P is for Peril (30 page)

“So that is the end of that job.”

“I'm assuming as much, though I haven't spoken with Fiona.”

“What now?”

“The usual. Dr. Yee will do the autopsy in the morning. Don't know how much they'll learn, given the shape the body's in. The vehicle's probably been submerged since the night he dropped from view. As soon as the post is done, I'm guessing they'll cremate the remains.”

“I'm sorry to hear this. It's too bad.”

“It has to be worse when the questions are unresolved. At least now his family knows and they can get on with life.”

We chatted on in this vein, exploring our reactions and speculations until the subject petered out. Henry picked up my plate and took it to the sink.

“I can do that,” I said.

“Stay where you are.” He ran hot water in the sink and picked up a dish sponge with liquid detergent in the handle. He soaped the plate, rinsed it, and set it in the rack. “By the way, I saw a friend of yours tonight.”

“Really. Who?”

He put the cutting board in the sink and began to put the condiments away. “Tommy Hevener came into Rosie's. He was looking for you, of course, but we ended up having quite a chat. He seems like a nice fellow and he's clearly smitten. He asked a lot of questions about you.”

“I have a lot of questions about him, too. That's the part of my day I haven't told you about yet.”

He paused with his hand on the refrigerator door. “I don't like the tone of this.”

“You won't like the rest of it, either.” I waited until he returned to the table and took a seat.

He said, “What?” with apprehension, like he really didn't want to hear.

“Turns out Tommy Hevener and his brother hired a punk down in Texas to break into the family home and steal the valuables, including close to a million in jewels. The burglar did as instructed and then set fire to the house to cover his tracks. What the boys failed to mention to him was that Mom and Dad were stashed in the closet, bound and gagged. They died of smoke inhalation while the place burned down around them.”

Henry blinked. “No.”

“Yes.”

“But that can't be true.”

“It is,” I said. “The insurance investigator—this is a woman named Mariah Talbot—came to the office this morning and showed me the clippings from the
Hatchet Daily News Gazette
or whatever the hell it's called. I left the file at the office or you could see for yourself.”

“But if that's the case, why aren't they in jail?”

“There was never enough evidence, and since the ‘boys' were never charged, they managed to collect on the fire loss, life insurance, and the inheritance. All told, they walked off with a couple million bucks. Their aunt and the insurance company are preparing a civil suit, hoping to recover whatever assets remain.”

“But how do they know the burglar wasn't the one responsible? He might have surprised the parents, thinking they were gone when he broke into the house. Maybe he was the one who tied them up and gagged them.”

“Unfortunately, the burglar hasn't been heard from since. Speculation has it they killed him, too.”

“But they can't be sure,” he said.

“That's why they've reopened the investigation. Recently, an informant stepped forward and Guardian Casualty is prepared to go forward on the basis of this new information.”

“I can't believe it.”

“I had the same reaction until I saw the articles. I mean, here's what gets me. The first time I met Tommy? He
told
me his parents died in an accident. He didn't want me to mention it to Richard because he said his brother was still ‘touchy' about the subject. I thought, well, those poor dear fellows. Here I am, thinking about my parents and feeling
sorry
for these guys. It really galls me to think how easily I got sucked in. Such bullshit. According to the paper, they even offered a big reward—a hundred thousand dollars—for ‘information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer or killers of Jared and Brenda Hevener.' Why not offer millions? They're in no danger of paying unless one rats the other out.”

“How can you do business with them?”

“That's what I'm getting to. I signed a year's lease and paid six months in advance, plus a cleaning deposit. We don't want to forget that little item. Now I can't figure how to get out of it. I'm willing to forfeit the money, but it pisses me off.”

“Let Lonnie handle it. He'll know what to do.”

“Good thought,” I said. “Not that it ends there.”

“Why not?”

“Mariah thinks the jewelry's still somewhere in that big fancy house of theirs. She's hoping I can locate the safe so the cops can get a search warrant. She says the Heveners' funds are just about depleted. They've been traveling in the fast lane and now they're close to broke. She's hoping they'll try to sell at least a portion of the jewelry. Since they filed a claim for the loss and since they've steadfastly denied any knowledge of the stash, it's not going to look good. If she can get them to tip their hand, the cops will step in with a warrant for their arrest.”

“Why would they risk selling? They're not dumb.”

“Not so far, but they're getting desperate.”

“How's she going to persuade them? I can't imagine such a thing.”

“Ah. She's not. She wants me to do it.” I fished the piece of paper from my handbag. “She gave me the name of a fence in Los Angeles and asked me to pass the information on to them.”

Henry took the scrap of paper on which she'd written the jeweler's name. “Cyril Lambrou's a pawnbroker?”

“A jeweler. She says he runs a legitimate business, as far as it goes. He also deals in stolen property when the goods warrant it. In this case, no sweat. She showed me the Polaroids—rings, bracelets, necklaces. Gorgeous. Really beautiful.”

“Why can't
she
give them the information?”

“Because they know who she is and they'd never fall for it.”

“But why you?”

Henry's tone was becoming belligerent and I could feel my face heat. “Because Tommy's interested in me.”

“So what?”

“Mariah's shrewd. She ran a background on me and she knows I'm not above bending the rules.”

“Aren't you talking about entrapment?”

“Why would it be entrapment? I mention a guy who buys jewelry. If they're not guilty, they won't have anything to sell. Entrapment's where the cops entice someone to break the law. I'm not encouraging them to steal. They've already done that.”

“But they're going to smell a rat. You mention a jeweler. They pawn the stuff and shortly afterwards they're arrested and thrown in jail? You can't be serious.”

“By then it's too late. They're already behind bars.”

“Suppose they post bail? The minute they hit the street, they're going to come looking for you.”

“Come on, Henry. Give me credit here. I won't come right out and say, ‘Gee, anybody have any stolen jewels to lay off on this guy?' I'll think of a story to tell, something plausible.”

“Such as what?”

“I don't know. I haven't made that part up yet.”

Exasperated, Henry leaned back in his chair and stared at me. “How many times have we had a conversation like this? You come up with some stupid scheme. I urge you not to do it, but you go right ahead and do it. You always find some way to rationalize your behavior.”

“So does everyone else.”

“More's the pity,” he said. “I'll tell you this once and then I swear I won't mention it again. Don't do this. Don't get involved. It's none of your business.”

“I didn't say I would.”

“How're you going to find the safe? You'll have to get into the house.”

“Tommy's taken me up there once. All I have to do is talk him into taking me again.”

“Which he'd do in hopes of getting in your pants.”

“I can handle that.”

“But why take the risk? I don't think you should be alone with either one of them.”

“Not to make light of it, but I've done a lot worse with a lot less justification.”

“
I'll
say.”

“Henry, I promise you I won't act in haste. I haven't even figured out what I'll say . . . you know, assuming I decide to take the job.”

“Why do this to yourself? Surely, you don't need the money.”

“Money isn't the issue here. I just don't think people should get away with murder.”

“It isn't up to you. If the police had had sufficient evidence, the Heveners would've been arrested and convicted back then. There wasn't any proof. That's the way the law works. You stay out of it. Please.”

“You know what? I'm tempted to do this for exactly the same reason you're tempted to help Rosie. Because you can't resist. So here's the deal. You want me to butt out of this? You butt out of Rosie's business and we'll call it a wash.”

“It's not illegal or dangerous to help a little old lady pay her sister's medical bills.”

He had a point, but I refused to acknowledge it. “Skip it. Enough. Let's quit arguing. You take care of your life and I'll take care of mine.”

“You're right. It's not my concern. Do anything you want.”

“Don't play injured. It's not that. I think you worry too much.”

“And you don't worry enough!”

It was 11:03 when I left Henry's place and headed to my apartment. We'd made a superficial effort to patch up our differences, but nothing had been resolved. I was feeling anxious and out of sorts and so, I suspect,was he. I let myself in and set my bag aside. I turned on the television set and turned to KEST. I'd missed the lead-in to the story but caught the report in progress: “. . . the silver Mercedes-Benz recovered this evening from Brunswick Lake has been positively identified as the vehicle belonging to prominent local physician Dowan Purcell, missing since September 12. Detective Paglia of the Santa Teresa Police Department would not confirm . . .” Over her commentary there was a series of clips: a shot of the hillside near the reservoir, a shot of Crystal arriving by car, a photograph insert of Dr. Purcell, followed by a shot of the family home in Horton Ravine. The anchor moved on to a story about a cat stuck in a length of pipe. Nine and a half weeks of agony reduced to less than a minute. Folks would probably have more sympathy for the cat.

There was a tap at my door. I figured it was Henry coming over to apologize. Instead, I found Tommy Hevener standing on my porch. “Hey. Where you been? I called you earlier, but your machine was on. I thought I'd see you at Rosie's.”

“Henry told me he saw you.”

“Yeah, we had a nice chat. He's a great old guy.”

“Look. I've had a hard day. Something's come up on a case I've been working.”

“You want to talk about it? I'm a good listener.”

“I don't think so. I appreciate the offer, but I'm bushed and I think I better go to bed.”

“I hear you. No problem. Call me tomorrow. I want to see you again.”

“Okay, I'll do that.”

“You take care.”

“Yeah, you, too,” I said. As soon as I closed the door, my heart began knocking rapidly in my throat. I threw the deadbolt home and leaned against the wall to wait until I heard his departing steps. Outside, a car started up and I listened as the sound of the engine diminished down the street.

I don't know how I managed to get to sleep that night. I had no emotional attachment to Dow Purcell, but the sight of that body in the front seat of the car had left me unsettled. I'd seen death many times, but I couldn't seem to block the image of that four-wheeled silver coffin and its hoary contents. I replayed the moment . . . floodlights hissing in the rain, the sound of water gushing from the underbelly of the car, the smell of mud and crushed grass, followed by the quick flash of the body in its formless repose, eyes turned toward the window, mouth open with amazement. I didn't think it would take long to identify the body . . . half a day at best. It would take longer to examine the car and come up with a theory about how it had ended up in the lake. There was also the question of whether Purcell was dead or alive when he went into the water. Again, I flashed on that face, the wide grin, the sightless eyes . . .

I made a conscious effort to divert my attention, fixing on the problem of Tommy and Richard Hevener. Despite my obstinate and disputatious stance, I
had
seen Henry's point, which I knew was correct. I'm forever sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong, often with consequences more serious (and potentially deadly) than I care to admit. I was under no obligation to assist Mariah Talbot or Guardian Casualty Insurance, so why put myself in the line of fire? The “boys” were not my problem. Mariah had even hinted she had an alternative if I decided not to help. I still had to find a way to break the lease and recover my deposit, but maybe Lonnie could write the brothers such a blistering letter they'd be begging to get me out. As for the murder of their parents, I had to believe the law would catch up with them eventually. As much as it grieved me to admit it, retribution wasn't mine. Oh, darn.

Much of Wednesday I was occupied tidying up odds and ends. At 6:00 that morning, I'd managed to squeeze in a three-mile jog between cloud bursts, after which I'd gone to the gym. I'd come home, cleaned up, eaten breakfast, and arrived at the office at 9:15. I spent the bulk of the day catching up on paperwork, including my personal bills, which I paid with the usual sense of triumph. I love keeping all the wolves at bay.