Last to die

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“Come on,” said Jack, walking toward the hotel, “let’s get a room.”

Thirty-two

Where’s your friend?” asked Rene.

She and Jack were at the maquis, the open-air café next to their hotel. It was the epitome of informal dining, just a smattering of rickety wood tables and benches in the sand. They were seated across from each other in the circle of shade beneath a thatched paillote. The air smelled of cooked fish and some kind of steaming carbohydrate, appetizing enough, though the buzzing flies and oppressive heat would take some getting used to. Jack was sweating just sitting there, though Theo had been right about Rene: A shower and a good night’s sleep had vaulted her right into another league.

“Theo’s still sleeping,” he said.

“Jet lag?”

“More like jet fuel. He and a couple of Belgians on their way to Man were up late drinking something called pitasi.”

She flashed a knowing smile, as if she’d been there. “African gin. Deadly stuff.”

A waiter brought them sodas and recited the menu in French. Jack let Rene order for both of them, trusting that he wouldn’t end up with boiled eye of impala.

“You and Theo make a pretty interesting friendship.”

“I hear that a lot.”

“Have you known each other long?”

“Pretty long. He was convicted of murder when he was a teenager. I picked up the case on appeal, after he was on death row. You can get pretty close to someone after counting down the hours to their death five or six different times. Especially when they’re i

“So you got him off?”

“Guilty people get off. Theo got screwed, and we finally made it right.”

She took a long drink of cola with no ice, enjoying it before it got too warm in the midday heat. “Is that your specialty? Death penalty work?”

“Not anymore. My first four years out of law school I worked at a place called the Freedom Institute. All death penalty work.”

“Sounds pretty grim.”

“Not as grim as some other things. I worked for a Wall Street firm the summer before I graduated from law school. On the last day, I walk into the elevator and punch forty-two, just like every day before. Then a young lawyer walks in behind me, punches forty-one, a little older guy walks in, punches forty-three, and finally a senior partner comes and-well, I don’t know what she punched. I literally ran the hell out of there. I suddenly couldn’t stomach the idea that this was going to be my life, day after day, walking into the same elevator, punching the same button, going to that same little box in the sky.”

“I can relate.”

“Really?”

“Look around. This isn’t exactly a normal career step for someone who just busted her hump through a pediatric residency.”

She had a great smile, Jack noticed, and he smiled back. He hadn’t thought about it before, but they did have something seriously in common, both having chosen an unconventional start for their careers. He said, “If your experience is anything like mine was, I’m sure you have a lot of friends back home making plenty of money.”

“Money was never what it was all about for me.”

“Me neither, but…”

“But what?”

His expression turned more serious. “What about Sally?”

She let out a little sigh, as if she’d known that the conversation would land here eventually. “Sally was a very complex person.”

“Were you two close?”

“Yes, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

She shrugged and said, “We were sisters. We had our differences, we got over them.”

“I understand she spent some time here with you.”

“Yeah. I was a bit surprised she came, but I suppose in the last few years nothing should have surprised me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Charity work in Africa is not exactly for Sally. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not for most people. But after her daughter was murdered, Sally just wanted to find a way to heal. She drifted from one extreme to the other, from partying to religion, from charity work to marrying a millionaire. In the end, I guess, nothing worked.”

The waiter brought their food, a lumpy, grainy dish that looked like rice mixed with a little meat. Jack tried it with caution, but it was surprisingly tasty. “Good choice,” he said. “I like it.”

“Really? For most people spider monkey is an acquired taste.”

“Huh?”

“Just kidding.”

They shared a smile, then Jack turned serious again. “I’m really sorry about what happened to your sister, so let me apologize in advance for some of the questions I have to ask.”

“I understand.”

“This might sound like a weird question, but do you have any reason to believe that Sally would have killed herself?”

“Suicide? She was shot in her car while waiting at an intersection.”

“I know. But what I’m really asking is, do you think it’s possible that she hired someone to kill her?”

She looked away, but Jack could still see the troubled expression on her face. “I don’t know. I have worried about her. She had a lot of issues, many of which I’m sure you already know about. Her money problems, the stalker, the murder of her daughter, her failed marriage.”

“What about the book that the reporter from the Miami Tribune was writing? Do you know anything about that?”

She paused, then said, “I do. If there was one thing that I think could have driven Sally toward suicide, it would have been that book. Or not the book, per se, but its premise.”

“What was your understanding of it?”

“Sally felt that she was being blamed for the fact that her daughter’s killer was never caught. We talked a lot about that. She was having an awful time dealing with those accusations.”

“Did you ever talk to her about the polygraph exam she took? I’m not insinuating anything, but my understanding is that it showed signs of deception when Sally answered no to the question, ‘Do you know who killed your daughter?’”

“You of all people-someone who has done death penalty work-should know that lie detector tests are not infallible. In my view, if that test showed signs of deception, the machine was wrong.”

“There was another area that the test said she was lying about. It had to do with some question about an extramarital affair.”

“If you’re asking me if Sally cheated on her husband, I don’t know. She never told me about a lover. I never got any awkward phone calls from Miguel asking, ‘Hey, did you and Sally really have di

“Let’s assume she was having an affair. Was she the kind of person who would…how should I put this?”

“Who would cover up her own daughter’s murder to protect her lover? No way. I know that’s what the prosecutor said, and I know that’s what Deirdre Meadows wanted to write in her stupid book. Excuse my language, but that is total bullshit. Katherine was Sally’s life. She would never have covered up the murder of her own daughter out of love for some man.”

“What about out of fear?” asked Jack.

“Meaning what?”

“Again, I’m not making any accusations. Just want to consider all the possibilities. Is it possible that Sally was afraid to identify the man who killed her daughter because she was afraid he might come back and kill her, too?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know-knew-my sister.”

“Did you know that she was being stalked before her daughter was murdered?”

“I found that out when everybody else did, after the murder.”

“If she was being stalked, how can you completely dismiss the prosecutor’s theory that this stalker was her lover and that Sally was afraid to identify him as the man who killed her daughter?”

“Because I know differently. I know that after the murder, Sally was obsessed with trying to find out who her stalker was. She was hunting him down.”