Death in a Major (20 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

H
ER WORDS SHOCK
ED
me into temporary silence. As she cried into the phone, I tried to wrap my mind around her revelation, but couldn't quite manage it. After several beats of silence on my part, I finally found my voice.

“I don't understand.” I sounded as baffled as I felt.

“He didn't do it,” Mrs. Duffy said as she sobbed. “He couldn't. Not my son.”

“Of course not.”

A muffled voice sounded in the background and Mrs. Duffy said, “I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“Thank you for calling,” I said quickly, getting the words in just before she hung up.

With the call over, I stared at my phone, still stunned.

Jordan, a murderer? No way.

Against my will, my brain analyzed the possibility.

My student certainly would have had access to the flask, and the presence of the
Brugmansia
plant out on his grandfather's patio meant he could easily have obtained the poison used by the killer. All he had to do was prepare the poison and slip it into the flask, ready for whenever his grandfather next took a swig or added a dollop to another drink. As for motive, maybe Jordan had grown tired of seeing his mother belittled by her father. Maybe he wanted her to have financial freedom as well as freedom from Archibald Major's bullying ways.

But although he had means, opportunity, and a possible motive, I still couldn't picture Jordan as a murderer. I'd known him since he was seven years old. It didn't fit. Jordan wasn't the type to harm anyone. I was sure of it.

So why had he confessed to the crime?

I didn't know, but I was determined to find out.

T
EN MINUTES LA
TER
I transferred to a different bus, one that would take me to the police station rather than my apartment. I doubted that my presence would please Salnikova or her colleagues, but I couldn't stay away. The thought of Jordan under intense interrogation or locked up with a bunch of hardened criminals chilled my blood. I didn't know what I could do to help him, but there had to be something.

As the bus rumbled along, numerous different thoughts clanged in my head, warring for my attention. It was like trying to think while stuck in a small room with several musicians, all playing different tunes, trying to outdo one another. I wanted to pull my hair out, but managed to stop myself. Instead I took a deep breath and did my best to focus. I needed to figure out the reason for Jordan's confession.

If he hadn't committed the crime—­and I believed that he hadn't—­then the only reason I could come up with for his confession was that he wanted to protect someone. And the only person I could imagine him wanting to protect to that degree was his mother.

Although Dr. Beaufort sat at the top of my current suspect list, perhaps Mrs. Duffy occupied the top spot on Jordan's. If that was indeed the case, I wondered if he merely suspected that his mother had killed her father or if he actually knew that to be the case.

As I'd already considered, Mrs. Duffy had the means and opportunity to poison the contents of Mr. Major's flask. She also had a motive, one that seemed far stronger than Jordan's. As soon as everything was finalized, she'd be a very wealthy woman. Her new money would give her the freedom to start a new life, free of her husband and any financial worries.

But did she really murder her father?

I didn't quite know how I could figure out the answer to that question, but I needed to find a way. The identity of the real killer had to come to light. Otherwise, Jordan could be at risk of getting locked away and having his life ruined over something he didn't do.

B
Y THE TIME
I pulled open the front door of the police station, morning had long ago turned into afternoon and my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten for hours. I couldn't let something as trivial as mild hunger distract me from my mission, though. On a scale of importance, helping Jordan far outranked my need for lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever meal would be most appropriate considering the time of day.

A middle-­aged ­couple and a thirty-­something woman wearing too much makeup sat in the reception room's plastic chairs, but I didn't spare them more than the briefest of glances. I proceeded straight to the desk and asked the man behind it if Detective Salnikova was in and if I could talk to her.

Without answering my questions, the man asked me to sit down and wait. I did so, but found it hard to sit still. I imagined Jordan in a back room, Salnikova and perhaps another detective grilling him on the details of Archibald Major's murder. I didn't like the idea one bit. While I knew Jordan would have an adult with him because of his age, I hoped he had a skilled lawyer with him too. Although, if he continued to insist that he committed the crime, I didn't know how much good legal representation would do for him.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing for the police to interrogate him, if that's what they were indeed doing. If there were details of the crime that he clearly didn't know or got wrong, perhaps the police would doubt the veracity of his confession. But how many details were there to know? It didn't strike me as an elaborate crime and I didn't know how much Jordan knew or didn't know.

Oh no.

Dread lumped in my stomach.

I'd told Jordan about the flask. Why did I share that detail with him? Why didn't I keep quiet?

All along I'd only wanted to help Jordan, but now it seemed I might have done far more harm than good. If he told the police that he'd put poison in the flask, and if that was indeed where the poison was found, that would make his confession seem more truthful. The police probably thought the killer was the only person other than themselves who knew the poison had been in Major's flask.

I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid. I never should have involved Jordan in my investigation in any way whatsoever. My fingers tugged at my left earlobe as my concern for my student increased. The police couldn't charge him with murder. The mere thought was too terrible to think about.

Just as I was about ready to drop my head into my hands in despair, the door to the side of the reception desk opened and Salnikova motioned to me to join her. I jumped up and followed her into the hallway.

“I'm afraid I don't have much time to spare today,” she told me as she led the way to her desk.

“I understand, but I had to talk to you about Jordan. Is he okay? You haven't charged him yet, have you?”

“Ms. Bishop.”

For the first time I noticed dark rings under her eyes and I wondered how much sleep she'd managed to get during the past week. Not much, by the look of it. And here I was trying her patience yet again. But I couldn't let my guilt over that interfere with my quest to help Jordan.

“Okay, I get it,” I said. “You don't want to tell me anything. Or you can't. But there's no way Jordan killed his grandfather. You have to know that.”

“I don't know that.” Salnikova sank down into her chair and gestured for me to take one of the empty seats on the other side of her desk. “And according to him, he did do it.”

“But he's lying. He has to be. Jordan would never hurt anyone.”

Salnikova sighed, a touch of sympathy showing in her eyes. “It's always hard to accept that someone you know could be a killer.”

I shook my head, unwilling to follow her in the direction she wanted to take the conversation. “If he said he put poison in his grandfather's flask, that's my fault. I told him that's where the poison probably was.”

Sharp scrutiny replaced the sympathy in Salnikova's eyes. “Why would you tell him that? What made you think that it was in the flask?”

I wasn't about to tell her that I'd eavesdropped on her conversation with Detective Bachman. “It makes the most sense,” I said instead. “If the poison was in the coffee or the champagne, more ­people would have been poisoned. It could have been put in Mr. Major's coffee cup, but that would have been trickier to do with so many ­people around. The flask was the most likely place for it, so I asked Jordan who'd had access to it.”

Maybe it was because she was tired, or maybe I'd simply crossed a line this time, but the detective didn't hide her annoyance with her usual impassive expression.

“You need to leave the investigating to the police, Ms. Bishop. I know you think you're helping, but you're not, especially when you interfere in the official investigation.”

“I know I shouldn't have said anything. I never should have involved Jordan, but I never imagined that he would confess to a crime he didn't commit.”

“Perhaps not, but I'm telling you now that you need to back off. I understand that you care about Jordan, but there's nothing you can do for him at the moment.”

I didn't want to give in. “But he's lying. And I'm sure he's doing it to protect his mother. I don't know if she killed her father or not, but I think Jordan believes that she did. He's trying to deflect your suspicion away from her.”

“As much as this might surprise you,” Salnikova said, “my colleagues and I have considered that angle.”

“You have? But then why is Jordan still in custody?”

“Because he still maintains he's guilty and, as of yet, we don't have enough reason to disbelieve him.”

“But . . .” I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't help but feel that I'd failed Jordan somehow.

“Go home, Midori,” Detective Salnikova said. “Let me do my job. If Jordan is innocent, that will be established in the end.”

I wished I could be as certain about that as she was. What if Jordan's false confession was enough to get him convicted? And even if he didn't end up going to trial for something he didn't do, how long would he have to languish in a detention center before the justice system realized he wasn't a killer and set him free? I hated the thought of him locked away, but I no longer had any idea how to help him.

Not knowing what else to do, I followed Salnikova's lead when she got up from her chair. She escorted me back in the direction of the reception area. As we made our way down the hallway, a door to our right opened and a tearful Mrs. Duffy came out of an interview room.

“Midori?” she said when she saw me. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I was worried about Jordan. Does he have a lawyer?”

“Yes, she's in with him right now.” She dabbed at her watery eyes with a crumpled tissue. “I don't understand. He keeps insisting that he did it, but of course he didn't. He couldn't have. So why does he keep saying that he did?”

Beside us, Detective Salnikova cleared her throat. “Mrs. Duffy, I'm afraid Midori is on her way out.”

As a fat tear rolled down Mrs. Duffy's cheek, I put a hand on her arm. “Why don't you step outside with me for a moment?”

Although I caught the flicker of disapproval that passed across Salnikova's face, I ignored it. If Mrs. Duffy wasn't the one under interrogation, I didn't see why I couldn't speak to her. The detective must not have had a good reason to prevent us from talking either, because she didn't voice her objections out loud.

Mrs. Duffy dabbed at her eyes again. “I'm not sure.”

I tucked my arm through hers. “Just for a minute or two. Maybe the fresh air will do you good.”

She didn't protest and allowed me to lead her through the reception area and out the front door. Salnikova returned to the back of the building and we stood out on the sidewalk, alone except for the occasional pedestrian passing by and the traffic on the street.

I knew Jordan's mother wouldn't want to be far from her son for long, so I wasted no time getting to the point. “Mrs. Duffy, I think Jordan might have confessed to protect you.”

“Me?” She wiped her nose with her tissue. “I don't understand.”

“I think he might believe that you killed your father.”

“What?” Her watery eyes widened. “But I didn't. Why would he think that?”

“You've been hiding something from him, haven't you?” I already knew the answer to that, but even if it had been a mere guess, the shifting of Mrs. Duffy's eyes would have provided enough confirmation. “He knows you have.”

“I'm in a relationship,” she confided. “I was worried Jordan would be upset that I'm not interested in getting back together with his dad. Nothing I've been hiding from him has anything to do with my father's death.”

“Maybe not, but Jordan doesn't know that. All he knows is that his grandfather was murdered and you've been acting strangely.”

“Oh no.” She leaned against the building and closed her eyes. “I never meant for any of this to happen. My poor Jordan.” She stifled a fresh sob. “What do I do? How do I get him out of this?”

“Start by telling him the truth. Maybe once he knows he doesn't need to protect you, he'll start telling the truth too.”

She nodded and straightened up. “Yes, it's time to tell him the truth. I just hope it's not too late for him, that he hasn't dug himself in too deep. And I hope he won't hate me for what I'm about to tell him.”

“I doubt that he will,” I said. “Remember, we're talking about the kid who confessed to murder likely to protect you.”

Mrs. Duffy dabbed her eyes one last time. “You're right. And whatever it takes to get him out of this mess, it'll be worth it.”

I gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you, Midori.”

“You're welcome. And I'm sorry about your brother.” While I was glad I no longer had to worry about Kevin, I still felt bad that Mrs. Duffy had lost another member of her family.

She nodded. “So am I.”

She was about to turn away but I stopped her, still curious about something.

“Before he confessed, Jordan was adamant that Kevin had killed your father. Do you think he wanted suspicion to fall on his uncle for the same reason as he confessed—­to protect you?”