Beyond Suspicion

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The chain lock was on the door when Jack got to his mother-in-law’s house. It opened about six inches and then caught.

“Cindy?” he called out through the narrow opening.

“Go away, Jack.” It was her mother’s voice, coming from the other room.

“I just want to talk.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Part of him wanted to plead directly with Cindy to let him in, but he knew there was no getting through to her as long as her mother was acting as gatekeeper.

“Cindy, it’s just as I thought. That tape is old. It was made before I’d even met you.”

No one answered.

“Call me, please. I’ll leave my cell phone on.”

“Better get an extra longlife battery,” her mother said.

“Thanks a ton, Evelyn.” He closed the door and retreated quietly to his car.

He wasn’t sure where to go. He drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes, heading generally in the direction of U.S. 1. He considered going back to Mike’s, then changed his mind. Cindy was foremost in his thoughts, but his earlier talk with Mike had helped frame another question that, on reflection, just might tie in with his current marital woes: Exactly what information about Jack had Jessie’s estate handed over to the state attorney?

This wasn’t a job for Theo. He turned down Ludlam Road and decided to pay a visit to Clara Pierce.

In Florida, the executor of the estate is called a personal representative, and with Clara the term “personal” seemed particularly appropriate. It had been years since Jack had been to Clara’s house. They’d first met when Jack was dating Jessie. She was a lawyer and one of Jessie’s oldest friends, which was how she ended up drafting Jessie’s will and being named the PR. Jessie and Jack had actually double-dated with Clara and her then-husband. David and Jack had stayed friendly through the divorce, though Jack had tried not to take sides. David was a real estate attorney who’d given up his own career to be their son’s primary caretaker. He did it all-the bottle feedings, the diapers, the back-and-forth from school, homework, soccer, Little League. He fought for custody when they divorced, and lost. At the time, Jack didn’t blame Clara for turning on the tears to convince a judge that a boy needed his mother. Having never known his own mother, Jack was perhaps an easy sell. But it bugged him to no end when she’d packed up the boy’s things and shipped him off to boarding school two months after the court awarded her custody. It only confirmed that she hadn’t really wanted her son, she just didn’t want her husband to have him. The only thing that mattered to Clara was winning.

Clara didn’t seem shocked to see Jack. She invited him into the kitchen for coffee.

“Your son still a hotshot center fielder?” Jack asked, baiting her.

“Oh, yeah. He’s always been, you know, really centered.”

Typical of Clara not to know that her own son was a pitcher, not a center fielder. Even Jack’s stepmother would have known the difference, and she thought Mickey Mantle was a mouse that sat over your fireplace.

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

“Black’s good.”

She sat on the bar stool on the other side of the counter, facing Jack. She was still dressed in office attire, a basic navy blue business suit and white silk blouse. Clara wasn’t big on style. She’d worn her hair the same way for eight years, tight and efficient curls as black as her coffee. She took a sip from her cup and eyed him over the rim, as if to say, What gives?

“A couple of homicide investigators came to see Cindy today,” said Jack. “They gave her an audiotape of me and Jessie. Know anything about it?”

“Of course. I gave it to them.”

“Why?”

“I’ve inventoried every item of her personal property. That’s my job as PR. The police asked me for anything that might shed light on the nature of the relationship between you and Jessie. So I gave them the tape.”

“You could have called to give me a heads-up. It’s the least I would have done for an old friend.”

“You and I were never really friends.”

She wasn’t being acerbic, just brutally honest. Jack said, “I didn’t side with David over you. I was subpoenaed for the custody hearing. I told the truth. David was a good father.”

“That has nothing to do with this. Jessie was my friend, and the police are trying to find out how she died. I intend to cooperate, and I’m not going to pick up the phone and call you every time something happens. That’s not my job.”

“Did you know that the audiotape was made back when Jessie and I were dating?”

“No. It looked brand-new.”

“You mean the copy you gave to the state attorney looks brand-new.”

“No. I’m talking about the only tape I’ve ever seen.”

“You mean the tape you found among Jessie’s possessions looked like new?”

“Yes.”

Jack tried not to look too puzzled, but his conversation with Mike about being paranoid was echoing in his brain. Maybe it was icebergs that got Kennedy. “Jessie must have copied it onto a new tape and destroyed the original.”

“Why would she do that?”

He had a theory, but not one that he wanted to share with Clara. “I’m not sure. You got any ideas?”

“I don’t even want to guess what kind of games you and Jessie were playing. I just want to help the police find out what happened to her.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I hope that’s true. I sincerely mean that.”

“Come on, Clara. You don’t really believe I’m a killer.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I didn’t believe Jessie would scam a viatical company out of a million and a half dollars, either.”

“She did.”

“So you say.”

“I saw her and Dr. Marsh holding hands just minutes after the verdict.”

“So what? He was happy she won. That doesn’t mean the two of them were partners in crime.”

“She told me it was a scam, and he practically admitted it too. Right in my office.”

“He’s a respected, board-certified neurologist.”

“Evidently, he’s also a thief.”

“If he’s the thief, then why is it your name instead of his on the joint bank account?”

Jack nearly choked. “What bank account?”

“Grand Bahama Trust Company. The offshore bank where Jessie put the money she got from the viatical investors. She had an account there. Jessie and you had an account there.”

He blinked several times and said, “There must be some mistake.”

“Account number zero-one-oh-three-one. A joint account in the name of Jessie Suzanne Merrill and John Lawrence Swyteck. That is your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but-a joint account?”

“Don’t get any ideas. If you even try to touch that money, I’ll be right in your face. Those funds are staying in her estate.”

“Don’t worry. I want no part of any money she got in a scam. I’ll stipulate that it’s not mine.”

“Good. I’ll get you the papers tomorrow.”

“Fine. But I need to get to the bottom of this joint bank account. This is the first I ever heard of it.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true.”

“Why would Jessie put your name on an account worth a million and a half dollars and not even tell you?”

“Maybe for the same reason she wanted to make that old audiotape look new again.”

She narrowed her eyes, as if he were insulting her intelligence. “Let me give you a little advice. Just admit that you and Jessie were doing the deed. This Clinton-like denial is only going to make people think you killed her.”

“They won’t think that. No more than you do. You wouldn’t have invited me into your house if you thought I was a murderer.”

She didn’t answer.

Jack said, “If anyone killed Jessie, it was the investors whom she scammed.”

“That’s a theory.”

“It’s more than that. The night before she died, Jessie came to me, pleading with me to help her. She was sure these investors were going to kill her.”

“I know all that. The detectives showed me the letter you wrote to the state attorney. But your investor theory just doesn’t add up for me.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Simple. If the viatical investors were the killers, they wouldn’t have made her death look anything like suicide.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m the PR of her estate. I’ve seen her life insurance policy. She bought it twenty-two months ago. It’s void if she took her own life less than two years after the effective date. It’s a standard suicide exclusion.”

His response came slowly, as if weighted by the implications. “So, if her death is ruled a suicide, the investors lose their three-million-dollar death benefit.”

“Bingo. I don’t care how bad you say those guys are, they can’t be idiots. If they were behind it, Jessie would have been found dead in her car at the bottom of some canal. Her death would have looked like an accident, not suicide.”

Jack stared into his empty coffee cup. It suddenly seemed like a gaping black hole, one big enough to swallow him and his whole theory about the investors as killers.

“You okay?” asked Clara.

“Sure. That suicide exclusion is news to me, that’s all. I guess that’s why the cops are looking at me and not the investors.”

“You got that right.”

Jack sipped his coffee, then caught Clara’s eye. “You seem to know more than you say.”

“Could be.”

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Don’t piss me off. Because if I wanted to hurt you, believe me: I could really hurt you.”

Her tone wasn’t threatening, but he still felt threatened. She rose, no subtle signal that it was time for him to leave. Jack placed his coffee mug on the counter and said, “Thanks for the caffeine.”

“You’re welcome.”

She walked him to the foyer and opened the front door. He started out, then stopped and said, “I didn’t kill Jessie.”

“You said that already.”

“I didn’t have her killed, either.”

“Now there’s something I hadn’t heard yet.”

“Now you have.”

“Yes. Now I have. Finally.”

They said good night, and Jack headed down the steps, the door closing behind him.