Final Appeal

by Joanne Fluke

  “Warned him? Of course I warned him! I said I would, didn’t I? But I’m afraid he didn’t take my warning seriously, Mikey. He said I didn’t have any proof that someone was after the jurors.”

  Michael frowned. That was strange. Four people out of a group of seven had been killed. Maybe it wasn’t exactly proof, but if Michael had been in that group, he certainly wouldn’t have taken the statistics lightly.

  Had Stan done a good job of warning the professor? “How about Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare? Do you think they took you seriously?”

  “I’m sure they did, Mike.”

  “But are you positive? The killer’s going to try to get them next. We both know that.”

  “Relax, Mikey. Take a deep breath. That helps to lower blood pressure. I don’t want you getting sick on me. Not now. The minute I heard about Zimmer’s death this morning, I ordered twenty-four-hour bodyguards for each of them. My men are in place right now. Does that make you feel better?”

  Michael let out a long sigh of relief. “Yes, Stan. Thanks a lot. At least they’ll have a better chance than Professor Zimmer did.”

  “You bet they will! Is that all, Mikey? I’ve got a client waiting.”

  “Just one more thing. Why do you think he’s doing it Stan? I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I can’t think of a reason.”

  “I don’t know. You’re right, Mikey. It doesn’t make sense, but the killer’s reason doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  Michael frowned. It certainly mattered to him! There was a killer out there who was setting him up. He’d be crazy if he didn’t want to know why!

  “Sorry, Mike.” Stan broke the silence. “Of course it matters a lot to you. I just wasn’t considering it from your perspective. But I’ve got a hunch it’ll all be over this time tomorrow.”

  “A hunch, Stan? I didn’t think you believed hunches.”

  “I don’t, not usually. You’ll have to trust me on this one, Mikey. It’ll all be over by tomorrow. Just keep that in mind.”

  At first Michael was puzzled. What was Stan talking about? Then he remembered that his brother had ordered guards. “I get it, Stan. If the killer tries it again tonight, your guards will pick him up.”

  “Affirmative. This whole thing will be wound up tonight. That’ll be a relief for both of us. Right, Mikey?”

  “Right, Stan.”

  Michael frowned. Stan sounded really strange. He was beginning to wonder if his brother was coming unhinged from the pressure.

  “Mikey? I just want you to know that I’m sorry about Zimmer. He was a bit of a stuffed shirt, but he wasn’t all dry and academic. Joyce said he really gave her the once-over.”

  Michael’s brain kicked into high gear. Joyce was Stan’s secretary. How did she know Professor Zimmer?

  “Professor Zimmer must have been the juror who brought you that footage. Is that right, Stan?”

  “You’re batting a thousand. And Zimmer did me one heck of a favor, Mike. Most people would have taken it straight to the police. Now go home. And stop worrying. Everything is under control. Maybe I’ll drop in on you tonight, just to calm you down. You’d like to see your old brother again, wouldn’t you, Mikey?”

  “You know I would, Stan. But I thought you said it wasn’t safe.”

  “Oh, it’s not. It’s definitely not. But maybe I’ll decide to live dangerously.” Stan chuckled. “If things work out the way I plan, I might just ring your doorbell instead of your phone. Now say good-bye, Mikey. And get your tail back home behind locked doors. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Michael said good-bye and hung up. What a weird conversation! Could Stan be on drugs? It wasn’t so much what Stan had said as the way he’d said it. Of course Stan had a lot on his mind, and Michael had interrupted him in the middle of a client meeting, but he’d never known Stan to be quite so manic before.

  He was still puzzling over his brother’s curious state of mind when he walked back out into the center part of the mall. He’d go buy Toni’s printer paper, and then, since he was already here, he might as well pick up a couple of other things he needed. It was nice being out in the world again.

  CHAPTER 27

  Ebony Rose got into her car and pulled out of the underground garage. She hadn’t even had time to make her tea before the phone rang. And then she’d run around like crazy dressing in street clothes and yelling to Bridget to keep Miles there if he came before she got back. She could have saved a little time by calling down and telling the garage attendant to bring her Jag around to the front entrance, but she didn’t like the way he drove. She’d worked hard for the car, and she didn’t want some pimply teenager to squeal all the rubber off the tires.

  The counter was flashing when she pulled onto the Wilshire entrance to the freeway. Traffic was heavy this time of day, and the last thing she wanted to do was drive across town. Why had he insisted on seeing her immediately? And in a crowded shopping mall, of all places!

  Freeway conditions were bumper-to-bumper. She didn’t have to be careful about keeping her speed down to the posted limit. No speeding tickets for her today. She’d be lucky if she could get out of second gear.

  After what seemed like forever, Ebony Rose got off the freeway and drove to the mall. She took her ticket from the machine at the entrance to the parking garage and drove all the way to the top to park. She always parked on the roof level when she came to the mall. Most people wanted to be inside the parking structure, and that meant there was usually plenty of parking on the roof. Today it was completely deserted except for a couple of panel trucks.

  The elevator took forever to get to the top level. Ebony Rose pressed the button and waited, tapping her foot impatiently. Then she noticed the shoes she was wearing. Deck shoes didn’t really go with her fuchsia designer pantsuit, but she’d been in so much of a hurry, she’d grabbed the first pair of low-heeled shoes in her closet.

  While she was here at the mall, she might as well dash into the wine shop on the fifth floor to pick up some of the Chardonnay Jamie liked. She’d already decided to drink Perrier tonight, but just because she was watching her intake didn’t mean that Jamie had to be deprived.

  He enjoyed the expensive wine she served and Ebony Rose knew that he could never afford to buy it on his salary. She smiled as the green light flickered on the elevator. She could hear it coming. She wondered if Jamie would have any news about the footage he’d found. The man in the background had been Michael Hart, she was sure of it. She hoped they’d do something for him soon. The poor man had spent ten years locked up for a crime he hadn’t committed, and she’d voted guilty just like Jamie and all the rest. The only holdout had been the little nun. Ebony Rose had wavered a little when she’d seen how troubled the sister had been. But then the foreman had reminded them of reasonable doubt. And even Sister Mary Clare had finally decided her doubts weren’t reasonable.

  The elevator bell rang. Ebony Rose stepped to the side and put a friendly but neutral expression on her face. If there were other passengers inside, she hoped they wouldn’t look down at her feet. Then her expression turned to terror as the doors opened and the man burst out to grab her.

  These elevators were the worst he’d ever been in. Michael took a deep breath as he got off at the fourth floor and headed left toward the stationery store. Elevators had always bothered him, and he’d felt dizzy and slightly disoriented when the cage had risen all the way to the top, even though he was sure he’d pushed the button for the fourth floor. He’d almost lost it there for a minute, and he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t passed out. Elevators reminded him of the rides at the county fair he’d gone to with Stan and Aunt Alice. And the man in the tent who had tried to molest him. He’d told Aunt Alice and she’d been so furious at Stan for leaving him alone, that she’d caused a big scene right there on the midway. And Stan had been so angry at Michael for getting him in trouble with Aunt Alice that he’d taken him up on the Ferris wheel and rocked the seat to scare him. It had frightened
Michael so badly, he’d balked at riding elevators all his life until now.

  Michael knew he’d been hyperventilating when he got off at the top floor and waited for another elevator going down. But he’d been determined to lick his problem once and for all. He’d forced himself to ride the elevators several times. And now that he’d proved to himself that he could do it without freaking out, he felt good. He had conquered his fear in less than twenty minutes.

  Waiting in line at the stationery store, Michael was smiling. It would be great to see his brother again. And Michael’s long ordeal was almost over. Stan’s guards would pick up the killer, he would win his appeal, his sleepwalking would stop once the pressure was off, and then, with all those problems behind him, he’d be free to tell Toni what had been on his mind during the last couple of days.

  It seemed to take forever for the stock boy to check on the printer paper. Michael didn’t really mind. He browsed around the store, looking at the racks of paperback books. Would his book be published someday? It was an incredible long shot, but if it ever happened, he’d dedicate it to Toni. She was the one who’d given him the idea to write in the first place.

  The stock boy came back at last. The truck had just pulled in with supplies, and it would take another fifteen minutes or so to get it unloaded.

  Now that he was inside the mall, surrounded by people who couldn’t be as much of a threat as Stan thought they were, he’d take advantage of the opportunity to wander around a little. And he’d be sure to stop in at that flower shop he’d spotted to buy Toni some roses. She’d been a real help in a lot of ways, and he might just get the nerve to write those three little words on the card.

  Toni sat at Mike’s desk, holding the list in her hand. Twelve names and eight of them were crossed out. She knew every name on the list, but she hadn’t made the connection until now. They were the jurors from the Michael Hart trial. That was one of the reasons the name Jose Sanchez had seemed so familiar. She would have caught on a little sooner if Harry had mentioned the name of the professor when he’d told her about the murder this morning, or the name of the mortician who’d been killed.

  She looked down at the list again. Two names were circled in green ink. The first had “China” written under it, and the other had the word “Northumberland.” They must be out of the country. That left ten, and eight of them were dead. Five of the jurors had been murdered. Mike had crossed out those names in red ink. Two were left. Only two. Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare.

  Toni was close to a state of shock. It had started when she’d found the clippings of the murders. There were frequent murders in a city the size of Los Angeles and she’d never guessed that these seemingly unrelated acts of violence could affect her personally. Now that Toni thought about it, she lived a very isolated life. She didn’t watch television often, and she seldom listened to the radio. She never read the daily newspaper, and her world really revolved around her computer and the people who lived in her apartment building. It was a very closed environment. Of course she hadn’t known the jurors on the Hart trial were being murdered. She’d paid absolutely no attention to what was going on in the world outside her safe little seven-story island.

  Only two jurors left, Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare. How strange it was. Her mind was working as clear as a bell, but her body felt frozen. Everything made perfect sense. It just had no impact for her. Mike had wanted her to locate Jose Sanchez because he’d been a juror on the Hart trial. And when he’d asked her to run her stat program on his new book idea, he’d really been doing research on the murders of the Hart trial jurors. But why was Mike so interested? And why had he lied to her about his real reason? She had to find out.

  Toni reached into the desk drawer and felt around in the bottom. The clippings were the first piece of the puzzle, and the list was the second. There had to be more pieces and her job was to find them. She had a lot at stake. Because she loved Mike, this was one puzzle she had to solve.

  There was something shoved all the way back in the drawer, something that felt like a piece of soft plastic. Toni drew it out and turned it over in her fingers. A bracelet. The kind they clamped around your wrist when you were admitted to the hospital. And the name on the front was Michael Hart.

  Suddenly, Toni felt a chill rush through her body. Michael Hart—the man who had murdered his wife ten years ago, or the man who’d been convicted of murdering his wife ten years ago. She still wasn’t sure whether he’d actually done it. But why did Mike have Michael Hart’s hospital bracelet? It seemed to take forever for her to form that question.

  Only two jurors left, Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare. Her legs carried her out of his apartment and back down the hall to her own. Good thing she’d left the door unlocked. Mike had her keys. She locked the door behind her and went straight to her computer. The modem. The police data bank. What happened to Michael Hart? It sounded like the title for a movie.

  Michael Hart had escaped from the Oakdale Facility for the Criminally Insane. That was fascinating. And Mike Kruger had moved in that same night. He was writing a book about a mental hospital that read so real, it sent chills down her spine. Muriel had felt the same way. If Toni didn’t know better, she’d suspect that the reason she couldn’t find Mike Kruger’s name in any of her data banks was that Mike was using a fake name and he was really Michael Hart.

  But that was impossible. She did know better. Mike didn’t look anything like Michael Hart. Harry had shown her Michael Hart’s mug shot, and she’d been very careful not to let on that she’d already seen his face. Harry would have wanted to know all about it, and she avoided anything that had to do with her past. No one knew, not even good friends like Harry and Doris. But even without that mug shot to refresh her memory, Toni knew that Mike didn’t resemble Michael Hart in the slightest. People couldn’t change the shape of their faces. Unless, of course, they’d undergone some sort of massive reconstruction.

  Toni loaded the program to crack access codes.

  She’d told Mike she’d never use it except in a real emergency that was a matter of life or death. But there were only two jurors left, Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare. That was a matter of life and death.

  The program worked, but Toni felt no thrill of accomplishment. Nothing seemed to affect her one way or the other. There was something dead, something deep inside her that was numb and frozen, and she doubted that anything could ever bring it back to life again.

  There it was. Toni hit the proper sequence of keys to request a complete review of the file on Michael Hart. The screen scrolled past, and she caught certain phrases. Plastic surgery. Extensive. A year to complete. Cheekbones. Nose. Shape of the jaw. All the things that made a person’s face uniquely his own had been changed for Michael Hart. It reminded her of an old television show. Would the real Michael Hart please stand up? And now, would he tell the panel his secret? Was he murdering the jurors who’d served at his trial?

  As she gazed at the screen Toni realized that she had all the evidence to solve the puzzle. And every bit of it was circumstantial, exactly as it had been ten years ago. Mike had taken her car the night that Jose Sanchez was murdered. And he’d told her he’d been on the Santa Monica freeway. He could have killed Jose Sanchez. That was the first piece.

  There were thirty extra miles on her odometer today, exactly the distance to Gateway University. And Harry had told her that it was possible for a tank to drive onto the campus without being noticed. Had Mike murdered Professor Zimmer last night and then come back to sleep in her bed? That was the second piece, and she didn’t want to go over the rest. There were only two jurors left, Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare. What could she do?

  Toni tried to think, but something seemed wrong with her head. Perhaps the numbness that affected the rest of her body had spread to her mind. And then there was a knock on her door. Was he back? The man who was Mike Kruger or Michael Hart? As her icy legs carried her across the floor to answer the summons, she remin
ded herself that there were only two jurors left for him to kill, Rosalie Dumont and Sister Mary Clare.

  CHAPTER 28

  Harry rang the doorbell again and knocked a little louder. He hoped Toni wasn’t sleeping or anything like that. Then he heard footsteps, and the door inched open.

  “Hi, Toni. Jesus, kid! You look awful. It isn’t catching, is it?”

  Toni blinked, and then a little color started to come back into her face. “Oh, Harry! I think I’m coming down with a cold. I was just napping, that’s all.”

  Harry nodded. He knew what it was like to get up out of a sound sleep and try to function. He’d been doing it a lot lately. “Everything’s all right, isn’t it, Toni? I mean with Mike and all?”

  “Sure, Harry. Everything’s just peachy. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

  She seemed to be better now, and Harry began to breathe easier. “Can’t do it, Toni. I’ve got to get down to the station. They just called me in.”

  “Another murder?”

  Harry shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. We’re checking it out right now.”

  “You don’t know if it’s murder?”

  “Not yet. This woman fell off the roof of the Triangle Mall. Twelve stories, right there on La Cienega. Are you sure you want to hear this, Toni? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I want to hear it. Tell me, Harry.”

  “Well . . . okay. We don’t know whether it was suicide or if she was pushed. That’s always a possibility considering the line of work she . . .”

  “Who was she, Harry?”

  Toni looked like she really didn’t feel well at all. Harry wished he hadn’t said anything now.

  “Nobody you’d know, Toni. She ran a high-class hooker operation. You want to sit down or something? You look like you’re ready to pass out on me.”

  “I’m fine, Harry. You know how it is when you first wake up. What was her name?”