to, damn it.”

  Wainwright drew back ever so slightly. And the look on his face was the same as the one Louis had seen on Susan’s, like he w
as nuts or obsessed or something.

  Louis rose abruptly and went to the bar. He returned with another shot and a beer. He didn’t look at Wainwright as he sat down.

  “Look, Louis,” Wainwright said. “Cade probably did you a favor. He’s a loser, so is his son. So’s the case.”

  Louis took a breath. He didn’t want to be angry at Wainwright. He wanted him to understand. “Dan, it’s important to know who killed her,” he said slowly.

  “To who, Louis? The girl’s dead twenty years and I hear her old man is just a walking zombie. Who cares?”

  Louis reached for the shotglass, hesitated, then brought it to his lips. It went down easier than the last.

  “A piece of advice, Louis,” Wainwright said. “Let it go.”

  “Can’t,” Louis said, his eyes on the scarred wood tabletop. He knew Wainwright was looking at him. He heard him let out a sigh.

  “I gotta take a piss. Be right back.”

  Louis watched Wainwright trudge off to the rear of the bar. He leaned back, shutting his eyes. Shit, maybe he was going nuts. He was seeing things in his head, that much was clear. He was seeing the lonely confusion in Willard Jagger’s eyes. He was seeing the shadow of sadness in Joyce Novick’s eyes. He was seeing the question in Eric Cade’s angry eyes as he watched his father and grandfather: Which one of you killed her?

  And he was seeing her. She was in his head, day and night now, walking around like a ghost, pink checks and peppermint lipstick, whispering to him.

  “Louis?”

  He looked up. Wainwright’s face was green in the neon light.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He sat up, pulling the beer bottle toward him.

  Wainwright slid back in across from him. A new song drifted above the murmur of the bar, Van Morrison singing about his Tupelo honey. Louis watched two young guys and their dates playing the ring-toss game over in the corner. The two guys were drunk and weren’t coming even close to swinging the ring up to catch the hook. The girls were doubled over with laughter.

  “They don’t know how fast it all can change,” Louis murmured.

  “What?”

  Louis glanced at Wainwright. “Nothing.”

  They sat in uneasy silence for a long time. Finally, Wainwright cleared his throat. “So, you talked to Farentino at all?”