Esprit de Corpse (12 page)

“The thing we found out was that while there was blood and brain tissue on the outside of the stapler, there was none inside where the staples are housed. So it appears that the stapler’s ‘mouth’ was closed when it was used to bash—I mean, bring an end to Ms. d’Arc’s life. Afterward, the assailant must have then dropped the stapler. The jaws would have sprung open. We experimented with another stapler of the same model and it tended to open when dropped. So, according to the evidence, it was at that point that Ms. Iver picked up the stapler.”

“Objection!” the Crown cried.

The judge rolled her eyes. Unlike Judge Julius, she didn’t remove them first in order to do so. “Is there more, Detective?”

“Yes. Upon examination, we were able to determine that one of Conrad Iver’s fingerprints is divided here. Half on the top part of the stapler—the ‘top jaw.’ And half is on the silver part. The upper and lower jaws were obviously closed when Mr. Iver held it. Where his fingerprints lie, there is neither blood or brain matter.”

“And Ms. Iver’s prints?” Judge Wilson prodded.

“Yes, getting there, Your Honor. Shannon Iver’s prints are only on the top part, actually wrapping around the ‘upper jaw.’ That clearly demonstrates that she held the stapler while it was open. All of her prints overlay the body fluids.”

“And you didn’t notice this the first time.” The judge peered down at him, her face bland while her eyes bore into him.

Detective Leo was also an old hand in a courtroom. He remained unfazed. “We performed all of the required forensic tests within the extremely limited time frame. Normally we have more than ten days to produce results. There are long lead times for the equipment, you know. It’s not like those TV shows where the forensic techs just sit around waiting for evidence to come in or are willing to jump the processing queue as a favor.”

The judge sighed and sat back. “Yes, I do know that, Detective. Thank you for rushing the tests to accommodate this hearing. Mr. Hammerhead, any more questions for this witness?”

Gill rose, shot his cuffs and straightened his jacket. Before he’d been confident, now he was insufferable. “So, to be perfectly clear, Detective. This new forensic evidence—evidence that was derived using highly sophisticated equipment and is therefore irrefutable . . .”

“Yes?” Detective Leo responded. It hadn’t really been a question.

“This new evidence definitively supports my client’s description of events leading up to the unfortunate death of Ms. d’Arc. Is that right?”

“Yes. The evidence shows that it was the late Conrad Iver and
not
his daughter who bludgeoned Kirsty d’Arc to death.”

“Thank you, Detective. No more questions, Your Honor.”

Judge Wilson made a few notes. Raising her head, she blinked at Detective Leo as if surprised to still find him there. “Thank you, Detective. You may return to your duties.”

She made another note, then focused back on the courtroom.

“Well, gentlemen and Ms. Iver. I’m ready to make my decision now. Ms. Iver, if you would stand. I know we’ve rushed this along, partly for expediency’s sake and partly to get rid of that traffic jam created by the media.” She shot a glance at the small knot of reporters near the exit.

“But I cannot, in good faith, acquit you of the charges of the murder in the first degree.”

The crowd gasped and began to comment to each other. A harsh look from the judge quelled the chatter.

“Nor can I declare a mistrial.”

Again the crowd gasped. Shannon’s face turned bloodless—her living face matching the paleness of her disembodied soul. Would Conrad really faint?

“Instead, I am doing exactly what a preliminary hearing is designed to do. I’m dismissing the case altogether. There isn’t enough evidence here against Ms. Iver to warrant a trial, so I want this going on record as never having happened. Ms. Iver, you are free to go.” She nodded sweetly at Conrad, who still looked as if he might faint, before turning to her court clerk. “Both counsels. You are to read up on Canadian criminal trial procedures since you seem to have forgotten everything you learned in law school. I want a three-thousand-word essay defining the differences between a hearing and a trial on my desk by Monday. And you are not to watch any more courtroom dramas on TV. Either of you. Any questions?”

I watched the words “But, Your Honor!” die on both lawyers’ lips. Their gazes met; once again the two opposing counsels were united, this time in misery.

“Now then.” The judge shuffled her notes before looking over at the court clerk. “Who’s up next, Pam?”

“That would be Ms. Maddy Stryker on one, no, two, no,
three
charges, Your Honor.” She rifled through her notes. “Two new assault charges have been added to her murder one charge since we last saw her.”

The judge pushed her glasses back up her nose and flipped a few pages in one of those heavy green legal folders. “Oh, goody. Another live one. Seems she likes to strangle people. But let’s have a short recess first, shall we?” Judge Wilson lowered the file and exited by a side door. The rest of the observers began to make their way from the courtroom looking extremely disappointed. No murder meant no murder trial. Don’t you hate when that happens?

I stepped forward to escort Conrad back to his cell before realizing I, in my role as prison guard, had no further business with him. I could go now and meet him as agreed back in the ladies’ room we’d scoped out before the trial—I mean, preliminary hearing.

Something caught my eye. The stapler, still in its plastic baggie, lay on the witness stand where the detective had left it. As Lucy is my witness, I’ll never be bothered by that damn stapler again. I grabbed it by the baggie; no way was I touching my own blood and brainy bits, especially after they’d had ten days to, uh, percolate. I shoved the whole thing in my uniform pants pocket. It stuck out a bit but remained safely lodged there.

I followed Conrad from the courtroom.

Outside in the hall, Dante waited next to Willa. We locked eyes for one moment.

“Thanks for bringing the document.” Conrad gifted Willa with a big smile. His easy win must have left him feeling gracious. Conrad in a good mood was exactly what we needed in order to enforce our unsanctioned Deal.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose,” Conrad told Willa. “The press will want me to make a statement and then we can head back to the office. I’m sure there are many urgent matters that require my immediate attention.”

“Not really,” Willa muttered, but only I heard her as I passed her on my way to join Conrad in the ladies’ room.

Chapter 14

Fatal Distraction

AS SOON AS
the door shut behind us, Conrad held out the contract amendment. “If you would be so kind.”

Jeez. I liked him better when he was being an obnoxious prick. Conrad as nice guy made my stomach roil. But I knew what I had to do.

With a sense of tragic irony and a more than a little nausea, I drew the stapler out of my pocket and opened the baggie. I expected a waft of rotting brain to hit me, but it merely smelled a bit musty.

Just as Detective Leo had done, I gripped it by the baggie, not because I didn’t want to get Theresa’s fingerprints on it, but because,
ewww.
I applied just enough pressure to eject a staple partway so that the prongs stuck out like wee silver fangs. Like that day in my office a little over a year ago.

I held out my free hand, surprised to see how much it trembled. I glanced around for Dante, but if he was here in the ladies’ room with me, he wasn’t visible.

“C’mon. What’re you waiting for?” Conrad demanded, his eyes boring into my hand as if he could draw blood that way, his mouth partly open. He panted harshly.

Was that drool?

I could see his demonic countenance overlaying Shannon’s pretty features. If he stayed too long, would her outer self begin to take the shape of his inner demon?

I closed my eyes and slashed the stapler toward my hand. Oh,
owww!
Burning pain . . . didn’t happen.

I opened my eyes to find I’d missed.
Oops.

I tried again, this time peeking through my lashes to guarantee I’d score a hit. And this time, ouch! Two dark red scratches traced across the back of Theresa’s hand. Blood immediately welled up along the cuts.

Holding out the contract, Conrad pointed to a page. “Here. Here.” He flipped to the last page. “And especially here.”

Placing the stapler on the counter, I bled cooperatively in all the right places.

Dante appeared then. Coincidence or had he been watching the whole time?

“Thou must giveth thy document unto me now so that I may registereth it with official channels.” His face screwed up and I could see his lips move while he repeated the sentence to himself. No doubt he was making sure he had all the thees and thous lined up correctly. “No, that’s right. Righteth.” He reached for the contract.

Way to get with the program, Dante! I felt my grip loosening on the grudge I was trying to hold.

Conrad clutched the document to him, unconcerned about getting Theresa’s blood on Shannon’s shirt. “No way. I’m making a copy first.” He produced Theresa’s iPhone and flipped through the icons to get the one he wanted. Then he tried to take a shot of the front page while balancing it on his hand. He mumbled something about the lighting and moved over to the bank of sinks where the fluorescents shone unflattering light down upon us.

The little recorded
click
sounded. He flipped the page.
Click.
Flip.
Click.
He turned to the signature page, photographed it and hit more keys.

“There. I’ve sent those photos to my private email account. Now you can take it.”

He held it out to Dante.

Dante closed his fingers around it, but as soon as Conrad let go, it drifted to the bathroom floor. Drifted right through Dante’s fingers!

“Goddamn it! Pick that up!” Conrad roared at Dante, who began the crackle and fade in and out. Then in. Then out completely. Almost completely. If I unfocussed my eyes, I could see static where he’d been. It was like on the Starship
Enterprise
when the transporter beam is taxed to extreme. We must have been away from Hell so long he was losing his ability to manifest at all.

Conrad cursed again and bent down to pick the contract amendment off the floor. “Here.” He thrust it at me. “You take it to Hell then. See you in twenty-five years.” He picked up his purse and took a step toward the door.

I grabbed his arm, dropping the contract back on the counter. “Wait. You have to give Shannon back her body. You saw what rough shape Dante was in. Shannon’s barely hanging on by a thread.” I didn’t need to see her—or in this case, to not be able to see her—to know this for fact.

Conrad rounded on me, his cold gaze on my fingers until I released his arm. Then he raised his eyes to meet mine and I wished he’d look away again. It was awful. It barely resembled Shannon’s face any more. I’d had some vague hope that some of Shannon’s goodness would infect Conrad, but instead, it looked like Conrad’s evil was overriding everything that had made Shannon who she was.

“You silly bitch.” Conrad took a moment to laugh before continuing. “I never had any intention of giving up this body. You believed I was bargaining in good faith? Have you met me? I was a son of a bitch long before I became an evil demon.” He laughed again.

“But Conrad. Your daughter is fading. Not just dying—it’ll be like she never existed at all. You cared for her once. Made your original Deal so she would live. Can’t you care again? You can have this body. Nobody’s using it. It’s available wholesale.”

“Whaddya mean nobody’s using it?” He got all up in my face, little pig eyes narrowing with hatred and suspicion. “You mean there wasn’t a soul to trade in the first place? You tried to trick
me
?” He raised his hand to strike me. Unlike last time he’d raised his hand to me and I’d cowered like the frightened orphan I’d once been, this time I stood my ground, raising my fists, ready to defend myself. I wasn’t the same starry-eyed junior account exec I’d been a year ago.

For one thing, I was dead.

Conrad faked a left, but before he could really strike me, the bathroom door burst open and Maddy Stryker strode in. Faster than I could process her arrival, she registered Conrad and me. Spinning back toward the door, she shoved her guard into the hallway. Then she pulled the door shut and turned the lock. Almost immediately, the guard began to pound on the door, yelling for Maddy to open up.

Why would a bathroom in the city courthouse have a dead bolt? Maybe so officials and citizens could barricade themselves inside in the event of an uprising? Somehow the scene we were in now—trapped with a crazy prisoner—seemed more likely. Guess the building planners hadn’t thought of that.

“Now.” Maddy turned to us, back pressed against the locked door, a grim smile on her face. She rubbed her hands together, but skipped the
bwa-ha-ha!
laugh. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to me.”

“Done to you?” I rasped, my fingers flying to the bruises on Theresa’s throat.

Conrad took a step behind me, saying, “Now let’s talk about this, shall we? I’m a very rich man, er, woman. I can make it worth your while.”

“No, you’re going to pay! It’s because of you I got twenty-five years. They didn’t even go to trial, just condemned me right there on the spot.”

I’d heard on the news that the courts were exploring alternatives to deliver speedier justice, but waiving a trial?

Maddy took a menacing step toward us.

“Are you sure that’s what happened, Maddy?” I raised my hands in a calm-down gesture. “This was only supposed to be a preliminary hearing.”

“They said they had so much evidence they could convict on the spot. Which is fucking bullshit. They don’t know half the people I’ve strangled!”

My head spun at her twisted logic.

Still cowering behind me, Conrad asked, “Did you, by any chance, tell them about these multiple murders during the pretrial?”

“Of course I did! I want full credit! I want my day in court. I want to be famous! Not treated like some sort of criminal.”

“But you are some sort of . . .” I began, stalling while I figured out the best way to negotiate with this crazy woman.

Suddenly Conrad grabbed my arm and thrust me forward. “Take her.” I should have expected a repeat performance of the day I was wrongly reaped. At least it was a
women’s
bathroom this time.

Reaped. Great. I turned to Dante but he’d disappeared. No wait. There he was, but he was fading fast. He mouthed some words at me but I had no idea what he was trying to say.

I was on my own.

Maddy’s shoulders hunched, her fists rose and she bent at the knee and waist. In fact, she telegraphed her attack with every muscle in her body. I only had a moment to think but my first priority had to be saving Shannon’s body, even if it meant saving Conrad. When Maddy came at me screaming, I met her halfway. The impact sent me sprawling on the floor, head smacking the dirty tiles. Stars and little Tweety Birds circled my skull just like in the cartoons.

Maddy left me lying on the floor and dove for Conrad. Instead of helping, that skegger had leapt over us and had his hand on the door lock. Maddy fisted the back of Shannon’s shirt and dragged Conrad backward toward the sinks, swinging him around and bashing his forehead against the mirror. The glass cracked, but didn’t shatter. Thank . . . whoever for small mercies. Maddy could have done some awful damage with broken glass.

Conrad slumped onto the countertop, stunned, hands scrabbling for purchase, sending the contract amendment flying to the floor.

I staggered to my feet. Protect Shannon’s body was my mantra.

By now, Maddy had dragged Conrad to the floor, straddled his chest and wrapped her hands around Shannon’s throat. Conrad choked and gasped, bits of words rasping past Maddy’s grip. I’d bet my afterlife Conrad was making promises and threats. Maddy ignored him.

And me.

The stapler. It rested on the counter, still in its plastic bag. Moving quickly but stealthily, I climbed to my feet and reached for the hated desk accessory. I shook off the baggie and wrapped my fingers around the metal housing, making sure I had a good grip, brainy bits or no brainy bits. It was about to get some more if I had anything to do with it.

I raced across the room, skidding to a stop behind Maddy. I raised the stapler above my borrowed head and slammed it down on Maddy’s skull, knocking her sideways. Conrad lay on his back panting, then scuttled away to hide in the gap between the counter and the floor.

Enraged, Maddy came at me. She had forty pounds and a lifetime of bar-brawl experience on me. Even Theresa’s law-enforcement-trained muscle memory was no match for the psycho murderer.

She tripped me over backward, knocking the wind from me as I landed on the floor and she threw herself on my chest. She wrapped her hands around my throat and squeezed while at the same time smashing my head against the hard white tiles. I willed Conrad to do something.

Or for Dante to materialize.

Or for the guards to break down the door.

But none of these things happened. I was done for. Black spots danced again at the edge of my vision. At least they were getting exercise. I let go of the stapler and tried to reach for Maddy, hoping to pull her off, but once again my arm flopped uselessly by my side. Maddy smashed and squeezed, squeezed and smashed.

Something in my neck snapped at the same time as my skull caved in.

Yes, I recognized that cranium caving. I had experience in the area.

I felt Maddy climb off my body, screaming at Conrad to come out so she could kill him. Not the best incentive I’ve ever heard.

The black spots grew larger and larger until they overlapped and then there was nothing but darkness.

The last sounds I heard were of Conrad choking again.