After adjusting the monitor so we could both see it, I opened a folder on my desktop. “These are the photos I took at the cemetery. I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.” We sat in silence and studied them closely as I flipped slowly through the images one by one. I suddenly burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Right there. That’s you, running your fingers through your hair with your mouth open … you look like such a slut!”
She leaned closer. “Let me see that,” she said. “Oh my god! I do! Ben, you delete that right now!”
“I can’t, Agent MacKenzie. I believe there’s vital evidence here.”
“You delete that, or Jack Plum will be the least of your worries.” Lainie reached for the mouse.
“Okay, okay.” I closed the window and moved the file to the recycle bin. “Are you happy now?”
“I’m not stupid, Tucker. I know it’s still there. Get rid of it!” I did as I was ordered and permanently deleted it.
We returned our attention to the photographs and continued to study them. “I don’t see anyone here other than family, friends, police, one slut—” Lainie elbowed me in the ribs.
I examined the next photo and suddenly lurched forward. “Son of a bitch! That’s him! That’s Plum!”
Lainie looked closer. “Where?”
I pointed to the screen. “That guy right there … way in the back. That’s him.”
She squinted. “You can’t see his face. Besides, that’s just a groundskeeper, isn’t it?”
“No. I saw two of the groundskeepers as we drove in. They wore navy blue coveralls. This guy’s wearing blue jeans and a black hoodie.” Lainie and I slowly looked at each other. “We have a photo of Jack Plum.”
CHAPTER 23
Monday morning came without incident. I was tired of sleeping in the armchair, but I was taking no chances. I felt upbeat, and I had hope that the county crime lab could enhance the photo of Jack Plum.
While Maggie was in the shower, I finished dressing and opened the bedroom door. Oscar was sitting there waiting for me. He had something turquoise in his mouth, and I reached down and gently took it from him. He wagged like he’d done good. It looked like the remains of a frilly, fuzzy bedroom slipper.
Julie, Amanda Jane, and Nora were sitting at the table when I walked into the kitchen. Roberta was putting the final touches on stuffed french toast with caramelized cinnamon apples and maple-glazed country ham.
I dangled the casualty from my finger. “Oscar brought me a little gift. Who does this belong to?” I asked.
Amanda Jane quickly recognized the carcass, jumped up, and grabbed it from my hand. “Oh, no! That’s one of my favorite slippers.”
Maggie came in and sat down beside me, catching the end of the performance. She looked at each of us as she opened her napkin and said, “What’d I miss?”
Julie giggled and said, “Oscar’s learning to hunt.” My daughter lost it.
When we finished breakfast, Maggie and I stayed alone at the table for a second cup of coffee, while everyone else went to their rooms to get ready for the day.
“I know Thursday’s your birthday,” Maggie said.
“I’m glad you know that, sweetheart.”
“What I’m trying to say is, Thursday’s your birthday, and it’s the night of the Museum of Art fundraiser.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “It’s no big deal. We can celebrate another night.”
“But I knew it was your birthday when I agreed to the date. I feel bad about it,” Maggie said. “It’s supposed to be your special night, and you’re getting screwed on your birthday.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Now you’re talkin’,” I said.
She poked me. “Will you stop? You know what I mean.”
I put my arms around her and kissed her. “I do know what you mean,” I said. “And I swear to you it’s okay.”
She looked into my eyes. “Do you know I love you?” she asked. “I mean, really? Are you ever sorry you married me? I’d be totally lost without you.”
“Well, I’ll admit there are times when I feel like I’m swimming upstream.” I brushed the back of my hand against her cheek. “But you’re not losing me, kiddo. And that’s a promise!”
I looked at my watch. It was time to take Amanda Jane to meet her Aunt Patty at the Krenwil Mortuary. I kissed Maggie lightly, went to the bottom of the stairs, and called for Amanda Jane.
We went to the guesthouse garage, and I opened the garage door as Amanda Jane got in the car. Hector had been cutting the grass and stopped the mower and waved. He got off and came over to me.
“Good morning, Mr. Ben.”
“Hi Hector. The grounds look terrific. I really like the new yellow roses you planted by the drive.”
He looked at butter-yellow roses named after Julia Child and beamed proudly. “Si, muy bonita.” Then, more serious, “Mr. Ben, have the police caught the bad man yet?”
“No, not yet. But we’re getting closer.”
He looked worried and shook his head. “Very bad,” he said. “Very bad. You let me know if I can do anything to help.”
I thanked him, got in the Jag, and we drove down Meadow Rue Lane.
We arrived at the mortuary at ten minutes before ten o’clock. I backed into a space far from Patty’s car, where I could watch the entrance of the building and still see the road.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Amanda Jane nodded. “Daddy, I need to take care of Mom.”
It was sunny, but cold, and I zipped my brown leather jacket over Pure Reason as we walked to the door.
Patty was already inside when we entered. I told her how sorry I was for her loss and to please let me know if there was anything at all I could do. She tensed when I put my arm around her and returned a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I kissed my daughter on the top of her head and returned to my car. Almost an hour passed as I kept vigil and watched nothing much happen. My eyes were heavy, and I was starting to nod off when my cell phone rang. It was Netter.
“Hey, Tucker. Just wanted to let you know the crime lab’s been workin’ on that photo you took at the cemetery. Squat so far. The person’s face is in a shadow, and there aren’t enough features to enhance it. All we’ve gotten from it is that the guy’s slender and between six feet and six feet three inches in height.”
“Well, that’s just great,” I said sarcastically. “Narrows it down to only about forty million men—including me. Did you hear anything from Skelnik?”
“Not yet … probably early this afternoon. And, Tucker, Plum doesn’t know we have a photo of him. Keep your eyes peeled, and if you see a tall white guy in a black hoodie, you call 911 … or me. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“You know me,” I said. “Have you ever known me to do anything stupid?”
Netter ripped into me. “Yeah? Well if you ever try another stupid, fuckin’ stunt like—” I hung up on him and laughed.
I spent the next few minutes making an appointment for Amanda Jane to see child and adolescent grief counselor, Dr. Monica Whitley. Normally there would have been a six week wait to get in to see her, but this was an exceptional situation. The doctor’s last scheduled appointment was over at three fifty this afternoon, and she agreed to see Amanda Jane immediately after that. I thanked her assistant for the special consideration.
It was eleven fifteen when Amanda Jane and her Aunt Patty came out of the mortuary. I got out of the car, walked around, and opened the passenger door while the two of them hugged each other goodbye.
After we got into the car, I looked at my daughter. “So, how ya doin’?” I asked softly.
She didn’t look at me. She just stared out the windshield. “I’m okay, Daddy.” There was a long, painful pause. “We picked out a light blue dress for Mom. Her casket’s white with gold angels on it. But it’ll have to be closed because … because—” She choked.
“I know,
sweetheart.” She turned and fell into my arms, sobbing.
I sat there in the car holding my daughter for I don’t know how long, gently stroking her silky blond hair. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world when your child’s heart aches with pain, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I wondered angrily why God had let this happen, and I fought back tears of my own. I didn’t want Amanda Jane to see me, so I held her gently against my chest with her head under my chin. Finally, when we had both regained some composure, we left.
A visit to Cary Middle School lasted just long enough for Amanda Jane to turn in her homework and pick up new assignments. I was hoping the familiar interaction with her teachers would distract her from the grim task she had just gone through.
We stopped for lunch at a nearby McDonald’s, and I watched in amazement as my skinny thirteen-year-old daughter devoured two double cheeseburgers, a large fries, and a chocolate shake.
When we got back to the estate a little after one o’clock, the driveway was lined with cars, and there was barely enough room for me to squeeze by and get into the guesthouse garage. I recognized Marcus Bradley’s Mercedes at the end.
“Gee,” Amanda Jane said, “I wonder what’s going on.”
“Well, there aren’t any police cars, so it must be okay.”
Oscar was waiting for us eagerly when I opened the back door, and my daughter lit up when she saw him. His tail whipped faster as she picked him up and took him outside. I started to say something as they left, but she beat me to the punch. “I know,” she said. “Watch out for the pool.” I laughed and closed the door. Oscar was just what she needed right now. She could confide in him unselfconsciously, and he would watch her, captivated, while he hung on every word. He worshipped her and, like dogs do, would give her unconditional love and devotion—and he was a funny little critter to boot.
Roberta was in the kitchen watching a pie just about ready to come out of the oven.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
She opened the oven door, glanced inside, and quickly closed it. “Miss Maggie does not go in to work this morning,” she said. “Work came to Miss Maggie. They’re in the drawing room.”
I nodded and began heading that way, sniffing the air as I went. “Something smells wonderful in here!” I said.
She flashed me a sly grin. “Tarta de cereza albaricoque.” Roberta was trying to force me to learn Spanish. I stared her down. “Cherry apricot pie,” she finally said. She knew it was one of my favorites. “And package came for you,” she added. “It’s on your desk in the guesthouse.”
“Thank you very much, profesora de español.”
Nora had been picked up by two of her cronies to spend the afternoon at the country club. I assumed this meant a couple of hours of bridge followed by a couple of hours playing the ponies while partaking of a number of cosmopolitans. The club was private with its own security people, so I felt reasonably assured Jack Plum would not be a threat to her there.
After returning Pure Reason to its case, I made my way to the drawing room. The French doors were closed, but I discreetly looked through the glass. Maggie noticed and motioned for me to come in.
Aside from Maggie, there were three other people in the room. “Gentlemen, this is my husband, Ben.” I shook hands with each of them as she introduced them. “Ben, this is Michael Murdock, my marketing manager; Pierre LeGrenierre, chief fashion designer for our new women’s line; and, of course, you know Marcus.”
Maggie continued briefing me like I was part of the Marshak empire inner circle. “We’ve been discussing a name for the brand. I favor ‘Marshak’ for obvious reasons, but my colleagues think it’s a little too cold. They’re suggesting something softer. Also, we’d like to have Anna Portello showcase the collection to the public early next year. But her agent wants a million dollars up front and, even then, she wants six weeks to consider whether she’s willing to be associated with an unproven brand.”
Marcus piped in. “What do you think, Ben?”
I looked apprehensively at Maggie.
“Go ahead.” She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly “I’m sure you have an interesting opinion.”
“Okay … okay … first off sweetheart, this is your vision, so I would name the line ‘Maggie,’ and I’d create your brand logo in script … in your own handwriting.” I turned toward her guests. “Second, I’d be damned if I’d pay some stuck-up supermodel bitch a million dollars when the most beautiful woman that walks the planet is sitting right there on the sofa.” Then I looked back at her. “Maggie, I think you should model your own collection.”
No one responded for a few moments. Then Marcus smiled and applauded. “Brilliant, Ben! Just brilliant!” He turned to my wife. “He’s right Margaret, on both counts. The name ‘Maggie’ is soft and feminine … and you’d be the perfect person to showcase the line in New York in January. It would prove, without a doubt, that you wear your own line.”
Maggie shook her head in protest. “I’m not a model! I won’t be taken seriously.”
Marcus raised his finger. “That’s where you’re wrong, Margaret. I was going to wait until we were alone to tell you this, but you’ve been named one of the three sexiest CEOs in America by Cosmo.” Murdock and LeGrenierre both nodded in agreement.
Maggie stood, stunned. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I need to have a word with my husband.” They began brainstorming ideas as Maggie and I left the room.
I thought she was going to rip into me, but instead, she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight. “I love you so much,” she said. When she stepped back, her eyes were filled with tears. “I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me today, Ben Tucker.” Maggie Marshak, the little girl, wiped her eyes, and Margaret Marshak, the CEO, walked back into the drawing room.
I strutted proudly through the great room on my way to the guesthouse. I glanced up as I passed Henry Marshak’s portrait and saluted. The tarta de cereza albaricoque was cooling on the black granite countertop, and Roberta was sitting in an armchair reading. Amanda Jane was curled up on the sofa with her elbow on the arm holding her head up with her hand.
“What’s up, sweet pea?” I asked.
She didn’t look at me. “Oscar got tired, and he crashed, and Julie’s doing her homework. I’d do it with her, but it’s math, and I have trouble with it. I’m bored.”
I ruffled Amanda Jane’s hair. “Come on, sweetheart, you can keep me company.” The two of us headed over to the guesthouse and went inside. There was a small box, about one cubic foot in size, on my desk.
“Maybe we can find a movie to watch,” I said. “But first, I want to open this package.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Books … about the minds of people who do very bad things.” I didn’t say anymore, but Amanda Jane knew I was referring to the man who killed her mother.
I took a pocket knife from the desk drawer and slit the sloppy tape job across the top of the box. I made a face at my daughter. “Look at the way they packaged this. You’d think they could do better than that for five hundred and fifty bucks.”
Amanda Jane smiled.
I flipped open the flaps and peered inside. I recoiled and screamed. “Oh Jesus Christ!” I bent over, gagged, and vomited.
Alarmed, Amanda Jane ran over quickly. “Daddy?”
My voice was shaking. “Go to the house, baby! Go right now!” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stood between her and the box. I vomited again.
She began to panic. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
“I screamed at her. “Get out of here right now! Go to the house!” She ran out the door crying, and I doubled over, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. I brought my hands up to my face, covering my mouth and nose, and I turned my head and looked at the box containing the severed head of Jennifer Jane Tucker.
CHAPTER 24
When Holly Springs police officers entered the guesthouse, I was sitting on the sofa, incapabl
e of saying anything. I pointed to the box on my desk.
Everyone inside the main house now knew what was happening—including Maggie’s guests. Obviously, their meeting ended abruptly. Murdock and LeGrenierre left, but Marcus stayed. He was sitting with Roberta at the breakfast table. Maggie was upstairs with Amanda Jane and Julie, and Nora was still at the club, mindless of the events unfolding.
Paramedics arrived at two forty-five—ten minutes after my frantic 911 call. Cox, Netter, and Agent MacKenzie arrived minutes later. They entered the guesthouse, and a brief discussion ensued with responding officers about jurisdictional responsibility. Netter called Lieutenant Larson at the Holly Springs Police Department and asserted that the incident was part of the Jennifer Tucker murder investigation. Larson relinquished reluctantly, but he insisted on being kept informed. Netter agreed and invited him to join the Jack Plum investigative task force.
I spent the next few minutes describing my discovery of the grisly contents of the box. When I had finished, Netter asked the paramedics to check me out.
“I think I’m okay,” I said.
Netter insisted. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. You’re gonna let these guys check you out!”
He left with Detective Cox and went to the main house to question Roberta. Lainie stayed and sat next to me on the sofa. She watched me closely as the paramedics finished the examination and gave me a clean bill of health.
I phoned Amanda Jane’s therapist. She understood the situation and would stay in her office for us as long as it took. I thanked her and hung up.
The M.E. arrived and secured the scene. He immediately began his processing of the box containing the head, which had been placed inside facing up, carefully resting in a crude handmade cradle. The head would be looking at the poor, unsuspecting bastard who opened the box—namely me. The eyes were open and milky in color with evidence of petechial hemorrhage.
A half hour later, Netter came back. Cox had stayed to help Roberta give a written statement.
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