Beyond Suspicion

61

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At 5:30 A.M. the runners were gathering at Cartagena traffic circle. This was a regular Saturday morning ritual in Coral Gables, the predawn gathering of bodies clad in Nike shorts and spandex, ready to head out on a ten- or fifteen-mile run before the rest of the world rose for breakfast. Himself an occasional runner, Jack admired them in a way, but mostly he regarded them as the South Florida version of those crazy Scandinavians who cut holes in the Arctic ice and jumped in for a refreshing dip in mid-January.

Rosa wasn’t answering her cell phone, but Jack found her exactly where he’d expected, her leg propped up on the fence as she stretched out her hamstrings.

“What are you doing here, Swyteck?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“I have to run. Literally.”

Her friends seemed annoyed by the intrusion, each of them checking their ultraprecise wristwatches/heart-monitors/speedometers.

Jack whispered in her ear, “Theo’s been kidnapped.”

She shot him a look, as if to say, Are you shittin’ me?

“I’m totally serious,” he said.

Rosa told her friends to go on without her, then followed Jack to an isolated spot beneath a banyan tree where they could talk in private. In minutes he brought her completely up to speed, ending with his conversation with Katrina.

“Why didn’t you call me last night?”

“I wasn’t sure I should call anyone, since I agreed not to call the police.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I haven’t been able to sleep. Things are happening so fast, I need another brain to process it all. I don’t want to be wrong.”

“You were right about one thing. Theo didn’t run.”

“I knew Theo was no murderer.”

“Well, back up a second. Just because he didn’t run doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Jessie Merrill.”

He considered her words, appreciating the distinction. “You still think he might have killed her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Katrina told me on the phone that her company probably killed a woman in Georgia to cash in on a viatical settlement. Seems to me they did the same thing with Jessie.”

“Except that Jessie was healthy.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Someone with AIDS is expected to die. So it doesn’t raise red flags if the viatical company hastens the process. Especially if you go to the trouble of doing ten different clients under ten different company names, which is apparently the way they did it. But Jessie Merrill was a totally different situation. She wasn’t sick, wasn’t expected to die. Killing her immediately raised red flags. The thugs that Katrina worked for had to be smart enough to have known that.”

“We’re talking about the Russian Mafiya, not Russian scientists. You get these guys pissed enough, all intelligence goes out the window.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s not just a maybe. It’s certainly more likely that they did it than Theo.”

“Yes, if you look at it strictly from that perspective. But there’s other evidence to consider.”

“Like what?”

“For example, what does this new information about the viatical companies do to your theory about the angle of the cut?”

“I don’t think it affects it one way or another.”

“You said it was probably a left-handed person who slit Jessie’s wrist.”

“So what? I’m sure the Russian Mafiya has plenty of left-handed hit men.”

“I’m sure they do. But answer me this: Is Theo right-handed or left-handed?”

“Right-handed. Ha! In your face.”

“In your dreams.”

“What does that mean?”

“This theory you have about the angle of the cut. Don’t you find it odd that the medical examiner’s report doesn’t even make mention of it?”

“No. The angle is subtle, I’ll admit. And a left-handed killer doesn’t fit the prosecutor’s theory of the case, so, of course, the report doesn’t mention it.”

“That’s a little cynical,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

“Theo sat on death row for a murder he didn’t commit. We have a right to be cynical.”

“We? We have a right? You’re not his lawyer anymore, Jack.”

“No. I’m his friend.”

“Which is why I’m so worried. Just a take step back, play devil’s advocate the way any good lawyer would.”

“How do you mean?”

“You say the medical examiner doesn’t see the same angle on the cut because a left-handed killer doesn’t suit the prosecutor’s theory of the case. Well, maybe-just maybe-you do see the angle because a right-handed killer doesn’t fit your theory of the case.”

“But you saw it, too. I showed you the autopsy photo, and you said you saw the angle.”

“Damn it, Jack. You’re right-handed. Don’t you think I wanted to see something that says the killer was left-handed?”

“Are you still wondering if I killed Jessie?”

“No. Not at all. But believe me, the way the evidence is falling out, I’ll grab at anything that makes it easier for me to prove you didn’t.”

“When I showed you the photo of Jessie’s wrist, did you see the angle or not?”

“I saw it, but only after you insisted that it was there. I’d feel a whole lot more sure of this theory if the medical examiner had seen it first.”

Jack searched for a rebuttal, but nothing came. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Okay.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t be so sure about this left-handed, right-handed stuff.”

“You’re saying more than that. You’re saying, don’t be so sure that Theo isn’t the killer.”

“Okay. Maybe I am.”

“Don’t worry. Right now, the only thing I’m sure of is that I came here hoping that you’d help me sort things out.”

“And?”

He walked toward the fence, watched the line of runners streaming down the footpath along the canal. “And now I’m just more confused.”