No way out

Chapter Thirty-three

I woke to raised voices coming from the other side of the bedroom door, several people arguing, though I was too foggy to catch who was mad at whom and why. As my head cleared, I heard Kate say something about a video, to which Lucy answered they couldn’t wait. Simon Alexander interrupted her, saying he needed more time, and Ethan Bonner complained that his hands were tied until he could get in front of a judge. Someone’s cell phone rang, and they got quiet before I could figure out who was on first.

Propped on an elbow, I blinked at the digital clock on the nightstand. I’d been asleep for three hours, long enough to stifle the gremlins living inside my body. My cell phone was next to the clock, a pulsating red light announcing that someone had left me a message. I picked it up. The ringer was on silent.

It took me a moment to remember that my phone had been in my pants pocket when I fell asleep. I was still wearing my pants, which meant that Kate must have heard the phone ring, taken it out of my pocket, and turned the ringer off. I had been in worse shape than I had thought if she’d been in my pants and I never knew it.

I swung my legs onto the floor, turned on the lamp next to the bed, and opened my phone. There were three voice messages, all of them from Joy, matching the three text messages she’d also sent, each a variation on the same theme. Where are you?

I’d learned a few things over the years: sometimes, there’s no way to answer a question without lying or committing suicide; there are no secrets; and being innocent won’t help if you look guilty. All of these things made my return call to Joy a midnight stroll in a minefield.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s been a rugged day, but I’m fine.”

“You’ve been gone so long, and I know how hard that is on you. I got worried when you didn’t answer your phone.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been crazy, but everything is okay.”

“What happened?”

“Roni Chase was picked up for questioning in Frank Crenshaw’s murder. A gun she owned turned out to be the murder weapon. I’m about to go into a meeting with her lawyer.”

“Are you at the jail?”

I knew where this was going, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it except make it worse by forcing her to drag it out of me.

“We’re at the Raphael Hotel. I’m with Lucy, Simon, and Roni’s lawyer, Ethan Bonner, and his jury consultant.”

“Jury consultant?” The pitch in her voice changed from concern for me to concern about me. “Who?”

“Kate Scranton.”

No woman wants to hear that her man is at a hotel with another woman he used to sleep with, no matter how many other people are there with him. The other woman part is bad enough, but the hotel part lights a fast-burning fuse.

“Are you in her room?”

“Yes. We’re all here.”

She hesitated, both of us knowing what was coming next.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I needed some down time so I took a nap.”

“In Kate Scranton’s hotel room?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. It’s not like that. I promise.”

She sniffed, her brittle voice turning the phone cold in my hand. “Will you be coming home?”

“As soon as I can.”

“No hurry. Tell Lucy and Simon I said hello.”

That was the end of the conversation and the beginning of a fight we hadn’t had since we were married and Joy was certain I was having an affair with Kate. It wasn’t true then, at least not in the physical sense, though I’d later learned that was a distinction without much of a difference.

And it wasn’t true now, even if I had to admit that my feelings for Kate were percolating again. I’d promised Joy that I wouldn’t put her through that a second time, which reminded me of something else I’d learned. A promise to protect can frighten more than comfort.

“So, you’re not dead,” Lucy said, opening the door.

I stretched, rubbed my face, and finger-combed my hair. “Once again, those reports are greatly exaggerated.”

She grimaced. “Okay, Mark Twain; in the other room. Believe it or not, we need you.”

Simon was sitting in a chair at one end of a coffee table. Lucy took the chair opposite him. Ethan Bonner leaned back in a desk chair. Kate sat on a two-seater sofa that in other circumstances I would have admitted was a love seat. She was holding a laptop, studying the screen and ignoring me. The coffee table was littered with room service remnants surrounding a covered dish.

“It’s a club sandwich on toasted wheat bread, no cheese, light mayo, just the way you like it,” Kate said without looking up. “And fresh fruit instead of fries.”

“Thanks. You’ve got a good memory,” I said, uncovering the dish, picking it up, and looking around the room for another place to sit even though I already knew the sofa was the only option. I joined her, the cushions collapsing toward the center, drawing us closer together. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” She finally looked at me, biting back a smile. “Ethan is paying for it.”

“Twelve bucks,” Ethan said. “Tax and tip included.”

“That’s what I get for referring a new client to you?”

“You’re lucky I’m not charging you a hundred and twelve bucks.”

“That bad?”

He nodded. “Tonight it is. I couldn’t get Roni out. They’re charging her with conspiracy to commit murder. She’s being arraigned in the morning. The judge will probably grant bail, but she doesn’t have any money so she may be a guest of the county for a while.”

“What do they have on her besides the gun?”

“You mean the murder weapon? If I had a nickel for every time Quincy Carter called it that, I could post Roni’s bail. He’s hanging his hat on the gun and the disturbance he says she created at the hospital, or as he puts it, the diversion she caused to set up the shooter.”

“That won’t stand up if she’s got an explanation for the gun.”

“If she has one, she isn’t saying, not even to me. She’s covering for someone, and Carter figures to pressure her into giving him up. We’ll see if a night in the tank does the job. In the meantime, it would help if you have any idea who she’s protecting.”

“Best bet would be Brett Staley. He’s in love with her, and she thinks she might be in love with him. Maybe she is. Odds are he knew about the gun. He showed up at the hospital right after Crenshaw was killed. Said he was looking for her. Carter questioned him, but let him go before he cut Roni loose.”

“Where do you fit into the mix?” Bonner asked me.

“Didn’t Roni tell you?”

“I’d rather hear it from you. See how it matches what she told me.”

I gave him the rundown, ending with Roni’s story about her fight with Brett and how Quincy Carter worked Roni and me, my face reddening as I told that part of the story.

“And that’s why I think she’s covering for Brett.”

“Why would he kill Frank Crenshaw? What’s the connection? Did he know Crenshaw? Did Crenshaw owe him money? He’d have to have a reason unless he’s a psychopath that roams hospitals looking for someone to shoot,” Bonner said.

“I don’t know if he’s got a connection or, if he does, what it is, but Roni should know.”

“She shot Crenshaw the first time. Maybe she meant to kill him and her boyfriend decided to finish the job for her.”

“I was there. That was self-defense. He was her client. Why would she want him dead?”

“I’m better at questions than answers,” Bonner said. “I keep asking them, hoping someone else will do the rest. Your version fits with Roni’s story, except she didn’t say anything about an ATF agent. What was he doing at the hospital?”

“There was a gun show in Topeka last month. Thieves followed one of the dealers before he got home and robbed him. They got a small armory of handguns and assault rifles. Frank Crenshaw shot his wife with one of the stolen handguns. If the ATF agent wasn’t interested in that, he needs to find another line of work.”

“We don’t know if Crenshaw’s murder was related to the theft of the guns or to something else,” Bonner said. “We need to know more about Brett Staley’s relationship with Crenshaw. Right now, the only reason he’s a suspect is that it looks like Roni is covering for him. Maybe if you go with me in the morning, she’ll open up, tell us about the gun. She seems to trust you.”

“Not enough,” I said. “She didn’t tell me about it.”

“She’d have had no reason to tell you if she didn’t know the gun was missing or that it was used to kill Crenshaw,” Bonner said.

“She’d have had less reason to tell me if she did know.”

“Her arraignment is at ten. They’ll have her at the courthouse by nine so I can talk to her. Can you meet me there?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how much that will help.”

“Why not?”

“Roni may not want to be rescued.”