by Rayna Morgan
"I've heard the same opinion expressed by others."
"Because it's true."
"Let's go back to your knowledge of your wife's affair." Tom knew the answers to his next questions were key to his investigation. "How did you find out and when?"
Art Patton sighed deeply. The man's acting skills served him well, but he couldn't hide the pain in his voice. "Max told me. It was one of the most difficult things he's ever done, but he felt I should know. He knew, of course, because he drove her to several rendezvous during their little dalliance."
Tom noted the man's choice of words in describing his wife's affair tended to depict it as something of small concern. Was his wife's affair of so little import to his pride? If he still loved this woman deeply as he proclaimed, how much pain had Henderson brought into his life? Enough to give him cause for murder?
He repeated his second question. "When did you learn of the affair?"
"Shortly before his demise," the actor admitted, "but it doesn't mean the events are interlinked."
"How did you respond to the news Max gave you?"
"I could see how badly the affair might end for Margaret in terms of her position with the City and her reputation in town. I decided to try to meet with him, to talk some sense into him."
"Shouldn't that conversation have been with your wife?"
"The last thing I wanted was for Margaret to think I was spying on her, or that Max was. She would never have felt comfortable around either of us again. But I also realized she was still too emotionally attached or she would have ended it herself."
"And what about Neal? What made you think he wasn't too emotionally attached to listen to you, especially with you being the indignant husband?"
Art Patton blanched. For the first time, he showed signs of how distasteful the conversation was for him. Tom could hardly imagine how distasteful dealing with Neal Henderson must have been.
"Men like Neal Henderson always have a price, Detective. I had no doubt I could offer him adequate inducement."
"Did your meeting happen to take place the night he was murdered?"
The actor shifted uneasily in his chair, looking at the folded hands in his lap.
"In fact, I did speak to Neal Henderson the night of his death. But it was a brief exchange. The conversation we were meant to have never took place."
Tom pulled out his notebook. His tone, as well as the tone of the entire conversation, had taken a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.
"Please tell me exactly what happened between you and Mr. Henderson the night of his murder."
"I called his office. I told his assistant I wanted to speak with him on one of his investment projects in which I had interest. Once I had him on the phone, I informed him what I wanted to speak to him about was of a personal nature. He understood immediately."
"How did he respond to your request?"
"He was rude but agreed to see me. He said he had something to take care of that evening but would meet me afterward in the lounge of the hotel next to the Pier on the Boardwalk."
"Did he indicate a time?"
"He said he would be finished with the first matter by nine-thirty and we could meet shortly after."
Tom assumed the dead man's logic for the night in question. His meet with the brothers was scheduled for nine o'clock. He knew he could see Patton shortly after his payoff to them because of the proximity of the hotel to the parking lot at the Pier.
"What happened next?"
"I had Max drive me to the Pier. Margaret was out of town giving a speech at some convention or other so Max was free with the car. When we got to the lot, I told Max to park and wait for me. On my way to the hotel, I heard someone speaking loudly as if on a cell phone. I recognized the voice; it was the voice of the man I had come to see."
"Did you continue to the meeting place?"
"No." The older man's voice began to tremble. "No, in the next instant, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life, one I deeply regret."
Tom's pulse raced with the excitement of obtaining a confession. He tried to keep his voice calm: "What did you do, Mr. Patton?"
"Not thinking clearly, I walked toward the voice. Seeing he was alone, I began spewing out the speech I had rehearsed. Before I had spoken more than a few words, he turned on me. He looked furious, almost like one possessed. It was quite frightening, actually. He screamed for me to leave, he would see me at our arranged time and place. With that, he turned his back on me like I didn't exist.
My fright turned to a cold, steely anger. This man who had defiled my marriage was now unwilling to even acknowledge me. A fury welled inside me unlike anything I've experienced. I grabbed the closest rock within reach, walked up behind him, and took a swipe at the back of his head. He fell onto his knees, then collapsed on the sand. I threw the rock into the ocean and walked back to my car."
"Did you give any thought to going back to help the man?"
"I never imagined the blow I struck was enough to do more than give him a bad headache. I'm not a strong man; it was hardly more than a glancing blow. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news the next morning he was dead."
"The knock on the head was not the cause of death. The cause of death was strangulation. You hadn't killed Neal Henderson."
"I realized that when the coroner's report was finally released indicating the cause of death as strangulation. I'll admit my relief was immense though I was certain the whole time my blow could not have been deadly."
"Once you knew your blow hadn't killed him, what stopped you from giving the police the information about your encounter the night of his death?"
The actor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his lips. "At that point, I considered going to the police to disclose everything that had taken place but I still had one reservation."
"Which was?"
"I knew my wife couldn't have been involved with the act itself, but I'm ashamed to admit I wondered if she might have put someone up to getting rid of him."
"You suspected her of hiring someone to kill Neal Henderson?"
"I realized almost at once how ridiculous the notion was but when you went to City Hall to question her, I worried you had the same suspicion. It was actually a relief when you called to see me. I was ready to tell the truth to ensure no suspicion fell on my wife." He paused, clasping his hands. "Believe what you will, Detective, but if I had seriously believed my blow to the head had been the actual cause of the man's death, I would have come forward sooner."
Tom's skepticism showed in his squinted eyes. "Let's get back to what happened that night. Did Max drive you straight home after your confrontation with Neal?"
"Actually, no. I was shaken by the ordeal, especially the violent reaction I'd had to Neal shunning me the way he did. I'm not a violent man. To the contrary, the only thing I've ever been accused of is being too nice, of being a pushover.
At any rate, Max noticed the state I was in. I mumbled something to him about having done something terrible without getting into specifics. He suggested I go to the hotel and have a brandy to settle my nerves before my meeting. I told him there would be no meeting, but a brandy sounded like a good idea.
He walked me to the hotel and returned to the car to wait for me. The brandy settled my nerves considerably. Max and I returned home without further incident."
"How long were you at the hotel by yourself?"
"As long as it takes to order and drink cognac. There were few people in the lounge so I was waited on almost immediately."
"How did Max act when you returned?"
"I hadn't thought about it. Why are you asking?"
Tom remained silent letting his question take hold. The actor's entire body collapsed against his chair. Taking several moments to recover, he asked shakily: "What are you suggesting, Detective? What has Max done?"
Chapter Twenty-One
Both men leaped to their feet.
"Max's Place," Art Patton cried.
&nb
sp; Without understanding the reference, Tom knew where to look for the driver. They raced through the archway toward the guest house nearly knocking over the housekeeper sweeping the veranda. Running past the fountain in the courtyard next to the main building, Tom cursed. The limousine was no longer parked in the driveway. A quick peek through the windows of the guest house confirmed his fear: the man he was looking for was no longer on the premises.
"Get in, Mr. Patton," Tom yelled, pointing to his car. He issued additional instructions as they clicked their seat belts in place. "Call Max." The authoritative inflection in the Detective's voice left no room for hesitation. "Now."
The older man's hands trembled as he lifted his cell phone in front of him where they could both hear the conversation. "Max, it's Art. Where are you?"
"Your wife called. Her luncheon is finished. She's back in her office."
"Why are you going to pick her up now? She won't be through working for several hours."
"She said she has one more meeting, and then she wants to come home. Something about giving Rosa the night off and cooking dinner for you herself tonight."
Tom hastily jotted something on his notepad and held it in front of Art. He didn't want Max to overhear him giving instructions.
"Wait there for me, Max. I'm on my way. I need to see my wife about something. I'll see you shortly." He disconnected without waiting for a response.
"Is that what you wanted, Detective?"
"Perfect. No chance for him to ask how you're getting to town without the car. He saw me going into your house. I don't want him to think you're with me."
Art shook his head and looked out the window. "I'm afraid you could be underestimating him."
Tom grabbed his ringing cell from the dashboard. Reading caller ID, he tried to avoid sounding curt. "Hey, Paul. I'm right in the middle of something."
"No problem. I'll make this brief. I just picked up a voice message from Lea. She's all excited. Says Councilwoman Patton called her this afternoon about a change in plans. Lea's bid has been accepted after all. She's getting the job for the City. I know she'll want to celebrate tonight. Can you join us?"
"Where's Lea, Paul?" Tom demanded.
"Now? When she left the message, she was on her way to City Hall to see the Councilwoman." Paul heard the tension in his friend's voice. "What's wrong?"
"It's Max. He's on his way to Mrs. Patton's office."
Paul could feel his heart pounding as he repeated. "It's Max? What do you mean, it's Max?"
"Max killed Neal Henderson."
The only sound in the car was vehicles whizzing by on the freeway. There was no response on the speaker phone.
"Paul?"
"Is Lea in danger?"
Tom hoped his voice conveyed more confidence than he felt. "I have another car on the way. We have the situation under control. No one's going to get hurt."
"I'm going to City Hall."
"You can't help, Paul. You could make things worse," Tom warned.
"Don't tell me not to get involved if my wife could be in danger." The line went dead.
* * *
Arriving for her appointment with Margaret Patton, Lea was caught off guard when the secretary asked Lea to bring her dog into the office.
Are repercussions in store for our aggressive approach during our last encounter? Lea wondered.
The Assistant smiled reassuringly, "I believe the Councilwoman wants to make amends for the way you and your dog were received."
Seeing the skepticism in Lea's face, she continued: "She really does like dogs, you know. Not as much as her husband, of course, but she told me that even with all the excitement and flying fur last time you met, she could see what a beautiful animal you have. She'd like to make your dog's acquaintance under friendlier conditions."
Lea laughed, relieved. "Of course, but I thought dogs weren't allowed inside government offices."
"Bring her in the back way from the parking lot. She won't be noticed. Besides," the woman added, winking, "no one questions the Councilwoman."
Walking in from the parking lot, Lea gave Gracie firm instructions about not repeating her previous behavior, a rebuke which proved to be unnecessary. She held her breath as the Councilwoman met them at the door, kneeling in front of the dog and offering to shake hands. Gracie obliged by raising a paw.
When the diminutive woman stood and returned to her chair, Gracie followed obediently, curling comfortably at her feet under the oversized desk.
I'll never understand my dogs. Gracie was upset yesterday but obviously, not by this woman.
Lea was further confounded by the woman's opening remark. "You made quite an impression chasing me down in front of City Hall the way you did."
Experiencing an uncomfortable heat sensation crawling up her neck, she mumbled: "I'm so embarrassed to have run after you that way, but Gracie was pulling me and . . ."
"It's quite alright, Lea. It wasn't your flying hair that made the impression. It was what you said. You challenged my reason for not awarding you the contract."
Lea's head jerked back. "You mean I was right?"
"I'm not willing to admit that yet, even to myself, but it was close enough to the truth to cause me to examine my other recent actions. I've had a change of heart in more than one area."
Lea remained silent, sensing the Councilwoman wanted to continue uninterrupted.
"A Detective came to see me shortly after you and I had our confrontation. The interview was brutal enough to knock some sense into me. It made me step back to look at myself. I didn't much like what I saw."
She brushed a hand in front of her face. "But you aren't interested in hearing about my epiphany. All you need to know is your bid has been accepted. Once I set aside my personal feelings, I had to admit your proposal was by far the best we received."
Lea stopped holding her breath and allowed a smile to spread across her face. "I hardly know what to say besides thank you very much."
"You deserve the project, Lea. I look forward to working with you on it."
As both women rose to shake hands, the door was flung open and Max rushed into the office.
"Max. What in the world . . .”
Lea hardly recognized the man who came running around the desk to grab the Councilwoman. Without the chauffeur's hat he typically wore, his bald pate gleamed. His shirt was soaked with perspiration. His eyes were a mesmerizing mix of madness and calm determination.
The secretary came rushing through the door, freezing the moment she saw Max standing behind her employer, pinning the woman's arms to her sides.
"Shut the door and sit down," he ordered.
Rosemary hesitated, looking to her boss for confirmation.
"Do as he says. At the moment, he's literally got the upper hand." Regaining her authoritarian tone of voice, she looked over her shoulder and demanded, "What's the meaning of this, Max?"
Before Rosemary could close the door as the man had instructed, Tom and Art came storming through it. An emotion flashed across Max's face when he saw his employer, but Lea couldn't define what he was feeling.
Instead of trying to approach his driver directly, Art slipped onto the couch to the side of the desk, asking gently. "Max. My dear, dear Max. What are you doing, my good fellow?"
The response was formal and respectful. "I'm sorry, sir. Extreme actions have been called for, I'm afraid. I knew when you called you were with the Detective. You two have figured it out, haven't you?"
Art had never lied to his bodyguard in all their years together. He wasn't about to start now.
"I'm sorry to say, yes. Sorry for your sake, my dear man."
"Art," his wife implored, "will you please tell me what you two are talking about?"
The two men stared at each other across the silent room, but no response was forthcoming.
Tom provided the answer. "Max killed Neal Henderson."
The beefy man's reaction to the Detective's words was instinctively defensive as though he were u
nder attack. Every muscle in his body flexed. His jaw clenched. He tightened his grip, causing the Councilwoman to wince.
In that tense instant, the border collie flew out from under the desk catapulting her body like a missile. Thrown off balance, Max stumbled backward allowing Tom to throw a punch on target enough to flatten the man. In a flash, Gracie was on top of him, baring her teeth and growling.
"Thanks, girl, I’ll take it from here." Tom quickly pulled handcuffs from his belt, attaching them to the man's wrists. Punching a number in his cell phone, the Detective gave instructions for the squad car dispatched earlier to City Hall.
Everyone in the room struggled to grasp what had taken place in front of them.
Art embraced his wife. She leaned on him, letting him walk her over to the couch where they sat down and held each other. "I can't believe it, Art. I can't believe Max killed someone. Why did he do it?"
Everyone turned to the actor. What they saw was no act. Pain showed clearly in every feature on his face.
Knowing the man was overcome with emotion, the Detective provided an answer. There was more sadness in Tom's voice than harshness. "Probably because Neal Henderson hurt and disrespected the man he's looked up to his entire life."
His words were like a punch in the stomach to Max. The fight in him was clearly gone. His shoulders sagged. His eyes glistened with tears.
"It's all gone wrong, sir," he moaned, looking at his lifelong benefactor. "I don't know how it's all gone so terribly wrong."
Everyone in the room was startled to see the powerful man's body suddenly wracked by sobs.
Margaret Patton was the first to grasp the full meaning of Tom's explanation. "Oh, no. He did it because of the pain caused by my affair."
Her husband turned to face her, taking her hand in his own. "Don't blame yourself. I was cast in the worst role of my life, that of a cuckold. But it was my own foolish mistake to arrange to speak with Neal myself. I found his behavior toward me embarrassingly demeaning. In a moment of anger, I hit him with a rock.
Apparently, while I was recovering from my appalling emotional display, Max went to see the horrible thing I told him I'd done. Looking out for me, as he's always done." He turned around. "Is that how it happened, Max?"
