Secrets, Lies & Homicide

by Patricia Dusenbury

  Geneviève had disparaged Sunny Gardens for not being real. This interior landscape wasn't real either, but Claire appreciated its exuberance. She wandered around the first floor, window-shopping in upscale stores selling things she neither wanted nor needed. Honoring her promise to Dorian, she rode the escalator up to the second floor where the directory said she'd find a pet store. She was watching kittens play in the window display, when someone called her name.

  "Hey, fancy meeting you here." Detective Bea Washington looked elegant in a tailored pants suit, a pale olive green this time. "I was going to call you."

  Claire forced a return smile. She liked Bea but really didn't want to talk about Tony or his mother's murder or any of the things Bea would want to talk about.

  "I'm after new shoes." Bea stuck out a foot and twisted it to show the battered heel. "Being a cop is hard on shoes, especially high heels, but don't tell me to wear something more sensible. I had to wear lace-up oxfords when I walked a beat. When I was promoted, I promised myself never again." She glanced down at Claire's sneaker-clad feet. "Sexy shoes are my vice. What's yours?"

  Caught by surprise, Claire admitted that she liked silky lingerie. "The way the fabric slides on my skin." She banished the memory of the negligee she'd bought for the weekend she thought she'd be spending with Tony.

  "Look around you." Bea waved her hand. "Store after store selling lovely silky things for Valentine's Day, but not one shopping bag in your hand."

  "I just got here," Claire lied. She'd been wandering around the mall for an hour now, studiously ignoring the red hearts and cupids. Valentine's Day was also Tony's birthday.

  "You're looking a little bedraggled," Bea said. "Let me treat you to an ice cream cone. Stone Cold Creamery has opened up in the food court."

  "Sounds good." Claire pulled herself together. "But it's my treat, a thank you for the help clearing out Geneviève's apartment."

  "Are you sure? I want two scoops."

  "Get a banana split if you want. I signed another client Friday. I'm rolling in dough."

  As they rode the escalator to the third floor, Bea described the exotic flavors the Creamery offered, sea salt caramel, rose petal and lavender, along with the old standards. Claire opted for lavender and paid for the cones while Bea claimed a table away from other shoppers.

  "When this is all over," Bea said, "I hope we'll become friends."

  "I do too, but it's not over yet, is it?"

  They ate their ice cream in silence until Bea said no, but things had changed. "Did Mike reach you?"

  "Yes." Another warning, not about Tony this time, but still nothing she'd wanted to hear.

  "I've been trying to reach Tony since yesterday morning. I have good news for him, but he's not returning my calls. Is he out of town?"

  "I don't know where he is." Claire heard her defensive tone and cringed inwardly. "This ice cream really tastes like lavender smells. It's delicious."

  "Especially with the dark chocolate chunks. Will you be seeing him soon?"

  "Probably. We're still working on his house." At least she thought they were. She'd been absorbed by her own sense of betrayal and hadn't considered the possibility that he might not want to have any more to do with her.

  Bea saved the top scoop that was threatening to fall off her cone. "I should have gotten a dish. It's impossible to talk and eat this at the same time." She walked over to the counter and came back with the remains of her cone in a paper cup. "I had the impression you and Tony were friends," she said. "More than friends."

  Claire had rerun every moment spent with Tony Burke and hadn't been able to get mad at anyone but herself. He never lied to her, never led her on, and never pretended. He'd told her that he'd wanted to make love to her from the first time he saw her. But making love wasn't the same thing as feeling love. He talked about loving her smile, her kiss, but never about loving her. She'd mistaken desire for love.

  Most girls learn to tell the difference when they're teenagers, but she'd only dated Tom who had both loved and desired her. Thirty-four years old and she'd finally met the man her mother warned her against. "Right now, I'm not sure that I even like him."

  That response earned her a sympathetic gaze.

  "We've tracked down four more people from those old photographs," Bea said. "I think that's all we're going to find. No one has any idea who Geneviève's lovers might have been, but they all say she had more than one. We've also gained some insights into Jim Burke."

  "Share them with Tony. He treasures memories of his father."

  "The wonderful father Tony remembers never existed."

  Claire did a double take. "Why do you say that?"

  "Jim Burke and Geneviève Devereux married five months before Tony was born. The marriage was not a happy one, and both had frequent affairs. No one took Jim Burke's disappearance seriously because it wasn't unusual. He'd sell a painting and go on a bender. Until that last time, he always turned up when the money ran out. We went back two years and found six missing person reports plus two drunk and disorderly arrests."

  "Are you going to tell Tony?"

  "Claire, he already knows. He was nine years old when Jim Burke made his final disappearance. I remember things that happened when I was eight and nine, don't you?" Bea didn't wait for an answer. "Murder investigations have a way of kicking over rocks. Innocent people get hurt."

  Claire shook her head. Innocent wasn't a word she'd use to describe Tony.

  "I'm afraid it's going to get worse. Tony will need a friend."

  "Tony has lots of friends willing and able to offer comfort." She added a smile, hoping the comment would come across as offhand.

  Bea's raised eyebrow said she wasn't fooled. "You had to know his reputation."

  Claire had been asking herself if it was betrayal when the other person made no effort to mislead, no attempt to keep his other lovers secret. She hadn't settled on an answer and wanted another woman's opinion. "Is this a friendly conversation, Bea, or is it part interrogation?"

  "I want to be friends, but I'm a homicide detective, investigating two murders. My first priority has to be finding the killer."

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "Tony's father is a key to the puzzle. You've been helping Tony dig into his past. Something you've learned might help us. Mike said you refused to discuss it with him, but Claire, your silence isn't helping anyone."

  "Tony has told you from the beginning that his father's murder is the key. Find Geneviève's accomplice and you'll find the man who killed her."

  "None of this is easy." Bea bit her lip and looked away as if searching for the right words. She was dancing around something she didn't want to say.

  Claire suspected that she knew what it was. Paul Gilbert had had an equally puzzling reaction when she asked his help untangling Tony's inheritance. After talking to him, she'd gone home and taken another look at the documents.

  Tony was the ultimate beneficiary of a trust created two weeks after his birth by a man who had been married to his mother. The trust effectively provided child support plus an inheritance. For his son? Claire had dismissed that idea as fanciful, more soap opera than real life, like the newspaper story, but Bea's discomfort gave it credence.

  "You wanted Tony's DNA," she said. "You told him it was to confirm the identity of the bones. Was that the real reason?"

  "Part of it," Bea admitted. "We'd found evidence on Geneviève."

  "Tony guessed as much. You could have told him the truth. He'd still have given you the sample."

  "We couldn't take the chance."

  You could have, but you didn't want to. Claire concentrated on her ice cream. "You just called Tony an innocent person. So, the DNA proved that he didn't kill his mother. Is that the good news?"

  "You know I can't tell you."

  "I'm going to assume that's it. And the bad news is that Jim Burke wasn't the man Tony remembers. What's the even worse news?"

  When Bea didn't respond, she sa
id, "You ask question after question and expect me to answer, but you won't tell me anything. You and Mike must get along very well."

  "In fact, we do." Bea raised her hands in a gesture of supplication. "I know you're annoyed, and I'm sorry."

  Then stop, Claire wanted to say. Let it be. Let Tony be. Leave him with his memories even if they are false. Jim Burke was the parent who cared. Learning he had feet of clay would be hard; learning he really wasn't his father could be devastating. Tony had treated her as if she had no feelings, and she was angry, but she didn't want his world turned upside down. She wiped non-existent ice cream off the tabletop.

  "When I talked to Judy Harmon, she told me Tony was a cute little boy and his Dad was crazy about him."

  "We'll know more Monday." Bea wouldn't meet her eyes. "I'll probably want to talk to you again."

  "I'm going downtown Monday morning to pull permits for that new project I mentioned. Once that's done, I'll be in my office for an hour or so, and then either at Tony's house or the Currier's, which is a few blocks away." She gave Bea the Currier's address and gathered her things.

  "Before you go," Bea said. "I have another question."

  "Not about Tony, please."

  "No, it's about assumptions. That man is my father's son but I am not his brother. Who am I?"

  "His sister."

  "Two seconds to answer a riddle that stumps most people. That's why I want to talk to you again."

  CHAPTER 34

  Mike heard the click of high heels and looked up. Bea stood in the doorway of his office, nibbling on the ever-present cookie.

  "Sunday morning. I thought I'd find you here." She held out the package. "Chocolate chip?"

  He shook his head no. "I thought I ordered you to take the weekend off."

  "I went shoe shopping yesterday and ran into Claire Marshall at the mall. I like her, she's good people."

  "I like her too, but I don't have time to chat. I'm swamped and Vernon's breathing down my neck. The Burke-Burton case isn't the only thing on my desk."

  "Claire either knows or suspects that Jim Burke isn't Tony's father."

  He waved her to a chair and listened without comment while she related her conversation with Claire. When she finished he said, "Are you sure she wasn't reacting to hints you dropped? Claire isn't stupid."

  "Not stupid at all. She heard everything I said and a good bit I didn't say. She got that riddle—you know, I'm his sister—like that." She snapped her fingers. "Claire and Tony are on the outs, but I don't think it's going to last. She really cares about him."

  "Did she tell you that?" The question came faster than he meant it to.

  "No, but it was obvious."

  "He's an adult, she's an adult." Mike could tell he wasn't convincing Bea. He wasn't convincing himself either. "Did you ask her what they were doing up in Greensburg?"

  "No. I didn't want her to know we were following her."

  "Following him."

  "Okay, him. And you've seen the surveillance reports." Bea stood and started pacing. "Every attractive woman who crosses his path."

  Mike couldn't argue. They'd kept an eye on their prime suspect until the DNA results cleared him.

  The first week, Burke spent two evenings, but no night, at Claire's house and twice hosted an overnight guest at his apartment, an unidentified blonde described as a perfect ten by the envious surveillance officer. Claire visited his apartment Sunday evening, stayed several hours and left after a good-bye described as affectionate. She rode with him to Greensburg on Monday, and he spent Monday night at her house.

  Burke slept alone Tuesday night, but on Wednesday picked up a stunning brunette at the airport and brought her home. They went to the dealership together Thursday, where both participated in a commercial being shot there. Later that afternoon, they drove up to his mother's farm. Once again, she spent the night at his apartment. He'd dropped her at the airport Friday morning. A blonde, a redhead and a brunette. If Claire weren't the redhead, Mike might have been amused.

  "Have you talked to Burke yet?" He watched Bea pace. "It's no wonder you needed new shoes. I'm going to need a new rug if you don't sit down."

  "I caught him at home this morning, at nine o'clock, which he seemed to think was early." She sat. "I bet he had company."

  "That's not against the law."

  "It makes me mad on Claire's behalf, although I'm sure she doesn't want my sympathy." After less than a minute in a chair, Bea was back up and pacing. "I told him he was off the hook. Instead of being glad to hear it, he tore into me. He really got under my skin."

  "He gets under my skin every time I talk to him, and I don't think it's an accident."

  "You're right. He goaded me." She made another circuit before continuing. "He said we'd only wanted his DNA to match what we'd found on Geneviève or in her apartment."

  "There's a grain of truth in that."

  "Okay, but he was just getting started. He said that you lied about identifying his father's bones and probably hadn't even bothered to test them. Then he went after me. He said the New Orleans police were too intimidated by the Devereux family to conduct an honest investigation, which is why they'd assigned me to the case. I wouldn't recognize the truth if it bit me."

  "And?" Mike was afraid he knew what was coming.

  "I told him he was wrong on every count. We were pursuing every lead, no one had lied to him about anything, and we'd tested the bones. They weren't his father."

  "How did he react?"

  "It didn't register at first, he was too busy telling me we ought to find out what his mother had on Roger Devereux. Then, it sank in. He said something anguished about his father and hung up." She made a face. "I'm sorry, boss."

  "We were going to tell him tomorrow."

  "After the other DNA results came in. I said the bones weren't his father. He heard me say Jim Burke wasn't his father. That's the most likely explanation, but it's not a sure thing, and I should have kept my big mouth shut."

  "Don't beat yourself up. You're a good detective Bea, but you're also human. I hope we all are." As if on cue, Superintendent Henry Vernon, the person most likely to have lost his humanity in the course of his career, walked in. He was already chewing gum, a bad sign. He looked from one to the other.

  "What did you do to provoke the Devereux family?"

  "I've had no contact with any member of the Devereux family since talking to Laura Bethea two weeks ago," Mike said. He looked at Bea.

  "I've never had any contact with any of them."

  "Someone did," the Super said. "Lamont Bethea, Laura's husband, called the Mayor at home this morning. Woke him up to tell him that we're using this homicide investigation as an excuse to pry into the Devereux family's private business. They can't imagine why and want assurances that it will stop. The mayor asked me for an explanation, and I didn't know what the hell he was talking about." He glared at Mike then Bea. "Are you telling me you don't know either?"

  Mike shook his head no. He looked over at Bea and saw a slight widening of her eyes. He waited, but she remained silent.

  The Super shook his head in disgust. "I'm getting too old for this job."

  "Have you seen the DNA results?" Mike said. "What they say about Tony Burke's parents?"

  "Yeah," Vernon pulled out a fresh piece of gum. "We thought his mother had killed his father, but it turns out his father came back from the grave and killed his mother. I told you DNA analysis wasn't worth shit."

  "I'm not ready to give up on it," Mike said. "What if Jim Burke wasn't Tony's biological father? From what we've learned about his mother, that's not out of the question."

  "A shotgun marriage to the wrong man. What a stunt. I wouldn't put it past her."

  "Second," Mike continued, "the skin under Geneviève's fingernails came from a female relative of Tony's father, not the father, himself."

  Vernon stopped chewing.

  "So far," Mike continued, "we've identified two women who are related to men who'd been i
nvolved with the victim and were at Sunny Gardens on the morning of the murder. Laura Bethea is one. We figured that out late Friday afternoon and haven't acted on it, but we will want to talk to her again."

  Vernon, who'd been standing by the doorway, stepped inside and shut the door behind him. When he spoke, his voice was ominously calm. "Do you have one shred of hard evidence that Roger Devereux is Tony Burke's father?"

  "Laura refused to let us take a sample of his DNA. Which proves nothing," Mike said it before Vernon could. "There's a second woman who fits the profile, and there might be others. I'm still waiting to hear back from Paul Gilbert about his parents' recollections." And from you went unsaid, but Vernon's eyes narrowed.

  "Who's the other woman?"

  "Amanda Pierce," Bea spoke up. "She lives at Sunny Gardens. Her brother Reed had a brief fling with Geneviève back in the fifties. He dropped her, and Geneviève blamed Amanda, never forgave her according to Amanda, who believes the world is a much better place without Geneviève, but says she didn't kill her."

  "Reed Pierce, from another of our leading families. Any more good news?" Vernon's expression was that of a man walking up the steps to the guillotine.

  "We've been able to keep the discovery of human remains in Jim Burke's studio under wraps," Mike said. Media coverage, which skyrocketed after Iris's murder, had died down but would flare up again if news of that grisly find got out.

  "I'll look through that list you gave me, but don't expect much. It's been years. If Gilbert gives you any names, let me know. I want to be prepared for my next meeting with the mayor." Vernon walked out.