Motion to Kill

CHAPTER FIVE

No one was in the den, and he was enough of a stranger not to knock on closed bedroom doors. Diane emerged a few minutes later, dry-eyed, with her normal shade of pale.

“How’s Pamela?”

“Her husband is dead, so that’s a bummer. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“The sheriff will be here soon to question her. I’ll stay for that. You don’t have to stick around.”

“She expects me to stay, Mason. You play lawyer. I’ll take care of Pamela.”

One more reason not to envy Pamela, he decided.

Kelly arrived at noon. Mason introduced Diane, who studied Kelly’s badge like it was counterfeit before saying that she would ask Pamela to join them.

Pamela had showered, changed, and added fresh makeup and appeared composed as she returned to the den. She and Kelly took the same seats as before. Mason stood at Pamela’s left with Diane on her right. They were a mismatched pair of sentries.

“When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Sullivan?” Kelly began.

“Last night about seven o’clock. We were supposed to go to Buckhorn for dinner. We had a fight and he left.”

Mason drifted away from Pamela’s chair so that he could watch her face for any signs of weakness that would trigger his instruction not to answer any more questions.

Kelly continued. “What did you fight about?”

“I never remember anymore. We just fight.”

“Where did he go?”

“He took the ski boat. I watched him from the kitchen window.”

“Which way did he go when he left the cove?”

“Toward Turkey Bend.”

“Do you know anyone who lives up that way whom he might have gone to visit?”

“No, we don’t have many friends at the lake. We have a lot of visitors, and they either stay with us or at a client’s condo.”

“Whose condo is that?”

“One of Richard’s clients has a condominium in a cove near here. I don’t know who really owns it. Richard never talked about his clients. I only knew that he was able to use it for guests when we entertained at the lake.”

“Did you have guests at the condo this weekend?”

“No.”

“Do you water-ski, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Has anyone else used the ski boat recently other than your husband?”

“No, and he doesn’t ski anymore either. He says his knees can’t take it. He just uses the boat for transportation.”

“Mrs. Sullivan, the lake patrol found your husband’s boat at dawn. It was abandoned. I wonder if you can identify this earring that was found on the boat?”

Kelly handed her an evidence bag containing a single gold hoop earring. Pamela reached for her ear and removed one of her own clasp hoops.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never pierced my ears.”

Kelly’s silence told Mason that she knew her business. She would learn more by listening than by asking. Pamela let the silence hang for a moment. She pulled herself upright, looked directly at Kelly, and answered with a last shot of dignity.

“The earring probably belongs to someone younger with a flat belly and firm tits and I don’t know her name. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long morning.”

She rose and turned away. Diane padded behind her as they retreated into the bedroom.

“Son of a bitch!” Mason said.

“Seems likely,” Kelly added.

“How about a ride back to Buckhorn, Sheriff?”

“Sorry, Counselor. I’m not running a taxi service.”

“I wasn’t planning on tipping you. You dragged me into this mess. You can’t leave me stranded here.”

“Yes, I can. Your partner’s death isn’t neat and tidy, and I like neat-and-tidy deaths. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Maybe I can help.” Her arched eyebrows told him that she didn’t think so. “Look, I admit I’m a reflex smart-ass. But I helped identify the body and brought you here. And I was just trying to protect Pamela.”

Mason doubted that Sullivan had died of natural causes, as any decent asshole would have done. O’Malley’s indictment on charges that he’d skimmed money from the bank that he owned was inevitable. Sullivan had done everything but confess to helping O’Malley steal the money when he asked Mason to lose documents that incriminated him. Mason knew that Sullivan’s only chance to save himself would be to testify against his client. O’Malley couldn’t invoke the attorney-client privilege to prevent Sullivan from testifying about their crimes. O’Malley’s best defense would be a lawyer who was too dead to testify. Mason was the only other lawyer in the firm who knew what Sullivan knew-or who knew what Sullivan had intimated to him. If Sullivan had been murdered, Mason wanted to know sooner rather than later. His protective instincts were becoming self-centered.

“Who said she needs protection, Counselor?”

“Anybody who starts the day with a dead husband needs protection.”

“Miss Farrell can take you back to Buckhorn. This is an official investigation. I don’t need any volunteers.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going home today, but I’ve got an obligation to my partners to find out what happened.” Though true, that was the least of his concerns. But it was the only excuse he could use until he knew whether Sullivan had been murdered. If Sullivan’s death wasn’t murder, telling Kelly that both his client and his dead partner were crooks would put him on O’Malley’s hit list. “Just tell me what your next step is. Maybe I really can help.”

Kelly sighed, as if he would accept her annoyance as an answer. His silence said not likely.

“Okay. I follow the most logical line of investigation. That means find out where Sullivan went and who he was with before he died. He left his house around seven. Mrs. Sullivan saw him heading toward a client’s condo. I want to know where it is and who owns it.”

“How will you find it?”

“I’ll start with county records of property ownership.”

“Perfect. I may recognize a name and save you a lot of trouble.”

Kelly looked at him as if she’d just found a stray dog and couldn’t decide whether to feed it or take it to the pound.

“I hope you’re ready for a long ride home. I’ve got some stops to make.”

“Sheriff, I’m like lunch meat; I’m always ready.”