Thicker Than Water

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Louis searched O’Sullivan’s for Mobley and when he didn’t see him, he looked at his watch. Mobley had said eight o’clock. Where was he?

Then, through the smoke and bodies, he saw him sitting in his usual booth in the back. The glass in front of him was empty and Louis stopped at the bar before going back. Sticking his manila folder under his arm, he carried Mobley a scotch and water and brought a Heineken for himself.

Mobley looked up at Louis as he sat down, but then his gaze dropped to the fresh scotch. He picked it up, downing nearly all of it in one swallow. His face looked drawn, and there was something in his eyes Louis couldn’t quickly place.

Two men came by the table, heading toward the restrooms. Mobley looked up at them.

“Hey, guys,” he said.

They kept walking.

Mobley’s eyes drifted down to the glass in his hands. It hit Louis at that moment that what he was seeing in Mobley’s face was the sting of exclusion. And maybe even a little fear that he wasn’t going to survive this.

Mobley drank the last drop of scotch and settled back against the booth. “Okay, what was so damn important?”

“I know who killed Kitty and I know where,” Louis said, sitting down across from him.

Mobley eyes narrowed. “I just got the damn case reopened and you’ve got it all solved.”

Louis put the folder on the table. “I think Duvall sold Jack Cade out in 1967,” he began. “Sometime during the investigation and trial, Duvall latched onto Brian Brenner as a suspect-”

“Brian Brenner? Give me a fucking break, Kincaid.”

“Stay with me for a minute. I think Duvall was afraid of the fallout if he accused the sixteen-year-old son of the city’s most prominent family of murder. So he went to Senator Brenner and struck a deal to protect Brian. Jack Cade got twenty years in prison and Spencer Duvall got rich.”

Mobley stared at Louis. “You got proof of this supposed deal?” he asked.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Mobley said. He motioned to the waitress for another drink.

“The vaginal semen sample taken from Kitty was AB-negative blood. Brian Brenner is AB-negative.”

“How do you know that?”

Louis hesitated. “How I know isn’t admissable. You’ll have to test him yourself when you arrest him.”

“Arrest him? What are you talking about?”

Louis searched through the folder and pulled out Kitty’s original autopsy report. “There was potassium monopersulfate in Kitty’s lungs. Vince told me it’s a common pool chemical. Kitty’s friend Joyce told me Kitty liked to go swimming at night. Then when Vince did the second autopsy he found silica quartz and vinyl acetate in her hair. That’s a cement mix they used to put up tiles.”

“So?”

Louis pushed another paper across the table.

“What’s this?”

“A building permit. I went over to the planning department and pulled it. It’s for the Brenner house on Shaddlelee Lane, specifically to renovate the pool cabana.” Louis pointed to a date. “It was pulled by Leyland Brothers Construction November 1, 1965.”

“Kitty wasn’t killed until April 9th of the following year, right?” Mobley asked.

“Maybe the work got stalled or something. We can call Leyland Brothers to find out. But that isn’t what’s interesting. Look at this.” Louis slapped a second permit in front of Mobley. “A new permit was pulled for the same job by a different contractor, Delacarpini and Sons.”

Mobley was looking at the date on the second permit. “April 30, 1966.”

“I think the cabana was still under construction when Brian killed Kitty there,” Louis said. “That’s why she had cement powder in her hair. And then, after Brian dumped Kitty’s body, the second permit was pulled and the cabana work was completed.”

Mobley looked up at Louis.

“Maybe Brian got scared and told his father. That’s why Charles Brenner made the deal with Duvall to set up Cade and then he hid the evidence by bringing in new workers to finish the cabana.”

Mobley was rubbing his temple, looking at the permit. “I was in that house once, for a party in high school,” he said quietly.

“Brian’s been trying to sell it,” Louis said. “He knew this might all come out if Cade brought suit against Duvall.”

Mobley looked up. “So you think Brian killed Duvall too?”

Louis nodded. “Duvall was treated for depression right around the time of the Cade trial. I think he always felt guilty about what he did, and when Cade got out and threatened to sue him, it all came back.” Louis paused. “Maybe Duvall was going to come clean, maybe he even told Brian. Brian had no choice. His father wasn’t around to clean up his mess this time.”

Louis finally picked up his Heineken. It tasted good, and for a second, that surge of adrenaline he had been expecting with Vince came forward.

“But why Jack Cade? Why’d they set him up?” Mobley asked.

But before Louis could answer, Mobley spoke again. “Never mind. I can guess. Cade did the Brenners’ lawn, right?”

Louis nodded slowly. “I called Cade and asked him. Cade was always losing his tools. Brian probably found the Clot Buster in his yard and realized he could make it look like Cade did it.”

“What about the panties? They had Cade’s blood type on them, not Brian’s,” Mobley said.

“Cade told me he found the panties in his truck the next morning and figured Ronnie left them there. He used them to jack-off in. I think Brian put the panties in Cade’s truck to set him up.” Louis paused. “The semen inside Kitty was AB-negative. It’s a rare blood type, Lance, only five percent of the population. That’s what is important.”

Mobley was quiet, looking down at his glass.

“Jack Cade was the perfect murderer,” Louis said. “He was the man any jury would love to hate.”

Mobley took a long, slow drink of his scotch, then looked off across the bar. It was a moment before he looked back at Louis.

“What about Scott? Is he involved?” Mobley asked quietly.

Louis shook his head. “First of all, he was away at school at Florida State. And second, he’s the wrong blood type.”

“What is he?”

“I don’t know, but I guarantee he’s not negative.” Louis paused. “I don’t think Scott knows anything. My guess is the old man never told Scott, just in case something ever did come to light. If Brian went under, at least the favorite son wouldn’t. The heir and the spare.”

“What?”

“That’s what Ellie Silvestri called Scott and Brian.”

Mobley’s shoulders slumped slightly as his gaze drifted over all the evidence Louis had laid before him.

“Jesus H Christ,” he said. “Why the hell would Duvall do it?”

“Money, success, status.” Louis paused, deciding not to bring up Candace right now. “He knew what he was doing.”

“Faust selling his soul to the devil,” Mobley said, shaking his head.

“He sold it to Dr. Mephisto. I looked it up.”

Mobley just stared at him. Then he picked up his glass, finished off the scotch and set the glass down. The laughter of the bar floated around them. Mobley ran both hands across his face.

Louis watched him, not knowing what to say. There was nothing he could do now. He had taken things as far as he could. It was all up to Mobley now.

“Sheriff?” Louis asked.

“Scott and I have known each other a long time,” Mobley said, without looking up. “I want to talk to him first. Before we go after Brian.”

Louis tensed. “Look, I like Scott, but Brian’s his brother. If we tip-”

Mobley’s head shot up. “This is my call, Kincaid. You want to be there, fine. But we handle it my way.”

Mobley started gathering up the papers. When Louis tried to help, Mobley jerked the folder away. “I can do it, goddamn it,” he said.

Louis sat back in the booth. Jesus, don’t let him blow this.

Mobley rose, picking up the folder. His eyes traveled over the crowded bar and came back to Louis. “Five P.M. tomorrow,” he said. “Brian Brenner’s office.”