Back Against the Wall

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “Did you tell him?”

  “What else could I do?” he complained. “You know this is going to be all over town in no time. If I’d lied, he would have found out.”

  “Why would you lie?” she asked reasonably. “It’s not like you’re suspected of a crime.” Or, at least, he was only a secondary suspect. Did he know that?

  “That’s what I thought, or I wouldn’t have agreed to talk to the guy. But the way he looked at me at the end, I’m not so sure.”

  Detective Navarro did have a gift for hiding his thoughts. Would he really have stared accusingly at her brother? She reminded herself, with some bitterness, that he also seemed to have a gift for projecting false kindness and caring. So who knew?

  “He said he hadn’t talked to Dad yet.”

  “He’s interviewing him right now.”

  “Then where are you?”

  “Sitting in my car, outside the house.” Staring through the windshield at the closed garage door. Not even wanting to think about the garage, she shifted in the seat enough to look toward the house instead. “I hired an attorney for Dad. He’s in there with him.”

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  “Because Dad would never think of it.”

  “Why do you keep bailing him out? I’ve never gotten it.”

  “That’s what you do,” she said simply, although she knew more lay beneath the surface than she had ever acknowledged. “Your parents take care of you growing up, then later, when they need you, you return the favor.”

  “He’s not an old man, Beth. And, anyway, when did he ever take care of any of us?” Anger infused his voice, as it invariably did when they talked about their father. “Do you think he ever changed a diaper? Cleaned up a skinned knee and put on a bandage? Drove you to friends’ houses or picked you up after Spanish Club?”

  “He did that,” she protested, if weakly.

  Matt’s laugh was hateful. “When Mom insisted? Get real. He was useless as a parent.”

  “He made a good living. One that paid for your sports equipment, and your first car and college tuition for both of us.”

  “I’ll bet Mom would have made more if she’d worked full time.”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  “There wouldn’t have been any tuition money if Mom hadn’t set it up so part of his income went straight into a separate account.”

  That was undoubtedly true, but Beth argued anyway. “The money would still have been there. He’d never buy anything new if I didn’t make him.”

  “Do you buy his Jockey shorts, too?” he asked nastily.

  She stayed prudently silent, except of course that was answer enough. Sometimes when she was here at the house, she’d throw a load into the washer for her father. When she noticed his clothes looking shabby, she bought what she thought he’d like in the same sizes and replaced the ratty socks or chinos or whatever with new.

  Because that’s what Mom always did.

  So? Was that so bad? She’d taken Emily shopping for new clothes, too, and helped Matt with his college applications. And, yes, she’d taken over bill paying, as young as she’d been, except for getting Dad’s signature on checks. Including checks for Matt’s college tuition.

  “Why do you care what I do to help Dad out?” she asked in real puzzlement. “I don’t expect you to do a thing.”

  “Except clean out the damn garage,” he sneered.

  “Once. When is the last time I asked you to help?”

  Silence of a different kind, before Matt burst out, “Who else could have killed Mom? Tell me that! Who else had any reason?”

  “What are you talking about? He didn’t have any reason. Mom was the one who was always mad!”

  “Oh, he had reason, and you’d know it if you weren’t so good at turning away from anything you don’t want to see. Just like him.”

  “Why do you despise him?” She was back to staring at the closed garage. A better question might be Why do you despise me?

  “Oh, for God’s sake—” He broke off. “I have an appointment. I’ve got to go. Just...let Dad deal with something on his own, for once. Is that too much to ask?”

  She heard voices in the background, and her brother was gone.

  * * *

  TONY FELT LIKE a bully by the time he’d finished asking his questions, even though he hadn’t exactly used a baton to beat answers out of the guy. In fact, he thought he’d been admirably considerate and soft-spoken. Ochoa hadn’t interrupted often, which meant he agreed.

  Looking into those eyes, Tony saw the same bewilderment and distress he had from the beginning. This was like kicking an old, defenseless dog. He pushed himself to his feet and said, “Thank you for your time again, Mr. Marshall. It’s my hope we can figure out what happened to your wife.”

  “I hope you can, too,” he said, standing as well. “I don’t understand why anybody would have hurt her. And why leave her here in the house?”

  “Getting her out of the house unseen would have been a lot riskier,” he pointed out. “Did you have neighbors then who would have been home during a working day? Maybe peeking out their front windows?”

  John’s brow crinkled. “Christine used to say Mrs. Powell must sit at her window with binoculars.”

  Tony loved neighbors who saw all. “Where does she live?”

  “She had the blue house across the street, but she died a few years ago. There must be new people in there now,” he added, seeming surprised by the idea.

  “All right, Mr. Marshall. I’ll be in touch if—” when “—I have other questions.”

  He nodded and seemed grateful when the attorney offered to see Tony out. On the porch, Tony said, “Interesting client you have.”

  Phil Ochoa smiled crookedly. “He doesn’t have twenty-five barbells poking through every loose bit of flesh on his face, or a shaved head with a swastika tattoo on his scalp. Interesting is all relative.”

  “I’ll give you that.” Tony saw that Beth was watching them anxiously from her car. “You’ll be wanting to reassure his daughter that I didn’t use thumbscrews to compel a confession.”

  Phil laughed. “I’ll do that. You know, we should get together for a beer sometime, instead of meeting like this.”

  “That would make a change, wouldn’t it?” Tony nodded and followed the concrete walk to the driveway, where Beth was parked.

  By the time he reached her, she’d climbed out of her car and stood waiting, expression wary. His frustration with her had mostly left him. He couldn’t even figure out why he’d thought she should trust him. They hardly knew each other. Any loyalty she felt was for her father.

  Even so, Tony had tangled emotions at seeing her. He couldn’t quite dismiss his awareness of her lush body, and he was equally drawn to a face that always seemed open, as if she didn’t know how to hide what she was thinking. He felt sure she was a lousy liar. Those big eyes did it for him, too. They were unusually expressive, made up of colors that brightened with amusement or warmth, shadowed when her mood darkened. He didn’t like seeing her so worried.

  “Your father is safe,” he said drily, pausing at an arm’s reach from her.

  She tipped up her chin in defiance as undisguised as all her other emotions. “Have you eliminated him as a suspect?”

  Damn it. “You know I haven’t,” he said quietly. “Statistics are on my side. We always look at spouses or partners first.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Your opinion, Ms. Marshall. And it’s my time to waste.”

  “No, your time is paid for by residents of Frenchman Lake. I’m one of them.”

  He smiled a little. “Granted. Nonetheless, I have to do my job to the best of my ability. I do have training and experience to back up my decisions.”

  Her chin lowered a fraction. “I know that. But t
his time, you’re wrong.”

  He had no doubt that Phil Ochoa was starting to wonder what they were talking about. Lingering like this wasn’t a good idea. Tony made himself nod and say, “I’ll be in touch,” then start walking.

  Once he’d reached his car at the curb, he looked back to see Beth and Ochoa huddled on the porch, having what appeared to be an intense discussion. Shaking his head, Tony got in behind the wheel, and immediately his phone rang. The caller was his lieutenant.

  “You’ve got your warrant,” he said. “Where are you?”

  “Right outside the house. I just interviewed the husband.”

  “If you’re ready, I’ll have a patrol officer drop it off. Jess and Larry are tied up the rest of the day and probably tomorrow, too, but I can assign a uniform to you. Or we can put padlocks on the garage until someone else is available.”

  “Half the stuff from the garage is sitting in the middle of the backyard. No way to padlock it.” He hesitated. “I’ll get started myself, see how it goes. It’s not as if we’re looking for blood or trace evidence after all these years.”

  With luminol, they might still be able to see blood, but the head wound, even if that’s what had killed her, wouldn’t have gushed, and the ME had found no V-mark of a knife wound on the bones. If luminol lit up old blood on the carpet pad beside the bed, say, it could as well be from a woman bleeding when her menstrual cycle began, or cut accidentally at any point in the past three decades. And, while Tony would like to know where Christine had been killed, that wouldn’t be proof he could take to a jury that her husband had been the killer. She could have had a lover, or a fight with a tall, angry son. Tony made a mental note to look into other family, too, assuming there was any—brothers, father, an uncle who’d been part of Christine’s life.

  Tucking his phone away, he was glad things were moving but wished Beth and Phil Ochoa weren’t here right now. Either, and especially both, would make executing the warrant more difficult. He didn’t like to think how she’d look at him when he rang the doorbell and handed over the warrant.

  With some impatience, he told himself to get over this idiocy. Chances were good he’d end up arresting her father for murder. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d been attracted to a woman with no possibility of acting on it.

  * * *

  PHIL SAT BACK in his chair and studied Beth’s father. “Mr. Marshall, I’m going to ask that you not speak to the police from here on out without me, as your attorney, being present. Do you understand?”

  Beth’s father frowned. “Yes, yes, of course I understand. But what is it you think I’m going to say that I shouldn’t? I had nothing to do with Christine’s death. She was my wife.”

  “Exactly why the detective has to consider you a suspect. Emotions tend to, er, run hot between husbands and wives.” He cast a look at Beth that pleaded for backup.

  “Think about how common domestic violence is, Dad,” she said. “If you’d been furious at Mom—Well, you’re the person who could most easily have hurt her and, um, hidden her body. Because you lived here. And you knew when Emily and Matt and I were busy away from the house. You see?”

  “But I wasn’t furious at her,” he protested.

  He thought anyone should be able to tell that he wouldn’t do something like that, so how could he possibly be a suspect?

  Detective Navarro probably thought she was just as naive. And for good reason, except...she knew her father.

  Giving up, she laid her hand over his. “I know, Dad. It would really help if you’d think back to the weeks before she disappeared. Was there something going on at work that had her upset? Or with a friend?”

  “Wouldn’t she be more likely to have told you anything like that?” he asked. “You two talked all the time.” His expression brightened. “And Emily, of course. Have you asked her?”

  Beth forced a smile. “I will, Dad. But think about it. Something may come to you.”

  “I’ll try,” he said, without any hope.

  Oddly, she found herself noticing that his hair was thinning as well as receding. More gray laced the brown, too. Had he aged in the past two days? Or had she not paid attention to how stooped his shoulders had become? He’d never been interested in exercise for its own sake. There’d been a time when he had developed a brief interest in native plants, and he’d done some hiking and collecting. The vegetation here on the thin, volcanic soil of eastern Washington was sparse, however, and Beth thought he’d lost interest while she was in elementary school. He lacked the vigor and muscle tone an active man of fifty-nine should still have, that was for sure. Could she persuade him to join a health club or at least start walking for his health?

  Bigger issues here.

  Phil stirred. “Mr. Marshall, I didn’t think to ask whether you divorced your wife for desertion or remained married to her.”

  Beth blinked. She couldn’t imagine, but...

  Her father looked astonished. “Of course not! I assumed she’d be back, and then...”

  And then, he’d forgotten he’d been married, or that she wasn’t there or...?

  A few times when Beth was a teenager, one of her friends had asked if she thought her dad would remarry. The idea had made her feel as if she was looking at the world upside down. Did her father ever notice a woman? Or consider asking one out? Did he sometimes think it would be nice to have companionship, if not sex?

  Not something she actually wanted to picture. Nor would she ever have to. Her father was the original egghead. Physical needs were handled absentmindedly, if at all. He often missed meals, too involved in whatever he was thinking or reading about to notice a rumbling stomach. If he’d ever made a romantic gesture, Beth hadn’t seen it. Which didn’t mean her parents didn’t regularly have vigorous sex, but...okay, she couldn’t picture that.

  Her brooding was interrupted by the doorbell.

  Phil said, “I wonder...” but didn’t finish what he’d started.

  Beth jumped up. “I’ll find out who it is.”

  She was a little surprised to realize Phil was trailing her to the living room, dim with drawn drapes. Maybe he was using the excuse to leave?

  But the minute she opened the door, she knew he’d guessed who had rung the bell. Tony Navarro, darkly handsome and mostly expressionless. If there was a momentary softening in his eyes when they met hers, she was probably deluding herself to call it regret.

  The detective said, “Ms. Marshall. Phil.” He handed over some papers. “You’ll want to take a look at this.”

  What on earth? But she’d watched enough crime TV shows to guess. He had brought a warrant to search more than the immediate area around the body. The house?

  Phil read swiftly. When he finished and passed the papers to Beth, he didn’t appear surprised. “I’m sorry. It looks to be in order.”

  She turned away to allow herself to concentrate while she skimmed the legalese. “This is for the garage,” she said at last. “The stuff we hauled outside, too. And... Mom and Dad’s bedroom?” She swung around to stare at Navarro.

  “If any evidence was packed away, that’s likely where.”

  “No, actually—” Oh, what difference did it make? “There were a bunch of boxes full of Mom’s stuff in the garage.”

  “Were?” he said sharply.

  “Are. I meant to take a couple home, but, you know.” We found our mother’s body. Called 9-1-1. You came. Had he walked her out to her car to be sure she didn’t take anything? Had it occurred to him that, while he’d been inside talking to Dad, she could have put some boxes in her trunk? Emily or Matt could have done the same, although not without her seeing.

  “I’d like to look at the bedroom now,” Tony said. “Then speak to you, Ms. Marshall, if you wouldn’t mind staying.”

  Even if Phil agreed to stay, she wouldn’t leave her father while the detective was in the house. />
  Phil frowned at him, then looked at his watch. “Fine,” he said shortly.

  Beth reluctantly stood back to let Detective Navarro in, uncomfortably aware when he brushed her in passing. Dad had ventured from the kitchen and was now hovering in the living room, his face tight with worry. Maybe he was more aware of his peril than she’d thought.

  “Mr. Marshall,” Phil said, “the detective has a warrant to search your bedroom, master bathroom and the garage, as well as all the items removed from the garage yesterday.”

  “My bedroom?”

  “In case any of your wife’s belongings are stored there,” Navarro said stiffly.

  “I don’t know why they would be.” Dad pondered. “I’m not sure what’s on the shelf in the closet.”

  Beth knew exactly what was up there but kept her mouth shut. If Tony—no, Detective Navarro—wanted to look through a box of homemade Mother’s Day cards and children’s artwork and writings, she might even enjoy watching.

  “Beth,” Phil said, “if you’ll accompany him right now, I need to make a quick phone call to cancel an appointment. Remember, he’s restricted to the one room.”

  “I can do that.” She raised her eyebrows at Navarro. “Follow me.”

  His mouth tightened, but he did as she said. She was aware of his head turning as they went down the hall, but the doors were closed on the linen closet, Matt’s bedroom and the one she’d shared with Emily. The front bathroom, which he could see into, was mostly bare, although she presumed Dad used it sometimes. And then there was Dad’s office, filled with books on shelves, the floor, his desk, the windowsill and anywhere else he’d found room to pile them. Maybe she’d been too quick when she told Matt that Dad wouldn’t have spent the tuition money if it had been readily available. He did buy books. Lots of books. He spent hours a day searching the catalogs of obscure bookstores that sold scholarly and antiquarian books online.

  “Do you want to go through Dad’s office, too?” she asked, with snide intent. “Maybe you could organize while you’re at it.”