Innocent Murderer (26 page)

Chapter Twenty

I
sat slumped forward in the seat feeling as if every ounce of my fear had drained out of me, leaving me feel
–
ing empty and unreal. With some difficulty I pulled the great weight of my head up and turned to look at Eliza
–
beth. She was sitting with her head thrown back against the seat and her eyes closed.

“Please don't tell anyone I have epilepsy,” she said so softly I barely heard her.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? After all, she'd nearly killed me. What about her students? I was saved from having to say anything by Ryan bellow
–
ing to us from the front porch. By the sound of things he was feeling a lot better. I looked up and saw him com
–
ing down the porch steps with Rose hard on his heels. I opened the little door and ducked out under the wing to the ground and started walking toward Ryan.

I hadn't gone very far when he stopped dead and said, “Cordi?”

It was an hour later, after Elizabeth had been picked up by a relative and told us someone would pick up the plane the next day, that Ryan finally turned to me say
–
ing, “Spill it.”

“You mean you don't believe the ‘We ran out of gas' explanation?”

“Well, actually, I do. I heard the plane sputtering overhead, after it must have buzzed us a dozen times — I felt like a fish in a bowl.”

“So?” I wasn't making it easy for him. I guess Eliza
–
beth had got to me a little, because I didn't feel much like talking.

“So she sure wasn't looking very well and that land
–
ing was the pits.”

I told Ryan all about the seizure and how she'd been out of it for maybe twenty minutes as I'd done what she told me and circled.

“How the hell does she have a license to pilot a plane?”

“Good question.”

“Maybe she just developed epilepsy. Maybe that was her first seizure?”

“She knew exactly what was about to happen and what she had to do about it.”

“Okay, so it's her second or third. Maybe she hasn't seen a doctor yet.”

“Because she knows it will end her career.” I turned to Ryan, at the same time exclaiming “Jesus!” Which, of course, imparted no information whatsoever.

He waited patiently.

“When I gave one of my lectures on the ship Eliza
–
beth asked about the best way to murder someone.”

“What are you getting at, Cordi?”

“Suppose Terry knew about Elizabeth's epilepsy.”

“What? And then Elizabeth killed her because of that?”

“Possibly.”

“But why wouldn't Terry tell the authorities about it?

It's the only ethical thing to do.”

“Maybe she didn't have time. Maybe Elizabeth had a seizure that Terry witnessed one night on the ship. Or maybe she was blackmailing her.”

Ryan scratched his chin and shook his head. I hated when he did that.

“What?” I asked.

“She just doesn't seem like the type, that's all. There's something else there, Cordi.”

“That's totally subjective, Ryan. You saw her when she was recovering from an epileptic seizure. She's bound to look vulnerable then. You don't even know her.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but I knew he didn't really mean that.

After eating dinner and helping Rose clean up I went back outside to check on the plane. It had ended up slightly to one side of the road and looked incongruous as a back
–
drop for our cattle. I opened the little passenger door and looked inside. I didn't know what I was looking for but I figured it was worth a try. I sat myself down in the driv
–
er's seat and scanned the controls. They looked as incom
–
prehensible as they had when we came in for a landing.

There was a small storage compartment for manuals and what not, and I took them out and leafed through them. I was about to put them all back when one of the manuals flipped open and a card fell out. I opened it. Inside was a note that said:

Flying on the wings of our love. May we
never touch down.

Love forever, M.

I flipped it over but there was nothing on the other side. I looked more carefully at the card, which was dated eight years ago. About the time she said her hus
–
band had died.

I carefully replaced the card and rummaged through the rest of the tiny cockpit. When I was finished I went over to my place to check on Paulie. I set out some more food for her then sat on the porch and waited. This time she came silently out of the night, nimbly jumping up onto the porch and heading straight for the food. I won
–
dered if she would be so hungry if her belly was full of barn mice. She ate her food without taking her eyes off me, but she ate it all and then sat back on her haunches looking at me.

“Hey ya, Puss,” I said and held out my hand to her. But she just sat there and stared at me and I finally wea
–
ried of it and went back to Ryan's and hit the sack.

On the way in to work the next day I called Mar
–
tha and asked if she'd arrange meetings with Arthur and Jason for me. I'd been putting off talking to Arthur, figur
–
ing he wouldn't want to talk about the woman he jilted.

But maybe he'd like to not have her suicide hanging over his head if I could prove she didn't kill herself.

My office was empty when I got there and the latest copy of
Animal Behaviour
was on my desk. I picked it up and started flipping through it. When I heard Martha arriving five minutes later with an armload of birdfeed I called to her from my office. “Did you know that the Moray eel has a second set of jaws in its throat?”

Martha grunted so I went on. “It grabs its prey with its first set of teeth and then the second jaw comes up out of the throat, nabs the victim, and pulls it down.”

I thought Martha would be impressed but she didn't say anything. I came out of the office to find out why.

She was sitting at her desk staring into the computer as if there was a hidden room in it where she could hide.

“Hi,” I said.

She looked up at me and I could tell by her face what she was about to say next.

“I'm taking the job, Cordi.” As simple as that.

I took a big breath and congratulated her. She gave me my messages and some research papers my students had dropped off, then quietly left. I sat down at my desk feeling lonely and deserted. Sure, I'd still see her a lot, but it wouldn't be the same. And suddenly I understood why we had both wanted me to leave her apartment. It was a distancing thing, a way to make it easier on both of us.

I chased those thoughts out of my head and checked my messages. Martha had located Arthur and he could see me that evening at the Orynx Theatre, but it would have to be during rehearsal. Jason she'd booked to come to my office the next day.

The day went by quickly and I almost didn't leave myself enough time to get to the theatre. It was an old cinderblock that had been spruced up with a maroon marquee and awnings. I circled around looking for park
–
ing and finally had to park with half my car in a no park zone and half in a park zone. Was I legal or illegal? I trusted the green hornet would ask the same question and give me the benefit of the doubt. The front doors of the theatre were locked. I looked up at the marquee. The play was called
Bullied
but no one was billed as being in it. I walked around to the side of the building and saw a door propped ajar by a Pepsi can.

I opened it and walked into darkness. I had to stop and let my eyes adjust. I could hear someone yelling some
–
where off to the right. I followed my ears and broke out into the auditorium, right at the stage. Most of the seats were empty so I walked down the aisle a few rows and slipped into a seat. There were four actors on stage, but none of them was Arthur. As I sat and watched them bitching about some poor co-worker who was socially challenged, Arthur came on and proceeded to act like a very convincing nerd. The four co-workers immediately stopped talking but one of them mimicked Arthur's strange lopsided walk from behind his back. In perfect timing Arthur slowly turned, catching the mimic red-handed. The stage grew still, the discomfort of the four bullies palpable, until, from beneath his coat, Arthur suddenly drew out a gun and swung it past the heads of each of his tormentors in a graceful arc, saying, “You're history, dudes.”

“Jesus, Arthur. Where on earth did that line come from anyway?” yelled the voice of a man seated in the front row. “Stop trying to be a playwright and be an actor. It has to be subtle, Arthur, subtle. You want to feel the menace more than see it.

“Okay, that's enough for now. Take a break.”

I saw Arthur come down off the stage and talk heat
–
edly to the director. I waited until he was finished and then stood up so that he would notice me. When I saw him peering into the seats the way a man would peer at the sun I walked down the aisle and he finally caught sight of me.

“Cordi, is it?”

“Hello, Arthur,” I said and we shook hands rather formally, as if we'd never met before. But I guess we really hadn't. I'd never actually talked to him. Up close his white hair was spectacular, thick and as white as snow.

“Your secretary said you wanted to talk to me about Sally.” His words were clipped. Martha would have been furious at being called a secretary.

I waited, expecting him to say that Sally was none of my business. But instead he said nothing. He walked over to the stage and leaned against it. There were peo
–
ple on stage moving some of the set back and forth. It was quite distracting.

“I wanted to know how long you and Sally had been together before you broke it off.” Sandy had already told me, but I figured it was a pretty benign question to start off with.

He pulled on his earlobe and said, “The cops wanted to know that too.” He laughed, but there was no mirth there. “I guess at first everyone thought that I killed her — drove her to suicide by being a callous lover.”

“Or she might have killed Terry because Terry had stolen you. And she couldn't live without you or with what she'd done….”

“That's what the cops think now, as I am sure you are aware.” He spat out the words. “Sally could never, ever kill another human being.” The last word got caught in his throat and he turned his face away from me for a moment.

I was confused. Or maybe he was just acting, pre
–
tending he still cared for the woman he'd dumped.

“Look. She was a good woman. She didn't deserve to die like that. So why are you asking me these questions?”

“Sandy asked me to look into Terry's death and find out who really killed her.”

His face softened at that. “But why would you want to involve yourself?”

I thought about the creature who was stalking me since almost the first time I stepped on the ship and I fig
–
ured it might not be wise to wave that around as a reason.

“It's a job,” I said. But that sounded callous. “I've helped in another murder investigation and I agree with Sandy that Sally is an unlikely murderer.”

“Unlikely? Don't you mean impossible? She was the kindest, most caring, most lovable person I've ever met.”

I found those words somewhat suspect coming from him, and before I could catch the words they slipped out. “Then why did you break up with her?”

He yanked on his earlobe some more and looked at me as if he were weighing his options. “I didn't.”

I thought I hadn't heard him correctly because of the racket on the stage, but then he said it again. I was speechless. He looked at me and laughed that mirthless laugh. “It was all an act. I tried to tell Sandy, but she was so furious she wouldn't listen to me. Practically barred me from the funeral. Said I was a vulture.” He swung his arms out to include the theatre and then fell silent.

“The breakup wasn't …”

“Real. It wasn't real.” He raised his voice. “I loved her. I loved her so much I'd have done anything for her.

And she loved me.”

“So what I overheard on the plane — that was just part of the act.”

He nodded.

“And what you took from her bag?”

He smiled at that. “You weren't exactly unobtrusive about eavesdropping on us. I thought it would add a lit
–
tle spice to our scenario. I took her cell phone.”

I pretended I hadn't heard the dig, which I deserved, and said instead, “So you knew all along that she was acting a part?” Just as Sandy had said, which made sense of course, since he'd been going out with her for a year and she certainly hadn't been acting the mouse for a year.

He nodded again.

“Why? Why was she doing it?”

“I don't know. She just asked me to go along with her being an introvert to her creative writing friends and everyone on board, and then she asked me to jilt her — to play it like any part. So I did, because I loved her and because it was fun acting the part in a real life situation outside the theatre.”

“Without knowing why.”

“No, not exactly. She said she had a recall audi
–
tion after the trip for a part she really wanted and she thought we could have a lot of fun with it aboard the ship. I thought at the time that it was rather good of them to wait for the audition until the trip was over, but I figured they really wanted her. She also said I wasn't to tell anyone that the breakup wasn't real. Not even Sandy.” He hesitated and I held my breath, afraid of scaring him off. “I don't think the breakup was part of the recall script.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sally and I were having dinner just before the plane left and she asked me to jilt her. She said she was afraid it would be too difficult to play the depressed mouse with
–
out a jolt from her real life to carry her through.”