Part 19 (2/2)

”When isn't it?” he said. He saluted and left.

As soon as the door closed, Sh.e.l.ley said, ”Would it help any if you could tell your father about X and Xander? I mean, if he understood more about Alex...”

Barbara shook her head. ”I don't think so. He might just conclude they have more to defend than he realized. It's his d.a.m.n sense of loyalty, his propriety. He liked Hilde, that's what it boils down to, and he's unwilling to believe she did anything he thinks is shameful. He can go along with an affair, no problem; it's Wrigley, his age, wife, kids, all that baggage that stops him in his tracks.”

Dinner with Frank was strained that evening. Barbara did the dishes, and then went to the living room, where he was channel hopping. ”I think I'd better move back to my own digs,” she said. He didn't argue.

26.

The days began to blur. August came in on a heat wave that made every real Oregonian grumpy.

Frank called to say that the new examination of Hilde Franz had revealed a puncture wound under her tongue. He did not chat after delivering the message. Reports were flowing into Barbara's office, and Sh.e.l.ley reported on her trip to California.

”Rhondi Dumont was kicked out of Bennington, went to New York to make her fortune, and had an affair or two, but no job or any prospect of one; then she met Isaac Wrigley. Poor professor, rich idler. They got together, got married, and eventually seem to have made a deal. He'd get a job on the West Coast somewhere, and she'd put up the money for him to go into the pharmaceutical-testing business. He had done some of it at New York University and knew what was needed.”

Barbara nodded. ”Nothing too damaging so far,” she said when Sh.e.l.ley paused to glance at her notes.

”And all hearsay, gossip. Rhondi's parents are a couple of doozies, apparently. He's a chaser, and she has a new man every year or so. The speculation is that Rhondi was reacting to them, after a few years of catting around on her own. Anyway, no kids came along, and they adopted a boy four years ago, then a girl two years ago, and now she's pregnant, sick, and scared. She'll stay home with her mother until the baby's born toward the end of the month.”

”Sick how?”

”Something to do with the pregnancy. She was rushed to the hospital two different times. That part's real enough, I guess.”

”I wonder if they had a prenuptial agreement,” Barbara said after a moment.

”Sure. When there's money on one side, the family insists on it. And in this case, if she fronted his business, there's bound to be a legal agreement.” Very patiently she added, ”You see, Barbara, those who have old money know how to manage it and keep it. All kinds of agreements come along, just as a matter of course.”

Barbara thought about it, then said, ”Sometimes you do kill to keep an affair secret.”

On the last day of August Barbara received another discovery statement from the district attorney's office. Investigating Hilde Franz's death, they had questioned members of the hospital committee as a matter of routine, and then returned to Isaac Wrigley for a formal statement. She settled back in her chair and read the statement.

Q: Were you inside Hilde Franz's house on different occasions?

A: Yes. She and my wife both liked to read romance novels, and they exchanged them frequently. This past year, since Rhondi, my wife, has been ill, I was their errand boy and made the pickups and deliveries. Rhondi called them her bathtub reading.

Q: When was the last time you were in Hilde Franz's house?

A: A few days before she died. Rhondi went to California to stay with her parents until our baby is born; she left a stack of paperback books to be returned to Hilde, and I kept forgetting. I just picked them up that day and took them around to her.

Q: What did you do in her house?

A: She said since I had the books in my hands, I might as well put them back on the shelf they had come from. I did that. The shelf was in her bedroom. I think I washed my hands, and I know I got a drink of water.

Q: How did Hilde Franz appear to you?

A: Normal at the time, but she called me later, and she was upset.

Q: Can you explain what you mean?

A: She began to talk about the murder out at Opal Creek, and she said she knew who did it, but she was in a quandary about what to do. She said Feldman did it, but he had been goaded beyond endurance, and maybe Gus Marchand had brought it on himself. She felt sorry for Feldman. I told her to go to the police. I a.s.sumed she had done so, since Feldman was arrested soon after that.

Q: Did she say why she believed Alexander Feldman killed Gus Marchand?

A: Yes. She said she saw him entering the woods going toward Marchand's property as she was leaving that day. She said there hadn't been time enough for anyone else to have gone over there, according to the newspaper reports.

There was a little more, but only to sharpen the responses; as if they needed sharpening, Barbara thought. He was covering it all, she thought savagely: Hilde had not been his friend, but his wife's. He had explained the fingerprints, his presence in her house, and had tightened the screws on Alex.

And now he was in California; his son had been delivered that morning. He had explained to the investigators that he would be with his family in California through September, and fly to Eugene to attend to business matters for a day or two at a time when necessary. He hoped to get back permanently sometime in October and bring his family, when the baby was six weeks old, possibly.

He told them he could arrange to be in Eugene in time to testify, if it was important. It was not on the transcript, but she a.s.sumed that they had a.s.sured him that it would be very important.

That afternoon during their regular briefing, Sh.e.l.ley said, ”I bet she never read a book in her life.”

”I'd like that confirmed,” Barbara said.

”They're all gone,” Bailey said. ”You know, down to Monterey, the family compound with high fences and guards, maybe even dogs with painted-on hair patrolling.”

”I've been thinking of the nanny,” Barbara said. ”Lucinda Perez, from Guatemala. You must know someone from Guatemala, someone who can reminisce about old times in the old country with Lucinda.”

He grimaced. ”I got you Wrigley and Franz in the same cities on two different occasions, not the same hotels yet, but we're working on it. I got you a runner for Sunday morning. I got you Wrigley's financial records-the boy's done good. Do I see a bar in here yet? I see coffee and c.o.kes, tea for the fainthearted. No beer. No booze. Not even a gla.s.s of wine.”

”Put Franz and Wrigley in the same hotel, and you get the bar,” Barbara said. ”Or get me something real from Perez. I'll settle for that.”

She knew that if Wrigley testified under oath, if he stuck to the statement he had given, there was no way she could pull his wife out of California and force her to testify as to the truthfulness of his statements. And his statement was d.a.m.ning.

”Guatemala,” Bailey mumbled. ”Jeez, Barbara. You should be a labor organizer or something. And speaking of labor-day, I mean-Hannah and I leave in the morning for Seattle, a flower show she has to see, and I'll be back in harness on Tuesday.” Then a thoughtful look came over his face, and he said, ”Guatemala. I'll see what I can do.” He ambled out soon after that.

”Well,” Barbara said. ”Another long weekend, another holiday. Dad asked me to dinner tomorrow night, and again on Monday. I mentioned that you were at loose ends, and he said to bring you along if you'd like to come. You up for that?”

Sh.e.l.ley shrugged. ”Sure. It beats a cookout by the pool at the apartment.”

She had cut her hair again, shorter this time, and it was more becoming than ever. If she was trying to achieve an androgynous look, it was a total failure. Over the past weeks, she had lost a little weight and with it her little-girl look; her face appeared more angular, more mature, and her prettiness was becoming a different sort of beauty, quieter and more reflective.

Although Barbara ached for her, there was not a thing she could do or say until Sh.e.l.ley brought it up, she told herself repeatedly.

”You did a terrific job putting together that file on Rachel Marchand,” she said. ”Of course, the prosecution will say that it doesn't matter; she believed Alex was stalking her, and he feared an investigation. But it's ammunition.”

”And we don't have much ammunition, do we?” Sh.e.l.ley said. ”Now, with Wrigley adding to theirs... It's frightening, isn't it?”

”It always is,” Barbara said.

Later, walking by the river, she thought of her own words and knew them to be true. There was always the possibility of losing, of course, and she had lost cases, enough to make her super-cautious. There was always the possibility of an innocent defendant being found guilty.

The air was still and warm, too warm to be comfortable, and humid. But the bike path was well used regardless of weather, and it was busy that evening. She skirted a group of youngsters picking blackberries, eating them as fast as they picked them. Their hands were purple. Then she was visualizing the wall of blackberry brambles behind Marchand's house on the south-facing edge of the mowed area. Those berries must be dead ripe, she thought, and slowed her brisk walk so abruptly that a couple with a toddler b.u.mped into her, laughing their apology. The child was setting their pace. She moved out of the way and watched them continue up the path.

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