by P. J. Tracy
“That’s hilarious.”
“Of course, Trey may have had some help.” He smiled. “Oh, and I told him I knew Zeller covered Trey for Clara’s murder, and that’s what really got him,” he said proudly.
Gino propped his elbows on the table and got into his face a little. “I guess the joke’s on you now.”
Riskin scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“You think Trey Norwood killed your sister?”
“I know he did. That worthless piece of shit got her pregnant, but she wasn’t good enough for him, so he killed her and Zeller covered it up.”
“Who told you that?”
“I figured it out.”
“You figured wrong. Trey Norwood was in love with your sister. He wanted to marry her.”
Until this point, Riskin had been a pretty cool customer, like psychopaths and sociopaths always were until you derailed their flimsily constructed delusions. That was when they got agitated. “That’s not true!” he shouted, thrashing against his shackles.
“You saw him kill her?”
“No! But I know he did.”
“You don’t know shit,” Gino snapped.
Riskin’s face started to turn a livid red. “Robert Zeller and that fucker who’s always tailing him covered it up and faked the evidence, pinned it on that nutcase who worked for us. I saw them at the scene, only I didn’t know who he was back then.”
“And you never thought about going to the cops.”
“They threatened me and my family! I was just a kid! Besides, I didn’t figure out what was really going on until way later, after my parents died and I went through their stuff. Found out Clara was pregnant and everybody was trying to make her get an abortion, but she wanted to keep the baby. Then Zeller started showing up all over the TV. I recognized him and his watchdog, and then I knew.”
“So you killed Norwood and blew up a goddamned building.”
“What was I supposed to do? Go to the cops?” he sneered. “My word against Zeller’s or the Norwoods’? That’s a fucking joke. And I told you, I didn’t kill Norwood. I thought about it, trust me, because he was all part of it. But watching him suffer was better.” His lips curled in a chilling smile. “He was really starting to fall apart at the end. If he’d lived a few more days, I think he would have cracked up. Maybe even spilled his guts. In my opinion, he had a real guilty conscience.”
Magozzi felt a cool, slow rage building deep inside. “Let’s say we believe you. How does killing a lot of other innocent people make up for your sister? And don’t tell me it’s collateral damage or I’ll smash your face in.”
“Zeller was never going to pay for it unless I made him. And I’m telling you straight up, I didn’t kill Norwood.”
Gino slammed his hand on the table and Riskin jumped. “I’m getting sick of looking at your face and listening to your bullshit. You killed Gregory Norwood, then you killed Gerald Stenson.”
“Who’s Gerald Stenson?”
“And you tried to kill Rosalie Norwood last night, but her alarm scared you off.”
“I got no problem with Rosalie Norwood.”
“Jim Beam and Lloyd Nasif. I suppose you didn’t have a problem with them, either.”
Riskin frowned. “I don’t know Jim Beam.”
“Yeah, you do. The delivery driver …”
“Oh. Yeah. I didn’t have a choice with him. He knew something was up.”
“Lloyd Nasif?”
Gus shrugged. “I had a big problem with him. I paid him to get my stuff in the building in his deliveries. He was a loose end. I guess the way things turned out, I could have let him live.”
Gino’s face was almost purple and he slammed the table again. “And then you blew up a fucking building to kill Zeller, but guess what? Zeller’s alive. He wasn’t in the building when you lit it up. You probably should have double-checked on that, Gus.”
“He’s not dead?”
“No, but you’re as good as.”
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, and started thrashing again, then suddenly stilled, bowed his head, and covered his face with his hands. For a minute of wishful thinking, Magozzi thought he was going to break down, but then he jerked his head up and looked at them, his face contorted in frenzied glee. “But this is all going to break wide open now, isn’t it? Yes, it is.”
Magozzi wasn’t surprised he answered himself. He obviously had a robust dialogue running inside his wrecked mind.
“Yes, it is,” he repeated with satisfaction. “People are finally going to listen to Gus Riskin, and when they do, Zeller’s political career is dead. And it couldn’t have happened any other way. It wasn’t my initial vision, but this might be even better.” He giggled, and the sound was pure madness. “And, for the last time, I didn’t kill Gregory Norwood. Looks like you two still have another murderer to find.”
* * *
Dahl was waiting for them on the other side of the glass. “I don’t understand half of what went on in there, but you two owe me a story when this is all over.”
Magozzi ran a hand down his unshaven cheek. “Pencil us in for a weekend in Vegas—it’ll take that long to lay it all out.”
“Are you finished with him?”
Gino shook his head. “Not by a long shot, but Leo and I need to cool our heels. That guy’s a fucking lunatic, and if either one of us had spent any more time in there, we would have killed him.”
“Do you believe him? That he didn’t kill Norwood?”
Gino scowled. “I don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth. Like you said, he’s a raging psychopath and psychopaths don’t know how to tell the truth. But he didn’t seem to have a problem confessing to mass murder. I don’t know why Norwood would be any different.”
“I’ve spent two hours with him so I have a baseline on his particular brand of insanity. I don’t think he was lying about that, for what it’s worth.”
“Maybe he didn’t kill him, Gino,” Magozzi said quietly. “And we’re never going to find out who did unless Tommy can do something with that surveillance footage.”
CHAPTER
69
ROSALIE RAN HER hand along the black pile that lined the Town Car’s trunk. It was damp and smelled like shampoo. Of course, nothing would dry completely in this humidity.
Who shampoos their trunk?
She found a tiny dark spot at the very back where her bag had been sitting and rubbed it, then jerked her hand away and looked at it. It was red. Diluted from the shampooing, but still unmistakably blood.
“What are you doing, Rosalie?”
Rosalie slammed the trunk of the Town Car and hid her bloody hand behind her back, thankful she’d changed into black. “Uncle Robert! You scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never been accused of being light on my feet, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Your mother sent me up to look for you. We’re hoping you’ll come down to the gazebo.”
“I will, I plan to, I was just looking for … an earring. One of the diamond studs Mom and Father got me for college graduation. I was thinking maybe it fell into the trunk when I was getting my bag earlier. I’ve looked everywhere else.”
“No luck?”
“No.”
“That’s terrible, losing something of such sentimental value, especially now. We’ll keep our eyes out for it.” He tipped his head and his eyes went straight to her earlobes. “Are you sure you lost it? You’re wearing two diamond studs now. I couldn’t help noticing them glinting in the sun.”
Her clean hand fluttered up to her earrings. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course she was still wearing them and now she had to cover one lie with another, which was when people got into trouble.
And what are you so worried about? Why are you lying? This is Uncle Robert.
She tried to put on a smile, but it was weak and so were her knees. “I … put in another pair when I realized I’d lost one of the others. I didn’t want Mom to know. She’d b
e heartbroken.”
“I think you’re right about that. It’s important to protect the people we love, and some things are better left unsaid, aren’t they?” He winked at her. “This will be our little secret.”
“Thanks.”
He offered his hand. “Come down to the gazebo.”
“I’ll be right down, Uncle Robert. I just have to check in with the office first. They’ve been leaving messages non-stop since the cell phones started working again.” Lie number three. Three’s a charm.
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
Rosalie followed him into the house and watched him walk down to the gazebo, then took a deep breath and ran upstairs.
She almost screamed when she flung open her bedroom door and saw Louise sitting on her bed, sipping a glass of wine and working on a laptop.
“Oh, dear Rosalie, I’ve given you a shock, I’m so sorry.”
“That’s okay, I just wasn’t …” She tried to stop her voice trembling.
“Expecting anyone, I know.” She patted the bed. “Come have some wine. I need your help.”
Louise’s eyes were glittering strangely and her speech was halting. Not just from drinking ‒ it couldn’t be just from drinking. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit first.”
“Oh, I will soon,” she slurred. “I took some anxiety medication and it makes me so sleepy. But, first, look at this.” She swiveled the computer and showed her a password-protected screen with an autumn mountainscape. “I can’t seem to get into my computer.”
Rosalie frowned. “That’s a picture of Aspen.” The same photo Father has on his laptop.
“Why, yes, it is, now you mention it. That’s odd. I don’t remember putting that picture on my computer.”
“Are you sure it’s yours?”
She tapped a finger on her lip. “Hmm. Maybe not. Silly me.”
“Where did you find this, Louise?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was lying around. In Robert’s office, I think. I’ll go look again. Will you wait for me?”
Rosalie gave her a brittle smile that felt like it would splinter off her face if she moved. “Of course.”
“Good. There’s something I need to show you. Did you find what you were looking for in the trunk?”
“Oh. I lost an earring but I didn’t find it.”
“That’s a shame. I’ll be right back.”
Rosalie waited until she heard her footsteps fading down the hallway, then frantically punched her father’s username and password into the computer and watched in despair as it logged into his home page.
There was a reasonable explanation for this too, of course there was. This was just some computer mix-up, some mistake. But don’t think too much or you may come up with conclusions that are simply unacceptable …
Whoever killed your father took his computer.
She chugged what was left in Louise’s wine glass, willed her mind blank, and tried to distract herself by reading the titles of the folders on his desktop. Trips, events, photos ‒ the standard fare of anybody’s personal computer ‒ but one folder caught her attention, one simply called “ROBERT.”
Rosalie’s finger hovered over the touch pad for a long time before she finally opened it. There was single file listed: “GOODBYE OLD FRIEND.” A final missive before cancer took him? A suicide note he’d never had an opportunity to use? This wasn’t meant for her eyes, and maybe she didn’t want to know what was in that file. As she tried to gather the courage to open it, Louise startled her. She stood in the doorway, swaying unsteadily, another laptop in one hand and a fresh bottle of wine in the other.
“Rosalie, what’s wrong? You look terribly upset.”
She jumped up and helped her to the bed, then settled her in, propping her head on the ridiculous mountain of silk pillows that covered half of it. “I’m just a little confused.”
Even in repose, Louise deftly refilled her empty wine glass. “I understand exactly what you mean. Things are getting so confusing. Nothing feels real anymore.”
Rosalie sat down next to her and showed her the laptop. “This is my father’s computer, Louise.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
She giggled. “No wonder I couldn’t get into it.”
“Do you know why it’s here?”
“No. You’ll have to ask Robert about that.” Tears started running down her cheeks, but she seemed unaware of them.
Rosalie was afraid she was witnessing a final breakdown, a final collapse, as Louise’s personality disjointed and shifted from motherly to childish to desperate. She took her hand. “Tell me what’s wrong and maybe I can help you.”
“That’s so sweet of you, my darling Rosie, but I don’t think anybody can help me. Or any of us.”
They jolted up when they heard Robert’s voice. “Rosalie? We’re waiting to start lunch. Is everything all right?”
Louise looked at her with panicked eyes. “Please don’t go.”
“Go ahead, Uncle Robert, you and Mom start without us. I’m just helping Louise with some computer problems.”
“Oh. Well, that’s very kind of you. I hope we’ll see you both down at the gazebo soon.”
Rosalie sat down, grabbed Louise’s hands and looked into her vacant eyes. “Tell me what’s happening,” she whispered.
“It’s the devil. You can’t outrun him forever.”
CHAPTER
70
TOMMY ESPINOZA JUMPED out of his chair when Gino and Magozzi walked into his office. “I just finished the enhancement on the surveillance footage from Norwood’s neighbor. I did what I could and it’s not much, but come take a look. See if anything pops for you.”
Magozzi and Gino crowded around his computer. “Show us what you’ve got, buddy.”
Tommy clicked his mouse and started to roll tape. A black-and-white image of Norwood’s house came into view. Trees, hedges, vines, and the pergolas definitely obstructed the view of the driveway, but in the tiny spaces between the foliage, the hulking shadow of a car came into view. Tommy paused the image briefly. “Here’s the car. Can’t see much, but even though the profile’s broken up, you can tell it’s a bigger car, a sedan.”
“It’s not Riskin’s silver Hyundai,” Gino commented.
“No. Now pay close attention. This looks like two people getting out, doesn’t it?”
Magozzi shrugged. “Kind of. But it’s like the car—just vague images and hidden shadows.”
“Keep watching. See, the shadows both disappear from the frame, but before they do, they’re going in different directions. I don’t know the layout of the Norwood place, but I’m thinking one went inside the house and one stayed outside. From the time stamp, they don’t show up again for fifteen minutes. One gets in the passenger seat, one goes to the back of the car, but what happens there is almost totally obscured by a rose hedge.”
Gino rocked back on his heels and looked at Magozzi. “Loading up Stenson’s body?”
“Couldn’t prove it from this. It’s great, Tommy, but it doesn’t do it. We can’t make the car, we can’t make the players.”
“Hang tight, keep watching.” He froze the screen again. “Look in between the roses. You get a partial profile of the guy in back for just a second.”
Magozzi and Gino both squinted. “Roll it again, Tommy.”
They watched it several more times before Gino pounded his hand on the desk and shouted, “Fucking hell! That’s Conrad, I’d bet my life on it. And if that’s Conrad, what do you bet the other guy is Zeller?”
* * *
Louise Zeller sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t know what to do, Rosalie. With Robert being gone all the time, I thought he was having an affair.” She lifted the lid of her laptop and pulled up a screen that listed multiple dates and locations. “I put a tracker on his car, so I could follow him everywhere. I’m quite proud of myself for figuring it out, but you’re the only one who knows. Look here.” She pointed to a time
stamp from yesterday. “Why was he in a park? There was no campaign event there. I checked. There’s no other reason why he would have been in a park way out in the middle of nowhere unless he was meeting someone. I think it’s his campaign aide,” she seethed. “That little bitch.”
Rosalie felt acid creeping up into her throat as she saw William O’Brien State Park under the heading “Location.” “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, I know this is difficult for you, too. Robert has always been your second father, and to know he betrayed me is like a betrayal to you, isn’t it?”
But Rosalie didn’t answer because her eyes were fixed on the entry from yesterday morning, just above the park entry, where her parents’ address glared at her in evil pixels. Yesterday morning, when her father was killed.
She was horrified into complete shock and immobility. Even her mouth didn’t want to move. For a moment, all she could do was sit motionless, watching Louise’s bleary eyes try to focus on hers as her head lolled back and forth. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening …
“I’m so tired, Rosalie, and I just don’t know what to do about all this. That’s why I wanted to show you.” She sagged against the pillows.
“Lie down, Louise. You need to rest, okay?”
“Your voice is shaking. I’ve upset you.”
“It’s okay, Louise. I have to make a phone call, but then I’ll come right back.”
“Promise?”
It was a wounded child’s plea, so pitiful, so heartbreaking, and she suddenly hated herself and everyone around her for deserting this sad, destroyed woman. She bent and kissed her forehead, which was hot and damp. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
Rosalie grabbed the two computers and ran to the window. Uncle Robert kept looking up at the house worriedly and her heart started slamming in her chest. She shoved the computers in a closet behind extra blankets and pillows, grabbed her phone, and punched in Detective Magozzi’s number.
