Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (20 page)

Every time I met with Vince or Whip, I left more despondent. Evidence trickled in from the district attorney's office in dribs and drabs, but nothing pointed to having enough grounds to petition for a dismissal. We finally got one pressing question answered: The cops didn't dust Merry's apartment for prints because the killer dropped a glove with a little GSR on it. With no DNA and no fingerprints on it, the police couldn't connect it to Whip through physical evidence. The assistant district attorney seemed convinced he wore two pairs, one inside the other. The only prints on the right glove belonged to Merry.

The police figured Whip used his left hand to hold her and his right hand to shoot her. Easy figure, even for Riverbend's crack police force. Like the vast majority of people in the world, Whip was right-handed. It was a safe guess. Since he was right-handed, the GSR would be on a right-handed glove.

The gun was a problem, though. The district attorney was obsessed with the “missing” Glock. Forget the fact it was legally in Peru. Forget the fact Merry was killed with a twenty-two. They harped on the fact Whip once owned a twenty-two. The Glock remained “missing,” regardless of the fact a faxed affidavit from Charlie proved the Glock was legally in Peru. I didn't get it. Neither did Whip.

“Remember, Whip,” Vince said for the millionth time, “the district attorney will blow a lot of smoke to keep the jury wondering if you could have murdered Merry, especially when the evidence is entirely circumstantial.”

We already knew the district attorney planned to enter Whip's original divorce filing as well as the one counter-filed by Merry. “With Merry asking for ten thousand dollars a month in alimony, you'd have grounds to get rid of her.”

Whip rubbed tired eyes. We'd been over this before. Way too many times.

“I told you Merry said she was leaving with Hunter. My divorce attorney said I wouldn't have to pay alimony, no matter what she originally asked for. I just wanted custody of the kids.”

I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the divorce papers had any bearing on Merry's murder.

“Don't be naïve.”

“I'm not being naïve. Mom and Pop raised me to tell the truth, no matter what. That's what I'm doing.” Whip pounded his fist on the table and took his frustration out on Vince. “What happened to reasonable doubt? What happened to ‘If it doesn't fit, you must acquit?’ What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“The district attorney will use innuendo and insinuation to plant half-baked ideas in the minds of the jurors. I have to refute them. My job is to provide the best defense possible and represent you fairly and justly.”

“It's just not fair.”

“The law isn't fair, just impartial.”

“What about the jewelry?”

“What about it?”

“Johnny and I found it. Hunter sold the ring and earrings a couple of days after the murder.”

“So? It doesn't prove anything. He could always say she gave him the jewelry because she needed money. You cut her off, remember. He'd probably claim he hadn't seen her for over a week before her death. He worked long hours at the hospital, no time off. I can't take the risk, remember?”

No matter what we said, Vince wouldn't depose Hunter, because it could become the smoking gun to convict Whip.

“Do you really want to risk his testimony? Especially if he's the serial liar you claim him to be.”

While I wanted Hunter on the stand with Vince grilling him, I couldn't take the risk. “No.”

“No,” Whip said.

Whip was in another piss-poor mood when I dropped by a day later with an updated fridge list tracking our progress. Whip's enthusiasm was so obviously faked I called him on it.

“You're a dreadful liar, Whip Pugh.”

“You guys have done a lot. Sorry. In a shit-eating mood. Can't fully appreciate it today.”

I left minutes after I arrived, hurt and frustrated. Whip needed to snap out of his funk. I didn't need him dumping his freedom on me the same way he dumped Merry and the kids shortly after Merry's accident. He needed to get in the game. Now. Maybe he needed a pity party. It should bore the crap out of him and put him in a better mood.

What if we lose? Whip could go to jail for a very long time. Who would raise Emilie and Alex? Not Bette and the Colonel. They'd raised their own family, as had I, but the Colonel's health still wasn't good in spite of his triple bypass. I'd have to continue to step up. Months ago, I accepted the fact my role was permanent—at least as far as I could see into the future, no matter what happened to Whip at trial.

The likely next step for us was a short but intense trial. “Don't expect court high jinks like at O.J.'s trial, on
Law and Order
or on
Perry Mason
,” Vince warned at an early meeting. “Most murder trials are dull and mundane, full of sordid details. DAs provide just enough evidence for the jury to come to a decision.”

Until we went to trial, Emilie, Alex, and I continued working on the fridge list, regardless of whether Whip thought we were doing anything to help or not. We were; he was just too discouraged to see it.

“How's Dad?” Emilie popped into the kitchen where I was marinating a London broil.

“He's been better.” I turned the steak, recovered the bowl, and put it back in the refrigerator. I stared at the list. “He was pretty depressed today. He tried to hide it but couldn't.”

“Wouldn't you be depressed if all you could do was sit and worry?”

“You're right. I would.” I stretched my shoulders to relax the tension. “We're both pretty down.”

“Dad hasn't asked all the questions, has he?” Emilie twisted a lock of pink and orange hair.

I blinked. Emilie was right. Parents and grandparents don't know everything. Shoot. I wasn't sure I didn't know what I didn't know.

“Did you tell him how much we've done?”

“I did. He's so proud of you. He'd rather you guys just be kids.” Time to lighten the mood. “How long's it been since you took a swim?”

“It's getting too cold to swim.”

“Not true. The pool's heated. It's really warm today. So, again, how long since you were in the pool?”

“I don't know. Not this week.”

“Okay, last one in does the dishes for a whole week.”

I tossed the kitchen towel on the counter and sprinted for the stairs. Emilie shrieked for Alex to get his suit on and get into the pool. I heard Alex's shouted reply, as I shut my door.

I'd never changed so fast in my entire life. I raced down the stairs, took an extra second to kick off my flip-flops and dove into the water just as Emilie barreled through the family room door. Alex followed on her heels and gave his famous Tarzan yell before cannonballing into the cool water.

“No fair, you had a head start.” My granddaughter came to a dead stop at the edge of the pool.

“Today's lesson one more time: Life's not fair. You're younger than I am. You should have beaten me.” I knifed my hand against the surface and sent a plume of water outward to soak her from the waist down.

“Water fight!” Alex whooped and splashed his sister as she dove into the deep end. When she surfaced, both Alex and I pounced on her. I tickled her while Alex pushed her under.

We laughed and splashed and shouted. I let Alex and Emilie win the water fight. After all, I won the dishes challenge fair and square. When we all clung to the side of the pool, weak with laughter, Emilie admitted choosing a suit slowed her down. I didn't have that problem. One suit here. One choice.

“Hey, is this a private party?” Darla and her daughter, Molly, stood at the side gate. I waved them in. Emilie sloshed over to her best friend and gave her a sopping hug. The girls ran inside to find a suit for Molly. I toweled off, pulled a wrap around my shoulders, and dropped into a chaise, Darla next to me.

“I wanted to stop by. Molly insisted she had to see Em. I should have called.”

“Since when have you had to call first?” She was uncomfortable. I knew why.

“You know the assistant district attorney deposed me?”

“Yes. We both know Merry lied about threats from Whip.”

“That's what I told her, but the little witch was so nasty. I can't imagine what she has in mind, but she hates Whip.”

“Vince says she has all the charm of a rattlesnake that needs a root canal.”

Darla laughed the rollicking laugh I missed. She'd been one of Merry's best friends once. She was still one of mine.

“You did the right thing. When they ask, you have to answer the questions truthfully. We all do.”

“I knew you'd understand. How's Whip doing?”

“Some days are better than others. Today was an ‘other.’ Tomorrow will be a ‘better.’”

Darla lay back, her face turned toward the autumn sun. She closed her eyes, relief relaxing the strain lines. “In spite of the fact I disapproved of Merry and Hunter, I miss her like hell.”

“So do I. Every day.” We reached out and held each other's hands.

Molly and Emilie chattered their way into the water and began swimming laps. Both girls displayed the wonderful firm tone of youth. My granddaughter swam back and forth without effort. She made flip turns at each end of the pool.

Emilie and Alex were fish who grew up in pools and began swimming as babies. Not as fluid, Molly soon tired and climbed onto a float. Alex would dump her in the water before long.

I invited Molly and Darla for dinner. Johnny was coming over too. It was time to expand the get-Whip-out-of-jail army. Over lemonade, vodka tonics, and lots of food, Johnny and I brought Darla and Molly up to speed. I had some news: I'd discovered the identity of the black doctor.

“Which role worked?” Johnny cut into his steak. Alex matched him bite for bite. My two men certainly could pack away the food.

“Dotty old lady.”

“You, a dotty old lady?” Emilie and Molly burst into giggles.

“Well, I played the role perfectly.” I huffed. “‘This nice young doctor took such good care of me, but I can't remember his name. He was young and had this most wonderful accent. He wasn't on duty when I was released. Can you help me find him? I want to thank him personally.’”

I raised the tenor of my voice, quavered a bit to make it sound old, stumbled over my words, and sent everyone at the table into hysterics.

“His name's Francis Patterson, a resident in internal medicine.”

“Going to send in the muscle?” Johnny wiped his fingers on a napkin and flexed his biceps against his black T-shirt.

“I'm rethinking ‘muscle.’ I want Dr. Patterson to know what a snake he helped. I want him to know he hocked stolen property for a murderer.”

“Do we know Hunter stole the watch?” Johnny mopped the last of his marinade with a roll and popped it into his mouth.

“No, but Patterson doesn't know we don't. If he thinks he's in trouble, he might talk. He could be a dead end, but at least we'll put the fear of God into him.”

“Let me talk to him.” Darla cut in. “I need to help.”

“Good idea.”

I didn't want to go to the hospital. If I ran into Hunter, I'd rip him apart.

“Our turn. Let us tell you what we've learned,” Emilie started.

Alex talked around a mouthful of baked potato. “Hey, some of what we know I found out.”

“Alex, don't talk with your mouth full.”

My reaction was so programmed I was unaware I'd spoken until he mumbled, “Yes, Mad Max.”

“Me first.” Alex wiped his mouth on his napkin.

There was hope.

“Dracula's résumé claims he graduated from at least three different med schools. I e-mailed them to see if he's telling the truth. I haven't heard back yet, but it's only been a week.”

“Good job.” I was impressed with his ingenuity.

“While Alex searched for Dracula, I found several Web sites devoted to missing people. There are lots of group sites to help families of murder victims. I think it's a way to find Kiki.” Emilie looked proud of herself—rightfully.

“Who's Kiki?” Darla asked.

“We don't know, but I asked anyone who knew someone named Kiki to contact me,” Emilie continued.

“Any luck?” Molly joined in.

“Well, it's been a few days since I posted my question, but so far I've had a couple of dozen e-mails. One man knew a Kiki, but he had nothing to do with Dracula.”

“He?”

“Yes. A guy from college trying to find a friend he's lost touch with. We're sure Kiki's a she. Several people lost dogs named Kiki and hoped I'd found them. Then I got an e-mail today with some promise. At least, it's from a city near where Dracula practiced medicine.”

“How do you know?” Johnny asked.

“The writer said she lives in New York.”

“And his résumé,” Alex spoke up, “says he worked at Mount Sinai in New York, at New Jewish in Pittsburgh, and the Cleveland Clinic before Chaminade. I sent e-mails to confirm this too.”

“Do I want to know how you got his résumé?” I asked.

“Um, probably not.” Alex grinned.

I dropped the subject.

Johnny stared out the window into the darkening night.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Alex went on. “Anyway, I started snooping around in police records, ’cause so much stuff's online today. I looked for any missing person named Kiki.” He made a face. “I struck out. Nothing.”

“Was Dracula married? Before he came here?” Molly asked.

“I dunno.” Alex looked chagrined he'd missed an angle. “I'll check.”

“What about your e-mail lead, Em?” I hoped Emilie wasn't trying to catch fog in a butterfly net.

“I just got it. I sent a note back immediately and asked if she had a photo. Maybe she could e-mail it.”

“You're sure it's a woman? I read so much about predators on the Web.” Darla sounded doubtful.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Livingston. I'm not using my own YouTube or MySpace accounts. I set up a new e-mail address. I also found this site for mothers who've lost children through tragedy and asked about Kiki, even though I'm not a mother. I lost my mother, so I figure it's all right.”

“It is,” Darla said.

“It's so sad reading about their losses,” Emilie said, “but Kiki's the key to this whole mess, so I have to try everything.”

“I agree.” Johnny looked serious and intense.

“It's like she's going to help. I totally feel it.” Emilie believed this message was different.

“Let me know what else we can do.” Darla rose from the table and carried dishes into the kitchen. Molly followed.

“Don't bother. Em has graciously volunteered to do the dishes for a week.” I winked.

“I didn't exactly ‘volunteer.’ I lost a race.” Emilie stuck out her tongue but got up to clear the table.

“We'll help.” Darla and Molly carried the remaining bowls and plates into the kitchen, where Emilie rinsed and stacked them in the dishwasher.

After Darla and Molly left, and the kids retreated to their rooms to check e-mail, Johnny stared through me with the strangest expression on his face.

“She's close.” Johnny paused. “I've been thinking about this a lot. I have a gut feeling there's more than one Kiki.”

“You too, huh.”

“Yes. You called Hunter a predator.” Johnny spaced his words. “I think he seeks vulnerable women and remakes them into Kiki. Then he gets rid of them when he realizes they aren't the original.”

“How'd you come to this conclusion?”

“After Alex found Hunter's multiple aliases, I started searching. Now we know where he worked, it's worth seeing if there were murders of young women near those hospitals.”

That would mean Hunter killed before. That thought was chilling but couldn't be willed away.

“We need to cast a wider net. Look at cities between here and New York. You and Alex need to find other unsolved disappearances along the route to Riverbend.” I rattled ice cubes in my empty glass.

“Getting the goods on Hunter is like nailing Jell-O to a tree. He's so damned slippery.”

“All the more reason to stop him before he leaves town. Or picks his next target.”

“He may already have selected his next target. We have to stop him before he can act.”

Fear made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and dance the cha-cha. I wasn't as sensitive as Emilie, but Johnny was right. Hunter had killed before and would again if we didn't stop him.