by B. J Daniels
After her talk with Anna Collins tonight, Ruth was all the more anxious, afraid to give voice to her fears.
She moved through the trees and picked up the path along the lake, careful to watch her footing as the path rose along the cliffs. Following the thin beam of the flashlight, she listened to the night as she had as a child, back when this island was as familiar to her as her own face.
She stopped when she reached the crest of the hill, turned out her flashlight and stood in the darkness for a moment, listening. Of course she hadn’t been followed. Jonathan couldn’t navigate this path. It was much too steep for him with his injury. And Pet—by now she would be too intoxicated. Nor would Carol or any of the servants have the nerve to follow her. They might take orders from Jonathan, but when push came to shove, they knew whose house it was.
That left only one other person. Anna Collins.
Ruth heard nothing but the wind at the tops of the pines, a low moaning sound, and the lap of water against the cliffs below her.
Snapping on the flashlight, she hurried down the path, anxious to get the information waiting for her and return to the house before anyone discovered that she’d left.
She hadn’t been near the cottage in years. For so long it had reminded her of the poverty of her youth. She’d often wondered if that was why Big Jim hadn’t had it torn down. He wanted her to remember what he’d saved her from.
Now though, the cottage looked benign. She’d put enough years between her and the misery that it was only a dim ache inside her.
The manila envelope was exactly where her new associate had said it would be. She stuck it under the waistband of her pants beneath the thick sweater she’d worn and took out the smaller white envelope she’d brought, exchanging one for the other. Then she closed the wood box.
She stood in the darkness, the flashlight extinguished again, not listening for the footfalls of the living but those of the dead.
Was it possible Jack was alive and he hadn’t contacted her? She welcomed the anger that came with the thought, letting it fill her to overflowing. It was the self-pity that she abhorred.
She looked out at the lake, just as she had as a girl, and remembered the promise she’d made herself to escape this island, this prison of poverty.
Well, at least she’d accomplished the latter part, she thought as she clicked on the flashlight again. Oh yes, she knew why her husband had built on this island, why he hadn’t demolished what was really just a shack. He wanted her to never forget that she owed him her life. He’d left this shack standing as a tangible reminder of what she’d be if she ever got out of line.
Ruth had been too smart for that. She smiled to herself as she walked around to the front of the dilapidated old building, the beam of the flashlight bobbing over the ground at her feet. For so many years, she’d resented that the shack of her childhood home had stood on the island. But now she saw that her childhood had made her the woman she was—good or bad—she could live with that.
As she started to turn away, the light caught on something. She lifted the flashlight to the door of the cottage.
The padlock she’d insisted be put on the front door was missing. She stepped closer, tried the doorknob. The door swung open and, even before she lifted the flashlight to shine it inside, she knew. Someone had been staying here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WALKER MADE A half-dozen calls, cashing in every favor owed him. He needed the Collins’s financial records, both Anna’s and Marc’s. It hadn’t been easy to get what he’d needed given the hour. The banks had been closed.
But he could be persuasive and when he finally had what he needed, he picked up the phone and called Marc Collins at Pinecrest Cabin Court and told him he was coming out.
“Kinda late for a visit, isn’t it?” Collins said.
Walker could hear that the man was high on something.
“What’s this about? Has my wife been arrested yet?”
Walker couldn’t believe the guy. He just seemed to be hanging around waiting for his wife to be arrested. His attempts to have her committed had gone awry when Ruth Fairbanks had gotten involved. So now what would Marc Collins do when he found out what Walker had learned about him?
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he told Collins.
“Can’t you just tell me what this is about over the phone? I’m kind of busy.”
Walker didn’t bother to answer. He hung up and headed for his patrol car. Collins was a prick. But a murderer? Walker had his doubts. One thing was for certain. Marc Collins was guilty as hell.
Five minutes later, Collins opened the door of the cabin with his usual cocky grin. Walker caught the distinct scent of alcohol on Collins’s breath, but from the looks of the man’s eyes, alcohol wasn’t the only thing he was on.
For all the bravado, Walker detected a wariness in the Realtor as he stepped aside to let him enter the cabin.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to tape this,” Walker said showing him the small tape recorder. “I already have your other statements from before. I just have a few more questions.”
Collins had come by after visiting his wife at the hospital and had made a sworn statement, repeating pretty much everything he’d already told them about his affair with Gillian; stopping the divorce, trying to reconcile with Anna, their fight after he confessed about the affair, Anna leaving with her gun, threatening to kill Gillian.
Collins nodded but looked nervous. “Why not?”
Walker took the only chair, a worn recliner in the corner. After a moment, Collins sat on the edge of the bed.
“So what do you want to know about Anna?” Marc asked, making it clear he thought this was about getting the goods on his wife.
“Just trying to clear some things up,” Walker said as he opened his notebook. “You had an argument with Gillian Sanders the morning she died.”
Collins’s head came up. He hadn’t expected this. “What?”
“The receptionist at Gillian Sanders’s law office told me that you were furious. That you threatened her.”
Collins let out a weak laugh. “Is that what this is about? That was just a little disagreement between lovers.”
Walker positioned his pencil over his notebook. “This affair you had with the deceased, when did it begin?”
Collins waffled. “I can’t remember the exact date.”
“Oh come on, surely you can recall. Your wife was still in a coma, right? You must have receipts. I assume at least you took Gillian out to dinner.”
“We went back to her place.” Collins rubbed his nose. “Those months are a blur. Gillian and I comforted each other. That’s all it was.”
“Really? During that time there must be receipts for dinners, flowers, something, right? I mean if you really had an affair…”
Collins bristled. “What are you getting at?”
“The truth. How long did this affair last, because I can tell you right now, once the state CID gets on this case your life is going to be an open book.”
“It was one time,” Collins said, looking away. “One night. Right after Anna came out of the coma.”
Walker didn’t think he could feel more disgust for this man, but Collins had proved him wrong. “Why did you tell your wife then that it was an affair, which implies it was ongoing?”
The scumbag shook his head.
“You had to know that Gillian was going to tell her the truth.”
“It was my word against Gillian’s,” Collins said.
Walker studied him. “What was it you were really afraid Gillian Sanders was going to tell your wife, Mr. Collins?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Sure you do. You had to have a reason to lie about your affair with your wife’s best friend. I’m betting it was to discredit Gillian. So I have to ask myself, why?”
Collins shot to his feet. “It’s my wife you should be questioning, not me.”
“The thing is, I’ve found w
itnesses who will testify that you threatened Gillian Sanders the morning of the day she was murdered,” Walker said.
“What about my wife’s threat to kill her?” he cried.
“No one but you heard your wife threaten to kill Gillian, and quite frankly, you aren’t a credible witness since you’ve already lied to an officer of the law.”
Collins looked around the motel room as if searching for a way out of this. “I’m thinking I should call my lawyer.”
“That’s probably a good idea since, according to the receptionist’s sworn statement, your argument with Gillian Sanders was more than a little disagreement,” Walker continued. “Gillian threatened to call the police if you didn’t leave.” Walker glanced down at his notes. “She stated that you called Gillian ‘a meddling bitch’ and threatened to ‘fix her’ if she didn’t stay out of your life.”
“It was just a disagreement. Gillian was angry at me because I never called her after that first time at her house.”
“The only time,” Walker said, not believing a word of it. “Doesn’t sound much like a lover’s quarrel. In fact, I asked the receptionist if she knew about your affair with Gillian Sanders and after she quit laughing, she was quite adamant that Gillian wouldn’t…let me get this right,” he said, checking his notes. “That Gillian ‘wouldn’t have poured water on you if you were on fire.’”
“That bitch,” Collins spit out. Perspiration began to stain the armpits of his expensive dress shirt and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Meanness shone in his eyes. His lip curled in contempt. “Gillian was a man-hating bitch. She was always telling Anna what she should do and Anna, who has the backbone of a jellyfish, listened to her.”
“What was it Gillian had advised her to do?”
“Divorce me, for starters.”
“I thought you were the one who wanted the divorce.”
“No, I mean, yeah, I filed, but I didn’t want Anna to sign the papers. I just wanted to scare her.”
“Scare her?”
“She killed my son. I was pissed. I wanted to…I don’t know. Make her pay.”
“Is that why you seduced her best friend?”
Collins shook his head. “I would have done anything to get that bitch out of our lives—even get her drunk and sleep with her.”
“Even kill her?”
IN LUCINDA’S HOSPITAL ROOM, Chief Nash watched his wife sleep, one hand on her rounded stomach and, for the first time in his life, he prayed.
When he finished, he was convinced that the reason Lucinda might lose the baby was because of what he’d done. Not just the night he’d taken her so roughly when he’d thought she was having an affair.
No, this was happening because he’d burned evidence. All the years he’d been a good cop had been canceled out by that one act.
He knew Walker thought he was crazy for not calling in the state CID. At first he hadn’t done it because he didn’t want the case getting away from him. He’d reasoned he would need to be able to quash any evidence that might hurt Lucinda.
Now he couldn’t call them in because he had to make things right. He couldn’t get back the evidence. But he could go back to being a good cop. He could end his career right. He could make amends for what he’d done. He knew even then Lucinda might lose their baby.
Either way, he had to do this. For himself. For his wife. For their baby.
He left Lucinda sleeping and went out to his patrol car to make the call to the penitentiary. He tracked down the warden who was a friend of his and set up a call with Leon, the former car thief and Lucinda’s ex-partner in crime.
He was told he wouldn’t be able to talk to Leon until tomorrow afternoon. Nash thanked the warden and hung up, remembering the other night when he and Lucinda had sat talking about the future and names for their baby.
He covered his face with his hands, his body heaving with the aching pain of the sobs. Hating this weakness in himself, he pulled himself together, wiped his face and went back to his wife’s bedside to take her hand.
Her eyes opened and he knew she’d heard him crying, but had pretended to remain sleep to not embarrass him. He thought he couldn’t love her more than at that moment.
“The baby’s going to be fine,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll see.”
All he could do was nod and pray that he could make things right.
WALKER WATCHED MARC COLLINS as he realized what he’d said and quickly backtracked. “I didn’t kill anyone. I only told Anna about Gillian and me so my wife wouldn’t listen to the bitch anymore.” He snorted. “Hell, I didn’t think Anna would kill her.”
“What else did Gillian advise your wife to do? You said divorce you, ‘for starters,’” Walker pointed out, checking his notes. “What else?”
Collins looked nervous, as if trying to remember how much the receptionist might have overheard of his argument with her boss. “Gillian was determined to find the driver from the hit-and-run accident who killed Tyler.”
“I would think you’d want that, too.”
“Like that would bring Tyler back,” Collins muttered. “I just wanted the whole thing to be put behind us. The cops hadn’t found the guy, so what made Gillian think she could? I’d already had months of waiting for the guy to be caught.”
“But Gillian continued to search for the hit-and-run driver?”
Collins nodded. “She kept Anna’s hopes up. I wanted her to stop. I could see what it was doing to Anna and I couldn’t take any more. The pain, you know.”
Collins looked up, his eyes shiny with the stimulants he’d consumed. If there was pain there, Walker couldn’t see it.
“So you thought you’d protect your wife by telling her you had an affair with her best friend.”
Collins had the grace to look sheepish. “Yeah, well, maybe I was desperate. I told Anna not to take Tyler with her that night. So I’d been drinking a little and she didn’t want to leave him with me. Taking Tyler to protect him from his own father, what a bunch of bullshit. And look how that turned out.”
“Where were you from the time your wife left you at the house the night Ms. Sanders was murdered?” Walker asked.
Collins was ready with an alibi. “I went straight to a little bar in Ballard. The bartender or any of the regulars who were there that night will testify that I was there until it closed at 2:00 a.m.”
It was all Walker could do not to wipe that smug look off his face.
“I don’t know why you’re questioning me,” Collins said. “It seems pretty clear-cut. When Anna left me, she took her gun and headed for Gillian’s house. I tried to stop her, but there was no reasoning with her.”
“You could have called the police,” Walker pointed out.
Collins shrugged. “A man never thinks his wife is capable of murder. How was I to know she’d drive over to Gillian’s house and shoot her, then stuff her in the trunk and head for the mountains?”
Collins thought Gillian had been killed at her house? Maybe the man really didn’t know the truth. Or maybe he was lying through his teeth.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” Walker asked.
Collins seemed to relax a little. “No.”
“Okay.” Walker reached over to turn off the recorder, but stopped just short of it. “One more thing. Why did you place a call to Jonathan Fairbanks’s cell phone the day Gillian Sanders was murdered?”
Collins took the question like a blow. He staggered back, the edge of the bed hitting him in the calves. He sat down, eyes widening for a moment before narrowing. “You know, I think that’s all the questions I’ll be answering without my lawyer present. You might recall I asked for an attorney earlier.”
Walker sat for a moment, then rose from the recliner and turned off the recorder. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Collins.”
RUTH FAIRBANKS TOOK THE report on Anna Collins to her room, locked the door and settled in to read it.
She hadn’t encountered anyone as she returned to the house. She�
�d used her key and quickly turned off the security alarm before it could sound. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Jonathan had tried to follow her or, at the very least, was sitting in the foyer waiting for her when she returned.
He’d been acting oddly lately. She’d meant to ask him earlier why he was spending so much time on the island. It wasn’t like him. He much preferred life back East. He lived and breathed politics, working as Big Jim’s aide, and had been gearing up for the primary here in Washington hoping to retain his father’s seat.
At first she thought it had something to do with Pet. She’d seen the two of them talking once in the hallway when they hadn’t known she was there. They were much too friendly toward each other.
But while Jonathan might dillydally with the tramp, there was no way he’d let her within fifty feet of his political aspirations. Pet wouldn’t make him a good politician’s wife. Jonathan would only want her—because at one time Jack had wanted her, Ruth thought bitterly.
No, ironically, Jonathan needed someone more like Anna Collins, she thought, as she opened the report and began to read. Anna came from old money, a respected family, good social bearing.
Distractedly, Ruth poured herself some of the tea that Carol left for her every night. She took a drink, needing the warmth after her walk. She was anxious to read the report. What in it wasn’t she going to like?
She couldn’t shake her worry after the fear she’d seen in her oldest son’s eyes earlier tonight in this very room.
What if something had come back to haunt Jonathan?
What if that something was his brother, Jack?
Anna had lost both parents when she was young, Ruth noted. Married after getting a dual degree in business and child development at the top of her class. No dummy, that young woman. Married below her station though and had lived to regret it.
Ruth rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t even read past the first page and she found herself fighting to stay awake. She took another drink of the tea. The lettering on the paper swam before her eyes.
