Sweet Poison (37 page)

“Guilty of what?”

A long silence. “Sexual problem with … some of the younger men and boys.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very serious, Mrs.—”

“Thanks,” said Jane, hanging up. She sat for a moment, wondering if this news had any truth to it. “Come on, Mouse. Let’s go see if Reverend Cornish is at his loft.”

Jane parked her car just a few spaces down from the spot she’d found the other day. She gave Mouse his usual Milk-Bone and told him that she’d be back in a few minutes. If Cornish had left the church fifteen minutes before she called, he was probably just getting home.

Sure enough, she found him at the edge of the drive, unloading some sacks from his trunk.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows at her. His look of puzzlement quickly
turned to wariness. “Ms. Lawless. You’re the last person I expected to see today.”

“I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk.”

“About what?”

“Could we … sit somewhere quiet. I won’t take much of your time.”

He took off his sunglasses, rubbed his eyes, and thought it over. “Well, I suppose if you’re here, you might as well help me carry some of this upstairs.” He was wearing a gray herringbone tweed suit with a matching vest. He looked like a very proper English gentleman. He handed Jane two paper sacks filled with books. Before closing the trunk and locking the car, he lifted one sack out for himself. Using his cane, he maneuvered slowly up a ramp to the back door.

They rode up to the third floor in silence. The elevator opened onto a small hallway with three expensive-looking wood-paneled doors. Cornish opened the door directly to her right and stood back so that she could enter first.

“Just set them on the dining room table,” he said, leaving his sack in the front hall.

“Would you like me to go down and bring up another load?” asked Jane.

“Luke will do it when he gets home.” He took off his suit jacket and hung it up. “Sit down, won’t you? Anywhere is fine.”

Jane moved into the main living area. “This is a lovely loft.” She was surrounded by windows. She sat down next to a large potted ficus tree.

“Thanks,” he said, pausing by the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

Cornish had far better manners than his partner. “No, thanks.”

Pulling one of the dining room chairs away from the table, he sat down just a few feet from her, setting his cane on the floor next to him. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

She moved to the edge of her chair, pressed her hands together between her knees. “I feel that I need to apologize. I should have known
about what happened to you last spring. I get very involved in my work and sometimes I forget to look around and see what’s happening in the world. That’s not an excuse, it’s just the way I live my life. But a hate crime … I should have known about that. It was probably all over the news, in the papers.”

He shook his head. “There was a small article in the local paper. Your father’s law firm was able to get the charges against Gabriel dropped so fast that I don’t believe any of that even made the TV news.”

“But it was undoubtedly covered in the local GLBT press.”

“Yes. My story was included in a general article on hate crimes in the Twin Cities, but nothing beyond that.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough, does it.”

“No, it does not.”

“Look,” she said, feeling uncomfortable, but assuming it was the price she had to pay. “I wanted you to know that my father wasn’t the one who represented Gabriel Keen. It was one of his partners, Elizabeth Piper.”

“And that should matter why?”

“I suppose it doesn’t. I know what you must think of anyone connected to a firm that represents people who commit hate crimes—”

“I’m sure you can guess. And don’t trot out the Constitution. I know we need both prosecutors and defenders. I just think, in this case, Keen should have been forced to use a public defender. His father is wealthy and could buy a shark. That’s the part that doesn’t seem fair.”

Jane could hardly argue the point. “It’s a different criminal justice system for the poor than for the wealthy. It shouldn’t be that way. We’re a country of laws. The playing field should be level—for everyone.”

“Ah, you’re a dreamer. We don’t belong in this world.”

Jane drew her eyes away. Waited a beat. “I understand you’ve been accused of sexual impropriety at your church.”

His anger spiked. “Keen is out to get me any way he can. He started the rumors, then went to my bishop with the accusation. Any gay pastor who works with young people is an easy target these days.
Of course, I didn’t do any of the things he accused me of. The bishop wouldn’t be able to prove anything. I … I try not to hate Gabriel, but I’m afraid it’s a battle I lost long ago.”

“You heard he was arrested for Charity’s murder.”

His body jerked. “No. When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

He tipped his head back and burst into a grin. Jane had never seen him happy before. He was good-looking enough when he was sad or serious, but when he smiled, he became almost angelic. “I apologize,” he said, unable to wipe the joy off his face. “I shouldn’t be so pleased with another man’s demise.”

“But you are.”

“Oh,” he said, giving the air a fist pump, “it couldn’t happen to a more deserving man.”

When Jane saw that his eyes were wet, she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. I just wish Charity could be here to celebrate this moment with me.”

“You two were good friends.”

“Her loss was … it was one of the worst moments of my life. But now, this gives it some meaning.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. “In what way?”

His lips parted. “Just that her death brought about his demise.”

“Kind of a high price to pay.”

“Yes, well, that’s certainly true. It was a tragedy. It should never have happened. But, you see, Gabriel thought she’d ended her relationship with him because of me, because of our friendship. In fact, that was part of it. He was infuriated by … the injustice of it. I suppose that’s why he wrote that word.”

“What word?”

“Injustice
. Didn’t you know? He wrote it in lipstick on her stomach.”

She looked at him, nodded. He continued to talk, but she wasn’t listening anymore. The significance of that one word approached her like a dark figure. In an instant, even though she didn’t know how it had happened, she knew the police had arrested the wrong man.

She continued to force a look of interest in what he was saying. He seemed to be soliciting her agreement, so she gave it, nodding, folding her hands calmly in her lap. When he paused, she glanced at her watch. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. And I need to get back to work.”

Jane wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but he seemed to have read something in her face. The silence grew and grew until it was almost volcanic.

And then the front door opened.

“Luke, is that you?” called Christopher, his gaze remaining on Jane.

“Yeah. I bought us some lunch.” When he came around the corner and saw Jane, he stopped. “What’s she doing here?”

Still watching her, Christopher said, “She came to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For … ignorance.”

Luke grunted.

“Will you two excuse me for a moment?” said Christopher, scooping his cane off the floor.

Jane stood. “I really need to get going.”

“No, just stay for another few seconds. There’s something I want to show you.” He limped out of the room.

Luke glared at her. “You’ve got some nerve. I suppose you know your dad’s campaign manager just fired me.”

“Did she?”

He set a white sack on the dining room table next to the bags of books. “Frankly, I’m glad to be out of there.”

Jane moved a few feet away from the chair. “I really need to go.”

“Fine with me.”

Christopher returned to the room holding a gun aimed directly at Jane’s chest.

“Jesus, Christopher, what’s going on?”

“You’ve got to help me think this out.”

“Think
what
out?”

“She knows. I don’t know how—”

“Knows
what?
About the cybercrap I’ve been doing? So what? She can’t prove it. Shit, Christopher, put the gun down.” He moved toward him. “Better yet, give it to me. You don’t even know how to use it.”

“You don’t get it,” said Christopher, his hand shaking, his eyes filled with a kind of animal terror. “I was the one who killed Charity.”

Luke turned to face him. “You
what?”

“We’d been talking for months about what we could do to get Keen arrested. She wanted him gone from her life as much as I wanted to see him behind bars. So, that last night, when I called her to tell her Corey Hodge was a rapist and that she should get as far away from him as she could, she called me back on her way home. She was angry at Corey. He’d lied to her, told her he was a cop. I explained what he’d done to that woman back in the midnineties. In detail. It was her idea, not mine, to set something up that made it look like he’d attacked her. She asked if I knew where to get my hands on a taser. I said I already had one. She asked how much it would hurt to get hit by one. What did I know? I said it probably hurt, but it didn’t last long. So she said, let’s do it, let’s make it look like Corey had come after her. And then, once we’d set the scene, I’d go over to Keen’s house and plant the evidence. That’s just what I did. It was her idea to use the camera to link Keen to the attack. We wanted him behind bars. And if it caused Corey some initial problems, she was fine with that, too. He was a rapist, after all. We both thought it was a brilliant plan. Nobody would really get hurt—except Keen and Corey.”

Jane watched Christopher’s eyes, looking for any hint that he was about to squeeze the trigger.

“You shot her with a taser?” said Luke, his expression full of horrified confusion.

“She had the idea to make it look like she’d been taking out the trash. We went outside, tossed the trash into the bin, and then … yes, I did it. I shot her. She dropped next to the Dumpster and I held her until she said she was feeling better. I took the photos. And then I covered her eyes with tape, but not her mouth. That way, as soon as
I was gone, she could start screaming bloody murder, tell the police that Keen had attacked her. But then I began to panic that someone would see us. I told her I had to go. She looked at me kind of strangely. I didn’t know how to read it. Maybe her heart was already giving out on her … but … no, I don’t believe that. I think we were both just kind of appalled at what we were doing.

“Luke, you have to believe me. When I left her, she was fine. I swear it on everything I hold holy. We both thought everything would work out just the way we planned. And then, the next day, when I called her, she didn’t answer. I got a little frantic. Finally, her parents called with the news. I didn’t know what to do. I lost it. I never meant to hurt her. Never!”

Luke’s eyes darted nervously to Jane, then back to Christopher.

“If I let Jane go,” continued Christopher, shaking now, “she’ll run straight to the police. I’ll go to prison! Help, me, Luke. I don’t know what to do.” Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

Inside the pocket of Jane’s coat, her cell phone began to vibrate. Slipping both hands into her pockets, trying to make it look casual, she felt for the On button and pressed it.

“Don’t judge me,” shouted Christopher, his gaze boring deep into Luke’s eyes. “You had a hard-on to get even with Lawless and his daughter. I told you I didn’t care what you did. I even gave you my blessing. But me, it was always Keen. Only Keen. Since I woke up from that coma, I’ve had one thought. God forgive me,” he cried. “I wanted him dead. Every night I’d go to bed and think of ways to do it. It was wrong! Hate is wrong, Luke. I’m a minister! I shouldn’t think like that. But I couldn’t stop myself.”

Jane could almost see the fuses blowing behind Christopher’s eyes. She wasn’t even sure he was sane. Thinking that this might be her last chance, she shoved Luke into Christopher and hurtled toward the door.

“Stop!” screamed Christopher. “I’ll shoot you. God forgive me, I will.”

She almost made it. Turning around, she saw that he was at the edge of the hallway, farther away this time, but the gun was still leveled
at her. Even if he was a terrible shot, he could probably hit her before she got out.

“Luke,” called Christopher, dropping his cane and holding the gun with both hands. “Get the rope from your camping gear.”

Luke was standing a few feet behind him. He didn’t move.

“Do it,” screamed Christopher. “You tie her up and gag her, and then we’ll dump her next door.”

“In the empty loft?”

“I’ve got a key. It’s in the kitchen drawer by the phone. We’ll leave her there until we decide what to do.”

“Christopher, think for a minute,” said Luke.

“I can’t!”

“People will miss me at work,” said Jane. “They’ll come looking for me.”

“Does anybody know you’re here?” asked Luke.

“Yes.”

“She’s bluffing,” said Christopher. “Get the rope.”

She pressed her hands into her coat pockets again, hoping like crazy that it hadn’t been somebody calling to ask if she needed a new garage door.

Luke rushed up to her and tied her hands. He kept looking at Christopher like he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

“We got any tape?” asked Luke

“Just that clear packing tape. It’s in your study.”

Luke raced off.

“Christopher, please,” said Jane. “Think about what you’re doing. It would be so much better if you admitted what happened. It wasn’t murder, it was an accident. And there were extenuating—”

“Shut up!”

Luke came back, stuffed her mouth with a washcloth, and covered it with several strips of tape. Opening the door, he peered out into the hall. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her arm and pushing her out in front of him. He plugged the key into the lock across the hall and shoved her inside.

“Sit.” He pointed to a section of floor in front of a huge stack of plaster board. Unlike Christopher and Luke’s place, this one wasn’t finished. It smelled of drywall dust, new cement, and soggy spackling paste. She eased down onto the dirty floor. Luke crouched down next to her. “Why’d you have to come over here?” he said.