Smoke and Mirrors (46 page)

' To me that seems more indicative of innocence than guilt," Will said gently. "Put it out of your mind, Rosemary. If Ed had
been hard up for money he might have gone along with the idea of burning the building for the insurance, but he would never have consented to the other thing. That was Philips. And I think Erin's point is well taken; there was no way Philips could have been indicted. He covered his tracks admirably. However, if the story had come out, the mere suspicion of arson would have wrecked his political hopes and perhaps his career. Not to mention the fact that he had an illegitimate black son."

Joe choked on his drink. "What? Son? Who—"

"It passed me right by," Nick said, slapping himself on the forehead. "Right through my thick skull. Jeff didn't know his father's name until he traced the records. All his mother told him was that his daddy owned that building. Laurence visited the house often when the girl worked for the Marshall family. He remembered her name—even knew her married name. He wouldn't be likely to, unless she had meant more to him than a pretty, flirtatious servant, twenty-three years dead."

"Laurence was . . . Jeff is ..." Joe mumbled.

"Well, Rosemary is sure it wasn't Mr. Marshall," Nick said. "And she ought to know. Oh, damn—I mean—"

"Use your imagination, Nick," Rosemary said.

Nick's cheeks were crimson. "Anyway, the important thing— the charge we can prove—is that Laurence tried his damnedest to kill Jeff tonight. You remember, Erin, how dumbfounded he was when I told him Jeff believed Mr. Marshall was his father? He didn't know whether Josie Wilson had told her son about his true parentage; he still didn't know, even after he had identified Jeff as the Wilson boy. And then to find, after all those years, that young Wilson had got it all wrong. ... I guess his fans didn't exaggerate his intelligence after all, it only took him a few seconds to see how he could use that mistaken belief to his advantage."

"He was like a juggler trying to handle too many balls at once," Will said. "But he'd have gotten away with it, if he could have disposed of Jeff. We might have had our suspicions, but we couldn't have proved a thing. Not even arson."

"No," Nick agreed. "Jeff was the only one who could have testified to that. Laurence fingered Jeff as the pyromaniac right
away. His conscience—if I may use the word loosely—was a lot more sensitive than Rosemary's; he understood immediately what the fires meant. And he figured the pyromaniac wouldn't be so bitter unless he knew the Richmond fire was not an accident. It took him a while to confirm Jeff's identity—"

"Fingerprints!" Erin exclaimed. "Remember that anonymous letter, Nick, the one about there being no statute of limitations on murder? Laurence made off with it—"

"As I said, he was more sensitive to allegations of murder than Rosemary, " Nick agreed. "I'm sure that was on his mind—testing the paper for fingerprints—but I doubt he got anything useful from it. Jeff would have been smart enough to wear gloves. Anyhow, all Laurence needed was the information we finally found—the respective birth dates. "

"He must have figured that out early on," Erin said. "And yet for a long time he behaved as if he suspected me. '

"He did more than suspect you, ' Nick said, looking self-conscious. "Ten to one it was Laurence who mugged you in the garden. Me and my brilliant ideas about dirty old men ..."

"Nobody's perfect," Erin said consolingly. "I had hurt his sensitive feelings by talking back to him; maybe he just lost his temper."

"Talking back to Philips would be sufficient grounds for mayhem in his book," Will said. "He may well have believed at first that you and Jeff were both potential blackmailers. Whether you were working together or independently, you were equally dangerous to him."

"Later, he seemed to change his mind about me," Erin went on. "It may have been Kay who convinced him I was just as stupid and unwitting as I claimed to be. But he went right ahead and rigged the Mercedes. ... It was Philips, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Nick said. "Jeff denied doing that, and I believe him. Laurence had the knowledge, he owned a similar model. I'm not entirely certain why he did it; it might have been pure bloody-mindedness, he didn't care who got hurt. But it may have been part of his plan to make Jeff look more dangerous than he really was, so that he would make an acceptable scapegoat for Kay's death."

"Kay?" Joe repeated. "Death?"

"It must have been in the candy," Erin said. "He saw her the day she died. He let that slip, it was one of his few mistakes; but he covered it up very nicely. She loved those little boxes of chocolates. Can't you see him giving them to her, with a pretty speech and a kiss on the cheek? She'd have eaten them that same night, there were only two in the box. I saw several empties in the wastebasket. I didn't give them a second thought, there were usually a few of them there. He must have slipped upstairs the next day and left that empty bottle in the medicine chest."

"He didn't expect an autopsy," Nick added. "He was well aware of the doctor's reputation, and it never occurred to him that Rosemary would refuse to accept a convenient diagnosis of heart failure. When he found out she had demanded an autopsy he knew he had to act fast. I don't know what the coroner found—"

"Morphine," Rosemary said.

"He killed Kay?" Joe's glass was empty. He got up and went to the liquor cabinet.

"You're catching on, ' Will said encouragingly.

"But why, for God's sake?"

"She knew the whole story," Rosemary said. "She must have known. She was Ed's confidential secretary, and his acolyte. I knew something was bothering her, but she would never have told me; to Kay I was still Ed's dumb little wife and she was the keeper of the flame. She'd have told any lie, committed any crime, to keep his memory untarnished. But I think, toward the end, she was beginning to crack. Philips was afraid she would; and he knew if she broke down and told me the truth, I'd have insisted on a full investigation. He couldn't afford that. You see, she—she was fond of me. And of Jeff. Poor Kay ..."

"Okay." Liquid sloshed musically as Joe filled his glass. He didn't bother adding ice cubes. "Okay. So the next question is, what are we going to do about this mess? Laurence wasn't here when I arrived, I suppose he's back home by now, wondering the same thing I am."

Nick straightened. "You can't cover this up, Joe. No way. That son of a bitch committed six murders and was working on number seven!"

"Six?" Erin repeated. "The three children and their mother, Kay. . ."

"And the anonymous wino in Richmond," Nick said. "The one the police blamed for starting the fire. What a neat setup that was. All Laurence had to do was supply the poor devil with a couple of bottles and a place where he could drink in peace. He'd wait till the guy passed out—maybe he tapped him on the head, or added something to the booze, to make sure he stayed out, before he set the blaze."

Rosemary stood up and stretched. "Oh, it will all have to come out," she said calmly. "You'll have fun, won't you, Joe, trying to make me look like a heroine instead of a goat—or a criminal. It should be the challenge of your career."

She started toward the door. "Where the hell are you going?" Joe yelled.

"To the hospital. Will, you'll drive me?"

"Be there in a minute. '

"I'll get my coat." She vanished into the hall.

"I can't stand this," Joe groaned. "Is she kidding? She has to be kidding."

"You know Rosemary," Will said. "However, I don't think the situation is quite clear. Seems to me Philips has only two choices, if he wants to avoid criminal prosecution and disgrace. He's not the type to go on the lam. It's such a hectic life, lacking the adulation and public acclaim he craves. The alternative ..."

Joe's face brightened. "You really think so?"

"What else would a pseudo-gentleman do? Hold off until tomorrow, Joe. I have a feeling we'll learn something to our advantage. And if he does his duty like a gent . . . well, the word cover-up does come to mind. Good night, all."

Will was right.
It made the morning news. Laurence had been found by his manservant, slumped over his desk. He had taken an overdose of morphine.

"Nice touch, that," Will said thoughtfully "Poetic justice. So typical of Philips. Nothing in his life ..."

"Became him like the leaving it," Joe finished the quotation.

"Ain't it the truth. He was even thoughtful enough to leave a suicide note, explaining about the deadly disease that was beginning to sap his manly strength and brilliant brain. There won't be an autopsy, he spelled that out, and he has no friends or family to demand one. I can't believe it. A god-awful mess like that, and it looks as if we may be home free."

"I see no point in being masochistic, " Will agreed. "Justice has been done. To come out with the truth now would only injure the living. Jeff is going to be all right. You should have seen his face when he opened his eyes and saw Rosemary sitting there covered with blisters and holding his hand."

"Yeah, well, she'd better quit holding his hand and get back to work," Joe grumbled. "Another swing through the southwest—"

"Don't worry about the southwest," Will said with a peculiar smile. "That's all taken care of. "

He went quietly away. Joe stared after him. "What the hell do you suppose he meant by that?"

They found out
on the last Friday before Election Day, when Miz Marylou Bennett called a press conference and announced to a group of flabbergasted reporters that she was filing for divorce on grounds of adultery, infidelity, and physical cruelty. It was undoubtedly the high point of that and many another campaign when, with the grace of Gypsy Rose Lee and the dignity of Queen Victoria, Miz Marylou peeled off the jacket she wore over a sleeveless, backless blouse, and allowed the cameras to pan in on her bruises.

Bennett conceded
shortly after the polls closed. "If he weren't
such an egotistical individual he would have withdrawn Friday evening," Will remarked. "The exit polls must have been devastating."

Jeff was already icing the champagne. The real celebration would begin when Rosemary and Joe returned from their rounds of the nearby campaign offices, where Rosemary would join in the cheers and thank her devoted workers.

"Not that it mattered one spit in hell," Nick said. "Bennett shot himself in the foot."

He sounded uncommonly depressed for a man who had just seen his career take a giant step forward. Erin made sympathetic
noises.

"Now, Nick, she could never have done it without you."

"Hey, you think my ego is on the line here? That's not it. I know I did a good job. A damned good job!"

"What the hell is the matter with you then?" Erin demanded. "I was trying to be nice, but I'll be damned if I'll put up with—"

Nick silenced her in a manner she found highly satisfactory. They were sitting on the porch swing; the night was clear and cold, and their backs were to the barren black stumps on the hillside.

"Keep on doing that," Nick said after a while. "Slapping me down when I get out of line."

"Don't worry, I will. I know why you're in such a bad mood; and I must say, it does you no credit. You'll never know for certain, Nick. Forget about it."

The rusty chains squeaked in soothing rhythm as the swing moved back and forth. After a while Nick said, "Maybe he was
gay-"

"That wouldn't mean he was incapable of fathering a child."

"Impotent?"

"A man may be impotent with one woman and not with another. It comes and goes, I am told—"

"Sure, like hot flashes," Nick said disagreeably. "There's only one other possibility. She was certain, Erin. Absolutely certain."

"Nick, for heaven's sake—"

"Infertility can be cured. Even twenty years ago I suppose there were ways ..."

"I'm sure there were. "

"They only had the one child."

"Nick—"

"You don't suppose Will—"

"That does it." Erin jumped to her feet. "Your metier is investigative reporting, all right—for something like the
National Enquirer."

Nick caught her hand and pulled her down beside him. "Come
on, don't be so noble. People are not only the most interesting things in the world, but understanding how their minds work is the very essence of politics. Aren't you even a little curious?"

"Curious about Rosemary? Sure I am. What did one reporter call her—an enigma in ruffles and pink linen? But I honestly don't give a damn who fathered her child. She was in love with Will before she married Edward; if he lied to her about his inability to have kids, and Will was unmarried, and she was young and hurt and regretting her decision, and she and Will just happened to find themselves in one of those situations where they lost their heads . . . Who are you to judge them when you don't know the circumstances, or whether it ever happened? Now they've found each other again, after all those lonely years, and they aren't hurting a living soul by loving each other. It's nothing like those filthy affairs of Buzz Bennett's, if that's what you're thinking."

"I'm afraid to think around you," Nick said. "Not only can you read my mind, you're too good at slapping me down."

"I'm just happy they're together again. And I hope now Rosemary can come to terms with her feelings about her husband. Will said once that Rosemary had inherited a lot of things, both good and bad, from Edward Marshall. Surely one of the bad things is a sense of inferiority. Remember what she said the other night—'I
was
inferior, in every measurable way.' The look on her face when she said that ..."

"You're a soap-opera sentimentalist. " Nick put his arm around her and drew her closer. "She must have rid herself of that feeling long ago. She's made a brilliant success of her job—"

"A job she inherited from Edward. She's walked in his shadow all the way, Nick, and if that sounds like a soap opera, too bad, because it's true. This win is her win. Horrible as it is to say so, losing poor Kay has to help as well. Like having a hundred-pound weight lifted off your ego. But the most important thing is that she discovered Edward Marshall wasn't a faultless image of rectitude. Maybe now she can stop resenting him and accept him for what he was—flawed and human, good and bad, with a lot of dangerous weaknesses."