Alex was frightened, truly frightened, but when she saw the colonel, she smiled and saluted tentatively. He wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry about Mark. I still can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I.”
“What the hell is going on, Alex?” he began, pulling up a chair, facing her across the oblong Formica table.
“Can you get me out of here?” She was tempted to say, “Spring me,” but thought better of it.
“Alex, it’s complicated. I told them I was your attorney, but I’m just a visitor, I’m not allowed to form an attorney-client relationship outside of the service—hell, not even that anymore, since I retired. I can tell you the kinds of things I would look at. You need your own criminal-defense attorney. I called a friend of mine. He should be here soon. His name is Red Cross.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, his real name is Redmond Cross, but he has a head full of curly red hair, so the name stuck. Sometimes they call him Red Flag.”
“Is that a warning?”
“Not to you. It’s a danger signal to the other side. He’s always on the winning team.”
“You make this sound like a football game.”
“No, but it is a game of strategy. And he’s a master,” the colonel said. “Now, have you said anything to the police yet?”
“I have nothing to hide.” This was sounding more and more like a bad episode of Law and Order.
“Don’t say anything until your lawyer gets here.”
“That would be Red Cross?” Alex repeated.
“Don’t underestimate him. He’s got one of the most brilliant legal minds in the country. If I killed a man, I’d want Red Cross defending me.”
“It sounds like you think I’m guilty.”
“Did I ask you if you were guilty? I specifically did not ask if you were guilty.” The colonel continued in an obvious effort to cheer her up. “There’s a funny story about Red’s daddy. He’s a judge down in Texas. Judge Cross used to have a tie contest every day in his courtroom after the lunch break. Everyone was eligible—defense attorneys, the prosecution, even the witnesses. Every morning when he addressed the court he’d announce his contest to determine who had the most colorful tie. Red’s daddy wore his Grateful Dead tie in the courtroom every day.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Alex asked.
“I’m just trying to break the tension. We’re going to get through this. Now, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I don’t mind telling you or the police anything. I’m innocent.” Could this dialogue get any cornier?
“The less you say to the police, the better,” the colonel advised.
He proceeded to ask a lot of questions, just not the question. Did she do it? That he didn’t want to know. As if he honestly thought she could kill her own husband. Not that she hadn’t wanted to strangle him last night, but she definitely did not kill him, and she wished to God he were still alive so she could give him a piece of her mind.
“I told Red they’d searched your house without a warrant. That will play in our favor, unless they had a very good reason to be suspicious.”
“I had blood on my nightgown, or what they thought was blood. It could have been my blood. They obviously thought it was Mark’s blood.”
“What’s your story?” the Colonel asked gently.
“My story is I was home alone, asleep, when the police practically busted down my door and told me Mark was dead before they arrested me.”
“When did you leave the gallery opening?”
“Around nine p.m., right before the storm hit.”
“Vicky and I saw you leave with the artist. You looked upset.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I was in sort of a hurry to get out of there.”
“When’s the last time you talked to Mark, saw him alive?”
“When I left the gallery.”
“Why didn’t you leave with him?”
“Why don’t you ask his girlfriend?”
“Mark had another woman?”
“Yes, didn’t you catch all the drama at the gallery? Apparently, he’s been seeing her for months, about as long as he’s been out of work. She was not only the mistress of the gallery—she was Mark’s mistress. Those pictures of the couple you saw plastered all over the gallery last night, those were of Mark and Elizabeth Diamond. And now everyone in town knows about their affair.”
“Mark wasn’t working?”
“No. The man was full of secrets.”
“And you never knew?”
“About the affair or the job?”
“Both.”
“No.”
Wasn’t this where he was supposed to say something about motive and opportunity? She was joking about a situation that was anything but funny. Suddenly, reality hit, and Alex broke down in tears.
The colonel reached out his hand to grasp hers and stop her from shaking.
“It’s going to be okay, Alex. I promise you that. This guy I’ve called is great. He’s beaten a bunch of murder raps.”
Alex continued to bawl. If the colonel, the husband of her best friend, thought she was guilty of murder, then what hope did she ever have of getting out of this place?
Her entire future depended on a man named Red Cross. This was a domestic disaster. She was doomed.
Chapter Thirty-One
Red Cross to the Rescue
“Hello, ma’am, I’m Red Cross.” The man who sat in front of her, sporting a shock of the brightest fire-engine red hair she’d ever seen, extended his hand. He was short and stocky. His grip was crippling but at the same time comforting. His smile was disarming.
“Red Cross to the rescue?” she posed. If this wasn’t a five-alarm disaster, she didn’t know what was.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one,” said Red Cross. “When the colonel called me, I flew right in. I’d do anything for that man.”
“He’s pretty great,” Alex agreed. “So you came all the way here from Texas?”
“Not directly. I’ve been in three cities in three days. All the flights were routed through Atlanta. I feel like I’m in that movie Groundhog Day. Every day I sit in the same terminal, in the same concourse, Concourse C, use the same restroom and the same urinal.”
“Are you sure your name’s not Red Skelton?”
“Is that a smile? It means you still have your sense of humor. That’s important. First, let me say I’m sorry for your loss.”
Tears glistened in Alex’s eyes.
“Thank you. The police didn’t even give me time to digest the fact that my husband was dead before they charged me with his murder. And I can’t even plan my own husband’s funeral. Vicky and the colonel are going to take care of that for me. What if I have to miss his funeral? I will if I’m still stuck in here.”
“We’re going to ask for an emergency bond hearing,” Red assured. He shuffled through some papers in his briefcase and brought out a blank notepad and a pen.
“The colonel tells me you have twin daughters,” he began. “If they’re even half as beautiful as their mother…”
This man thought she was beautiful, with bleary eyes, unwashed hair, and wearing an ugly old prison-issue shift that her personal shopper would find highly offensive.
Red Cross was a charmer, all right. She warmed to him immediately and promptly lost all her composure.
“I haven’t even told my girls about their father,” Alex sniffled through tear-stained eyes. “Vicky’s picking them up from the university. Everyone thinks I murdered my husband. Can you help me?”
“Yes, ma’am. First, I’d like to ask you some questions. But before I do, is there anyone else you want me to contact? Are your parents still alive?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do with my situation?”
“We may need their help if we try to arrange bail.”
“Mark and I have money,” I said, then corrected herself. “I
mean I have money.” She was going to have to start remembering Mark was really gone.
“Have you checked your bank accounts lately?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just that in situations like these, people find out how little they really know their spouse.”
Alex frowned. So now the whole world really did know Mark had cheated on her, even this attorney from Texas.
“I’d like you to write down your parents’ contact numbers, and I’ll notify them. Then I’ll check your bank accounts, if you’d like.”
Alex nodded. “I’ve already contacted my mother, but Mark wouldn’t have done anything like that. I’m sure the money is all accounted for. Feel free to check.”
“What do your parents do?” asked Red Cross.
“My mom’s a retired schoolteacher. My dad retired from the power company in Jacksonville after thirty-five years. Before that he was a health inspector at Woodstock.”
Red Cross looked up from his notes.
“A health inspector at Woodstock? Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“My father took a summer job right out of college as a part-time state health inspector and headed to Bethel, New York, for a small music and art festival. They were expecting about 50,000 kids. To make a long story short, I guess he realized that trying to uphold sanitation standards in a crowd of half a million hippies was as futile as putting your finger in the dyke to hold back the flood. That would have been like holding back history. My dad shut down one hot-dog-roasting hippie before he deemed the situation hopeless, gave up, and decided to join the party. Then he met my mother. My father says he remembers four things about Woodstock—the music, the mud, my mother, and me.”
“You?”
“I was conceived on the tenth anniversary of Woodstock. I think that’s why I’m so passionate about my art.
“When he met her, my mother was a gorgeous girl who looked a lot like Jackie Kennedy, with porcelain skin, alluring brown eyes, and luxurious hair the color of sable, with a gap between her teeth. My girls call it Granny’s generation gap. People always say I resemble my mother, but without the gap.
“It was the beginning of a great love story—until my parents got divorced. I got custody of my mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“She never quite got over the divorce. She and Dad don’t have much to do with each other. I’m pretty much responsible for Mom now. He moved on. She didn’t.”
“Could your dad be counted on to help you out?”
“Like I said, my parents are retired. They don’t have much money, and I don’t want to ask them. I can handle the bail myself.”
“Okay, let’s switch gears and talk about motive. We’ve interviewed some of the patrons at the art show, Mrs. Newborn. A number of them overheard the artist Nick Anselmo say he would kill your husband if he hurt you again.”
Alex shook her head. “That was just an expression. We’ve all said things like that.”
“What do you think he meant by that?”
“He could see I was upset. I’d just learned that my husband was having an affair with the gallery owner. Their pictures were displayed in the gallery for everyone in the room to see. My husband and his mistress had publicly humiliated me.”
“How well do you know this man? I understand he’s homeless.”
“He was my art professor in college. He fell on some hard times after his wife died, but he’s no killer.”
“Are you sure? We’ve checked out his background. He’s a drifter. He’s disappeared again, it seems, without a trace.”
“Mr. Cross, Nick was defeated, but he wasn’t violent. He chose to live the homeless life.”
“When was the last time you saw Nick Anselmo?” Red asked.
“He was with me, we were together after the opening.”
“Where?”
Alex paused.
“I need you to answer the question.”
“On the beach.”
“So you last saw the man on the beach where your husband’s body washed up on shore, after you had just found out your husband was cheating on you.”
“He was trying to calm me down.”
“Do you know how that looks?”
“I know it looks bad, but I promise you, Nick had nothing to do with Mark’s murder.”
“Mrs. Newborn, I have to ask. Were you two having an affair?”
Alex colored.
“No. We were just friends.” She knew the lawyer could read her thoughts. She had wanted to be more than friends with Nick Anselmo. She had kissed him out on the beach, after all.
“Was he in love with you?”
“No.” She was certain of that. How could he be in love with her? He’d left without even saying goodbye. Had he read about her predicament? It was all over the newspapers. If so, did he even care?
“If that were true, the jury might think you conspired with your lover to murder your husband.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Your side, Mrs. Newborn. But as your attorney I have to look at all sides.”
“Why don’t you question Mark’s lover, Bitsy Diamond?” Alex suggested.
“The police have questioned her,” said Red Cross, “and I’ve reviewed the transcripts. She admitted to seeing Mark last night after the opening. He came to her house and they fought. She said Mark came at her with a knife and she had to defend herself. She picked up an edger on her property and deflected the knife. She may have panicked and stabbed him with it, but she claims he was alive when she locked herself inside her house for her own protection.”
“Is she in jail?” By rights, that woman should be cooling her heels in the slammer instead of me. Why I’m being singled out is a mystery, when there are enough suspects for a game of Cutthroat. But the police are not looking very hard in other directions because they’re convinced I’m the guilty party. I’m a painter, not a killer.
“Apparently the police who questioned her felt they didn’t have enough evidence to bring her in, but I disagree. She had motive and opportunity. She lived on the beach where the body washed up. Mark’s prints were found on the knife and all over the bedroom and living room. His car was found parked in her driveway. But if they were lovers, he would have had easy access to her house. And there’s another thing, Mrs. Newborn. I hesitate to tell you this, but this woman claims to be pregnant with Mark’s child.”
Alex sagged. Elizabeth was pregnant? Could this day get any worse? Well, that answered a lot of questions about why her love life had sunk into oblivion.
“I wouldn’t believe a word that lying woman had to say.”
“Your husband seems to have had some problems,” said the attorney.
“Yes, apparently he was having retrieval problems.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was having trouble retrieving his—”
Red Cross frowned. “You’re angry. You have every right to be.”
“He really was a bastard,” Alex said, dropping her head into her hands.
“I won’t ask if you hated him enough to kill him. But the jury will, if it comes to that.”
“I swear I didn’t. I loved my husband, Mr. Cross. I’d give everything I had if he could be here with me right now.”
“You know, in Texas, we have an expression to justify a wife who wants to get rid of her philandering husband. We call it the Smith & Wesson divorce defense.”
Alex stared at him blankly. Did this man think she’d shot her husband? She didn’t even own a gun. And this wasn’t a divorce. It was more final than that.
“A little legal humor to break the ice,” Red Cross apologized.
Alex frowned.
“Now back to the murder weapon, or what we think was the murder weapon. The police found the edger on Ms. Diamond’s property, but she denied that it belonged to her. They’re testing it right now for prints. She said the tool belonged to the man who did her lawn. That he’d left it at her house. She n
amed him. It was Dominick Anselmo, the same Nick Anselmo who was overheard arguing with your husband at the gallery opening.”
“I told you, Nick Anselmo didn’t murder Mark,” Alex protested.
“Do you know that for a fact?”
“I know that Nick’s not that kind of a man,” Alex said, shifting in her seat. Nick could have done it. She’d left him on the beach almost right where the body had washed up. Then, according to her lawyer, he’d left town. But she wasn’t going to implicate him like Elizabeth had. And she didn’t believe he was capable of the crime, either.
“The way it looks to me, and the way it will look to a jury, is that Nick Anselmo had both motive and opportunity. And so did you, it seems.”
“I told you, I was at home when my husband died. And Nick couldn’t have murdered Mark. He was with me the whole night.” Alex bowed her head.
“I thought you told the colonel you were home alone during the storm. And you just told me you had last seen Mr. Anselmo on the beach the night before.”
“No. He must have been confused. How would it look if I’d said a man I wasn’t married to spent the night at my house?”
“A minute ago you told me you weren’t having an affair with Nick Anselmo. Do you want to rethink your answer?”
“No. Nick was with me. We weren’t having an affair. He had no place to go. I couldn’t turn him away in a storm. He needed protection.”
“As my client, it’s my job to protect you. And there are ways of determining if people are telling the truth. Let me ask you again, and I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Did Nick Anselmo spend the night at your house?”
Alex didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Newborn, our strategy will be to cast doubt on a number of other suspects.”
“I think Elizabeth Diamond is more capable of murder than Nick. Have they found Nick?”
“No. They’ve checked the homeless shelter and the soup kitchen. His boss, Mr. Reed, hasn’t seen him. He just disappeared into thin air. There’s a warrant out for his arrest. The guard at the clothing store said he saw a man fitting Nick’s description near the building on the beach the next morning. And they found some wet clothing in a pile in the restroom floor at the store that had some papers with your husband’s name on them. They found blood on the clothing. They’re testing it.”
Groundwork for Murder Page 17
