Evidence of Murder Read online

  “Again, how does he turn her atmosphere anaerobic? Set up some kind of oxygen tent? And why is she-”

  Theresa had a vision of the clear plastic frames over the assembly table. “He already has one. Big enough for a body to fit, and it already has piping outlets built into it. Damn, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” She explained the factory setup to Christine.

  “Great. So Jillian lies on this table while Evan attaches nitrogen at one end and a vacuum at the other and reduces her oxygen levels until she passes out.”

  “Right.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why does Jillian go along with this? She didn’t struggle. Aside from those vague bruises on her forearms, she’s got no defensive wounds. She didn’t break her nails clawing at the glass. She just laid there and died.”

  “You said she had a sleeping pill in her system.”

  “I can’t believe it would be enough for her to sleep through being carried to another location and placed in a gas chamber.”

  Theresa shuddered. “How long would it take?”

  “Not long at all. Once the amount of oxygen in the air gets under twenty-five percent, she’d be unconscious in seconds and dead in minutes.”

  “And no chance that she’d sleep through that.”

  “I can’t see how. Once her lungs began to gasp, she’d wake up, unless she had way more narcotics in her system than we found.”

  Theresa stood up, dying to act on the information and no longer able to withstand the handle of the ammo locker pressing into her bottom. “But suffocation by nitrogen would produce your autopsy findings. Or lack thereof.”

  “I’ll need to do a little research, but I believe so. What, you think your cousin’s going to give you a search warrant based on an educated guess?”

  “Maybe. Now that I know what to look for.”

  “And what would that be? A tube leading from the nitrogen tanks to this hood you were talking about?”

  “No, I’m sure he could explain that, and if he couldn’t he would have gotten rid of the hookups by now. No, I mean hairs, fibers, fingerprints, anything that would show Jillian Perry died while stretched out in that Plexiglas cocoon.”

  Frank answered on the second ring. “Where are you?”

  This seemed like an odd way to open a conversation. “At the lab, of course. Look, I know you’re sick of hearing about Jillian Perry-”

  “You have no idea how sick. You haven’t heard?”

  The coffee floating around in her empty stomach began to boil. “Heard what?”

  “Drew Fleming kidnapped Cara.”

  She nearly broke off the phone’s flip top pressing it to her ear, as if proximity might make his words more sensible. “What?”

  “He went to the apartment and pointed a gun at the nanny. He made her pack a diaper bag for him with stuff for Cara, bundled up the baby, and left.”

  She noticed the wind behind Frank’s voice, whining across the surface of his phone. “Is he on his boat?”

  “We’re there now. He says he’ll shoot anyone who steps onto the dock.”

  “Is he trying to get away?”

  “That’s going to be a little difficult with a foot of ice on top of the water. He could ice-skate a good distance, but that boat ain’t going anywhere.”

  She sat down in a task chair; not the best choice as its wheels started to scoot away and she nearly slid off. “So he has no way out.”

  “Best case, he figures that out and realizes that he loved Jillian too much to kill her child. Worst case-”

  “He decides to take her with him. There’s not a lot of difference between those two choices, Frank, when you realize that the only reason he took Cara is because he believes Evan intends to murder her.”

  Silence on the other end, save for the bitter wind. “That’s not good.”

  “I’m coming down there.” She flipped the phone shut before he could protest.

  CHAPTER 24

  Of the knot of cars in the otherwise deserted parking lot, at least half had their engines running, patrol officers taking advantage of the tradition that their vehicles must be ever ready for action by keeping them ever warm. But Theresa had lived through the gas shortages of the late seventies and couldn’t bring herself to do that. Besides, Leo would have killed her if he’d found out.

  She took nothing but her ID, her cell phone, and her ChapStick, and followed the chaotic trail of the shoe prints in the snow. At the crest of the hill, she saw figures conversing in pairs or triplets, standing by the marina entrance, the gas pumps, and lined up along the pier. The fifty-foot finger of dock that led to, among others, Drew’s houseboat remained clear.

  As she grew closer, she noted Frank out on the pier and Evan standing with his lawyer near a group of what looked like plainclothes police officers. She meant to walk past the man without speaking, but he felt differently.

  She had never been a physical girl, taking on running and scuba diving for their calorie-burning qualities only; otherwise, she never joined pickup games of baseball or touch football. But now she learned what a flying tackle was. Or at least what one felt like.

  Evan struck her from the side, his momentum carrying them several feet before dropping her to the frozen ground. The snow provided very little cushion as his full weight flattened her, and her head managed to find the one narrow strip of concrete sidewalk in the area. The air left her lungs and threatened not to return. She could not comprehend his words as his face appeared above her, framed by the sky, which, she only now noticed, had turned blue.

  With breath came hearing. “You bitch! You put him up to this! He’s going to kill my baby and it’s all your fault!”

  A scuffling sound, and at least four men, including his lawyer, pulled him from her, which would have been better if he hadn’t stepped on her shin at least twice while getting to his feet.

  Then hands levitated her up as well, much less gently than she would have thought her age, sex, and general innocence in the matter warranted. One set belonged to Frank.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m all right, thanks. Even the back of my head where the sidewalk put a dent in my skull.”

  “I can see you’re all right. What are you doing here?”

  She staggered toward the dock, putting some distance between herself and Evan before answering. “I can talk to Drew. He thinks I’m the only one on his side.”

  “Maybe not after that custody hearing yesterday, huh? I heard you didn’t help him out so much. And what did you say about the back of your head?”

  “Sidewalk. Concrete. It’s okay, brains still inside the cranium, I think. I gave the custody hearing my best effort, and Drew would have seen that. Let me talk to him.”

  “SWAT’s got control of the scene.”

  “But he’ll listen to me. He knows I agree with him about Jillian.”

  “You agree that Evan wants to kill Cara? Yeah, that’s going to make him put down the gun.”

  She paused with him, away from the other men, next to the snow-covered rocks and the weirdly silent sea at the edge of the land. “Maybe it will. I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but Christine and I might have figured out how Jillian was killed.”

  “Christine?”

  “The pathologist.” When he continued to look blank, she added, “The pretty one.”

  “Oh. Her.”

  She gave him the scenario entitled Death by Nitrogen, in twenty-five words or less. She kept the technical parts to a minimum since his attention always returned to the motley houseboat dangling over the ice, as if it might explode any second.

  “So you want to go out there and say, it’s all over, I’ve got the goods on Evan, turn Cara over to the authorities and she’ll be safe?”

  “Something like that.”

  He walked along the water’s edge toward the pier. “It’s not a bad idea. Problem is, this is a hostage situation now.”

  “Yeah
?”

  “So I’m not calling the shots. They’re going to have to bring in the whole team.”

  “Don’t tell me Chris Cavanaugh-”

  “-will be here in ten. I don’t know why you don’t want to see the guy.”

  The planks of the wooden dock vibrated only slightly under her feet, held stiffly in place by the frozen water. “Maybe because, fairly or unfairly, almost dying with him last year sort of put me off his company.”

  “Maybe. Remember how you had such a crush on that kid in my band who came over to practice one day and said hi to you, and you ran outside and made your mother drive you home because you were too scared to say hi back?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “I can’t believe you could forget that.”

  “I can’t believe you called that a band.” She flipped open her cell phone, scanning the list of incoming calls. Drew had called her to come to court, but she had been on the line with Leo and hadn’t picked up. Now she highlighted his number and pressed Talk.

  “What are you doing?” Frank asked.

  “Everyone thinks I started this, and maybe I did. Now I’m going to finish it.”

  Drew picked up on the third ring. “Uh-hello?”

  “Drew? This is Theresa MacLean. Are you in your houseboat with a gun to Cara’s head?”

  “Of course not! I would never hurt-I mean, not yet. But you understand why I had to do this, don’t you? Of all people, you know.”

  “Yes, Drew. I know. Look, you’re going to need a go-between. I’m coming out there.”

  “No,” Frank said.

  “Yes! Please!” Drew said. He gave a little huff of exertion, as if he had shifted a twenty-pound baby in his arms. “We have to do something or they’ll give Cara back.”

  She switched ears, sliding her free hand under her arm to keep it warm. “What are you planning to do, Drew?”

  “Just come out here, and we can talk. You’ll have to jump onto the deck, I took the plank down.”

  “Absolutely not,” Frank said. The group of heavily bundled-up cops farther down the pier began to show more interest in her conversation with Frank. Their faces, pinched with cold, turned toward her.

  She stepped onto the dock that led to the back of the Jillian, covered the receiver with a gloved hand, and told her cousin, “I’m the only person he’s going to trust, Frank.”

  Drew’s voice sounded much farther away than sixty feet, coming from the tiny phone. “I can’t let him take her back. He’ll kill her. You know that. Besides, you had a baby, didn’t you? I’ve never tried to take care of one before. I might need some help.”

  Cara chose that moment to start crying, her peeved mewls quite close to the phone.

  “Absolutely not,” Frank repeated.

  The SWAT commander materialized next to him. “This isn’t our policy-”

  “Come down here,” Drew demanded.

  Theresa spoke to her cousin, again covering the receiver. “He’s surrounded by big men with big guns and he’s got a baby in his arms. I’m a lot more afraid of what you’ll do to him than what he’ll do to me.”

  “What if he bears a grudge against you for your family court appearance?”

  “Come on!” Drew’s voice floated up from the phone in her hand. “Get out here and help me, or I’m leaving with Cara.”

  She took another step along the dock.

  “Wait. Take this. It’s a mic with a GPS.” The SWAT guy used her to block himself from Drew’s line of sight and tucked a thin rod about the size of a pencil into her coat pocket. He clipped it to the flap so that the tip stuck out.

  “Where’s he going to go?” she demanded. “The lake is frozen solid.”

  “Exactly. He can get off that boat and walk across it-keep it for the mike, okay? You talk to him from the dock, right? You do not get on that boat.”

  She aimed her gaze straight into his crystal blue eyes, and lied, “Right.”

  Frank insisted, “She can’t do this. Am I the only one who sees that here? Chris Cavanaugh will kill us.”

  Theresa and the SWAT commander answered in near unison: “I don’t give a shit what Chris Cavanaugh thinks.”

  “Come out here right now!” Drew wailed, his voice beginning to crack.

  Theresa mouthed an apology to her cousin and put the phone to her face. “I’m coming.”

  Then she walked down the icy dock toward the rear of the Jillian.

  Frank called after her, “This is a far cry from exiting out my back door. And what am I supposed to tell your mother?”

  “Tell her I went to save a baby.” Then she paused, and turned slightly to throw back over her shoulder, “Never mind, I’ll tell her myself. Drew Fleming is not going to hurt me.”

  At least she hoped not.

  CHAPTER 25

  Getting onto his boat, however, looked like a killer. She would have to leap from an icy dock to an icy deck, over a two- to three-foot expanse of frozen lake. In the summer, child’s play. In the winter, a great way to break a hip.

  It occurred to her to use one last niggling prick to her psyche to get her to make this leap: Her career had become troubled, but coming out of this situation with a healthy baby and no bloodshed would make her a hero. All the sarcastic supervisors and defense experts in the world wouldn’t be able to change that.

  Please, God, don’t let that be my only reason.

  And while we’re at it, don’t let Drew kill me. That would upset my mother.

  “Drew! It’s Theresa. I’m coming aboard.”

  He slid open the door just an inch, enough to say, “All right, come on. Don’t slip.”

  “Easier said than done,” she grumbled as she bent her knees. She made it with two inches to spare, though her bottom smacked the rear gunwale and the impact reverberated throughout her bones. The boat swayed in its hammock.

  Drew slid the door open another inch, and Theresa pushed it farther to enter, actually grateful for the rush of warmth and the shelter from the constant icy wind. She sniffled, rubbed her hands, and let her pupils expand to take in the darkened interior.

  The houseboat had not changed much since her first visit, except perhaps for a fresh dusting of clutter on the uppermost layer of the surrounding surfaces. Drew wore his standard baggy pants and the knit, zippered jacket. He bounced with an internal mania but his eyes were clear and dry. Cara, warmly bundled up in pink blankets in his arms, cried in sporadic bursts. His left arm supported her back and head. He held her legs in the crook of his right arm and a Luger in that hand.

  Theresa drew in a deep breath. Now that she had arrived, she hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do except to remain calm and keep Drew talking instead of acting. “Has she eaten lately?”

  Drew glanced down at the baby in his arms as if unsure of how she’d gotten there. “I don’t know. I forgot to ask the babysitter when I-took her. I got some stuff, though. Look.”

  He gestured with the gun’s barrel to his kitchen counter, littered with diapers, formula, and a stuffed tiger. Theresa cleared off the stove, found a pan, filled it with water and heated up the formula, turning her back to him without hesitation. She had nothing to fear from Drew Fleming. Or so she told herself.

  The activity did not slow her heart rate, but she managed to keep her voice steady when she faced him again. “I know how worried you are about Cara, Drew, but you have to know that this was not a good idea. It only makes you look unstable.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?”

  “And by default it makes Evan look more innocent.”

  “The court made him her official guardian. If she dies, he gets the whole account. Why would he wait?”

  “He wouldn’t dare do anything to Cara now, not with all the scrutiny over Jillian’s death.”

  “There is no scrutiny!” He gave the baby an agitated rocking, prompting another startled cry from the infant. “Your department released the body. The police aren’t investigating. No one cares about Jillian except you an
d me.”

  Theresa swirled the formula in its warm water bath, wondering how much to tell him. “I’ve found something out, though. I think I know how he did it.”

  This appeared to stun him, so she made a grab for the baby in case he dropped her, thinking too late that sudden movements were not a good idea. But he handed the baby over without a pause and focused on this new information. “You do? How?”

  She told it simply and slowly, with plenty of pauses for transferring the formula into a bottle and finding a comfortable seat so that the baby could drink without movement and, Theresa hoped, sleep. She emphasized the painlessness of Jillian’s death, well aware that dwelling on how his loved one came to leave the earth might push him to his own personal brink.

  “So she just went to sleep?” he said at last.

  “Yes.”

  Now his eyes filled with tears. “It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “She was too young.”

  Unbidden, the memory of the marble floor came, with Paul’s blood spreading in a dark pool. He had not simply gone to sleep. He had to sit and wait, soaked in his own fluids, knowing what that seepage meant and able to tick off every last second of his life. Did he think of me? Did he think of his first wife, dead of cancer before her thirtieth birthday?

  Who did he regret leaving more?

  An unworthy question, but humans are such unworthy animals.

  Cara pushed the bottle away, finished, not bothered by Theresa’s inner upheaval. The baby had most likely felt nothing else from the adults around her for the past week, and had grown used to it. “Drew, we have to-”

  “It’s worse on us. The survivors, me, you-even your mother. Your father died when you were young, didn’t he?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I found a bio that Cleveland magazine did on you last year.”