In Between (8 page)

The captain gave him a sour look. He nodded to his detective and motioned toward the restaurant. “Get started.” He called to another detective just entering the lobby, “Find that fucking rifle! Tell him what they're looking for,” he added to the manager. Finally, he responded to Colonel. “Take me to the office he was working in.”

“You want to sit in on the interviews?” Sam asked Lori. “I'll stick with the captain.”

“Good enough,” she said. “But first a quick look at the office. I told you he was a colonel, didn't I? He wants to take over.”

Colonel was already half way through the lobby with the captain at his side. They went down a corridor and entered a room furnished with a desk, a sofa and several chairs, a television, and a conference table. The captain went to the desk and opened a laptop, scowled at it for a second and closed it again. He opened a file folder and glanced through a sheaf of papers, then held it out to Greg Sharon.

“I'll catch up with you later,” Lori said, and she vanished. Sam continued to watch and listen to Captain Conkling.

“We'll look through the computer, see if there are threatening letters, anything like that. After that you can have it. What happened at dinner last night?”

Greg Sharon blinked at the change of direction, cleared his throat, then said, “It was to celebrate Malcolm's birthday. We were all there, toasts, the usual sort of thing. Mal was in a bad mood, though. He turned on Alex, his son, and said it was a surprise to see him, that he had not expected him to join in the festivities, since he was planning on destroying his own father, his family, the company if he could. Just like that, out of the blue. The young man rose and said he wished him a happy birthday and that he would leave first thing in the morning, this morning. Malcolm said he also had plans for the morning. He said he planned to call his attorney first thing and tell him to prepare a new will, one that would leave his only begotten son exactly one dollar.” Sharon cleared his throat again. “The young man left the group without another word, and Malcolm said, ‘Party's over. I have some work to do.' He left us all at the table. Awkward, damned awkward with his wife and daughter there, his son-in-law, the rest of us. Then someone said there were movies, and the bar would be open all night, we should help ourselves, and we dispersed. Some of us looked in on Malcolm before going to bed. About twelve thirty. He said he still had work to do.”

The captain nodded, then went to one of the easy chairs and picked up a black suit coat draped over it. “Is that his, Vicente's?”

Sharon looked it over and nodded. “It looks like it. He was wearing it when we looked in last night. It was warm in the hotel. He might have become uncomfortable working.”

“Go back to the others in the restaurant. We'll take statements from everyone about last night. I'll let you know when you can pick up the computer.”

Sam stayed with the captain when he left the office, crossed the vast lobby, and entered the corridor to Vicente's suite. When he knocked on the door, Royce opened it and stared at him blankly, and Alex, standing outside the sliding door to the walkway gazing out at the surround of mountains, didn't even look back.

“Mr. Stossel?” Conkling asked, entering. At Royce's nod, he motioned him toward a chair and introduced himself. He pulled a chair around to face Royce as he slumped into an easy chair. “I'd like to ask a few questions. First, is Mrs. Vicente around? Is your wife?”

“Louise, my wife, is sitting with my mother-in-law. She had to have a tranquilizer. So upsetting, in shock. Marilyn's trying to get some rest, pull herself together. Maybe you can delay talking to her for a couple of hours?”

“No problem, Mr. Stossel. What was the argument about at dinner last night?'

Royce glanced at Alex, quickly averted his gaze and looked down at the carpet. “A book Alex said he was writing. I haven't seen it, but according to Malcolm, it is egregiously false in many ways, a slanderous attack on our company, with the sole purpose of harming Malcolm and various associates. False accusations, phony emails, doctored scientific studies…” He stopped and glanced again at Alex.

“He'll say Alex is a disgruntled son,” Lori said, suddenly at Sam's side.

“Kids aren't disgruntled. They're estranged. Employees are disgruntled,” Sam said. “What are you doing back here?”

She made a gesture with her thumb to indicate out there and said, “They all have their story and they're sticking to the script. Movie, shoot some pool, drinks, bed. Pinky, Royce, and Colonel looked in on Vicente before they went to bed. No strange noises. No gun shots. It won't matter what they tell the cops. What they say to each other is where the dirt will be shoveled.”

Sam held his finger to his lips and looked at Royce, who was speaking.

“I haven't even seen the manuscript, but it was enough to make Malcolm change his will, cut Alex out all the way.” He sighed and shook his head. “Anyway, last night I woke up because it was too warm in the room. I opened the door to outside, to let in some air. I heard footsteps on the walkway above me and going down the stairs at the end of the walkway. I went over to the rail to see what was going on. Alex was hurrying to the side of the building, carrying something.”

“Next he'll say it was a dastardly attack,” Lori said. “Shooting a man in the back.”

“People don't say dastardly,” Sam said.

“You could see that it was Alex Vicente?” Conkling asked.

“No doubt about it. There's a light at each landing. Such a cowardly attack,” Royce said in a despairing voice. “It must have happened after I closed the door again. I didn't hear a shot.”

“Bullshit,” Lori said. “I'm going to see what the new widow and Cruella are up to.” She drifted to the bedroom door and vanished.

“Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm Mr. Vicente?” Conkling asked.

Royce shook his head. “Everyone liked him. Except maybe Alex. They were estranged, you see. And that damn book Alex was writing, probably out of spite. He was pretty furious, got up and left the table before dinner was even over. An ugly scene, awkward for everyone.”

Sam wished Lori had stayed long enough to hear Royce say “estranged.” He looked at Alex out on the walkway and drifted out to see if the voices were carrying that far. They were.

“I don't know what's in the book,” Royce was saying. “Enough to make Malcolm turn on him finally.”

“What was Alex Vicente carrying?” Conkling asked.

“I don't know. I couldn't see what it was. I thought it was clothes, maybe his suit, maybe not.”

“What time was that?”

“I don't know. I'd been asleep. I didn't look at the clock or turn on the light.”

“Sam! Come on in here,” Lori called from the bedroom. He joined her.

“Listen,” she said, nodding toward Marilyn, who was talking in a low voice to her daughter. Louise was leaning in close, both sitting in chairs near the glass door.

“We knew it would blow up sooner or later and we prepared. He was going to retire next year at this time, on his sixty-fifth birthday. Just retire and move to Zurich.”

“Mother, you have to keep quiet about those plans. Let all this end first, and it will. No one will publish that book, not if Alex is charged with the murder of his father.”

“For God's sake, Louise, don't talk like that! Alex isn't a murderer.”

“Face it, Mother. No one else had a motive. Father was indispensable at the company. People here last night were all his friends and family. No hidden grudges or anything else. No one except Alex had reason to kill him.”

She put her hand on her mother's arm and Marilyn jerked away and rose. She walked to the glass door and stood facing out. “We were going to keep up the façade, our bogus marriage, for the sake of appearances. I learned what was going on eight years ago. I was going to leave then but he talked me out of it. Keep up an appearances, start a new life in Zurich. We bought property there, opened a bank account, spent time there. Entertain his friends here, teas, dinner parties, openings, shows… I'm good at that, you know, the perfect hostess. Everything that shouts the good life to the whole damned world, and then next year, just one year from now, go to Zurich together and say goodbye. He'd go his way, I'd go mine. Free, rich, untouchable… Just one year more.”

She turned to look at Louise, and was herself no more than a dark silhouette against the bright morning light. “A year ago Alex came to visit, and I found him in Malcolm's study, at his computer, his home computer, not the laptop. He told me it was time to move to Switzerland. That's all he said, but I knew what he meant.”

“Did you tell Father?” Louise asked, her voice strident, harsh.

“No. I told myself it was unimportant, that Alex wasn't anyone to fear. We thought it would be an internal threat, a whistle blower, perhaps one of the scientists. Some of them were unhappy about the work. Then the manuscript came. Malcolm didn't tell me, but he was furious, a madman. I didn't know why until his eruption at dinner. That's why I tried to find him last night, to talk to him, to tell him it was time to leave. I wanted to tell him I would leave within the week, with or without him. But he wasn't in the office.” She took a step or two into the room, and sank down into her chair again. “That's what I want Harmon to arrange. The day after the funeral, I will be on a plane.”

Louise jumped up and knelt before Marilyn. She took her mother's hands in hers and said, “That book won't be published! It won't. Alex killed his father, my father, and he'll go to prison for the rest of his life. No one will publish a work like that from a deranged man who turns on his own father! He's the only one in the world with a reason to kill him. Motive, opportunity, that's all they need.”

Marilyn pulled her hands free and drew back farther in her chair. “He had no motive. The will? He hasn't taken a cent from us for over eight years and swore he never would take money earned by poisoning the earth and its creatures, including people. He came to the house eight years ago and they had a terrible fight over the work. That's when I learned what they were doing, when we made our own plans to get out in good time. Only we didn't. Time ran out. But Alex did not have a reason to murder his father!”

Before Louise could respond, the door opened and Royce entered. Louise jumped to her feet. “How did it go?”

“Okay. No problem. He wants you.” He gave Marilyn an uneasy look, then said to his wife, “Honey, you came here with Marilyn and helped her get ready for bed, and you gave her a sleeping pill. You knew how upset she was. You stayed with her until she was sleeping and then you came next door to where I was in bed waiting for you. Clear?”

“Like mud,” Louise muttered. “Where's Alex?”

“Out on the walkway. The cops are saving him for last.”

Louise tugged at her blouse, straightened her shoulders, and walked past him to the door to the adjoining room.

“Enough?” Lori asked Sam.

“More than. Let's see how Alex is holding up.”

They went through the glass door to the walkway and spotted Alex at the far end sitting on the top step of the stairs to the ground. He was talking on a cell phone. They crowded close enough to hear a woman's voice.

“You need a lawyer before you say a word. Just tell them you want an attorney.”

“It's a preliminary investigation,” Alex said. “Just a brief statement is all that's required. I can do that much without an attorney.”

“Alex, you can't! You don't realize how they can trip you up with whatever you say.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I won't mention that I went to the office to find him, to have a talk with him. None of that part. Since he wasn't there, it's irrelevant, anyway. My manuscript was. He'd been marking it up like a middle school teacher furious with a sloppy essay. It's just as well I didn't see him. He would have been too mad to reason with.”

“Oh dear God! Alex you can't admit a thing, not a thing. Keep your mouth closed until you have a lawyer,” the woman said.

“Honey, don't worry. My story is the simple truth. I spent time on the computer, channel hopped a bit on the TV, changed my clothes, slept a while, and decided to take most of my stuff down to the car because I planned to leave as soon as I got up.”

“Alex, I'm scared for you. You don't understand what I'm telling you. Just don't talk until I'm there.”

“Don't be scared. I'm okay. As far as that goes, I think a lot of people were roaming about. Doors opening and closing all over the place.”

“I'm so afraid they'll turn the light on you. I'm coming up there.”

“No way! I'm just glad you're not here. I love you, Emma. I want you to stay the hell away from this goddamn mess.”

“I love you, too,” she said.

Lori stepped back. “That's enough. No voyeurism. She knows he's in deep shit and she's really scared.”

Sam nodded and together he and Lori drifted away a few feet. “He knows it, too,” Sam said, nodding toward Alex. “Royce all but accused him of murder. That's going to be the play book here, I'm sure.”

“Me too.” She frowned. “I don't see what we can do. We can't ask questions and demand straight answers. We haven't got a clue about private disputes between Vicente and anyone else and there's no way we can find out if there were any. We can't do the forensics, but what good forensics could be is even problematic. They were all over that section of the walkway and they all fired guns yesterday apparently. Maybe they all are hotshot shooters. I bet they'll find the rifle and it'll be spotless, thoroughly wiped of fingerprints. Unless someone confesses and we happen to be nearby and overhear it, what can we do?” She shrugged, her attitude, her words, the expression on her face, body language all silently, eloquently registering her frustration and dismay. She felt as helpless as her attitude attested to.