This Saturday morning, however, Rudy’s thoughts weren’t on the houseboat. He was thinking about Lucy. Why would anybody want to kill Lucy? It didn’t make sense. He just couldn’t get his brain around it. And now Momma and Austin were saying he would probably be arrested for the murder. What were the police going to say? She kicked him out of the house so he got mad and killed her? Were people going to actually believe that? Just then he saw an osprey gliding over the water. It veered sharply and crashed into the murky waters, emerging seconds later with a fish clutched in its talons. It was a marvelous sight, one Rudy had seen many times before. It was murder of a sort but it was murder with a reason. The dumb animals of the world didn’t kill without a reason. Maybe people could do that, kill for no good reason. But Rudy wasn’t like that. He was more like the osprey, or the gator. And he just didn’t have a reason to kill Lucy-couldn’t they see that?
For a brief moment, Rudy toyed with the idea of ending it all in this place that he loved so much. He wouldn’t last in prison, he knew that. They would see that he was different and he would have to be on guard at all times. Thank God he had stayed with the karate. He was sure there weren’t too many black belts in prison. In the end, his mother was the reason he didn’t go swimming with the gators. She was fighting so hard for him-he just couldn’t do that to her.
They came for him on Monday morning about eleven, after the blood test results came in. Two uniforms were with the two detectives, and somehow a reporter had received a tip to be there with a photographer. Rudy was usually on the river at that hour but he didn’t go out that morning. Elena had suggested he stay in. They both knew why but neither spoke of it-they had already talked it to death. Elena didn’t want him out on the river when they came. Those idiots would make a circus out of it with police boats and helicopters. Rudy would go quietly for now. The battle would be in the courtroom.
They handcuffed him right at the front door of the hotel so the photographer could get a good shot for the morning paper. Read him his rights while they were doing so, a useless exercise at that point since the Grunt had already taken his statement and had him sign a written waiver at the time. Then they put him in the back seat of the squad car. They had a search warrant too but they didn’t search the whole apartment. They went right to the tackle box under the bed, opened it to make sure the contents were as advertised, and took it with them. They were gone in a matter of minutes, just long enough for a small crowd to gather. The reporter, Pam Brady, started to approach Elena to get her thoughts and feelings about what had just happened, but she thought better of it after she caught a glimpse of the fire in Elena’s eyes. Those eyes told her all she needed to know. Elena wanted to spit on all of them: the police, the press, the gawkers-her neighbors. Couldn’t they see this was a family tragedy? Didn’t they know what she and Rudy were going through?
The next day, when she returned from her meeting with Tracey James, Elena called her sister in New York. She had to start raising the money and her sister was the only person she could turn to.
“Marguerite, I need ten thousand dollars,” she told her after a brief exchange of pleasantries.
“For what?” Marguerite asked as she started searching for the right words to turn her sister down. Elena told her the whole story.
“My God, Elena, what are we going to do?”
“I’ve got a lawyer, a good one, but she wants a fifteen thousand dollar retainer.”
“That’s just the start with those thieves. They’ll run that dry and they’ll want more.”
“Maybe, but I think I can work with this woman.”
“Woman? You got a woman to handle a case like this? Baby, you need a man.”
It was starting all over. Big sister telling her what to do, criticizing the choices she had already made. Baby wasn’t just a word she used in conversation. It had a definite meaning in their relationship. This was one of the reasons she had left New York. Elena bit her tongue.
“She’s the top criminal lawyer in this area. Besides, that’s not part of this discussion. I’ve already hired her. Can you help me or not? I’ve got nobody else to turn to.” She tried to be matter-of-fact about it, not wanting to beg, but Marguerite was her older sister, and she sensed her sibling’s desperation no matter how hard Elena tried to hide it.
Marguerite had a good job. She had worked for UPS for fifteen years, was one of their first delivery women. Unfortunately, she lived the high life.
“Elena, I could probably scrape up five thousand dollars but that’s it.” There was a pause on the line. Marguerite could hear the tears. “Let’s think about this for a minute. There’s got to be somebody. What about a bank?”
“Marguerite, I need this money tomorrow.”
“What about Mike?”
“What about him?”
“He’s doing well now. He’s been off the sauce for years, has a fairly decent job.”
“Marguerite, he hasn’t seen or heard from me or Rudy in sixteen years.”
“So? He’s still the boy’s father. Mike knows why you left. He knows it was his fault, he’s told me as much.”
“Listen, can we not talk about my ex-husband right now? I need help.”
“Why don’t you take a day to think about it, Elena, and I will too. If we can’t come up with anybody else, I’ll call Mike. There won’t be any strings attached. I’ll just tell him the boy got into a little trouble and you called asking for five thousand dollars and I didn’t have it. He can make the decision from there.” Elena thought about it for a moment. She was so desperate anything sounded good, even contacting the man she had avoided for the last sixteen years.
“All right,” she told her sister. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Marguerite took Elena’s “All right” as a tacit consent to call Mike, which she did as soon as she hung up. She and Mike still lived in the same neighborhood. She had been an observer through the rough years as he drank his way to oblivion. She had also watched him pick himself out of the gutter and slowly crawl back, inch by inch. He’d been in AA nine years now and had a good job with the telephone company. They met sometimes in the morning for coffee.
Marguerite considered Mike a friend, but her loyalty was to Elena. Elena didn’t want Mike to know where she and Rudy were, and Marguerite honored her wishes. That didn’t mean from time to time during their morning conversations she couldn’t let Mike know that his son was doing well.
Mike answered the phone on the second ring.
“Mike, this is Marguerite.” He recognized her voice even though she rarely called him on the telephone.
“What’s up, Marguerite?”
“Nothing much.” She was trying to play the whole thing down. She knew that if Mike knew the real truth, he would stop at nothing to find out where his son was. But that decision was Elena’s, not hers. “I just talked to Elena. She told me that Rudy was in a little trouble and she asked to borrow five thousand dollars. Mike, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know and I didn’t ask. She said it was minor.” She was pretty sure she was pulling off the nonchalant act. Lying over the telephone was a lot easier than lying in person.
Mike could tell that she knew more, but Marguerite was his only connection to his son-he couldn’t alienate her. This was an opportunity and he had to play according to her rules.
When Elena had first left, he was furious. Angry enough to have done something he would have regretted for the rest of his life. How could she do this to me? But he didn’t try to find her or his son. He didn’t have time. Another paramour had entered his life, one he had known for years, a lover who dominated his every breath.
It wasn’t until he sobered up years later that he had put the pieces of the puzzle in their proper place. Elena hadn’t done anything to him. He had done it to her and his son: staying away from home for days on a bender; coming home drunk, yelling and screaming; lying passed out on the front stoop for all
the neighbors to see; spending the grocery money on booze. It was a wonder she’d stayed as long as she did, pleading and begging him to stop. Telling him she loved him, that she’d help him. He had tossed her aside like a toy he had outgrown. He didn’t need her: He didn’t need anybody-until the chickens came home to roost. .
Oh, it was difficult down there in that cesspool, seeing his reflection for the first time in a long time in its fetid waters-more difficult than the slow climb back up. But he knew if he didn’t take the time to see himself in all his grotesqueness, he would never make it all the way back. He also knew that if Elena hadn’t left him, if she had continued to provide the crutch for him to cling to, he would never have looked in that mirror.
Now he lived in the hope of somehow making it up to them. This was the first time he had ever been contacted. This was the first time they needed him. He had to respond without reservations or conditions.
“I can have the money for you tomorrow,” he told Marguerite.
“You can? Oh Mike, that’s great.”
“I’ll go to the bank first thing in the morning and I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at, say, nine or nine-fifteen.”
“That’s good. Mike, I know both Elena and Rudy will appreciate this.” She wanted to say more, to tell him that she would encourage Elena to call him, to let him know where she was. So at least he could visit his son. But that was not her decision and she didn’t want to raise any expectations in Mike’s mind.
She called Elena right away-no sense letting her worry all night about the money.
“Why did you do that?” Elena demanded.
“Because I knew it was the only way. I didn’t tell him where you were and he didn’t say anything about wanting to see Rudy. I told him you had asked me for the money and I didn’t have it. That was it. I’m meeting him at nine o’clock in the morning. Give me your bank information and I’ll wire-transfer the funds right after that.”
Elena paused for a long half minute, and then with a deep breath said, “Thanks, Marguerite, you’re right. I guess I have no other choice.”
Eleven
As soon as she received the fifteen thousand dollar retainer, which Elena personally delivered to her office, Tracey James went to work. Her first call was to Dr. Harold Victor Fischer, a forensic psychiatrist in Vero Beach, whom she had worked closely with in the past. H.V. had impeccable credentials and always seemed to find a way to provide Tracey with just the right professional opinion she needed. She then walked up to the second floor to visit with Dick Radek, her investigator. After that, she prepared a Notice of Appearance, a pleading she filed with the court saying she was representing Rudy, and a Demand for Discovery, calling for the state to turn over every shred of evidence it had in the case against Rudy.
Her plan was simple but shrewd: Dr. Fischer, after meeting with Rudy and performing an “independent” psychiatric evaluation, would provide an opinion that Rudy, because of his limited intellectual ability and his nature, did not have the capacity to refuse to engage in conversation when the police began questioning him. Because the police knew of his limited intellectual ability, they should not have begun the interrogation in the first place. At the very least, when his mother arrived before the questioning began and demanded that it be stopped, they should have acceded to her wishes. Armed with this opinion, Tracey was going to file a Motion to Suppress Rudy’s statement to the police. She wasn’t sure what evidence they had yet but she knew from Elena that Rudy’s blood type was O positive, something he shared with millions of other people. If the confession and the blood were it, he’d be walking if she won the motion. If some of the neighbors had seen him, she’d have Dick talk to them and find out exactly what they were going to say. It was a tentative plan based on assumptions, but it was the best she could do until she knew more.
Tracey had told Dick Radek to send someone to Bass Creek for two weeks to hang around the barrio and find out as much as possible about the murder, the neighbors, and Lucy herself. When Tracey received Wes Brume’s file, Dick’s people would re-interview each and every witness. Perhaps the police had missed something. Perhaps she could put someone else in that house at the time of the murder.
Elena had a new problem to deal with when she got home from her second trip to Vero. Her boss, Philip Randle, was waiting in her office. She knew it meant trouble as soon as she saw him. Phil was the managing partner of a syndicate that owned the hotel and several other commercial properties throughout the state. He showed up on a Monday once every six weeks to go over the books with her and discuss any problems. From the day he gave her the job, Phil had had the utmost faith in Elena’s ability. His stay usually lasted less than three hours. Then he was off over the big bridge, heading back to his home in Miami.
Today, however, Phil had a sour look on his face, a look that spoke volumes.
“We have to let you go,” he told her abruptly after the usual pleasantries. Elena wanted to demand a reason but she already knew. She wanted to ask for another chance but she was too proud to beg. She just sat there in the office chair staring at Phil, who felt an obligation to explain.
“It wasn’t me, Elena. I argued against it. You’ve done a great job here from day one and I will give you a letter of recommendation wherever you go. Somebody sent a copy of the newspaper to me and my partners. You know, the one with the front page picture of Rudy getting arrested in front of the hotel. Every one of my partners called me. They don’t know you, Elena. To them it’s just business, and the picture was extremely bad publicity for the hotel. I tried to talk them out of it but it was no use.”
Elena didn’t say anything. She continued to stare at Phil, who felt compelled to fill the silence with words. “They want you to leave right away but I’m going to give you a week’s severance pay along with my letter of recommendation.” He handed her an envelope and made a move toward her to hug her goodbye. Elena stiffened, took a step back and glared at him. Phil got the message. He headed for the door but stopped before leaving.
“We’re sending someone over tomorrow as a temporary replacement. Her name’s Alice Stevenson. Please give her the keys and show her around.” He didn’t wait for an answer.
Twelve
When Clay Evans received the Notice of Appearance from Tracey James, he almost shit his pants on the spot. He’d never tried a case against her, nor had any of his staff, but he’d seen her billboards all over the state. There was no doubt she was big time. He’d been wheeling and dealing to make this case a slam dunk for himself on the assumption that good old Charley Peterson would be defending the kid. Having Charley as your attorney was like being represented by a dead man, which seemed most appropriate in a murder case: the dead representing the about-to-be-dead. Clay really got a chuckle out of that line the first time he thought of it. Now it didn’t seem so funny. He’d hidden evidence. He’d had a knock-down-drag-out fight with the coroner, Harry Tuthill, to convince him to alter his report-all based on the assumption that he could pull the wool over Charley Peterson’s lazy old dead eyes. And now he had Tracey James on the case. There’s still time. I could go back and fix things. I could drop the charges. Or. . Tracey James is big time-lots of publicity. If I really want to get out of here, I’ve got to take certain risks. .
His session with Harry Tuthill hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked, either. Harry was like him, an old blue blood in a dead-end job. They often had a few drinks on Friday afternoon and bemoaned their present status in the world, which usually meant slamming Bass Creek and most of the sorry souls who resided there. Clay thought he could count on Harry but Harry balked. He was in his sixties, on the verge of retirement. Harry’s window of opportunity had closed a long time ago.
“You want me to leave information out of my report? That’s illegal.”
“Look, Harry, you know what they’re going to do with that information once they get it. This kid is going to sail out of here.” This time, however, Clay wasn’t preaching to the choir.
> “I don’t care, Clay, I’m just the medical examiner. I report the findings and let the chips fall where they may. The fact is this woman had semen in her body-I can’t leave that out of my report.”
“You do agree, don’t you, that there were no signs of rape?”
“Yes.”
“And you know that the blood type on the floor and the blood type in the semen were different.”
“Yes.”
“What do you conclude from that?” Clay was practicing his direct examination.
“Either she had sex with someone she knew before she was killed or her lover killed her right after sex.”
“What about the other blood? How do you account for that?”
“I don’t. That’s not my job.”
“Think about it for a minute, Harry. Have you ever seen or read about a lover killing another lover right after sex without some evidence of a battle: the room’s a mess, bite marks, scratch marks?”
“Of course I have, Clay. You’re reaching for straws now. Besides, we haven’t seen the lover. He might have bite marks or scratch marks on him.”
“But there’s no evidence of an argument in that bedroom.”
“Look, she was killed in the bedroom. She had sex that night. She could have had sex with somebody who left the scene and then Rudy could have come over and killed her, or Rudy could have come and left and someone else could have arrived and had sex with her and killed her. Those are the two possibilities, one equally as plausible as the other. In either scenario, she didn’t fight with the person who killed her and there is no evidence of a break-in.”
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