by Laurel Pace
"Oh, my God, Ken!" Over the hands she held clapped to her mouth, Dani's eyes were wild with terror. "Is it Bea?" she finally managed to get out.
"I'll have a look. Stay in the van." Ken's hand felt weak, unreliable as he fumbled to unlatch the door.
He swallowed hard and succeeded in holding at bay the queasiness roiling in his stomach. So this is what it means to have your head blown off. The thought passed numbly through his mind as he stood looking at the mess of bone and blood and tissue that had once been a human face.
Disregarding his command, Dani had scrambled out of the van and rushed to his side. He felt her cold hand slip inside his sweaty palm, trying to steady them both. "It's Bea." She tightened her grip, pulling him back from the ghastly scene. "We need to get the police." Still clutching his hand, she scanned the empty street, trying to orient herself. "There's a bed-and-breakfast on the next street. We could use their phone."
Ken curled her hand inside both of his. In the vaporous streetlight, her face had a damp, yellowish look to it, like molten wax. "Let me stay here while you go call the police. If I see a patrol car in the meantime, I'll flag it down."
"Okay." She gave his hand a resolute squeeze and then hurried to the van.
Ken waited until the Aerostar had disappeared down South Battery before turning back to Bea's car. He had no appetite for what he was about to do, but he knew he had to have a closer look inside the Honda. As he circled the car, he avoided looking at the pathetic, bloodied body sprawled on the gear box. The windows on the passenger side were rolled up. Ken stooped to peer through the glass and immediately had to force back the heaving sensation that filled his throat. The briefcase that Bea had carried with her to Richardson's office lay open on the passenger seat. It was empty, as far as Ken could tell. Unlike the car's interior, the lining of the briefcase was completely devoid of any blood stains. Whoever had opened it and removed its contents had done so after Bea was shot.
The shrill cry of approaching sirens signaled Dani's success in contacting the police. Suddenly, the sleeping street was filled with flashing lights, the sound of brakes slammed to the floor, of brusque voices and rushing feet. Already a few lamps had winked on behind curtained windows as the unsuspecting neighbors awakened to the alarm.
"You the one who found her?" A uniformed policeman with close-cropped black hair immediately collared Ken.
Ken followed the policeman back to the Honda. "My friend and I spotted her as we were driving past the car."
The policeman nodded, but he seemed not to be paying much attention to anything but the mangled creature slumped behind the steering wheel. "Whew-ee!" He massaged the back of his muscular neck, shaking his head slowly. "Ernie, we need to get Forensic over here on the double," he shouted over his shoulder before turning back to Ken. "Okay, I'm gonna need to ask you some questions." The policeman seemed as relieved to put some distance between himself and the awful scene as Ken had.
They had just paused beside one of the patrol cars when Dani's van drove into sight. While he waited for the police officer to respond to a radio dispatch, Ken waved to Dani. She quickly double-parked the van and then dashed between the patrol cars.
"All right, kid?" Ken put his arms around her, hugging her securely to him.
Her head nodded against his chest as her arms clasped him in an equally fierce embrace. Then Dani pulled back a little to look up into his face. "How about you?"
"Not doing too badly." Ken touched her cheek lightly. She was too beautiful, too good to be involved in such a sordid mess. For a moment, all his other concerns faded, superseded by the overweening desire to shelter her from the wretchedness of human behavior gone haywire. His attention was abruptly refocused by the policeman's return.
"Officer Joe Simpson, ma'am." He nodded briefly to Dani. "Okay, now I need to get your names and then you can tell me exactly what you saw."
Ken and Dani gave Simpson their names and addresses. Dani described how they had been driving past the parked Honda when they discovered Bea's body.
"We thought we recognized the car." She hesitated and glanced at Ken. He could tell she was torn by conflicting impulses: the desire to offer the police every fragment of helpful information without exposing Ken's unauthorized visit to Richardson's office. "As it turns out, we were right. The woman is Beatrice Lawes. She was Richardson Whyte's secretary for many years."
At the mention of the prominent murder victim's name, a visible twitch passed across Simpson's lips.
"Did you notice anyone near the scene of the crime?" Simpson's probing dark eyes moved quickly from Dani to Ken and back again.
Both of them shook their heads. "The street looked absolutely deserted. At this hour it usually is." Dani fell silent, hoping, no doubt, that they would not be required to justify their late-night prowling.
Officer Simpson made a few terse strikes through the blank spots remaining on the police report. His lips moved as he glanced over the completed report."And you say you found her about a half hour ago?"
"Yes, I think so," Dani said.
Simpson's husky shoulders rose in a world-weary shrug. "There's really no telling how long she'd been lying there like that. If you people hadn't been up high in that van, you might not have seen her. Guess we won't have anything to go on as far as time of death is concerned until Forensic has had a chance to run some body-temperature tests. Well, thanks for your cooperation. You may be hearing from me if we have any more questions." He turned toward the medical van that was parked diagonally across the street. "Two homicides in two weeks is two too many!" Ken heard him mutter to himself.
Two homicides that may have been prevented if the Whyte family's damnable pride had not put secrecy ahead of common sense. Ken's indignation flared at the senselessness of it all. Who among Richardson's relatives would allow any hint to be revealed of what poor Bea Lawes may have been carrying in her briefcase that cost her her life? Certainly not Sapphira. Theo, if he had any idea, would be more concerned with political damage control than with justice. Even Derek, for all his hard-headed business sense, would never dream of defying Sapphira. The realization taunted Ken, not least of all because be had let himself wander into the distasteful quagmire.
Dani's hand closed over his wrist. "Ken, we need to talk."
"You're right." He followed her to the van, which offered them some privacy from the grim activity surrounding the Accord.
"The police need to know what you saw in Richardson's office." Dani's eyes held him as firmly as her hand.
Ken took a deep breath. He knew she wasn't going to offer an easy, painless way to do what was right because there was none. In the back of his mind, he had been trying to rationalize a way out, but Dani's even, straightforward gaze told him he wouldn't be able to live with any decision other than that of telling the police everything he knew.
Dani accompanied him, offering her tacit support, as he hunted for Simpson among the police swarming the crime scene. They found him talking with the medic who was securing the rear door of the emergency van.
"Can I speak with you for a moment?"
Simpson seemed surprised, but not half as startled as he appeared when he got a look at the identification card Ken held up for his inspection. "Associated Security? What kind of outfit is that?"
Ken returned the ID to his breast pocket. "We handle private security, primarily for corporations. Richardson Whyte hired me through an associate of his after he received an extortion threat. I'm still technically under contract on that case, still have a key to Whyte's house." He glanced at Dani, fortifying himself with the supportive look she gave him. "I was in Whyte's office tonight when Bea Lawes showed up."
"You're telling me you saw the victim tonight when she was still alive?" Simpson fixed Ken with an uncompromising stare that said he intended to get a straight story.
Ken nodded. Well, they always said courage wasn't being unafraid; it was facing fear and overcoming it. He suspected that before the night was over, he was goin
g to have a chance to see if his own mettle was equal to that old saw.
Simpson shifted his penetrating gaze to Dani. "What about you, Miss Blake? Were you in that office, too?"
"No—" Dani began, but Ken quickly intervened.
"Miss Blake is in no way connected with Associated Security. She came downtown to meet me after I left the Whyte house, for strictly personal reasons." Ken was not about to let Dani deflect any of the heat onto herself. He had hatched the plan to visit Richardson's office on the sly, and he would bear the responsibility for any questionable legal issues that decision raised.
Simpson regarded them both quizzically, as if he were uncertain what he should do with them or their testimony. "I think it'd be a good idea if you folks came down to headquarters. Just let me be sure these guys have enough pictures before they tow the victim's car. Then you can follow me downtown."
Downtown! Dani had thought that only fictional cops used that expression. This was not an old episode of Dragnet, however, nor was Joe Simpson merely a well-built version of Officer Joe Friday. This situation was real, deadly real. She needed only one glance at Ken sitting waxen faced and silent next to her in the van to be reminded of that. She knew what must be going through his mind, wished desperately she could think of something to say that would alleviate the sober thoughts oppressing him.
Dani waited for Simpson to climb into his cruiser. When his arm jutted from the open window, motioning them to follow, she pulled away from the curb. The city looked so peaceful, its streets submerged in a dreamy predawn hush. The past week had taught her how cruelly deceptive appearances could be! The shattering experiences surrounding Richardson's death had left her wary and mistrustful; in light of so much corruption, Ken's decision to talk with Simpson seemed nothing less than heroic. If Sapphira took a vindictive stance, he could find himself on very shaky legal ground. At the very least, the Whytes could make considerable waves with Associated Security, to the point of jeopardizing Ken's job. Yet Dani knew that, whatever the consequences, Ken could never conceal valuable information about the last hours of Bea's life and continue to live at peace with himself—no more than she could.
Following another cue from Officer Simpson, Dani turned into the parking lot flanking the unassuming building that housed the city police headquarters. After she cut the engine, she sat for a moment, giving Ken some time to collect himself.
"I'm going to tell them everything, Dani." Ken's voice was ominously quiet, much like the stillness that precedes a violent storm.
Dani reached to take one of his hands, trying to offer encouragement. "I'll stand by you, Ken. I don't give a damn what Sapphira or any of the others do. Someone has got to speak up before we have yet another murder on our hands."
In contrast to the slumbering city surrounding it, the police station was bright with hard fluorescent light, an encapsulated mill of ceaseless activity. Officer Simpson met them at the entrance, guiding them past the desk clerks and upstairs to a sparsely furnished office.
"Coffee?" The policeman made a beeline for a scorched carafe simmering on a hot plate.
Ken shook his head, but Dani said, "Please." Right now, she needed something to steady herself, something to hold on to, even if it was only a cup full of carbonized sludge.
Simpson leaned over the desk, his large hands carefully rearranging a couple of framed photographs to give Dani a place to park her coffee. Dani guessed that the pictures' subjects—a pretty teenager dressed in cap-and-gown and a grinning boy in a royal blue band uniform—were the policeman's children. As he sank down into the battered desk chair, Simpson took a slug of the coffee and grimaced. "Now let's get back to what you told me at the crime scene. You ran into the victim in Richardson Whyte's office tonight."
Ken leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands between his knees. "Not exactly. I didn't want her to see me." He drew a deep breath, focusing on the tight ball formed by his hands. "Bea Lawes took a very proprietorial attitude toward her boss's business, and I thought she might resent my being in his office."
Simpson doctored the oily coffee with a generous dose of instant creamer. "Just why were you there?"
Ken exchanged glances with Dani before answering. "I wanted to see if I could find the missing link to some information Miss Blake and I had uncovered." Choosing his words slowly and carefully, Ken recounted their tracing of the yacht-club pin and the incident aboard the Bandeira Branca. Although he discussed Ned Poole's conversation and the possibilities it had suggested, he omitted any references to Stephen Lawes.
Dani and Ken had not had an opportunity to discuss how many of their as-yet-unproven hunches they could responsibly share with Joe Simpson, and Dani was relieved that Ken had avoided implicating Stephen Lawes. However incriminating the young actor's behavior may have seemed in the past, she was firmly convinced he had not killed his mother. She recalled his protective treatment of the bereaved woman at Richardson's funeral; Lawes might be a trained actor, but Dani's intuition told her his solicitude that day had sprung from the heart. Then, too, quite apart from their suspicions about Stephen Lawes, Bea's shocking death had thrown a wild card into every possible scenario they had constructed to solve the case. As he concluded his account, Ken looked drained, his energy sapped by the endeavor. "Richardson Whyte hired me to protect him from an extortionist—a measure that, in the end, failed. I've had a few losses in my career—corporate secrets that managed to slip through the security net, thefts that persisted despite the most stringent precautions—but I've never had someone lose his life. I feel personally responsible, feel that I need in some pathetic, inadequate way to do something to make it up to Richardson. I have to see his murderer brought to justice. Do you understand?"
Simpson nodded slowly, his eyes following the emotional currents reflected on Ken's face. "Yeah, I think I do."
"I have to be honest with you, Officer Simpson. If I had announced my intentions, none of Whyte's relatives would have let me within a mile of that office. Even trying to talk with the family is like running up against a stone wall."
Simpson chuckled cynically over the rim of his cup. "I suspect that's what a lot of Butler's guys in Homicide are thinking, even if they won't admit it. Okay, for now, let's forget about whether you bent the rules or not and go over what happened in the office. You stayed out of sight while the victim was in Whyte's office?"
Ken nodded so wearily, Dani suspected he wished he had taken Joe Simpson up on his offer of coffee. "I hid behind the drapes, so I had a good view of her activity. I saw her take a small box from the desk and some papers from a wall safe. She put everything in her briefcase and left right away."
"What time was this?" The desk chair squeaked as Simpson leaned forward to pitch the coffee cup into his overflowing wastebasket.
"About one-thirty, I guess. I really didn't pay much attention to the time," Ken admitted. "After I was sure she was gone, I looked around the office a bit longer, then left the house and met Dani. That's when we discovered Bea in her car."
"Uh-huh." Simpson clutched the edge of the desk, pushing himself back a few feet. "You know we found her briefcase in the front seat of the car. But it was empty."
Ken eyed the policeman steadily. "Whatever was in that briefcase, I didn't take it."
For a long moment, the room was very quiet, broken only by the crick-crack of Simpson's swivel chair as he rocked it slightly from side to side. Then the rhythmic squeaks ceased abruptly. "I believe you. I don't suppose you have any idea what those papers might have been?"
Ken ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair."I think the box contained some letters, but—" He broke off as the office door suddenly flew open.
Detective Sam Butler filled the doorway, porcine pink face glistening with sweat, BB-pellet eyes ricocheting all over the office. "I want a copy of that report, Simpson. A positive ID has just come back from the morgue—the woman was Richardson Whyte's secretary."
Joe Simpson rearranged his muscular frame in the s
agging office chair, making himself comfortable. "I know," he remarked in a calm voice guaranteed to rankle Butler.
Butler's perennially flushed face deepened a half shade. Anger spewed from the tiny, dark eyes, quickly finding the perfect target in Dani and Ken. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"Miss Blake and Mr. McCabe discovered the victim," Simpson supplied helpfully.
"Huh!" Butler snorted. "You people seem to be cropping up in a lot of interesting places these days. I heard about your little sailing expedition."
"That 'little expedition,' as you put it, Detective Butler, very nearly cost us our lives." Dani's jaw tightened as she struggled to hold on to her temper. Common sense dictated that her desire to defend herself and Ken be tempered by at least a token effort to avoid locking horns with the irascible detective.
Butler gave her a malicious smile. "Then I suggest you avoid such dangerous activities." He looked back at Simpson, jabbing the air with a thick finger. "I'm waiting for that report, Simpson." As he retreated down the hall, his rubber-soled shoes left a trail of angry, squishing steps behind him.
"Right," Simpson muttered to the empty doorway, but he appeared unfazed as he eased up from his chair. "Well, if you folks can't think of anything else pertaining to this case, I don't see any reason to keep you here any longer." He shook hands with Dani and Ken and then escorted them to the door. "Try to get some rest," he advised them as they headed down the hall to the stairs.
"That's the best suggestion I've heard in a long time." Ken's arm felt heavy with fatigue as it dropped over Dani's shoulders. The harsh light had carved cavernous circles beneath his eyes, but he managed a tired smile.
"I'll second that!" In her eagerness to put the taxing interview behind them, Dani had already dug her keys out of her purse. As they crossed the lobby, she scarcely noticed a man hunched, forehead in hand, on one of the lobby's Spartan benches. Only when they were pushing through the doors did the man lift his stricken face, fixing her with a look of mingled grief and bewilderment.
