“Becs took a knife from the kitchen and stabbed him in the head. Then she asked me to help get rid of the body. We made out like he was drunk and took him to his car. Becs thought it’d be funny to take him home, leave him in his driveway as a Christmas gift to his wife.”
“But he wasn’t dead.”
“I know that. But I didn’t. I thought he was dead. She had stabbed him in the head, man. Only he sat up while we were driving and started talking. Scared the shit out of me.”
Cardiff had been pressing his hand against his wound. He held it up and took a hard look at it, covered with his own blood.
“Help me,” he said.
“Paramedics are on their way.”
“Will they be in time?’
“Kid, what happened next? Frank Harris was alive…”
“I freaked out and pulled into a parking lot near his place. Rebecca was following, wondering what I was doing. I told her. She didn’t believe me. Then Frank let himself out of the car. Opened the door and started walking down the path. Damnedest thing. Rebecca said get him. I wasn’t going to get him, Jesus Christ. We watched for a few minutes, wondering what to do, until he fell into a ditch and we left.”
“Okay.”
I silenced the record function on my smartphone.
“I’m going to die,” Cardiff said.
“Eventually,” I said. “Probably in prison.”
I stood up and turned toward Diane.
“This could have been a lot worse,” I said.
She punched me three times—two quick jabs and a right cross that sent me against the far wall.
I might have been angry about it, except you know what? I deserved it.
* * *
As soon as Commander Bobby Dunston of the St. Paul Police Department’s Major Crimes and Investigations Division learned it involved me, he recused himself from the case and handed it off to Detective Jean Shipman. Jeannie didn’t like me at all and, in fact, always became angry when I called her Jeannie. I was both relieved and comforted when she took my side with the assistant Ramsey County attorney and practically giddy when she said, “McKenzie, you’re free to go.”
Before that happened, though, both Diane and I were subjected to the bureaucratic nightmare that was a thorough homicide investigation. G. K. Bonalay, my intrepid attorney, was summoned. Diane Dauria didn’t have a personal attorney, so she called Szereto’s corporate lawyer, a man who seemed to materialize in an impeccably tailored Brioni navy and blue plaid suit at 3:10 A.M. at the James S. Griffin Building. Once Detective Shipman was done with me, he decided he wanted a piece, too.
I let him rant about my putting his client in danger and compromising the reputation of the Szereto Corporation for a while because, well, I deserved that, too. When he finished, I told both him and Diane a few things that they needed to hear. It didn’t make either of them happy, especially when I invoked the name of Detective Sergeant Margaret Utley of the St. Louis Park Police Department.
“You need to do what I ask,” I told them. “You need to do it now.”
Afterward, the lawyer volunteered to take Diane home. No one offered me a ride. Before they left, though, I called out to Diane.
“Now what?” she asked.
I brandished a fist at her.
“Nice combination,” I said.
“Every woman in the world should know how to fight,” she said.
* * *
The sun was threatening to rise when I finally returned to my condominium. I was afraid of waking Nina, so instead of retiring to our bedroom, I perched myself on a stool at the kitchen island and drank bourbon straight. I wasn’t looking to get drunk. I had learned a long time ago that it didn’t do any good. I was just hoping to take some of the sting out of my aching mouth where Cardiff had slugged me and my wrist, which I had convinced myself needed to be reset.
I was working on my third shot of painkiller when I looked up. Nina was standing there in her silver and lace nightgown, and I remembered once when someone had asked me if I believed in God. I answered, “Yes, I do. I just don’t have a lot of faith in him.” Yet the most beautiful woman I had ever known was standing in front of me. How could that be possible if God didn’t love me?
She said, “Come to bed.”
I thought that was a very good idea, but really, I was only looking for someone to hold me tight while I explained how and why I shot a woman three times in the chest.
Eventually I fell asleep. My dreams were filled with dark skies and rain, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning.
NINETEEN
I convinced myself that Nina really did need to go to the club early; that she wasn’t trying to escape the violent head case that she had agreed to move in with.
Eventually I left my bed. I didn’t even bother to brush my teeth. Instead I dressed for the gym and drove to Dave Gracie’s Power Academy. I wanted to take out my frustrations on someone, anyone, but because of the cast on my wrist Gracie wouldn’t allow me into the ring to spar. I couldn’t do exercises like speed rows, polymetric push-ups, medicine ball slams, or even dumbbell punches except with my right hand, so I spent most of my time practicing roundhouse kicks against a freestanding heavy bag until Gracie told me to go home before I hurt myself.
I half expected to see Sloane Dauria there, yet was happy that I didn’t.
When I returned to the condo, I found Malcolm and Erica playing chess in front of the big fireplace that Nina and I loved but almost never used. I stared at the board for a moment before asking, “Whose turn is it?”
“Mine,” Erica said.
“Bishop to queen four, checkmate.”
Erica looked at me as if I had ruined the punch line to a good joke.
“I knew that,” she said.
“You cared about your father.” I was speaking to Malcolm, and he knew it. “You loved him. It made sense that you were desperate to find out what happened to him. What really bent you all out of shape, though, was the fear that one of your friends might have killed him. One of the Hotdishers. Katie, perhaps—yes, I know about Katie. That’s why you came to me. Critter was upset when he heard about my investigation because he thought it might blow back on his mother. That was the reason for the fight outside the Bru House. Then Sloane stepped in to get you to quit the investigation, too—because she also thought it might have been Katie or one of the Hotdishers. Or even your mother.”
Malcolm flinched just enough to convince me that I was right.
“That’s when you finally had to make a choice, and you did it while lying in Sloane’s bed. Mom or Dad? You chose Mom. Maybe she had something to do with your father’s death, maybe she didn’t. But you decided that she had been abused enough by the sonuvabitch. You all but said so when you told me to go away that day at her house.
“But you were wrong. All of you. It wasn’t your mother. Or Katie. Or any of the other New Brighton Hotdishers. Your father was killed by a woman he was trying to blackmail. She’s dead, by the way. I shot her late last night. I won’t bother you with the details. They’ll probably be in the paper. I’m not happy about it. You’re Erica’s guest, so it’s not up to me to tell you what to do, but I wish you would leave now.”
* * *
I retreated to my bedroom. By the time I emerged, both Malcolm and Erica were gone and my cell was ringing.
Detective Utley said, “Jesus Christ, McKenzie.”
“Do you have anything you can work with?”
“Plenty, now that I know where to look.”
“I bet you a nickel no one spends so much as a day in jail.”
“We’ll see.”
* * *
The next call came from Szereto’s corporate attorney.
He said, “You’re wanted at the Szereto estate. Is one P.M. convenient?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Mrs. Szereto.”
“C’mon, man.”
�
�Vanessa is asking—against my advice, I might add.”
“I’ll be there. How about you?”
“Not until later. There is much to do.”
* * *
Jack McKasy met me at the door.
“I’m here to see Vanessa,” I told him.
“I know. She wants to see me, too. Do you know why?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
Jack led me to a sunroom, a terrace protected from the snow and ice and freezing temperatures by three walls and a slanted ceiling all made of treated glass. There were plenty of plants in the room and wicker furniture painted white.
Jack left me. A few moments later he returned with Candace Groot in tow.
She said, “What’s going on? Do you know, McKenzie? People going in and out of Diane’s office all morning and then I get a call to come here?”
“I couldn’t say,” I told her.
Evelyn Szereto arrived.
“I don’t have time for this,” she announced.
“Make time,” Vanessa Szereto said.
She stood in the doorway and surveyed the four of us. She looked like the tiredest person in Minnesota.
“Please keep your voices down,” she added. “I don’t want to wake my son.”
“Nessa,” Evelyn said, “what’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
Vanessa stepped into the center of the room. As she did, I noticed something odd—her posture became straighter, her eyes clearer, her voice stronger. She reminded me of one of those birds that puffs its chest and displays its colors when threatened; the greater the danger, the more imposing they become.
“I’m going to tell you a story the way it was related to me by Detective Margaret Utley of the St. Louis Park Police Department,” Vanessa said. “And then I’m going to tell you what I’m doing about it. Or maybe … McKenzie? Do you want to tell the story?”
“No, you go ’head. I’d like to hear how it sounds coming from someone else.”
“To begin at the beginning, then—never mind the disgusting crimes my husband committed against the female employees of the Szereto Corporation. As despicable as they were, that’s not why the three of you conspired to kill him. You did it to keep him from selling the Szereto Corporation to a European conglomerate.”
“That’s not true,” Evelyn said.
“Don’t interrupt me again, Evelyn.”
The sharpness of Vanessa’s words actually caused the older woman to take a step backward.
“First, Evelyn discovered a handwritten codicil to Jonathan Szereto’s will stating that ten percent of his shares were to be given to Candace Groot. She insisted at the time that Jonathan’s last wishes be honored. Jonny, of course, vowed to resist them, only he didn’t get the chance. Having spoken to Detective Utley, I now believe that it was payment for luring Jonny to her home.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Candy said.
“What was it like?”
“Candy,” Evelyn said.
“You’re interrupting again,” Vanessa said.
“Jonny was abusing his female employees,” Candy said. “Not just in the office but in their homes. He—”
“Forced himself on you,” Vanessa said.
“Yes.”
“Evelyn paid off other employees to keep them from trashing the company over what Jonny did to them,” I said. “Was the stock her payment to you?”
Candy didn’t answer.
“Do you want to tell this story after all?” Vanessa asked.
“I’m good,” I said.
“I don’t believe the codicil was legitimate, whatever reason Evelyn gave it to you. What I believe, Candace, what Detective Utley believes, is that when Jonny came to your home that evening, you called here. Only Jack was available to answer the phone because Evelyn had arranged to take me to Club Versailles to celebrate my pregnancy. After he received the call, Jack helped himself to a nine-millimeter handgun from the gun cabinet in Jonathan’s study. He drove his car—a black Toyota Camry—to Candy’s house and waited. When Jonny left, Jack followed him until Jonny stopped his car at a red light. Jack drove up next to him and shot him twice. He came back here. He replaced the handgun and waited for Evelyn and me to return home. A week later, he sold the Camry.”
“That’s crazy,” Jack said. “Why would I do any of the things you say?”
“Because Evelyn promised to marry you.”
“None of this is true,” Evelyn said. “It’s all a product of McKenzie’s feverish imagination.”
“You might be right. I hope you are right. Just to be sure, though, I gave Detective Utley permission to seize all the guns in Jonathan’s study and check them against the bullets that killed Jonny. I also gave her written permission to examine all of our phone records, including your cell phones since technically they’re owned by the Szereto Corporation. And not just around the time Jonny was killed, but also during the past two weeks. You see, I believe that it was Jack who made the threatening calls to McKenzie on Candy’s behalf. I have also ordered our corporate attorney to turn over the codicil to the police so a handwriting analysis can be performed to determine if it actually was written by Jonathan.”
“You ordered?” Evelyn said.
“I have assumed the role of chairperson of the board of directors of the Szereto Corporation.”
“You can’t.”
“I own fifty-seven-point-seventy-eight percent of the stock. How much do you own?”
“You’re making a terrible mistake.”
“I don’t know how deeply you’re involved in my husband’s murder,” Vanessa said. “It doesn’t make sense to me that you would ask McKenzie to investigate if you were guilty. What I think must have happened … Early in the twelfth century, King Henry the Second of England and Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury, were locked in a bitter conflict over the separation of church and state. They were good friends and had been for many years, but they couldn’t find a way to get past their differences. Finally Henry said, ‘Who will rid me of this troublesome priest?’ Later, Henry insisted that he was speaking rhetorically. Yet whatever he meant, four of his knights interpreted it as a royal command to assassinate Becket. I like to think that’s what happened here. I want to think that’s what happened here. That you didn’t actually plan it. But it’s hard.”
“Nessa.”
“I want you out of my house. Leave now. You can contact me later and we’ll arrange to have your belongings sent to you.” Vanessa pointed at Jack. “Take him with you.”
“Eve, now we can get married,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Evelyn said.
“That might not be a bad idea,” I said. “A spouse can’t be compelled to testify against their husband or wife in a court of law.”
Vanessa turned to face Candy.
“Ms. Groot,” she said, “I haven’t the words to express how terribly sorry I am for what my husband did to you. I can’t even imagine how you must have suffered.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re fired. Your personal items are being boxed up as we speak and will be sent to your home. If you go anywhere near the Szereto offices again, I will have you arrested for trespassing. The same with you, Evelyn.”
“You can’t do that,” Candy said.
“You can sue us for unlawful termination,” Vanessa said. “Put me on a witness stand and force me to explain myself. The decision is yours.”
Vanessa stepped back into the center of the room. I liked what the bright sun did to her golden hair.
“Now, I want you all to leave,” she said. “Do it now. Go someplace together and call me names.”
There was much grumbling and gnashing of teeth after that, but Vanessa didn’t budge an inch. I stayed to make sure the complaints were verbal and not physical. Eventually the room emptied except for Vanessa and me.
“I’m sorry about all this,” I said.
“What happens next?”
“You tell me. You�
��re the one who’s in charge.”
“I never wanted to be. How could this have happened?”
“Good people doing the wrong thing for the right reasons; bad people doing the right thing for the wrong reasons—take your pick.”
“No. I don’t believe that. They could have called the police, any one of them, for what Jonny did to those women.”
How did that work out for Katie Meyer? my inner voice asked.
“The company would have survived,” Vanessa said. “The family would have survived. I would have survived.”
“I’d bet serious money on that.”
“I’m already wondering what I’m going to tell my son about why Grandma isn’t around anymore. McKenzie, would it have been such a terrible thing if I had never learned the truth?”
“I don’t know. Would it?”
“What more can we do to help the police?”
I like that she said we.
“I don’t know,” I said. “If they need anything they’ll ask.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“You’ve done so much for me, for Diane Dauria, for the Szereto Corporation. I know you don’t accept money for the favors you do, only I have nothing else to offer in return except for my gratitude.”
“I’ll take it.”
Vanessa gave me a smile that must have ached. She was still anxious, yet covered it up pretty well, I thought.
“All hell is going to break loose, isn’t it?” she said.
“Depends on how the cops and prosecutors handle it. You could turn your PR people loose to cover up the damage. You have plenty of them working for you.”
Vanessa gave me the wide-eyed stare of an innocent while she weighed my words and then said something that wasn’t innocent at all.
“Fuck that.”
* * *
Later I was sitting in a chair on the balcony of our condominium as far away from the railing as I could get and thinking about Katie Meyer.
Eventually Nina found me.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Just getting some fresh air.”
“First, it’s cold. Second, you’re afraid of heights, remember?”
“It’s okay as long as I don’t look down.”
What the Dead Leave Behind Page 27
