The Bloodstained Bride

by Rachel Woods

  The left side of the door sent a chill through Vivian.

  Two small holes in the glass, about five inches apart, had broken the wide pane, cracking the glass into the “spider’s web” effect.

  “Guess someone did break in,” said Vivian.

  “What’s that on the glass?” Leo crossed the wooden planks to get a closer look at the shattered patio door. Standing behind Leo, Vivian gasped as she gazed at the image on the left glass pane, several inches above the small holes.

  A faded, rust-colored handprint.

  41

  “Detective, I was going to call you,” said Vivian, smiling as Baxter François walked into her office.

  “Guess I saved you the trouble,” said the detective, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

  “Wouldn’t have been any trouble,” said Vivian. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have some questions for you.”

  “Great minds think alike, as they say,” quipped Detective François. “I have some questions for you, as well, about the trip you and your lesser half took to a house on Dove Street in Oyster Farms yesterday afternoon.”

  Grabbing a red editing pen from the coffee mug near the corner of her desk, Vivian tried to prepare herself for the detective’s inquiry, which she’d been expecting.

  After she and Leo had discovered the broken fence gate, shattered patio door, and faint handprint on the glass pane, they’d called the police. While waiting for the St. Killian deputies, they’d debated what they would admit to the police concerning their reason for being at the Dove Street house. Vivian thought they should come clean with the truth. Leo wanted to stay as close to the truth as possible without revealing their true motives. Eventually, they decided to tell the cops that they were following up on a lead about a robbery. The deputies looked skeptical but released them to leave with a warning that they might be asked to come to the station for follow-up questions.

  “What a coincidence,” said Vivian. “I have questions for you about the house on Dove Street. Specifically, was that rust-colored handprint blood? And were those bullet holes in the glass?”

  The detective smiled and then said, “We’ll get to that. First, why were you and your husband at that house?”

  “We told the deputy—”

  “If you want to know more about that rust-colored handprint on the glass,” began the detective, “then I suggest you tell me the truth.”

  Vivian exhaled. She knew she couldn’t fool Detective François. Why she always tried, she didn’t know. “We were looking for a guy named Skip Taylor. Leo wanted to talk to him.”

  “About?”

  “Maybe you should ask Leo that,” said Vivian, unable to resist toying with the detective.

  “Reason I want to know,” said François, “is because I have some information about Skip Taylor.”

  Trying to mask her surprise, Vivian asked, “What do you know about Skip Taylor?”

  “What did your husband want to talk to Taylor about?”

  Vivian tapped the editing pen against her cheek. “Derek claims Skip Taylor can prove he had nothing to do with Besi Beaumont’s murder. Leo wanted to find out if that’s true. But Skip Taylor wasn’t around.”

  Fixing her with a pensive stare, the detective asked, “What was going on with Skip Taylor, Aaron Jones, and Derek?”

  “What do you mean?” Vivian asked, stalling for time. She wasn’t sure what the detective was trying to coax out of her, but she knew she’d have to be careful with her responses.

  The detective said, “I’m going to tell you what I know, and you can fill in some of the gaps for me. How about that?”

  “I’ll try,” said Vivian. “But, I may not be able to help you.”

  “I appreciate your effort,” said François, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a phone. “Let me just consult my notes.”

  Concerned and curious, Vivian waited.

  “So, it appears that,” the detective said, staring at his phone, “Skip Taylor made several phone calls and sent text messages to Aaron Jones regarding Derek Hennessy. What do you know about that?”

  Knowing that she wasn’t in a position to reveal what she knew about Derek’s relationship to the fixer, Vivian asked, “How do you know that Skip Taylor made phone calls to Aaron Jones?”

  “We have Aaron Jones’ cell phone,” said François. “Remember, that’s how we saw the messages between Jones and Derek Hennessy. So, I know how Jones and Hennessy are connected. But, what does Skip Taylor have to do with all of this? How does he know Derek Hennessy?”

  “Did you ask Derek about Skip Taylor?”

  “After his arrest,” said François, “Mr. Hennessy refused to talk and lawyered up immediately. He has yet to make an official statement. His dream team claims they plan to make their client available for questioning but to tell you the truth, I’m not in the mood to deal with a dozen defense attorneys advising Mr. Hennessy not to answer any of my questions.”

  “Then maybe you should ask Skip Taylor?” Vivian suggested. “That is if you can find him.”

  “Oh, I know exactly where Mr. Taylor is,” said François.

  “Where is he?” Vivian asked, wondering if the detective would tell her.

  “You remember that story you published about a guy who’d been shot and then hit by a car in Oyster Farms?” asked the detective. “Taylor’s the guy who was shot and hit by a car.”

  Stunned, Vivian stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Skip Taylor is in the hospital,” said the detective. “I went there to question him about Mr. Hennessy, but it didn’t go so well.”

  “Taylor refused to talk?” asked Vivian.

  “Skip Taylor can’t tell me anything,” said François. “He’s got amnesia.”

  42

  “Amnesia, my ass,” muttered Leo as he entered St. Killian General Hospital.

  Cold and yet balmy, the sterile atmosphere held a faint hint of bleach that couldn’t quite cover the stench of sickness and disease.

  On the second floor, Leo exited the elevator and headed down the hall, striding casually, hoping to appear as a family member visiting a sick relative. Last thing he wanted was to arouse suspicions as he meandered among the nurses, doctors, and patients ambling slowly, clutching IV poles. Didn’t want anyone to know that he planned to get the truth from Skip Taylor, one way or the other.

  Whatever it took, Leo was determined to jog the fixer’s memory.

  Not that he believed Taylor had amnesia, despite the injuries that purportedly caused his memory loss. Leo was quite certain that Skip Taylor hadn’t forgotten anything.

  When Vivian had shared the incredulous story last night over dinner with Burt and Derek, Leo had been skeptical. Initially, Burt was surprised but was willing to believe that a gunshot wound could cause memory loss. Derek, wild-eyed and surprised, thought the amnesia explained the fixer’s absence and avoidance.

  Leo hadn’t bought Derek’s shock.

  After he and Vivian discussed the matter in private, his wife had encouraged him to keep an open mind and not jump to conclusions.

  The fixer didn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, as far as Leo was concerned.

  Walking past the nurse’s station, Leo slowed as an orderly pushing an old man in a wheelchair crossed his path and into one of the hospital rooms. Number 212. Skip Taylor was in Room 218, according to Stevie, who’d gotten the information from a friend who worked at the hospital.

  Leo’s pulse quickened as he passed Room 214 and then Room 216.

  He did not doubt that Derek and Skip had come up with this bullshit amnesia story so Skip wouldn’t have to answer any questions about the role he’d played in Besi’s murder.

  And yet, when Leo approached Room 218, he hesitated. Bothered by a strange doubt, he stared at the closed hospital door. Since his arrest, Derek had sworn that Skip Taylor would corroborate his claims about being blackmailed by Aaron Jones. So, why would Derek tell Skip to fake amnesia? Derek needed Skip
to lie to the cops. How could the fixer prove Derek’s innocence if he couldn’t remember anything?

  Ignoring the doubts, Leo opened the door and stepped into the room.

  Reclining in the hospital bed, the fixer looked like he was relaxing on a chaise lounge at a luxury spa resort. As he chuckled at the syndicated talk show playing on the television mounted on the wall across from the bed, Skip Taylor didn’t appear to be recovering from being shot and then hit by a car.

  “How you doing, Skip?” asked Leo, certain the fixer had seen him but was ignoring him on purpose.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked Taylor, his gaze focused on the talk show antics.

  “You know who I am,” said Leo, staring at Taylor.

  The fixer stared at him. “What do you want?”

  “I want the truth,” said Leo. “Derek was arrested for putting a hit out on Besi, but he says he’s being framed. The cops have evidence that he hired Aaron Jones to carry out the hit. Derek claims the cops have it all wrong. Derek says Jones was blackmailing him and that you fixed everything. So, that’s what I want to know, Skip. How did you fix things?”

  Taylor smiled, but Leo thought it looked more like a grimace.

  “You know I got amnesia, right?” said Taylor, focusing on the television again. “Doctors say I can’t remember nothing. Not even my name. But, doctors don’t know everything, do they?”

  “What do you know?” asked Leo, quite certain that Taylor was talking in code.

  “What I know is that, in an hour or so, I’ll be headed outside to walk around the lake behind the hospital,” said the fixer. “Part of my physical therapy routine. It’s a nice lake. Palm trees. Ducks in the water. Nice place to have a conversation.”

  Understanding what Taylor wanted him to do, Leo said, “I like ducks. Maybe I’ll go out to the lake and feed them.”

  43

  Pebbly pea gravel crunched beneath Leo’s Italian leather driving shoes as he strode down the path that ran along the perimeter of the small, man-made lake behind the hospital.

  Staring at lily pads floating on the lake’s placid surface, Leo checked his watch.

  Fifteen more minutes and Skip Taylor would be heading out to the lake for his afternoon walk. Or, he should be headed down to the lake. Leo didn’t trust Taylor. He wouldn’t be surprised if the fixer didn’t show up, but the trip hadn’t been in vain. He was fairly certain he’d been right about Taylor. The amnesia claim was a ruse. But, why?

  Leo walked toward one of several benches, surrounded by hibiscus bushes and date palm trees, positioned along the path. Taking a seat, he focused on two ducks splashing in the water.

  Why would Derek want Skip to fake amnesia? Didn’t make sense. Unless the fake amnesia was Skip’s idea. Again, why?

  The way Leo figured it, Skip fixed the situation by hiring Aaron Jones to kill Besi, thus ensuring that Derek would inherit her fortune before Besi kicked him to the curb. Then, Skip fixed the situation with Aaron Jones by killing the hitman so he wouldn’t cause problems in the future.

  Leo supposed it was possible Skip Taylor thought he might be next on Derek’s hit list. Maybe he was faking amnesia as a message to Derek that he wasn’t a rat.

  “This seat taken?”

  Recognizing the guttural, East-coast accent, Leo glanced up.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” said Leo, anxious to find out what the fixer had to say, and yet wary of getting his hopes up. Anything Taylor told him had to be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism.

  Leaning on a walking cane, Skip Taylor, dressed in a thin white T-shirt, pajama bottoms and a white robe, eased down on the opposite side of the bench. Grunting and wincing, he put the cane on the arm of the bench.

  “Nice out here, huh?” said Skip. “Nice day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Beautiful island. I could stay here forever. Maybe—”

  “Maybe you ought to tell me why you wanted to meet out here,” suggested Leo. “I’m not interested in small talk—”

  “Derek is telling the truth,” said Skip, staring straight ahead. “Aaron Jones was blackmailing him.”

  “Derek said you would say that,” said Leo.

  “You think I’m full of shit?” Skip scoffed. “Believe me, or don’t. It’s up to you, but I’m telling you that Jones was blackmailing Derek. He emailed Derek, hassling him. Derek called me, and I took over. I negotiated with Jones. We go back and forth. I’m trying to find out if this crazy bastard has evidence that will ruin Derek’s life, according to him. Because for all I know, he’s running a scam, right?”

  “Did Jones have evidence against Derek?”

  Skip exhaled. “Jones tells me he knows why Derek was fired from Hennessy Capital.”

  “Why was Derek fired?” asked Leo.

  “Last year, sometime around March, if I remember correctly,” began Skip, “Derek got into a bit of trouble. Gambling debt. Two million.”

  Leo gaped at the fixer. “Two million?”

  Skip said, “He panics because he can’t pay it and he can’t go to his father, because Derek made a promise not to gamble after his old man bailed him out several times the previous year. So he calls me for help.”

  “And how did you help him?”

  After a sigh, Skip said, “I suggested that he borrow the money from his father’s investment firm.”

  Leo felt his pulse jump. “And by ‘borrow’, you mean steal, right?”

  “Actually,” said Skip, stroking his chin. “I believe the term is embezzle.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Derek didn’t know the first thing about how to embezzle funds,” said Skip, chuckling. “He’s used to having everything handed to him on a platinum platter. So, anyway, I give him step-by-step detailed instructions. In the meantime, I tell him I’ll work on negotiating a payment plan with the thugs he owed money to, the Russian mob.”

  Rubbing his temple, Leo tried to massage away the impending headache.

  “Derek follows my instructions and creates fake vendors and bank accounts,” said Skip. “He gets everything in place and then he fucks up everything.”

  “How?”

  “Instead of siphoning the money in small amounts, like I told him, which would not have raised any flags,” said Skip, “Derek decides to authorize the payment of a two million dollar invoice which sets off loud, clanging alarm bells in the accounting department at Hennessy Capital.”

  Nodding, Leo said, “Derek wanted to pay off the entire two million as soon as possible.”

  “Which he was able to do,” said Skip. “But, in doing that, he gets the attention of accounting and IT, who request a private emergency meeting with David Hennessy. Long story short, after a very thorough investigation, accounting and IT report to old man Hennessy that the funds were likely embezzled by Derek.”

  Exhaling, Leo stared toward the man-made lake.

  “Old man Hennessy confronts Derek who reluctantly comes clean,” said Skip. “David will keep things quiet and take the hit and he won’t have Derek arrested, but he fires Derek and kicks him out of the family.”

  Leo struggled to wrap his mind around what Derek had done. The scope and magnitude of Derek’s selfish stupidity astounded Leo. What the hell had Derek been thinking? Embezzling from his family’s company? The Hennessy investment empire would have been beyond ruined, and would likely have never recovered from Derek’s actions had they been made public. Investors would have fled as the company struggled to withstand withering criminal investigations and massive lawsuits. In the end, Hennessy Capital would have gone down as yet another crooked conglomerate, joining the likes of Enron, WorldCom, and Lehman Brothers.

  Shaking his head, Skip said, “I coulda throttled Derek. But, you know who was on his side? Besi. She didn’t kick him when he was down. One hundred percent supportive, she was. Derek came clean to her about the embezzlement and you know what she says?”

  Leo wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “What?”

  “Besi tells Derek, next time
you get into trouble, you come to me,” said Skip. “That girl, bless her heart and God rest her soul, she really loved him. She tells him she’s got access to her five hundred million dollar trust and she would have helped him. After that, me and Besi made a pact. Together, we would make sure Derek stayed out of trouble.”

  “By paying off his gambling debts?” asked Leo. “Maybe instead you should have helped him kick his gambling habit.”

  Skip shrugged. “You’re probably right, but anyway, after Derek got fired, he and Besi got closer, and they fell in love. Derek proposes. They decide to have a fairytale wedding on this gorgeous island. Then, Derek got an email from that asshole, Aaron Jones. Derek panics because Jones claims he knows why Derek was fired from Hennessy Capital and he wants a hundred large.”

  Leo asked, “How did Jones find out that Derek was fired for embezzling money?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Skip shrugged. “What did it matter how he found out? Problem was that he knew and we had to take care of the situation. Had to pay that piece of shit, which Derek did.”

  Leo scoffed. “Don’t you mean Besi paid Jones for Derek? Isn’t that why Besi came to see you before she was killed? You wanted Besi to give you the money to pay off Jones.”

  Skip shook his head. “Derek said he didn’t want Besi bailing him out.”

  Skeptical, Leo asked, “Where did Derek get the money?”

  Shrugging, Skip said, “He had some savings.”

  Leo supposed that was plausible.

  Skip said, “After Derek had the money transferred from his bank account to the Pourciau Bank, the cash was withdrawn, and I gave Jones the hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Which was stuffed into Derek’s Hermes briefcase.”

  “Wasn’t stuffed,” said Skip. “The money was bundled in stacks and placed neatly in the briefcase, which Jones liked. Thought it was snazzy. His word, not mine. I told him to keep it. Figured, what the hell.”