by Rose Beecham
Pippa blinked, as though she’d anticipated a different question. Jude deliberately tapped into different areas of memory during a cognitive interview with a witness. If a person got into a pattern of describing only what she saw, she could forget to mention something she heard or smelled. Asking Pippa to recall her feelings would keep her from settling into a groove. With most witnesses it also helped build rapport.
“I was happy. Incredibly relieved. I’d been driving for days.”
“I’m sure you couldn’t wait to get inside,” Jude affirmed.
“I knocked. I guess I waited a minute, then I looked in the windows and I couldn’t see anyone so I went in. Coco wasn’t there.” Her face contracted. “Why do that? Why kill a sweet old dog like her?”
Jude passed Pippa a tissue, agreeing, “It’s unforgivable. I really want to catch the creep who did this.”
“I called out and walked around and then I went upstairs. I thought I heard something. A thud. It must have been my uncle. When I got to the top of the stairs I saw his cane and I knew something was wrong. There was blood on it.”
“Did you pick it up?”
“No, all I could think about was finding him. There was blood on the floor. I stepped in it.” She paused. “I probably ruined evidence. When I saw him I just grabbed on and held him. Was that the wrong thing to do?”
“Not at all. You did what anyone would do.”
“I called 911. He was trying to talk to me.”
“Please think very carefully, Pippa. You were right there, holding him. What were his exact words?”
“He said they killed Coco.”
They.
“I asked him who hurt him and he said something like ‘nobody knows.’ And then he told me he was dying and he got worried about Oscar. He was talking about his food box, like I’d let him starve. He was…going. I could feel it.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Only that he loved me.” Pippa buried her face in her hands. “I should have tried to stop the blood, but I panicked.”
“Pippa, you did all you could. Your uncle died because a criminal stabbed him.”
“The sheriff said it might have been a robbery and my uncle interrupted the burglars.”
“It’s too soon to guess at what really happened. But it’s certainly important for us to examine every possibility. If fingerprints and DNA are present we might get a match in our databases.”
Pippa seemed buoyed by this idea. She took another tissue from the box.
Jude waited for her to blow her nose and calm her breathing, then asked, “Another possibility is that the killer was known to your uncle. Going back to that incident in New Orleans you mentioned last night. What can you tell me about it?”
“Uncle Fabian was worried. And he was angry. I could tell.”
“Do you know which security company he hired?”
“Yes, Counter Threat Group. I remember because it was weird. You should have seen those guys. They carried machine guns.”
Jude didn’t comment. She recognized the name. CTG was one of the more prestigious global private security firms specializing in close protection. Why would Maulle have hired heavy hitters like these guys? And why weren’t they still with him? Did he think he’d dealt with the threat, whatever it was?
“Do you have any theories about what happened?”
Pippa looked pained. “I wish I’d paid more attention. There was one night…I heard Uncle Fabian talking on his cell phone. That was just before the CTG guys arrived. All I can remember was something about Anton’s people and how Anton could crawl back under his rock.”
“Do you know who Anton is?”
“Human slime. That’s according to one of the guards. Hugo. I don’t know his other name. He was South African.”
“Do you remember anything else?” Jude would have to track Hugo down. Hopefully, he hadn’t joined the countless mercenaries in Iraq.
“I know Uncle Fabian was upset,” Pippa said. “Normally we went out a lot when I stayed, but not that time. I had to drag Hugo if I wanted to go anywhere, and Uncle Fabian wanted me to stay at home, so it was a pretty boring vacation.”
“Did he tell you anything else about Anton? Like a last name, for example?”
“No. I was kind of distracted. My final year and so on. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
“Actually, what you’ve remembered is very useful.” Jude took a sip of water while she gathered her thoughts. “Your uncle was a wealthy man. What line of work was he in?”
“I think some of his money came from investments, although he was always making jokes about hedgies. He said they would still get to keep their fifty-million-dollar houses even if they lost all their clients’ money, and that’s why he didn’t do business with them.”
“So he wasn’t involved in hedge funds?” If any other form of legalized gambling returned the kind of cash Maulle appeared to have, Jude wasn’t aware of it.
“Not anymore. All I know is that he traveled overseas a lot on business, but he never told me what kind of business he was in.”
“What were his interests?”
“He collected art, mostly paintings and pottery. He was into opera and ballet. I guess you could say he was an elitist. But he wasn’t a snob, not like my mother.”
“You mentioned his former partner when we spoke last night. What was his name?”
“I’ll write it down. The spelling is weird.”
She took the pen and notepad Jude passed her and wrote “Yitzhak Eshkol.”
“They were together for ages. At least ten years.”
“When did the relationship end?”
“Maybe 2000 or 2001.”
“Did your uncle have casual partners?”
“Yes, but I never met any of them.”
“Did your uncle live with Mr. Eshkol?”
“Yes, at his London house. I think he did that deliberately so he wouldn’t have to put up with shit from my parents. Bad enough gay, but a Jewish boyfriend? Ohmigod.”
“Your mom and dad are anti-Semites?”
“They wouldn’t see it that way. You know, it’s fine to have dinner with one, but we don’t marry them.” Perhaps reading something into Jude’s steady gaze, she said, “It seems so yesterday, doesn’t it?”
Jude kept her opinion to herself. She was never surprised by anything people did or thought. “So your parents and your uncle didn’t see eye to eye?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Any idea who’s likely to benefit financially from his death?”
Laughter broke through Pippa’s melancholy, brightening her eyes. She was immediately contrite. “God, listen to me. It’s not funny, is it? I mean, you have to ask about family. They’re the usual suspects.”
“It’s strictly routine,” Jude said. “We start with the people closest to the deceased and work our way out.”
“Now that you ask, I guess he might have left Mom some money, and he always said he’d leave me his pottery collection. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it since I don’t have a house.”
“Your brother?”
“Mom thinks Ryan will get Maulle Mansion, but I seriously doubt that’s going to happen. I think he’ll get a car or a painting. Something token. Uncle Fabian was okay with Ryan, but he called my sister-in-law a grasping shrew and she called him a fag, so there was a rift between them.”
“Families, huh?” Jude commiserated. “Any idea what your uncle planned to do with most of his estate?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say he left everything to charity.” She glanced toward the door as a sharp knock interrupted their conversation.
A metrosexual in a shiny Italian suit and black cowboy boots sauntered past a deputy. “Detective Devine, what a pleasure.” Griffin Mahanes removed his dark glasses and offered Jude the tiger-eyed stare that captivated female jurors.
Mahanes was a criminal defense attorney with an upmarket practice in Denver. Occasionally
he showed up in the Four Corners if there was a high-profile case he thought he could win. Mahanes proclaimed a passion for the west, and had even packed a Colt six-shooter for his recent appearance on Suzette Kelly’s Colorado Connoisseurs, a celebrity gossip show on Channel 8. Whenever he honored Cortez with his presence, he made sure to tone down his city accent.
Jude rose, puzzled by his presence when they hadn’t made an arrest. “Mr. Mahanes, how can I help you?”
Mahanes sauntered to the table and set his briefcase down on top of Jude’s notes. “If I may, I’d appreciate a word with my client.”
Pippa stared at him blankly. “Do you mean me?”
“Ms. Calloway is not under arrest,” Jude said. “Neither is she a suspect. She’s helping us with our inquiries.”
Mahanes gave Jude a superior smile, and stuck out a well-groomed hand to Pippa. “Ms. Calloway. My deepest condolences on your loss. I’m Griffin Mahanes. Your parents retained my services.”
“What for? I don’t need a lawyer. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Of course you haven’t, and that’s why I’m here. Detectives are always eager to pin a crime on a family member if they can.”
Jude shoved his case aside and extracted her notes.
“Have my parents even arrived yet?” Pippa demanded.
“They’ll be here in a few hours. Now, we have some important things to discuss, Ms. Calloway, and I know Detective Devine will agree with me that you should be fully briefed on the situation before answering any more questions.”
Pippa cast a helpless glance toward Jude. “Do I have to?”
Careful not to sound like she was discouraging a witness from talking to a lawyer, Jude said, “It’s your choice, Pippa.”
She didn’t want to pressure her. They’d verified her alibi that morning and Jude was sure she had nothing to do with her uncle’s death.
Pippa’s uncertainty showed on her face. “I suppose it’s the sensible thing to do.”
Touching her shoulder, Jude said, “I’ll see you later.”
Mahanes walked her to the door. “You know the drill, Detective. Henceforth, you don’t talk to my client. You talk to me.”
*
Jude managed to avoid Sheriff Pratt as she left the MCSO headquarters. She drove past the modern gray Cortez PD building and stopped at Centennial Park. Leaving the Dakota unlocked, she strolled across the springy lawn toward the duck pond. The heat was already building and most of the ducks couldn’t be bothered leaving the water to see if she had food they could beg for.
She sat on the bench opposite the murky expanse of water and cleared her voicemail.
Tulley: How come he and Smoke’m hadn’t been called to the murder scene when Smoke’m was the best tracker dog in the entire state? Also, please reconsider the soirée.
Debbie, in half sentences: Sandy was back and they’d quarreled. She wanted Jude to call her.
The pet-sitter: she couldn’t look after Yiska tonight or tomorrow.
Agatha Benham: She’d asked Bobby Lee to come to the soirée. He had other plans. She thought Jude should put her foot down and make him come.
Jude decided to ignore the messages that felt like emotional blackmail, and make other arrangements for her cat. That left just one call she needed to return.
Not surprisingly, Debbie was upset. She wasn’t the type who thrived on drama and confrontation. After recounting a garbled version of her conversation with Sandy, she said, “So, now I don’t know what’s going to happen. She hasn’t called back.”
“Where are you?” Jude asked, figuring that by now Sandy would be looking for her.
“I’m at the station. Agatha was just telling me about the soirée. It sounds incredible. Elspeth Harwood. She’s so stunning. Oh, my God.”
Jude resisted the urge to hurl the phone into the duck pond. “You should go,” she said. “Agatha would take you. Just ask.”
Debbie giggled. “Oh, I couldn’t. I’m shy at parties and with all those celebrities, I’d probably get tipsy and make a fool of myself.”
Sticking to the subject at hand, Jude said, “Are you really planning a trip somewhere?”
“No, I just said that because I was mad at her. She was acting like I’m the one being unreasonable, so I thought I’d give her a taste of her own medicine.”
“Fair enough.” Jude could imagine how that went over. “You’ve been putting up with her bullshit for months. Maybe going away isn’t such a bad idea.”
“That’s what I thought,” Debbie said. “The problem is I can’t afford it and I wouldn’t know where to go anyway. So I feel a bit stupid now.”
Jude thought quickly. “I have an idea. My pet-sitter can’t take care of Yiska after today and I’m going to be stuck in Cortez until Tuesday at least. Want to stay at my place?”
“Are you sure?”
“You’d be doing me a favor. Tulley will take you over there, and if you give him a key to your place, he’ll feed your cats.”
“That would be wonderful,” Debbie sniffed into a tissue. “I’ve just rescheduled all my hair appointments. I can pick up some extra clothes and leave right away.”
“She’ll call you, of course.” Jude needed the latest cell phone number so she could throw something to Arbiter. “Let me take down her number.”
Debbie hesitated. “She won’t like that one bit.”
“This is just between you and me,” Jude said. “I’m concerned for her well-being, Debbie. It’s a precaution, that’s all.”
“Are you going to call her?”
“No. It’s better if she doesn’t know I’m involved.”
Reluctantly, Debbie supplied the number. “She’ll probably change it again soon. You know how that is.”
“Have you spoken to her again since the argument?”
“No, I haven’t picked up.” Anger infused Debbie’s voice with strength. “Now it’s her turn to wonder where I am.”
Jude worked quickly through her options, seeking a way to exploit the situation. If this was Debbie’s attempt at leaving a relationship with a controlling partner, Jude would help. But if Debbie wanted to work things out, Jude would also do what she could, including getting Sandy to a shrink before she imploded. Whatever the scenario, she needed information, and the situation was now even more delicate. She wasn’t sure how Sandy would react to the quarrel with her girlfriend. Would the extra stress trigger a response? Jude needed to locate her hideaway.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she told Debbie, taking a calculated risk. “Don’t talk to her today. Not in person and not on the phone. Will you promise me that?”
“I promise.” Debbie sounded determined, but she would cave the moment Sandy turned up on her doorstep with flowers. That was their pattern. Jude had heard all about it during haircuts.
“If you want things to change, you need leverage. Right now, you don’t have any. She’s been pulling this shit for months and you’ve enabled her.”
Not an unfamiliar concept. Jude didn’t want to think about Mercy. It still blew her mind that she’d put up with being one of two lovers, pathetically waiting her turn while Mercy saw who she wanted when she wanted. Was she nuts?
“I’m speaking from experience,” she said, masking her bitterness with an aura of calm common sense. “If you want a different outcome you can’t keep doing the same thing.”
“Oh, God. What if she leaves me?”
“Trust me, she’s not the type to walk away.” Jude framed her next question carefully. “Debbie, are you sure you want to this relationship to continue?”
“I love her. I just want us to be closer.”
“That’s only going to happen if she starts letting you in more. Give her a chance to realize that she has to make some changes. Then, tomorrow, pick up one of her calls and tell her you’ll see her but there are terms.”
She could picture the puzzlement on Debbie’s face. “Terms?”
“Tell her you’re not ready to spend a ni
ght with her, but the two of you should talk and it has to be at her place. Period. Not negotiable.”
“Why?”
“It’s symbolic. She’s shut you out of her life and her home. You need to be invited in.”
“She won’t do it.”
“Fine, then tell her there’s no meeting. Say it like you mean it.”
Debbie uttered a strangled sound.
“You have nothing to lose,” Jude said in her most reassuring tone. “If it doesn’t work, you can go back to how things were. But if it does, you’ll have broken down a big wall.”
After a long pause, Debbie said, “I’ll try. I really will.”
“Good. As soon as you’ve arranged the meeting, let me know.”
Jude wished her luck and ended the call. She watched a couple of ducks circle, then went back to the Dakota and located her latest Bureau cell phone. For a few seconds she deliberated, then she called Arbiter and requested the trace.
“What’s cooking?” he asked.
“It’s hard to say, but I don’t think she’s a Company asset. That’s just my gut talking.”
She knew Arbiter was equally concerned about other members of the alphabet soup, the NSA, NIC, DIA, and DEA, not to mention the offshoots that didn’t exist officially. Even if Sandy was exactly what Jude thought she was—a dangerous loose cannon susceptible to external stressors—she could still be working for a government agency at the more clandestine end of the spectrum. Those folks weren’t picky about the mental stability of their operatives if they were getting results.
“NORTHCOM has to be a candidate given her background,” Arbiter said. “They just asked the Pentagon to formalize CPOC as a separate subcommand and they’ve been recruiting special ops commandos.”
Jude frowned. U.S. Northern Command was the Pentagon’s Homeland Security arm. They were supposed to respond to threats, not carry out independent black ops on American soil. As far as she knew, their Compartmented Planning & Operations Cell was a top-secret planning committee inside NORTHCOM.
“What are they up to?”
