Natural Suspect (2001) (20 page)

Devin drove to Trent Ballard's apartment house in the hope that Trent would agree to set over the case until she could contact Julia and try to talk her into coming back. If that failed, Devin was prepared to go to Judge Hardy and ask for a mistrial. She would inform the judge about her tryst with Trent at the convention and claim that there was a conflict of interest if Trent remained on the case. She would tell the judge that Trent's last-minute appointment had surprised her and it had taken her a while to work out the ethical implications. There was a danger that Trent would want his quickie with Devin becoming general knowledge around the courthouse. Bragging about his hot-tub adventure would help Trent heighten his reputation as a lady-killer. But Devin hoped that Trent would be enough of a gentleman to agree to the set over in chambers, so the press would not learn the reason for it.

Devin found a parking spot across from Trent's apartment. Devin ran through the snow and was covered with flakes by the time she reached the shelter of the lobby. Trent's apartment was on the top floor.

Devin took the elevator up. She was surprised to find the door to Trent's apartment open. The assistant D
. A
. was sitting on the couch staring at something. Devin entered the apartment.

"Trent?"

He looked up and Devin could see that the D
. A
. was scared.

"They killed him."

Devin followed his gaze and her mouth opened in horror. There was a lighting fixture in the center of Trent's living room and Buck, his pet rabbit, was swinging back and forth from it. Pinned to Buck's chest was a note:
you've been warned.

When they were in the hot tub, Trent had told Devin about Buck. His affection for the fluffy animal had seduced her and, in the heat of passion, he'd actually called her his "wittle wabbit."

Devin closed and locked the hall door, then sat beside Trent on the sofa. She put an arm around his shoulders and knew that his sorrow was real when he made no attempt to grope her.

"Who did this?" Devin asked.

"I've been a fool, Devin," Trent said. "I've gotten in over my head."

"Does this have anything to do with Arthur Hightowers murder?"

Trent nodded. Devin pushed Trent away, held him by his shoulders, and looked him in the eye.

"What have you done?"

Trent made eye contact for a moment. Then his head dropped.

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"If it got out, my career would be over and I could be putting you in danger."

"Trent, I came here to talk to you about Julia's case. There are a lot of things that you don't know. I'm certain Julia was framed for Arthur's murder, but I don't know who is behind the frame. If we put what you know together with what I know, we might be able to break this case wide open."

Trent considered what she'd said. Then he sighed.

"The day it was announced that I was taking over the case, Marilyn
Hightower approached me while I was walking Buck. I had no idea who she was, but she was gorgeous, sexy, and had nothing but nice things to say about Buck. One thing led to another and we ended up here.

"While we were . . . you know, she wheedled out of me the fact that I was trying the Hightower case. She asked if she could see the evidence. I resisted at first, but she broke me down. I snuck her into my office at two in the morning. When she saw the autopsy photos, Marilyn grew faint, or she pretended to be faint. When I came back with a glass of water, she seemed to be better.

"On the way back to my place, Marilyn revealed that she was Arthur Hightowers daughter. I was stunned. She said that no one needed to know that she had been alone with the evidence and she hinted that she had done something to it. I knew I would be through if I told anyone.

"Last night, Marilyn visited me again. She said that she wanted me to do something when the trial resumed." "What?"

"I dont know. I told her I didn't want to know what it was and I wouldn't do anything more. She told me to think about it. Then she left. A short time later, someone called and said they had absolute proof that your client killed Arthur Hightower. We arranged to meet, but no one showed up. When I got back here ..."

Trent could not go on.

"Do you think Marilyn is behind this?"

"Who else could be?"

"I think that there are two groups at work."

Devin told Trent about the cross-dressing assassin who was trying to help Julia and some of the other things she'd learned.

"So you think the people who are trying to keep Morgan and Marilyn from inheriting killed Buck to scare me away from helping Marilyn?"

"I don't know. Marilyn isn't in this alone. I'm certain of that. The people she's working with could have killed Buck to force you to do what Marilyn wants."

Trent was about to say something when he noticed the knob on th
e h
all door turning. He put a finger to his lips and crossed the room quietly. Then he wedged a chair under the doorknob. In the silence, Trent and Devin could hear someone picking the lock. Trent gestured toward his bedroom. As soon as they were inside, Trent locked the bedroom door and opened the window. There was a fire escape outside it. Devin ducked her head and crawled through the window. She was hit immediately by a blast of freezing air that rocked her backward. Trent followed and closed the window just as the front door shattered. He pointed down and Devin began descending the ice-coated iron steps. Her foot slipped and she started to fall. Trent's strong fingers clamped onto her arm and arrested her flight. She took one deep breath then started down again.

Trent was right behind her, urging Devin to move faster. When they were halfway down, the window of Trent's apartment exploded and slivers of glass mixed with the falling snow. One large shard just missed Devin's cheek because she flung herself against the ladder. Someone shouted, "There they are!" and Devin looked up to see two men in pea-coats and ski masks racing down the ladder after them.

Devin sped up her descent and widened the distance between her and her pursuers. The alleyway at the side of Trent's building was only a story away. They would be able to drop into the snow in a moment more and race to her car. Relief spread through her, then instandy turned to fear. The alley dead-ended against a building and someone was blocking the opening to the street.

When they were
sated, Julia and Patrick lay side by side with their hands entwined.

"I can't believe that Arthur was the victim of a conspiracy," Julia said.

"Conspiracies do exist, Julia, and you're enmeshed in one."

"But who . . . ?"

"Your son, Morgan, for one."

"Morgan!" Julia laughed. "He doesn't have the brains or the energy to conspire against someone."

"You may have underestimated Morgan. He's the one who gave the order to throw me overboard from the
Starry Night"

"But why would he do that?"

"I saw him tossing Joe Kelloggs head into the river."

"Morgan murdered Joe?"

"No. He might have given the order but I'm certain that a seven-foot-tall maniac in a clown outfit, who likes to torture people, killed Kellogg."

"But why?"

"Have you ever heard of Robert Rutledge?"

Julia frowned. "That name sounds familiar, but. . . no."

"Cordelia, Morgan's mistress, is his personal assistant."

"Morgan has a mistress?"

"And an illegitimate child, I suspect."

"Hmm. Maybe there's more to Morgan than I thought."

"Rutledge is the head of Hammer, Crain and Rutledge, a Wall Street firm that made an unsuccessful attempt to take over Hightower Oil. The attempt failed because Arthur blocked it. With Arthur dead, I think Rutledge is trying again. Kellogg was Hammer Crain's attorney. If you're convicted, Morgan and Marilyn inherit everything, including control of Hightower Oil. I think Kellogg was trying to get Morgan and Marilyn to sell that control to Rutledge. Cordelia, Morgan's mistress, started working for Rutledge. I think Morgan talked Cordelia into being his mole in Hammer Crain."

Something Patrick had said started Julia thinking. "From what you've told me, Morgan and Marilyn have the best motives for killing Arthur and framing me. One thing that links me to Arthur's murder is the pearl necklace that he had in his hand when we found him. But I'm not the only one who had a string of pearls like the one Arthur was clutching: Morgan and Marilyn had identical pearl necklaces."

A determined look took hold of Julia's features. She stood up and called to the captain.

"Turn around. We're heading back to shore."

Patrick smiled. "I knew you wouldn't quit and run."

"I'm convinced that Morgan or Marilyn murdered Arthur," she said.

"All we have to do is find out which of them is missing a pearl necklace and we'll have our killer."

Sissy Hightower lived
at the Hightower estate, but she kept an apartment in Brooklyn Heights under the name of Jacqueline Dupre. Sissy had told Morgan that she was visiting a girlfriend in the city and would sleep at her apartment. Morgan had not seemed to care. In fact, he'd encouraged her to spend as much time as she wanted, which was okay by Sissy, because she could take him for only so long. Marrying Morgan had been a means to an end, but she'd paid a big price. Thank God, Morgan had almost no sex drive. When they did make love it gave new meaning to the idea of having a quickie.

Keeping in shape was important for a spy. Whenever she had the chance, Sissy practiced Mo Ped, an exotic martial art developed in the jungles of Togo, pumped iron, and ran. Tonight, Sissy was finishing a ten-mile run by crossing the Brooklyn Bridge on the way back to her apartment. She was dressed in black, skintight spandex pants and a black windbreaker, and a rape whistle hung around her neck. Her hood was up, concealing her face. A section of the bridge was in the shadows cast by one of the massive steel supports. Stefan Ghorse stepped into her path.

"Nice togs," he said.

Sissy stopped short. She was always amazed that someone Stefan's size, dressed as bizarrely as he usually dressed, could move so quietly and go unnoticed. Then she remembered that they were in New York, the only city on Earth where a cross-dressing giant looks normal.

"Jesus, Stefan, you scared the shit out of me."

"That was my intention."

He was holding a silenced pistol and it was aimed between her ample breasts.

"I like your outfit," Sissy said sarcastically. The behemoth was dressed in skintight Lycra and a wig, pulled back in a ponytail. He would be a mirror image of Sissy--if Sissy were a professional basketball player.

Stefan pointed towards Sissys Nike Trainers. "Nice sneakers, gringo. I like your sneakers. Maybe you give me your sneakers?" he said in a bad Mexican accent.

"The Treasure of the Sierra Madre."

"Right, but you only get one point. It was too easy."

"Whats the gun for?"

Ghorse smiled sadistically.

"We're going to do something I've always wanted--have a nice chat in a secluded place. I always thought that you could stand a lot of pain. Now I'm going to find out."

If I can take this drivel, I can take anything, Sissy thought, but out loud she said seductively, "I'm not big on torture, but we could go someplace quiet and do something else."

She winked and Stefan shook his head.

"That wasn't very convincing, Sissy. Sorry, I have my orders from the O. If you'd followed yours, instead of interfering with the Organization's plans for Hightower Oil, I wouldn't have to kill you."

"Can't we work something out?" she begged. "I couldn't help it if I fell in love with Morgan. You can't punish me for that."

Stefan laughed. "The only person you've ever been in love with is yourself."

Sissy grabbed hold of the whistle she wore around her neck.

"Go ahead and blow," Stefan snickered, flicking the point of his pistol in either direction. "Who's going to hear you?"

Cars were whizzing by too fast for their drivers to suspect that anything unusual was going on between the two people dressed in jogging gear, and there were no runners or bicyclists anywhere near them.

Sissy pointed the mouth of the whistle at Stefan and pressed the concealed trigger. The .45 caliber slug smashed into Stefan and sent him tumbling backward over the bridge railing.

"Hasta la vista,
"Sissy
yelled to his fast-disappearing form. She started to turn, but stopped when she thought she heard Stefan yelling back in a bad Austrian accent. The phrase he screamed sounded like, "I'll be Bach."

Sissy was puzzled. Why, at the moment of his death, would Stefan want to be a composer of classical music? Perhaps he believed in reincarnation. Sissy shook her head. Everyone faced death differently.

Sissy reloaded her whistle and started back to her apartment. If Stefan had been ordered by the O to torture and kill her, another assassin would be hot on her heels as soon as the Organization learned that Stefan had failed. She'd have to evacuate immediately.