Ring of Fear

Epilogue

We were sitting down to a perfectly normal, every-Monday-morning-type breakfast when James Michaels knocked on the door.

"Well, the honeymoon is over," Rafe remarked, shoving back his chair, but the grin in his eyes was positively lecherous as he rose to greet the detective. "My God, man, you look ghastly. Get him some coffee, Mrs. Garrison. Better still, get him a steak."

One look at the man's face, and I shooed Mrs. Garrison to the stove for the steak and poured the coffee myself.

"I've been up all night."

"We wouldn't have guessed," Rafe said, but our eyes caught over his head, and I could feel myself blushing. We hadn't got back to the house ourselves until nearly five. Our occupation had at least been… well…

"What happened? Besides Galvano denying everything?" Rafe asked.

Michaels grimaced, sipping eagerly at the coffee. "I expected that. But what I didn't expect was that he was telling the truth part of the time."

"Ah, come on, Michaels."

"This turned out to be a bit more complicated than any of us could have foreseen, Mr. Clery."

"Explain."

"Please," I added, and Michaels gave me a very weary smile.

"John, alias Caps, Galvano did murder your father, Mrs. Clery. And he confessed to it this morning, but only because we threatened to charge him with the murder of an unidentified man in a car registered in his name."

Rafe whistled tonelessly through his teeth.

"And it was as you suggested, Mr. Clery, Galvano found out that Russell Donnelly had discovered the hidden kilos of grass in the unused bales of hay. Galvano said he didn't mean to kill your father…"

"Kind of him!"

Michaels flushed at Rafe's sarcasm. "I'm not defending him, Mr. Clery, but it is one thing to kill in a cold, premeditated way, another to… Well, all Galvano wanted was to recover the grass. Your father rushed at him, and he grabbed up the pitchfork and…" Michaels' eyes asked me to accept the confession.

I nodded. Michaels didn't need any lumps for telling me.

"Galvano got back to Mexico without anyone being aware he'd left, because he'd paid a cousin to circulate the track wearing his clothes. And no, he did not bump off the cousin to keep him from talking," Michaels said, holding up a hand to forestall Rafe's protest. "You'd better let me tell it my way, Mr. Clery. It's rather complicated, you see." Rafe settled back, resigned to listening. "Galvano, having established an alibi, was still not certain whether you'd seen him, Mrs. Clery. And he also had to produce either the money or the marihuana. When he was questioned by the police, along with anyone else connected with the Marchmount stables and your father, Galvano realized that you hadn't seen him leaving the loft. But he was still in grave trouble with the grass ring.

"I gathered"-and Michaels grinned sardonically-"that Marchmount had more or less dispensed with Galvano's auxiliary services over the few months preceding your father's death. In fact, that was what drove Galvano to venture into drug-running. Now, he had some time before the drug contact would want payment, but he had to find money. Bizarre as it seems, Mrs. Clery, it was Marchmount himself who gave Galvano the idea of extorting money from you. He contacted Galvano and paid him one thousand dollars-in expense money-to do some quiet investigating, for the purpose of clearing the good name of Marchmount; not, I'm afraid, Russell Donnelly."

Rafe swore under his breath and stroked my arm soothingly. I nodded in a sort of numbed way, remembering now how startled and furious Marchmount had been when I stammered out the reason for my need of money.

"So Galvano approached you, Mrs. Clery. He knew your father wasn't poor, but he didn't count on the probate delay. You gave him five hundred dollars the first time, I understand."

Michaels' eyes met mine squarely. I nodded.

"And I presume that Marchmount refused to give you anything because he realized the source of the suggestion?"

Rafe squeezed my hand imperceptibly.

"I didn't get any money from Marchmount, Mr. Michaels."

"And you left the state that night?" There was no shadow of blame or cynicism in Michaels' tired eyes, merely the expectation of an answer to a calm question.

"There seemed nothing left for me to do under the circumstances," I replied as calmly.

Michaels sat back a little. "Galvano underestimated both you and Marchmount, Mrs. Clery. But he was essentially a stupid man, scared enough to try anything to get the grass ring off his neck."

"Including faking his own death?" asked Rafe.

Michaels shook his head, taking another swallow of coffee. He kept the cup cradled in one hand, as if the warmth of the coffee helped.

"He didn't. The grass ring"-Michaels grimaced- "obliged. Or so Galvano assumes. Which I'll buy. The man killed was the same cousin who stood in for him at Mexico. Who felt he could borrow Galvano's Pontiac without permission. Only someone had thoughtfully drained the brake fluid. Galvano was so furious remembering the loss of the car he'd planned to use to leave the state, that I believe he's telling the truth. Of course, draining brake fluid suggests premeditation in homicide, which was why he was quite willing to confess to the second-degree-murder charge."

"Hey, just a minute," Rafe demanded, half-rising from his chair. "What do you mean, second-degree murder? And what about Pete Sankey, too? And…"

"Galvano did not kill Pete Sankey," Michaels said so firmly that Rafe was momentarily silenced. "I hope you don't think me callous, Mrs. Clery, but we had to force the truth from Galvano. He will have to stand trial for your father's murder."

I put my hand on Michaels', understanding what he was unable to come out and say. I no longer wanted a death for a death, even if Rafe was still out for vengeance for my sake. I wanted only that the trial cleared my father's name. And I did not want the trial to ruin mine. Therefore I had to practice compassion or expect none myself. "Rafe, that's what I want. That's all I want." The anger faded from my husband's face, and he nodded slowly.

"All right, how come Galvano didn't kill Pete Sankey?"

"In a moment. He did admit that he slit the girth and tried to spook the black, Mrs. Clery. He was motivated by sheer malice. He recognized the sorrel mare, found out you owned the gelding, and decided he owed you a thing or two because your father had ruined him. But he was rather… incensed… to be charged with barn-burning."

"What? Who else could it have been? And why?"

"Someone else who knew a great deal about Nialla and Russ Donnelly, Caps Galvano, and Marchmount was in Sunbury that weekend."

"You must mean Marchmount?"

"No, I don't." And the faintest suspicion of satisfaction in stumping Rafe crossed the lieutenant's face. "Remember that Galvano had to go into hiding after his 'death,' and all he had was the thousand dollars from Marchmount and the five hundred from Mrs. Clery. That wasn't enough to get him out of the country, although he was now beyond the grass ring. He had plenty on Marchmount and had those photos faked. He had Nialla's face stripped in because he felt he could use that as a further lever against Marchmount. And then, as he tells it, he got to wondering why Marchmount was so eager to clear his own name. He knew all Marchmount's haunts, and with a little discreet phoning, found out that Marchmount had been in San Fernando at the time of Russell Donnelly's murder, and not at the hotel in Tijuana as he claimed. So Galvano pretended to be his cousin, the one so conveniently murdered in his place, who had come across some photos in Galvano's effects which would give a very good motive for Russell Donnelly's death. He asked for five thousand dollars and got it so fast, he realized he could have got much more. Marchmount was scared to death. He waited a week and called again, but that was when Marchmount had the first heart attack. So Galvano was forced to wait until Marchmount was out of the hospital. By then, Marchmount had applied to the Secrest Agency, a very reputable firm, by the way."

"Urscoll!" Rafe pounded the table so hard, everything jumped but the coffee cup Michaels was holding.

"Right!"

Rafe's face went through a variety of changes, from surprise, awe, disappointment, to tight-lipped fury.

"Why, that bastard!"

"Yes, he had found a unique situation and was exploiting it all he could."

Rafe angrily waved his hand. "Pete Sankey was worth four of Marchmount. And burning a barn around horses! Bastard!"

Michaels nodded sadly. "Urscoll spotted Galvano at the fairgrounds when he was leaving the station wagon. He'd been well briefed, of course, on the case, and had seen the mug shots I showed you, Mrs. Cleary. He also knew exactly how Galvano was blackmailing Marchmount, and applied his knowledge. However, if he were going to cover his tracks, there was his chance. By getting Galvano to bear all the suspicion, he'd be blameless. So he burned the barn, an act aimed completely at you, Nialla Donnelly Clery, because it didn't take long for Urscoll to figure out why there'd been two attempts on your life. He also knew that Marchmount wouldn't last much longer. Then, when Mrs. Madison drove Marchmount down here, he followed in Marchmount's car… and gave a certain hitchhiker a ride all the way from Sunbury to Locust Valley, even pointed out the various estates to his passenger."

"How do you know this?"

Michaels looked at Rafe a long moment after the quiet, deadly question.

"Urscoll told us. We caught him." Michaels gave a sigh of justifiable satisfaction. "At the airport, during a routine preflight inspection. He had a thirty-eight on him, for which he produced his license, but he also had fifty thousand dollars in cash he couldn't explain so easily."

"But the phone call… and… those awful photos…" My hand went to my throat.

"Oh, that was Galvano, He couldn't reach Marchmount in a terminal coma-he died this morning-and he was desperate. You'd married money, he had incriminating photos. Twenty thousand dollars would set him up nicely in Canada."

"And he never knew that Urscoll had raked in all that money?"

"How would he? Urscoll had cleverly been keeping Marchmount on the move. Galvano was following, yes, because he could guess where Marchmount might go, but he didn't really catch up until Sunbury."

"God, the colossal nerve of the man!"

"Except for the airlines' nervousness, he'd have got away."

"He didn't seem that kind of a man," I said, rather horrified. Who could you trust? "I mean, he seemed honestly worried about Mr. Marchmount.".

"He was," Rafe replied sardonically. "He had a bankroll at stake."

"How can people be that way?"

Rafe cocked an eyebrow at me, a cynical expression in his eyes.

"So," he asked Michaels, "what happens now?"

"Galvano stands trial in California, and Urscoll in New York State."

"And Nialla will have to appear in both?"

Michaels nodded unhappily. "But the cases are both open-and-shut, with signed confessions. Nothing to worry about." And he meant that.

Mrs. Garrison set down a sizzling steak platter in front of the startled man. w

"My God, I thought you were joking," he said.

"Rafe rarely jokes about steaks," I told him, receiving my steak with a great deal of anticipation.

Michaels did look better when we'd finished breakfast, and he said he had to get back to Sunbury.

"Will you have a chance to rest now?" I asked, rather worried about him.

"With a little luck," he said, shaking the hand I offered him.

"You deserve a great deal."

He ducked his head with embarrassment and walked quickly toward the door, but Rafe got to it first and held it shut.

"Jim…" Rafe's hand was out, and he was displaying one of those fantastically winning smiles of his "… I have never bribed a policeman"-and the emphasis was complimentary-"before, but if a quiet cabin on a secluded lake in the Adirondacks would ensure a couple of weeks of rest and relaxation, there could be a first time."

There was the barest hesitation before Michaels shook his head.

"However," Rafe continued, as if Michaels had made no response at all, "since I never have bribed a policeman, I won't start now. But a close personal friend, Jim Michaels, is under no such restraint."

"Mis…"

"How's that again, Jim?"

Oh, Rafe can be… be… unswervable.

"You arrange some vacation time with the captain, Jim. Nialla and I won't take no for your answer."

"We'll see," Jim Michaels replied with a faint grin.

"Indeed we will." And Rafe accepted the challenge.

The storm the night before had cleared the air of humidity and noxious odors. Michaels kind of shook himself as he walk across the porch and down the stairs to the car. We stood, arms about each other, until he was out of sight.

"Okay, Mrs. Clery. Shall we go school some horses now?"

I answered the smile and the cocky gleam in those brilliant eyes the only way possible.

"Sure, Mr. Clery."