The Killing Edge (8 page)

“Put that in the statement,” Will said.

“Wait. Let me rephrase it. Miss Devonshire and I had been intimately involved for some time.”

“Six months.”

“All right, six months. We went to the Seaside Motel and got there about six.”

“Where you went every Friday?”

“Yes, every Friday. I register under the names of Mr. and Mrs. G. Kahn, if that satisfies you.”

“Every bit helps.”

“I left the motel about quarter to eight and drove …”

“After tucking her in.”

“After having had sexual relations with Sandy. O.K.? She was gone when I left.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. I must have fallen asleep. I don't know when she left. I said she was gone when I left.”

“You're positive about who left first?”

“Absolutely. We both had our own cars, and hers was gone. I was also observant enough to notice that she wasn't in bed with me when I woke up.”

“All right.”

“Near eight o'clock on Forum Street, in front of the liquor store, I almost hit a damn bum who stepped out in the road in front of me. I have since learned that his name is Wally McNulty.”

“You gave him money?”

“Five dollars, and then drove home. I noticed nothing unusual about the house. The lights were on, the front door was locked. When I entered the house I called for Mauve, and then found her in the living room. I thought she was dead.”

“What time would you estimate that to be?”

“About 8:15.”

“And you called your lawyer and the police at 9 and 9:05 respectively?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do during the hour in between?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“I wandered around, did some thinking, had a drink. I tried to call Sandy, but her line was busy. I was worried.”

“About your affair, your marriage or financial problems?”

“Wait a minute.” Noah was on his feet again and shook his finger at Will. “I am advising my client not to answer any leading questions of that nature.”

“So noted. I think you had better advise him of all his rights. I'm formally charging him.”

“With what?”

“Murder one.”

“That's ridiculous! It's manslaughter two if I ever heard it.”

Will shook his head. “Oh, Noah. Stick to your title searching and go co-counsel on this.”

L.C. stood at the kitchen door in a new hostess gown and looked sadly at the burnt french fries. “I should have bought frozen.”

“Steak and salad will be more than enough,” Will said as he opened a bottle of wine.

“You know what I think? I think that little Sandra Devonshire did it.”

“Come on, L.C. I expect better than that from a cop's daughter. Nine times out of ten it's either the husband or the wife. The Bridgers had a little social position, otherwise it's the same kind of case you'd find across the river in Factory Town. He had a drink, maybe more, just out of bed with his mistress, and when he comes home she accuses him of infidelity. They fight, maybe the fight took place out doors where she still had her skates on … he kills her in a rage. And maybe not all rage. He was in financial difficulty, his wife was insured, and little Miss Muffett was waiting in the wings.”

“Killing someone in a rage isn't murder one.”

“That's for the prosecutor to decide. If Raleigh cooperates and cops a plea, they'll reduce it.”

“I don't understand about the clothes dryer and her being nude.”

“He had time after he killed her. I think he took that time to try and build an alibi and make the murder look like a sex crime.”

“How come Raleigh says Sandra left the motel first and she says he did.”

“Raleigh's a liar. God, how many times did he lie to me?”

They began to eat at the small table illuminated by a flickering candle. She picked at her food while Will ate ravenously.

He looked up apologetically. “With all the running around today, I forgot lunch.”

“The car agency wouldn't have survived without Raleigh's help.”

“It worked to his benefit also. You turned out to be a very good customer.”

“At the time, it was a terrific gamble on his part. I could type, keep books, but every time I walked under a grease rack in the shop I expected to see ‘Made in Japan' stamped in big letters on the undercarriage.”

“I appreciate your loyalty to Raleigh. He helped you out when you needed it and you're very grateful. But it also turned out to be very good business on his part. You repaid him ten times over.”

“I can't imagine him killing her. Particularly in that horrible way.”

Will put down his fork with a sigh. “Raleigh had more than one motive, he had the time and the opportunity. We can place him in the house at or near the time of the murder, and there is absolutely no evidence that anyone else was in the house. Oh, we also found a clear thumb print of his on the murder weapon.”

“How does he explain that?”

“Said he picked it up.” He sipped on his wine. “You know, L.C., this is the first murder we've had in Lantern City in years, and we broke it in fifteen hours.”

“I'm very proud of you, Will. I know you've done a fine job. And it all points toward Raleigh.”

“That it does.” They ate in silence for a few minutes. “How's the new service manager doing?”

“Oh, all right, I guess.”

“Still remind you of Frank?”

“Not so much anymore.” She laughed. “They've gotten up a pool as to how long he'll last.”

“I see. What do you think?”

“He's good at his work, but insolent as hell.”

“Frank was always a little insolent.”

“Oh, Will, come on. It's not what you think.”

Their eyes met for a long moment until she looked down at her plate.

He ran his fingers gently across her hair, down the curve of her back and over her hips. They both trembled. She kissed him and he held her tightly against his body. She was ready, and she wanted him very much.

The phone rang, but she wouldn't answer.

As he turned to reach for the phone on the night stand, she held her head against his chest.

“No,” she whispered and nibbled his ear.

He picked it up, listened for a moment, and then abruptly sat up and spilled her back across the bed. “Jesus, no! Who was driving?… August. Keerist!” He slammed the phone back on the receiver and sprang out of bed.

She watched him incredulously as he jammed his legs into pants and slipped into his shirt. “I think I'm going to cry.”

“If I had time, I'd cry with you. Raleigh's escaped.”

Chapter Five

“Escaped? That's impossible.”

“You tell me.” He jammed his shirt into the waistband of his trousers and began a search for shoes. “We only have a holding cell here in Lantern City and were taking him to Murphysville where all prisoners wait until their hearings. The car skidded off the road and turned over, and the back door opened.”

“That could happen in this weather.”

“When they didn't arrive on time, Chief Herbert over there backtracked down the road and found the car. Two officers were unconscious, and Raleigh had taken the key to the cuffs.”

“He won't get far in the snow.”

Will found his shoes under the bed and slipped them on. “I know, but it makes us look like such jerks. A murder suspect yet. He doesn't have money or valuables on him, and of course his house will have a police guard. He'll follow the usual pattern, make for the highway to try and hitchhike out of state.”

“You'll put out an APB?”

“Already done. The state has road blocks on the major arteries in the sector.” He leaned over and kissed her. She put her arms around his neck and drew him back on the bed.

“Sounds like everything that can be done is done,” she whispered.

He slipped out of her arms and stomped to the door. “I want that bastard before morning.”

“Will.”

He turned with his hand on the door knob. “Yes?”

“Damn you.”

“Don't damn me. Damn Raleigh Bridger.”

The slam of the apartment door jarred her as she sat disconsolately in the center of the bed. Drawing her knees under her chin, she stared through the doorway into the living room where empty plates sat unwashed on the dining table. Her fists beat a rapid staccato on her knees until she laughed. L.C. rolled off the bed, skipped into the bathroom and adjusted the shower.

Toweling and throwing on a terrycloth robe, she cleared the table, stuffed dishes in the dishwasher and in minutes had the apartment straightened. It was still only 9:30.

Sleep was a distant thing. She wanted to do something, and briefly considered going back to work in the shop. It would be chilly, top cold to handle tools until the boiler was turned up, and it would take at least an hour to warm the large room.

She made a cup of coffee and curled up on the sofa with a book. It was impossible to concentrate. After she lost the plot for the third time, and had to flip back to the beginning of the chapter to read it again, she closed the book with a note of finality.

The phone book was in the drawer of the night stand in the bedroom, and she found a listing under S. Devonshire, with an address indicating an old apartment building on the other side of town.

Snow had stopped falling and the streets were plowed, but driving was still hazardous. The light turned red at the Forum Street intersection, and the Ferrari went into a mild skid as she braked. L.C. downshifted, steered into the skid, and quickly regained control. She well understood how Dave August might have excessively accelerated on the trip to Murphysville.

The apartment building was an unassuming brick structure with tiny balconies off the second floor. She parked in a rear lot and entered the vestibule.

It was a full two minutes and several rings before the sulky voice answered the intercom. “Who is it?”

“L.C. Converse, Sandy. Can I see you a minute?”

“Miz Converse, what do you want?”

“About Raleigh. It won't take a minute.”

The door buzzed and L.C. entered the hall. Sandra's door at the rear of the first floor swung open as she approached.

“What is it, Miz Converse?”

“Raleigh Bridger has escaped and I wanted to ask …”

“Oh, he's not here.” The door swung open and L.C. almost stumbled as Sandra grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

It was a one room efficiency with a small kitchenette to the side. L.C. recognized the man half under the sheet on the opened convertible couch as a 69 Corvette whose valve heads had been ground last month.

Sandra, wearing a light dressing gown and obviously nothing else, bustled through the room opening and closing closet and bathroom doors. “He's not here, Miz Converse, you can see that.”

“I didn't think he would be. I was just going to ask you about …” L.C. stopped. How in the world could she question the girl about the discrepancy in Raleigh's story when 69 Corvette was also interested in her charms. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company.”

“Hank's not company, he's my roommate and you can talk in front of him. He knows all about Mr. RB.”

“Then Hank was here last night?”

“Hank's always here. He's drawing unemployment.”

“Did you tell that to Chief Barnes?”

“He didn't ask.”

“What in hell are you two broads talking about?” The 69 Corvette heaved himself from the bed and padded over to the refrigerator. He took out a can of beer, flipped the top, and posed against the kitchen counter in his jockey shorts.

“You trying to show off or something?” Sandra snapped.

“Pipe down. Hey, I know you. You work at the garage and did a job on my valves.”

“Blue job with radials,” L.C. replied.

“Hey, yeah. You think I'd get more RPM if I put in dual carbs?”

“I've got some Holley 4160 four barrels in the shop. Mount them side by side and you'll pick up 400 on your tach.”

“Is that right?”

His reply of admiration had not been lost on Sandra. There was a noticeable hostility in her voice. “Exactly what do you want, L.C?”

“Were you home by eight last night?”

“Why?”

“Sure she was,” he replied. “I know because I always watch “The Price is Right.” It comes on at 7:30 and she came in before it was over.”

“Thank you. I'll go now.” L.C. started for the door.

“Wait a minute, I'd like to talk to you about that red buggy of yours.”

“Why don't you just parade around in front of her with everything hanging out?” L.C. heard Sandra yell as the door slammed.

The stenographic pad lay forgotten on the floor by the side of the chair as Jane Ellen sat defiantly across the desk from L.C. and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What am I supposed to do, bind them like Chinese women used to do?”

“That was feet not breasts, Jane Ellen.”

“Well, I can't help it.” She put her arms down by her side. “When it gets cold like this they … they just stand out.”

L.C. was sorry that the conversation had ever started. She wouldn't have brought it up this morning if Vic Mange hadn't almost climbed into the Mr. Coffee machine as Jane Ellen poured. “I know you can't help it. I'm only suggesting that you might consider wearing a brassiere.”

“L.C, I never thought you'd be like the others.”

“What others?”

“The other sexist men I've worked for.”

“I hadn't realized that I'd lost my gender identity.”

“What?”

“I am not a man, Jane Ellen, in case you hadn't recently noticed.”

The girl across the desk blushed. “I didn't mean …”

Miraculously the phone rang and L.C. waved the secretary from the office. “L.C. Converse.”