“Isn’t it, though?”
It was a good ten minutes before he heard the rapid click-click of Neely’s heels on the parquet floor of the hall, followed by Kevin’s heavier, more leisurely footsteps. Were they the same footsteps he and Kathryn had listened to last night while they hovered in terror in that tiny crawl space beneath the eaves?
“Mr. DiSalvo,” Neely said, her reptilian eyes cold with fury. “How dare you come to our home when we’re entertainin’ guests and embarrass us this way? I demand that you come back at a more appropriate time, like any civilized person would do.”
“Before we get started here,” he said pleasantly, “you might want to shut the door. Lower the embarrassment factor a little.”
Neely gazed at him without speaking, and then she walked across the floor and quietly shut the door. “All right,” she said, and folded her arms across her bony chest. “State your business, Mr. DiSalvo, so that Kevin and I can get back to our guests.”
Amiably, he said, “Actually, Mrs. McAllister, my business is kind of complex, you know? So I thought it would be easier if we dealt with this one issue at a time. Is that okay with you?”
“Make it quick!” she snapped.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. Issue number one is Wanita Crumley. A close personal friend of yours, Judge, according to my sources. Would you care to tell us about your relationship with her?”
Kevin McAllister’s face paled, and his nostrils flared. “I didn’t have a relationship with her,” he said.
“That’s not what I hear. I hear she had a rich gentleman friend who paid her bills and gave her spending money. Dewey kept asking her to marry him, but she kept turning him down because she didn’t want to let go of her sugar daddy. Are you telling me that wasn’t you?”
McAllister opened his mouth. Closed it. “It was me,” he said. “But it’s not like you think.”
“Please, Kevin,” Neely said. “I’ve known about your sexual escapades for more than thirty years. Now’s hardly the time to start lyin’ about them.”
“I’m not lying,” he said.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Neely said, “any idiot could see—”
“It was the boy,” he said. “I gave her money because of the boy.”
Neely’s mouth clamped abruptly shut. “The boy?” she said.
“Timmy. Wanita’s oldest boy. He was Michael’s.”
Neely turned the color of an old bedsheet. “Are you tellin’ me that Michael fathered a child with that awful woman?”
“He’s our grandchild, Neely. The only one we’re ever goin’ to have.”
“The woman was a tramp. She probably lied. Michael wouldn’t have—”
“Have you ever looked at the boy, Neely? Blond hair, blue eyes. Built just like Michael was at that age.”
“Which brings us to issue number two,” Nick said. “Michael. Your son.”
They both looked at him. “I have this theory,” he said. “It goes kinda like this. Wanita Crumley was killed because she knew who killed Michael. The killer couldn’t risk being exposed, so he had to do away with her. Ditto for Michael. Except that he was killed because he was about to stumble across something huge, something that would have put a certain somebody behind bars for a very long time.”
“I don’t understand,” Kevin said.
“Bear with me. It’ll all make sense in a minute. Issue number three: Ruby Jackson.”
Neely gasped, and Kevin’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “Ah,” Nick said, “I see you remember her. But I imagine you don’t know that a couple of hours ago, we pulled Ruby’s body out of the kitchen wall of the Chandler place. Now, we all know the rather seamy history of that particular address. Home to the Businessmen’s Benevolent Association, an organization of which you were a charter member, Judge. Considering that you and your wife currently own the property, not to mention that according to Ruby’s older sister, at the time she disappeared, Ruby was carrying your child—well, I have to say, sir, this doesn’t look very good for you.”
Kevin went white as a corpse. Neely clutched at her husband’s arm in a protective gesture. “That is the most preposterous accusation I’ve ever heard!” she said, her voice trembling as her composure began to unravel, one elegant thread at a time. “You’re actually suggestin’ that my husband murdered that girl? And placed her inside a wall?”
Nick shook his head in sympathetic disbelief. “I know,” he said. “Shocking, isn’t it? By the way, Judge, feel free to jump in at any time if something should occur to you.”
“I didn’t kill her,” McAllister said quietly.
“So I guess you folks can see the pattern emerging here. Our good friend Judge McAllister, at that time only a lowly barrister, finds out that his young black mistress is in a family way. Since he already has one family, this could prove to be quite a nuisance. But Ruby’s insistent. Marry her, or she’ll go public. Of course, this would ruin this up-and-coming young man’s future as a judge. So he does the only thing he can think of. He knocks her off, and he hides her body inside a wall, where nobody will ever find it and nobody will ever be the wiser. Time goes on, his career flourishes, and everybody forgets Ruby Jackson. Twenty-two years go by, and then, by chance, he hears that his son Michael, who now owns the house in question, is planning to renovate the kitchen as an anniversary gift for his wife, Kathryn. Part of that plan is to tear down the wall where Ruby’s body is hidden.
“If the truth came out, it would ruin his life, his career, his reputation. All those years he worked so hard would be for nothing. He can’t let that happen. This man who’s sent so many people to prison can’t go there himself. So he kills his son and frames his daughter-in-law. She gets to take a twenty-five-year vacation, courtesy of the state, instead of him.
“Everything is working out just fine, until Kathryn unexpectedly gets her conviction overturned and comes back to Elba, armed for bear. Things start to deteriorate rapidly, and then Wanita, with whom our boy Kevin has become friendly enough to let a few things slip, decides it’s time to ‘fess up. But we can’t let that happen, can we, folks? So Wanita, like Michael and Ruby before her, gets to take the long sleep. Is everybody following me? Do I need to back up a bit?”
“Kevin did not kill our son,” Neely said, her voice quivering. “I can’t believe you could think such a terrible thing.”
“Judge? Am I anywhere in the ballpark?”
“I’ve done some things in my life,” McAllister said through gritted teeth, “of which I am not exactly proud. But I have never killed anybody, Mr. DiSalvo.”
“You know, Judge, I really wish I could believe you. You seem like an all right guy. A little twisted sexually, maybe, but hey—that’s your business. Different strokes for different folks, right? But at the moment, you’re my number-one suspect. You know as well as I do how the system works. You had motive, and you had access to each of the victims. Now all I need is a signed confession. I’m sure you know that the court will look more leniently on you if you admit your guilt.”
“I want my lawyer,” McAllister said. “This is preposterous.”
“Of course,” Nick said. “We’ll give him a call, soon as we get downtown. Linda? Did you bring the cuffs?”
“Right here, Chief.”
“Excellent. Now just hold out your wrists, Judge, this won’t hurt a bit. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney— Oh, hell, we might as well not bother with that one, eh, Judge? Let’s see, where was I? Anything you say can and will be held against you in—”
“Stop it!” Neely shouted.
He paused dramatically, turned slowly to look at her. “Why, Mrs. McAllister,” he said. “Is there something you’d like to say?”
Her face was ashen, her body trembling violently. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Kevin didn’t kill Ruby Jackson,” she said. “I did.”
Kevin McAllister took a step forward. “Neely?” he said.
>
Nick removed the cuffs from the Judge’s wrists. “Ma’am?” he said gently. “Would you like to tell us about it?”
Neely began to weep huge, silent tears. Nick nodded to Linda, and she helped the woman into a chair. “She came to me,” Neely said, “and told me the whole story. About the Benevolent Association, and what was goin’ on there. How they took advantage of young colored girls and used them for their own personal whores. She was pregnant, said it was Kevin’s child. She told me that if he didn’t divorce me and marry her, she was goin’ to the Gazette with the story. I didn’t know what to do. If it came out, my life would be over. It would all be ruined. Kevin’s career, his reputation. Everything. Why, neither of us would have ever again been able to hold up our heads anywhere in the state of North Carolina.” Her eyes begged Nick to understand the terrible position she’d been placed in. “So I did the only thing I could do. I strangled her with a silk scarf that Kevin had given me for my birthday. And then I hid her body inside that wall. I thought it was fitting, since that’s where Kevin’s indiscretions with her had taken place.” She looked at her husband through narrowed eyes. “And then,” she said, “I called every one of the wives and told them what was goin’ on in that place. What their men were doin’ there, night after night, while we were sittin’ home, playing canasta. And that was the end of the Businessmen’s Benevolent Association.”
McAllister was looking at his wife as though he’d never seen her before. “Michael?” he said hoarsely. “Tell me you didn’t kill our son.”
“Of course I didn’t kill Michael! He was my child!” She looked at Nick beseechingly. “My baby,” she said. “My only baby. I could never have any more children after he was born, you see. I had difficulties with the birth, and they had to remove my womb. I nearly died. So Michael was special to me, my precious only child. I would never have done anythin’ to hurt him. I’ve always believed it was Kathryn who killed him. But you’re sayin’ the murders are related. I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”
Nick rubbed his cheek with the palm of his hand. “Who knew?” he said. “Who else knew, besides you? You must have had help, Neely. You’re a little tiny thing. You couldn’t have plastered Ruby into that wall by yourself. There had to be somebody else. Somebody who helped you. Somebody who has a key to the house.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “But he wouldn’t have—” She paused, her mind obviously working, trying to fit the pieces together. Her eyes slowly widened in comprehension. “Oh, blessed Jesus,” she whispered.
“Who, Neely? Who helped you?”
“Shep,” she said, covering her eyes with her hands. “Shep Henley.”
Chapter Seventeen
Kathryn’s tongue had turned to sawdust. She moved it around inside her mouth, licked at her lips with it. “What girl?” she said.
“You know what girl,” the voice said. “I tried to warn you. I tried to get you to leave it alone. But you wouldn’t listen. Now you gotta pay.”
Her heart thudding like a sledgehammer, she said, “If you harm a hair on that girl’s head, I’ll kill you.”
He chuckled, soft and low, as though she’d said something clever. “That would be hard, now, wouldn’t it, since I’m the one holdin’ all the cards?”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll make a trade. The girl for you. You come to me, I let her go.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You don’t. But you can’t take the chance, can you?”
Fury swelled inside her, rising up to sit side-by-side with the fear. “Where are you?” she said.
“I timed it, Miz McAllister. Nine minutes. That’s how long you have to get here before I kill the girl. If you stop anywhere along the way, if you take the time to call Lover Boy, I’ll slit her throat and leave her there for you and DiSalvo to find. It’ll be just like Michael all over again, won’t it?”
Her stomach turned over. She tried to stifle the sob that rose in her throat, but she wasn’t quite successful. “Stop it,” she said firmly. “Stop it right now.”
“I really hated havin’ to kill him,” the voice continued. “But that was before I found out how good it felt to see the look in his eyes when he knew he was dying.”
The rage burst, red-hot, inside her. “Put Janine on the phone,” she demanded.
“One thing I can say for you, girl. You got a lot of moxie. You still haven’t figured out that you ain’t the one calling the shots, have you?”
“Who are you?”
“Sorry. You’ll have to wait and see. You know the road to Lake Alberta?”
She forced herself to remain calm. If she lost it now, Nick would be pulling his daughter’s body from a ditch somewhere. She tried not to think about that possibility. “Yes,” she said. “If I remember correctly, it’s where you tried to kill me the first time.”
He chuckled again. “Good girl,” he said. “Now, a half-mile past the lake, there’s a dirt road on the left. Just a couple of tire tracks with grass down the middle. Turn in, drive exactly three-tenths of a mile, and stop. And don’t bother to try callin’ anybody on the radio. I got a police radio, and if I hear anything I shouldn’t, I kill her. Understood?”
Her heartbeat was steady and rapid. “Yes,” she said.
“You got nine minutes. Starting now.”
The connection was broken. Kathryn stared for a moment at the phone, then dropped it on the floor. Nick’s keys were on the kitchen table. She grabbed them up and flew out of the apartment and down the stairs. The Blazer’s door squawked open, and she slammed it shut behind her. Her hands were trembling so hard she fumbled with the keys, finally fit the right one into the ignition. The Blazer started with a roar, and she crammed the stick shift into reverse and shot out of the driveway and into the street, directly in the path of an oncoming car. The car swerved and the driver laid on the horn.
Ignoring him, she shifted into first gear and shot down Oak Street. She took the corner on two wheels and raced toward downtown. The main street was clogged with traffic in Elba’s version of a rush hour. She swerved out around a blue minivan and screamed past Carlyle’s Barber Shop. On the sidewalk, the old men gaped. A young man attempting to cross the street leaped back out of her way as she pressed the accelerator to the floor and shot straight through the red light.
By some miracle of fate, nobody was coming the other way. She took Cypress Avenue, where the speed limit was a sedate twenty-five, at fifty miles per hour. You never could find a cop when you needed one. Not when they were all tied up somewhere else. At the outskirts of town, she reached the fifty-mile-per-hour speed limit sign, and punched it up to seventy.
She almost missed her turnoff. Kathryn hit the brakes hard, and the Blazer fishtailed. She brought it around, tires screaming, and skidded onto the gravel-topped Swanville Road. Her left front tire hit the soft shoulder and it sucked her in, bringing her to a stop so abrupt that she slammed into the steering column and her head snapped back. For a moment, she saw stars. She shook her head to clear it, and crammed the shifter into reverse. The tires spun. “Come on, you son of a bitch,” she said. She shifted it back into first and eased the gas pedal, then reversed it again and punched it. The tires spun, then with a loud whine, they caught traction, and she bounced back up onto the road.
Dust billowed behind her in a thick cloud. She passed Lake Alberta, the lowering sun turning its sparkling water to a soft rose. Passed the turnout where she and Nick had parked the Blazer last night, a lifetime ago. Began watching the shoulder for the dirt road the caller had told her about.
The entrance was overhung with greenery, and she almost drove past it. She skidded to a stop and paused for a moment, not sure the Blazer could navigate terrain this rough. The road was cut through thick forest, and it didn’t look passable. But she didn’t have a choice. There was no time for debate. Kathryn took a deep breath and cut the steering wheel sharply to the left.
It was like being
plunged into night, the foliage was so thick. She glanced at her odometer as she bumped and rattled along what was little more than a path through the woods. The road took a sharp turn to the left toward the lake, and she followed its path through deep grass. When she’d driven precisely three-tenths of a mile, she brought the vehicle to a halt and turned off the engine.
The silence was overwhelming. She sat there, acrid sweat pouring from every possible orifice, her breathing the only sound. The forest was a deep, dark green, shot through with random shafts of sunlight that filtered through leafy treetops. From out of the darkness, Shep Henley appeared in front of her, wearing a police uniform and carrying a hunting rifle. She sat silently, her chest rising and falling, as he approached her.
“Very good, Miz McAllister,” he said. “Seven-and-a-half minutes. I’m impressed.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“You always were a feisty one. Fought like a wildcat that day we arrested you.”
“Where is she? Where’s Janine?”
Instead of answering, he glanced in the window, checked the backseat, walked around the vehicle and returned to the driver’s side. When he opened the door, it squawked loudly. “Needs oil,” he said. “Come on. Get out.”
It was the dogs she heard first, yipping and whining as Henley’s hard fist on the small of her back propelled her forward over uneven ground. Overhanging branches slapped at her face. Brambles caught at her bare arm, tore her skin, and a single drop of red blood beaded up and trickled slowly toward her elbow. “Why?” she said. “Why did you do it? You were a cop. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
“Kevin,” he said in a conversational tone, “was never good enough for Neely. Weak, that’s what he is. Always has been. She thought his womanizin’ would stop after they got married, but it didn’t. He wasn’t even man enough to hide it from her. Left her home alone four or five nights a week while he was out stickin’ it to other women.” His face hardened. “I begged her to leave him, but Neely’s a proud woman. Said she’d made her bed, and she was gonna have to lie in it. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch.”
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