The Undertaker's Widow Read online

  "What does she want from you?" Laura demanded.

  "Your husband was just about to drive home and tell you," Crease answered calmly. "Why don't we discuss this in the sunroom, instead of standing in the hall?"

  Quinn and Laura followed the senator into the sun-room. When they were seated, Quinn said, "Ellen wants me to go public about the blackmail plot. She thinks it will help her win the election if the voters learn that someone tried to coerce me into fixing her case so that she would be convicted."

  Laura turned on Crease. "You want my husband to risk prison so you can win an election?"

  "The decision to go public has already been made. The only question is whether Dick helps me. I'm sorry, Laura."

  "I don't think you are. There's something very wrong here, something that I don't understand. I listened to the message that you left on our answering machine. You said that you tried to find Dick, but no one knew where he was."

  "Yes?" Crease answered with obvious confusion.

  "You couldn't find us because Dick and I didn't tell anyone that we were going to the coast."

  Now Quinn looked confused, too.

  "What are you getting at?" Quinn asked.

  "How did Jack Brademas know that my husband was working at the courthouse on Saturday?" Laura asked Crease. "It was a weekend afternoon. No one would expect him to be there. The only person besides me that he told was you, Senator, when he phoned to tell you about the police report."

  "Jack must have followed your husband," Crease said.

  "That's possible, but it wouldn't explain why he was so desperate to kill Dick. Only one thing could have caused that urgency. Knowing that Dick had discovered his link to Jablonski and was going to tell the police. And you are the only person who knew about Dick's discovery."

  "You think I sent Jack to kill your husband?" Crease asked incredulously.

  "There were a few things that never added up. If Brademas was working with Junior so he could get a cut of the estate, it made no sense for him to tell your husband about the embezzlement scheme and run the risk that Lamar would go to the police or disinherit Junior. I think Jack Brademas was your accomplice all along, Senator."

  "You've got it all wrong, Laura," Crease said without rancor.

  "I don't think so. Jablonski was your sacrificial lamb. You hid in the bathroom while he murdered your husband. Then you ambushed him and became a grieving widow and a law-and-order avenger overnight. It was a terrific little coup that helped you to skyrocket in the polls and become a multimillionaire. Everything was going great until Gary Yoshida stumbled across the blood spatter pattern on the armoire and Gage bribed Fargo to go to the police. When you were indicted for Lamar Hoyt's murder, you lost everything you had gained. Now your priority was to escape death row. That's when you dreamed up your blackmail scheme. You knew that Dick was going to St. Jerome because he announced it at your bail hearing. I bet Brademas found out about Marie Ritter while he was investigating Junior. You used her to ensnare Dick, then you killed her when she had served her purpose."

  "There's a problem with your theory, Laura," Crease said calmly. "If Jack and I were working together, why would we tell your husband that he would be ruined unless he did everything he could to see that I was sent to prison?" Crease flashed Laura a condescending smile. "That doesn't sound like a very good plan to me."

  "That was the cleverest part of the plan, Senator, and it hinged on an excellent reading of the character of my husband. I could never understand why the blackmailers sent Marie Ritter to see Dick during the hearing. They were running an incredible risk that he would figure out that Claire Reston and Andrea Chapman were the same person. If that happened, the blackmail plan would be useless because Dick would know that Andrea Chapman was not murdered on St. Jerome. The blackmailers' leverage would be lost.

  "On top of that, Reston let Dick know that she could go public with the fact that he was with Chapman in the cove. It was a ridiculous thing to do if the blackmailers wanted their plot to succeed, but it was a very clever thing to do if the blackmailers wanted their plan to fail."

  For the first time since Laura arrived, Crease looked uncertain.

  "You sent Reston to see Dick because you wanted him to do exactly the opposite of what Brademas ordered. You knew that my husband would never give in to blackmail if you told him to fix the case so that you would be acquitted. He would have gone to the police even if it meant his career. You used reverse psychology to get Dick to do what you wanted. You knew how decent Dick is. You gambled that he would sacrifice his career to save you."

  "This is absolute nonsense," Crease said.

  "Look at the evidence. Paul Baylor didn't say that Gary Yoshida's interpretation of the blood spatter evidence was wrong, he only gave a theoretical alternative to Yoshida's explanation. If Yoshida was right, you lied all along. You also profited the most when your husband died. You and Brademas go way back. Who does it make more sense for him to work with? And you were the only one who knew about the report that implicated Brademas, the only one who could tell him where to find Dick."

  "She saved my life, Laura," Quinn said.

  "No, Dick, she didn't save your life when she killed Brademas. She took care of a witness who could hang her. Brademas became a liability as soon as you found his name on that report."

  "But why didn't she wait until Brademas killed me? With both of us dead there would be no way to prove that her case was rigged and she would be free of the murder charges."

  "With you dead, there would be no one who could tell the voters about the conspiracy to frame her. She needed you alive to save her campaign. It all fits, Dick. She's been playing you since you were assigned to her case."

  Quinn stood up. He should have been furious, but he was too stunned to be angry.

  "Where are you going?''

  "To the police."

  "'Don't do that, Dick," Crease implored desperately.

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I'll make you a deal."

  "'There's nothing you can offer me."

  "But there is. I can offer you your career. In order to implicate me, you'll have to confess to fixing my case. No one can prove what you did if you don't go to the police. Keep quiet and you'll stay on the bench, you won't be disbarred, you won't have to worry about criminal charges and the disgrace."

  Quinn suddenly saw Crease's real face. An image of Marie Ritter spread-eagled on the hotel bed flashed in his mind and he remembered the terror he felt in the garage and as he lay waiting for death on the cold marble floor of the courthouse.

  "Not a chance. If I have to go to jail, I will, but you're not walking away from this."

  Quinn turned his back to the senator.

  "God damn it, Quinn, you'll ruin us both," Crease shouted.

  Quinn and Laura kept walking. There was an end table at Crease's elbow. She opened a drawer and pulled out a gun.

  "Stop," she yelled. When Quinn did not look back, Crease squeezed the trigger. Quinn's right/leg flew out from under him and he fell to the floor. Laura screamed. Quinn stared at Crease, dazed. Blood was spreading along his pants leg near his knee. Crease took a pair of handcuffs from the drawer and tossed them to Laura. She made no move to catch them and they fell at her feet. Crease cocked the gun and pointed it at Laura.

  "Tick them up and cuff him," she ordered.

  "I'm not . . . ," Laura started, but Crease smashed her across the cheek with the revolver, driving her to her knees. Quinn threw himself at Crease, but she stepped out of reach and he collapsed sideways, grimacing with pain. Crease pointed the gun at Quinn's head and spoke to Laura.

  "Do as you're told or I'll kill him."

  Laura looked at Crease wide-eyed. Crease cocked the revolver and Laura retrieved the cuffs.

  "Get your hands behind you," Crease told Quinn. Laura snapped on the cuffs.

  "Was it the money? Did you kill your husband for his money?" Quinn asked to stall for time.

  Crease shook her head weari
ly.

  "I didn't care about Lamar's money. I cared about Lamar and I killed the bastard because he was going to leave me."

  Crease's voice caught and her eyes watered.

  "I loved him. He's the only man I ever loved. I gave Lamar everything and he threw my love in my face." A tear ran down Crease's cheek. "Fargo wasn't the first tramp he'd played around with, but she was the one he was going to substitute for me. It was history repeating itself. As soon as one of his wives started to age, Lamar would trade her in. I tried to talk him out of it. I did everything I could. I really loved that son of a bitch, but I told him I'd see him dead before I'd let him make me into one of his discards. He didn't believe me."

  "What if you were wrong about me? What if I did fix the case so that you were convicted?"

  "I thought of that possibility. If I saw that you were trying to help the prosecutor convict me I would have released the photographs to the media and moved for a mistrial claiming that you had been blackmailed into fixing the case. But I never had to do that, because I had you doped out one hundred percent."

  Quinn felt like a complete fool.

  "What we didn't count on was that police report with Jack's name on it," Crease said. "If it weren't for that ..." She shook her head.

  "Did Brademas help you for the money?"

  "Of course. And he was in love with me. He had been since we were on the force together. We were even lovers before I married Lamar. Jack had been shaking down drug dealers. Internal Affairs was after him, but they didn't have the evidence to make a case stick. He resigned to avoid a further inquiry. I got him his job in security at Hoyt Industries for old time's sake.

  "When Lamar started cheating on me I became Jack's lover again, out of spite. But he never meant anything to me. When I decided to kill Lamar, persuading Jack to help me was easy. Then he started to get out of control. He was just supposed to kill Ritter, not torture her. I was furious when I heard what he'd done. I wanted to frame you for Ritter's murder, but you would never have killed her like that. Then you told me about the police report and I knew Jack was a liability I could not afford.

  "When we got to the courthouse, I told Jack that I would follow him as backup. He thought that he was supposed to kill you and take the report. But I would never have let him kill you. Laura is right. You were worth more to me alive so you could tell everyone how I saved your life."

  "Why did Brademas go after me in the parking garage?"

  "We wanted to make sure that the order suppressing evidence would stand. I couldn't risk having it set aside if you told someone that you had fixed my case. Then you came to me for help. I decided that you would be of more use to me alive, because you would be my proof of the plot to frame me for Lamar's murder."

  Crease suddenly looked very tired.

  "We've talked long enough," she said. "Are both of your cars in back of the house?"

  Quinn and Laura nodded.

  "Get him up and help him outside," Crease told Laura.

  "Don't do this," Quinn begged. "I'll make the broadcast."

  Crease shook her head. "It's too late for that. I'd never be able to trust you."

  "For God's sake," Quinn started.

  "Move," Crease ordered, "and no more talking."

  Quinn hobbled forward into the hallway. Crease followed at a safe distance.

  "I love you," Quinn whispered to Laura.

  "What did I say about talking?" Crease asked angrily.

  A second later, a gunshot exploded in the hall.

  Chapter 26.

  A young cop was waiting at the front door of the Hoyt mansion when Anthony and Dennis drove up. Two marked cars were parked along the other side of the turnaround. The officer told them where everyone was and Anthony and Dennis walked along the front of the mansion until they found a slate path that led toward the pool. The path continued along the side of the house. Eventually, they rounded a corner and saw an ambulance and two parked cars. Richard Quinn was lying on a stretcher. A medic was working on his leg. A second medic was working on a nasty gash on Laura Quinn's cheek. Through the open back door, Anthony saw a forensic expert circling a third person who was lying facedown in the hall. He was carrying a camera. Every so often he would stop and take a photograph. Another cop was videotaping the scene.

  Anthony walked inside and knelt next to the body of Ellen Crease. He spotted the entry wound in the back of her head. He had no desire to see the mess the bullet had made when it exited. It was enough to know that Crease was dead.

  Anthony walked outside just as Quinn gasped in pain. The medic apologized and Quinn gritted his teeth. He looked spent, but Anthony needed to find out what had happened. He squatted down beside the judge.

  "Feel up to talking?"

  "I can manage a little."

  "We're gonna have to take him to the hospital," the medic said. "Make it quick."

  "She was in it with Brademas," Quinn said. "She hired Jablonski to make the hit on Lamar because he was going to leave her for Karen Fargo."

  Anthony remembered his interview with Crease in the library on the evening of her husband's murder. He had been impressed by the dignity with which she had conducted herself despite her grief. Maybe the grief had not been an act.

  "Crease was going to go on television Thursday night and tell everyone that I had been blackmailed to fix her case. She wanted me to speak at her press conference. Laura figured out what happened. She came here and confronted Crease. We were going to the police. Crease shot me and hit Laura. She was going to kill us."

  "Gotta go," the medic said as he signaled his partner.

  "You take care," the detective said as the medics started maneuvering the stretcher toward the ambulance. "I'll talk to you at the hospital."

  Anthony walked over to Leroy Dennis, who was finishing up with Laura. She joined Quinn in the back of the ambulance. When the ambulance drove away, Anthony said, "Let's talk to the man of the hour."

  The detectives found James Allen in the sunroom.

  "Mr. Allen?" Anthony said.

  Allen looked up, but he seemed to have trouble focusing and he looked unstable.

  "Do you remember me, sir?"

  Allen made an almost imperceptible nod. Anthony sat across from him.

  "I had to do it," he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper.

  "I know, Mr. Allen," Dennis said. "She was going to kill them."

  "How did you happen to come back to the house? I understand from the officer who talked to you that this was your night off."

  "I didn't feel well, so I came home. I wanted to make myself some tea to calm my stomach before going to my quarters. I was going toward the kitchen when I heard them. Judge Quinn said he was going to the police. Then there was a gunshot."

  Allen paused and shook his head in disbelief.

  "I froze for a moment. Then I went into the den where the gun collection is kept. She was raising the gun to fire again when I reentered the hall. I ... I didn't feel that I had a choice."

  Allen began to sob. Anthony watched helplessly. Dennis went into the hall and returned with a doctor. Then the detectives left.

  "Let's take a walk," Anthony said. "I want to talk to you about something."

  "Such as?"

  "This blackmail business," Anthony told Dennis as they headed back toward the pool where the other policemen would not overhear them.

  "We don't have any proof that Quinn fixed Crease's case. With Crease and Brademas dead, it doesn't look like we'll get any unless the judge confesses."

  Anthony stood on the edge of the empty pool. Debris had settled on the bottom. Leaves mostly. Anthony figured the pool man would have cleaned it eventually, but he wondered what would happen now with everybody dead.

  "Quinn's a good judge," Anthony said.

  "If he fixed a case, he violated the law."

  "I know that, but I'm wondering about the value of pursuing our investigation now that Crease is dead."

  "Value? That's a funny word
to use, Lou. We don't get paid to deal in values. That's for philosophers. We're lawmen. The senators and representatives write the laws, the governors sign them, we enforce them. Cops aren't supposed to think about whether the laws are good or bad."

  Anthony walked away from the pool and into the garden. He could see the setting sun through the denuded tree limbs.

  "Do you believe in second chances, Leroy?"

  "That's what bleeding-heart defense lawyers are always whining for. Isn't that what you've told me?"

  Anthony smiled. "You got me there. Well, I'm just one part of this team. You've got a vote, too, but I think that we should put this case to rest and leave Richard Quinn alone."

  Dennis thought about Anthony's proposal for a moment. Then he shrugged.

  "I'll go along with you for now. But I won't do it for nothing."

  "What do you want, Leroy?"

  "A Captain Neon burger and a pint of Terminator stout."

  EPILOGUE:

  [1]

  "Are you all right?" Laura asked when Quinn stopped.

  "I'm a little winded. Just let me rest for a moment."

  Quinn was home from the hospital and trying to get some exercise by walking along the streets in Hereford Farms, but he did not have much stamina. Quinn leaned on his cane for a moment while Laura waited patiently. It was not hard to do. Balmy spring weather had suddenly appeared. Flowers were starting to show up, the temperature was perfect and the sky was children's-book blue.

  "Okay," Quinn said. Laura took his arm and they started down Peacock Road toward the swimming pool and the tennis courts.

  "Stanley Sax stopped me in the courthouse hallway," Laura told Quinn, introducing a subject they had avoided. "He wants to know when you'll be ready to go back to work."

  Quinn looked straight ahead.

  "What did you say?" he asked.

  "I said it's up to your doctors. Is that what I should have said?"

  "Be honest with me, Laura. Do you think I deserve to be sitting as a judge?"

  Laura stopped walking. She faced Quinn.

  "I love the fact that you're so principled, Dick, but I wish you would recognize your humanity a little more often. You're going to make wrong choices. Don't punish yourself when you do because that's ego; that's crediting yourself with infallibility.