One Deadly Sister Part 7

"Greetings from only me, I'm afraid. The company regrets ever hearing of you. I hate to tell you, but your boss has the word from upstairs, embarra.s.sment to the corporation must end. You'll be fired as soon as they can legally cover their b.u.t.ts."

"They sent you here to tell me that?"

"G.o.d, no. I'm on my own. I thought someone should let you know what was happening. Too bad I accidentally got you involved with the murder victim's ex-wife at my party. Did you notice I never introduced you to Loraine? I never dreamed she'd try to hook up with anyone, especially not you. I told her to bring a friend, but she showed up alone and jumped on you as if you were the last train out of town. She was on the hunt, so she brought out the big guns; tell me her short green dress with that neckline didn't do a job on you."

"You should have marked her with skull and crossbones. But none of it was your fault. You didn't know Towson would be shot, and I didn't know that I was walking out the door with his ex."

"All the people at the party saw you two leave, and now they know Loraine slept with the guy who shot her ex. I'm a.s.suming you slept with her-none of my business. When that juicy tidbit filters into the community at large it's not going to help your case."

"You're quite the sales person, aren't you? You just told me my job and my life are doomed, and I'm sitting here grinning, eager for any more bad news just to hear you talk."

"I could sell water to a drowning man."

"Good that you're so successful at something you like to do. All your buy and sell tickets come across my desk, I know you're good."

"Not successful every time. I've been working on a personal scheme for about a month now, trying to get a particular idea into a certain guy's head, but it's not working. I can't seem to get the pitch right. He's ignoring me."

"Well, I'm sure you'll win him over eventually. You have a marvelous appearance and a dynamite personality. I hope I thanked you at the party for inviting me."

"Well, you didn't exactly go on and on about it." Her mood seemed to change. She shook her head slightly and stood to leave. "Must run, I'm supposed to be out making calls this morning. But I wanted to see you."

"You're my only visitor so far. Thanks for coming."

"Ray, I know you're innocent, and it's horrible you're in this mess. I want you to know there are people who truly like you and are pulling for you. I want to be your friend."

"Well, I appreciate that."

"No, you don't, but you will someday." She turned and left.

He started to get up when the officer put a hand on his shoulder. "Sit right there, you have another visitor."

He looked over to see his sister charge through the door. Was that really her? She signed in at the sergeant's desk and then strode across the room with a briefcase tucked under her arm like a shotgun.

She gave her brother a half-hearted wave and declared, "Okay, I'm here. Geez, orange really isn't your color. And still wearing those dumb gla.s.ses."

They had known each other as adults and used to see each other a few times a year on holidays and such, invariably at their parent's house before both died in an auto accident six years ago. Although they both lived in Philadelphia, their last physical contact had been at the funeral. At first, Sandy would occasionally phone him, and twice she invited him to dinner parties, but there was always some conflict and he was never able to make it.

Now in her late twenties, she had changed. This wasn't the sister he remembered. She seemed sharper, poised, and confident. She wore her brown hair very short and swished around in sa.s.sy disorder. A slight ribbon of midriff peeked between her sleeveless white blouse and knee-length denim skirt. "I didn't think you'd come."

"G.o.d knows why I'm here, I certainly don't."

"I'm really pleased. Sis, you're really...."

She threw him a bored look and interrupted, "Don't call me, Sis. Don't ever call me, Sis. Who was the nice-looking woman who just left?"

"Someone from the office, Meg-I can't remember her last name. She's trying to help me, but it looks like I'll be fired."

"She is not just someone-that's obvious. Are you friends with her at the office? What does she do?"

"Stockbroker. She comes by my office every day."

"Didn't you notice her clothes? I recognize those slacks, Italian Prato linen, very in. I have no idea where to buy something like that, Palm Beach, I suppose."

She motioned with her hand and the policeman positioned by the wall first hesitated and then came over. "Officer, would you please let me see your logbook? I need the name, address and phone number of that young woman who just left here. Thank you."

The young officer was bewildered, "Ah, I don't think-we don't-we're not supposed to do that."

Ray raised his hand and started to speak. His sister shushed him and kept going, "Just now, to get in here, I was required to write down that same information about myself. Your prisoner has a right to know who you're permitting in here to see him. That log is a public record, and it didn't suddenly become confidential. The sergeant over there, what's his name?"

The officer appeared panicky, as though wondering if he should disclose the sergeant's name. "That's Sergeant Lewis."

"Tell him I'd like to speak with him, please."

Ray sat astonished. The puzzled officer called for the sergeant, who walked over. With his white hair and slight bend, he appeared to be past retirement age, but was still in good shape, no doughnut paunch on this cop. She politely repeated her request.

The sergeant replied, "Miss, I see you're from Philadelphia. We do things different in Florida."

She gave him a courteous smile and repeated, "We do things different in Florida? Is that what you said? What's a good-looking cop like you doing with such an old cliche? Please put me in touch with the DA immediately. You people are interfering with the defense in a capital case."

The sergeant chuckled, "Okay, show the young lady the log book. And Miss, if you're going to storm through Florida like a Cat 5, you should know that we don't have District Attorneys down here. That's what I meant by doing things differently. Florida is divided into judicial districts, each with a state attorney who does the prosecuting. Just say SA, and everyone will know you're cool."

She gave him a smile so warm and beautiful he no doubt would tell his grandkids about it. "Thank you Sergeant Lewis and I apologize for my att.i.tude. I'll appreciate any additional help you can give me."

She leaned toward Ray and whispered, "You can close your mouth now."

"What have they done with my little sister?"

The officer brought the logbook over and she started copying. "Wake up, Raymond. Can't you read people? That woman is a perfectly polished piece of work. She comes in here offering her help, and you don't even find out her name?" She glanced down at her writing. "Megan Emerson." She stared at him. "Emerson, Emerson, got it? She's darling. Where is your head? The question remains, whose side is she on, and why is she helping someone like you?"

"She was just here on business from the office. Do you realize everyone is this room thinks you're a lawyer?"

"Not my problem. Okay, here we go. I read about the murder in your local paper. Tell me your story. Give me the short version now, we can do nuance later. Make it fast. I need to crash someplace, I drove straight through."

Each time he told his story, it sounded more implausible to him. He barely got started when she interrupted him. "Who did you say invited you to that Sat.u.r.day night party?"

"Her, that Meg Emerson."

She put down her pad and pencil and gave him a frustrated smirk. "Let me get this straight. The young woman who just came in here to visit you-even though you're in jail accused of murder-the one that just happens, by some amazing coincidence, to buzz around your desk every day, gave a party and invited you?"

"Yes...?"

"Geez Louise!"

"I know what you're thinking, Sandy, but Meg Emerson isn't interested in me. She's a big deal broker, really in the fast lane. She took over a bank trust department straight out of college, made them a ton of money. They were thrilled, gave her a marvelous t.i.tle, a splendid office, and paid her peanuts."

"She probably quit the bank and went into securities sales where she could be paid on commission," Sandy guessed.

"Exactly, and she's breaking all sales records at E.J. Bradford. I know, I run the back office and my crew processes all the paperwork. The hottest stockbroker they've ever had and one of the top producers in the southeast."

"Next she'll take over her boss's job."

"She doesn't want his job, she makes double his pay already, and next year it'll be triple. Her dream is to start her own brokerage business and to buy her clothes in Milan."

"That explains the upscale outfit she wore."

"You should see the list of high-powered names she does business with-people you see interviewed on news shows. She flies around the country meeting securities a.n.a.lysts and giving speeches. Her condo apartment is incredible. I'm just not in her league."

"Geez, perhaps someone should explain that to her."

He continued with the bizarre story leading up to his arrest. She interrupted occasionally to get the spelling of a place or name. While the narrative went on, and his sister made notes, he noticed that all the other visitors and the young officer had left. Visiting hours were over. Sergeant Lewis remained, evidently permitting them to stay.

When Ray finished she said, "Self-confidence is one thing, but wearing a thong at seventy? I think age twenty-five should be the absolute limit. Obviously, she set you up. Loraine's a bad, bad girl, and she's used you. I know something about users. But I don't get why she came up with the rape or the Barner shooting. You said you didn't have s.e.x with her Sat.u.r.day morning at the motel. Did she come on to you at all?"

"Does lying naked on the bed with her legs spread count?"

"Then forget about her being the one who was just raped. Unless she's an inflatable doll, she wouldn't be eager for s.e.x so soon. For some reason, she actually did want to have s.e.x with you again, probably to tie you closer. Anyway, she read you like a book, apparently an easy thing to do in your case. I'm beginning to doubt your judgment when it comes to women. I remember your ex-wife was a doozey too. You married the first girl who was nice to you, didn't you? Mom told me she wrote on her body?"

"I didn't know mom knew that."

"On her body, you mean like on her hand?"

"No, on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach. Can we talk about it later?"

"You mean s.e.xy words like, come and get it?"

"No, bizarre symbols. I'm not sure. I never got that close. Never got to see the b.o.o.b job I paid for either."

"Never got close? Poor guy, I never thought about that. Let's see, you went without getting laid starting a couple of years before the divorce, I'll bet, and then tried to catch up with a seventy-year-old."

"She appeared younger by candlelight."

"Of course she did, and after a few drinks and with the flickering candlelight, at times she even seemed to move-almost lifelike."

"Oh, she was lifelike alright. I'm not going to explain further."

"I'm sure she really knew how to bounce a bed."

"Sandy, age wasn't a part of it. Do I wish that she were actually interested in me, of course? But, seventy's not so bad. You'll find out about this age thing for yourself one day."

"Maybe, in which case I'd insist on very few candles and lots of booze. How many women at that party turned you down before you hit on Granny?"

"It wasn't like that. I'm not like that. I never thought about leaving with her. Never dreamed she wanted to spend the night with me, and then she unexpectedly phoned me and-oh well, one d.a.m.n thing led to another."

"I'm dying to get a look at that woman. How about this Tammy, are you certain she's being straight with you? Not that you'd have the faintest idea one way or the other."

"She called the cops on me but that was a normal reaction. She was close to the victim so was upset about his death."

"Why were you running around like Dudley Do-Right anyway?"

"What's wrong with helping people? After all, I didn't help you."

"So, you went for the granny-s.e.x to ease your conscience about me?"

"I've had some bad luck with women, now drop it."

She stood and reached for her brief case. "Job one is to get you out of here. That means we'll start our own investigation. Give me your attorney's name. I can do legwork for him and for you. Start getting your ideas together. I'm not a lawyer and I'm not qualified to handle your defense. I am, however, absolutely incredible at running around and p.i.s.sing people off. Did you sign a statement?"

"Yes, was that wrong?"

"Not if you told the truth. I need a copy of it. Your attorney will have it. I'll go see him and then crash."

"Lawyer is Jeremiah Kagan. He's probably still alive. You can stay at my place."

"Cops most likely got a warrant and tore up your place. Know a good motel, someplace with an Internet connection?"

"Try the InnTowner," he said half joking. "And Sandy, it's great to see you."

"Well, take a fast look at me, because I don't intend to hang around here letting you screw up my life for very long."

Chapter 11.

During those first few days after the shooting of Senator Towson, the citizens knew only that the nearest thing to a celebrity the town had ever known was murdered. Their astonishment soon changed into outrage. The anger would worsen if they became aware of certain undisclosed details. Neither the citizens nor the media were yet aware of the alleged rape, the suggestion of a Sonny Barner murder, or the names of the townspeople disclosed in the suspect's statement.

State Attorney Moran and Chief Oehlert had good reason to be worried. It was just a matter of time before details would leak out.

Early on Wednesday morning, Moran summoned G.o.ddard to his office. The chief was already there pacing around nervously, and explaining they couldn't locate Sonny Barner. "He runs his exterminating business out of his house. No sign of him there and his answering machine is full. If he's alive, he stopped functioning."

Moran studied the folder on his desk. "According to Reid's statement Loraine Dellin shot him. You should be out looking for his body, G.o.ddard. Do me a favor and find it before some reporter trips over it."

The detective took the chair opposite Moran's desk. "I don't believe he's dead. He was Towson's exterminator and serviced his apartment the afternoon of the homicide. CSI found a service receipt from Barner Exterminating at the crime scene. It was marked 2:15 p.m., Sat.u.r.day. So, he might be a second victim, but he looks more like a suspect to me."

The chief didn't get it. "Are you talking about the timing?"

Moran referred to his notes. "Reid's statement has Loraine shooting Barner on Friday. Now we learn that the next day he's working in Towson's apartment. Obviously, she didn't shoot him, at least not on Friday, and Reid is lying."

"Or Loraine lied to him about shooting Barner," G.o.ddard added. "Apparently, Barner and Towson were both alive Sat.u.r.day at 2:15 p.m. Question is, was Towson still alive when Barner left?"

"Barner could have shot him then or gone back later and shot him." Moran started thumbing through the folder. "Okay, so need to rule out a second murder. But if Barner's not dead then where is he? Now, what about the rape of Tammy Jerrold?"

"Tammy says it never happened and is intensely afraid the allegation might become public," the chief said.

"We don't want it public either. People would go crazy if a rape was tossed into this homicide." Moran held up the folder. "Plus, look at the names we've got: Barner, Loraine, Tammy, and Norma Martin. They may or may not have anything material to do with Towson's murder, but what if these names get out?"