Beyond Suspicion

68

•

Jack waited in the dark with the window shades shut. He was in the TV room, though he hadn’t so much as switched on a light bulb, let alone the set. For almost two hours, he sat alone, familiarizing himself with every sound of the empty house. The air conditioner kicking on, then off. The hum of the refrigerator. The Westminster chime of the grandfather clock.

Celeste had given him plenty to think about. She told him how her accusations had torn the family apart. Cindy had so fervently believed that her lies had driven their father to suicide that she’d even told Celeste of her fantasies about poisoning her older sister or causing her other bodily harm. Their mother had also turned against Celeste, but there was one major difference. Cindy had eventually made peace with Celeste and came to believe that the accusations were true.

Their mother had never made peace, and she’d known the truth from the beginning.

The clock chimed. It was quarter past two. Jack started to rise, then stopped. He heard something. He listened, then settled back into his chair. It was the sound he’d been waiting for. At last, a key turned in the lock on Evelyn’s front door.

•

Evelyn hooked her umbrella on the hall tree and switched on the light. It had been raining off and on since lunchtime, and, as usual, the gods had really turned on the faucets the moment she’d decided to sprint from her car to the front door. Even a hurricane, however, would not have kept her from coming home.

She walked down the hall and headed straight for the kitchen. There was an urgency to her step. She’d played it cool for over an hour at the hospital, fighting the impulse to rush home, which would have only raised suspicions. She’d used the time wisely, considering the things Jack had told her, weighing her options. This was no time for knee-jerk reactions, but now her mission was clear. She had to get home and secure one last loose end.

She flipped on the kitchen light. Her eyes fixed on an empty space on the countertop, which puzzled her. Her heart began to race. She canvassed the entire counter, one end to the other, then back again.

How can it not be here?

She went to the cabinet, opened it. Bowls, mixer, can opener-everything was in its place, except the one thing she was looking for.

Her hands began to shake. It had to be there. She tried the cabinet under the sink, but there was only a dish rack, detergents, and some paper towels. She went down the entire row of cabinets, flinging one door open after another. She found plates, her bread maker, pots and pans. Still, no luck.

A thought came to her, and she raced to the pantry, threw open the door, then gasped.

Jack was standing inside.

“What-” she started to say, then stopped. She saw it. He was holding it, protecting it the way a running back guards a football at the goal line. Only this pigskin was made of butcher block, and it came with an assortment of handles that protruded from the slots on the top. Knife handles. He had her collection of kitchen knives.

“Looking for this, Evelyn?” he asked.

•

Jack stepped out of the pantry. Evelyn slowly backed into the kitchen. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak. She continued stepping backward until she bumped against the sink.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting with the police.”

He stopped at the kitchen table and placed the knives on top of it. “There is no meeting. I lied.”

“Wha-a-a-at?” she said, a nervous cackle.

“I made it up.”

“Why?”

“It’s the strangest thing. I was watching my grandmother slicing sheets of dough the other day. She’s left-handed, so she typically cuts from the top right to the bottom left. To make a long story short, it helped me figure out that Jessie Merrill was probably killed by someone who is left-handed. It all has to do with the angle of the slash on her wrist.”

“And to think you were ready to convict your wife, and she’s right-handed. Shame on you.”

“No, shame on you. It didn’t occur to me until you and I met with the psychiatrist at the hospital. You so graciously took it upon yourself to sign the forms for Cindy’s treatment. And that’s when it hit me: You’re left-handed.”

“How dare you!”

He glanced at the cutlery on the table. “Which knife did you use, Evelyn?”

“This is ridiculous. The police have the knife. It was from your own kitchen. It was found floating in the bathtub with Jessie’s body, exactly where you’d expect to find it with a suicide.”

“I don’t mean the knife you used to slash Jessie’s wrist. I mean the knife you used to slash up our wedding album.”

Her mouth opened, but she didn’t speak.

“That’s what you were looking for, wasn’t it? I bluffed you into thinking that the police were looking for a match between our knives and the slashes in the wedding album. It got you to thinking: Maybe they’ll come looking in your house, too.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“When Cindy and I moved in with you, we took just a few personal things with us. The wedding album was one of them. Funny, but it wasn’t until after we’d spent some time with you that Cindy noticed it had been mutilated. Someone had taken a knife to it.”

“Probably that tramp, Jessie.”

“Not her. You did it when I decided it was time to move out of your house. Cindy decided to come with me, rather than stay with you.”

“You are so wrong.”

“Am I? Then I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I take these knives downtown to have them analyzed. I noticed that one of them has a nice serrated edge. There might even be a few microscopic traces of photo paper on the blade. You’d be amazed by these lab guys and the things they can find.”

Her bravado slowly faded. Her eyes filled with contempt. “This is all your fault.”

“That’s what Cindy said.”

“If you’d truly loved her, you would have stepped aside and made it possible for her to move on and start a new life without you, without the nightmares about that deranged client of yours.”

“The nightmares aren’t about me or Esteban. They’re about your husband. I know. I talked to Celeste.”

“Celeste,” she said, practically spitting out the name. “You two are just alike. But I see through your phony concern. You don’t love Cindy. You love rescuing her all over again every two months, six months, a year-however long it takes for her nightmares to start up again. That’s your kind of love.”

“What do you know about love?”

“I’ve known this much for a very long time: Cindy will never be happy so long as you’re in her life.”

It was like hearing Cindy’s speech all over again, only this time it was coming from the speechwriter. “You fed this to her, didn’t you? You convinced her that I’m the source of all her fears.”

She flashed an evil smile. “It didn’t take much convincing. Especially after Jessie ‘fessed up about you and her.”

“Jessie was a liar. This was how she got even with me when I refused to help her wiggle out of her scam. Ruin my marriage.”

“She did a very convincing job.”

“Are you saying you heard her story?”

“I was sitting next to Cindy in the car when she got the call. I heard everything. Cindy didn’t want to believe it. But Jessie said she had proof. She wanted to meet at your house to deliver it personally to Cindy.”

“The tape?”

“Yes. The tape.”

“So you and Cindy went to our house together.”

“No. I went. Alone.”

Jack paused, stunned by the admission. “You were there waiting when Jessie came by?”

“What decent mother wouldn’t do that much for her only daughter?”

The reference to her only daughter wasn’t lost on Jack. “What did you do?”

She walked as she talked, not a nervous pacing, but more like a professor who was enjoying her speech. “I was extremely polite. I just asked her to remove all of her clothes, get in the bathtub, and drink from a quart of vodka until she passed out.”

“How did you get her to do that?”

“How do you think?”

“The knife?”

“Hardly.” She walked a few more steps, then stopped at the end of the counter. She opened a drawer, then whirled around and pointed a gun at Jack. “With this.”

Jack took a step back. “Evelyn, don’t.”

“What choice have you left me?”

“You won’t get away with it.”

“Of course I will. I came home, you startled me, I thought you were an intruder. What a tragedy. I shot my own son-in-law.”

“This won’t solve anything.”

“Sure it will. Right now, it’s my word against yours.”

“Not quite.”

She tightened her glare, then blinked nervously, as if sensing that Jack had something to spring.

“I’m afraid your timing is really bad,” he said. “You caught me right in the middle of a conference call.”

“What?”

He pointed with a nod toward the wall phone beside the refrigerator. The little orange light indicated that the line was open. “You still there, Jerry?”

“I’m here,” came a voice over the speaker. It was Jerry Chafetz from the U.S. attorney’s office. Jack had dialed him up the moment he’d heard Evelyn put the key in the front door.

“Mike, you there?”

He gave Mike Campbell a moment to reply, then Jack said, “Turn off the mute button, buddy.”

There was a beep on the line, and Mike said, “Still here.”

“You guys didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

“Sorry,” said Mike. “Couldn’t help but listen. Hate to admit it, but I heard everything she said.”

“Ditto,” said Chafetz.

Jack tried not to smile, but he knew he had to be looking pretty smug. “Tough break, Evelyn. I’m really sorry. Your bad luck.”

The gun was still aimed at Jack, but she seemed to have lost her will. Her stare had gone blank, and her hands were unsteady. It was as if she were shrinking right before his eyes.

Jack went to her and snatched away the gun. “You’re right, Evelyn. I do love this rescue stuff.” He took her by the arm and started for the door. “Even when Cindy isn’t around.”