Bury the Lead (21 page)

• • • • •

I
BELIEVE THAT
R
OSALIE
was Eliot Kendall’s missing sister. Eliot had said his sister had never been found, but I think he was lying and that he had learned where she was. I also believe he hired Lassiter to kill her, and to kill the others as a way of deflecting attention.

I have to wait until four
P.M
. to find out if I’m right. It’s like waiting for a jury verdict. People are going to march in and tell me whether or not Eliot Kendall is guilty of murder. They won’t be doing it as part of a decision they’ve reached, but rather with the information they’ve spent the day gathering. But I feel just as powerless as when I’m waiting for a jury verdict: The final result is in the hands of others.

By three-thirty Kevin, Sam, and Vince have arrived. Only Vince hasn’t brought the answers with him; they are being dug out of the Cleveland newspaper archives and being faxed directly to me. Laurie puts out food and drinks, and we begin.

Sam has done his usual amazing job of digging information out of that bewildering world inhabited by computers and the geeks that run them. He has come up with a copy of the recently deceased Byron Kendall’s will, which is part of the public record because it involved a significant transfer of ownership of Kendall Industries, a publicly traded company. Byron, whose wife, Cynthia, died eight years ago, split his entire fortune evenly between his two children, Eliot and Tina. It notes that Tina has been missing for seven years and that if she is not found within three more years, she is to be considered deceased for the purpose of the document. In that case, Eliot would become the sole heir. As best as Sam can tell from his computer snooping, the total value of the estate is six hundred million dollars.

Kevin’s job was a lot easier: simply to get a list of all visitors that Daniel saw at the prison, as well as the dates he saw each of them. He shows that to us, and it’s consistent with our theory, but now we have to wait for Vince’s information to be faxed.

We sit by the fax machine, watching it and waiting for it to ring. This is not the most fun I’ve ever had, and by six-thirty I want to slam the silent machine against the wall. Finally, it rings, and the material from the
Cleveland Plain Dealer
starts to come through. As requested, they have sent all their stories on the disappearance of Tina Kendall those seven years ago. Included are the stories Daniel wrote, and as Eliot described them, they were compassionate and not exploitive.

Some of the stories included photographs, and one of them shows the entire Kendall family, two years before Tina’s disappearance and one year before Cynthia’s death. In the picture are Tina, Eliot, Byron, and Cynthia. It is impossible to tell if the young Tina is the same girl as the one found slain behind the Dumpster. But there is no doubt that Cynthia Kendall is the woman whose picture is in the locket.

The group now turns to me to hear my theory on what has taken place. I caution them that there is much I don’t know, but I lay it all out to see if they can poke holes in it.

“Vince, I’m sorry, but I believe that Daniel hired Lassiter to have his wife killed.” Vince winces slightly when he hears this, but he doesn’t answer, so I continue. “And when Lassiter didn’t successfully frame someone else for the murder, Daniel withheld some of the payment. If you’ll remember, Marcus reported that someone else was originally charged with the crime, but the case fell apart. I think this was because Lassiter was sloppy.

“Meanwhile, Eliot’s father was dying, and Eliot wasn’t about to risk sharing the six hundred million with a sister that ran away. He tracked her down and then decided to kill her.

“Cindy Spodek of the FBI told me today that Kendall Industries has long been suspected of having mob ties and that it’s assumed they’ve laundered money. Eliot must have used these connections to hire Lassiter to murder his sister, cutting off her hands so she couldn’t be identified. Eliot would then wait the three years to get her removed from the will.

“Lassiter, whether on his own or with Eliot’s approval, murdered the other women to deflect attention from the main target, Rosalie. Then, to get revenge against Daniel, Lassiter set him up to be the fall guy. I’m sure he found it fit together quite well.”

Laurie asks, “So the entire time Daniel was communicating with the killer, he knew it was Lassiter?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I think he found out the night of the Padilla murder, which is why he didn’t call the police when he got the cell phone call. I think Daniel went to the park hoping to kill Lassiter himself.”

“So why did Lassiter kill the fifth victim, which let Daniel off the hook?” Kevin asks.

“Here I’m guessing, but I think it’s a good guess. In court the day Calvin let in the murder scene pictures of the previous victims, Daniel asked for their files. I think that’s the day he recognized Rosalie. The day he put it all together.”

Kevin nods and quickly thumbs through the logs showing visitation to Daniel at the prison. “And he saw Eliot at the prison the next day.” I can hear the excitement in his voice.

“Right. Daniel pieced it together and told Eliot that if he didn’t get him off, he would reveal Rosalie’s identity to the world. Eliot had Lassiter do another killing, which ensured Daniel’s freedom.”

“But Lassiter wasn’t about to let Daniel walk away, so he killed him at his house,” says Laurie.

“And then Eliot killed Lassiter so there couldn’t be a link back to him,” says Kevin.

I nod. “Except for Sondra. It’s why Rosalie was killed in her apartment and the place was ransacked. Eliot was looking to eliminate any possible connections between Rosalie and her real family. It’s also why there were two attempts on Sondra’s life; Eliot was covering another base on the chance that she knew something.”

As I’m talking, another piece clicks into place. “You know, Eliot met Sondra in my office, and Willie and I both noticed he was staring at her. What I think he was really staring at was her locket. He recognized it, and it was soon after that he tried to have her killed. Which is why the killer grabbed at her neck.”

We continue talking, and I can feel myself, as well as the others in the room, grow more excited. Eliot wasn’t here out of concern for Daniel; he was here to monitor the situation. It’s why he offered help; he wanted to be as close as he could to the source of information.

We’ve figured it out, I’m sure of it, and it’s a damn good feeling.

It’s left to Sam Willis to bring us crashing down. “So what are you going to do about this?”

For a group with all the answers, we shut up mighty fast. Eliot seems to have covered all the bases; the only ones who could testify against him, Daniel and Lassiter, are gone. Through DNA we can conclusively prove that Rosalie was Eliot’s sister, but we have no concrete evidence at all that he paid for her murder.

Laurie thinks we have an obligation to turn this information over to Captain Millen, and while I’m sure she is right, I want to think things through first. I feel like our advantage, slim as it may be, is that Eliot doesn’t know we are onto him. As long as our information stays within our group, we possess the element of surprise, and I’m not ready to give that up yet.

The group leaves at a little after midnight, and Laurie and I stay up for another hour or so talking about the situation some more. As a longtime criminal attorney, I’ve seen some pretty awful things, but the fact that so many women were brutally murdered as nothing more than a smoke screen sets a new standard.

Eliot Kendall is a scumbag, the lowest of the low, and I am going to bring him down.

All I have to do is figure out how.

• • • • •

M
Y PLAN IS NOT EXACTLY
brilliant, but after twenty-four hours of intensive thinking, it’s the best I can do. I’ve gathered our group together again this evening to present it, first asking if anyone else has come up with anything.

Vince volunteers to “kill the son of a bitch,” but other than that, everyone seems to want to hear what I have to say. So I say it.

“I’ll call Eliot, tell him I want to see him about something related to the case, but I won’t let on that there is anything wrong. When we meet, I’ll tell him what I know, make him believe I have evidence to go to the police, and try and blackmail him.”

“Blackmail him?” asks Kevin, making no effort to hide his incredulousness at my plan. “Why would you possibly blackmail him?”

“So I can get him to incriminate himself,” I say. “I’ll be wearing a wire.”

Laurie seems less impressed than Kevin. “Andy, this isn’t a TV movie. You try wearing a wire, you’ll electrocute yourself.”

Next, it’s Vince’s turn. “Andy, this guy is responsible for at least six murders. He killed Tommy Lassiter himself. What if he decides to make you number seven?”

We kick it back and forth for a couple of hours. Nobody is crazy about my plan, not even me, but the advantage it has is that it’s the only plan we’ve got. We decide to try it, with the understanding that if it doesn’t work quickly and smoothly, we turn everything over to Captain Millen.

“And the press,” Vince hastens to add.

Laurie is going to go to Cleveland with Marcus, where they will await my arrival. Their job will be to listen in on the wire, but more important, to protect me if things go wrong. Which they very well could.

I don’t sleep much, trying to decide how I should approach Eliot. It has to be a matter significant enough to make me travel to Cleveland, but not ominous enough to alert him to any danger.

In the morning I walk Tara and then go to the office. It would seem more natural for the call to be coming from there. Eliot isn’t there when I call, but he gets back to me within ten minutes.

“Andy,” he says, his voice open and friendly, “I didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s up?”

“I didn’t see you at Daniel’s funeral, and I—”

His tone goes somber on me, the grieving friend. “I took it pretty hard . . . I just couldn’t stay around anymore. I mean, after all that he went through, after all you did, after he got
off
, for him to die like that . . .”

“It was terrible,” I agree.

“Any news about who might be responsible?” he asks, trying to sound conversational.

“Could be. That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“Oh?”

“I have reason to believe Walter Castle may have been behind it after all. I know you had your investigators checking into him, so I wondered—”

He interrupts. “They really didn’t come up with anything important.”

“Maybe so, but maybe it would look different in the light of the information I have. I’d like to fly out and sit down with you about it.”

“It must be important to you,” he says.

“I hate to see a killer go unpunished.”

We make a plan to meet tomorrow evening, and he agrees to my request to maintain “discretion” by meeting at my hotel. I’ve already made a reservation, and Laurie and Marcus will be in the adjoining room. I chose the hotel Marcus had stayed in before; he knows the layout, it’s near a Taco Bell, has no spa, but does have an ice machine.

Laurie and I go out to Charlie’s for dinner, and we talk about everything but the trip to Cleveland. We’ve already worked out the arrangements, purchased the recording equipment, and made our plans, so there doesn’t seem to be anything more to say. In any event, if there is, neither of us wants to say it.

It isn’t until we get into bed that Laurie says, “I’m concerned about this.”

“Don’t be. If I’m too virile for you, I’ll stop and give you time to rest.”

“Let me see if I understand this,” she says. “You’re making a bad sex joke? Now?”

“I didn’t think it was so bad, but it was definitely a sex joke. I thought it was pretty funny.”

“Andy, I’m worried about you. This guy is dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself,” I say.

“Since when?”

That didn’t go too well, so I try another approach. “You and Marcus will be there.”

“I guess . . . ,” she says uncertainly. “But there will be a wall between us. If anything goes wrong, if you suspect anything, you holler as loud as you can.”

“I will. I promise.”

She leans over and kisses me. “Good night, Andy.”

She then rolls over to go to sleep, clearly playing hard to get. “You know,” I say, “men can relax themselves by making love the night before they go into battle.”

“Good for them. Good night, Andy.”

“Good night.”

Within seconds, I can tell by her breathing that she’s already asleep. I guess women deal with impending battle differently.

Laurie and Marcus are on an eight
A.M.
flight the next morning, and I spend the hours before my three
P.M.
flight hanging out with Tara. I’m a little nervous, not too bad, and being with Tara calms me even more.

I get to the airport with plenty of time to spare, but I find myself sitting in coach next to a fat woman with a baby. The daily double of annoying. I had always said that if I ever became rich I still wouldn’t fly first-class, that the much higher fare is a total rip-off. Now that I am rich, I think it’s time to reassess my position.

I’ve checked a bag, since it seemed much easier than dragging it through security as a carry-on. When we land, I go to baggage claim, where the limo driver I had arranged for is waiting for me with a sign bearing my name. Wealth does have its privileges.

We get the bag and are in the car within fifteen minutes. I tell the limo driver the name of the hotel, and we’re off.

“Have a good flight, Mr. Carpenter?”

I nod, since he’s looking at me through the mirror. “Not bad, if you don’t count the fat woman and the baby.”

He laughs. “One of those, huh?”

“One of those.”

I’ve never been to Cleveland before, but the little I’ve seen so far is unimpressive, so I turn to my notes, trying to anticipate the conversation with Eliot. My chances of leading him into an admission are small, and I’m only going to have the one chance. I’ve got to take my best shot.

I feel the car pulling into the right lane, apparently to make a right turn. I look up, and my first impression is that we don’t appear to be heading toward the city. Suddenly, the door next to me is jerked open and another man gets in the seat alongside me.

As the automatic door locks shut, the new passenger says, “Hello, Andy.”

“Hello, Eliot,” I say as fear surges through my body. “What are you doing here?”

“The real question is, what are you doing here? Maybe to trip me up? Or blackmail me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” is the lame line I come up with. I’m finding that the petrified mind does not think too clearly.

“You’re not here to talk about Walter Castle, that’s for sure.”

My mind processes the fact that no matter what he says, it’s not going to help, because I’m not yet wearing the wire. But even if I were, it wouldn’t help me, because Laurie and Marcus would have no way of knowing where I am. I look toward the limo driver, who’s listening but not reacting; obviously, he’s with Eliot.

“How did you find out about Tina, Andy? How did you know she was my sister?”

“Who’s Tina? Come on, Eliot, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like it.”

He laughs. “It’s only going to get worse, I assure you. You see, here’s your mistake, Andy. I am hot shit in this town; I know everything there is to know. So when you go to my hometown newspaper to get stories about Tina, then I know what you know. Get it? So don’t insult me with any more of your bullshit.”

“The problem for you is that the cops know where I am and why.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so; this doesn’t feel like a police operation. I think you’re the Lone Ranger here, Andy.” He laughs again. “Except you forgot your silver bullets.”

I look out the window and see that we’re in the countryside, a run-down area of trailer homes and poorly maintained farms. This is where I’m going to die. The fear is so palpable that I am in danger of throwing up.

“There’s a record of where I am. They’ll piece things together.”

He points to the limo driver. “He looks like you, doesn’t he, Andy? He’s going to fly back on your ticket. His fellow passengers won’t look closely enough; they’ll say it was you. So you obviously got killed when you got back home.”

The car pulls to a stop near what look like run-down warehouses, maybe farm storage buildings, I can’t tell. For the life of me, and I mean that literally, I can’t figure out what to do.

“Get out, Andy.”

The door locks pop up, allowing me to open the door. I get out, then notice that the driver is already out and is pointing his gun at me. Eliot gets out after me.

My back is to an open field, and I steal a glance at it to judge whether I’d have any chance making a break for it.

Eliot reads my mind. “Think you can make it, Andy? There’s a lot of open space.”

I can hear the driver chuckling as I consider it. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I’d rather we could talk this out.”

“Be serious,” he says, then points to the field. “Go on, I’ll give you a five-second head start.”

I look at the field again. “No,” I say, and then I take off running. I move in a ridiculous zigzag pattern, hoping to make them miss. Ray Charles couldn’t miss from this distance.

I’m running, cringing, and audibly moaning all at the same time, waiting for the burst of fire that will cut me down. All I hear behind me is Eliot laughing, as he must be slowly raising his gun.

A burst of gunfire crackles in the air, and I tense, bracing for the metal that will tear into my body. I don’t feel anything, and for one bizarre moment I try to figure out which is faster, the speed of sound or the speed of a bullet.

I keep running as fast as I can. If they missed once, they can miss again. But I don’t hear any more firing. I’m not yet confident; there is no reason to think they’ve let me off the hook. But as long as I’m alive, I’m going to do all I can to stay that way.

“Hey, asshole, get back here!”

The voice isn’t Eliot’s but it sounds familiar. I continue running but turn at an angle where I can quickly look back to where the car is.

There are now two cars there, two men standing, and two lying on the ground. One of the guys on the ground is dressed like Eliot. I can’t tell who the two guys standing are, but they called me “asshole,” so they must know me. If they wanted to kill me, they could have easily done so already, so I hesitantly walk back toward them.

As I get closer, I can see that the other man on the ground is the limo driver. The two standing are Gorilla and Driver, the men who work for Petrone who took Marcus and me to his house that night.

“You saved my life,” I say.

“No shit,” says Driver.

“Petrone sent you,” I say.

“No shit.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Driver shrugs. “We didn’t. We were after him.” He points to the very dead Eliot.

“How did Petrone know about him?” I ask. Getting information out of Driver is not the easiest thing in the world.

“Your pain-in-the-ass friend.”

I realize immediately whom he is talking about. “Vince.”

“No shit.”

Driver offers me a ride back, and we wait while Gorilla digs an enormous grave to put the two bodies in. He does so with a minimum of effort; Gorilla is one strong guy.

“You might want to avoid mentioning this to anyone,” says Driver. “Or he’ll be digging a hole for you.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“That’s a first.”

They drive me back to the city. Very little is said on the way, though Gorilla remembers, “Your fucking dog bit my leg.”

“I’ll speak to her about it as soon as I get back. I’m sure she’ll send you a note of apology.”

They drop me off on the outskirts of town, and I take a cab to the hotel. Laurie has been frantic with worry, but Marcus seems to have handled it well.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks.

I tell them the whole story, though I come off somewhat more heroic in the telling than I did in real life. For instance, in my version I had thrown Eliot to the ground and was about to disarm him when Driver and Gorilla showed up.

She listens patiently, then asks, “You want to tell us the real story?”

“Not particularly.”

Marcus doesn’t seem mesmerized by my account. Midway through it he gazes out the window toward the Taco Bell that he insisted be near the hotel. “You guys hungry?” he asks.