Silent Scream

by Karen Harper

  “You’re thinking especially to look at people Marian worked with?”

  “Jensen’s pretty much eliminated family troubles as a reason for her death. There’s an ex-husband she hasn’t seen for years who lives in Hawaii. She lived alone, so that’s a dead end—Didn’t mean it that way. Not funny. Damn, nothing’s fun or funny right now.”

  She squeezed his hand tighter. “Yes, I’ll check into Marian’s Endangered Properties Committee, but I think she had some silent partners or investors, so I may run into a wall there.”

  “I know you’re busy with your own bog business, so I appreciate that.”

  She nodded, wishing she could tell him even more than she had about her suspicions. Brit had filled her in on everything that had happened at the Lauderdale shop, so Claire felt she had something to hold over Brad Vance’s head now, but to make him admit what? Was he so desperate for funding that he ignored the fact that someone could ask what inspired them to sell copies of ancient artifacts? Their work at the bog needed funding, which was why, she thought, the Vances had just sold a longtime home they loved.

  So she was not going to confront either of them but just keep her eyes open—and view at least Brad’s photos of those precious objects again. Brit had said the dagger they had seen in Fort Lauderdale had a woman with raised hands on the hilt, and Claire thought that figure might be Reaching Woman—or was she reaching for too much on that? And why hadn’t she noted that in the detailed photos? Had he showed her all he had?

  After a long pause, she told Nick, “Jensen tried to get me to explain why I sent Jace and Brit across the state, but I stonewalled him. I don’t need him crashing in at the bog to question the Vances until I’m more sure what’s really going on. So are we both holding out on him?”

  “For now. I’ll talk to Dale, and you just stick to keeping your eyes open, but no interrogations or confrontations.”

  “The truth is I don’t want to get the Vances in trouble. I want to protect them and their work. It’s important, far-reaching for historical knowledge, for mankind, really. And I want to be part of their continuing project.”

  But, she thought, wouldn’t Brad’s first sniff that she’d been checking up on his handling of artifacts mean that, no matter how badly Kris or even Andrea wanted her on the team, he’d terminate her?

  31

  That evening Nick was glad he’d phoned Dale. The guy sounded shaky. He said he was sitting at the end of the Naples pier just staring at the water, waiting for it to get dark and that he might stay there all night.

  Nick explained to Claire, kissed her, Lexi and Trey and headed for the pier. He didn’t like the idea of one of the firm’s formerly competent lawyers, his client, out on bail but accused of a double homicide, sounding damned depressed out on the end of the pier as darkness fell.

  He found a parking place and jogged toward the pier, then out onto it. The sun looked huge and crimson as it bled into the watery horizon. Not too many fishermen were out this late at this time of year like during the winter season. He was careful not to get hit when they flicked their line back over their shoulders to cast. When he was a kid, he’d gotten snagged by a hook on his ear, but his dad had rushed him to a doctor friend to tend to it.

  How he still missed his dad who had been gone for years—his murder staged to look like suicide. Since then, Nick had helped numerous people prove cause of death with his South Shores side project, and he needed to help Dale now. But he didn’t see him where he’d said he’d be.

  His heartbeat kicked up. No—there he was, way over in the corner of the pier, as far out as he could go, leaning against the wooden railing, staring into the sliding depths of the breaking waves.

  “Dale!” he called to him and joined him at the rail.

  His former junior partner—relieved of his duties at the firm for now—turned toward him. Either the guy had been standing there so long that his face was streaked with salt water spray or he’d been crying. His usual suave and neat appearance had disintegrated to his wearing cut-offs and a ratty-looking sweatshirt.

  “Thanks for coming out here,” Dale said, his voice a monotone. “I figured we needed to talk. I suppose the office would be the best place, but if I can’t be there as a partner, I’d rather not come in as a client. Everybody stares, pretending not to, no doubt thinking, ‘Poor Dale. Law career over, might get disbarred. Maybe he even committed those murders, lots of proof against him.’”

  Nick put a firm hand on Dale’s shoulder. “We would all be behind you if you were just any client, but you’re more than that. You’re one of us, and we’re going to fight for you.”

  He nodded, still looking out over the white-capped waves. The wind was increasing and so was Nick’s unease about Dale’s state of mind. But he had to pursue his plan.

  “Dale, I was with Ken Jensen earlier today because he’s investigating a plane crash three friends of ours were in—brought down by a drone right off Marco Island, though they all survived in pretty good shape.”

  Dale finally turned to look at him. “That’s good news for them. And Jensen brought me up?”

  “He was investigating the crash, but when I started to think about what we’re holding back from him, I wanted to consult with you. You’ve got a good lawyer’s brain. We don’t want the Nazi connection curse coming out at the trial. It needs to be eased out beforehand, common knowledge by then. The fact you wanted to burn Nazi memorabilia you detest and past ties to your family could get you sympathy, not blame, from a detective, a prosecutor and a jury.”

  “Except for that woman’s burned body in the mix—like I was trying to stop her, as well as Cyndi, from dragging that out after all these years.”

  “Yeah, and one other problematic thing. Marian James was burned in that fire, but cause of death before that was strangulation with a broken hyoid bone—sound familiar?”

  “Damn! And Jensen arrested me before he knew that, but now he’ll have more evidence—so he thinks—to nail me for both murders. But I see what you mean. The Nazi connection needs to be communicated to the prosecutor before we go to trial. But we don’t even have a date yet! That’s way off in time, way off in thinking.”

  “Is it? As soon as that breaks from another source—”

  “If it does.”

  “That would mean you could lose me and maybe the firm when we get slapped with professional misconduct for not admitting it earlier. And, yes, I’m worried about myself and the firm getting hit with fines or sanctions. We don’t need that, but you need us!”

  He looked away, squinting out over the waves again. Nick knew it would be so easy for him to jump from here, to hit his head on the huge wooden girders holding up the pier, especially with daylight fading where no one would see to help him.

  “Nick,” Dale said, still not looking at him, “I give you permission to tell Jensen about my great-uncle and the Nazi stuff I wanted to burn in that apartment. It gives me an even bigger—hopefully sympathetic—reason for the fire.”

  “That’s brave of you and the right thing to do. Eva Braun’s German diary suggests she was never pregnant—and of her desire to kill herself, which she must have done in the upper room of the apartment. Dale, suicide is always wrong, and your state of mind right now scares me. We’re going to see this through together. And that diary is yours if you want it back for proof later, but how about I just keep it for now?”

  “Yeah, that’s best. So, Eva Braun speaks from the grave. Wonder where my great-uncle buried or burned her body. But for now, however damning it is to link my last name to Hitler’s wife, I do need help,” Dale whispered, pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes. “I have nightmares I’m burning up in that apartment I torched, that the woman burned there is Eva Braun, not Marian James. I’ve gotten to the point I can’t stand to be closed in my apartment or at the house I want to sell. I keep thinking about prison, and I couldn’t stand that,
couldn’t face being locked up or worse. Nick, I don’t know how my life went so wrong so fast when all I wanted to do was get Cyndi out of my life.”

  Nick shuddered. Granted, Dale was the obvious candidate for the two murders. Other possibilities he’d checked into, as had Ken Jensen, came out in weak second place. And what Dale had just admitted sounded almost like a confession he’d hurt Cyndi, at least. This guy was really losing it. If he worded his desire to move on from Cyndi like that—“get her out of my life”—that could ruin him in a courtroom. Didn’t he know that?

  “Dale, let’s get you to a psychiatrist. There’s a good one the firm’s used before. The doctor’s trustworthy and discreet. It sounds like you’re clinically depressed, maybe claustrophobic. Okay? You have your car near here?” he said, putting his hand on the man’s elbow.

  “I walked. Just wanted sky and sea.”

  “Sure, I can understand that. Let’s take my car. If you don’t want to come into the office as we put your defense together, we can meet outside somewhere, but you need to go home right now, see that doctor tomorrow. I’ll set it up.”

  “Wish I could go home again,” he said with a sigh as they started back down the long pier. “Have my dad around, my mother in her right mind. That old Betty Richards next door has tried to mother me too, ever since her son hanged himself about twenty years ago, so maybe I wouldn’t even mind her around. She used to be so possessive and protective of me after that. I hated it then, but could use some of that now.”

  Nick’s mind seized on that latest bombshell as they walked off the windy, spray-spattered pier. Dale might be a flight risk, suicidal or even guilty. Betty Richards just had another motive hung around her neck for having at least killed Cyndi. And if Marian had been bothering Dale, maybe for killing her too. But could that old woman strangle someone? Betty had told Claire she’d seen the two murdered women together back when they were still alive. Could he trust that? Could he trust anyone but Claire?

  * * *

  Jolted awake, Claire sat straight up in bed. Nightmare! But at least one she hadn’t gotten up to act out, though she wished she didn’t recall it so clearly.

  Beside her in bed, Nick slept on, snoring slightly. He’d come home late after getting a junior partner at the firm to stay with Dale in his apartment, then made sure he’d get him to a psychiatrist’s office tomorrow for an appointment Nick had made.

  She was too warm. She whipped the sheet off her side of the bed and got up carefully, quietly. She didn’t have to have a psych degree to analyze where she’d cooked up that dream, at least some of it. She’d dreamed she’d crashed into the bog, going under, going down. She had fought her way upward through the black peat and mud and found Reaching Woman—Yes, reaching down to help her up so she wouldn’t die.

  But after Reaching Woman had pulled her up, Claire had seen she raised her arms the way Brit had described on that dagger in Fort Lauderdale, the way some people did in church when they were deeply moved. It was the way referees at a football game signaled a touchdown. Was Reaching Woman giving a blessing or a curse? Was she a religious figure, one who should be pure, but who had fallen for either Hunter or Leader and paid with her life?

  Claire gasped. She envisioned the worst part of the nightmare, the part that had woken her up. She had seen again, just as when the dig team uncovered the woman’s body, the dagger in her chest. And in the dream, Claire had clearly seen—knew for sure by the angle of the weapon—that the woman had stabbed herself.

  Her knees went weak, and she knelt by the bed with her head on the sheet, using it to blot her silent tears. Could that be true? Or had she dreamed that because Nick had told her he thought Dale might be suicidal? That had set off his memories of his own father’s death, and she had comforted him.

  She knew she wouldn’t sleep right now. Maybe she would go in Trey’s room and watch him sleep innocently, no worries in the world.

  She put on a robe and tiptoed out, checked on both children and went quietly past the guest room where Bronco and Nita slept. She sat at the dining room table where she’d left her laptop and turned it on. She’d just do a little work—that favor for Nick tracing Marian James’s contacts—then go back to bed.

  She turned a lamp on. First she searched for ancient artifacts for sale in the state of Florida. Nothing but some Seminole tribe souvenirs at their casinos, but then who would be stupid enough to advertise priceless, prehistoric artifacts online? Certainly not a former Florida senator or his savvy wife, who now owned and operated a historic dig that would rock the world when it was announced.

  She turned to searching Marian James’s Endangered Properties Committee. Bingo! A beautifully crafted, detailed website. Marian’s name was still all over it, but no one else’s except the committee’s treasurer, Harmon Kingsdale, with his contact information and a plea to make a donation to the cause of preserving Florida history for future generations.

  She wrote down that contact information. It wouldn’t hurt to make a call or visit Mr. Kingsdale to see if she could dig up any other names for Nick’s defense team to question. His name sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.

  But now the hunt was on for any possible enemies Marian might have had. And her own hunt was on to study Hunter’s dagger handle again so she could decide if Reaching Woman might have stabbed herself and why. Had one of the men she might have loved forced her to do it?

  * * *

  The next morning after Claire waited with Lexi until the school bus came and before Nick left for the office, they sat together for a cup of coffee. She held Trey in her arms. Nita was still in bed, and Bronco had headed for the law firm, since they were especially conscious of security lately with not being able to trust that Tanner and Will would be heading home as they’d said.

  “Harmon Kingsdale,” Nick said when she filled him in on her research last night. “No kidding? So there’s probably big bucks behind Marian’s committee.”

  “His name is familiar, but who is he?”

  “The founder of Pine Ridge Luxury Homes. Big houses, some in Pelican Bay, some up by Estero.”

  “Well, I guess it makes sense a home builder would be interested in helping to save and preserve endangered lands or properties. Should one of us interview him?”

  “We can hardly send Jensen. But I might make him nervous as he knows I’m a criminal lawyer. Dale would be persona non grata right now, though he needs something purposeful to do. You’d have to go with a fake name, and that’s no good. Who’s left that we can trust?”

  “Lexi? Trey?” she said giving the baby a little bounce which he traded for a gurgling smile.

  “Very funny.”

  “I don’t want to ask anything else of Brit after I nearly got her killed.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, unless you’ve been sneaking out to master using drones as a weapon. But without alarming Kingsdale that we’re trying to learn more about Marian, how to approach him to get the names of others on their committee who might have had an argument with Marian, or at least know someone who did. Maybe we could have someone approach him for a donation. It’s Gina’s weekend to be off duty in the clinic in Miami, and she’ll be here Friday afternoon, so how about we ask her to go see Kingsdale with Heck, maybe play up the donation angle, just something to get in the door with him and not tip him off as to why.”

  “Sounds good,” she said and they clinked coffee mugs.

  They were desperate for help. But what Claire didn’t say again was that the last time she asked friends to do an errand for her to find out information, they were all nearly killed.

  32

  “Finally,” Nick said, appearing from behind today’s newspaper which he was reading at the breakfast table. “Marian James’s funeral announcement is here. It’s tomorrow afternoon at three, calling hours one until three. Her next of kin are evidently a niece and nephew from Pensacola. Not much time fo
r people to plan to attend, but then the ME probably kept her body for a long time for a complicated autopsy. The testing for toxins would have dragged out the release of her body.”

  Claire shuddered. Although they hadn’t seen the woman’s corpse close-up, it had looked so dark and terribly twisted from the fire. At a distance, it had reminded her of the Black Bog corpses. And, though she tried to get it out of her mind, she kept remembering Cyndi’s frozen body with that silent scream on her face. Had Marian’s face—had Reaching Woman’s face once—looked that way too?

  “Maybe we should go and see who shows up,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “I’ve heard of cases where the murderer attends a funeral out of curiosity or sick pride.”

  “For sure, Dale won’t go. I wouldn’t let him even if he wanted to.”

  “I didn’t mean he’d go for that reason. Of course, he shouldn’t go. But should we?”

  “Let’s. It’s one of those long obits,” he said, frowning at the paper he handed over. “She was altruistic...concerned about her community...trying to preserve Florida’s history, especially around her beloved Naples...formed the Endangered Properties Committee.”

  “And then she ends up endangered. It’s a good photograph of her.”

  “The two times I tangled with her, she hardly looked like that. Yes, let’s go and keep our eyes open, not only for the committee treasurer Harmon Kingsdale we want to talk to, but any others who might show up we know.

  “Going to brush my teeth and head out,” he told her, popping up. “I’ll kiss Lexi and Trey goodbye as well as my beautiful wife. Did you say Kris is dropping by early?”

  “On her way out to the bog. I’m not going until I get my thoughts together on Monday, but remember I told you Heck is going to meet Kris here to advise him on his invention.”