Wrath in the Blood

by Ronald Watkins

  “European Cars Unlimited on 44th Street. But they always clean out the trunk,” he added. “They do thorough work. That's why I go there. I expect things I pay for to be done right.”

  “How did the blood and hair come to be in the trunk of your car? Did Leah ever drive it?”

  “Never. She loved her Acura and complained the Jag's air conditioner wasn't cold enough for her. I can't imagine how any of that got there.”

  Perry leafed through his notes. “There's plenty of bad news so brace yourself. You told me you never mentioned to the detectives about going to the convenience store. According to Gage, Morrison says you told them you stayed home all night. Well, they ran the numbers for the pay telephone at the Circle K closest to your house anyway just like I feared and found a call to Jodi. When they asked her about it she admitted you called her.”

  “Ah, shit! What a stupid bitch!”

  “You've got a neighbor who told the police that Leah told her she thought you and someone at work were planning to kill her.”

  “What?! That's a lie! Leah never thought that!”

  “There's also a girlfriend of your wife's, a Sue Merriott, who says she told her you liked to knock her around and that she was afraid of you.”

  “I never, never hit Leah!! Sue is lying! My father used to... I never hit her!”

  “The amount of insurance on Leah is more than two million dollars, four million in the case of death by other than natural causes. Why'd you lie about that to the police?”

  Swensen looked as if he had been slapped in the face. “Four million! No way! Why would I take out that kind of insurance on my wife, for god sake?”

  “The policies are for a face value of two million, three hundred thousand. The police say you forced your wife into taking out all of that insurance on her. They have a witness.”

  “That's absurd! Those figures are all wrong. Who's this so called witness?”

  “Paula Dinelli. And while we're on the subject, why did you tell your office manager to shop the policies around so no insurance company would ask questions?”

  “That's easy. I didn't. I never authorized more insurance on Leah. Just the standard $300,000 the plan we have makes available. They have to be mistaken about what Paula is telling them. She knows better. And she's usually very reliable. What's she up to?”

  “Leah told your office manager it was you who insisted on the insurance.”

  “What insurance? There isn't any extra insurance. How could Leah insist on something she didn't have?”

  “They've got the policies under subpoena, Jack. They exist. They've also got Dinelli's statement that you insisted on the extra coverage. O.K. now, settle down. Getting agitated will get us nowhere. While we're on the subject of insurance I want to tell you that I filed a demand for payment of your company policy. I'll add those new ones as well as soon as I get copies. You're going to need ready cash to fight this thing. If you're charged the insurance companies can use that as an excuse to refuse payment so we need to get the money before that happens.”

  Swensen appeared startled. “How does that make me look?”

  This guy shacked up with his girlfriend and he's worried how an insurance demand for payment looks? Perry grunted. “No worse than you already do. The difference is you'll have ready cash instead of an uncertain company cash flow. If it ever comes up just blame it on me. Now let's go over this again.” Perry had Swensen review everything that had happened the week leading up to Sunday night. He asked repeated pointed questions about the state of his marriage. Nothing changed in his client's story.

  “Jack,” Perry said with still another sigh, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I don't know which prosecutor is going to get this case, but I think it is time we talk about trying to work something out.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Swensen asked suspiciously.

  “Much of what you've told me today can be proven to be inaccurate. Let me finish. I'm telling you how it is. That's my job.” He leaned back in his high back chair with practiced ease. “Let's talk hypothetically for now. Let's say you did have a fight Sunday night. Let's say...”

  “But we didn't!”

  “I understand. For now let's just suppose you did, all right? You two had a fight. Neither of you was happy in the marriage and things had been going to hell for a long time. She goaded you all the time. Sunday night you'd had a few drinks, she went too far. You were fighting in the kitchen and you were holding a knife to fix dinner or something. You chased her into the bedroom, shouting at her. She taunted you one time too many, maybe about your girlfriend, maybe she even hit you. You snapped. The next thing you recall Leah is dead. You are shocked and can't believe what has happened. You panic. It's only human. You wash the knife and put it away. You toss the body into the trunk of your car and dump her in a place you remember in the desert. Back at your house you try to clean the walls but realize it's hopeless. You sit up all night scared out of your mind. At work you can't think of anything. On Monday you have a few drinks after arriving to an empty house which doesn't help your judgment any. You scribble the message on the wall and call the police. Crimes like this happen all the time, you reason. You're a law abiding citizen. A pillar of the community. The police will believe you.”

  “That isn't what happened,” Swensen said quietly, his face ashen.

  “Stay with me in this. Let's suppose something like that did take place. You never meant to kill your wife, it just happened. She pushed you too far and you snapped. Now that is something even a prosecutor can understand. We've all been married. We know how you can love and hate someone at the same time. I could work out something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A deal. Maybe I could get you – 15 years for involuntary manslaughter. You'd be out in six and would still have your life ahead of you.”

  “Fifteen years! My God! Ed, I haven't done anything! Why should I go to prison?”

  Perry sighed once again, leaned towards his desk and replaced his glasses. “You say you were happily married even though you had a girlfriend at the office. Let's discuss these fights you and your wife had which your neighbors say they overheard.”

  “Fight! There was only one fight! And that was all Leah's doing!”

  “More than one neighbor heard you and Leah argue Sunday night.”

  “They're goddamned liars!!”

  “Come on, Jack. Work with me here.”

  Swensen glanced quickly around the room as if trapped. “They must have heard someone else.” Swensen was sweating heavily and wrung his hands like damp rags. “No one believes me! You don't even believe me! I can see it in your eyes! We didn't argue! I didn't kill my wife!! Won't anyone believe me?”

  ~

  When Swensen and Iverson left the office one of the firm's other attorney's approached Perry with a wry smile. “That was pretty vocal, Ed,” she said.

  Perry shrugged. “He's got a lot to be vocal about. I talked to the prosecutor, Bill Gage, earlier. I suggested my client plead no contest to involuntary manslaughter.”

  “He's not even been arrested. Don't you think it's a little early to be making offers?”

  “It was just a feeler session. And no, it's not too early. The only chance Swensen's got is to bury this thing before the media really grabs onto it. Once that happens Bill won't be in a position to make any offer that means anything.”

  “No takers, right?”

  Perry grunted. “He countered with a plea of guilty to second degree murder and 25 years to life, no parole, no commutation. The only reason I got an offer at all is because he's worried about not having a body. Of course one could turn up any minute. My boy's got a hot girlfriend waiting in the wings and over four million dollars in insurance. I'm lucky I even got an offer.”

  “Will Swensen go for it?”

  “I tried to broach it today. He's not ready. Maybe after he's sat in jail and watched his life go down the toilet he'll get ready. If the offer's still good I'l
l raise it then.” Perry sighed. “Just once, just one single time in my career I'd like a guilty son-of-a-bitch to just own up to it, you know?”

  “You're in the wrong line of work if you want honesty. You should have been a priest so you could take confession.”

  “You think penitents tell the truth? As for Jack Swensen, I don't think he'd know the truth if it bit him in the ass. He may be a smart contractor but when it comes to getting away with murder he doesn't know jack shit.”

  ~

  Iverson quit telling Swensen to slow down after he ran his second yellow light racing back to his office from his meeting with Perry. It was only making him more angry. She closed her eyes and listened to him rant as she felt the uneasy sway of the car beneath her.

  “That fucking, goddamn dike!” he snarled. “I'm going to rip her apart, the lying sack of shit!”

  “Come on, Jack,” Iverson said with her eyes still closed. “Don't you think the police would just love that? Assault on a witness in your case. How's that going to look?” She opened her eyes.

  A red Mazda RX7 moved right, hesitated, then eased left. “Get out of my way you fuck!” Swensen screamed into the windshield as he slapped the steering wheel and blared the horn. He missed the rear fender of the sports car by inches then took a left turn too fast and nearly lost control of the Jaguar.

  “Jack! Jack!! Let me out. I mean it! Stop this car. Now!!”

  Swensen glanced at his mistress. “Go to hell!”

  “I mean it,” she shouted. “Stop this car. Now!!”

  He grimaced, the muscles on his cheek bunched then he slowly eased off the pedal.

  Iverson swiveled in her seat to face him. “You're not doing anything to Paula, you hear me? Absolutely nothing.”

  “I'm firing the goddamn bitch, that's what I'm doing. Yeah. Then ruin her with the other companies. Before I'm finished that Bible thumping lesbian won't be able to get a decent job in the state.”

  “Listen to me Jack. Just listen. You're doing nothing to Paula. Absolutely nothing. You want her close where you can keep an eye on her. You need her as a friend.”

  “Some friend! And after everything I've done for that ugly bitch!”

  “Just get control of yourself. Leah's gone. You control the money. Just think about it. She could help you in this. What if she were to change her story? There are ways. You've got to start thinking and stop reacting. Are you listening! Jack! Jack!!”

  “Yeah, I'm listening.” Swensen's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. “I want to punch that fucking bitch in the face so bad I can feel it.”

  TWELVE

  Shortly before noon on Wednesday John Goodnight received a telephone call from Gerald Westby who said he was an attorney in Austin, Texas, and represented Lana Dahl, the sister of Leah Swensen.

  “I just want to touch base with you, Mr. Goodnight, to let you know that Lana is in the picture. She is, of course, shocked at the news that her sister has been murdered. As I understand it both parents are dead. She's the sole surviving family member and is considering having a memorial service but doesn't know if she should hold it in Texas or there. I don't think she knows many, if any, of her sister's friends in Phoenix and Leah had been gone from Ft. Worth for some years. You can see the problem.” Westby's voice was deep and resonant with a distinctive easy Texas drawl.

  “Certainly.”

  “When I learned that Combined Occidental was being pressured to make payment to Jack Swensen I decided to fly out and make certain that doesn't take place. I'd like to offer you lunch if you'd be kind enough to name somewhere.”

  Durant's on Central Avenue was an old fashioned chop house complete with red padded booths. City and state power brokers since the 1950's had favored it for their eating and drinking. Glad handing was as much a part of the fare as any item on the menu. It still served an excellent lunch and every waitress knew the regulars by their first names. Goodnight entered from the asphalt parking lot through the kitchen as did most of the regulars and was informed that Westby was already seated. A number of heads nodded in recognition as Goodnight made his way towards him.

  Westby was a handsome man in his late 30's with heavy, sensuous lips. He was tall and wiry, with the dark wavy hair of a teenager and teeth that flashed with each ready grin. He gripped Goodnight's hand firmly and took him in with intense, dark eyes. “Good to meet you, sir. Good to meet you. Now this place you recommended is real nice, yes indeed.”

  Westby was decked out like a drugstore cowboy in an expensively tailored tan colored western suit, turquoise bolo tie and fancy ostrich skin boots. There was the suggestion of an aw shucks youngster about the lawyer that brought a smile to Goodnight's lips. He behaved as if this was his first time in the big city. But there was an undeniable presence about Westby as well that belied that initial impression. It came not so much from the force of personality but rather from his focused attention and awareness. He leveled his keen eyes on Goodnight as if he were the center of his universe.

  “Would you like me to take your hat, Ranger?” the waitress asked with a warm smile. “It's been too long since we last saw you.”

  “Why thank you, Gloria,” Goodnight answered passing over his Stetson. “And how is old Lester?”

  “He's just fine. Still raising hell, but mostly from in front of the TV.”

  “You tell him hello for me.”

  “Sure thing. Let me take your order now.”

  As the waitress left Westby said, “I take it you're a former law enforcement officer?” NICDI investigators usually were.

  “Yes, I am. I'm a retired Arizona ranger.”

  “A ranger, huh? We've got some of those out in Texas. Pretty good boys from my experience. Can't say I've heard much before about you guys.”

  “We keep a low profile.”

  “On this Swensen matter, I understand that there is still no body?”

  “That's true so far. It's just over a week. I imagine they aren't as hopeful as they were, but you never know. A dozen bodies a year are dug up in the surrounding desert. Sometimes we figure out who they are and who killed them, but often we don't. If he buried her the body might not surface for months or years, if ever. There are plenty of abandoned mine shafts as well.”

  Westby chuckled. “We often have the same problem in Texas.” He took a sip of water and when he spoke again his voice expressed personal concern. “This has been a real tragedy, especially for the family.”

  “Murder always is.”

  “Has there been an arrest?”

  “Not that I've heard about. The detectives are being pretty closed mouthed as you'd expect.”

  “I want to thank you on behalf of my client for your investigation. Stone with Combined Occidental told me that based on your findings he is refusing payment. So will the other two companies if demand is made. Are you still investigating this matter?”

  “No, I've discontinued for the time being.”

  “Frankly, now that the decision is not to pay I think that's best. My concern has been that the companies withhold payment pending the outcome of the criminal investigation. What's the state of the law here? Do I have to file a suit to block payment in case Stone or the others change their minds?”

  “I certainly can't advise you on what you need to do. The policies do prevent payment to the beneficiary if he is criminally responsible for his wife's death. So does Arizona state law for that matter.”

  “When would payment to the sister be authorized, assuming her husband killed her?”

  “No death certificate's been issued since there is no body, so that's a complication. Payment ought to be made after the trial I should think, assuming the husband is convicted of murder or pleads to it. In that event the companies should accept that as evidence the insured is in fact deceased and also, as I say, disqualify him from collecting on any of the policies. If charges are dropped or he is acquitted then I assume he'll collect.”

  “We'll see about that. You say, you 'think
' payment will be made after a conviction? Aren't you certain?” He fixed his eyes on Goodnight.

  “He can always sue, Mr. Westby. That might hold up payment.”

  “That is really quite outrageous!”

  “It's an outrageous world sometimes.”

  Westby asked for the name of Swensen's lawyer and his telephone number. Their waitress was approaching with a tray of food and a wide smile.

  “One last matter before we dig in here. I want you to know that Lana Dahl doesn't want to be involved in any media circus that may happen once the trial begins. She'd appreciate your keeping her name from reporters.”

  “It's a confidential matter. If they learn her name it won't be from me.”

  “All contacts to her by you or the insurance companies are to go through me as well.” Goodnight felt the force of his presence.

  “If that's how she wants it handled.”

  “She does. And thanks for your help. I'll touch base with you from time to time if that's no problem.”

  “That's fine.”

  Westby's demeanor changed at once. “If there is absolutely anything I can help you with you be certain to let me know.” He slapped Goodnight on the back and grinned, his teeth seeming to gleam. “And if you ever get to Austin be sure and look me up. I've got a real nice spread a few miles out of town adjoining our Colorado River. I think a former Arizona ranger would enjoy it.”

  ~

  On the short drive home Goodnight chuckled to himself. Dressed up cowboys like Westby had always been difficult for him to understand. Working on a ranch was dirty and thankless. Cows were among God's dumbest creatures and could be sneaky as hell during roundup. Real cowboys were just kids for the most part. Old timers were likely to be drunkards.

  But men like Westby glorified the whole notion. They decked themselves out in their play outfits, strutted around in narrow pointed boots and wore wide brimmed hats. Goodnight could just picture Westby's “ranch.” A few head of cows to give it authenticity and a lot of fancy gear for him to play with on weekends.