Beyond Suspicion

“What are you going to do, ask him to grab his glove and have a catch?”

“No, I thought I’d just tell him to slap you upside the head.”

“I just want you to be sure about this.”

“I am. This thing I figured out with the angle of the slash on Jessie’s wrist is only one piece of the puzzle. Even if Marsh is left-handed, that’s not the only thing that points to him as the killer. I think she screwed him over.”

“How do you mean?”

“Somehow, the entire million and a half dollars that Jessie wormed out of her viatical investors ended up in a bank account that didn’t have his name on it. I’m sure that Marsh went along with that arrangement because he wanted to prevent his wife from getting her hands on it in the divorce. But something tells me that when it came time to give the doctor his half of the loot, Jessie gave him the heave-ho-‘It’s been nice, doc, thanks for helping with the scam, now see ya later.’”

“You realize we’re totally shifting gears. The whole defense we’ve been crafting so far is that Jessie was murdered by the investors she scammed.”

“Which is probably why we aren’t making any headway. One thing has always bothered me about that anyway. Why would they kill Jessie and let the doctor live?”

“I don’t know.”

“And how do you think Dr. Marsh is going to react when I ask him that question?”

“I think he’ll say exactly what he said to the grand jury: you killed her. So, please, don’t have that kind of talk with him. Just get him to sip coffee or write something down, anything to satisfy yourself that he’s left-handed. Don’t take it any further than that.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

“No, I already see where it’s going. If all you really wanted to know was whether Marsh is left-handed, you could go ask his wife. You want to get in there, go toe-to-toe, get your friend Theo off the hook, and stem off your own indictment. He got the best of you in that last conversation you had in your office, and now you want to even the score.”

“I’m just feeling him out, okay? From what I’ve seen of Dr. Marsh, he’s way too impressed by his own cleverness. If I keep my composure and push the right buttons, I honestly think he’s arrogant enough to say something we can use to hang him.”

She shook her head, as if she didn’t approve. “I see there’s no talking you out of this.”

“Nope.”

“You realize I’m not going with you. The last thing I need to do is be a witness to a conversation that might disqualify me from being your lawyer.”

“I agree.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He stepped down from the car, pushed the door shut, and headed up the walkway. It was a short walk, but it seemed long. The small front lawn was well kept, surrounded by an eight-foot-tall cherry hedge that was trimmed and squared-off neatly to resemble fortress walls. Jack almost checked for a moat. Long rows of colorful impatiens flanked either side of the curved path of stepping stones that led to the front door. The driveway was off to the left, and the doctor’s Mercedes was parked in it. That was promising, almost as good as a sign on the door saying the doctor is in.

Jack climbed one step at a time, three in total, acutely aware of the scratchy sound of his soles on rough concrete. This was technically no sneak attack, but the closer he got to the front door, the less welcome he felt. It wasn’t anything he heard or saw. Just vibes.

He drew a breath and knocked on the door.

A full minute passed. Jack heard nothing. He knocked again, a little harder. Then he waited. He checked his watch. Almost ninety seconds. It was a small house. Even from the most remote corner, it couldn’t possibly take more than a minute or so to reach the front door. Unless he was showering or sleeping or-

Who the hell cares if I’m bothering him? He knocked a third time, a good solid pounding that could easily have preceded the a

He waited a full three minutes. No one home. Or at least no one was willing to come to the door. In the back of his mind he could almost see Rosa smiling and saying something along the lines of Just as well, God’s doing us a favor.

He turned away and climbed down the stairs. Instead of taking the serpentine footpath, he exited by way of the driveway, a more direct route to the street. The silver Mercedes was a ghostly shade of gray in the moonless night. It seemed odd that the car was in the driveway and yet the doctor hadn’t answered the door. Jack took two more steps toward the driveway, then froze. He hadn’t noticed in the darkness, but on the other side of the big Mercedes was a smaller, black vehicle, almost invisible in the night. It was a Volkswagen Jetta, and in an instant, Jack recognized it.

Theo?

He sprinted toward the Jetta, pressed his face to the glass and peered through the dark, tinted windows. Theo’s windows were so dark they were illegal, making it impossible to see in. Jack walked around to the windshield, but he saw nothing inside. He tried the doors, but they were locked. He stepped back and nearly bumped into Dr. Marsh’s Mercedes. As he turned, something inside caught his eye. The driver-side window wasn’t as dark as Theo’s, so he could make out the image inside.

His heart was suddenly in his throat.

A man was slumped sideways over the console, his torso stretching from the driver’s seat to the passenger side. On impulse, Jack opened the door and pulled him straight up in his seat.

“Dr. Marsh!” he said, as if he could revive him.

The doctor was staring back at him, eyes wide open, but the stare was lifeless. The back of his head was covered with blood.

Jack released his grip, his hands shaking. The body fell face-first against the steering wheel. He backed away, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed 911, his mind racing with one scary thought.

Theo, where on God’s earth are you?

58

•

Before Dr. Marsh’s death hit the late-evening news, Jack was at Theo’s townhouse. He’d driven Theo home from his late-night gigs often enough to know that a key was behind the barbecue in the backyard. Technically speaking, he was still trespassing, but a true friend didn’t stand on the sidelines at a time like this.

The police arrived at Dr. Marsh’s house within minutes of the 911 call. They’d asked plenty of questions about Theo’s whereabouts. Jack didn’t have any answers, and he quickly realized that it was up to him to go out and get them.

Jack turned the key in the lock, then pushed the door open. He took a step inside, and switched on a light. Almost immediately his heart thumped, as the big cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall began its hourly ritual. In a minute, Jack could breathe again, and he watched the wooden characters continue their little dance around the musical clock. They weren’t the typical cuckoo-clock figures. Instead of the little man with the hammer who comes out and strikes the bell, this one had an axe-wielding woodsman who lopped off a chicken’s head. Theo had ordered it from some offbeat mail-order catalog and given it to Jack after his successful last-minute request for a stay of execution. Jack gave it back when Theo was finally released from prison. Death row did weird things to your sense of humor.

But I still like having you around, buddy.

Jack continued down the hall and headed for the bedroom. In Jack’s mind, it wasn’t even within the realm of possibility that Theo might have killed the doctor. Jack hadn’t exactly spelled it out this way to the police, but even if you believed that Theo was capable of murder, he was way too savvy to pull the trigger and then leave his car parked on the victim’s front lawn.

Still, there were two most likely possibilities. Either Theo was on the run or something awful had happened to him. After mulling it over, Jack settled on a surefire way to rule out one of them.