The Only Suspect

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Although I’d given the box of mementoes Andrea’s neighbor had given me a cursory run-through in Atlanta, I wanted to go through it again in more depth. I figured the free afternoon was a perfect opportunity. I was hoping I’d find some clue that would help me understand the woman I’d been married to and hadn’t known at all.

  The phone rang just as I finished loading the dishwasher.

  “Hi, Sam. It’s Ira. You got a minute?”

  “Sure.” I found Ira’s affable voice reassuring. Maybe we weren’t as close as we’d once been, but Ira was familiar and comfortable the way only an old friend can be. “Molly’s off playing with my dad,” I told him, “and I’m here cleaning. I feel like Cinderella.”

  “Great. I mean, not about your cleaning, but that you’re free. You think you could come by the office for a few minutes?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Just a few papers we need to go over.”

  It wasn’t strange that Ira was doing paperwork on the weekend. He was a stickler for administrative stuff and was always trying to squeeze the last dollar out of the business. But that he’d want my input, especially now, was curious. For a brief instant, I experienced a glimmer of hope that he wanted me back in the practice on a regular basis. But I realized it was more likely there was some egregious error that was all my fault.

  “Sure. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “I appreciate it, Sam.”

  In case my father and Molly got home before I did, I left a note saying I’d gone to the office.

  Our practice was located on the ground floor of a building with one other tenant, an orthodontist who didn’t work weekends. Parking was never a problem. Still, when I pulled into the reserved spot in the back lot, I was glad to see that Ira hadn’t given my space away.

  Ira was at his desk. He pushed back his chair and gave me a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. How are you doing?”

  I made a gesture with my hands. “So-so.”

  “You want a Coke or something?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He left and returned a few minutes later with a glass of soda for each of us. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I feel like a real heel asking you stay away from the practice.”

  My heart lifted. Maybe he really did want me back. “It’s okay,” I told him. “I understand.” It wasn’t really okay, but given how little time I’d had to focus on anything but my wife’s murder, it was probably for the best. At least that’s what I’d tried to tell myself.

  I took a gulp of Coke. It was cold and refreshing.

  “The patients ask about you. They miss you.”

  “I’m glad to know I’m missed.” I wondered if Ira was softening me up before he dropped the bombshell. After all, it was supposedly the patients’ suspicions and discomfort that had made him ask me to stay away in the first place.

  “Do you think the cops are making any headway toward solving the case?”

  “It’s gotten very complicated. Now the FBI is involved.”

  “The FBI?” He looked startled. “What for?”

  “I don’t understand all that’s happening.” I didn’t have the energy to go through it all again. “What papers did you want me to look at?”

  “You sure you’re up to it? We can do it another time.”

  “No, now’s fine.” I felt suddenly lightheaded. Despite my nap, jet lag and lack of sleep had caught up with me. I guzzled more soda then held the icy glass to my forehead.

  Ira shuffled through some files. “Mr. Langley’s ulcer is acting up again.”

  “Really?” Was that what Ira wanted to talk to me about? Had I misdiagnosed a condition? I tried to remember Langley. I knew he was a patient, but my head was swimming and I felt woozy.

  “You okay, Sam?”

  “Just a little dizzy. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Have more soda. Maybe you’re dehydrated.”

  I took another gulp. I could feel perspiration beading on my forehead. Was I having a heart attack?

  “Sam?”

  Ira’s voice sounded far away and muddied. The room began to spin.

  A female voice off in the distance. It sounded like Maureen. God, I was having a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or something. I gripped the desk for support.

  “Can’t you just give him a shot like last time?” the voice that sounded like Maureen’s said.

  Last time?

  “He’s got to be conscious to sign his name.”

  My mouth was dry. It felt as though it were filled with cotton. “Sign what?” The words came out garbled.

  Ira put a typed page in front of me. “We just need your signature, Sam.” He put the pen in my hand.

  “Whasssss thiis?” I tried to read it, but the words blurred.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sam. Like I said, just some paperwork.”

  I shook my head, tried to focus on the page. Odd words here and there were all I could make out. Distraught. Sorry. Guilty.

  “Just sign it. Then we’ll let you get some sleep.”

  Sleep sounded wonderful. I gripped the pen. Slowly signed my name.

  “Is he done?” The woman’s voice again. She came into view.

  Not my imagination.

  “Maureen?”

  “Hi, Sam.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “You’re alive?”

  “I am.”

  “But the body ... the wine cellar ...”

  “My sister, Eva.”

  With my head spinning, it was hard to hold onto any thought at all. “She was ... wearing ... your jacket.”

  “We wanted people to think it was me. But it was Eva. She’s the reason this has gone all wrong.”

  “Whadda ya mean?”

  Maureen sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs. “It was a simple plan. All we wanted was the ransom money.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  “The marriage wasn’t working, Sam. I gave it a shot, but it wasn’t ... what I expected. I couldn’t just divorce you though. Your money is all tied up in trust. I’d never get my hands on it.”

  I looked at Ira, my friend since fourth grade. I wanted him to tell me I was delirious. I wanted him to reassure me. But he was busy folding the paper I’d signed.

  “Ira helped me with the kidnapping,” she explained. “He needed money too. And now he’s going to get the practice for himself. Eva made things worse for you, Sam. But actually it worked out for everyone else.”

  Maureen took a sip of Ira’s Coke. “Eva was a spoiled brat. Always had been as far as I could tell. Just like Lisa.”

  Lisa? What did she have to do with this? But I couldn’t wrap my mind around the question.

  “You killed your sister?” The words were slurred, but Maureen seemed to decipher them.

  “She was going to ruin everything. She was going to tell you what was going on. She backed us into a corner—we had to kill her.”

  “It still might have been okay,” Ira said. “The body wasn’t supposed to be discovered at Albright’s. We figured we’d dump it someplace obvious after we got the rest of the ransom money. That way Maureen wouldn’t need to get a divorce, because everyone would assume she was dead. As soon as those guests of Albright’s discovered the corpse, everything changed. We thought about framing you right then.”

  “We should have framed you, Sam. It would have been better for you. You might have gotten off at trial like you did last time. But now the cops know about Eva, so you’ve got to step up to the plate.”

  Ira pushed back his chair. “Now that you’ve confessed to her murder, you’re going to take your own life.”

  “No!” I tried to stand. My legs wouldn’t hold me up. In fact, I had no feeling at all in them.

  Ira opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a syringe, which he filled from a small glass bottle. “We’ll make it easy on you, Sam. You’re going to drive off the bridge, but I’ll make sure you�
��ve got enough drugs in you first that you won’t know what hit you.”

  “You can have the money.” I struggled to make them understand, but neither of them seemed remotely interested.

  Using a tissue, Maureen picked up the envelope with my signed confession. “I’ll put this on his desk.”

  Ira nodded and flicked the syringe with his finger to remove the air bubbles.

  “Just hold still, Sam. You’ll hardly feel it.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Hannah hung up the phone. “He’s not home,” she told Dallas. “His father said he went into the office. Let me try that number.”

  A recording greeted her. “Our office is currently closed. If this is an emergency ...” She turned to Dallas. “Let’s just drive over there.”

  “You tried his cell?”

  She’d tried that first. “He’s not answering.”

  Dallas grabbed the car keys from his desk. “You sure that Boston cop knows what he’s talking about?”

  “No. I’ve only spoken with him a couple of times. But Lisa’s cousin called him after seeing Maureen’s photo on the Internet. She says Sam’s wife looks like the woman Lisa argued with only days before she was killed.”

  Dallas whistled under his breath. “Eva or Andrea?”

  “Good question.” Hannah had assumed it was Andrea, Sam’s wife. But she didn’t have any real grounds for that.

  “Did the cousin say what Lisa and the woman argued about?”

  “Something about Molly. The woman was apparently talking to her, and Lisa went ballistic.”

  “For talking to her kid?”

  “Donahue only gave me the short version, but he thinks Andrea might be ‘the monster’ Lisa talked about. It sounded like the woman was stalking her. Trying to steamroll her way into Lisa’s life for some reason.”

  “Didn’t Lisa report her?”

  “Apparently not. This was the first Donahue had heard of it. The cousin was a twelve-year-old kid at the time. She says she told her parents, but the family was so convinced Sam was involved they didn’t pay much attention. The bruises Lisa’s mother noticed on her arm and thought came from Sam could actually have come from the stalker.”

  “Why was the woman stalking Lisa?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Some sort of psychotic crush on Sam maybe?”

  “Do you suppose Sam and Andrea were having an affair? Maybe they were in this together from the beginning.”

  The thought had crossed Hannah’s mind. But if that was so, they’d waited a long time to pick up again. “Maybe. Let’s see how Sam reacts to this latest information.”

  Dallas turned into the parking lot behind the medical building and pulled into a parking spot reserved for patients. There were only two other cars and a motorcycle in the lot. Hannah recognized one of the cars as Sam’s Audi.

  “We’re in luck,” she said. “It looks like he’s still here.”

  Dallas put the cruiser into park and opened the door. Hannah was still mentally sorting out the cars. Suddenly her pulse kicked into overdrive.

  “Whose motorcycle is that?” she asked.

  “Ira’s, I think. He’s got one like it, at any rate. Why?”

  The information dropped like a lead weight in Hannah’s stomach. “Look at the decal on the rear fender,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

  Dallas peered at the bike. “It’s from the Indian gaming casino north of Sacramento.”

  Her mouth was dry. “It’s the same symbol as on the metal pull Carla and I found behind the barn.”

  “So?” But even as he spoke, Hannah could see Dallas making the connections himself. “Holy shit. You think Ira’s part of this?”

  “I think it’s time we found out,” Hannah told him.

  “Maybe we should run the plate first.” He was already heading back to the cruiser.

  Just then, there was a loud crash from inside the building. Hannah could hear raised voices, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  She and Dallas raced for the entrance.

  “How are we going to play it?” Dallas asked.

  “By the seat of our pants, I’m afraid.”

  CHAPTER 57

  During the long, hard months following Lisa’s murder, I spent a lot of time thinking about death. Hers, of course, but my own as well. I’d lie on the thin, hard mattress of my jail cell, sometimes imagining my final moments on death row but more often agonizing over not being alive to see Molly grow up. The idea of missing all that wonder was as painful to me as the loss of her mother had been.

  I mourned my own demise for months on end.

  But now, facing imminent death, I didn’t think at all. When Ira flicked the syringe with his fingernail, panic and rage propelled me into mindless action.

  Though I was weak and dizzy, I somehow managed to get to my feet.

  Ira put a hand on my chest and pushed me back into my chair. “Don’t fight me, Sam. It will only make things worse.”

  I sucked in gulps of air, trying desperately to clear my head. Raised an arm to fend him off. Ira brushed it aside.

  “You can’t do this,” I told him. “Please ... don’t do this.”

  He readied the syringe to plunge into my arm. My eyes focused on the needle and the drop of serum that glistened on the tip.

  “Just hold still, Sam. It won’t hurt as much.” He reached for my wrist.

  At the last minute, I slumped forward and rolled onto the floor, hitting Ira in the midsection and knocking him off his feet. The syringe went flying.

  “Goddam it, Sam.” He clambered to all fours.

  I managed to drag myself to the corner between Ira’s credenza and the wall. While he was righting himself, I stuck a finger into my throat, making myself gag and then vomit. Whatever Ira had given me was already at work in my system. But the less of it I had in me, the better.

  Maureen rushed back into the room. “What’s all the racket?” She looked at the mess on my clothing. “Jesus, Sam.”

  Ira lunged toward me. I pulled the cord of the table lamp and sent it toppling to the floor. The ceramic stand shattered.

  Ira kicked at the fragments.

  Between the pounding of my heart and the commotion in the room, I was only dimly aware of the pounding on our outer door.

  “Police. Open up.”

  Maureen’s face froze. She turned to Ira. “What do we do now?”

  Hannah pounded on the door.

  “Stand back,” Dallas told her. Gun drawn, he kicked in the door and entered first. Hannah could hear voices from one of the inner offices.

  “Sam’s office is at the back,” she whispered. “Ira’s is to the left.”

  “Go around to the rear of the building,” Dallas barked. “Make sure any exits are covered.”

  Hannah nodded. “I called for backup. Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “You’d care?”

  Surprisingly, she realized she would. For all her complaining, she’d sort of settled into working with him. “Of course,” she barked.

  Then she hustled around to the back of the building, where she’d noticed an unmarked door leading to the garbage bins at the left of the parking lot. She’d barely gotten into position when it flew open. Ira and a woman who looked like the photos she’d seen of Maureen Russell careened through the door.

  “Police,” Hannah shouted. “Get your hands above your heads.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined being so happy to see Dallas. He stood at the doorway with his gun drawn.

  “Don’t shoot,” I called to him. “It’s me.”

  He slipped inside, keeping his back to the wall, his eye on the hallway. “Are you hurt, Sam?”

  “I was drugged, but I think I’m okay.” I tried to drag myself to my feet and couldn’t. I was still weak and woozy, but I felt more clear-headed. “They went out through the rear door. To your right.”

  “Patrol should be here any minute, along with an ambulance. Yo
u sure you’ll be okay?”

  I nodded. “It’s Ira and Maureen. Don’t let them get away.”

  As Dallas disappeared, I could hear the whine of sirens in the distance.

  Despite my protests, I was carted off in an ambulance. A female cop in uniform rode with me and took my statement. At the hospital, I was checked out and finally released to my worried dad and daughter. I assured them repeatedly that I was fine, but we all knew that alive and fine were not quite the same.

  When I got home, I called the police station. I couldn’t get anyone there to answer my questions, but Hannah called about seven that evening to ask if I was okay.

  “I’ll live,” I told her. I had a pounding headache and a gut that felt like it had been trampled on by a herd of elephants. But the truly battered parts of me weren’t physical.

  “Have they confessed?” I asked. “They told me they killed Maureen’s sister, Eva.”

  “I can’t talk right now, Sam. I just wanted to be sure you were in one piece.”

  “Thanks. I’m grateful you and Dallas showed up when you did this afternoon.” For once, fate had gone my way.

  “I’m glad it worked out. Tomorrow, I’ll want to go over your statement. I’ll tell you what I can then. In the meantime, get some rest.”

  It wasn’t until that night, after Molly was in bed and I was finally alone in the house, that I was finally able to really look through the cardboard box Andrea’s neighbor had given me. I cleared the kitchen table of fortune-cookie crumbs—earlier in the evening Molly and my dad had eaten Chinese food while I sipped hot bouillon—and started sorting through the papers and photos in the box.

  It was a disappointing collection. There was a handful of photos of a young girl I presumed was Andrea, whom I’d known as Maureen. In a couple of them, she was with a woman I took to be her mother, Helen Wycoff. Helen was a good-looking woman with the same coloring as her daughters but a fuller figure.

  There were also school papers and drawings, a news clipping about Andrea’s appearance in the high-school production of Fiddler on the Roof, a slightly grimy but much loved stuffed bear. The sort of things that had meaning, maybe, for the person who collected the items, but little beyond that.