The Undertaker's Widow Read online

  "I was pissed, as you can imagine," Laura concluded. "Mort told me to fly home. I was going to, but I thought about you being alone on St. Jerome. I really did feel lousy about ruining your vacation. Fortunately, there was a seat on the early morning flight."

  "Well, that's . . . that's great."

  "What have you been doing all day?"

  "I, uh, I rented a car and drove around the island."

  "See anything interesting?"

  "Not really. Everyone is pretty poor. Except for the capital, there's not much here. But the resort is great."

  "How's the food, because I'm starved?"

  "Good. Why don't you make a reservation for us at the Plantation Room while I shower? It's a four-star restaurant."

  It was seven-thirty. Laura was able to get a reservation at eight. Quinn drew out his shower for as long as possible, using the time to decide how much he could tell Laura about the murder and Andrea. Quinn wanted to confess his infidelity and seek her counsel, but he also wanted to protect her from involvement in his nightmare, and he was terrified of her reaction to what had happened between him and Andrea.

  By the time Quinn finished shaving, it was time to eat. Many of the attorneys who were enrolled in the seminar were eating in the Plantation Room and several of them recognized Quinn from American Bar Association functions. After dinner, Quinn and Laura found themselves barhopping in Puerta del Sol with Cliff Engel, Gary Lyle, their wives and two other couples. Quinn was glad to be hijacked. Laura and Cliff Engel got into a discussion about real estate transactions and Quinn was able to use the time to think about what he should do while the others became more rowdy from drink.

  It was two in the morning when Quinn and Laura stumbled into their hotel room. Laura was mildly intoxicated. Quinn had hardly touched any of the drinks that had been thrust upon him. He was afraid of what he might say or do if he got drunk.

  "Gary Lyle is a horse's ass," Laura said as she collapsed on the bed fully clothed, "but I like his friend Cliff."

  "He seemed okay," Quinn answered as he shucked his jacket and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

  Laura sat up and draped an arm across her husband's shoulders.

  "You were quiet tonight."

  "Was I? I'm just tired, I guess."

  Laura leaned into Quinn. She slipped her hand inside his shirt and ran it slowly back and forth across his chest.

  "Not too tired, I hope."

  Before Quinn could answer, Laura's lips were melting onto his. Laura pressed Quinn onto his back and finished unbuttoning his shirt. Then she slid down the straps of her dress and shrugged it off. Quinn's throat was dry. It had been so long since Laura had initiated sex.

  Laura slid out of her bra and panties. Her breasts were high and firm and her skin was the color of cream. She sank to her knees between Quinn's legs and unzipped his pants. He did not move as she slid them down his legs, then did the same with his underpants. He closed his eyes and began to swim in sensation. There was a feeling of silk on skin as Laura slid against him and up the length of his body. He could smell her hair. He could taste her lips and her tongue. Then he saw Andrea's face frozen in terror as she burst from the sea.

  Quinn's eyes opened. He was sweating. He held Laura tightly. Laura could not hear Andrea's scream, but she must have heard the rapid beat of his heart, because she pulled back and looked at Quinn.

  "What's wrong?"

  Quinn did not answer. He sat up and put his feet on the floor. His breathing was ragged. Laura's eyes widened. She was afraid that Quinn was having a heart attack.

  "Are you all right?"

  Quinn needed to confess, to unburden himself. But how could he talk to Laura about the things that had happened in the cove? The bed moved as she slipped to the floor in front of Quinn and took his hands in hers. She looked so concerned. Quinn saw with crystal clarity that this was the pivotal moment in their marriage. Laura was his wife, but for months he had not been certain that she loved him. If she did, they would ride out this tragedy together. If she did not, his confession could sever the slender thread that bound them together.

  Laura squeezed his hand. "Dick?"

  Quinn could not keep his terror and despair inside any longer. He needed help and he prayed that Laura was the person to turn to for it.

  "Something happened today," Quinn managed. "Something very bad. I ... I was with a woman."

  "What?"

  "She was someone I met on the plane. She sat next to me on the flight from New York. Her name was Andrea Chapman. She's dead. She was murdered."

  Laura stared at Quinn, too stunned to speak. Quinn focused on the floor as he told Laura about Andrea's invitation to spend the day at the Cove of Lost Souls. Then Quinn told Laura how Andrea died.

  "One minute she was there, then she was gone. I thought she was playing a game until she screamed." Quinn shook his head to rid himself of the image. "I tried to save her. I dove down and grabbed the diver's arm, but I swallowed water and I had to come up for air. I was choking." Quinn paused. He was having trouble breathing, as if he were underwater again. "When I dove the second time, Andrea and the diver were almost out of sight. When I went under the third time, they were gone."

  "Have you told the police?"

  "No. I was afraid."

  "Of what?"

  "Andrea talked about drugs. She said the police are corrupt. That they work with drug dealers. The killing could be drug related. And ..."

  Quinn's voice trailed off. Laura studied him.

  "Did anything happen between the two of you, Dick?"

  Quinn did not answer. His head hung lower.

  "Did you . . . were you . . . intimate?" Laura asked, using this bland term because it provided a barrier between her feelings and her fear.

  "We didn't ... It never got that far," Quinn answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "How far did it get?"

  Quinn tried to answer the question, but he could not. Laura stood up and walked away from the bed.

  "I don't know what happened," Quinn told her without conviction. His eyes begged for forgiveness, but he did not see any give in Laura's rigid features.

  "It was just a kiss. We . . . we only touched one time."

  Quinn wanted to tell her that nothing would have happened, that he would have remained faithful, but the lie died unspoken.

  Laura paced back and forth. Quinn felt smaller and smaller as each moment passed in silence. Laura sat in a chair near the window. She was thinking like an attorney so she would not have to think like a woman.

  "How certain are you that you can't be connected to the murder?" Laura asked.

  "I don't know. I don't think my fingerprints are on anything, but I can't be certain. Even if they are, the St.

  Jerome Police won't have the technology to match them unless I become a suspect."

  "Were there any witnesses? Anyone who knows that you were with this woman?"

  "I don't think so."

  Quinn told Laura about the soldiers in the jeep and the people in the village.

  "But they didn't see me with Andrea. I did sit next to her on the plane. Another passenger may have heard us make plans to meet, but I doubt it."

  "How certain are you about the corruption on St. Jerome?"

  "Andrea was pretty emphatic about it. I have heard other things. One of the organizers of the conference made some remarks while we were talking."

  "Given what you know about the government of St. Jerome, I think going to the authorities would be a mistake, especially now that you've waited to come forward. That looks very suspicious. If you went to the police, you wouldn't be able to tell them anything, anyway."

  "You're right. I'm not even sure of the sex of the diver."

  "If this came out, you being with this . . . this woman in the cove, the murder. If you became a suspect . . . The effect on your career would be devastating."

  "Then, you think I should say nothing?"

  "It's a gamble.
There's no telling when the body will be discovered. With luck, you'll be back home and no one will connect you to the crime."

  "Thank you, Laura."

  "Don't thank me," Laura answered harshly. "I'm doing this for me as much as for you. Do you think I want to be involved in your sordid affair or with the police?"

  Laura walked over to the desk and picked up the phone.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to get a seat on the next flight back to Portland."

  "Don't leave me. Please. I need you."

  "You should have thought about that when you cheated on me."

  "Don't do this, Laura. I love you. We need to discuss this calmly."

  "We do, but I am not calm now. I am very, very angry, and I need some time away from you to think about what I want to do. We can talk when you get back. Right now, I can't stand the sight of you."

  Chapter 15.

  Quinn's plane landed in Portland at eight-thirty Friday evening. Laura knew his flight number and the time of arrival, but she was not waiting for him. Quinn found a taxi.

  There were lights on in the house when the cab arrived at Hereford Farms. Quinn paid the driver and carried his suitcases to the front door. Laura opened it before he could ring the bell. She was wearing dark jeans and a black turtleneck. Her hair was combed, but she wore no makeup. There were circles under Laura's eyes and her complexion was paler than usual. He forced a smile, but Laura did not return it.

  "We have to talk," Laura said without any preliminaries.

  Quinn left his bags in the hall and followed Laura into the living room. She sat in an armchair and Quinn took the couch.

  "You don't know what you've done to me," she said.

  "Laura, I . . ."

  "No. Let me say this." She looked down. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white where the blood was cut off. "I trusted you completely. You have no idea how hard that is for me. I know we've had trouble. I know I'm not the easiest person to live with. But I was certain that I could trust you. "

  Laura's eyes began to tear and she swiped at the drops angrily. Quinn was shocked. Laura never cried. The sight of his wife in tears made Quinn sick. "You don't know how difficult it was for me to fall in love with you. I swore that I would never give myself to a man the way my mother did."

  Laura shook her head, too choked with anger to go on. Quinn watched helplessly, knowing that there was nothing he could say.

  "I don't want to live with you."

  "You want a divorce?" Quinn asked incredulously.

  "I haven't thought that far. What I do want is to be alone for a while."

  "Can't you forgive me? Don't you see how sorry I am? I love you, Laura."

  "I don't know that. Right now, I don't want to be around you. I've made up the bed in the guest room. You can stay here until you've found somewhere else to live."

  Quinn was desperate.

  "Don't do this. Don't destroy our marriage."

  Laura's head snapped up.

  "Don't you dare put this off on me. No one made you go with that woman."

  Quinn could see that Laura was so angry that nothing he said would change her mind.

  "I'll get an apartment for a while," he said softly. "Whatever you want, as long as you promise me you'll think about what we have. No matter what I've done, I still love you and I don't want our marriage to end."

  Part Three

  Hell Week

  Chapter 16.

  It was almost three when Quinn signed in with the guard at the front desk of the Multnomah County Courthouse on the Sunday afternoon following his return from St. Jerome, then took the elevator to his chambers on the fifth floor. He was depressed and a little hung over, having had way too much to drink the night before. Quinn rarely drank excessively, but Laura would not take his calls and his small apartment with its ugly rented furniture had gotten him down.

  Quinn hung up his raincoat and put on a pot of coffee. He was in for a solid afternoon of legal research and he hoped the caffeine would clear the cobwebs from his brain. The pretrial hearing in State v. Crease was set to start Monday afternoon. The defense had filed several motions. Quinn's ruling on three of them would have a significant impact on the trial. Mary Garrett was asking Quinn to suppress all of the evidence found during the search of the crime scene that had been made a week after the shootings. Ellen Crease's defense attorney was also asking Quinn to suppress certain statements as hearsay.

  The State had filed only one motion of importance. Mary Garrett wanted to introduce evidence concerning Martin Jablonski's prior crimes. Cedric Riker opposed the introduction of this evidence.

  Quinn organized the materials relating to each motion into a separate pile while he waited for the coffee to perk. When the coffee was ready, Quinn filled a mug and started reading the memos relating to the motion to suppress the evidence found at the crime scene. Three hours later, he was slogging through the police reports detailing Martin Jablonski's criminal history so he would have a better idea of how to handle the district attorney's motion. He finished deciphering Portland Police Officer J. Brademas's handwritten account of a six-year-old, extremely violent, home burglary and was about to start Officer K. Raptis's report of an older liquor store holdup when he heard the phone ringing in the outer office and saw one of his lines flashing.

  "Hello."

  "Is this Richard Quinn?"

  "Yes."

  "My name is Kyle Fletcher. I'm a detective in Missing Persons." Quinn straightened up, suddenly alert. "I'm looking into the disappearance of a woman named Andrea Chapman. Does that name ring a bell?"

  Quinn's heart rate accelerated.

  "Judge Quinn, you there?"

  "Uh, yes. I was just thinking," Quinn said to stall for time while he tried to figure out why a policeman was calling him about Andrea.

  "This woman disappeared last week while she was vacationing on the Caribbean island of St. Jerome. You were there the same time she was."

  "That's right. I was speaking at a legal seminar."

  Quinn wanted to forget about St. Jerome. His failure to tell the police about Andrea's murder haunted him. Detective Fletcher's call gave Quinn a chance to tell someone about the terrible thing that had happened in the cove.

  "I believe Miss Chapman sat next to you on the flight from New York to the island. I got your name from the manifest." Quinn heard a deep sigh. "I'm stuck here calling everyone in first class. Then it's on to economy. If you could tell me what you remember about her, it would be a help."

  Quinn wanted to tell the truth, but he was afraid. So much time had passed. If he confessed to witnessing the murder now, he had no idea of the consequences.

  "Okay. Now I know whom you're talking about. I didn't remember her name. The woman who sat next to me on the flight from New York to St. Jerome designed belts. She was wearing a very attractive belt that she'd designed for some collection."

  "That's her. What did you two talk about?"

  "Not a lot. The type of things you discuss with a seat companion on a flight. I was reading a book for part of the time."

  "Just what you remember."

  "I believe she mentioned that she was flying back from a show for leather suppliers in Bologna, Italy. We talked about her job. That's about all I remember, except that she didn't like flying, but she had to because of her work."

  "Did she tell you her plans on St. Jerome?"

  Quinn was sweating. This was his last chance to tell Fletcher what had happened, but he could not do it.

  "She was going to stay at a friend's villa," Quinn said. "I don't remember his name."

  "That fits in with what I have so far. Did she mention someone she was going to meet or someone she knew on the island?"

  Quinn felt sick and he hoped that his voice did not betray him.

  "I don't remember her saying she was going to meet anyone. I got the impression that she just wanted to relax."

  "Is there anything else you can r
ecall?"

  "No. I think that's it."

  "Say, did you see her after the flight? On the island?"

  Quinn froze. "What was that?" he asked to cover his hesitation. "You faded out there for a moment."

  "Sorry. Must be my line here. I asked if you saw Miss Chapman after you landed. Maybe at your hotel?"

  "No. Not after the airport."

  "Okay. Well, thanks."

  Quinn knew that he should hang up, but he could not help asking, "Uh, what happened? I mean, what do you think happened? She seemed like a nice person."

  "What we know for sure is that the day after she landed she went to the beach late in the afternoon. We think she might have planned to meet someone, because she took two sets of snorkeling gear. However, the local police questioned the servants and she never said anything to them about meeting anyone.

  "The St. Jerome Police tell me that there are lots of safe beaches on the island. Then you get some with real strong currents. A person could be swept out to sea. They get a tourist drowning every couple of years. There's warnings posted, but people don't listen. The locals think that's what happened."

  "And you? Is that what you think?"

  "No reason to think otherwise. Except, of course, there's the extra snorkeling gear. The cops did find her blanket and stuff along with one set of equipment, not two. And the cove where they found this stuff, it's supposed to be safe. Then, again, there have been several reported disappearances in it over the years. So who knows? Anyway, thanks for your time, Judge. I'll let you get back to your work."

  Quinn hung up. His hands were sweaty and he was breathing hard. He had just lied to a police detective. If he was ever linked to Andrea ... But he wouldn't be.

  If they knew that he was the person that Andrea was meeting, the detective would have questioned him further. Or would he? What if they did know and the conversation was a trap? The conversation could have been taped. He was getting a headache. Quinn stroked his temples. He should have told the detective what he knew, but anything he said would incriminate him. He could not call back, anyway, he suddenly realized. The detective had not left his phone number or the city he was calling from.