by Leslie Caine
"We'd better check the garage," I muttered, already
heading around the house to peer through the window in
the door by the backyard. "He's never late for an appointment."
Sullivan followed in my footsteps. Just as I rounded
the corner, I froze. Some twenty feet ahead of me, I saw
what looked for all the world like a man lying prostrate
on the ground. He wore an Elmer Fudd hunter's cap.
Sullivan pulled up short, followed my gaze, and muttered a curse under his breath. An instant later, he was
running toward the body. I followed, cringing.
Sullivan knelt beside Walter Emory's lifeless body. His
clothing was drenched in bright crimson. There were
two bullet holes in his jacket.
c h a p t e r 1 4
steve checked Walter's body frantically for vital
signs as a wave of sorrow and despair washed over
me. Though I knew it was too late, I dropped to
my knees, grabbed Walter's lifeless hand, and cried,
"Walter?!"
"He's dead," Steve said quietly.
I released my grip and got to my feet. "What is going
on?! Why is Walter even here? On Saturday he said that
he'd nearly completed his judging."
"I'm calling nine-one-one," Steve said, already punching the numbers into his cell phone.
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 171
Snow was beginning to fall. The crystalline white
flakes were starting to land on Walter's face. I couldn't
stand the sight; it seemed inhuman and degrading to
leave him in the elements like this. Sullivan must have
shared my reaction, because even as he solemnly spoke
to the dispatcher--reporting a murder and giving the
address--he was removing his coat.
"Wait," I said. "There's a blanket in the van. I'll get it."
He nodded, and I dashed to the van, eager to get away
for even a few seconds to clear my head. The instant the
macabre scene was out of sight behind Burke's house, a
sense of bitter rage overtook me. In the space of two
weeks, Sullivan had lost his mentor, and now Walter
Emory, an eminently decent human being, was dead,
too. I wanted to throw a tantrum and rail about the unfairness of it all.
I threw open the back door to the van, grabbed the
navy blue fleece blanket, and slammed the door shut. I
turned and tried to take a few slow, deep breaths, willing
myself not to fall apart.
A car was parked across the street. It looked just like
Burke's forest green hybrid. The vehicle was facing the
wrong direction and partially in the ditch.
I took a step toward the car, then remembered that
Sullivan was waiting for the blanket. I strode back to him.
The snow was already starting to accumulate. This was
the Colorado champagne powder that was a skier's delight. Right now, though, it just felt like so much salt,
pouring onto an open wound.
Sullivan shook his head at me and lowered his cell
phone. "The dispatcher told me we shouldn't drape anything over Walter. We'd be lousing up the evidence."
172 L e s l i e C a i n e
"So we're just supposed to leave him like this? Getting
covered in snow like a . . . park bench?"
Sullivan gave me a defeated shrug, listened to his
phone for a moment, then explained to the dispatcher
that we hadn't entered the house and couldn't say for certain whether or not it was vacant.
When he paused, I told him, "I'll be out front." I
tossed the blanket back into the van and stared across the
street. The vehicle was still there. My heart was pounding
as I approached the car. Was Burke the second victim?
My feet seemed to be moving of their own accord, bringing me to the car window against my will.
It was indeed Burke's Toyota.
His car was far enough off the side of the road that
Sullivan and I must have driven past without even seeing
it. Burke sat behind the wheel, motionless.
"Burke?" My heart was in my throat. He didn't answer.
With the various patterns of shadow and light on the
windshield, I couldn't see if Burke's eyes were open or
shut. He certainly appeared to be unharmed, though. As
I started around the car to the driver-side door, I could
see that he was alive. He was pale, with dots of perspiration on his brow. He was gripping his steering wheel hard
with both hands, and his engine was turned off.
He looked at me for a moment, turned the key in the
ignition to activate the power, then rolled down the window. "Did you call the police?" he asked.
"Sullivan's on the phone now with nine-one-one.
What on earth are you doing, Burke?" I had to consciously keep my voice below the level of a shriek.
"I don't know. I . . . kind of panicked."
"When?"
"When I found Walter's body. In my backyard."
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 173
Again, I willed my voice to stay reasonably calm, although I wanted to grab the man by his lapels. "So you
found him dead, and you didn't call the police?"
He shook his head. "I was going to run away. All I
could think was: I've got to get out of here! I mean, I
couldn't believe it! This is such a nightmare. A second
murder. This time at my own house!"
"But if you're innocent, nothing makes you look guilty
faster than running."
"Worked out okay for O.J. Simpson."
"You're not a celebrity."
He searched my eyes, his own nearly bulging out of
their sockets. "Erin. I'm screwed. The police are going to
assume I did this! I know I'm still tops on their list for
Thayers's murder."
"Was anybody else here? Do you have an alibi?"
"No."
"Did you see anyone? Hear any cars in your driveway?
Anything?"
He shook his head. "I thought I heard the doorbell
while I was in the shower. But when I shut off the water,
it was quiet. I figured I must have been hearing things.
Then I heard a bang a minute or two later. I assumed it
was someone's old pickup truck backfiring."
"When did you spot Walter Emory?"
"Um, I happened to look out my back door. In the
kitchen." He still seemed to be out of sorts and was struggling to concentrate. "When I came downstairs. I
thought someone was lying in my backyard. And then I
started to put things together . . . and I realized that had
been a gunshot earlier. I ran out and tried to do CPR on
him, but it was too late. That's when, I dunno, I just . . .
went a little nuts. I got into my car and started to head out
174 L e s l i e C a i n e
of town. Then I got ahold of myself and came back. But
this is as far as I could force myself to come. Erin, they're
going to arrest me on the spot."
The distant sound of sirens was growing louder.
"That's the police. They'll be here any second. You've got
to come back with me to the house. Right now! Tell them
the whole story."
"They'll arrest me!"
"Burke. You have no choice but to take that chance."
His eyes were vacant, his face and his lips pale. He still
wasn't budging from his car. The sirens so
unded like they
were just around the bend. He stared through the windshield with a glassy expression.
"Look at me, Burke. You've got to come with me now
and explain things to the police."
He nodded numbly and emerged from his car. "This
has been the worst nightmare. Why does this keep happening?"
I had no answers for him. Two black-and-white police
cars pulled into Burke's driveway just as we were making
our way up his walkway. A pair of officers emerged from
each car, and we were promptly ordered: "Hold it right
there!"
While Burke explained that this was his house and
that he'd discovered the body in his backyard, a third vehicle, a tan four-door sedan, pulled in and parked at the
base of the driveway. I gritted my teeth at the sight of the
driver--Detective O'Reilly. He was my least-favorite officer. He glowered at me as if to make certain I knew that I
was his least-favorite Crestview citizen. And to think that
Sullivan had the ridiculous notion that O'Reilly had a
crush on me!
He drew a steady bead on me. "Miss Gilbert."
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 175
"Detective O'Reilly."
"Come with me," he ordered, and pulled me away
from Burke, marching me through the freshly fallen
snow in the front yard. "Sergeant Holcombe," he called
to the closest policeman. "Keep an eye on her. I'll question her myself in a few minutes."
O'Reilly and the three remaining uniformed officers
spoke to Burke. I could only hear snippets of the conversation. Understandably, they were taking tremendous exception to his decision to bolt without calling them. I
waited, shivering in the cold. At length, O'Reilly ordered
one of the others to come with him to the backyard to see
what Sullivan had to say, and for two other officers to take
Burke to the station house and get his statement.
That left just me and the officer who'd been assigned
to watch me in the front yard. He was obviously a body
builder--his uniform seemed ready to burst at the seams,
a la Hulk Hogan. After a few minutes of silence he said,
"This was a shooting death?"
"Yes. Of someone I knew. He was judging this ecobuilt home of my client for a contest."
"Hnnh," he muttered, then we fell into a silence
again. Finally, O'Reilly returned. He was talking on his
radio. With a jerk of his chin, O'Reilly indicated that the
other officer should go to the backyard.
O'Reilly completed his radio conversation and sauntered over to me. "What does this make now, Miss
Gilbert?" he asked. "Three, four times someone's been
murdered at your client's house? If things didn't always
manage to shake out otherwise, I'd swear you were a serial killer. I don't even know what to say to you at this
point."
It felt humiliating to have to endure his remarks. "You
176 L e s l i e C a i n e
usually don't say all that much to me. You ask me questions and act as if my every answer is a lie. You make me
feel as though it was my fault for being the one to find
some poor person has been murdered. Well, I'm not asking for any of this to happen! What am I supposed to do?"
"Have you considered relocating to Denver?"
"No. Have you considered switching to the Denver
police department?"
He glared at me. "It has crossed my mind of late, yes."
I said nothing.
"Let's proceed," he commanded. "Take me through
your morning, till the time you arrived. And then be sure
and explain precisely why, with a dead body splayed in
front of you, you decided on your own to go traipsing
down the road toward Stratton's car and speak with him
about the murder."
"It wasn't like that!" My knees were shaking and I
dearly wanted to sit down someplace before they buckled.
"Like what?"
"Like I decided to take a little stroll and have a chat
with my client! When I first went up to the car, I wasn't
even sure if he was dead or alive! He was scared and
didn't know what to do, so I convinced him to come back
with me and talk to you people!"
"You're doing this backwards, Miss Gilbert. Let's get to
that chronologically. Then you can offer up all your excuses for talking to our prime suspect before we had the
chance to interrogate him ourselves. All right?"
"Is there any way I can request a different detective to
question me?"
"Sure. You can request it. Won't do any good, though."
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 177
"Are you this snide and nasty all the time, or just when
you're on the job?"
"Nah. Only when I'm working. Being around murderers and other criminals tends to bring out the worst in
me." He waited a moment, sighed, then said gently, "Let's
go sit in my car. You look about ready to collapse."
A couple of hours later, Steve and I were finally al-
lowed to leave. We promptly got into an argument regarding Burke's innocence. "Okay, Sullivan," I finally
told him. "I admit Burke's behavior today was really
bizarre. Even though he knew he'd be accused, he
should have contacted the police immediately."
"Right."
"But . . . that's just it. This is all so incriminating, I have
to think he's telling the truth."
"Either that, or he somehow found himself with no
options and grew desperate. He killed Walter after finding out that Walter uncovered the evidence that was going to convict him of Richard's murder. Then he
concocted this whole story once he realized he wasn't going to be able to escape."
"Then why stay in his car? Why not return home and
act shocked at our having discovered Walter's body in his
backyard?"
"I don't know. I'm not a killer. I can't begin to imagine
a killer's thought patterns."
"You don't know that he is a killer! Just last Friday, you
admitted you had some doubts whether or not he was
guilty. We need to presume his innocence here," I stated
firmly.
"Why?" Sullivan asked, smacking the steering wheel
178 L e s l i e C a i n e
with his hand for emphasis. "We're not jury members. I
think we should presume that we'll live longer if we stay
the hell away from Burke Stratton!"
"In other words, you've changed your mind about
gleaning inside information from Burke that might help
the police to convict Richard's killer."
Sullivan said nothing, but his jaw muscles were working overtime. Finally he replied, "No. But we're watching each other's backs really carefully from here on out.
Neither of us ever comes into this neighborhood without
the other."
"I can live with that."
"I sure as hell hope so," he replied.
The next day, Burke called my cell phone. "Well," he
said, "at least I haven't been arrested yet. But it's obviously just a matter of time. Someone's framing me so well
that I half suspect I'm guilty, even though I'm the one
person I know for a fact is innocent!"
"Hang in there," I muttered, not knowing what else to
say.
"I need help. I can't just sit back and assume the police are going to sort out t
he truth. They're going to go
with the simplest scenario. And that's with me as the
killer!"
I winced at the wording and held my tongue. Hadn't
Linda Delgardio just recently said something about the
simplest answers usually being the correct ones?
"Do you know of any great private investigators in
Crestview?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't."
"I'll . . . look in the yellow pages." He paused. "Are you
P o i s o n e d b y G i l t 179
coming to Earth Love this afternoon?" When I hesitated,
confused, he continued, "They're holding a meeting for
the finalists at four P.M. Undoubtedly to inform us that
the contest has been canceled."
"Nobody notified me about the meeting, and I--"
"Please come, Erin. I'm going to be treated like a
pariah, and I'd really like to know at least one person is
there who's on my side."
"Sullivan and I have a client appointment. But we'll
try our best to reschedule. I'll meet you there, if I can
swing it."
"This competition has become totally bogus," Darren
grumbled. He and I were the first to arrive for the meeting at Earth Love, and we were waiting in a conference
room at their headquarters. "First off, nobody is going to
have such a death wish that they'd be willing to become
the new judge. And even if they do, it's an unfair competition because the judges keep dying!"
I gave him my most withering stare. I'd developed an
intense dislike for Darren and could all too easily envision him as a crackpot capable of murdering two men.
"This has been a terrific inconvenience to all of us," I
said dryly. "It was really inconsiderate of both Richard
and Walter."
"I didn't mean to sound heartless."
Intent on ignoring him, I scanned the hallway
through the glass wall. Maybe I could excuse myself and
track down the receptionist; she'd shown us in and then
promptly left, muttering something about a coffee cart.
The same pair of executives who'd conferred with Walter
at Burke's hearing had also left, saying they'd return in a
180 L e s l i e C a i n e
few minutes. I smiled as Sullivan neared, ushered in by a
second receptionist.
"In any case," Darren continued, "Margot Troy and I
should just throw in the towel at this point."
"You think Burke will win?" I asked just as Sullivan
entered the room.
"Of course. He has an emotional advantage because
he's been implicated, so the new judge will be scared to
