by Sheryl Lynn
“You are dead,” he snarled. He flicked the knife at Penny’s throat. She screamed.
“No-o-o-o-o!” the giant roared and lurched atop rat-man.
Frankie scrambled to her feet.
Rat-man, the giant and Penny went down in a heap. Penny’s screams were muffled by the struggling men. The giant garbled his speech, incoherent, but very, very angry. Rat-man drove the knife into the giant’s shoulder. The blade buried itself to the hilt. The giant screamed and launched himself sideways, hauling rat-man over his body and flinging him through the air like a toy. Frankie dived for Penny.
She hauled the terrified girl to her feet. Penny flopped like a doll with cloth limbs. Frankie fought for balance on the frozen snow.
A shot cracked the air. The shock wave thrummed against her eardrums. She pushed Penny to the ground and dropped atop her, shielding her with her body.
Silence. Deafening silence as if a thick blanket had dropped over the world. Slowly Frankie grew aware of the engines idling and Penny’s birdlike gasping and her own heart pounding. She lifted her head.
McKennon, his gun drawn, stood over rat-man and the giant. Both men sprawled in the snow. Blood seeped from the two like a spreading shadow.
“Frankie?” He never took his attention off the fallen men.
She disentangled herself from Penny and sat upright. She felt the cut in her parka. Downy feathers floated from the gash. Rat-man’s knife had sliced through the coat and her sweatshirt, but all she’d suffered was a thin, stinging scratch. “I’m okay.”
She pulled the mask off Penny’s face. The girl’s eyes were round and shocked. Frankie felt anxiously around Penny’s throat and face, but found no blood.
“You’re safe, sweetie. It’s all over.” She helped Penny to her feet. The girl swayed and blinked as if she couldn’t believe she was still alive. Her teeth began to chatter.
“I have to get her to the car,” Frankie called.
“Paul.” Penny shook her head. “Paul!”
“Wait—”
Penny broke from her sister and ran clumsily across the snow. She wore socks on her feet. The toes flapped. Stumbling and slipping, she reached the giant’s side. She dropped to her knees and lifted his head, cradling him to her breast.
Frankie’s mouth dropped open.
“Paul, can you hear me? It’s Miss Penelope. You’re going to be all right. It’s okay, everything is okay. You’ll be all right.” She lifted her tearful gaze to Frankie and screamed, “Get an ambulance! Bo shot him. He’s dying!”
JAIL SUCKED, Frankie decided. The indignities of being strip-searched, fingerprinted, photographed and deprived of her shoelaces had been awful, but bearable. She coped okay with the constant noise—including a cell mate who’d wept piteously throughout the night. She’d even managed to choke down baloney-on-white-bread sandwiches. Despite the lights that never dimmed, she’d slept, too. Not knowing her sister’s condition, however, was driving her mad. Nobody would tell her anything. Nobody would speak to her at all.
She missed McKennon. One glimpse of his face would sustain her, but she didn’t know what had happened to him, either.
Jangling keys and heavy footfalls on the linoleum floor announced a deputy walking down the aisle. He stopped in front of the cell. Frankie rose from the hard bench that served as a cot.
“Step back and put out your hands.” She obeyed and he handcuffed her. “Your attorney is here. Come with me.” He led her through the maze of cells and hallways in the El Paso county jailhouse. She wondered where they were keeping McKennon, but didn’t bother to ask. Nobody answered her questions in this place.
The deputy deposited her in a windowless room. He made her sit down, and he handcuffed her to a ring welded atop a metal table. The table was bolted to the floor. She imagined prison was going to be a lot worse than this.
But Penny was safe.
The room was hot and stuffy and stank of sweat. Her own perspiration made the scratch on her belly itch. She longed for a shower.
The door opened. A slightly built man with a round, good-humored face entered. He set a briefcase on the table. “Stephen Oswald,” he said. “Your aunt and uncle hired me to represent you.”
“What are they charging me with?”
“Kidnapping, murder and conspiracy.” He waggled his eyebrows. He took a seat. The scraping of the metal chair legs against the floor made her wince. “How are they treating you?”
She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug. “Okay. Do you know how my sister is?”
“She’s fine. They kept her in the hospital overnight. She’s dehydrated, but otherwise healthy. She’s with your family right now.”
“What about the kidnappers? Dead?”
He opened the briefcase. “Let’s worry about you.”
She shook her head. The strange sight of Penny mourning over the giant named Paul haunted her. She didn’t know if he’d been a kidnapper, or some poor heroic schnook in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I need to know.”
He regarded her for a few seconds while he fussed inside the briefcase. “Beauregard Moran is dead. J.T. McKennon shot and killed him. The other man on the scene, Paul Cashorali, had been shot, as well, and stabbed. His condition is stable, but he’ll be in the hospital awhile. Paul is mentally handicapped. The police tried to get a statement from him, but all they found out was that he’s worried about his brother and your sister, and that he didn’t break the window. I somehow doubt if he’ll be found competent to stand trial.”
“He saved Penny’s life. Rat-man was going to kill her.” If she lived a thousand years she’d never forget the sight of the giant lurching wounded across the snow. “Wait a minute... Did you say his name was Beauregard Moran?”
“Do you know him?”
The name struck familiar chords. She rubbed her aching temple with the pads of her fingers.
“Charles Cashorali has been released from the hospital and is currently in jail. He has a long record. Property crimes mostly. He’s a car thief. According to him Moran planned everything. He hasn’t named you, but then again the district attorney hasn’t gotten to him yet.” He shuffled some papers. “Now, as for you—”
“How is McKennon? Where is he?”
The attorney rolled his eyes. “Your friend is fine. He made bail and was released.”
“What did they charge him with?”
“Aiding and abetting a fugitive. I’m afraid your cousin, Ross Duke, faces the same charge. This is a real mess, Miss Forrest, and it’s bound to get messier. The FBI and the state police are fighting over jurisdiction. Quite frankly if the Feds get you, your chances of making bail are zilch.”
“Joy,” she muttered. “Answer me one thing. Tell me exactly how Julius died. What killed him?”
His brow twisted and he pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That’s a weird one. The cops are extremely interested in your take on it. That vial of Butunal you turned in? It wasn’t Butunal, it was Valium. Julius Bannerman had a prescription for Butunal, and the cops are checking the vial to see if it was prescribed to him.”
Uncomprehending, she shook her head. “I don’t understand. It was clearly labeled.”
“Mislabeled. Butunal is a mild sedative. It’s useful for anxiety, and it has few side effects. An overdose will put a person to sleep and give them a headache, but it won’t kill them. It also doesn’t interact with MAO inhibitors the way a barbiturate does.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Julius Bannerman was being treated for clinical depression. He took MAO inhibitors. The combination of those, Valium and alcohol is deadly. Actually he was playing with fire with the booze, but you know how hard-core alcoholics are. Their systems get hardened. The Valium proved to be too much for him. He died of cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. How did you get the vial, Miss Forrest?”
She stared wide-eyed at the attorney. Thoughts clicked into place. Everything that hadn’t made sense before now opened her mind’s eye with perfect
clarity. “You better get those cops in here. I know who killed Julius and I know how he did it. And I think I know why.”
Chapter Fifteen
Frankie felt surprisingly calm in light of what was at stake this morning. She sat next to her attorney in the district attorney’s conference room. A court stenographer was seated at a small table, her machine ready to record the proceedings. If this meeting went the way Frankie hoped, then she would walk out the door a free woman. If not... well, Penny was safe and she’d have to satisfy herself with that when she went to prison.
The door opened and a secretary ushered Max and Belinda into the room. The assistant district attorney greeted them and held a chair for Belinda.
Frankie met Max’s gaze. His eyes were black mirrors, reflecting her disgust with him. I know the truth, she thought at him. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
After the Caulfields were seated, the door opened again. Agent Patrick, Sheriff Eldon Pitts, Sergeant Norris of the state police, and another gentleman Frankie didn’t recognize entered the room. Frankie searched their faces, too, but none would meet her gaze. She shifted uneasily on the chair.
McKennon entered the room. Frankie’s breath caught. Emotion choked up her throat, adding its ache to the fear clenching her chest. He’d saved her life—saved Penny’s life.
He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. His black hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He wore his goon face and looked neither right nor left as he took a seat at the table.
“Well, everybody is present. Thank you for coming,” the ADA said. “Before we begin, Mr. Caulfield, Mrs. Caulfield, Mr. McKennon, would any of you care for legal representation at this time?”
Belinda bristled like an offended bird. The black, netted hat perched upon her hair bobbed. “There is no need.” She turned her steely gaze on her husband. He arched an eyebrow and shook his head.
“No, thank you,” McKennon said.
The ADA cleared his throat. He nodded at Sergeant Norris. “Very well. As you all know we have not yet formally charged Miss Forrest with the murder of Julius Bannerman and the kidnapping of Penelope Ann Bannerman. We have some questions that must be answered first.”
Sergeant Norris had opened a large briefcase and from it he pulled items to place on the table. Seven clear envelopes, each containing a draft of the ransom note; a smaller envelope containing the vial marked Butunal; an envelope containing a computer disk; a fan-folded computer printout; and an envelope containing the ransom note.
“What exactly is going on here?” Max demanded.
“We have questions, sir. Are you certain you don’t wish legal representation at this time?”
“Of course he doesn’t!” Belinda exclaimed. She pointed a jeweled finger at Frankie. “She’s the criminal.”
The ADA cleared his throat again. He mumbled an apology about getting over a cold. “All right, Miss Forrest. You may begin.”
Max jumped to his feet and slapped his hands on the tabletop. “I haven’t the slightest interest in anything this woman has to say. I don’t have time for a dog-and-pony show. Belinda, let’s go.”
Belinda remained seated. As fiercely as an eagle she glared at Frankie. She appeared extremely interested in everything Frankie had to say. Making noises of disapproval, Max settled on the chair. He clamped his arms over his chest.
Frankie hesitated. She’d made only one request of the district attorney and now it appeared he had denied it. “Mr. Wiley? I thought we had an agreement, sir.”
“Regarding?” the ADA asked.
“Mr. McKennon. What is he doing here? You said if I cooperated, he wouldn’t be charged with conspiracy.”
“He’s a material witness, Miss Forrest.”
Hoping that didn’t mean he was also considered a conspirator, Frankie drew a deep breath and began. “When I contacted Bo Moran he demanded an extra ten thousand dollars in ransom for my sister. He wanted fifty thousand dollars. The original ransom was for three million, but Moran didn’t know that. The three million dollars wasn’t a ransom. It was extortion. I’m sorry about Julius, Mrs. Caulfield. I truly am. He didn’t mean to kill himself. All he wanted was the money.”
“What?” Now Belinda slapped the table. “Kill himself? I’m not going to sit—”
“Ma’am,” the ADA interrupted. “Please hear Miss Forrest out.”
Frankie noted the slight widening of Max’s eyes. He was finally getting it. This meeting wasn’t for his benefit, but for Belinda’s. “Julius set up the kidnapping. He wrote the ransom note. He hired the men who kidnapped Penny. He prepared the syringes with a drug he considered perfectly safe.”
“This is ludicrous. Maxie, let’s go.”
“We have testimony,” the ADA said, “from Charles and Paul Cashorali that Penny was already drugged when they arrived at the honeymoon cabin. Bo Moran injected Julius with a syringe that Julius provided.”
Grateful for his interruption, Frankie continued. “Julius knew if he and Penny stayed in your home you’d run her off the way you’ve run off all his other wives. If he simply walked away you’d have cut him off, but he needed money. So he set up a fake kidnapping. He had to make it real. He knows you’re no pushover, Mrs. Caulfield. You wouldn’t fall for a trick. He risked Penny’s life in order to fool you.”
“I don’t believe a word of this.”
Agent Patrick leaned forward. “We’ve collected handwriting samples from Julius’s condo. We’ve compared the writing and concluded Julius wrote the drafts and the note. We also found a notepad in the condo which contained impressions that match writings found on the drafts. We also found tape recordings of David Sams’s radio show. I believe we’ll be able to prove conclusively that Julius made the tape the kidnappers used.”
Frankie did not quite dare to believe she’d been vindicated yet.
“I don’t believe a word of this,” Belinda repeated, but softly. Color had drained from her sallow face.
Frankie went on, “We all know Julius wasn’t bright enough to have pulled this off alone. So he enlisted the one person who not only had the brains, but the desire. Right, Max?”
“I’m leaving.” Max rose. The tips of his ears had turned red.
“There was a problem wasn’t there, Max? You knew Julius stood a good chance of getting caught. You knew he’d eventually confess everything to his mother, including your role. So two things had to happen. Julius had to die, and somebody had to take the blame. That’s what you set up.”
Max looked around the room as if aghast that anyone would allow Frankie to spout such nonsense. “You can’t prove any of this! It’s absurd.” He settled a hand on his wife’s shoulder. She swatted it away.
Frankie looked to Sergeant Norris. “Was I right, sir? About the phone call and the computer disk?”
The state investigator nodded.
“You called my apartment, Max. You tipped me off about the wedding. You wanted me out of the way so you could plant the evidence in my apartment.”
“I don’t even know where you live.”
McKennon made a soft noise. He placed a small black notebook on the table. “My field notes.” He slid the notebook toward the ADA. “You’ll find notes concerning the period when Mr. Caulfield requested I find out where Miss Forrest currently lives and where she works. You already have my deposition concerning Mr. Caulfield’s request that I collect evidence against Miss Forrest.”
Max backed a step away from the table. Arrogance left his face. “You can’t take his word over mine. He’s sleeping with her. They’re conspiring against me.”
Sergeant Norris placed a finger on the computer printout. “We took the liberty of checking your phone records, Mr. Caulfield. A call was placed from your private line to Miss Forrest’s telephone on the date in question.”
In all her vengeful fantasies about Max, Frankie had imagined revenge would taste sweet. It did not. There were no winners here, and it saddened her. “You’re the one who
replaced the Butunal with Valium. Julius believed the Butunal was perfectly safe. You knew the Valium would kill him.”
“This is outrageous!” Max glared at Frankie, but she didn’t flinch. “You murdered Julius. You and your sister. Why isn’t Penny here? She’s the person with the opportunity and the motive to replace the Butunal with Valium. Not me.”
“Valium?” Belinda whispered. “You gave Valium to Julius?”
“What about Bo Moran, Max? You introduced him to Julius.”
“I didn’t know Bo Moran existed.” He leveled a hateful stare on McKennon. “Until you conveniently killed him so he couldn’t testify against your girlfriend.”
The ADA called for order and asked Max to hold his comments until Frankie finished. Belinda scooted her chair a few inches away from her husband.
“You were so pleased with what a hard worker I was, Max. I wanted to please you. I took work home every night. Put in countless hours of unbilled overtime. I typed up hundreds of reports for you on my home computer. I saved them all to disk, too. I’m careful that way.”
On cue Sergeant Norris picked up the bag containing the computer disk. “One of the reports contained on this disk concerns Beauregard Moran. You interviewed him regarding a civil suit you were investigating, Mr. Caulfield. It’s a Q&A report.”
“The only thing that proves is that she knew Bo Moran! You’ll find nothing about him in my files. It’s her word against mine.”
Sergeant Norris shook his head. “Excerpts from this report are on public record in the court transcripts.”
Max pointed an accusing finger at Frankie. “You hated Julius and you wanted him dead. Everyone knows it. A dozen witnesses can testify to how you punched him in the nose. They can testify to your threats against his life.”
Belinda gazed up at her husband. Slowly, as if rusty gears instead of muscle turned her neck, she faced the ADA. “Six weeks ago I asked my husband to fetch a vial of Valium for me. I was having trouble sleeping and he has grown adept at administering my medications. He claims he dropped the vial. He claims it broke.” Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “He stole the Valium and used it to murder my son.”
