Natural Suspect (2001)

by Brad Meltzer

  "All except for the gun part. That was more excitement than I need."

  "Ha!" Devin rested her hand on the steering wheel and caught her breath. "You did all right. Held up very well, especially for a guy who hangs with bunnies."

  "You making fun of my bunny?"

  "No, I'm making fun of you."

  Trent smiled, despite himself. "What's up, doc?"

  "What's up is I never heard of a district attorney keeping a rabbit for a pet. I mean, a Doberman, I can see. But a bunny?"

  "It shows I'm sensitive."

  "It shows you're stupid."

  Trent fell quiet a minute. "You don't really think I had a rabbit for a pet, do you?"

  "You did, until his untimely death."

  "Buck was a very special rabbit."

  "I'm sure. He understood you like no other mammal."

  "No, not that." Trent paused. "In fact, Buck was the hippity-hoppity host for something very special, which is why I think he was killed."

  "He knew too much?" Devin laughed, but Trent's face turned grave.

  "His microchip did."

  Devin laughed again. "You have to be kidding me."

  "Not at all."

  "Come on. I've heard some strange things in this case. Homicidal clowns. Missing toes. Lame lawyer jokes. But a microchip?"

  "It's true. That's what I was going to tell you about before." Trent shifted closer and lowered his voice, though there were no passersby on the street. Not this late, not in this weather, and certainly not in this tough neighborhood. Snow fell steadily, muffling the city noises and making a hush that Trent found soothing. "You know how you can embed microchips in pets, for identification?"

  "No."

  "Well, you can, in the back of their necks. You have to do it, for example, if you quarantine an animal for travel abroad."

  "I don't travel abroad. I drive to Hoboken. I pretend it's Paris."

  Trent smiled. He liked Devin. Number one, she looked good in a hot tub. Number two, they had just come through fire together and here she was cracking jokes. But he could see she didn't believe him, and he found himself wanting her to. "Listen. There was a microchip embedded in Buck's neck that contained a set of very important documents. When they killed Buck, they took the chip."

  "But why a rabbit?"

  "Because no one would ever suspect it. Or so I thought."

  Devin shifted over. She was intrigued. "What's on the chip?"

  "Documents I was supposed to be safeguarding, that showed fraud and massive price-fixing."

  "By whom?"

  "By the oil industry."

  Devins mouth opened in surprise. "For real?"

  "Absolutely. I'm not just an assistant D. A. I belong to an organization that. . . well, that tries to solve major problems. World-threatening problems. The oil business has been fixing prices since the days of Standard Oil. Haven't you wondered why you're paying two bucks a gallon and there's no shortage of crude? It's a damn shame and it costs the taxpayers here--and in every other state--hundreds of millions of dollars a year,"

  "Was Hightower Oil involved?"

  "You betcha. Hightower, under King Arthur, was the ringleader of a conspiracy that included five major oil companies."

  Devin gasped. "I wonder if it had anything to do with his murder."

  "I don't know. It's possible."

  Devin straightened in the driver's seat. It had to be true, as crazy as it sounded. And it could help her free Julia, who was innocent. "But why did you charge Julia with murder, if you know this conspiracy did it?"

  "Only by charging her have we flushed them out. I never would have let it go too far. I was going to drop the charges as soon as I could."

  Devin didn't know if she believed him. And she didn't like her client being used. "You played games with Julia's life."

  "She played games with everyone else, and to the extent there was a price-fixing scheme, she and her family benefited from it the most."

  Devin let it drop. It was no use fighting about it now. "I don't get something. Why did you have the documents?"

  "We were going to bring suit. The documents were the paper trail. You know how hard it is to prove a criminal conspiracy in antitrust law. I've been building this case for the past ten years. I was just about to move on it. File the first of fifty-two lawsuits around the country, just like the state attorneys general did with the cigarette cases. Think of the damages. The suit would have cost the industry a fortune and changed the way it did business--for the better."

  "Wow." Devin nodded. She had misjudged Trent. He was a smart and handsome lawyer, fighting for justice and lower gas prices. It got Devin a little hot, but she suppressed it. There was still stuff to find out. "Why put the documents on the microchip, for heaven's sake? You can't use a file cabinet like everybody else?"

  "Not for this case." Trent shook his head. "We've had break-ins at the D. A.'s office over this case--even my computer files were searched. It was going to be my big case, so I kept the documents myself."

  "On Buck."

  "Yep. That's why I kept that bunny with me all the time. Walked him until my neighbors started looking at me funny. Now, the case is all but lost." Trent shook his head and looked over the hood of the car. Snow dusted the windshield and back window like talcum powder. The lights of a passing car shone momentarily, then disappeared as the car moved on. Trent began to feel uneasy, and the snowy hush that had earlier given him comfort now disconcerted him. "We should get going, Devin."

  "But I have to figure out who's behind this. Who killed Arthur--"

  "--and who were the guys in the masks, and where the microchip is, I know." Trent glanced at the rearview mirror but it reflected only a snow-covered back window, too obscure to lend any safety. "Let's get out of here. We'll figure it out together. Tonight. Partners, okay?"

  "Okay, but one last question." Devin had to know before she agreed to any partnership, whatever that meant. "What's the deal with you and Marilyn?"

  "Why do you ask?" Trent noticed another set of headlights traveling slowly down the street, shining through the snowy window like a light through fog. "Forget it. We'll talk about it on the way, partner."

  "Not so fast," Devin said, trying to sound casual, which wasn't her forte. "You must have known that Marilyn was Arthur's daughter."

  "Of course I did. I just played her to get the information I needed."

  "And did you?" Devin was too intent on the answer to notice the headlights of a car behind them, but Trent did. The car was right behind them and it wasn't moving. Why? There were plenty of other parking spaces, especially in this part of town. Trent felt his gut tense; then he heard the sound of car doors opening, swiftly and with purpose.

  "Devin!" he shouted. "Hit the gas! We've been followed."

  "Oh, no!" Devin twisted on the ignition.

  But this time it was too late. The car doors flew open, and the next thing Devin knew, she and Trent were being dragged from the car and borne bodily into the frigid snow.

  Chapter 11.

  I'm scared." Marilyn Hightowers hands trembled as she groped in her Hermfes purse for a cigarette. "I just know Morgan's next. Oh, God, I don't want him to die. ..." Her groping failed for the moment and so did words.

  "Morgan, why Morgan?" Robert Rutledge was puzzled.

  "I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but I just didn't know where else to go," she cried. "Mummy's run away."

  Marilyn was slumped on the leather sofa in Rutledge's office wearing a rumpled gray pantsuit and white turtleneck sweater. For the first time in her life her beautiful body looked as if it had acquired some knowledge of defeat. And it had. Her whole world had come to a bloody end in one gross betrayal after another. First her daddy's gruesome murder, then her mother's indictment, then poor Joe Kellogg. Poor loyal Joe. She shuddered to think of the manner of his death. Then just when it looked as if things were looking up for Julia in the trial department, she debarked in the Silver Girl VI for who knew where. It was all too m
uch.

  "Why don't you have a drink and tell me everything?" Rutledge offered.

  Marilyn shook her head. "Oh, no thanks. No drink." She'd never drink again. She tried to collect her thoughts. Why would anyone kill Joe? All he'd done was prepare a silly will her father would never in a million years have signed. Daddy was always threatening to disinherit them, and everyone knew he never would. It had been the family entertainment for years. That's the reason no one took it seriously in the first place.

  "You'll all be disinherited by Thanksgiving," was what Arthur Hightower used to say with great regularity. He was alway$> just about to divorce Mummy and cut Marilyn and Morgan off. The only person who actually believed him this year was the one with no Hightower Oil stock. Marilyn sniffed. It was all so cruel and unnecessary.

  "Tell me about Morgan," Rutledge urged.

  "He betrayed me, Robert." And the worst of it was, Marilyn didn't care anymore. The facts were finally sinking in. Her daddy was dead. He couldn't revile or protect any of them anymore. No more , family games of that sort. The new ones were much deadlier.

  When Marilyn had checked at the Commodore, she'd found out Julia had indeed debarked in the Silver Girl VI. Marilyn wanted and needed her mummy now, but once again her mummy was out of reach.

  "We're all in danger," Marilyn muttered fiercely.

  She wasn't quite ready to go into Morgan's marriage problems. She resumed her search for a smoke, her hands no calmer than before. All this was his fault. Marilyn didn't want to tell Robert how deeply ashamed she was of her brother's behavior, of everything stupid he'd ever done, including getting rid of poor Joe's body in the East River. Why on earth would he allow himself to be duped into doing that? He might be stupid, but he was no killer. Morgan was her only brother, but he was an idiot.

  "It's a little late for that. My head is spinning. This story is so out of control. Ten devious minds have created this tangled web. Robert, it's a nightmare."

  Ten. So many? "I'm so sorry, my dear," he murmured. "Please let me help you untangle."

  Marilyn shook her head, furious at this soft-spoken gentleman. Who would believe it would lead to this? It was supposed to have been a lark--a way for her and Morgan, and Julia, to parlay their small ownership in Hightower Oil, that powerful holding company that was into so much more than oil these days, into some small measure of independence over their lives. Making the most of a bad situation. It was to have been a business deal, that was all. It wasn't supposed to cause all these deaths. It wasn't supposed to put her mother on death row.

  Rutledge chewed on the inside of his cheek. He was thinking that all his life he'd been looking for a woman who could stand up to him. Someone who understood his world. Someone who could be strong and tender at the same time, who was tough but could break down with emotion when emotion was called for.

  "To tell you the truth," Marilyn said, "it would have been nothing to any of us if Daddy had just divorced Julia. We weren't always so helpless, you know. Morgan had his painting. I would have gone to work. Don't laugh. Nouveau pauvre is perfectly acceptable in any circle."

  "Do you see me laughing?" Rutledge said seriously.

  "Well, I would have worked. I've always wanted to. But Daddy never wanted us to work. He liked having the family under his thumb. You didn't know him like we did."

  "Well, I knew him for a stubborn man," Rutledge murmured. "I'm sorry it's turned out this way, really I am." And he was sorry he'd doubted her, too. His informers had suspected that Marilyn was the murderer. That is, until Joe's severed hand turned up. Then he'd known a wider conspiracy was involved. The O. He glanced at his watch. He'd received a call from his "facilitators." As usual they'd made a mess of it. Paying for the cleanup would no doubt be expensive. Those guys just couldn't do anything the normal way. A simple assignment for them had to be complicated by ski masks and pistols shot into the air. They so loved crashing through windows, chasing people down fire escapes and pulling them out of their cars. Mafioso wannabes. So childish. All he wanted was to talk to them. Still, the job was done, and Trent and that defense lawyer, Devin, would be here soon. He was not sorry Marilyn would be with him when they arrived.

  "Mummy wasn't always so completely wasted," Marilyn was saying. "She was a good mummy when we were little. Really. She used to care about all sorts of things. The ecology. Global warming. Do you mind?" She finally located the cigarettes at the bottom of her purse and held up the pack.

  "No, no, of course not," Rutledge murmured. With a manicured finger, he pushed across the table a large crystal ashtray that had never been sullied by an ash. Until this second he'd loathed smokers.

  "Mummy used to take care of us herself before she got so bitter. Most women do better with this kind of thing these days. Men can be such rats."

  "I'm so sorry," Rutledge murmured again, thinking he wasn't a rat.

  "I hated her for drinking." Marilyn had trouble with her lighter, so Rutledge took it out of her hand and leaned forward in his club chair to light the Benson & Hedges that wobbled between her fingers. Their knees touched, and the meltdown continued.

  "I feel terrible that Morgan and I sided with you in the takeover." Marilyn inhaled deeply, saw him wince, and immediately put out the cigarette.

  And she was thoughtful. "Marilyn, you have nothing to reproach yourself for." Robert found himself looking at her with awe. Marilyn Hightower in a state of terror, sorry about her mother and worried about her brother, was as irresistible to him as she had been unappealing to him before. Marilyn Hightower rumpled and weeping, coming to him for consolation and advice. The girl whom he'd pegged as a block of ice, who'd slept her way through the upper and lower ends of society just for the sheer fun of it, was certainly softened now. As a cold and calculating tart, she'd been nothing to him but an object of contempt. But now he could see he'd underestimated her. He hadn't known a thing about the real woman.

  "Oh, I do reproach myself. We did it for business, just the way Daddy did. Daddy hurt people all the time with his little business tricks. Price-fixing oil. Cornering the market in tin or whatever it was. Well, that's pretty bad, isn't it, when you think about it?"

  "It all depends on the context," Rutledge murmured.

  "Oh?" Marilyn glanced at the crushed cigarette with regret.

  He shrugged again. "AT&T, Bell Atlantic, Microsoft, IBM in the past, Sotheby's. The railroads. The banks, the steel fortunes. Hotel chains. Airlines. Monopoly is America's favorite game both in the drawing room and in real life. Shutting Hightower down only opens the door for others to organize. Hightower and the rest of the oil companies are nothing compared to the Arab interests. They have our whole country in a twist. Perhaps the State Department will have something to say about this. They're not supposed to murder, you know." He lifted his shoulder. Business was hell.

  Marilyn's tears came again. "I never thought Morgan would kill anyone. I never thought Mummy would be accused." She swiped at her lovely eyes with the handkerchief. Rutledge wondered if he could take her hand. Maybe in a minute.

  "You should have come to me with all this sooner," he said.

  "I suspected you were with the bad guys, Robert. You were having me followed, after all." She blew her nose and gave him the knowing look of the old Marilyn.

  He coughed again. "It doesn't do to underestimate the players," he told her gently.

  "So it was you." Her clear-eyed glance cut through him. "I've been sold down the river," she cried.

  "Marilyn, who killed your father?"

  "I'm sure you thought I did. I certainly thought you did." Marilyn put her hand to her brow. "My pearls were the ones found in Daddy's hand. They weren't Julia's at all." She swallowed hard. "And Trent persuaded me to let them indict Mummy to flush out the real killer."

  Rutledge nodded. "Yes, so you said."

  "I'm scared." Marilyn trembled. "I don't know why I agreed to put Mummy in such jeopardy."

  "Who, Marilyn? Tell me."

  "Sissy." Marilyn whispered fin
ally, glancing around fearfully as if the room might be bugged.

  "Sissy? Morgan's wife?"

  "She's really weird, Robert. She carries a gun." Marilyn's eyes circuited the room again. "And that 'dumb tart' thing is just an act."

  Rutledge nodded again. The "dumb tart" thing was an act with many women, Marilyn included. He was learning the hard way. But he did know of Sissy's sex shop.

  "Now, with Daddy's death and your takeover, Sissy stands to inherit hundreds of millions with Morgan. The problem is, he plans to divorce her."

  "Does he know she's the killer?"

  Marilyn shook her head. "I don't know what he knows. But I heard her screaming at him, having a complete freak-out."

  "Why?"

  "Morgan was having an affair with Cordelia. They'd been together for years. I wouldn't be surprised if he was secretly married to Cordelia. He'd only had that ridiculous ceremony with Sissy to infuriate Daddy. Morgan has no idea who Sissy is."

  Rutledge's body tensed. "Are you talking about my Cordelia?"

  " Your Cordelia?" Marilyn snorted. "More like anybody's Cordelia. The first time I saw Cordelia she was doing it with Daddy. On the Silver Girl V, of course. The woman likes the water."

  "The Cordelia who works for me?" Rutledge was astounded. Here was something he didn't know.

  "The very same. Cordelia is the mother of Morgan's baby."

  "Cordelia has a baby?" Rutledge scratched his head in wonder. And he'd thought he screened his employees so well. "How do you know this?" he asked.

  "I like the water, too, Robert. People at the Commodore are my friends. I know Mummy took off from there. So did Morgan. I'll probably never see poor Mummy again. Maybe she intends to sink the yacht." More tears for Julia.

  "Why don't you tell the police all this, Marilyn?"

  "Sissy is the police. She killed my daddy. If we don't stop her she'll certainly kill Morgan for cheating her out of the big money. The man who killed Joe is with the police, too. And somebody persuaded Morgan to dump his body in the river, probably Cordelia. Some detective with a hook is investigating. Have you noticed how weak the investigation is? The whole police involvement is missing a limb. Trent Ballard is with the D. A.'s office. And you've probably known this all along." Finally Marilyn accused him straight out.