Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “I see. How can I help you?” Helen asked perfunctorily, making it clear whatever civility existed between them before had been lost once Madeline started poking her nose where it wasn’t welcome, namely in the running of the Alexander estate.

  “With everything that’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours, I figured you might not have been informed of the latest piece of bad news.” The line got quiet while Helen tried to puzzle out Madeline’s true intention. Madeline imagined her bristling at the thought of an event planner acting as some sort of surrogate to the Alexanders, just because she was away for a couple of days.

  “What is it now? Have they arrested Cherie?” Madeline let the caustic remark linger in the air for a moment. She wanted to be very careful how she played her cards.

  “It’s not about Cherie. It’s about Teresa.” Helen remained silent. “She was found on the Rattlesnake Trail in Santa Barbara early this morning.”

  “When you say ‘found’…”

  “Teresa’s body was discovered by a hiker’s dog. Her throat had been slashed.”

  “Oh, mother of God,” Helen said with such convincing emotion, Madeline wasn’t sure if it was put on or not. “What was she doing all the way over there? She got out of my car in Isla Vista. I don’t understand this…are you sure it’s our Teresa?” Our Teresa? Nice touch. Madeline thought, picking up on the first false note so far.

  “I was called to the County Morgue to ID her. It was definitely Teresa. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but because of the severity of the wound and the lack of blood that would normally be present, the police believe she was killed somewhere else and dumped on the trail.”

  “Oh, God—this is just…too horrible. First Vivian, and now the girl. What is going on? Who could do such things? How can this be happening? Oh, this is all my fault,” Helen said, her voice trailing off. “I should’ve never fired her like that. I should’ve waited until she came to work. The poor thing. Running off down the road, in the pitch-dark. Oh, I just feel sick…”

  Madeline heard rustling as Helen covered the phone with her hand. She was surprised at the level of emotion Helen was displaying. It made her wonder for a moment if her suspicions about the woman were wrong.

  “Do they have any idea who could’ve killed her?” Helen asked.

  “I’m not sure. If they do, they weren’t sharing it with me. But I do know they’ve got K-9 units out all over Isla Vista and are conducting a door-to-door search for anyone who might have seen her. I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to interview you again. Any light you can shed on the subject would probably be very much appreciated. You might be the last person to have seen her, before the killer, that is.”

  “Oh, you’re right…” Helen’s voice trailed off. “I just feel so terrible about this,” she said. If Helen killed Teresa, she was one cool customer.

  “Anyway, I didn’t want you to be broadsided by the news when you got back to the Alexanders’,” Madeline said.

  “No…thank you. I’m so glad you called. Poor Ross…I mean, poor Mr. Alexander. I feel awful now that I left, but I felt like I just had to get out of there for a couple of days. All the hoopla that’s been going on for a year now…and then poor Miss Story’s death. And now the girl’s. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

  “It sure doesn’t,” Madeline agreed. “Okay, well…I hope you get some much deserved rest.”

  “Thank you. And thanks again for the heads up.”

  “You’re welcome.” Madeline ended the call and looked up at Mike.

  “Taxi’s out front,” he said.

  “Great. Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to see my bed,” Madeline said, slinging her overloaded bag onto her shoulder.

  Before Mike locked the door, he made sure he had all the safety measures in place, small traps that when tripped would let him know if someone other than them had entered and disarmed the alarm. Usherwood may be the king of high-tech espionage and subterfuge, which was why Mike resorted to more subtle, old-fashioned methods to throw him off. If Usherwood bothered to break in, Mike would know about it. His ability to sleep depended on it.

  “What was that?” Mike yelled, jumping out of a sound slumber, feet planted firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent, arms held in front of him, ready to strike.

  Madeline, more disoriented by sleep than he was, nearly knocked over the lamp as she grappled to understand what was happening. She caught it and fumbled to turn it on. Her phone chimed again, the second heralding of an incoming surveillance photo. Mike crawled across the bed to look on as Madeline opened the image. What they saw made them sink back onto the bed with relief.

  “Maybe we need to put that cat in protective custody for a while,” Mike said, hand to his heart as he monitored the thumping.

  “This is a different one,” Madeline said once she found her voice. “Poor kitty—looks more startled than we were.” Mike looked again and disagreed.

  “I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

  “Sorry. This is supposed to give us more peace of mind, not coronaries.” Madeline put the phone back on the bedside table and looked over at Mike. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. That was just such an adrenaline rush.”

  “Tell me about it. I thought for sure I was going to see a photo of Usherwood in head to toe black, just his evil eyes visible.”

  “The black cat stood out pretty well,” Mike said.

  “I guess that’s some comfort.” Madeline waited until her heart rate returned to normal, then switched off the light.

  “Are you okay?” Mike asked. Madeline hesitated before answering.

  “No, not really.”

  “You want to talk about it?” Mike asked, scooting closer so he could stroke her hair. Madeline inhaled deeply before answering.

  “I have this strong feeling I’m never going to be free of Lionel Usherwood.”

  Mike’s instinct was to contradict her, but he respected her too much to offer platitudes. They both knew Usherwood had the upper hand. He was apparently more crafty and ruthless than anyone in law enforcement; either that or he was the beneficiary of an overtaxed system and lack of funding. Stalking her was beyond settling a score; it was the pastime of a truly vile man who valued the suffering of his foes as highly as exacting his revenge.

  “Let’s get out of Santa Barbara for a while,” Mike suggested, propping himself up so he could see Madeline’s features in the dim light. “Let’s go down to LAX, pick the next flight out to wherever and just go. We won’t pack anything or tell anyone what we’re doing, and even if Usherwood followed us down there, he wouldn’t be able to get on the same flight.”

  Madeline rolled over and turned on the light. She regarded Mike thoughtfully before dismissing his fantasy escape.

  “We could hop on another plane after that and really confuse him,” she said cynically. “We could spend the rest of our lives and the rest of your money jumping from city to city, outpost to outpost and I’d never be free of the fear that he was standing right behind me. Running isn’t the answer.”

  Mike rolled over and grabbed his phone. Madeline turned on her side to face him, wondering what his latest brilliant idea was. “Who are you calling?”

  “Agent Caulfield.”

  “It’s not even five o’clock yet,” she protested. “Besides, what’s he going to do for us?”

  “Put around the clock protection on you, that’s what,” Mike said, holding the phone to his ear. Madeline reached over and snatched it out of his hand and ended the call. “Give that to me!” he growled, making a lunge for it. Madeline was too quick for him. She was out of the bed, phone behind her back.

  “Before you get your cape caught on something, I want you to just listen to me.” Bruised by her words, Mike folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the headboard, using every ounce of se
lf-control to keep his mouth closed.

  “It doesn’t matter where I go, or how many bodyguards I’ve got following me around, I will never be able to get Usherwood out of here,” she said, pointing to her head. “He’s a sick bastard who enjoys tormenting people. He gets this big thrill out of watching everyone bumbling around trying to figure out his next move. He’s in control, and you and I and the FBI and police are all playing defense. That’s the thing of it—he’ll fire off the next shot and we’ll all scramble around trying to figure out where it came from.”

  “You’re right,” Mike said after mulling over what she’d said. “It’s time for us to play offense.”

  Madeline’s posture sagged. “How?” she asked. It didn’t surprise her that Mike couldn’t come up with an answer. “This is what I’m trying to explain to you. I am at his mercy, and will be until one of us dies.”

  “Unless the Feds catch him. They could be intentionally letting us believe they’ve given up the chase to make Usherwood think you’re unguarded,” Mike said, wild hope bringing him to his feet.

  “Even if he were locked up in maximum security for the rest of his miserable existence, I’d still have this fear of him escaping. I had just gotten to the point where I didn’t think of him every day, and look what happened. He popped up and proved once again he is smarter than all the rest of us. I know it’s not easy for us to understand a psychopath’s mindset. I think it’s what unnerves me the most—not knowing what would compel someone to stalk and kill for pleasure. What…?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know that look. What are you thinking?”

  “It’s probably lack of sleep…” Mike said, stalling while he tested his latest theory for plausibility.

  “If you’ve got an idea about something, share it with me,” Madeline demanded.

  “You already shot it down once.”

  “What?”

  “About Usherwood being behind the murders of Vivian and Teresa in order to throw you off balance. What you said about tormenting people…about having it in for you… I’m beginning to wonder if you were right. He could be playing with you, killing two women who you were working closely with to throw everyone off. What could be a better way to distract law enforcement?” Madeline shook her head, rejecting the theory a second time. “Think about it…we’ve got two suspects, and neither one of them is a shoo-in for the part. It could all be a subterfuge to keep you off balance. Maybe it’s his way of getting even after having his ass kicked by a girl.” Madeline laughed in spite of herself.

  “I’m not going to waste my mental energy trying to figure out his warped mindset. But unless he can walk through walls or make himself invisible, it couldn’t have been him. He would’ve shown up on the CCTV footage.”

  Madeline smiled sadly. It would be wonderful for her on all fronts if Lionel Usherwood could be blamed for everything. But she knew it wasn’t that simple. Mike’s face became a stony mask. Without a word, he began to get dressed.

  “Where are you going?” Madeline asked as Mike pulled on his pants. He stared at her without speaking as he slipped his arms through his shirt, buttoning it as he walked toward the door. “Mike, what do you think you’re doing?” she tried again as she moved in front of the door, blocking his exit.

  “I’m going to see if there’s anyone camped out on the street, watching this place. Usherwood or FBI or SBPD, I don’t care. I just want to know what, if anything, is being done to protect you, and how bad the threat is at this moment,” Mike said. The intensity of his words made Madeline regret she had shared her fears with him. She knew better than to get him wound up when there was no way for him to offer a solution.

  “I’m not looking for you to fix my problems, Mike,” she said forcefully, arms at her sides, feet slightly apart, using the anger welling up inside her to make him back down. They stared at each other until Mike grudgingly relented. He turned away, running his hands through his bed-tangled hair. Madeline could feel the heat of frustration emanating from him. She could envision him picking up her chair and hurling it across the room as clearly as if it were actually happening.

  “I should’ve never said anything,” she said, her voice cracking. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop the tears from breaking free. She stood there, trembling with rage and helplessness. Seeing her in that state made Mike’s anger drain away.

  “Maddie, I’m sorry…I only want this nightmare to end for you.” He crossed the room and held her close until he felt her muscles relax and her heartbeat grow steady. She pulled away and sat on the bed, her eyes staring blindly at the wall in front of her.

  “I sometimes just want to stand out in the open somewhere and get this over with.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, Mike. I’d rather look him straight in the eye than be constantly worried that he’s going to pop out of the next doorway. I know you don’t like to hear this, but short of seeing his corpse, I will never feel completely free of him. I don’t know how much more of this cat and mouse crap I can stand.”

  “Maddie…” Madeline balled her hands into fists, shaking with rage until the anger and loathing seeped out of her. She looked back at her pillow and thought about trying to get some more sleep, but she knew she would only lie there, her mind whirling. Rather than putting herself through more futile speculation, she opted for getting a jump on the day.

  “I’m going to get in the shower,” she said as she walked over to her dresser. “We need to figure out how to get your car. I guess we could just jog over to the office,” she suggested, her tone brightening at the thought of a short run at sunrise.

  “Sure. I’m game if you are,” Mike replied. Madeline turned and gave him a tentative smile before heading to the shower.

  THIRTY-SIX

  “Helen Bagley,” Madeline said, then spelled the last name for the service rep and gave him Helen’s cell phone number. “I need the billing address and the names and numbers of anyone else on this account. Sure, no problem.”

  Madeline listened to schmaltzy violin music on the speakerphone while she typed up notes on the expanded Alexander file. Mike was on the other side of the room, busy examining the incident boards for clues they might’ve missed. The rep came back on the line just as Madeline’s cell phone rang.

  “It’s Ross,” she said, hand over the office phone. “Sorry, Jason—I’ve got a call I need to take. You can give my partner the information,” she said, as she got out of Mike’s chair and handed him the phone. She hurried to her own office as she took Ross’s call on the fifth ring.

  “Ross?”

  “Thank God you answered,” he said, his voice verging on hysterical.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Cherie…she slit her wrists.” Madeline was so stunned, she could barely speak.

  “When?” she asked, her heart thumping against her chest. As thoughts flew frantically through her mind, she had to wonder how she didn’t see this coming. She sank onto the edge of her chair, dismayed by the rampant spreading of mortality in the Alexander household.

  “It was after the cops showed up with a warrant for her arrest. She was in the shower when they arrived. I should’ve never left her alone,” Ross agonized, regret making his voice quake.

  “What time was this?” Madeline asked, abandoning her chair in favor of pacing aimlessly.

  “I don’t know—an hour or so ago?”

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  Ross struggled to retain his composure. “I think so. If Elaine hadn’t gone up to check on her.…” His voice quivered as he choked back tears. Madeline waited patiently while he pulled himself together. “She lost a lot of blood…” Again Ross went silent while he battled for control. Madeline fought the urge to offer groundless reassurances, sensing they would sound shallow and useless.

  “She collapsed in the shower
and was unconscious by the time I got there,” Ross said after a few ragged breaths. “I should’ve known better than to drop that bomb and leave her unattended. I could’ve lost her,” he said, his voice cracking again.

  “Did she say why she did it?”

  Ross cleared his throat before answering. “She couldn’t face going to jail. She said she’d rather die.” This bulletin hit Madeline hard. She sank back into her chair, her skin prickling with fear. Had her instincts about Cherie been so wrong? It was hard to deny how badly this looked for her. It was tantamount to an admission of guilt.

  “Did she confess to killing your mother?”

  “No. She didn’t say anything about my mother. She just begged me to not let them take her to jail. I don’t know if she’s even focusing on the more imminent threat of being arraigned on murder charges…” Ross’s voice trailed off for a moment. Madeline sat silently, trying to assess the situation and what her next course of action should be. Mike came in and sat down across from her. She put the phone on speaker.

  “Have you been in contact with Liz Sweet?” she asked.

  “Yes, she called right after we got to the hospital. She had just gotten word that a judge had signed a warrant for Cherie’s arrest. She couldn’t believe they had gotten there so fast, on a Sunday morning, no less. I can’t believe any of this. I don’t know how things can get any worse…” he said, his voice turning raspy.

  “What can I do to help?” Madeline asked. Ross took a few seconds to regroup before answering.

  “Tell me you have proof my wife didn’t kill my mother.” Madeline looked up at Mike. So far, all they had for proof was Madeline’s strong belief that Cherie wasn’t a murderer. That optimistic hunch was looking iffier by the minute.

  “I wish I could, but we’re still poring over the evidence. It’s sometimes hard to prove a negative. In this case, that’s what we’re trying to do. It will be the prosecution’s job to prove she’s guilty, and everything they’ve got so far is circumstantial.”