Secrets, Lies & Homicide

by Patricia Dusenbury

  "The DNA results are a disaster," he said. "Tony Burke is innocent."

  "Wait a minute, let me save this." She hit a key and then pushed the computer aside. "Why's that a disaster? I'm not surprised. Are you? Really?"

  "Sorry, Bea. Those were unrelated statements. The lab mixed up the samples; that's the disaster." He handed her the summary and waited while she scanned it.

  "Four different individuals." She ran her finger down the page. "Okay. We have the killer's DNA. Two samples are related to Tony. Okay. Geneviève is Tony's mother; the bones belong to his father." She frowned. "A paternal relative... Why don't they just say father?"

  "Read it again. They're talking about the skin, not the bones. The skeleton's not related to any of the others." He watched her expression turn incredulous.

  "Tony's father killed Geneviève?"

  "That's what their report says, but I think I know what happened." He laid his diagram on her desk and walked her through it. "I called the lab and talked to Lucy who says no way, but I don't see any other explanation."

  "Give me a minute." Bea stood up and started pacing. Her office was small, and her legs long. After four steps she had to turn around. "What if they didn't make a mistake?" She kept pacing.

  "Can you sit down? You're driving me nuts."

  "I can't think sitting still." She chuckled. "I used to drive my teachers nuts, especially my math teacher. She'd give us word problems and I'd be hopping up and down behind my chair without even knowing that I'd stood up."

  "This isn't math." He was watching a Ping-Pong match, and Bea was the ball.

  "No, it's logic. Remember the old classic: that man is my brother's father, but I am not his son?" She looked at him expectantly.

  He shook his head, grateful that she'd stopped bouncing off the walls but not sure that word games were an improvement.

  "I'm his daughter," Bea said. "That's the solution, a simple and logical explanation that most people miss." She reached the wall and turned around.

  "Very clever, but what does that have to do with finding our killer?"

  "You resolve the apparent contradiction by differentiating between facts and expectations." She stopped pacing. "There are two logical explanations for the DNA results as reported."

  "Which are?"

  "First is that the bones were not Jim Burke." He frowned and she said, "Stay with me. What if Jim Burke killed Mr. Bones? He and Geneviève faked the accident, he took off for parts unknown, she sealed up the studio, and all is well until Tony uncovers the skeleton."

  "No one missed Mr. Bones?"

  "How many people disappeared during Camille?"

  "A lot," he conceded. "But I still don't like it. If no one is looking for Mr. Bones, why did Jim Burke have to disappear? Why put the bones in his studio?" She didn't have an answer and he said, "What's your other explanation?"

  "The bones belong to Jim Burke, who is not Tony's biological father."

  "Not nearly as far-fetched." He thought about it. "Not far-fetched at all, given what we've heard about Geneviève's love life."

  "Start with Tony's scenario, and make the lover also Tony's father. Son discovers his parents' crime, and threatens to reveal it. Mom wants dad to kill their son. Dad kills her instead, because only she knows who he is." She shrugged. "He could be reluctant to kill his son, his own flesh and blood."

  "That plays like a Greek tragedy." And if true, would knock the ground out from under Tony Burke. He almost felt sorry for the man.

  "The man Iris saw could have been Tony's father. She said he was tall. Tony's a couple inches over six feet. How I wish..."

  "Don't beat yourself up, Bea. It wasn't your fault. Iris put herself in danger, and the killer acted before we could protect her."

  "I know, but..."

  "The timeframe says he already had a gun. He was prepared to kill again."

  "I don't know. Crime is up, and old people feel vulnerable. Rich old men, they're packing. Old women carry cute little pearl-handled pistols in their purses."

  "You're not kidding are you?" Once again, he wondered about the city he'd chosen for his civilian career.

  "Why'd you take the job, Mike?"

  "Where did that come from?" Could she read his mind?

  "Everyone in Homicide knows you came from military justice and have a law degree, but no one can figure out why you took this job. Why not the DA's office? They were hiring. The hours and the pay are better."

  He'd asked himself the same question, and the reason was control. As head of the homicide division, he was in a position to make sure a case was solid, something even a mediocre prosecutor couldn't screw up. As a prosecutor, he'd found himself presenting more than a few cases made weak by sloppy investigations and once, to his horror, a capital case based on fabricated evidence.

  "I like investigative work," he said, "building the case and doing it right. How about you?"

  "I love being a detective. It's a big step up for me." She resumed wearing a path in her carpet. "I bet the skeleton is Jim Burke, and the old boyfriend-slash-Tony's father is still around. He might even live at Sunny Gardens. I know Iris said she didn't recognize him, but she hadn't worked there long and didn't necessarily know everyone, even if she thought she did. If we could test all the men's DNA, we might find him."

  They both knew that wasn't going to happen.

  "We owe Burke an apology." He rubbed his forehead where a headache threatened.

  "I'd be happy to deliver it."

  "I bet you would. You've got a lot of ground to make up. 'Wings off butterflies', remember?" He stopped joking. "Tell him he's no longer a suspect, but don't mention his father. I'm leaning toward your second explanation, but there's no point jumping the gun. We'll find out where the truth lies Monday when the other results come in. For now, I'll call Lucy, the lab tech, and apologize to her. Then I'll let Claire know that we're almost finished in the studio, and apologize for our last conversation. Apologies all around. Do you want one?"

  "No, but I've got another riddle for you." She sat back down at her desk. "This one involves simple addition, and the answer is almost ten years."

  He'd been thinking along the same lines. "What do you get when you add a nine-year-old child and a nine-month pregnancy."

  "If the relationship between the victim and her killer lasted that long, someone else must know about it, probably more than one someone. We should be able to find this man." Bea finished the last of the cookies, wadded up the box and tossed it into the wastebasket. "Two points."

  "I'm waiting to hear from Paul Gilbert. He called Wednesday morning and told me that Roger and Geneviève's relationship survived their divorce by an unknown number of years. I asked him to get me names of other men who were involved with Geneviève. His parents must know."

  "Is he really trying to help?"

  "Paul is not a bad person, and he realizes that their silence is shielding a killer."

  "What about Claire and Tony? Their poking around in Geneviève's past could stir up a hornet's nest."

  "I'll warn Claire when I talk to her."

  "Carefully." The phone rang, interrupting Bea's chuckle. She picked up, listened a moment then handed the phone to him. "The lab director from CODIS returning your call."

  Mike took the receiver, time for his first act of contrition. "I owe you and Lucy an apology," he said, "especially Lucy. The confusion was ours. It's entirely possible the skin under the victim's fingernails came from sample number two's father."

  "No it's not. Haven't you read the full report?"

  "I read the summary," Mike admitted, "and jumped the gun."

  "You certainly did. That DNA came from a female."

  CHAPTER 32

  Claire left her Friday morning meeting with a newly signed contract in her brief case. Authentic Restorations was fully booked through March, which was a major relief after the year's slow start. If she brought in any more work, Jack really would need another crew. She returned to the office and found a mes
sage from Mike saying the police were through with the studio. About time. She'd give Tony the good news tonight.

  Tonight, the word made her smile. Tonight, when she slept at his apartment. That thought reminded her that Kyle expected her to come out and ride on Saturday. She called him and told him that she was busy all weekend. Could she have a rain check on the riding? She tried to keep the big smile out of her voice.

  "And I can't buy Tia Maria. Much as I love her, it's just not practical. But promise me you'll find her a good home."

  "That's easy. I'll keep her. She's the perfect horse for Susie, my fiancée who will soon be my wife." Kyle also had a big smile in his voice.

  "Congratulations," she said. "Have you set a date?"

  "Soon as I get back. Let me tell you what's happened. Geneviève's son came up late yesterday afternoon."

  "He told me he wanted to talk to you."

  "Right. I forgot you knew him."

  "My company is restoring his house. That's how I met Geneviève." It was hardly the time to say she might be falling love with Tony Burke.

  "The guy lives up to his reputation," Kyle chortled. "He and his girlfriend—one of them anyway, a real looker—got here a little before five. I was down at the barn, feeding the horses."

  Kyle kept talking but Claire didn't hear much after "girlfriend."

  "Claire are you there?"

  "I'm here. I'm sorry, my mind wandered. I was thinking about Tia Maria," she lied. "I'm glad you're taking her." She was grateful Kyle couldn't see her face.

  "Her and every other horse here. Tony asked me to show them around, said things had changed a lot since he was a kid. I gave him the fifty-cent tour, told him about the horses, how they were coming along, and said how much I appreciated him honoring his mother's word about Magic Man. That's when he asks if I want to buy every horse left on the farm. I tell him there's nothing I'd like better, but I don't have the money and he asks if I can come up with one dollar. One dollar." Kyle sounded incredulous. "At first, I thought he was kidding, but he said, 'No, it's poetic justice. The farm began with a dollar; let it end with one.' I didn't know what he was talking about; still don't, but I don't care."

  Claire knew, but she didn't say anything and Kyle burbled on.

  "He wants the operation totally shut down, all the horses gone before the end of March. That's the only condition."

  "How wonderful, Kyle." She forced the words out, and he was too wrapped in his own exhilaration to hear the strain in her voice.

  "I'm still pinching myself," he said. "The last year and a half, I've been taking whatever work I could get, saving money so Susie and I could get our horse farm up and running. We have the land, I've got enough put away to finish the fencing, and now we've got the horses. My brother's taking a week off to help me move them, starting next weekend. If you want to say good-bye to Tia Maria, you better hurry."

  "I'll try." Was all she could manage.

  "You know, Geneviève hardly ever mentioned Tony and when she did it was nothing good, but he's an all right guy. And he has style. His girlfriend was on him, like white on rice, while he's talking to me, but he acts like she's not even there. We finish and they walk down to the barn. After a while, I started wondering if everything was okay, and so I went down to check. They're up in the loft, going at it like a couple of horny teenagers." He laughed. "I made a discreet exit."

  Claire was too stunned for tears or even anger. Kyle said they acted like horny teenagers. His words made her wince. He might have said that about her and Tony, but she'd imagined a special passion, not something so common or so foolish.

  Tony was a playboy. She knew that before she met him. Everyone knew. Jack had warned her and warned her, but she didn't listen. What had she been thinking? She said good-bye and hung up before the tears started to flow.

  The shower is the best place to cry. Your eyes don't get quite as red or quite as swollen because the water washes everything away. And when you've emptied yourself of sorrow, you get out, towel yourself off, and prepare to face the world. The medicine cabinet is right there with the eye drops, aspirin and whatever else you need. You can stand at the sink and use the mirror to be sure the makeup you put on is covering all that needs to be covered. Use eyeliner instead of mascara in case a few tears are left. You don't want to end up looking like a raccoon.

  She knew the drill. She'd been there in those terrible weeks and months after Tom died, but this was different. She and Tony met when, a month ago? Her life wasn't collapsing around her. She'd been foolish, that's all. She wasn't the first and she wouldn't be the last. Better to laugh than to cry. If she couldn't laugh yet, she'd get mad. As soon as she stopped crying, she'd get mad. She would not be crying when Tony showed up.

  Claire was standing on a chair, refilling the birdfeeder, when she heard the crunch of tires on her gravel driveway. She looked around and saw Tony's Ferrari approaching. He climbed out, carrying a long florist's box, and walked up the steps onto her porch. His slacks and sports coat contrasted with the jeans and tee shirt she was wearing. She ignored his outstretched hand and stepped down by herself.

  "I brought you fresh roses." He looked her up and down. "Did I forget to tell you we were going to a nice restaurant?"

  "No." She stayed out of reach.

  "If you're running late, I can change the reservation."

  His expression had turned wary. He could tell she was upset and he might suspect why, but he was going to make her say it.

  "I talked to Kyle. He said you were up at the farm."

  "As you suggested," he reminded her.

  "I didn't suggest you bring a date." Claire hoped her voice sounded less shrill to Tony than it did to her.

  "I wanted company, and you turned me down. You were my first choice." He reached for her, and she dodged his hand.

  She'd thought about that in the shower, that and a lot of other things. "You must have known Kyle might mention your visit, that you weren't alone."

  "You go out with other people, why shouldn't I?"

  She looked at him blankly. What was he talking about?

  "The homicide detective. Don't tell me you've never gone out with him."

  "There's a difference between having dinner with someone and having sex with someone."

  "Come on, Claire. You're making a big deal out of nothing. It was just a roll in the hay. Literally." He shrugged. "We were in the stable, and she asked me to show her the hayloft. It was her idea, not mine."

  "What difference does that make?"

  "I like women, women like me. I enjoy making love." When she said nothing he added, "You enjoy it, too."

  His words felt like a slap. She put her hand on her cheek.

  "I'm leaving before I say anything I'll regret." Tony laid the florists box on the table and walked back to his car. Before getting in, he said, "I wish you saw things differently, Claire. We could have something special. Being with you isn't like being with anyone else."

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. How many anyone elses were there? Did he compare, rate and rank them? He was only the second man in her life; she was playing way out of her league.

  "Go, just go." Tears clotted her voice.

  Tony's car disappeared around the curve of the driveway. She closed her eyes and felt his arms around her. Her lips parted, as she remembered the pressure of his mouth on hers.

  You can't lose what you never had, and Tony had never been hers, but she felt as if a piece of her had been torn off. He had melted the chunk of ice at her core. He'd made her happy and made it possible for her to remember happiness. She was able to recall her life before Tom died, emotions and events. She was able to experience passion again, and more intensely than she'd thought possible.

  She threw the florist's box in the trash and chucked the old roses in after it. She poured herself a glass of wine and used the last of it to wash down a sleeping pill, anything to dull the pain of crawling into bed alone.

  CHAPTER 33

>   Claire put a plate in the dishwasher. Tony always insisted on helping with the dishes. She walked into the living room where Tony had sat, staring at the floor, while Mike and Bea questioned him about his mother's murder. He'd reached out to her for comfort. That had been genuine.

  Dorian dropped his catnip mouse at her feet. She reached down and twitched the tail—the way Tony had done. An orange paw lashed out, and the toy skittered across the floor, cat in hot pursuit.

  Tony chose his gifts well. He'd been triumphant when Dorian succumbed to the lure of catnip. "I just seduced your cat." He'd looked into her eyes and smiled. She'd missed the unspoken "you're next." She should have known that all he wanted was a good time. Goodtime Tony Burke. Isn't that what one of Jack's tabloids had called him?

  She looked out the window. The birdfeeder reminded her of Tony's story about finding a dead bird on the studio windowsill. Wherever she looked, her eyes landed on something that evoked a memory of him.

  "I need a change of scenery," she told Dorian who'd abandoned the mouse for his favorite blue chair. He'd been annoyed when Tony sat there. "You're glad he's gone, but I'm not."

  She could call Kyle and tell him she'd changed her weekend plans again, but the thought of being in the barn where Tony had made love to another woman made her sick. Nor did she want to hear Kyle joking about not scaring the horses or telling her again what a great guy Tony was.

  "I'm going shopping."

  Dorian opened one amber eye.

  "If you're lucky, I'll pass a pet store and buy you a new treat. Then I'm throwing that catnip mouse away."

  His ears twitched at "treat."

  "Take care of things while I'm gone." She left him to his nap and walked over to Saint Charles to catch the streetcar.

  The Shops of Canal connected an office tower to a luxury hotel, all part of a contemporary development that couldn't be less like the historic houses she restored. Front galleries and tall windows gave the old houses eyes on the street, but the mall looked inward, its exterior a blank beige wall softened only slightly by a row of palm trees. The interiors of old houses tended to be dark, but entering the mall's central atrium was walking into the light. Sun poured through the glass ceiling, tropical plants filled corners and nooks with lush greenery, and an unattended grand piano played cheerful ragtime tunes, thanks to the wonder of modern electronics. A glass elevator rose from a pool of water and disappeared through the roof, offering a stunning view of downtown, while carrying guests to the attached hotel.