Harlem Redux (49 page)

“The what?” Sweet stirred. “The slashes?”

“On her wrists. Suicide victims usually make one or two shallow cuts while working up their courage. But Annie described two clean wounds.”

“But the shallow cuts were there. Annie just didn’t see them.”

“But you did?”

“Yes—I did. You can’t trust that old woman’s memory. The shock of finding Lilian’s body probably drove everything else out of her mind.”

“I see. So you want me to believe that the discovery shocked Annie, but it didn’t shock you?”

“I didn’t mean––”

“Of course, you did.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“I don’t have to. They speak for themselves. Every inconsistency reflects a certain truth.”

That nervous tic leapt near Sweet’s right eye.

“I’ve thought a lot about that weekend when my sister supposedly killed herself,” David said. “She told Nella Harding that you’d be gone the entire time. You certainly went to a lot of trouble to make it look that way, setting up an alibi, including a witness. The man who shared your hotel room claims you were there all Sunday night. But we both know he’s lying. It’s easy to buy false testimony. But given time and determination, it’s also easy to break it. I’m sure Epps will think twice when he learns he’s part of a murder investigation.”

Sweet didn’t answer, but his eyes were venomous.

David walked circles around him. “You hid while Nikki Harding searched the house. And came out after he left. Gem suspected that you were here and she wasn’t happy about it. She’d come to fear you. She wasn’t sure why. In her confused state, the best she could do was talk about ghosts.

“You waited until she’d gone to sleep. Then in the night, you crept up on her. As she slept, you took her hand. You uncurled her fingers and—” David raised his hand and, with a swift slicing motion, mimed the flash of a blade over flesh. “The pain woke her. Her eyes snapped open. She saw her blood squirting from her wrist. Perhaps she clapped her other hand over it, but the blood would’ve just bubbled up between her fingers.

“Maybe you went so far as to tell my sister that it was time for her to die. You held the knife away from you so it wouldn’t soil those nice new clothes her money had paid for. Maybe you tilted the knife, turned it this way and that. No doubt some of the blood trickled down onto your hands. Maybe you looked down at them, admired them. For their strength. For their ability to destroy a woman.”

The twitch at the corner of Sweet’s eye was pronounced. He strode to the writing table, pulled out a hidden glass and bottle and poured himself a drink. He gulped half of it down, turned, and eyed David with intense distaste.

“Tell me more. I’m sure there is more.”

“You’re the kind of killer who takes pleasure in explaining how clever he is, so you explained to her what you would tell the police. You would say you found her dead. That she’d been depressed but had refused help. That she’d apparently taken matters into her own hands. That’s all you’d have to say. They would call it suicide for you.

“You went on to tell her how everyone would believe you. That no one would suspect. After all, you’re the man who loved her, the good husband who’d stayed at her side. They’d believe anything you said. And my sister listened, mute from the pain, the terror of finding herself trapped with a monster. Maybe she found her voice and asked you, ‘Why?’ You had the money, the house. Why weren’t you satisfied?

“I can imagine your answer. You thought you were talking to Lilian. She was a wonderful woman. But for a man like you, she was too quiet, too thoughtful. You would love another kind of woman—someone who plays the game of life as you do: a fighter, a dirty player. You wanted Gem. And you were prepared to kill in order to be with her. The great irony is, you killed the very woman you loved.”

Sweet paled as the meaning of David’s words sunk in.

“I’m sure my sister pleaded for her life. I know she fought. For all she was worth. Blood everywhere, Annie said. On the sheets, the canopy, the walls. Drugged or not, Gem would never have died easily. You must’ve had to drag her down, pin her down like an animal, to do what you did.”

Sweet’s eye twitched again. He half turned away.

“Yet you two deserved one another,” David said. “Both ruthless and greedy, disdainful of humanity and unable to love anyone other than yourselves. Gem, unwilling to risk another rejection, determined to have you at all costs. You, driven by a sick love for the woman you couldn’t have and contempt for the one you did.”

Several seconds of hostile silence followed.

Then Sweet tossed back the last of his drink. He set his glass down on the writing table with a thump and turned to face David. His eyes were dull and cold now. Slowly, he raised his big hands in the air and began to applaud loudly, mockingly.

“An excellent performance,” he said. “Too bad you didn’t sell tickets.”

David’s smile was frosty. “Would you like that? A public display? That’s what I want, too. You, charged with premeditated murder in a very public courtroom.”

“What proof do you have? None. If you did, you’d be talking to the police right now.” Sweet was contemptuous. “Where do you get the nerve to accuse me? Where were you when Lilian needed you? I was the one who carried her, who soothed her nightmares and cradled her when she slept. I was the one! Not you!”

Sweet drew himself up. “You have no right to play judge or jury. I know about you. Don’t think I don’t. I contacted an operative down in Philly, a good, no-nonsense kind of guy. Fast, efficient, accurate. I thought he’d have to look far and dig deep, but he said you were easy. It seems you’re a local hero. Marvelous press clippings.”

David’s expression became stone-like.

Sweet laughed. He was enjoying himself. “That’s right. Your secret is a secret no longer, my friend. Soon, everyone who is anyone will know your game. You and your accusations. What a hypocrite!”

David looked Sweet up and down, then shook his head. “You really don’t understand, do you? This isn’t about me. I don’t care what you say about me, as long as you end up behind bars. It might take time, but I will make you pay for what you did.”

Sweet’s nostrils flared.

David said, “Pour yourself another drink. You’re going to need it.” He gave Sweet one last look of contempt, then turned to go. At the doorway, he paused and turned back. “Oh, and one last thing.”

Sweet, caught holding the liquor bottle, looked up.

“While you were gone, Rachel Hamilton and I got married. You know her, I believe?”

Sweet blinked as though he’d been hit. His face drained of expression. “You … and Rachel?”

“She’s at work. I want you gone before she gets back. Pack your bags and get out.”

Sweet sank down in the chair. For a moment, he was silent, his face darken with emotion. He cast his eyes around, looking at his beautiful surroundings. But there was no pride of possession, only a look of bitterness and something else. Something akin to … despair.

Finally, he brought his gaze back to David and got to his feet. He balled his huge hands into fists. “I warn you. I will not let you send me to prison. I’d rather die first. I’ve always been a man to choose my own destiny. Neither you nor anyone else will dictate my end.” With that, he walked out and headed down the hall to the office.

David watched him go with a grim, set expression. A long fight lay ahead. No doubt, Sweet would make good on his threats. He would tell the world about Philadelphia, but David found that he was relieved. He was tired of running and ready for a fight. If public humiliation was the price to pay to see Sweet in jail, then he was willing to pay it.

His first concern was Rachel. He had to protect her. The uproar over his past would hurt her—more than it would hurt him. He cared nothing for the stifling
café au lait
society that would bar them, but Rachel would hunger for entry. He’d had years to prepare for a day of reckoning, but Rachel would be caught like a deer in headlights.

He had to send her somewhere safe, where the vicious tongues would be still. Aunt Clara’s in Chicago. His father’s younger sister was practical, tough-minded, and independent. And she loved a good fight.

Aunt Clara always said that the best defense is a good offense. He had to find proof that Sweet killed Gem. He’d considered having Gem’s remains exhumed. Of course, Sweet would fight it, but David felt that he could box it through. He rubbed his jaw. An exhumation would demonstrate the switch in identities, but would it yield proof that Sweet wielded the knife?

First things first. He had received word that the druggist’s report was ready. Finally, but finally, he might receive some empirical evidence to use against Sweet. He paused. Of course, that could be a double-edged sword, couldn’t it? He paused. He would have to take the bad with the good, that’s all. He’d just have to take the bad with the good.

The druggist greeted David with a smile. He was a kindly man with short gray hair and a gray goatee. “I’ve got to some good news for you,” he said, when David stood before over the counter.

David felt himself inwardly relax. Finally. Progress.

“There wasn’t nothing wrong with that medicine you brought in,” the druggist said.

David was stunned. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. No doubt about it. It’s harmless stuff. Bet you’re glad to hear that, huh?”

David didn’t answer.

Now, the old man frowned. He peered down from his raised counter and asked, “Just what’d you think you’d find?”

What indeed?

David said nothing. With mixed feelings, he paid for the analysis, and turned away. He was gravely disappointed. That report would have been helpful in pushing through to have Gem’s remains exhumed. Without it, he would simply have to find something else. He had intentionally told Sweet about his suspicions in order to rattle him. He hoped Sweet would do something rash, something incriminating, and he would be there to catch him.

At the same time, he was deeply relieved. The results meant that at least one nasty, brooding suspicion could be put to rest. And for that, he was grateful.

As he headed back to the house, his thoughts stayed with Rachel. She would soon be at the epicenter of a storm. He would have to prepare her, find a way to tell her
in a coherent way,
a way she’ll understand,
about Jonah and Philadelphia.

He happened to see a flower shop. On impulse, he crossed the street, went in and bought her a dozen roses. They were lovely, but the moment he walked out with them, his heart sank. Rachel would know that something was wrong the moment he gave them to her.

36.
 
Heavy Bracelets

In hindsight, David would remember sensing a new heaviness to the air when he opened his front door and stepped inside that evening. But at the time, all he noticed was a particularly bleak silence.

“Rachel?” he called out. No answer. That was odd. She should have been home by then. Perhaps, something had happened at the hospital to delay her. “Annie?” No answer there, either.

He laid the flowers on the vestibule side table and hung up
his coat. He wondered if Sweet were still there, in Augustus’s office. If not, then perhaps he could get in there again, have another look around. Perhaps, he’d missed something that first time in. This time, he’d be more thorough. This time, he’d make sure he found something that would help topple the pretender from the throne.

He started past the parlor, headed for the office, but then he noticed that the parlor doors were oddly half open, neither fully closed nor open, and his eye caught an even odder flash of color, low down, where it shouldn’t have been. He paused, took a step back and inclined his head for a better look. For a split second, he didn’t move. Then he strode to the parlor doors and shoved them apart.