Presumed Guilty & Keeper of the Bride (29 page)

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Sam gently. “I’m Detective Navarro, Portland Police. May I ask your full name?”

She swallowed. “Helen Whipple.”

“You’re the church secretary?”

She looked up at him with dazed eyes. “Yes. Yes.”

“We’ve been trying to contact you, Miss Whipple.”

“I was—I was at my sister’s house. In Amherst.” She sat twisting her hands together, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. I saw Jimmy only yesterday. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“You saw Brogan? What time?”

“It was in the morning. Just before I left town.” She began digging in her purse, desperately fishing for tissues. “I stopped in to pay a few bills before I left.”

“Did you two speak?”

“Naturally. Jimmy’s such…” She gave a soft sob. “
Was
such…a friendly man. He was always coming up to the office to chat. Since I was leaving on vacation, and Reverend Sullivan wasn’t in yet. I asked Jimmy to do a few things for me.”

“What things?”

“Oh, there was so much confusion. The wedding, you know. The florist kept popping in to use the phone. The men’s bathroom sink was leaking and we needed some plumbing done quick. I had to give Jimmy some last minute instructions. Everything from where to put the wedding gifts to which plumber to call. I was so relieved when Reverend Sullivan arrived, and I could leave.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sam cut in. “You said something about wedding gifts.”

“Yes. It’s a nuisance, how some people have gifts delivered to the church instead of the bride’s home.”

“How many gifts arrived at the church?”

“There was only one. Jimmy—oh, poor Jimmy. It’s so unfair. A wife and all…”

Sam fought to maintain his patience. “What about the gift?”

“Oh. That. Jimmy said a man brought it by. He showed it to me. Very nicely wrapped, with all these pretty silver bells and foil ribbons.”

“Mrs. Whipple,” Sam interrupted again. “What happened to that gift?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I told Jimmy to give it to the bride’s mother. I assume that’s what he did.”

“But the bride’s mother hadn’t arrived yet, right? So what would Jimmy do with it?”

Helplessly Helen Whipple shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose he’d leave it where she’d be sure to find it. In the front pew.”

The front pew. The center of the blast.

Sam said, sharply, “Who was the gift addressed to?”

“The bride and groom, of course.”

“Dr. Bledsoe and his fiancée?”

“Yes. That was on the card. Dr. and Mrs. Robert Bledsoe.”

I
T WAS STARTING
to come together now, Sam thought as he got back in his car. The method of delivery. The time of planting. But the target wasn’t quite clear yet. Was Nina Cormier or Robert Bledsoe supposed to die? Or was it both of them?

Nina, he knew, had no answers, no knowledge of any enemies. She couldn’t help him.

So Sam drove to Ocean View Drive, to Robert Bledsoe’s house. This time Bledsoe was damn well going to answer some questions, the first two being: Who was the other woman he’d been seeing, and was she jealous enough to sabotage her lover’s wedding—and kill off a dozen people in the process?

Two blocks before he got there, he knew something was wrong. There were police lights flashing ahead and spectators gathered on the sidewalks.

Sam parked the car and quickly pushed his way through the crowd. At the edge of Bledsoe’s driveway, a yellow police tape had been strung between wooden stakes. He flashed his badge to the patrolman standing guard and stepped across the line.

Homicide Detective Dick Yeats greeted him in the driveway with his usual I’m-in-charge tone of superiority.

“Hello again, Navarro. We have it all under control.”

“You have
what
under control? What happened?”

Yeats nodded toward the BMW in the driveway.

Slowly Sam circled around the rear bumper. Only then did he see the blood. It was all over the steering wheel and the front seat. A small pool of it had congealed on the driveway pavement.

“Robert Bledsoe,” said Yeats. “Shot once in the temple. The ambulance just left. He’s still alive, but I don’t expect he’ll make it. He’d just pulled into his driveway and was getting out of his car. There’s a sack of groceries in the trunk. Ice cream barely melted. The neighbor saw a green Jeep take off, just before she noticed Bledsoe’s body. She thinks it was a man behind the wheel, but she didn’t see his face.”

“A man?” Sam’s head snapped up. “Dark hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, God.” Sam turned and started toward his car.
Nina,
he thought, and suddenly he was running. A dark-haired man had forced Nina off the road. Now Bledsoe was dead. Was Nina next?

Sam heard Yeats yell, “Navarro!” By then, he was already scrambling into his car. He made a screeching U-turn and headed away from Ocean View Drive.

He drove with his emergency lights flashing all the way to George Cormier’s house.

It seemed he was ringing the bell forever before anyone answered the door. Finally it swung open and Daniella appeared, her flawless face arranged in a smile. “Why, hello, Detective.”

“Where’s Nina?” he demanded, pushing past her into the house.

“She’s upstairs. Why?”

“I need to talk to her.
Now.
” He started for the stairway, then halted when he heard footsteps creak on the landing above. Glancing up, he saw Nina standing on the steps, her hair a tumble of black silk.

She’s okay,
he thought with relief.
She’s still okay.

She was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, and she had a purse slung over her shoulder, as if she were just about to leave the house.

As she came down the stairs, she brought with her the elusive fragrance of soap and shampoo. Nina’s scent, he thought with a pleasurable thrill of recognition. Since when had he committed her fragrance to memory?

By the time she reached the bottom step, she was frowning at him. “Has something happened?” she asked.

“Then no one’s called you?”

“About what?”

“Robert.”

She went very still, her dark eyes focused with sudden intensity on his face. He could see the questions in her eyes, and knew she was too afraid to ask them.

He reached for her hand. It was cold. “You’d better come with me.”

“Where?”

“The hospital. That’s where they took him.” Gently he led her to the door.

“Wait!” called Daniella.

Sam glanced back. Daniella stood frozen, staring after them in panic. “What about Robert? What happened?”

“He’s been shot. It happened a short while ago, just outside his house. I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.”

Daniella took a step backward, as though slapped. It was her reaction, that expression of horror in her eyes, that told Sam what he needed to know.
So she was the other
woman,
he thought.
This blonde with her sculpted body and her perfect face.

He could feel Nina’s arm trembling in his grasp. He turned her toward the door. “We’d better go,” he said. “There may not be much time.”

Six

T
hey spent the next four hours in a hospital waiting room.

Though Nina wasn’t part of the medical team now battling to save Robert’s life, she could picture only too vividly what was going on at that moment in the trauma suite. The massive infusions of blood and saline. The scramble to control the patient’s bleeding, to keep his pressure up, his heart beating. She knew it all well because, at other times, on other patients, she had been part of the team. Now she was relegated to this useless task of waiting and worrying. Though her relationship with Robert was irrevocably broken, though she hadn’t forgiven him for the way he’d betrayed her, she certainly didn’t want him hurt.

Or dead.

It was only Sam’s presence that kept her calm and sane during that long evening. Other cops came and went. As the hours stretched on, only Sam stayed next to her on the couch, his hand clasping hers in a silent gesture of support. She could see that he was tired, but he didn’t leave her. He stayed right beside her as the night wore on toward ten o’clock.

And he was there when the neurosurgeon came out to inform them that Robert had died on the operating table.

Nina took the blow in numb silence. She was too stunned to shed any tears, to say much more than “Thank you for trying.” She scarcely realized Sam had his arm around her. Only when she sagged against him did she feel his support, steadying her.

“I’m going to take you home,” he said softly. “There’s nothing more you can do here.”

Mutely she nodded. He helped her to her feet and guided her toward the exit. They were halfway across the room when a voice called, “Miss Cormier? I need to ask you some more questions.”

Nina turned and looked at the rodent-faced man who’d just spoken to her. She couldn’t remember his name, but she knew he was a cop; he’d been in and out of the waiting room all evening. Now he was studying her closely, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“Not now, Yeats,” said Sam, nudging her to the exit. “It’s a bad time.”

“It’s the best time to ask questions,” said the other cop. “Right after the event.”

“She’s already told me she knew nothing about it.”

“She hasn’t told
me.
” Yeats turned his gaze back to Nina. “Miss Cormier, I’m with Homicide. Your fiancé never regained consciousness, so we couldn’t question him. That’s why I need to talk to you. Where were you this afternoon?”

Bewildered, Nina shook her head. “I was at my father’s house. I didn’t know about it until…”

“Until I told her,” filled in Sam.

“
You
did, Navarro?”

“I went straight from the crime scene to her father’s house. Nina was there. You can ask Daniella Cormier to confirm it.”

“I will.” Yeats’s gaze was still fixed on Nina. “I understand you and Dr. Bledsoe just called off the engagement. And you were in the process of moving out of his house.”

Softly Nina said, “Yes.”

“I imagine you must have been pretty hurt. Did you ever consider, oh…getting back at him?”

Horrified by his implication, she gave a violent shake of her head. “You don’t really think that—that I had something to do with this?”

“Did you?”

Sam stepped between them. “That’s enough, Yeats.”

“What are you, Navarro? Her lawyer?”

“She doesn’t have to answer these questions.”

“Yes, she does. Maybe not tonight. But she does have to answer questions.”

Sam took Nina’s arm and propelled her toward the exit.

“Watch it, Navarro!” Yeats yelled as they left the room. “You’re on thin ice!”

Though Sam didn’t answer, Nina could sense his fury just by the way he gripped her arm all the way to the parking lot.

When they were back in his car, she said, quietly, “Thank you, Sam.”

“For what?”

“For getting me away from that awful man.”

“Eventually, you
will
have to talk to him. Yeats may be a pain in the butt, but he has a job to do.”

And so do you, she thought with a twinge of sadness. She turned to look out the window. He was the cop again, always the cop, trying to solve the puzzle. She was merely one of the pieces.

“You’re going to have to talk to him tomorrow,” said Sam. “Just a warning—he can be a tough interrogator.”

“There’s nothing I have to tell him. I was at my father’s house. You know that. And Daniella will confirm it.”

“No one can knock your alibi. But murder doesn’t have to be done in person. Killers can be hired.”

She turned to him with a look of disbelief. “You don’t think I’d—”

“I’m just saying that’s the logic Yeats will use. When someone gets murdered, the number one suspect is always the spouse or lover. You and Bledsoe just broke up. And it happened in the most public and painful way possible. It doesn’t take a giant leap of logic to come up with murderous intent on your part.”

“I’m not a murderer. You know I’m not!”

He didn’t answer. He just went on driving as though he had not registered a word.

“Navarro, did you hear me? I’m not a murderer!”

“I heard you.”

“Then why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Because I think something else just came up.”

Only then did she notice that he was frowning at the rearview mirror. He picked up his car phone and dialed.

“Gillis?” he said. “Do me a favor. Find out if Yeats has a tail on Nina Cormier. Yeah, right now. I’m in the car. Call me back.” He hung up.

Nina turned and looked out the rear window, at a pair of headlights behind them. “Is someone following us?”

“I’m not sure. I do know that car pulled out behind ours when we left the hospital. And it’s been there ever since.”

“Your buddy in Homicide must really think I’m dangerous if he’s having me followed.”

“He’s just keeping tabs on his suspect.”

Me,
she thought, and sank back against the seat, grateful that the darkness hid her face.
Am I your suspect as well?

He drove calmly, making no sudden moves to alarm whoever was in the car behind them. In that tense stillness, the ringing of the phone was startling.

He picked up the receiver. “Navarro.” There was a pause, then he said, “You’re sure?” Again he glanced in the mirror. “I’m at Congress and Braeburn, heading west. There’s a dark truck—looks like a Jeep Cherokee—right behind me. I’ll swing around, make a pass by Houlton. If you can be ready and waiting, we’ll sandwich this guy. Don’t scare him off. For now, just move in close enough to get a good look. Okay, I’m making my turn now. I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up and shot Nina a tense glance. “You pick up what’s happening?”

“What
is
happening?”

“That’s not a cop behind us.”

She looked back at the headlights. Not a cop. “Then who is it?”

“We’re going to find out. Now listen good. In a minute I’ll want you down near the floor. Not yet—I don’t want to make him suspicious. But when Gillis pulls in behind him, things could get exciting. Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice…”

He made his turn. Not too fast—a casual change of direction to make it seem as if he’d just decided on a different route.

The other car made the turn as well.

Sam turned again, back onto Congress Street. They were headed east now, going back the way they’d come. The pair of headlights was still behind them. At 10:30 on a Sunday, traffic was light and it was easy to spot their pursuer.

“There’s Gillis,” Sam stated. “Right on schedule.” He nodded at the blue Toyota idling near the curb. They drove past it.

A moment later, the Toyota pulled into traffic, right behind the Jeep.

“Perp sandwich,” said Sam with a note of triumph. They were coming on a traffic light, just turning yellow. Purposely he slowed down, to keep the other two cars on his tail.

Without warning, the Cherokee suddenly screeched around them and sped straight through the intersection just as the light turned red.

Sam uttered an oath and hit the accelerator. They, too, lurched through the intersection just as a pickup truck barreled in from a side street. Sam swerved around it and took off after the sedan.

A block ahead, the Cherokee screeched around a corner.

“This guy’s smart,” muttered Sam. “He knew we were moving in on him.”

“Watch out!” cried Nina as a car pulled out of a parking space, right in front of them.

Sam leaned on his horn and shot past.

This is crazy,
she thought.
I’m riding with a maniac cop at the wheel.

They spun around the corner into an alley. Nina, clutching the dashboard, caught a dizzying view of trash cans and Dumpsters as they raced through.

At the other end of the alley, Sam screeched to a halt.

There was no sign of the Cherokee. In either direction.

Gillis’s Toyota squealed to a stop just behind them. “Which way?” they heard Gillis call.

“I don’t know!” Sam yelled back. “I’ll head east.”

He turned right. Nina glanced back and saw Gillis turn left, in the other direction. A two-pronged search. Surely one of them would spot the quarry.

Four blocks later, there was still no sign of the Cherokee. Sam reached for the car phone and dialed Gillis.

“No luck here,” he said. “How about you?” At the answer, he gave a grunt of disappointment. “Okay. At least you got the license number. I’ll check back with you later.” He hung up.

“So he did catch the number?” Nina asked.

“Massachusetts plate. APB’s going out now. With any luck, they’ll pick him up.” He glanced at Nina. “I’m not so sure you should go back to your father’s house.”

Their gazes locked. What she saw, in his eyes, confirmed her fears.

“You think he was following me,” she said softly.

“What I want to know is, why? There’s something weird going on here, something that involves both you and Robert. You must have
some
idea what it is.”

She shook her head. “It’s a mistake,” she whispered. “It must be.”

“Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to ensure your deaths. I don’t think he—or she—would mistake the target.”

“She? Do you really think…”

“As I said before, murder needn’t be done in person. It can be bought and paid for. And that could be what we’re dealing with. I’m more and more certain of it. A professional.”

Nina was shaking now, unable to answer him. Unable to argue. The man next to her was talking so matter-of-factly.
His
life didn’t hang in the balance.

“I know it’s hard to accept any of this yet,” he added. “But in your case, denial could be fatal. So let me lay it out for you. The brutal facts. Robert’s already dead. And you could be next.”

But I’m not worth killing!
she thought.
I’m no threat to anyone.

“We can’t pin the blame on Jimmy Brogan,” said Sam.

“I think he’s the innocent in all this. He saw something he shouldn’t have, so he was disposed of. And then his death was set up to look like a suicide, to throw us off the track. Deflect our bomb investigation. Our killer’s very clever. And very specific about his targets.” He glanced at her, and she heard, in his voice, pure, passionless logic. “There’s something else I learned today,” he told her. “The morning of your wedding, a gift was delivered to the church. Jimmy Brogan may have seen the man who left it. We think Brogan put the parcel somewhere near the front pews. Right near the blast center. The gift was addressed specifically to you and Robert.” He paused, as though daring her to argue that away.

She couldn’t. The information was coming too fast, and she was having trouble dealing with the terrifying implications.

“Help me out, Nina,” he urged. “Give me a name. A motive.”

“I told you,” she said, her voice breaking to a sob. “I don’t know!”

“Robert admitted there was another woman. Do you know who that might be?”

She was hugging herself, huddling into a self-protective ball against the seat. “No.”

“Did it ever seem to you that Daniella and Robert were particularly close?”

Nina went still.
Daniella?
Her father’s wife? She thought back over the past six months. Remembered the evenings she and Robert had spent at her father’s house. All the invitations, the dinners. She’d been pleased that her fiancé had been so quickly accepted by her father and Daniella, pleased that, for once, harmony had been achieved in the Cormier family. Daniella, who’d never been particularly warm toward her stepdaughter, had suddenly started including Nina and Robert in every social function.

Daniella and Robert.

“That’s another reason,” he said, “why I don’t think you should go back to your father’s house tonight.”

She turned to him. “You think Daniella…”

“We’ll be questioning her again.”

“But why would she kill Robert? If she loved him?”

“Jealousy? If she couldn’t have him, no one could?”

“But he’d already broken off our engagement! It was over between us!”

“Was it really?”

Though the question was asked softly, she sensed at once an underlying tension in his voice.

She said, “You were there, Sam. You heard our argument. He didn’t love me. Sometimes I think he never did.” Her head dropped. “For him it was definitely over.”

“And for you?”

Tears pricked her eyes. All evening she’d managed not to cry, not to fall apart. During those endless hours in the hospital waiting room, she’d withdrawn so completely into numbness that when they’d told her Robert was dead, she’d registered that fact in some distant corner of her mind, but she hadn’t
felt
it. Not the shock, nor the grief. She knew she
should
be grieving. No matter how much Robert had hurt her, how bitterly their affair had ended, he was still the man with whom she’d spent the last year of her life.

Now it all seemed like a different life. Not hers. Not Robert’s. Just a dream, with no basis in reality.

She began to cry. Softly. Wearily. Not tears of grief, but tears of exhaustion.

Sam said nothing. He just kept driving while the woman beside him shed soundless tears. There was plenty he
wanted
to say. He wanted to point out that Robert Bledsoe had been a first-class rat, that he was scarcely worth grieving over. But women in love weren’t creatures you could deal with on a logical level. And he was sure she did love Bledsoe; it was the obvious explanation for those tears.