Thicker Than Water

Chapter Twenty-Five

The picture of Kitty was lying on his dresser. He picked it up, looking at it. His anger at Ronnie Cade was still simmering. And his imagination was kicking in now, too, flashing ugly pictures across his mind. Pictures of Ronnie Cade, the red truck, and Kitty’s bloody body lying in the back of it with the dirt and fertilizer.

He stuck Kitty’s picture in the wood frame of the mirror.

Pulling on a clean sweatshirt, he went back out to the kitchen.

It was all there, spread out for Susan to see. The autopsy reports and the police files covered the kitchen table. The newspaper clippings were taped to the walls along with crime scene pictures of the dump. Colored note cards detailing aspects of the case were stuck on the doors of the kitchen cabinets.

He had called Susan’s office as soon as he got back from the Cade place. He didn’t tell her anything, just that they had to talk. He was surprised when she easily agreed to come out to his cottage.

His eyes swept over everything he had collected. Susan wouldn’t be able to put him off now. She wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye to the idea that whoever killed Kitty also killed Duvall.

But she still wasn’t going to like it. Especially when he told her about Ronnie. It was going to throw a major wrench into her defense. To get Jack Cade off, she was going to have to make his son a suspect. If Cade didn’t fire her first.

A crunch of gravel on the drive drew Louis’s eyes to the open window. He recognized the diesel wheeze of Susan’s old Mercedes and went to the screen door. The headlights went out and he saw her door open. He was shocked to see Benjamin get out of the passenger side.

“Okay, I got here as quick as I could,” Susan said, coming onto the screened porch.

Louis couldn’t hide his annoyance as he nodded at Benjamin, who was hovering behind Susan, looking around at the cottage with bored eyes.

“I had to pick him up from his saxophone lesson after work,” she said.

Louis shook his head, as he led her inside the cottage.

“I’m really tired and I wasn’t about to drive all the way home and back out here,” Susan said. She motioned to Benjamin to sit. He flopped down on the couch.

“We need to talk about Kitty,” Louis said, lowering his voice.

She sighed. “Kincaid-”

“I found out why Cade took the plea.”

She stared at him. Then she turned to Benjamin. “Ben, Mr. Kincaid and I have to talk. You mind waiting out on the porch?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “What am I supposed to do out there?”

“Go get your sax and practice.”

“I just got done playing. My lips will fall off if I play anymore.”

“You have two choices, Benjamin. The porch with your sax or lifelong groundation.”

Benjamin slunk off toward the car to get his saxophone.

Susan slipped her purse strap off her arm and dropped it into a chair. “Okay, talk,” she said.

“Cade took the plea to protect Ronnie,” Louis said. “He thought Ronnie killed Kitty.”

Her face registered astonishment, then something else that Louis couldn’t quite decipher. Irritation, probably, just as he expected.

“How did you find this out?”

He told her about his meeting with Joyce Novick and what she had revealed about Ronnie. When he told her about his visit to the Cade place, her expression turned from irritation to exasperation.

“You should have gotten some proof before you went storming over there,” she said. “You have any idea what a bad spot you’ve put me in?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She turned, smoothing her hair, frustrated. “Why would Cade think his own kid killed Kitty?”

“Duvall told Cade that if he didn’t plead, he would offer Ronnie up as a suspect. Cade must’ve gotten nervous and pled to keep his teenage son from going to prison.”

She drew her lips into a line. “You’re telling me Duvall forced Cade to plead, knowing he had another suspect? No lawyer would do that.”

Louis nodded. “It explains why he never submitted the vaginal report.”

Her eyes flared. “Maybe Duvall never submitted it because it was the same as the damn panties-O-positive.”

“The prosecution never submitted it either and if it was O-positive, it cemented their case against Cade.”

“How do you know they never submitted it?”

“I read the trial transcript.”

She looked at him, stunned. Then she shook her head. “Do you believe Ronnie killed Kitty Jagger?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you believe Ronnie killed Spencer Duvall?”

Louis drew in a breath. “I don’t know.”

“You’re blowing your theory,” Susan said. “I can’t use any of this and all you’ve done is rip that poor family apart even more.”

Louis started to strike back, but he saw her looking at the files spread on the table. He watched her eyes as they swept up to the cards taped to the cabinets and all the photos taped to the walls. Then they came back up to Louis’s face.

Susan picked up Kitty’s autopsy report. “God, Louis,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“My job,” Louis said.

She set the report down, without looking at Louis. The low wail of a saxophone drifted in from the porch. Susan rubbed her eyes.

“Where’s your john?” she asked, not looking up.

Louis pointed toward the bedroom. She got up and left without saying a word.

He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. He stood at the window, listening to the moan of Benjamin’s sax mingle with the rustle of the wind in the palm trees.

When he tipped his head back to take a swig of beer, he saw Susan standing at the door of his bedroom. She was holding something, her brows knit. It was the snapshot of Kitty Jagger in the pink bathing suit.

“This is her, isn’t it?” Susan asked.

“Kitty,” he said. “Her name is Kitty.”

He felt a twinge of annoyance, like Susan had somehow violated his privacy by taking the snapshot off the mirror. He held out his hand.

When she hesitated, he took the picture. He looked down at Kitty’s face. It was easier than looking at Susan’s.

“I have something to tell you,” she said quietly, sitting down at the table.

“What?”

“Sit down, okay?”

He slipped into the chair across from her.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow at the office, but when you called, I thought I’d better come out here tonight and tell you in person.”

Louis leaned back in the kitchen chair, his grip tightening around the beer bottle.

“Jack Cade wants you gone,” Susan said.

“Gone? What, fired?”

She nodded. “He said-”

“What did you tell him,” Louis demanded.

“Kincaid-”

“What did you tell him, damn it?”

“When he called me, I asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. Now I know.” Susan looked away. “I’m sorry, Louis, this is Cade’s call, not mine.”

Louis slammed the bottle on the table and jumped up. “You’re firing me? I don’t fucking believe this.”

The saxophone playing stopped suddenly. Susan glanced out toward the porch, then looked back at Louis.

“I don’t have any choice,” she said, her voice low. She paused for a second. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Louis said.

“Don’t yell at me, Kincaid.”

“Better for who?” Louis repeated.

“Everyone. Cade, me. And you.”

Louis shook his head. “Don’t you see what Cade is doing, Susan? He’s protecting Ronnie again! He doesn’t want me going after him.”

“Louis,” she said firmly. “It’s my job to protect Jack Cade. And that is what I have to do.”

“So you’re going to just ignore everything I just told you?”

She was looking at the door. Benjamin was standing in the doorway, holding his saxophone, watching them both.

“Go get in the car, Ben,” Susan said.

“We going home?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes. Go wait in the car.”

Ben glanced at Louis, then turned. Louis watched him pack the sax back in its case and head out to the Mercedes. Susan rose, went to the chair and picked up her purse, taking out her keys.

“I’ll try to get my boss to pay you through the end of the month,” she said.

“Don’t bother,” Louis said.

Susan hesitated in the doorway. “Look, you did good work for me. That stuff about Hayley and Candace, I can use it.”

“Winning the case, that’s all it’s about to you, isn’t it?” Louis waited for her to fight back.

But she didn’t. There was no fight in her eyes. All that was left was something perilously close to pity. Her gaze dropped to the picture of Kitty still in his hand.

“You can’t save her, Louis, it’s too late.”

Louis tossed the picture down on the table. But he still couldn’t look Susan in the eye.

“Your son’s waiting,” he said.

She started to say something but didn’t. He didn’t see her leave, just heard the slap of the screen door.

Save her? She was already dead, for God’s sake. He knew that. Didn’t he? Or was he starting to hear her talking, just like Bob Ahnert had warned?

He heard a ringing somewhere in the back of his mind and it took him several seconds to realize it was his phone. He grabbed it.

“Louis? It’s Vinny.”

“What do you got, Vince?” Louis asked.

“I got nothing. No report, no sample. They said the policy back then was to return or destroy everything after a few years.”

“Damn it.”

“Yeah. Sorry, Louis.”

Louis hung up, letting out a long breath. He went out on the porch. Through the gray mesh of the screen, he watched the red taillights of the Mercedes disappear down the dark island road.