Acts of Malice (11 page)

‘‘I know all about it. Everybody on Ski Patrol is talking about it. God, what a circus. Alex would be so disgusted. He died doing what he loved to do. It’s very simple.’’ She went on about the newspapers and the complications, starting up another cigarette when the first was half smoked.

‘‘I’m sorry about your husband,’’ Nina said when Marianne wound down.

‘‘Oh, yes, we all are. My poor Alex. I’m desolate.’’

She did not look desolate. But of course, Nina reminded herself, grief takes many forms. ‘‘How is Jim?’’ Marianne went on.

‘‘He’s getting along. I believe my secretary told you I had a few questions about Alex.’’

‘‘Yes, she did. I know all about you. Jim has asked you to help the family sort out some details. I understand that the coroner has made an awful mistake,’’ Marianne said almost gaily. ‘‘So please, fire away.’’ She seemed to be enjoying the attention. Her moods shifted faster than Nina could keep up with them.

‘‘The coroner has filed a report which concludes that Alex was murdered,’’ Nina said. ‘‘Essentially.’’

‘‘What an asshole. Honestly. For chrissake, Alex never held back on the snow. He’d broken half the bones in his body already. He always went for it. I hate to say it,’’ her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘‘but it was going to happen someday, you know?’’

‘‘There’s a chance that Jim will be arrested.’’

‘‘Oh, it’s all so stupid. Jim’s got his problems, but kill Alex? Never,’’ Marianne said. ‘‘Alex was his double, his shadow. No way.’’

‘‘What problems are we talking about, Marianne?’’ Nina said, leaning forward in her chair.

‘‘What did I say? Problems? Oh, no, I’m not going to get myself in more trouble with Jim. I was only trying to help, but he’s holding it against me. It’s infuriating! Would you talk to him? Explain that I deserve a little sympathy? My husband is dead and he won’t even come over and comfort me!’’

‘‘Maybe if you explained a little more to me, Marianne—about Jim, and why he’s angry—maybe I could talk to him.’’

‘‘He hasn’t talked about me? Not at all?’’

‘‘Yes, he has.’’

‘‘What did he say?’’ the girl asked eagerly.

‘‘Well, he told me about your being from France—’’

‘‘Chamonix. My father was a ski instructor there. My mother is from Rio. She couldn’t stand the winters. She couldn’t even stand up on skis. She left us when I was six. What else did he say?’’

‘‘He said you are a champion snowboarder.’’

This brought a self-satisfied smile. Gesturing at the trophy case, Marianne said, ‘‘Actually, I met Jim before Alex. We met four years ago at the United States Extreme Championships at Crested Butte. I took fourth in the Women’s. But downhill isn’t my event. Really. It’s for maniacs, let’s be honest. Let the crazy local girls break their legs and tear their tendons. I don’t do that anymore. I do freestyle. You know, tricks. It’s safer in a lot of ways. You don’t have to go so fast that you’ll certainly break something if you go out of control. One, two, three tricks and you’re done. It’s over. I’ll be performing at Paradise two weeks from next Friday at the Festival of Lights. Come and see me.’’

‘‘Sounds good. You were saying?’’

‘‘Oh, yes, Jim invited me to California for a weekend and I stayed and became the snowboarding instructor at Paradise.’’ She tossed her head and said, ‘‘We were together for six months, then we had a big fight and he started seeing Heidi. Alex and I began going out, and we married. That was two years ago.’’

She was looking at Nina’s chest in a frank, not really offensive manner. She was one of those women who compares herself physically to every other woman she meets.

‘‘So you’re a lawyer,’’ she said. ‘‘Does that mean Jim has to tell you all his secrets? You must get very close to your clients.’’

‘‘Not that close,’’ Nina said. Marianne laughed again.

‘‘I have a dirty mind,’’ she said.

‘‘So Jim’s mad at you?’’

‘‘Obviously. And I was only trying to help.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Because Heidi was screwing around, and I told him. He’s mad at the messenger, that’s all.’’ She put out the latest cigarette and got up. Walking over to the mobile, she gave it a push and it began to spin. ‘‘Pretty, isn’t it?’’ Marianne said. ‘‘It cost enough. So. What do you think? Should I have kept my mouth closed?’’

‘‘I guess I’d need a few more details to be able to answer that.’’

‘‘I heard her a couple of weeks ago on the phone in the equipment room, talking to her lover. She was afraid Jim might find out. I don’t know who her lover was. She knew a lot of men.’’

Nina tried to look skeptical.

‘‘She was really involved with this guy,’’ Marianne said, her tone insistent. ‘‘It was clear from the way she talked to him.’’

‘‘How well do you know her? Heidi?’’

‘‘Oh. I know her very well. But we don’t get along. She thinks snowboarders are stupid. That’s because she’s too big to be good at it. She’s a big cow with muscles like a man’s. Just a minute.’’ She left and came back with a couple of bottles of Evian water. Nina unscrewed the cap and drank the pure water thirstily.

‘‘Please don’t tell Jim I called Heidi a cow. It’s just between us,’’ Marianne said. ‘‘He still loves her, but he’s bound to get over that soon enough now that she’s left him. Oh, did you think that was a secret? Everybody knows she accused him of killing Alex and took off. She’s probably with the other man right now.’’ Her eyes glittered.

‘‘So you told Jim about this conversation Heidi had?’’

‘‘Of course. Out of respect for him. Out of friendship. So he wouldn’t go around with the horns on. You should have seen his face.’’ She gave the mobile another spin. ‘‘Americans don’t take this sort of thing very well. He should thank me. He’s treating me like shit instead. Would you tell him that?’’

‘‘Oh, yes, I’ll definitely take it up with him,’’ Nina said. ‘‘Did you tell the police that you had told Jim about his wife’s affair?’’

‘‘I didn’t volunteer, if that’s what you mean. An officer came and asked me questions. I had to answer, naturally.’’

‘‘Naturally,’’ Nina said. ‘‘So tell me. Where were you the day Alex died? Just for my records.’’

‘‘I didn’t kill my husband. How ridiculous! It was an accident!’’

‘‘Then you won’t mind answering my question.’’

‘‘I was snowboarding, but a long way away from them. I knew Alex would go off-piste. Off the groomed trail, you know. I play it safe. I’m only a daredevil when somebody pays me. So, the accident happened when I was on the other side of the mountain. It was a beautiful day, how it gets after a fine thick snowfall in the night.’’

‘‘You were with friends?’’

‘‘I’m too good for my friends,’’ Marianne said. ‘‘Remember, I am a pro.’’

‘‘Who might have seen you out there?’’

‘‘I saw Jim on the Ogre. That was some time before the accident. I carried my beeper and when I got buzzed I went down to the lodge and checked in. Alex was already on his way to the hospital with Philip and Jim. Heidi was still on the mountain somewhere. My— The night host took me there. It was such a hideous shock.’’

Nina was watching her closely, looking for signs of genuine sorrow on that hard handsome face. She saw none.

‘‘Les jours s’en vont, je demeure,’’
Marianne said, shrugging. ‘‘We had a lot of fun together.’’ That seemed to be her final word on the subject of her husband’s death. She was still standing a few feet from Nina, a black-clad gamine made of steel.

‘‘I’m getting too old to keep up with these sixteen-year-olds. I am going to retire, I think.’’ Marianne went on firmly. ‘‘In fact, I’m quite sure of it. Maybe I’ll go home to France and leave your big messy country. I’d like to get Jim’s advice about it.’’

‘‘I suppose there was some insurance. And Alex’s share in the resort. You’ll be able to afford it,’’ Nina said.

‘‘My money is my private business,’’ Marianne said. ‘‘Look, I have places to go.’’

‘‘Sure,’’ Nina said. ‘‘Absolutely. But there’s just one more thing I’d like to ask.’’

‘‘Yes?’’

‘‘Was Heidi’s lover your husband? Was it Alex?’’

Marianne’s face went red. ‘‘Stupid, stupid question,’’ she said. ‘‘You think I would stand for that? Talk about him this way? Of course not! Alex was very much in love with me! With Heidi? I don’t think so!’’

‘‘You have no idea who it is?’’

‘‘If I did, I would have told Jim!’’

‘‘Just asking,’’ Nina said. She shouldered her bag. ‘‘I’ll show myself out.’’

‘‘Wait!’’ Marianne grabbed Nina’s arm and squeezed it. ‘‘Look. I’ve helped him by talking to you. I’m on his side. He owes me—you’re putting me off—I need to talk to him—’’

For just a second, experiencing the strength of the glowing young athlete in front of her, she was ready to believe many things about Marianne.

‘‘Take your hand off me,’’ Nina said grimly.

‘‘You need to lift weights,’’ Marianne said. ‘‘Your muscle tone is really bad.’’ She let go. Nina went outside and Marianne slammed the door behind her.

As she came out onto the steps, breathing hard, angry, Nina saw a dirty pair of ski boots off to the left by a supply closet, still dripping wet. She didn’t give a shit what Marianne thought, if she was watching. She went over and picked up a boot.

They weren’t Tecnicas. They also weren’t Marianne’s. They were men’s boots, an unfamiliar brand called Dalbello, much bigger than Marianne would wear. She looked at the metal sole. A different pattern, but a pattern.

Whose boots were they?

10

NO ONE WANTED to be snatched from Tahoe’s sunshine and squashed into the poorly lit squad room on that Monday afternoon. Not Doc Clauson, the coroner for the County of El Dorado, Tahoe Division. Not Officer Floyd Drummond, who had taken Heidi Strong’s statement the week before. Not the pudgy D.A.’s investigator, Sean Voorhies, and not the two deputy D.A.’s.

Barbara Banning, the Tahoe D.A.’s office’s newest deputy, was inspecting her nails, and the entire roomful of men was watching her do it.

Collier watched her watching them watch her.

Barbara would go far. She had a quick mind, middle-class sex appeal, and an inexorableness that reduced most of her defendants to road kill. Today, Henry McFarland, their boss, had assigned Barbara to ‘‘help’’ decide what to do about the Alex Strong investigation. McFarland didn’t quite trust Collier.

Fair enough.

Collier looked down at his notes one more time. He didn’t want to be there either—because he didn’t need a loser case in his first month back.

‘‘Okay,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s get started. We’re here to look at the Strong situation. It’s been over two weeks since the guy skied off the cliff. We have to arrest the brother for something or back down on the amended autopsy report, one or the other. Sean, you’ve been on it a week. Summarize the results of the search of Jim Strong’s house and car last week.’’

‘‘That’s easy,’’ Sean said. A portly mountain boy with a deceptively easy manner, Sean loved a conviction. He didn’t look too sure of himself today. ‘‘We found nada,’’ he said. ‘‘Except we grabbed all the ski gear in the house. Not including the boots, as you know from my report there.’’

‘‘So where the fuck are the boots?’’ Barbara said. Several of the men in the room looked jolted at hearing such hard language passing through such soft lips.

‘‘Located. I found them over the weekend,’’ Sean answered. ‘‘At least, I found out where they were. The father had ’em in his car at his house in Marla Bay. That’s why the search of Jim’s place didn’t turn them up. But the father gave them up.’’

‘‘Gave them up?’’ Collier asked.

‘‘To Jim’s lawyer, Nina Reilly.’’

Heads shook at this news. Collier shook his head too, unhappy that he hadn’t thought of it. Nina could be very crafty. She had a knack for getting to things first.

‘‘The FedEx gal on Reilly’s route?’’ Sean went on. ‘‘She’s a mighty sweet young thing. Didn’t mind letting me sneak a peek at the Send To addresses for the week. There it was. A big package from the law office for a Doctor Hirabayashi in Sac.’’

‘‘Shit,’’ said Doc Clauson. ‘‘Ginger’s looking at them. That’s the boots all right.’’

‘‘Reilly’s interfering with a police investigation,’’ Barbara Banning said. ‘‘Maybe we should teach her a lesson. What do you think, Collier?’’

‘‘I think we’d end up wallowing in technicalities when we ought to be getting the evidence back,’’ Collier said. Sean let out a strange sound that might have been a snigger.

‘‘My information about her is that she has a fascinating social life,’’ he said, looking at Collier.

‘‘I don’t give a shit about her social life. I want to know if your office is going to back up my report,’’ Doc Clauson said, fingering a packet of matches. He wasn’t smoking anymore, but unfortunately he wasn’t smoking any less. He had quit a dozen times since Collier had known him. Collier saw that the usual Camels had found their way back into his shirt pocket.

Clauson had stuck through thirty years of autopsies, forensics investigations, and courtrooms. He was good with bodies, but he had recently been getting his ass chewed by the local defense lawyers. He was getting sloppy, or the defense lawyers were getting better, Collier didn’t know which, but he was fond of the old guy and he still respected him.

‘‘Now look here,’’ Clauson went on. ‘‘If my report gets tossed, there’s going to be a criminal walking around free. Patterns on the kid’s skin. Stomped to death. I’m sure of it. Everybody see these pictures?’’

‘‘Nasty. The ones of the liver are the worst,’’ said Sean.

‘‘But Doc,’’ Collier said. ‘‘You thought at first—’’

‘‘Missed it. I did. I admit it. So many contusions, broken bones, hemorrhaging, obvious accidental circumstances. Anybody could have missed it the first time around. I asked for all police reports so I could be aware of the surrounding circumstances. I don’t just look at the body. If I’d had the goddamn witness statement—’’

‘‘Don’t look at me,’’ said Officer Drummond. ‘‘I turned it in. I went through channels like I was supposed to. The world is full of flakes. Heidi Strong was flaky too. But I took the statement—’’

‘‘How is it that it took three days for the statement to get to the coroner, Officer?’’ Barbara asked in a sharp voice.

‘‘Well, ma’am, the lieutenant was out sick. There’s a flu going around. It’s the change of seasons. The secretary types it up, she passes it back, the girl signs it, I put it in the lieutenant’s in-box. The sergeant’s supposed to check it, but he calls in next morning and he’s sick too. The rest of us are dealing with that bomb threat at Harrah’s last week—’’

‘‘And meantime, the family’s hassling us at the morgue,’’ said Clauson. ‘‘They want the body. It’s now four days since the kid died. I give it up and he’s ashes about eight hours later.’’

‘‘So now no second opinion is possible with regard to the markings you saw on the body,’’ Collier said.

‘‘Well, I saw ’em. And we have the pictures.’’

‘‘The pictures suck,’’ Barbara said. ‘‘I think Mr. Hallowell and I are in agreement on that. There are marks, sure, but the man went over a fifteen-foot drop and landed on rocks. A jury would look at the pictures and feel that there was doubt.’’

‘‘I’ll testify,’’ Clauson said. He straightened up and firmed his jaw.

‘‘Big deal,’’ Barbara said, tapping an eraser impatiently on a yellow pad. She flipped it, picked it up, flipped it again. ‘‘You’re compromised.’’

‘‘Collier? You tell that woman I know what I’m talking about,’’ Clauson said, clamping his lips together into a thin line.

‘‘Let’s all calm down,’’ Collier said. ‘‘Let’s look at what else we do have. Clothes of the victim that show the bigger picture. We’ve got Strong’s wife telling us about a threat, though the statement doesn’t really specify a motive—’’

‘‘Sorry to rain on your parade,’’ Sean interjected, ‘‘but we ain’t got Strong’s wife anymore. I went to the motel where she was staying on North Shore yesterday and the manager said she blew.’’

The room erupted.

Collier put up a hand to quiet the noise. ‘‘I thought you said she was cooperative and reliable, Sean,’’ Collier said.

‘‘She was. We were getting to be friendly. Guess she had second thoughts. At least we got her statement.’’

‘‘Her statement’s not admissible, you turkey,’’ Barbara said. ‘‘And you didn’t even get it to the coroner in time. Now you’ve lost her. Even if she can’t testify directly, she can lead us to crucial admissible evidence. Jesus!’’

‘‘She’ll be back,’’ Sean said. ‘‘She lives here.’’

‘‘What’s the father say? Philip Strong?’’ asked Collier.

‘‘He says we better remember he’s one of the big employers up here, or words to that effect,’’ Sean said.

‘‘How about the widder?’’ Clauson asked.

‘‘The widow,’’ Collier said, for the benefit of those who might need an interpretation. ‘‘That would be Marianne Strong.’’

Sean said, ‘‘Sexy girl. Frenchie. You know.’’

‘‘No, why don’t you explain that, Sean,’’ said Barbara, shifting her attention from the eraser in front of her back to the investigator. ‘‘I’d be interested to hear your views on the sexiness of French people. Since we seem not to have any actual facts to discuss.’’

Sean took up his notes, detouring quickly away from another lashing. ‘‘She’s a competitive athlete, a snow-boarder. Took a first and third in state competitions last year. Very full of herself. Hard to imagine her married, in fact, because she’s not the type that has room in her boudoir mirror for more than one face,’’ Sean said, pronouncing the French word with careful, satirical correctness. ‘‘In my opinion.’’

‘‘Go on,’’ Collier said. He liked Sean, knew he was smart and good at his job, and hated to see Barbara humiliate the boy, but he, too, felt frustrated by the lack of sound physical evidence.

‘‘Said she thought his wife, Heidi, was having an affair. Said she hinted about it to him.’’

‘‘Ha! There’s your motive! Jim Strong killed his brother ’cause young Alex was playing around with his wife,’’ Officer Drummond said. ‘‘Case closed.’’

‘‘She seems positive it wasn’t Alex that Heidi was sleeping with,’’ Sean went stolidly on, ‘‘although it’s a possibility, considering her attitude toward her husband, which seemed pretty cool, if you ask me.’’

‘‘She could be lying.’’

‘‘In fact, I get the idea she’s carrying a torch for Jim.’’

‘‘Then she could be lying to protect him,’’ Collier said.

‘‘She could have done it herself,’’ Sean said. ‘‘She was on the mountain, alone.’’ Groans all around.

‘‘That’s all we need,’’ Drummond said. ‘‘Another suspect. Listen, you think Jim Strong wouldn’t have seen or heard somebody down there with his brother? He might have been out of sight, but he would have heard something. He’d have said something to clear himself.’’

‘‘What about tracks?’’ Collier asked.

‘‘Are you kidding? After the emergency people got done up there? Forget about it.’’

‘‘You don’t have to prove a motive to get a murder conviction,’’ Barbara said abruptly. ‘‘If we get more on an affair between Jim Strong’s wife and the victim, dynamite. But what do we have in the way of direct evidence?’’

‘‘All right. One more time,’’ said the Doc. ‘‘Contusions and lacerations all over his back, back of the head, legs. Get it? He landed on his
back,
one leg under him, the one that broke. Now. Damage to the
front
of the turtleneck just over the skin patterning and major contusion, which is just over broken ribs and transected liver. In front, get it? He was stomped in front.’’

Barbara said, ‘‘You said you don’t
think
the fall would have caused such an injury. How sure are you, exactly?’’

‘‘I looked at the cliff. I looked at the snow. I don’t think he hit anything else on his way down. He fell on a flat area. I don’t think he rolled. He would have had contusions all over, and he only had ’em on the back. The fronts of the parka and bibs weren’t damaged,’’ Clauson said. ‘‘I’ve been around a long time. And it doesn’t sit right.’’

‘‘The fact remains that your original opinion was quite different.’’ Barbara gave him a look that said things about the twenty-five-year age difference between them. She obviously didn’t trust Clauson, and Clauson didn’t like her either.

She went on, ‘‘As to the rest of it, the defense will raise holy hell at you for releasing the body for cremation. There’s no opportunity for an independent examination, not to mention you missing the markings the first time around.’’

‘‘Just get me the boots,’’ Clauson said, turning to Collier. ‘‘We’ll bury him with his boots.’’

‘‘I’ll get them,’’ Collier said. ‘‘Floyd, you’re assigned to this matter for a couple of days. Go back up in the snow with a photographer and search the area again. Commandeer whatever equipment you need from Paradise. I’ll call Philip Strong about it. Sean, you know what you have to do. Find Heidi Strong. And go talk to Kelly Strong in Incline Village. Maybe she can help with the motive question. See if she knows whether there was an affair between the victim and Heidi Strong. And ask her this: Was Jim Strong capable of doing this kind of violence to his brother?’’

‘‘Okay, let’s go.’’ They all filed out, except for Doc Clauson and Collier.

Clauson was drooping. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Collier thought, he doesn’t look good.

‘‘Hey,’’ Clauson said. ‘‘Just have to say one more thing. Always thought you were good, Collier. Solid. Smart. I ever let you down?’’

‘‘You’ve always done your best, Doc,’’ Collier said.

‘‘Well, listen to me now. This is a vicious crime. Have to be depraved to do it when the vic’s lying there moaning for help. Can’t let him get away with it. Trust me. This is a homicide. Can’t understand how I missed it the first time around. Sorry about that.’’

‘‘I’ll get you the boots,’’ Collier said again. ‘‘You blow up those photos, show me they match the soles of the boots. And I’ll put him away for you.’’

‘‘That a boy. That’s right. See you.’’

‘‘Doc?’’

‘‘Yeah?’’

‘‘Take care of yourself.’’

‘‘It’s just a cold or something.’’

Back in the office, Barbara was waiting, posed to maximum advantage on the edge of Collier’s desk. She was allowing herself to look slightly disturbed. ‘‘Could I have just a minute?’’ she said.

‘‘Sure.’’ She really was a good-looking girl, with her smooth dark pageboy and the remote Catherine Deneuve face. That kind of girl was too cold for him, though.

‘‘I thought you might like to hear my considered opinion regarding whether we should file some sort of charge against Jim Strong.’’

‘‘Yeah, of course, Barb. What is it?’’ He sat down at his desk, wishing she had given him more time to digest the meeting.

‘‘Dump this piece of shit.’’

He smiled. ‘‘I know. Keystone Kops,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s too weak to go forward at this point, I agree. But I’ve worked with Clauson a long time. I want to keep it open until we see what happens with the boots.’’

Barbara didn’t like hearing this. She came around the desk, began massaging his back. ‘‘God, you’re stiff,’’ she said. ‘‘Collier. I’m speaking as a friend. The word around the office is that you’ve lost the edge since you got back. You’re acting like a wuss. Clauson fucked up. Dump it.’’

Collier gently reached back and patted her hand. ‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘I used to look up to you. Last year, before you left. I came up to Tahoe after a few years of sitting in a private firm’s law library. I didn’t know a thing, you taught me, you watched over me. I thought you were— I thought you were—interested—’’