A Killing Gift

Forty-five

Ever since April's visit, Jason Frank had been thinking about Max Bassett's first wife. Cornelia had been a spoiled narcissist with an arctic temperament and a scorched-earth policy toward her husband and children. She'd frozen them out of her heart, then ignited their jealous rage with her other passionate relationships. Brenda's and Burton's characters had been formed in the cradle of their mother's volatility. Neither had ever worked or ever wanted to. Neither could love or connect with anyone. And Birdie, his second wife, who'd come from a loving middle-class family and had made their father happy for the first time in his life, had been their nemesis.

One thing about Birdie's murder was crystal-clear to Jason: Her killer was organized, and the two siblings were not able to plan anything. Burton had been missing doorways and walking into walls all his life. Burton couldn't remember his own phone number and was too pickled most of the time to keep track of movable objects like his wallet and credit cards. For Burton, optimism, not regrets and rage, lived in the bottle. Drinking had never made him want to kill. For Brenda, happiness could come only in the form of a wealthy man who would love and tolerate her as her daddy had loved and tolerated his wives. Her revenge would be in making such a match. So far she hadn't been able to do it, but she was an aggressive seeker. She didn't have time to kill her stepmother.

Jason was screening his calls when April phoned late in the afternoon. "Do you want to meet someone?" she asked when he picked up.

"I haven't even located my notes yet," he said. He had his opinion, but he wasn't ready to make pronouncements. He wanted to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

"Are you free?"

"For ten minutes. What's the story on Birdie's will?"

"Don't have it yet. The lawyers have not been responsive. It's not clear she had one," April said.

"How about Max's will? Does Birdie's legacy revert to his children upon her death?"

"It's early days, Jason. I don't have that yet."

"Well, I haven't had time to do a profile on your killer," he said slowly.

"May not matter now. We have a lead. Will you come down to talk to him?"

"Who is it?"

"A fund-raiser. Looks like a nutcase to me. I want you to talk to him."

"Why me? Why not your people?"

"I have my reasons," she said.

"They are?"

"You're not threatening. I have a theory."

"A lot of people aren't threatening."

"Okay, you're not one of us."

"What else?"

"Three more things, Jason. This is between us. I want to know if he recognizes me. I want to know his feelings toward Jack, if he was targeted. But I can't go there directly. Jack is freaking out already. Maybe you could talk to Jack, too. He doesn't want to be rich."

Jason sighed. "That's it?"

"Well, one more little thing. From a psychological perspective, could this squirrel do two such bold killings on his own? Or did he have someone with him-not actually doing the kill, but serving as a kind of commander or validator? You know what I'm saying?"

"That's very interesting, April. Ah, tonight I have a meeting at the institute until nine-thirty," he said slowly. "But for this I can cancel."

"Well, that's not necessary. Ten will be absolutely perfect. I'll send a car for you."

"Don't make it a squad car." Jason groaned. He hated traveling in a blue-and-white.