Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (29 page)

Madeline considered this. “True, but Helen is conveniently out of town before we learned of Teresa’
s death.”

“Even if she went somewhere to clean the trunk, let’s say, forensics will more than likely find some residue that the human eye can’t detect. And you’re making a big assumption that Helen had something in her car that she could use to wrap the girl up in. That would have to be premeditated, whereas your idea is founded in spur of the moment necessity. Besides, what’s Helen’
s motive?”

Madeline was stymied. It hadn’t taken Mike long to shoot her theory all to hell. But something was still nagging at her.

“What if she grabbed something like a sheet or blanket out of the linen closet when she stashed the cord?” Madeline proposed, making
Mike chuckle.

“Did it look like she was carrying a blanket on the CCTV footage?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. “You really do have a grudge against this woman, don’
t you?”

“Not at all. The problem is we only have
two suspects—”

“That we know of,” Mike
reminded her.

“None of the French doors off the balconies had been opened all day. You found that out for yourself. There was no one else seen going up either staircase who didn’t come down prior to Vivian and Teresa going up. And don’t forget, it was all hands on deck because of the party. If the smallest cog in the wheel went missing for any length of time, someone would be sure
to notice.”

“Now, think about what you just said. If one of Helen’s staff had stolen Vivian’s jewelry, they would have reason to silence Vivian. Remember Vivian’s note…it was ‘urgent’ that she see you ASAP.” A pang went through Madeline’s heart as she thought of how Lauren’s lollygagging had probably cost Vivian
her life.

“But no one else had the opportunity,” Madeline said, putting them right back where
they started.

“All right, for argument’s sake, let’s assume it was Helen. You speculate that she seized the opportunity to kill Vivian. Then she gets caught in the act by a hapless Teresa. Forget the ‘how’ for a moment. What about the motive? Why would Helen kill
Vivian Story?”

“Because Vivian figured out who had stolen her jewels?”

“And who do you think
that was?”

“One of Helen’s own staff?” Madeline suggested. “Maybe Helen herself?” she added half-heartedly.

“And how did Helen find out Vivian knew?” Mike
drilled her.

“I don’t know. She must’ve sensed something. Maybe she saw the note being passed. She already knew I’d been hired to find out about the
missing jewelry.”

“I don’t think Helen could get arrested for murder on such a weak hypothesis,” Mike said, sitting down on the corner of his desk, feeling just as frustrated as
his partner.

“I know. We definitely have more blanks than we have answers. But we must know something we’re just not putting
together yet…”

Madeline chewed on a fingernail while she ran over what information they knew for certain: Cherie and Helen appeared to be the only suspects; Teresa was last seen walking down the back staircase with Helen before supposedly disappearing in I.V.; Cherie was sedated and couldn’t have killed Teresa.

Was it possible for Cherie to have killed Vivian and Helen to have killed Teresa?
she asked herself.
Possible, but very hard to imagine.
They were hardly pals, so it would’ve been very unlikely they were in on it together, which makes it
more implausible.

“I think we’ve worn out our brains enough for one day,” Mike said, stretching his arms and back. “We need sleep to process this mess. Let’s
go home.”

“You’re right, we’re punch drunk. But I really think I should give Helen a call first.” Mike started to protest, but Madeline cut him off. “It’s going to bug me all night if I don’t at least get a gut-level read on her.” Mike started to argue, but decided to defer to
her judgment.

“Before you do that, I’d like to boggle your mind with one other conundrum,”
he said.

“What’
s that?”

“Lionel Usherwood.” Madeline pulled back as if she’d
been struck.

“What about him?” she
asked crossly.

“We’ve been so absorbed in the two deaths, we haven’t been thinking about our own safety, or yours, at
any rate.”

“Yes, and it’s been like a vacation,” Madeline said, her tone accusatory. “So why bring him
up now?”

“Because, until we came back to the office, my car was parked at either the Alexanders’ or the sheriff’s office, places Usherwood couldn’t access or wouldn’t dare risk
being seen.”

“We were also at Rattlesnake Trail,”
Madeline added.

“A media and law enforcement circus,”
Mike countered.

“So what’s
your point?”

“I’m not really up for a night of playing find the booby-trap. And it’s too dark to scout around for bad guys lurking in the parking lot. I suggest we take a cab home. Have it pick us up out front, leave all the lights on in here, pretend we’re stilled holed up inside, and then we can deal with my car in the morning, when it’s light out and hopefully we’ve gotten
some sleep.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” Madeline said, feeling a good deal of the tension in her body seep away. Though she had been quite preoccupied with everything else that had been going on the last several days, thoughts of Lionel Usherwood had not been far from the surface, lurking like a crocodile waiting for one vulnerable moment to make his strike. “You make your call, I’ll
make mine.”

“How much time do you think you’ll need?” Mike asked as he searched for a cab company on
his phone.

“Ten minutes, at
the most.”

“Good. I’ll see what I
can get.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Madeline dialed Helen’s cell phone number and listened to it ring several times, wondering if she should leave a message if the call went to voicemail. Suddenly, she heard Helen’s voice on the
other end.

“Hello?”

“Helen, it’s Madeline. I’m sorry to disturb you on your much-deserved day off,” she said in her most diplomatic tone.

“How did you get this number?” Helen asked, not
so diplomatically.

“Ross gave it to me.” This seemed to give the housekeeper pause.

“I see. How can I help you?” Helen asked perfunctorily, making it clear whatever civility existed between them before had been lost once Madeline started poking her nose where it wasn’t welcome, namely in the running of the
Alexander estate.

“With everything that’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours, I figured you might not have been informed of the latest piece of bad news.” The line got quiet while Helen tried to puzzle out Madeline’s true intention. Madeline imagined her bristling at the thought of an event planner acting as some sort of surrogate to the Alexanders, just because she was away for a couple
of days.

“What is it now? Have they arrested Cherie?” Madeline let the caustic remark linger in the air for a moment. She wanted to be very careful how she played
her cards.

“It’s not about Cherie. It’s about Teresa.” Helen remained silent. “She was found on the Rattlesnake Trail in Santa Barbara early
this morning.”

“When you say ‘found’…”

“Teresa’s body was discovered by a hiker’s dog. Her throat had
been slashed.”

“Oh, mother of God,” Helen said with such convincing emotion, Madeline wasn’t sure if it was put on or not. “What was she doing all the way over there? She got out of my car in Isla Vista. I don’t understand this…are you sure it’s
our
Teresa?”
Our Teresa? Nice touch.
Madeline thought, picking up on the first false note so far.

“I was called to the County Morgue to ID her. It was definitely Teresa. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but because of the severity of the wound and the lack of blood that would normally be present, the police believe she was killed somewhere else and dumped on
the trail.”

“Oh, God—this is just…too horrible. First Vivian, and now the girl. What is going on? Who could do such things? How can this be happening? Oh, this is all my fault,” Helen said, her voice trailing off. “I should’ve never fired her like that. I should’ve waited until she came to work. The poor thing. Running off down the road, in the pitch-dark. Oh, I just
feel sick…”

Madeline heard rustling as Helen covered the phone with her hand. She was surprised at the level of emotion Helen was displaying. It made her wonder for a moment if her suspicions about the woman
were wrong.

“Do they have any idea who could’ve killed her?”
Helen asked.

“I’m not sure. If they do, they weren’t sharing it with me. But I do know they’ve got K-9 units out all over Isla Vista and are conducting a door-to-door search for anyone who might have seen her. I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to interview you again. Any light you can shed on the subject would probably be very much appreciated. You might be the last person to have seen her, before the killer,
that is.”

“Oh, you’re right…” Helen’s voice trailed off. “I just feel so terrible about this,” she said. If Helen killed Teresa, she was one
cool customer.

“Anyway, I didn’t want you to be broadsided by the news when you got back to the Alexanders’,”
Madeline said.

“No…thank you. I’m so glad you called. Poor Ross…I mean, poor Mr. Alexander. I feel awful now that I left, but I felt like I just had to get out of there for a couple of days. All the hoopla that’s been going on for a year now…and then poor Miss Story’s death. And now the girl’s. Nothing makes
sense anymore.”

“It sure doesn’t,” Madeline agreed. “Okay, well…I hope you get some much
deserved rest.”

“Thank you. And thanks again for the
heads up.”

“You’re welcome.” Madeline ended the call and looked up
at Mike.

“Taxi’s out front,” he said.

“Great. Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to see my bed,” Madeline said, slinging her overloaded bag onto her shoulder.

Before Mike locked the door, he made sure he had all the safety measures in place, small traps that when tripped would let him know if someone other than them had entered and disarmed the alarm. Usherwood may be the king of high-tech espionage and subterfuge, which was why Mike resorted to more subtle, old-fashioned methods to throw him off. If Usherwood bothered to break in, Mike would know about it. His ability to sleep depended
on it.

“What was that?” Mike yelled, jumping out of a sound slumber, feet planted firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent, arms held in front of him, ready to strike.

Madeline, more disoriented by sleep than he was, nearly knocked over the lamp as she grappled to understand what was happening. She caught it and fumbled to turn it on. Her phone chimed again, the second heralding of an incoming surveillance photo. Mike crawled across the bed to look on as Madeline opened the image. What they saw made them sink back onto the bed
with relief.

“Maybe we need to put that cat in protective custody for a while,” Mike said, hand to his heart as he monitored the thumping.

“This is a different one,” Madeline said once she found her voice. “Poor kitty—looks more startled than we were.” Mike looked again
and disagreed.

“I thought I was going to have a
heart attack.”

“Sorry. This is supposed to give us more peace of mind, not coronaries.” Madeline put the phone back on the bedside table and looked over at Mike. “Are
you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. That was just such an
adrenaline rush.”

“Tell me about it. I thought for sure I was going to see a photo of Usherwood in head to toe black, just his evil
eyes visible.”

“The black cat stood out pretty well,” Mike said.

“I guess that’s some comfort.” Madeline waited until her heart rate returned to normal, then switched off the light.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked. Madeline hesitated
before answering.

“No,
not really.”

“You want to talk about it?” Mike asked, scooting closer so he could stroke her hair. Madeline inhaled deeply
before answering.

“I have this strong feeling I’m never going to be free of Lionel Usherwood.”

Mike’s instinct was to contradict her, but he respected her too much to offer platitudes. They both knew Usherwood had the upper hand. He was apparently more crafty and ruthless than anyone in law enforcement; either that or he was the beneficiary of an overtaxed system and lack of funding. Stalking her was beyond settling a score; it was the pastime of a truly vile man who valued the suffering of his foes as highly as exacting
his revenge.

“Let’s get out of Santa Barbara for a while,” Mike suggested, propping himself up so he could see Madeline’s features in the dim light. “Let’s go down to LAX, pick the next flight out to wherever and just go. We won’t pack anything or tell anyone what we’re doing, and even if Usherwood followed us down there, he wouldn’t be able to get on the
same flight.”

Madeline rolled over and turned on the light. She regarded Mike thoughtfully before dismissing his
fantasy escape.

“We could hop on another plane after that and really confuse him,” she said cynically. “We could spend the rest of our lives and the rest of your money jumping from city to city, outpost to outpost and I’d never be free of the fear that he was standing right behind me. Running isn’t
the answer.”

Mike rolled over and grabbed his phone. Madeline turned on her side to face him, wondering what his latest brilliant idea was. “Who are
you calling?”

“
Agent Caulfield.”

“It’s not even five o’clock yet,” she protested. “Besides, what’s he going to do for us?”

“Put around the clock protection on you, that’s what,” Mike said, holding the phone to his ear. Madeline reached over and snatched it out of his hand and ended the call. “Give that to me!” he growled, making a lunge for it. Madeline was too quick for him. She was out of the bed, phone behind
her back.

“Before you get your cape caught on something, I want you to just listen to me.” Bruised by her words, Mike folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the headboard, using every ounce of self-control to keep his
mouth closed.

“It doesn’t matter where I go, or how many bodyguards I’ve got following me around, I will never be able to get Usherwood out of here,” she said, pointing to her head. “He’s a sick bastard who enjoys tormenting people. He gets this big thrill out of watching everyone bumbling around trying to figure out his next move. He’s in control, and you and I and the FBI and police are all playing defense. That’s the thing of it—he’ll fire off the next shot and we’ll all scramble around trying to figure out where it
came from.”

“You’re right,” Mike said after mulling over what she’d said. “It’s time for us to play offense.”

Madeline’s posture sagged. “How?” she asked. It didn’t surprise her that Mike couldn’t come up with an answer. “This is what I’m trying to explain to you. I am at his mercy, and will be until one of
us dies.”

“Unless the Feds catch him. They could be intentionally letting us believe they’ve given up the chase to make Usherwood think you’re unguarded,” Mike said, wild hope bringing him to
his feet.

“Even if he were locked up in maximum security for the rest of his miserable existence, I’d still have this fear of him escaping. I had just gotten to the point where I didn’t think of him every day, and look what happened. He popped up and proved once again he is smarter than all the rest of us. I know it’s not easy for us to understand a psychopath’s mindset. I think it’s what unnerves me the most—not knowing what would compel someone to stalk and kill for pleasure. What…?”

“Nothing.”

“I know that look. What are you thinking?”

“It’s probably lack of sleep…” Mike said, stalling while he tested his latest theory
for plausibility.

“If you’ve got an idea about something, share it with me,” Madeline demanded.

“You already shot it
down once.”

“What?”

“About Usherwood being behind the murders of Vivian and Teresa in order to throw you off balance. What you said about tormenting people…about having it in for you… I’m beginning to wonder if you were right. He could be playing with you, killing two women who you were working closely with to throw everyone off. What could be a better way to distract law enforcement?” Madeline shook her head, rejecting the theory a second time. “Think about it…we’ve got two suspects, and neither one of them is a shoo-in for the part. It could all be a subterfuge to keep you off balance. Maybe it’s his way of getting even after having his ass kicked by a girl.” Madeline laughed in spite
of herself.

“I’m not going to waste my mental energy trying to figure out his warped mindset. But unless he can walk through walls or make himself invisible, it couldn’t have been him. He would’ve shown up on the
CCTV footage.”

Madeline smiled sadly. It would be wonderful for her on all fronts if Lionel Usherwood could be blamed for everything. But she knew it wasn’t that simple. Mike’s face became a stony mask. Without a word, he began to
get dressed.

“Where are you going?” Madeline asked as Mike pulled on his pants. He stared at her without speaking as he slipped his arms through his shirt, buttoning it as he walked toward the door. “Mike, what do you think you’re doing?” she tried again as she moved in front of the door, blocking his exit.

“I’m going to see if there’s anyone camped out on the street, watching this place. Usherwood or FBI or SBPD, I don’t care. I just want to know what, if anything, is being done to protect you, and how bad the threat is at this moment,” Mike said. The intensity of his words made Madeline regret she had shared her fears with him. She knew better than to get him wound up when there was no way for him to offer a solution.

“I’m not looking for you to fix my problems, Mike,” she said forcefully, arms at her sides, feet slightly apart, using the anger welling up inside her to make him back down. They stared at each other until Mike grudgingly relented. He turned away, running his hands through his bed-tangled hair. Madeline could feel the heat of frustration emanating from him. She could envision him picking up her chair and hurling it across the room as clearly as if it were
actually happening.

“I should’ve never said anything,” she said, her voice cracking. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stop the tears from breaking free. She stood there, trembling with rage and helplessness. Seeing her in that state made Mike’s anger
drain away.