Death Hampton

by Walter Marks

  “Yes.” Jericho answered. “Mrs. Cascadden showed me a copy of her husband’s will. If she dies, his estate goes to his lawyer, Quinn Healey.”

  “So the lawyer may have hired the hitman.”

  “Right,” Jericho said. “But I’m surprised.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, a world class hitman doesn’t usually leave a paper trail.”

  “Sometimes you get lucky. Did he have phony IDs?”

  “Of course.”

  “What name was he using?”

  “John Tod, with one D. He was a noted punster.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tod means death in German,” Jericho explained. “And of course Mort — ”

  Susannah jumped in. “Mort means death in French.”

  The Chief tried to look like he knew that.

  “Mrs. Cascadden,” Jericho said, “I must ask you not to discuss this investigation with anyone. Especially the possible involvement of Mr. Healey.”

  “I won’t.”

  “A case like this is very tricky.”

  “But you’ve got the handwritten phone number.”

  “We’re not even positive it’s the lawyer’s writing. As I said, do not discuss this case.”

  Parolman Teddy Karlin approached them.”

  “Chief,” he said, “the medical examiner radioed that he’s on his way over. Helicopter should be here in twenty minutes. He says someone from EHPD has to sign off on the body.”

  “I’ll wait for him,” Chief Manos said. Jericho could see his boss wanted to connect as much as possible to this high profile case. Jericho couldn’t have cared less.

  If Healey hired the Mort, Jericho thought, he also could’ve hired the hitman to kill Burton Cascadden. He needed both Susannah and her husband dead in order to inherit the estate. Definitely something to consider.

  He turned and went down the steps to the beach, Susannah called to him, “Jericho, thank you again for saving my life.”

  “Any time.”

  He walked back to the crime scene berating himself. What the hell was I doing, touching her like that? And what was she doing when she reciprocated?

  Oh, come on, it was only a handshake.

  But maybe it meant more.

  Stop it! If I start thinking that way I risk not only compromising this investigation but also getting myself in deep trouble.

  So why am I thinking at this very moment that I can’t wait to see her again?

  CHAPTER 36

  Officer Karlin’s assignment was to drive Mort’s rental car back to the precinct house, and also bring the easel and stool with him.

  When he got to the automobile, which was parked in front of the beach house, he took out his phone and called his pal Nicholas Rhinelander at Long Island Newsday. He had a deal with the columnist — any tips he delivered on criminal activity in East Hampton or Montauk would be rewarded on a sliding scale, from fifty bucks for a publishable misdemeanor up to five hundred for a major scoop.

  “Nicky,” Karlin said into the phone. “You owe me five hundred clams.”

  Afterward, he was so excited about the money that he just drove the car back to town, forgetting all about the easel and the stool.

  Susannah decided to go to bed early that night. Around nine she took a long hot bath, hoping the warm water and fragrant bath oil would calm her unsettled feelings. But her anxious thoughts kept intruding:

  Planting Healey’s phone number on the body was a smart move. But what if it doesn’t work? What if they can’t nail him for hiring the hitman?

  Healey would realize I’d given the police his business card. What would he do about it?

  How well did I cover up my...my...what I did to Burt? And to Jessie Russell?

  Any mistake could destroy me. And it seems like the longer this ordeal goes on, the more mistakes I could make.

  There’s so much I can’t anticipate or control.

  And what about that moment when I touched Jericho’s hand? It was so warm, so strong.

  What does he want? What do I want? What could a woman who has killed two human beings dare to want?

  She had no answers.

  CHAPTER 37

  HITMAN HIT BY COP

  EAST HAMPTON DETECTIVE IN SHOOTOUT

  WITH HIRED KILLER

  The desk sergeant thrust Newsday’s front page in Jericho’s face as he entered the precinct house.

  “Congrats, detective,” the sergeant said. “You da man.”

  Chief Manos strode out of his office with two men.

  “Jericho,” he said. “This is Nicholas Rhinelander, I’m sure you read his column. He’s here to get a few pictures.”

  Rhinelander smiled.

  Jericho didn’t.

  Rhinelander looked like a toad, a smiling toad.

  “Get them in front of the American flag?” Rhinelander said to the photographer. “Chief, move in real close to him.”

  Jericho found himself next to Manos, staring sourly at the camera while his boss beamed. Strobe flashes went off.

  “So tell me, detective,” Rhinelander said. “How come you were on the beach when this Mort character was doin’ his thing?”

  “Sorry,” Jericho replied. “I can’t give out any information. It’s too early in the investigation.”

  “Sources tell me the intended victim was a Mrs. Cascadden. Why was she? — ”

  “Who are your sources?”

  “You know I can’t reveal that.”

  “And I can’t reveal anything about this case,” Jericho said. He turned, walked into his office and shut the door.

  “Jesus!” Manos shouted at Rhinelander, “I said you could get a few pictures. I didn’t say you could interview him.”

  “Sorry. It’s the newshound in me.”

  Manos’ secretary called out to him. “Eyewitness News on the phone. They’re sending a TV truck.”

  Rhinelander grabbed the photographer. “Let’s go, Leon. We’re done here.”

  “Don’t go messin’ up my case, Mr. Rhinelander,” Manos said.

  “Not to worry. But you’re gonna be up to your ass in media by this afternoon.”

  Manos made a beeline for Jericho’s office and barged in.

  “Somebody must’ve tipped off Newsday,” Manos said.

  “Yeah. Some fink made a few bucks with his big mouth.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Manos said. “This kinda story you can’t hide. But don’t worry. I’ll handle the media. You’re gonna have your hands full — bein’ a detective and a suspect in the same case.”

  “Who’ll be investigating me?”

  “Yours truly, representing Homicide. And Harburg from Internal Affairs. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah. Usual IA type, holier than thou. But I’ve got your statement and Mrs. Cascadden’s statement. Hopefully he’ll accept them both and go home.”

  “When do you think the DA will present to the grand jury?”

  “A few days at the most,” Manos said. “And don’t worry, they’ll come up with a ‘no bill.’ Nobody’s lookin’ to nail you for whackin’ one of the World’s Most Wanted. You’re a goddamn hero.”

  Jericho nodded. “Listen,” he said. ”I’ve got a comparison exemplar of the Cascadden lawyer’s signature. Looks like a match with the one on his business card.”

  “The card you found on Mort’s body?”

  “Yes. Who do you use for document forensics?”

  “Place called Handwriting Synergistics. My secretary’ll give you the address. It’s in Georgia.”

  “Georgia? Chief, it’ll take for fucking ever. NYPD has their own handwriting guys. I can — ”

  “Jericho. You’re under scrutiny now. You gotta do everything by the book. Don’t go playin’ rogue cop on me, even in a small detail. Got me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway,” Manos went on, “the two signatures are enough to get a search warrant on Healey. I know Judge R
akoff. He won’t give us any grief. Write in your affidavit that in your professional opinion the signatures match, and send him Xerox copies of both samples.”

  “Okay,” Jericho said, “I better get going on this paperwork.”

  “I’m assigning Anderson and Grenci to work with you on this case. We’ll all get together after you meet with IA.“

  “Okay.”

  “I hated doing it,” Manos said, “but I’m handing off the Jessie Russell investigation to the State Police. We don’t have the manpower. You’ve got the names of possible suspects in the Shinnecock tribe?”

  “Could be anyone in Russell’s family. But nobody there will talk.”

  “Ya never know. Anyway it’s NYSP’s jurisdiction. Write out a summary of your notes, fax it to them.”

  “Right.”

  I’ll get to it when I get to it, Jericho said to himself. Which might not be too soon. This is still my fucking case!

  CHAPTER 38

  Susannah was about to leave the house for her dance class when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Susannah, hi, this is Quinn. Quinn Healey.”

  Shocked, she said nothing.

  “I read about the hitman in Newsday this morning,” he said. “Terrible thing. How are you?”

  Newsday? she thought. I can’t believe this made the papers already.

  “Any idea who hired the guy?” he asked.

  “I’m not supposed to discuss it.”

  “Of course.” There was a pause. “Susannah, I’m very concerned about you. How about if I come out tomorrow? I’ll take you to dinner at Nick & Tony’s and we can — ”

  “I told you not to call me, Quinn. I meant it.”

  She hung up.

  What the hell is he doing? she asked herself. He can’t know about the business card. But he must assume I’ll be questioned in this case. I guess he figures he’s so well covered that it’s best to behave normally, play the part of family attorney and concerned friend. And maybe he’s so egotistical he thinks he can still get laid. What a jerk. Wait till he finds out his handwritten name and phone number was found on the hitman’s body. He won’t be so cocky then.

  But what if he’s found another hitman, or he’s planning kill me himself? Jesus!

  Maybe this dinner invitation was part of his plan? If he had the nerve to call me, who knows what he’s got in mind?

  She threw her dance bag over her shoulder and opened the front door. As she walked to her car, she saw two men coming toward her. They looked menacing. She was too far from her house to run back inside. She panicked and froze.

  “Mrs. Cascadden,” one of them called out.

  Susannah made a dash for her SUV. As she opened the car door she heard the click-whirr of a camera shutter.

  “Mrs. Cascadden,” the man shouted, “You’re better off letting us getting a decent shot of you. Otherwise you’re on the front page looking like a scared rabbit.”

  She was inside her car now, doors and windows locked. She saw the camera pointed at her, and put up a hand to shield her face. Click-whirr.

  The other man was leaning over the windshield, waving a picture ID with the word Press on it.

  “Nicholas Rhinelander,” he shouted. “Long Island Newsday.”

  Okay, maybe they’re not hired killers, she thought. But I’m taking no chances.

  She started the car and backed quickly out of the driveway, forcing the newsmen to jump out of the way. She drove off, tires squealing.

  In her mind, Susannah tried to make sense of her panic. Am I being paranoid? No. Paranoid means being unreasonably suspicious of other people’s thoughts or intentions. There’s nothing unreasonable about my fears.

  As Susannah taught her dance class, she kept watching Katie. She noticed the little girl had the same serious look as her father, when total concentration was required.

  After class, Katie ran over and gave her a hug. “You sure are a good teacher,” she exclaimed. For a brief moment Susannah felt like the person she used to be.

  Then Katie spied her mother and ran to her. Susannah looked at Jericho’s ex-wife . Hmm, she thought. Quite attractive

  As Susannah walked down the hall, Gretchen appeared and said she’d like to talk to her.

  Gretchen’s husband was waiting in the office. “Susannah,” he said warmly, “How are you feeling?”

  Arnold was no longer the cold-ass attorney. He was back to being Mr. Congeniality.

  “I’m managing,” Susannah replied.

  “Sit down, honey,” Gretchen said. “We’ve been so worried about you. God, what a thing to go through.”

  Susannah nodded.

  “The paper said he was a hitman,” Gretchen said.

  “Yes.”

  “I know you’re not supposed to talk about what happened,” Arnold said. “We just want you to know we’re here for you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Susannah,” Arnold said, “you’ve probably figured this out on your own, but clearly Quinn Healey had a motive to put out a contract on you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “The police are looking into that.”

  “Good.”

  “Suze,” Gretchen said, “Arnie and I talked it over and we’d like you to come and stay with us for a while. We’ve got a guest room over our garage, so you can come and go as you please.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Susannah said. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

  “But you’ve been through so much; this is a time to be with friends. And you’ll be much safer staying with us. Maybe this thing isn’t over. What if — ”

  “Thanks, Gretch. But really, I’ll be okay. I won’t be driven out of my own home.”

  “Well, if you change your mind,” Arnold said, “just let us know.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “Any word from the police on your husband’s disappearance?” Arnold asked.

  “Sort of. They told me they found a spinal column washed up on the beach, and that it might belong to Burt. They’re DNA testing it right now.”

  “Oh, honey,” Gretchen said. “This must be so awful for you.”

  “Forgive me for asking,” Arnold said. “But did your husband have any life insurance?”

  “Gee, I don’t know.”

  “Because, if it turns out your husband is deceased, that’s important information. If you put in a claim, the insurance company might dispute it, even take it to court. In fact, your whole inheritance could be delayed for years, if there’s no proof of death. These are tricky legal issues that I might be able to help you with.”

  “Well, thanks, but — “

  “Also,” Arnold went on, “I hate to say this, but as sole beneficiary in Burt’s will you stand to profit from his death — so you might fall under suspicion.”

  Susannah struggled to keep her voice calm. “Just because I’m in the will?”

  “Especially if foul play is suggested,”

  “Foul play?” Susannah said. “The police never suggested that.”

  “But who knows? They may find evidence of it later. And if they do — you could possibly be a suspect.”

  “...Me?”

  “I’m just trying to cover all bases,” Arnold went on. “If you’d like, I’ll fax you an agreement authorizing me to act on your behalf, for whatever comes up.”

  “But, I don’t think...”

  “Arnie,” Gretchen said to her husband. “Tell her what we discussed last night!”

  “Oh, yes,” the lawyer said. “All my legal work for you will be pro bono.”

  “Don’t even think about paying,” Gretchen said. “We’re your friends!”

  “I know I said I’d bill you,” Arnold said. “But I wasn’t thinking. It was reflexive lawyer talk. Forgive me.”

  “Thanks,” Susannah said. “That’s really nice of you.”

  Gretchen smiled and hugged Susannah. Arnold extended his hand for a handshake, but Susannah kissed him on the cheek.

 
It was reassuring to know they were her friends.

  CHAPTER 39

  That night Jericho received a call at home from his ex-wife Sarah. She had something important to discuss and wanted to come over.

  Jericho lived on Pocahontas Lane, in a wooded area near the Indian cemetery, about five miles from Montauk Point. It was cheap, and a twenty-minute drive to where Katie lived with Sarah and Irwin.

  Jericho straightened up the place as best he could. The A-frame house had once been an artist’s atelier. When Jericho was first shown the house, the realtor pointed with pride at the splatters of oil paint all over the floors — very Jackson Pollack, she’d said. Actually it was a sloppy mess, but after Jericho moved in he grew fond of it. Nobody else ever came to visit but Katie, and she thought it was cool.

  As he slid the vacuum cleaner under the bed, Jericho questioned his sudden need to do housework, an activity he had disdained during his marriage. Maybe it was to show Sarah he had his act together.

  When Sarah arrived, she showed no interest in the lack of dust bunnies. She looked grim.

  “What’s up, Sarah?”

  “Can we sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  Sarah had once been rail thin, but the pound a year she’d put on over the last ten was quite becoming to her. She settled into an armchair, and as she leaned forward her blouse fell open. Jericho caught himself trying to glom a glimpse of her breasts.

  What the hell am I doing? he asked himself. She’s my ex-wife, and I’m ogling her like a hyper-hormonal teenager. Get a grip.

  “Would you like a drink?” Jericho asked. “I’ve got some white wine.”

  “I thought you quit.”

  “Oh, absolutely. But I keep a bottle in the fridge, in case — y’know, for company.”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “It’s about Katie.”

  Jericho felt suddenly anxious. “Has something happened to her?“

  “No. She’s fine, Neil.”

  He was always startled when he heard his first name. Sarah was the only one who used it.

  She paused to collect herself. “The thing is, Irwin’s father is retiring — y’know, he’s got this big construction company — anyway, he wants Irwin to take over the business. It would mean — us moving to Washington.”