Death Angel (24 page)

“Richard did not kill Jenny. He did not
kill the jogger.” She met Leidecker’s glance without flinching. “You’ve been
against him from the very beginning, Carl. You and the media have hounded him.
As I told you before, he called me this morning to tell me he was going to
Milwaukee. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I don’t understand why he would
leave his car and his clothes at the beach unless he was walking to clear his
head. Did it ever occur to you that something might have happened to him? He
might have been mugged.”

“I don’t think he was mugged.”

She read compassion and sadness in
Leidecker’s expression. She shook her head violently, wanting to keep him from
saying anything further “Let me tell you what I think could have happened,
Kate,” Leidecker said. “Sometime last evening Richard drove to the beach,
parked, left his belongings in the car, and swam out into Lake Michigan.”

“It’s not true.” Kate’s voice held a
pleading tone. “You know Richard. Why would he do anything so crazy?”

“He may have suspected that we were
going to arrest him. He couldn’t face that possibility.” Leidecker’s voice was
steady, the words uncompromising. “The logical conclusion is suicide.”
 

Seventeen

“I
f Warner drowned, where’s the body
?” Tony
Torrentino glared across the conference room table at Diego Garcia. “This is
Monday. It’s been five days already.”

“What’re ya yelling at me for?” Diego
said. “I’m just telling you what the Coast Guard told me. You think you can do
better? Why don’t you offer to drag Lake Michigan?”

Carl had a headache and was in no mood
for the usual squabbling. He slapped his hand on the table for silence.

“Don’t get your balls in an uproar,
Tony,” he said. “We’ve been over this before. On Lake Michigan, anything’s
possible. If a body isn’t found immediately, it could be days or weeks before
it washes up either on the Illinois side or over on the Michigan side. And if
it’s caught on something underwater, it might never turn up.”

“So I’m asking myself,” Tony said,
continuing as if Carl hadn’t interrupted, “how do we know Warner’s dead?”

“We don’t.” Bea’s voice was
matter-of-fact. “I realize that Warner’s disappearance is a major setback, but
we can’t let it throw us off the track. We have a case to work on and one way
or another we ought to be able to get closure. Now let’s review what we have.
Diego?”

“Like I already said, the Coast Guard
found nada. They searched for forty-eight hours and then called it quits. No
boats picked up anyone in the lake and no body washed ashore. The Chicago
morgue had a couple floaters. All of them had been in the water for more than a
week.”

“Keep on it,” Carl said. “Bring us up to
speed on the evidence from Touhy Avenue beach.”

“The watch commander called me at —”
Diego ran a finger down his notes, “at 11:30. The Chicago police had Warner’s
car. The beach closes at 10:00, but it was a Wednesday night, and by 10:30
Warner’s was the only car left. The cop on patrol flashed a light on the
inside. When he saw the clothes on the front seat, he ran the license of the
car. He recognized Warner’s name from the news coverage. So Chicago called us.
Me and the chief drove to Touhy Avenue beach where the cops were waiting.”

Carl picked up the story. “Warner’s suit
coat was folded on top of the rest of his clothes. His watch, wallet, and the
keys to the car were in the inside breast pocket. The beach lot has metered
parking with a time limit of five hours. The car was ticketed at 9:00 for an
expired meter. A patrol car goes through every hour.”

“That doesn’t tell us much,” Bea said.
“He could have been there as early as four.”

“It doesn’t matter what time he got to
the beach. We have two witnesses who saw him at 6:00,” Tony said. “So it’s what
happened after that that’s important.”

“How reliable are the witnesses?” Bob
asked.

“Solid gold. I interviewed them myself,”
Diego said. “Peter and Julie Hills. Old couple, maybe seventy. They live in the
building beside the parking lot. They saw the flashing lights, and the old guy
came down to see what was up. When he heard someone mighta drowned, he came
over to tell us about the man he’d seen going into the water.”

“I was still in the parking lot and
talked to him,” Carl said. “Concise and positive. He picked Warner’s picture
out of a pack of six.”

Diego was anxious to tell the story. “This
Peter Hills and his wife had an early dinner and then took a walk along the
beach. They saw a man in a bathing suit start into the water. It was cold and
he sort of jumped backward onto the sand, bumping into Peter. The man
apologized and, when the old lady said he’d freeze if he went in for a swim,
the man said it was okay because he liked cold water. The old couple continued
on their walk. They didn’t see him when they returned about an hour later.”

Bob raised his arms and scratched the
back of his head. His expression was perplexed. “I have a problem here. Other
than getting his feet wet, the witnesses never really saw him go into the
water. In fact if it hadn’t been for the man backing into the old guy, the
Hills probably wouldn’t have noticed him. But since they’d spoken to him, they
were able to recognize his picture. See what I’m getting at?”

“No,” Tony said.
 

Bob sighed. “If Warner was planning to
fake his death, he’d need some evidence to indicate he went into the water. So
he stands at the edge of the lake until he spots a likely couple. He stumbles
into the guy and talks to them both for a minute or two. Perfect witnesses to
his presence at the beach and his intention to go for a swim.”
 

“How’d he know the witnesses would talk
to the police?” Tony asked.

“It just seems a little too pat.”

“Make a note of it and let’s move on,”
Carl said. “Did the canvassing around the beach area turn up any more
sightings?”
 

“
Nada
.”
Diego shook
his head. “I’ve had someone, armed with pictures of Warner, in the parking lot
and walking the beach every day since his disappearance. We’ll keep at it
through Wednesday, which will make a solid week. We got the usual people
wanting to be helpful. Swore they seen him swimming, jogging, waterskiing,
picnicking. My personal favorite was a guy who swore he spotted Warner in the
front seat of a red sports car getting a blow job. He didn’t get the license
number.”

“Charming,” Carl said. Looking down at
his notes, he asked, “Who had Warner’s car?”

“Yo.” Tony waved his pencil. “The car
was dusted inside and out,” Tony said. “Warner’s prints are all over the
driver’s side. No clear prints of anyone else turned up in the car except for a
partial palm print of Mrs. Warner on the passenger side armrest. A couple of
Warner’s prints on the leather wallet and the shoes.”

“Exactly what clothes were left in the
car?” Bob asked.
 

Tony read it off. “A suit coat and
pants, a black leather belt, white button-down shirt, tie, black socks, and
black leather tassel slip-ons.”

“No underwear?”

“There wouldn’t be if he was wearing his
bathing suit under his clothes,” Tony said. “And unless he had an extra set of
shoes, he walked across the parking lot to the beach barefoot.”

“I checked with Mrs. Warner,” Bea said.
“As far as she could tell, he hadn’t taken any clothes with him. However she
couldn’t find his bathing suit.”

“Way I see it,” Diego said, “we got two
possibilities. One, Warner committed suicide. Two, he faked his death in order
to disappear.”
 

“Or three, he was murdered.” Carl’s
addition left silence in its wake.
 

“Murder?” Bob asked, jerking upright in
his chair. “Has something turned up that might suggest Warner was
murdered?”
 

“No,” Carl said. “But it hasn’t been
ruled out.”

He felt his own bias against Richard had
influenced the conduct of the investigation. He had flip-flopped after the
jogger was killed. Then, when it appeared that Richard was guilty, Carl was so
infuriated that he had not issued an arrest warrant immediately, wanting to
build an airtight case first. Warner’s disappearance was a personal blow. His
inaction enabled a murderer to escape.
 

Carl continued, “So far, all the
physical evidence points to suicide. I should mention that Mrs. Warner says if
Warner were planning to commit suicide, he’d never choose drowning. She’s
convinced that he either swam out too far and drowned by accident or he was
murdered.”

“Poor woman,” Bea said. “I suppose if I
were in her position, I’d say the same thing. It can’t be easy. If she admits
he committed suicide, she is almost labeling him a murderer.”

“It’s a tough call for everyone,” Carl
said. “What I’d like an opinion on is whether you think Warner is the type to
commit suicide. The two consulting psychiatrists gave a split vote. Kristina
Berg said no and Jen Puplava said yes. Even knowing Warner personally, I could
make a case for either side. Give me some opinions. Why would Richard Warner
commit suicide?”

Bob was the first to respond. “I always
thought if he was responsible for the rape and murder of his daughter, it was a
crime of impulse not premeditation. Pedophiles have an elaborate framework of
excuses and dodges. If it was a spur-of-the-moment, one-time event, a guy like
Warner wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.”

“Or with the thought of going to jail,”
Tony added.
 

“So if he did commit suicide, we could
close the case,” Diego said. “Along with the evidence we got, it would prove he
was guilty.”

“Not necessarily,” Bea said. Diego threw
up his hands in frustration. “You’ve all met and talked with Richard Warner.
He’s self-absorbed, controlling, and appeared genuinely devastated by the
death of his daughter. Both police and media consider him the prime suspect. Is
it any wonder that he might have buckled under the pressure? He might have
found the pain of Jenny’s death too much to bear or decided death was
preferable to arrest. Who knows?”

“Guilt or innocence aside, do you
believe Warner committed suicide?” Carl asked. Bob and Tony nodded yes.
“Diego?”

With an abrupt gesture, he thrust both
thumbs downward. “No.”
 

Carl turned to Bea. Her face was
puckered in a grimace of indecision. After some thought, she heaved a sigh and
shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Well we’re just moving right along,”
Carl said. “So far, what have we got? Murder, unlikely. Suicide, maybe. Let’s
take a stab at a faked death and subsequent disappearance.”

 
“At least if he went to the trouble to fake
his death, it would prove he was guilty,” Diego said, staring across the table
at Bea. “If he was innocent, what would be the point of disappearing?”

“For just about the same reasons that I
gave you for why he might have committed suicide,” she said.
 

“You’re really busting my balls!”

Bea wasn’t offended. “That was part of
my job description.”
 

Carl smiled at the murmur of amused
agreement around the table. He could sympathize with Diego. It was infuriating
not to be able to come to any solid conclusions.

“I think it’s entirely possible that
Richard Warner couldn’t handle the fact that people thought he’d killed his daughter,”
Bea continued. “Maybe disappearing seemed like the way out of an impossible
situation.”

Carl sighed. “I considered the same
thing, but I decided against it. He’d never desert Kate. Especially if he’s
innocent. I don’t think he’s the kind of bastard who’d deal her such a blow. My
theory is that he’s guilty and, if he didn’t commit suicide, it’s entirely
believable that he’d fake his death.”

“That brings up another point,” Bea
said. “Would Kate help him if he was guilty?”

“I asked her that once,” Carl said. “She
never gave me an answer. Kate Warner is the kind of woman you would describe
with terms like: good, normal, responsible, moral. Until Jenny’s death, I
suspect she had no experience with evil. It would never occur to her that
Richard might be guilty. When he became a suspect, she was forced to consider
it. She obviously decided he was innocent. I know this is a long answer to your
question, but if she thought he was guilty I don’t think she would help him.”

Bea pressed. “Assuming she thinks he’s
innocent, if he was going to be arrested, would she help him disappear?”

“Maybe,” Carl shrugged. “If I’m reading
their relationship right, Richard has controlled her throughout their marriage.
I don’t think she’d act on her own. I don’t think she’s a good enough liar to
pull off this kind of a deception. In my opinion, she doesn’t know any more
about what happened to him than we do. His disappearance was a stunning blow.
First her daughter is killed, then her husband is suspected of the crime, and now
it looks like he’s committed suicide. When I saw her yesterday, she was sedated
and almost catatonic.”

“I tend to agree with your assessment of
Mrs. Warner,” Bob said. “She believes in Warner, and the last thing she wants
is his death. Dead, he would never be cleared of suspicion. Besides, she’s too
honest to continue to mourn for someone she knows is alive. It would be a
betrayal of her own daughter’s death.”

“Agreed,” Carl said. “So if he decided
to fake his death, could he have done it on his own?”
 

Tony stabbed his finger on the top of
his file folders. “No. He left behind his credit cards and his wallet with a
hundred twenty-seven bucks. I checked his bank records and he hasn’t taken out
any chunks of dough. My read is that guys like Warner get used to the creature
comforts. He isn’t the kind of guy who’d walk away empty.”

“Are we all agreed that if he
disappeared he’d need help?” Carl asked.
 

Four heads nodded in unison.

“And a place to stay,” Bob added.
 

“Okay,” Diego said. “The way I see it, the
two most likely candidates for Good Samaritan of the Month are Mike Kennedy and
Christian Mayerling.”

“Before you get into a discussion of
opportunity,” Bea said, “let me give you a sidebar. Warner is not staying in
Mayerling’s condo. We did a batch of interviews, and unless he’s disguised as a
fifty-year-old Hungarian maid, he’s not there. I sent Jamison over to Kennedy’s
place. The complex has both townhouses and apartments. The manager is on the
premises. According to him, nobody’s been at the townhouse for at least a week,
including Kennedy. He’s been staying in Chicago at his girlfriend’s along with
Mrs. Warner.”

“I can’t believe Warner’d stay with
either of those two guys,” Tony said. “He’d have to know we’d check them out.”

Bea shrugged. “We’re not dealing with a
streetwise criminal. I’m not sure that Warner would know how to disappear. I
have the feeling if he went to a hotel, he’d register under his own name. One
other possibility. Maybe two. Mayerling has a condo in Palm Springs, and Kennedy
has a vacation place on Beaverton Lake up north of Madison.”

“I’ll put in a call to Palm Springs,
even though it seems a bit of a stretch,” Bob said. “My guess is if Warner
disappeared he’d stay closer to home. Kennedy’s place sounds more likely.”
 

Carl leaned forward with interest. “I’ve
fished Beaverton. It’s a man-made lake. Real good fishing with lots of little
inlets, bogs, and a hellish crop of killer mosquitoes. It’s just three hours
away.”

“Might be longer,” Bea said. “Kennedy’s
place is accessible only by boat.”

“What’s the doc own, an island?” Tony
asked.
 

Bea laughed. “Not exactly. On the north
end, the ground’s low, intercut by springs and almost completely underwater.
Apparently Kennedy bought a piece of this marsh. In the center is a high spot
that has an old cabin on it. Pretty primitive. No electricity. No running
water. And as the chief said, plenty of mosquitoes.”

Diego cringed at her description.
“Remember that scene in
The Deer Hunter
where the guys were kept in cages in
the water. Kennedy’s place sounds just like that. What the hell’s he want with
a place like that?”

“I guess he likes to fish and camp.” Bea
shrugged. “I called a friend of mine on the force in Madison, and had him check
it out. Talk about a small world. His aunt owns a tavern and marina on the
lake. When Kennedy comes up, he leaves his car at her place. He keeps a boat at
the marina and uses it to get through the marsh to his place. She says he
hasn’t been up all summer and nobody else has either.”

“Would she know?” Bob asked.

“Apparently she’s a local character. In
her seventies, and still goes out fishing every day. Knows everything that goes
on.”

“It doesn’t sound much like the kind of
place Warner’d go to hide out,” Carl said. “He never struck me as the outdoorsy
type. Motel with a pool would be more like it. Thanks, Bea. It’s something to
keep in mind at least. Now where were we?”

Diego was ready. “We were into who had
the opportunity to help Warner. What was Kennedy up to last Wednesday? His
friendship with Warner goes back a lot of years. If anyone helped Warner skip
town, my money would be on Doctor Mike.”

“I wouldn’t bet big,” Bob said.
 

He stood up and dealt several sheets of
papers around the table. He remained standing in his lecturing pose, giving
everyone time to look at the material.

Carl hid a smile behind his hand. One
Christmas as a gag gift someone had given Bob a telescoping pointer. He’d been
delighted and, to everyone’s despair, had used it at every meeting until
someone stole it. Broken into little pieces, it was left on Bob’s desk. Wisely,
he chose not to replace it.

“Since we haven’t got an exact time of
disappearance or death,” Bob said, “I’ve made up a timetable for the whole of
Wednesday, May 19.”

Other than a groan from Diego, the room was
silent. Carl reached for the thermos of water, poured a glass to wash down the
aspirins in his hand, then waved for Bob to continue.
 

“Kennedy stayed in Chicago at the Conrad
Hilton Tuesday night because Wednesday he was running an all-day symposium on
osteoporosis. He was at the reception area at 8:45 for coffee and glad-handing.
A series of panel discussions in the ballroom ran from 10:00 until 4:00. He had
lunch in full view of the hundred or so people attending. Afterward he met with
his committee until 5:30, and made it for cocktails in the ballroom at 6:00.
The banquet started at 7:30, and Dr. Mike Kennedy was the keynote speaker.”

“There goes that theory,” Diego
said.
 

Bob snorted in amusement. “Don’t
despair. Much as it looks impossible, I found a small window of opportunity.
The banquet ended at 9:30. He had drinks in the bar with several people until
10:30, when he went up to his hotel room. It’s a big hotel. He could have come
and gone easily without anyone being the wiser.”

“It’s not a lot of time,” Carl
said.
 

“What about his car?” Bea asked. “If it
was parked at the hotel, the garage would know if he used it.”

“He left his car at his girlfriend’s
apartment,” Bob said. “Miss Chesney was visiting her parents in Orlando.”

“You’re checking the taxis for a pick up
at the Hilton anytime that evening?” Carl asked.
 

“If Kennedy was helping Warner get away,
I don’t think he’d be dumb enough to take a cab from the hotel.” Bob shrugged.
“I’ve got someone working on it anyway but it takes forever to check log books
and interview cabbies and dispatchers.”

“Keep at it, Bob,” Carl said. “Now let’s
move on to Christian Mayerling.”

Bob pointed down at the timetable,
waiting until they’d had a chance to study it again before he continued.
“Mayerling drove to Springfield on the day Warner disappeared. He left at 7:45
in the morning and got there around 11:30. He had lunch with Senator Crafa at a
place called The Silver Stallion. Left there at 2:30 for a meeting with some of
Crafa’s constituents which lasted until 5:00. He says he wandered around until
the rush hour traffic was over and then around six he headed back to Chicago.
Said he loafed along and didn’t remember what time he got back. The guy in the
parking garage of his building logged him in at 10:45. He didn’t use the car
until morning, when he drove out to see Mrs. Warner.”

“If he went out after 10:45, he coulda
got a cab,” Tony said.

“No go,” Bob said. “The building’s damn
near impregnable. A security guard in front and back, surveillance cameras and
two guys in the garage. If Mayerling was helping Warner, he had to do it prior
to 10:45.”

“He had lunch with the senator at
11:30,” Bea said. “Didn’t he stop to eat dinner somewhere on the way back to
Chicago?”
 

“I asked him and he said he wasn’t all
that hungry. Just reheated some leftovers when he got home. On that basis he
has no verification for anything past five and before 10:45. It’s hard to
believe it took him . . .”

“Wait a sec,” Tony interrupted. “What
about the guy getting the blow job?”

“Can’t you stay with the program,
Torrentino?” Bob said.

“I am! It was in Garcia’s report.”

“Don’t blame me,” Diego said, entering
the fray. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not the blow job, you idiot!” Tony was
shouting. “I’m talking about the red sports car!”

Carl felt a jolt of excitement. He sat
up straight and narrowed his eyes in concentration. He rapped his knuckles on
the table, speaking softly into the silence.

“Tony might be on to something. The red
sports car. Could it have been Mayerling’s red Porsche?”

Eighteen

“T
he red sports car coulda been Mayerling’s
,”
Tony said. “Although it’s a convertible, and if you’ll excuse the pun, it
doesn’t have a lot of headroom.”

“Good Lord, Tony!” Bea said.

Diego stood up. “The interview sheets
are on the top of my desk.” Without further comment, he left the room.

“Okay figure this,” Tony said. “Say
Mayerling left Springfield at five, directly after his meeting with Senator
Crafa’s constituents. Could he make it to Chicago in three and a half hours?”
His words were more a statement than a question. “That’s 8:30–8:45 at Touhy
Avenue beach. He hooks up with Richard Warner at the beach parking lot and . .
.”

“Remember,” Carl interrupted, “Peter and
Julie Hills saw Warner at the water’s edge at 6:00. That’s a long time for him
to hang around the beach area in swim trunks.”

“Nobody knows where he was from nine in
the morning when he called the missus and 6:00 at night.”

Diego returned, a clutch of papers in
his hand. He leaned over the table thumbing through them until he found the one
he wanted. Nudging his chair away from the table with his foot, he scanned the
report before he sat down.

“This is the interview. Tyrone Rawlings.
A dude to be sure. He was really strutting his stuff on the beach. Honest to
God, women were practically wiping drool off their chins when they eyed him. We
didn’t exactly hit it off.”

“Too much competition?” Tony asked with
raised eyebrows.

“Before you boys start unzipping your
pants to compare anatomical details,” Bea said, “could we get back to the
report?”

“Sorry,” Diego said. “There’s not much
more in my notes than I already told you. Tyrone said on Wednesday, May 19, he
saw Richard Warner in the front seat of a red sports car getting a blow job. At
the time, I thought he was yankin’ my chain so I didn’t press him for a lotta
details. He was vague about the time. I’ve got it written down as dark.”

“It’d be dark at 8:30,” Tony said,
“which is the earliest Mayerling coulda got to the parking lot.”

“No ID on the car?” Carl asked.
 

Diego shook his head. “I’ve got Tyrone’s
address and phone. I’ll get to him today, and see if I can squeeze something
more out of him.”

“Take pictures with you,” Carl said.
“Include Christian Mayerling’s, but don’t force it on him.”

“I got it. ’Cept I still don’t think he
saw nothing.”

“Probably not.” Carl tended to agree
with Diego.

Tony waved his pencil for attention. “I
know I brought this up, but I never got the idea that Warner swung both ways.
The original reports said Mayerling might be a queen, but it never said there
was anything between him and Warner. Am I wrong here?”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Carl said. “As
far as I know, Richard Warner is straight. Mike Kennedy was his roommate in
college, and said Warner put the sex in heterosexual. The thing is, Tony, this
Tyrone may actually have seen a red sports car in the parking lot. And because
he’s an asshole, he might have thrown in the blow job for creativity points.”
He turned back to Diego. “I don’t think I have to draw you a diagram. Play our
friend Tyrone very carefully on the off chance he really did see Mayerling’s
car.”