Julia walked out to the bench on the opposite end of the line, hoping to get a better view of the other. There she was distracted by the sound of laughter coming up from below. She stepped up to the rail, which seemed to her too low, and looked over. A hundred feet below, on a tiny crescent of rocky beach, a large group of young people was playing volleyball.
Julia turned from them in time to see the figure in blue stand up and start toward the far corner of the courtyard. In that corner was the broken base of a tower that had once watched over the seaward approaches to the castle, its stone was so weathered now that it looked like an outcropping of the cliff itself. As Julia watched, the other removed the shapeless hat and shook free long auburn hair.
Julia froze, her breath catching in her throat. Then she forced herself to follow. This was no chance meeting, she told herself. It was preordained. Nor was it to be just another meeting. This was the climactic moment, the fulfillment of all the rest. The woman's actions made Julia sure of it. The stranger had begun to climb stairs that led to an exposed platform atop the tower fragment, a vantage point high above the sea and the rocky beach below. Its significance was not lost on Julia. As she'd done at Doune, the woman was seeking out a lonely height.
The platform's edge had the same white railing as the lawn. Julia knew that it wouldn't stop the other, not for a moment, not if she'd made up her mind to jump. She hurried across the grass to the stairway. When she reached its bottom step, she briefly lost sight of the woman above. In a panic, she climbed at a run, each upward step bringing an answering stab of pain from her temples. She forgot the pain when she reached the top and saw that her companion was still there, though dangerously close to the railing.
"Hello,” Julia called out as she started across the flags. The woman turned, and Julia braced herself for another explosion, at men or perhaps at meddling strangers. Instead, the woman smiled a warm and beautiful smile, a smile so natural, it forced Julia to add, “Then you're all right."
"I've never been better, Julia."
The rescuer stopped only feet from the railing. “How do you know my name?"
"How could I not know it? We're linked."
Julia, who'd felt the same thing for days now, took an involuntary step forward. It put her within reach of the stranger, who extended both arms.
Julia's impulse was to return the hug she was certain was coming. But as she tried, she was swung about and pushed backward against the low railing. She had a second's dizzying view of the brown hat as it sailed downward toward the rocks. Instinctively, she locked her hands together behind her attacker's waist.
"What are you doing?” she gasped.
The answer came in a silken whisper. “I'm breaking our link. I can't live with it, Julia. I can't live with you in the world. One of us goes today."
The whisperer shifted her hold to Julia's locked hands. With surprising ease, she pulled them apart and thrust the left hand out into the air, where its fingers clawed furiously. Julia's right found and seized the blue windbreaker, but she could feel the slick material slipping through her grasp.
A face appeared above the woman's shoulder. David's. He pivoted the struggling pair until they were both against the railing and forced himself between them. Then the wild stranger, leaning out beyond David's chest to strike at Julia's head, tumbled over.
Julia watched her fall before dropping herself, in a dead faint, onto the flagstones.
* * * *
VII
Hours later, Julia was seated in a bright, well-scrubbed examination room of the local hospital. The space made her think of a police station, and that quality of the room's aura might have been the contribution of its other occupant, who leaned against the edge of a metal table. He was a tall, older man dressed in black, whose bulging forehead and small features combined to make his face appear concave. The face also seemed to Julia sad, or at least disappointed. The sunken eyes were hooded, and the heavy mouth drawn downward.
"Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Caden,” he said. “It all tallies. That is, it agrees with your husband's statement and those of our other witnesses.” He paused to shake his head before muttering, “Mary, Queen of Scots."
Julia felt her face color. She said, “The woman knew my name."
"Well, she would know it, wouldn't she?” the policeman replied. “I suppose I'm the one to explain things, Mrs. Caden. I wish your friend Mrs. O'Brien were here to do it. She's on her way back, by the way. Her child is much better. If you'd like, we could wait for her."
"Please tell me, Inspector."
The man pulled at his long face. “Just as you say. The woman who fell to her death was one Marian Goodson. Ever hear that name before?"
"No,” Julia said.
"No. She was an American, as you'd inferred from her waterproof. She still lived in Delaware, in fact, where she'd gone to college. She worked at a firm there at which your husband regularly called."
Julia breathed in sharply.
"Exactly,” the policeman said. “Ms. Goodson and your husband conducted a brief affair earlier this year, brief on his side at least. It occurred during a period when you and Mr. Caden were estranged. I'll leave it to you to work out which was the cause and which the effect. For my purposes, it's enough to know that your husband tried to end the liaison and Ms. Goodson wouldn't have it.
"She'd been told by Mr. Caden that you two were attempting a reconciliation, that you'd planned a trip to Scotland as part of that effort. Your husband, who is a careful man in some things, left your complete itinerary at his office. I'm sure we'll find that Ms. Goodson obtained a copy, by fair means or foul. That was how she contrived the meetings you found so remarkable."
"And her connection to Mary Stuart?"
"An invention of your own, I'm afraid. This Marian wasn't very like our Mary, except for the color of her hair. She certainly wasn't the fighter the queen was. Imagine coming all this way to break up a marriage and then not being able to simply step forward and do it. She seemed to have thought that her mere presence would be enough, that the sight of her would so remind Mr. Caden of all he was giving up he would do her dirty work for her.
"That didn't happen, and she became more desperate, very desperate after she and your husband spoke at Doune Castle."
"They spoke? When?"
"They met on the stairs when he was coming to look for you. He told her then that whatever happened with your marriage, he would never see her again. That has to have changed her line of thinking. Begun to change it. From trying to steal your husband, she must have begun to think of eliminating you. It can't have been in her mind at Doune. You were certainly in her power on the roof after you'd struck your head, but she didn't act. Nor did she at Edinburgh, where the presence of the crowd and especially of Mrs. O'Brien protected you.
"Your husband was counting on Mrs. O'Brien's acting as your guardian today, though he didn't bother taking her into his confidence. He couldn't change your rendezvous with the O'Briens or the time of his round at St. Andrews, which, as you know, was set up a year in advance. He couldn't make that radical a switch without a full explanation. He wishes now, of course, that he had confessed all. I believe him.
"I believe him, too, when he says that he didn't think for a moment that Ms. Goodson would make an attempt on your life. That is, he didn't think so before this afternoon. Not before he called your hotel during a break in their play and learned that you'd gone out, after asking directions to the castle. Then he had a foreboding and acted upon it. Acted just in time too."
"The castle wasn't on any itinerary,” Julia said. “How could she know I'd go there?"
"She followed you. She'd been watching your hotel all day. Several shopkeepers noticed her. She got ahead of you at the castle when you stopped at that awful waxworks they have there.
"I'm afraid you fell in with her plans then by following her up onto that tower. Now that I've heard your theory about Mary Stuart, I understand why you did it, so there's no difficulty th
ere. Or with what happened next. The students down on the beach witnessed the attempt to push you over. And Mr. Caden's timely intervention."
Julia was barely listening. “I thought she might be Mary, Queen of Scots,” she said. “And all the time, it was me."
The policeman stirred uneasily. “I beg your pardon, madam?"
"I was the one betrayed by the man I trusted."
"Oh, that. Betrayal is part of Queen Mary's story, but only a part of it. I've always been more impressed by the old girl's resilience, by her ability to bounce back from all her disappointments, by the way she kept fighting to the end to keep what was hers. If you have to have something in common with her, that's what I would choose."
He stood up. “Your husband is waiting outside. He's anxious to see you if you feel equal to it."
"I do,” Julia said.
Copyright (c) 2008 Terrence Faherty
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Department: THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER by by Willie Rose
Each letter consistently represents another. The quotation is from a short mystery story. Arranging the answer letters in alphabetical order gives a clue to the title of the story.
FUL QDCF BLCFRXT ZQDVL YS FUL EYIM JDC D WLBL RXILXFDFRYX RX FUL SYBLCF SQYYB, RX DZZLDBDXVL DC ZLDVLSGQ DC FUL UYQQYJ QLSF EM D CQLLZRXT SDJX.
—PDFUM QMXX LWLBCYX
CIPHER: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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Department: BOOKED & PRINTED by Robert C. Hahn
The Windy City has a long tradition as a setting for fine mysteries and home to mystery writers themselves, from the days of W.R. Burnett's Little Caesar and Frank Gruber's The Leather Duke to Craig Rice's wonderfully zany John J. Malone novels, and on up to such current stalwarts as trailblazer Sara Paretsky and the prolific Max Allan Collins.
Following in those fine footsteps, the crop of rising authors making their mark in Chicago today is outstanding and cuts across a wide swath of styles and genres. Marcus Sakey favors standalone novels rather than a series hero and has produced three winners in a row; J.A. Konrath features a tough homicide detective, Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels, who can both take it and dish it out; and Barbara Fister's Anni Koskinen started out as a cop but felt compelled to resign and now operates as a P.I.
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Relative newcomer Marcus Sakey's exceptionally fine debut in 2007 with The Blade Itself was followed by At the City's Edge in 2008, a strong sophomore effort. His third novel, Good People (Dutton, $24.95), is his strongest yet, delivering a sustained, exciting, draining game of cat-and-mouse.
Sakey places his protagonists in situations where they are tested and taxed physically, emotionally, and morally. In Good People, the fulcrum that tips Anna and Tom Reed from their ordinary life—young professionals struggling to have a baby while working hard at jobs they merely tolerate—is the death of their reclusive tenant and the $400,000 they find hidden in his ground floor apartment.
The money that seems like the answer to their prayers quickly leads to nightmarish consequences. The fortune has other claimants, and they are vicious ones: a robber who already killed to steal the money and a drug dealer who lost a valuable cache of drugs in that same robbery. Both have the tenacity and the resources to discover who has the fortune or at least what remains of it.
Sakey's fast-moving plot takes the reader on a harrowing journey as Tom and Anna struggle desperately to escape with their lives, if not the money. Tom and Anna turn out to be remarkably resourceful, but there is no way for them to escape unscathed, nowhere for them to turn for help, and no way that either villain is going to give up. Sakey ratchets up the tension repeatedly, expertly devising moves and counter-moves that keep the reader engrossed from start to finish.
In three short years Sakey has established himself as a master of suspense who can find one simple, credible moment that transforms an ordinary life into a supreme test of values, ingenuity, and sheer will to survive.
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J.A. Konrath's drink-titled series about Chicago homicide detective Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels kicked off in 2004 with Whiskey Sour, which won a Macavity award for best first novel. Bloody Mary (2005), Rusty Nail (2006), and Dirty Martini(2007) blazed an alcoholic trail to this year's Fuzzy Navel(Hyperion, $23.95)
The recipe for Konrath's print creations calls for one gutsy female homicide cop, a collection of ancillary characters with both quirks and substance, one or more very, very bad guys, and at least a dash of offbeat humor—sometimes a very generous helping of humor.
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The body count in Fuzzy Navel reaches high numbers, though the humor, still offbeat, seems somewhat muted as Daniels faces the most daunting odds and tasks of her stellar career.
Daniels gets a call early in the novel telling her that Alexandra Kork, a deadly enemy, has committed suicide. Unfortunately for Daniels, that may not be true. But things really start to get rocky when sharpshooters carry out three separate assassinations simultaneously in Chicago, one of which is followed by a deadly attack on a cop.
Konrath goes all out in this one, stacking the odds against Daniels in every way imaginable, and he seems to poke a little good-natured fun at fellow Chicago author Sakey by naming a rookie cop Sakey, and giving him a less than glamorous role to play.
Barbara Fister is an academic librarian who may soon want to consider becoming a full-time writer if the success of her debut novel, 2002's On Edge, and the promise of her second novel are fulfilled.
Fister has endowed her series character, Anni Koskinen, with a rich background and given her supporting cast the depth and breadth that promise to sustain a lengthy series. Anni was once a Chicago cop, but when she testified against a colleague, the backlash was great enough that she quit the force and became a P.I.
In In the Wind (St. Martin's Minotaur, $24.95), Anni casually agrees to give Rosa Saenz, a volunteer from Father Sikora's community center, a ride to Bemidji, Minnesota, a trip that once again brings Anni into conflict with her old police colleagues as well as the FBI and possibly her own mentor, FBI agent Jim Tilquist.
The FBI suspects that Rosa is a suspect wanted in a 1972 crime that resulted in the death of one of their agents. Anni's unwitting involvement with Rosa leads her into a history lesson involving anti-Vietnam War protests and the American Indian Movement (AIM), including a militant splinter group known as Ishkode. Swept into the case by factors that include threats and attacks on her and her brother, Anni is forced to seek answers that may drive a permanent wedge between her and her mentor.
Fister draws vivid parallels between the extra-legal responses of the FBI during that fractious period of the seventies and similar restrictions on civil liberties today. In addition she delivers a solid plot and characters that one looks forward to meeting again and again in future cases.
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ALL POINTS BULLETIN: Chicago policeman-turned-author Michael A. Black brings outcast Sergeant Frank Leal to light in RANDOM VICTIM, which examines a murder during a tense Windy City election season. Published by Leisure Fiction in April of this year. Fellow Chicago native Julie Hyzy introduces the new White House Chef series with her fourth novel, featuring presidential chef and accidental sleuth Olivia Paras in STATE OF THE ONION, coming out in December from Berkley Prime Crime. AHMM regular Jim Ingraham introduces female deputy sheriff Perci Piper in his Maine college campus murder mystery REMAINS TO BE SEEN, his first novel, published by Five Star in July.
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In Rae Meadows's second novel NO ONE TELLS EVERYTHING (MacAdam/Cage, $23), a stirring confessional journey, Grace is not doing so well. She flounders in her mid-thirties at a lukewarm editing job in Manhattan, spends nights with her only semi-friend, a bartender, and is tormented by her younger sister's death decades ago, an event she tries to forget with many glasses of wine.
Miles away in Upstate New York, Charles, a college freshman, is in jail, ac
cused of the heinous murder of his fellow classmate, a popular female student. After learning about him in the news, Grace feels sorry for the young man and establishes contact with him. Her attempt to humanize Charles feeds her own need to absolve herself of her own past.
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Meadows's treatment of Grace and Charles is daringly ceaseless in its sympathy. Grace is self-destructive and obsessed with a presumed killer, and Charles is a pariah whose misery becomes harrowing. But thanks to Meadows's thoughtful portrayal, readers will feel reluctant to leave them. Grace's life amidst her letters and phone calls to the imprisoned Charles, and Charles's second-person monologues interspersed throughout the novel, provide an intimate psychological examination of two souls in turmoil over their supposed crimes.
A few characters are not so well rounded. Grace's mother, a nervous suburban housewife, and Charles's neglectful, wealthy parents seem one-dimensional. But ultimately, Meadows's novel is an antidote to the simplistic modern-day persecution of criminals and their supporters on the evening news. It suggests that while the public may press blame against one villain for a heinous act, we are all collectively responsible for our outcasts.—Laurel Fantauzzo
Copyright (c) 2008 Robert C. Hahn
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Fiction: CATCH YOUR DEATH by D.A. Mcguire
Joel Spector
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It took me a few seconds to get a clear image. Because of the rain everything was slightly off center and out of focus.
AHMM, October 2008 Page 9
