Paid in Full (12 page)

She got in and Jane started to prattle about real estate. Ari didn’t hear much; she was too busy trying to bring the brainstorm to the front. It had something to do with the wall behind the bar. She needed to see it again.

“Jane, turn here,” Ari pointed.

“Where are we going?” Jane asked.

“I need to make a stop,” Ari said evasively. After several more lefts and rights, Jane realized they were going toward the Watson house. “Oh no, I’m not going into any crime scene with you. No way.”

When they pulled up to the curb, the house looked a little ominous in the dark, and Ari noticed the crime scene tape had been recently removed.

“Ari, I’m not going in there,” Jane insisted.

“You don’t have to. Just wait here. I’ll only be a minute.” Ari grabbed a small flashlight from the glove compartment and left the truck, while Jane accused her of being a moron.

Ari glanced up and down the street. Lights were on in most of the houses, and most everyone was home, providing her with a sense of security, however hollow it might be. She left the front door open and stepped into the living room. A stale smell flooded her nostrils, and she made a mental note to buy some air fresheners. Obviously the body was gone, but a wave of relief swept through her anyway as she stared at the spot. Now it was just a patch of caked brown.

She hesitated before advancing, listening intently for any strange noises. Shadows danced all over the walls, and total darkness loomed beyond the circle of her flashlight. She walked behind the bar and crouched. Like the floor, the bloody letters were more brown than crimson, the strokes uneven and ghastly. She realized the name
Robert
was written at an angle, tilting upward. The capital
R
was close to the baseboard, and then the letters ascended, the
T
almost two feet off the ground. She imagined Michael Thorndike, shot twice, twisting in the tiny space to write a final message, every movement extracting what little life was left in him. She studied the letters again, tracing them in the air with her finger.

And the answer clicked, just like her dad always said it would. At that exact moment, she realized that she wasn’t alone. She turned her head a fraction of an inch before everything went black.

Chapter Eleven

Tuesday, June 19

9:06 p.m.

The explosion in her brain came with consciousness. She didn’t want to open her eyes. There were voices whispering, but it felt better to stay still. Her throat was totally dry, her tongue a shriveled raisin.

The voices grew louder, and she recognized one as Jane’s. “Ari, Ari, open your eyes!” She tried to focus on Jane’s panicked face but found herself staring at Molly Nelson.

“Ari, come on now,” Molly coaxed. Her head was pounding, but she finally blinked. It hurt like hell. They had moved her out to the patio and laid her on the only remaining piece of furniture, a lounger. Molly and Jane hovered over her, but she saw several uniformed officers standing nearby. Again, the elder Watson’s house was a crime scene.

“Set her up a bit more, Jane,” Molly instructed. The two women pulled her into a sitting position, which released several more bombs in her head. “That’s going to hurt for a while. You’ve got quite a bump back here,” Molly said, gently rubbing the crown of her head.

“Is she going to be all right? She looks totally out of it.”

Molly stared into her eyes. “Well, she should be checked out by a doctor, but I’d say she just got a good knock.” She handed Ari a bottle of water, which she drank greedily. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Even in her semiconscious condition, Ari knew better than to tell the whole truth. “I wanted to check on the house. I bent down to look at the wall. Someone knocked me out while my back was turned.”

“Jesus, Ari,” Jane gasped, “you could have been killed! I told you to stay out of this.”

“So did I,” Molly interjected. “Let’s not jump all the way down her throat yet, Jane. I want her to be totally coherent when I really chew her out.” Molly joined the other officers inside. Ari groaned and thought she might throw up.

“Did you see anything?” Jane whispered.

Ari shut her eyes. “No, he hit me before I could turn around.”

“How do you know it was a
he
?”

She blinked and saw Deborah Thorndike coming after her with the poker. “I guess I just assumed.” The throbbing in her head was getting worse. “You didn’t see anyone leave, did you?”

“No. It was dark, and I had the radio going. I just wasn’t paying much attention. After about fifteen minutes I started to get worried. It was really scary walking up to that house alone, and then finding you . . .” Jane’s voice trembled, and she took Ari’s face between her hands. “Listen to me. Leave this to the police. You’re a real estate agent, dammit, not a private investigator. You’re licensed to write contracts, not lurk around crime scenes.”

“Lurk?”

Jane grinned, losing all seriousness. “Great word, huh? It was in my word-of-the-day calendar this morning.”

It hurt to smile. “You’re probably right, Jane.”

“I know I am. But hey,” she said, grasping her arm, “I think the detective’s a dream, and she’s definitely got it bad for you.” Ari’s body instantly warmed to the thought.

It wasn’t long before Molly returned to the patio and stared at Ari, arms crossed, a serious expression on her face. “I’m taking you to the emergency room.” Ari could tell there was no point in arguing.

Molly had to physically lift her into the Ford’s high cab. The next two hours at the emergency room were a blur, and before she knew it, Molly was unlocking her front door and leading her to the couch. She watched the detective play nursemaid, fetching her prescription and making tea. When Ari was finally comfortable, Molly joined her on the couch and pulled out her notebook.

She remained silent throughout Ari’s account of the attack, frowning several times in disapproval. “The important part was what I realized right before I got knocked out,” Ari concluded, wrapping up the story. “Thorndike couldn’t have written that message on the wall.”

Molly shook her head. “Ari, we took the fingerprints. They’re his, and his hand was covered in his own blood.”

“Listen to me,” she persisted. “It was the wrong hand. Michael Thorndike was left-handed.”

Molly’s face contorted as the information sunk in. “Are you sure?”

“I saw the pictures at his office, of him signing documents and pitching a baseball. His teammates called him Lefty. The killer stuck his hand in the blood and wrote the name, but he used the wrong one.”

Ari could hear Molly audibly sigh. Her left leg began to bounce, as she nervously contemplated. She still wasn’t ready to believe. “I don’t know. Thorndike could have used his right hand just because it was easier to maneuver, or he could have been ambidextrous.”

“I don’t buy it. If Michael Thorndike wrote
Robert
on the wall as he was dying, wouldn’t the letters have sloped down rather than up because he was getting weaker, and he was in such a cramped space. Wouldn’t that be more natural?” Before Molly could interject, Ari added, “And why did he write
Robert
, why not
Bob
? It’s a lot shorter.”

Molly listened carefully, visualizing it in her mind. “If all of this is true, then it really does mean someone wants your friend Bob Watson to take the fall.” She shifted on the couch, tapping her pencil nervously on the notepad. “Then why move the body?” she asked.

Ari bit her nail. That was the big question. Another niggle was forming in her mind, but she couldn’t focus while her head pounded. “I don’t know,” she said finally.

Molly exhaled. “Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, already heading for the kitchen.

“There’s beer in the fridge,” Ari said, “or if you prefer something stronger, there’s some stuff above the sink.”

When Molly returned, she was carrying a bottle of scotch and a coffee mug. “You can’t have any in your condition, and yes, I know this isn’t the proper glass.” Ari acted as though she didn’t care, but it was amazing how Molly could read her thoughts. Molly settled next to Ari and took a big gulp.

Ari grabbed her head as a shooting pain ripped through her skull, the effects of the attack colliding with the hangover that was developing.

“How are you feeling?” Molly asked, pulling Ari against her.

“I’m sure I’ll be better in about ten minutes. Why don’t you tell me about the investigation?”

Molly finished her scotch and with her free hand poured another. “You’re probably the last person I should say anything to.”

“When my dad was working on a case, he’d come home and bounce ideas off my mom. You know, get a different perspective. Maybe I could do that for you.”

Molly toyed with the idea for a moment and sighed. It couldn’t do too much harm, and Ari had found an important clue that she had missed, a fact that stung. “Here’s what we know,” she began. “Michael Thorndike was killed between eight and ten. Cause of death has been determined to be two shots from a thirty-eight.” She stopped suddenly, mindful of the gun Andre had found, the one still being tested.

“What’s your theory?”

“We think the killer lured Thorndike to the scene, but we don’t know why. The back patio door was pried open, so most likely, the killer arrived first, let himself in and greeted Thorndike at the front door.”

“Did you have my lockbox read?”

“Yes, and there was nothing unusual. All the codes checked out to other agents and service people.”

“Are you sure that you can rule out all of them? Thorndike was very active in real estate. Maybe he made an enemy.”

“It’s possible, but it’s really unlikely,” Molly said with a dismissive gesture. “Why would a killer use his lockbox code and leave such an obvious clue?”

Ari knew she was right. “There’s still something that’s bothering me. Why did it happen in that house? In my listing?”

Molly stroked Ari’s thick, black hair, rapidly losing interest in the conversation. “I don’t think you’re going to like it. The only thing I’ve been able to determine is that the killer has to be someone who knew the house was vacant. That would be your friends, Bob and Lily.” Ari started to speak, but Molly held up her hand. “Don’t get defensive. I’m just speaking logically. Premeditated murders don’t happen just anywhere. The killer knows where to go.”

“But according to Bob and Lily, several people knew about that house. Bob had mentioned it to his work associates, and Lily had been actively looking for buyers through her charity contacts. Even Deborah Thorndike could have known.”

“How?”

“Both of them go to the same club, they probably play tennis together, go to aerobics. Anything is possible,” she said. “Have you spoken with Deborah Thorndike?”

“Twice.”

“And?” she pressed.

Molly’s expression went blank. “And nothing. The woman’s as cool as a cucumber. She says her husband was leaving her and she was learning to accept it. I’m totally suspicious of her just on those two points alone, but she has an alibi for the night of the murder. She was at the movies, and she had the ticket stub.”

“That’s pretty shaky,” Ari commented.

Molly was nodding in agreement. “I know, but some concessions clerk remembered selling her popcorn. It’s not a great alibi. She could have made sure someone saw her and then slipped out. But I’ll tell you this, if that woman knows more about her husband’s death, she’s doing a great job stonewalling.”

Ari didn’t know how to tell Molly about her meeting with the widow. She withdrew from the detective’s embrace and took a sip of tea. “First, Deborah Thorndike has not accepted her husband’s abandonment, and second, that woman is capable of many things, not the least of which is murder.”

“How do you know this?” Molly asked, staring hard at Ari.

“I talked with her.”

Molly was shocked. “Where? When?”

“This afternoon at the Desert Racquet Club.”

“What were you doing there?”

Half smiling she said, “I snuck in and met with her in the sauna. I got her to tell me the truth.” She recounted their meeting, Molly’s face clouding with concern as she reached the climactic moment with the hot poker in her face.

“Dammit, Ari!” Molly bellowed. “You have to stop doing this!”

Ari winced in pain, Molly’s voice echoing throughout her brain. “I was in a public place,” she argued feebly.

Molly ignored Ari’s ploy for sympathy. “And that didn’t stop her from nearly poking your eye out! What if those women hadn’t come in? If you really think Deborah Thorndike is capable of killing her own husband, how hard do you really think it would be for her to drop someone she’d just met, someone who’d just lied to her?” Ari didn’t have an answer. Molly emptied the scotch bottle into the mug and took a swig, watching Ari rub her head. Feeling a twinge of guilt, Molly started to massage Ari’s neck and shoulders. “Tell me about Lily Watson,” she said softly. “How much do you know about her?”

Ari laughed. “Lily? I don’t think she killed Michael Thorndike.”

“Why not? She was involved with him. Maybe she was mad because he dumped her.”

“The truth is, Lily dumped Michael, and I don’t think she ever stopped loving him,” Ari stated.

“Then why did she dump him?”

“Because she was married to Bob,” Ari said sharply.

“That didn’t stop her from having an affair,” Molly remarked.

Ari sighed. “You’re right. I don’t know what to think. Deborah Thorndike told me today that Michael was going to leave her for some woman he met through charity work. I’m beginning to think that Michael and Lily may have resumed their affair, especially if Bob was having an affair of his own.”

The bombshell hit Molly and her jaw dropped open. “What?”

“I think Bob was having an affair with Kristen Duke. She all but told me so this morning when I talked to her.”

Molly reached for her glass, the massage abandoned. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. In the last twelve hours, you’ve spoken with Kristen Duke, been nearly seared by Deborah Thorndike and knocked unconscious. Is there anything else, Ari?”