‘No, ma’am,’ JD said calmly. ‘It appears to be a crime of rage. Perhaps revenge.’
The Bennetts looked lost. ‘Revenge?’ Mrs Bennett whispered. ‘But why?’
‘That’s what we need to understand,’ Lucy said with quiet urgency. ‘You talked with him often. Did he mention anyone who might have threatened him?’
Mr Bennett closed his eyes. ‘No.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said softly. ‘I’ll call Renee for you.’
‘Who’s Renee?’ JD asked.
‘Their daughter. She lives in Oxford, not too far from here.’
‘Good gracious.’ A large woman pushed through the front door without knocking. ‘What’s going on?’ she gasped dramatically. ‘Lucy Trask, what are you doing here?’
Lucy rose slowly and immediately the mood changed. Lucy’s hands clenched into fists and red spread across her cheeks. The woman eyed Lucy shrewdly and JD realized that the gasp had been for theatrics only. She’d known Lucy was here.
For a moment Lucy and the woman stood staring at one another and the tension in the room grew. ‘Mrs Westcott,’ Lucy said formally. ‘This really isn’t a good time.’
‘That I can see for myself. What is going on, Hildy? What has she done to you?’ Mrs Westcott roughly pushed Lucy aside and sat next to Mrs Bennett. ‘You’re as gray as old flannel. Did you take your pill?’
‘Yes, she did,’ Lucy said between her teeth. ‘You need to leave.’
Westcott glared. ‘You have no rights here. I don’t care how many initials you have after your name.’ She turned to Mrs Bennett, her mouth drooping. ‘What’s happened?’
Mrs Bennett began to cry. ‘It’s Russell. He’s dead. Murdered.’
Westcott blinked. ‘Well.’ She gathered the frail Mrs Bennett to her very ample bosom and patted her back. ‘You poor dear. It was his hard living, Hildy. It was bound to catch up to him.’ This made Mrs Bennett sob harder and Mr Bennett look like he wanted to bodily throw the woman out.
JD considered doing it for him, but then the woman began to talk.
‘A shame it is, just a shame. I wonder who’ll be next.’
‘Next?’ JD asked and Mrs Westcott looked up coolly.
‘And you are?’
‘Detective Fitzpatrick, Baltimore Homicide. And you are?’
‘Myrna Westcott. I live next door. I chair the neighborhood watch. I make sure undesirables don’t hurt my neighbors.’ She gave Lucy the evil eye as she said this.
Lucy seemed to grow taller, her spine even more rigid, and for a moment JD thought she might strike the woman. But Lucy turned on her heel to walk away. ‘Bitch,’ she muttered under her breath, shocking JD into an open-mouthed stare.
‘I heard that,’ Westcott declared loudly. ‘Your mother would be so ashamed.’
‘Which would be nothing new,’ Lucy said through clenched teeth. It had been as if a cork had popped as she stood, practically vibrating. Then she drew a breath and turned back to Mr Bennett. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going into the kitchen to call Renee. I’ll be back.’
Feeling like a spectator on a soap opera set, JD pulled his wits together. ‘What do you mean, who’s next?’ he asked politely. He crouched, pressing his fingers to Mrs Bennett’s wrist. Her pulse was weak but steady, so she hadn’t yet been smothered by Westcott’s bosom. He looked up to find Westcott studying him with venom.
‘Are you with Lucy Trask?’ She said Lucy’s name like she’d say Hitler.
Yes, he wanted to snap, but did not. ‘I’m a detective, ma’am,’ he said blandly. ‘I’m here because someone’s dead that should not be. What did you mean, who’s next?’
‘Just that these things come in threes. Everyone knows that.’
‘Dr Bennett was the second one to meet with harm?’ JD asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Westcott said with glee at being able to share juicy news. ‘Two months ago Malcolm Edwards and his wife went out for a sail and,’ she leaned closer to JD, bringing the still sobbing Mrs Bennett with her, ‘never came back.’
From the corner of his eye JD noticed that Mr Bennett had gone still as stone.
‘Who was Malcolm Edwards?’ JD asked and Westcott shrugged.
‘A boy who grew up in the neighborhood. Bought himself a fancy yacht and took up a fast life that was the death of him, just like Russell.’
Mr Bennett swallowed. ‘He had cancer, Myrna. It’s not the same.’
‘He was lost at sea,’ Westcott sniffed. ‘Then Russell is taken from us.’ She patted Mrs Bennett’s back. ‘Don’t you worry, Hildy. I’m here.’
Lucy came back into the room, her composure regained. ‘Renee’s on her way.’
‘Thank you, Lucy,’ Mr Bennett said faintly. He stood, and for a moment JD thought he’d fall down. But he didn’t, surprising JD by taking Lucy’s arm and escorting her to the door. ‘I appreciate you coming all this way, Lucy,’ he said quietly. ‘But Mrs Bennett isn’t well. Perhaps you and the detective should go now and let her rest.’
Over her shoulder Westcott gave Lucy a triumphant glare, while Lucy stared at Bennett, her eyes filled with stunned hurt. ‘I can stay. For as long as you need me.’
A car pulled up outside. ‘That’s Dr Jameson. He can make sure Hildy gets the proper care. Thank you for coming, Lucy dear. Thank you, Detective.’
For a moment JD debated saying he was going to stay, but decided against it. He gave Bennett his card. ‘Thank you, sir. This news will take a while to sink in. You’ll have questions and may remember something later that might be of value to our investigation. Please feel free to call. Come, Dr Trask. I’ll take you home.’
Westcott sniffed loudly. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.’
JD wanted to tell the old biddy to shut her damn mouth, but he was watching Lucy who was searching Bennett’s face with near desperation. She closed her eyes briefly and squared her shoulders, reaching up to give the old man a hug he did not return. ‘This has been a shock. You know my cell. Call me and I’ll come. You know that.’
‘I know. I’ll call you soon.’ And with that he shut the door in their faces.
Lucy walked to the street, her hurt palpable. JD opened the car door for her, then frowned, the hackles on the back of his neck rising. He turned, scanning the street to find the source of his unease. In the house next door to the Bennetts’, a pair of eyes stared through the blinds in the living room window.
‘Lucy, someone’s watching you.’
‘Someone’s always watching you here,’ she said bitterly. ‘Let’s go.’
Monday, May 3, 7.15 P.M.
‘I’d like a room,’ he said, Susie in tow.
The guy behind the hotel desk looked up. ‘How long will you be staying with us?’
‘Maybe a night. I’ll pay cash.’
‘You have to use your credit card, sir. The system won’t let me dispense a key card without a credit card on file.’
‘I’ll pay for the room in advance.’ He peeled two hundred dollars from his money roll and threw it on the counter.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I have to have a credit card for damages, the minibar. I’m sorry.’
‘You and me both.’ He had credit cards in his wallet, but they belonged to his victims and wouldn’t match his ID. He did have a card issued to Ted Gamble, the identity Nicki had developed for him, but he didn’t want to use it. He didn’t want anyone to know he’d been here as Gamble. When the killings were done, he would pop up in a different part of the world altogether.
Susie sidled up beside him. ‘What’s wrong, baby?’ She leaned up on her toes so that she could whisper in his ear. ‘I’m hungry for more of what I tasted outside. Hurry.’
All the blood in his head rushed to his groin. He leaned on the counter. ‘Look,’ he lied, ‘I got a wife. She can’t know I was here, and she checks the statements.’
‘I see your dilemma. I can run your card but hold charges until you check out. If you pay cash, I’ll tear up the charge record. Nobody has to know you were even
here.’
He gave the clerk his Ted Gamble Visa. ‘Give me a room. I don’t care where.’
Susie purred. ‘As long as it has a bed.’
The clerk handed him a key. ‘Room 323, on the third floor. Elevators are—’
He heard no more, taking his card, the key, and Susie’s hand, dragging her to the elevator. Beside him, she chuckled throatily. ‘Hurry, Ted. I need to fuck.’
Monday, May 3, 7.45 P.M.
JD drove away from the Bennetts’ neighborhood, watching Lucy as closely as he could while still keeping his eyes on the road. Her expression was one of numbed misery, her face pale, hands clenched into impotent fists in her lap. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Westcott had said. And Mr Bennett hadn’t said a word in Lucy’s defense. Bennett had just hustled her out the door. And that pisses me off.
The man had just found out his son was dead, so JD could cut him some slack. Except . . . JD thought of how still Bennett had gone at the mention of the other dead man. Malcolm Edwards. That had bothered Bennett nearly as much as hearing his own son had died. There was something there. JD was certain of it.
It was also clear that Lucy had left some major baggage behind in the old neighborhood. For a moment there he’d seen the flash of temper that had ended in Russ Bennett’s broken nose. He’d thought she’d strike the bad-mannered Mrs Westcott and he wouldn’t have really blamed her had she done so.
But Lucy had pulled herself back under control, and still held herself together, but barely. Her emotions churned so close to the surface that he could feel them. She was trembling, whether from hurt or rage he wasn’t sure. Probably both.
Waiting until they were well away from the neighborhood, JD pulled into the lot of an abandoned strip mall, stopped the car and got out. Lucy’s gaze followed him as he walked around the car, but when he opened her door she closed her eyes, her pale cheeks heating from embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I was unprofessional and rude. I messed things up.’
As he’d done before, he popped the lock on her seatbelt and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. But this time he just held her. She stood stiffly, not leaning into him, but not pulling away either. Her trembling had become shivering despite the heat of the evening, so he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
All at once she shuddered, her hands coming up to clutch the fabric of his shirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated miserably. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
He rested his cheek on the top of her head, realizing how very well she fit in his arms, tucked under his chin. The last time he’d held her like this he’d been too busy kissing her to notice. He hoped he’d be too busy kissing her again later to notice, but now he wanted to make her hurt go away if he could. If she’d let him.
‘Old Lady Westcott called you an “undesirable” and you got mad. I would have been mad too. Who is she to you?’
‘Just a neighbor. An old harpy. Has been for as long as I can remember.’
‘Why was she so rude to you?’
Against his chest she sighed. ‘We go back a way. I . . . I don’t like her very much.’
‘Yeah, I kind of got that. You muttering “bitch” was my first clue.’
She covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t believe I said that. Mr Bennett was in shock and I said that. I made things worse when I wanted to make them better.’
Personally, he thought Westcott had made things worse for Bennett by bringing up Malcolm Edwards, but he’d get to that in a minute. ‘Why did she call you an “undesirable”? What happened between the two of you?’ he asked.
For a moment she said nothing. Then she lifted one shoulder wearily. ‘She’s a difficult woman. I don’t know why she does anything.’
He had a hunch and played it. ‘She was involved in your trial.’
Lucy jerked back to stare up at him, wide-eyed. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I didn’t, not until just now. Honestly, I guessed.’
Her blue eyes flickered, narrowing. ‘You tricked me.’
He smoothed her hair away from her face and rubbed his thumb over her lips which had turned down in a frown. He was regretting having brought it up. At least right now, when she was so upset. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trick you.’
‘Sure you did,’ she said flatly. ‘You’re a detective. It’s what you do. Let’s get back. You have work to do and I still have to find a place to stay tonight.’ She pulled away from him, getting into the car. ‘We native guides need our sleep to stay sharp.’
JD obeyed, heading them back to Baltimore and away from Anderson Ferry and its rude gossips and creepy eyes that watched from windows. Lucy stared straight ahead, arms crossed over her chest, fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket as she held it closed around her like a shield. Note to self: don’t use interrogation techniques on prospective girlfriends. It really didn’t help.
‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s really been too long since I’ve been in a relationship. I’m completely out of practice. I should have just asked you.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, no longer sounding angry. Just . . . deflated. ‘I probably wouldn’t have told you had you asked. I don’t really like to talk about it.’
‘Okay, then. A different question. Who was Malcolm Edwards?’
She turned to look at him, confused. ‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘Because he’s dead too. While you were calling Bennett’s daughter, Mrs Westcott said he ran with Russ Bennett back in the day and that he recently died in a boating accident. She claimed that bad things come in threes, that Bennett was number two.’
Lucy frowned. ‘Odd, considering the killer marked him as number one.’
‘So you didn’t know Malcolm?’
‘I don’t remember the name. If he ran with Russ’s crowd, he’d have been older than me. Plus all those guys had nicknames. You want me to check him out?’ She was already retrieving her phone from her purse.
‘If your phone has juice,’ he said, sensing she needed to keep her mind off what had transpired at the Bennetts’ house. ‘Otherwise I’ll call Stevie and have her check.’
She plugged his car’s charger into her phone. ‘This works.’ She punched keys and waited. ‘I got a couple of hits on Malcolm Edwards.’
He glanced over, saw her fully absorbed in the screen she was reading. Her energy was back, her focus. He could feel it hum, just as he’d felt her hurt just minutes before. That she was able to completely concentrate so effortlessly was impressive.
It was something he’d had to learn to do in the army, back when he’d sat behind cover for hours, waiting for his target to pass through his sight. In those days he’d had to call upon his focus in the blink of an eye and it hadn’t been easy. Then again, no part of his job back then had been easy. Which was why he didn’t like to think about it.
‘Malcolm Edwards has a Facebook page too?’ he asked.
‘No, but there are some articles about his accident. This one says he was last seen boarding his yacht, the Carrie On. Carrie, as in a woman’s name.’
‘His wife?’
‘Yes. She disappeared at the same time. There was speculation that he’d committed suicide, but consensus is that he never would have risked her life.’
‘So what happened?’
‘A storm blew in. A source close to the investigation said that in Malcolm’s condition, he wouldn’t have been able to handle the rigging. He had terminal cancer.’
‘That’s what Mr Bennett said, back there. What about the wife, Carrie?’
‘Nobody’s sure where she went. This article speculates that she was with him at the time. She hasn’t turned up to claim any assets.’
‘And the boat?’
‘The Coast Guard did an extensive search, but found nothing.’
‘Huh,’ JD said. ‘You’d think they’d find something.’
‘You’d think. But this says the Coast Guard had warne
d boaters of strong currents. They think the boat got dragged out to sea and went down.’
‘You’d think that something would wash ashore. Wood or something.’
She shrugged. ‘You’d think. It says here that he left his estate to his wife, but that because she died with him, it went to the Church of Divine Forgiveness.’
That two men who’d known each other as boys had died within months of one another could be a simple coincidence. Except that Russell was murdered and his father had gone so very still at the mention of the other man’s name. Being ‘lost at sea’ could be a convenient way to kill someone. Then again, simple coincidence was highly possible.
‘If it was a big enough payoff,’ he said, ‘the church might have had motive.’
‘Maybe. Here’s his obit. His and Carrie’s memorial service was just last week. “Malcolm Edwards was born in Anderson Ferry, Maryland, where he attended Anderson Ferry High School, lettering in football and . . .”’ She faltered, trailing off.
‘And?’ JD prompted.
‘He was on the All-Star team,’ she said, her tone oddly strained. ‘They won the championship his senior year.’ She cleared her throat briskly. ‘He is survived by no one. He and Carrie had no children and his parents died years ago.’ She fell silent, staring at the phone screen, biting her bottom lip.
‘What’s so important about that championship football team, Lucy?’
She folded her hands in her lap primly. ‘My brother played on it. He was MVP.’
‘Really? Where is your brother now?’
‘He died when I was fourteen. The year the team won the championship.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but thoughts were already rolling around his mind. Edwards and Lucy’s brother had played ball on the same team. A killer was taunting Lucy after murdering Russ Bennett, who’d known Edwards.
‘It was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘The obit has a picture of Malcolm in his high school jersey. I knew him as Butch. He played defense. He was my brother’s friend.’