Fatal Identity (28 page)

“But you don't remember it?”

Jerry shook his head. “Not at all. It's a complete blank. He told me about one time when I picked a fight with a guy at a bar, and it turned into a regular brawl. It must have been true, because I woke up the next morning with a black eye.”

“But you're not a violent guy, Jer. Picking a fight is completely out of character for you.”

“I know.” Jerry sighed. “That's what's so scary. I could handle it, if it was just a fight in a bar, or acting weird at a party. Everyone gets a little crazy once in a while, right?”

“That's true.”

“But last week, I got out a jacket I hadn't worn in a couple of months, and I found a necklace in the pocket. I didn't recognize it, and I have no idea how it got there. And this morning, at the office, I was cleaning out some files, and I found a picture of Mercedes Calder wearing that same necklace.”

Beau frowned. “Look, Jer. You were Mercedes's agent. Maybe she asked you to keep it for her.”

“Maybe. But the point is, I don't remember it at all. And I'm not sure that's what happened. You see, I used to be a guest at Mercedes's house quite often. If I was there, and I went into one of my crazy periods, I could have
stolen
that necklace!”

“That may be true,” Beau agreed. “But chances are you didn't. There's probably some perfectly reasonable explanation of how that necklace got in your pocket.”

“Maybe, but there's no way to ask Mercedes now. And that means I'll never know what happened. I'm just not sure what I should do.”

“Return it, and say she left it at your office. You stuck it in a drawer, meaning to return it the next time you saw her, but you forgot all about it. No one will be the wiser.”

Jerry nodded. “That's exactly what I was planning to do . . . until I got the bank statements.”

“What bank statements?”

“Hers. Since I was her business manager, the bank always sent the statements to me. I guess I'm still on their mailing list, because the statements came today. I was going to send them over to Sam Abrams's office. He's handling all that now. But I opened them to see if some checks I'd written had come in, and I noticed that almost sixty thousand dollars had been transferred to that account, and then withdrawn.”

“I don't see why you're concerned, Jer.” Beau frowned. “Brad probably withdrew the money to pay some outstanding bills. Or perhaps Marcie did.”

“That's just it, Beau. They didn't. These were cash withdrawals, and Brad always pays the household bills by check. And I know Marcie didn't withdraw any money, because she mentioned she'd never been to the bank.”

Beau nodded. “Okay. But I don't see the problem, Jer. All you have to do is to ask the bank who signed the withdrawal slips.”

“I did.” Jerry looked very upset. “I called the bank immediately. And they told me the withdrawals were made in Brad's name.”

Beau looked puzzled. “Okay. So Brad withdrew the money. Why is that a problem?”

“Maybe he didn't. There are two other people who had the right to sign Brad's name. Sam Abrams had Brad's power of attorney. He's the family lawyer. He could have signed it.”

Beau nodded. “Did he?”

“I haven't had the guts to call him and ask. You see, there was another person who had the legal right to sign Brad's name. His business manager. And that's me.”

Beau looked at Jerry with sudden understanding. “You're afraid you withdrew all that money when you were in one of your blank periods, and now you don't remember it?”

“Exactly. And if I
did,
I can't find any record of where it's gone. No big deposits to my checking account, no major purchases, no cash stashed around the house. Nothing.”

Beau nodded. “I can understand why you're so upset. But you're jumping the gun, Jer. You've got to ask Sam Abrams whether he withdrew that money before you start blaming yourself.”

Jerry nodded and stood up. “I will. First thing tomorrow. Thanks for listening, Beau. You've been a real friend. But now I think I'd better go home and get some sleep. I'm starting to get another headache.”

“Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?” Beau stood up, too. “I can stay with you, if it'll help.”

“Thanks, but I think I'd rather be alone.” Jerry shook Beau's hand and made his way to the door. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he didn't trust himself around anyone right now. He could have another blank period and do something horrible.

As Jerry got into his car and pulled out into traffic, his hands were shaking. He couldn't help wondering what else happened that he didn't remember. He could be a rapist, or even a murderer!

Suddenly, Jerry's hands started to shake so violently, he had to pull over to the curb. He was sure he'd stolen Mercedes's necklace. And it looked as if he'd taken her money. He had the combination to the security system because Brad had mentioned that they were using their anniversary as a code. What if Mercedes hadn't accidentally drowned in the pool? He could have murdered her in cold blood, and he'd never even know he'd done it!

CHAPTER 22

“That was a great dinner, Marcie.” Sam leaned back on the couch. “Are you sure you don't want me to help with the dishes?”

Marcie smiled as she stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. “No, thanks, Sam. I like to putter around in the kitchen. Besides, you worked all day, while I just lazed around your place.”

“There's no way you lazed around today. Somebody made that delicious meat loaf, and those creamy scalloped potatoes, and that tasty spinach soufflé.”

“It didn't really take all that long.” Marcie's smile stretched to the limits. It was obvious that Sam had enjoyed her cooking. “The only thing that took any time was the homemade apple pie.”

“Homemade apple pie?” Sam made his way to the kitchen. “How did you know that was my favorite?”

Marcie turned to grin at him. “The twins told me. They said that Rosa always made apple pie when you came over for dinner, so I grabbed her recipe before we left the house.”

“Smart thinking. Did you get any ice cream?”

“French vanilla. Rosa wrote a note on her recipe card. See?”

Sam looked down at the card. It said,
A la mode French vanilla for Mr. Sam
. Then he sighed with regret. “I don't know if I can handle my usual serving tonight. I really made a pig of myself with the meat loaf.”

“What's your usual serving?”

“Three pieces.” Sam's eyes widened as Marcie took the pie from the oven, where it had been warming, and set it on the table. It was golden brown on top, and juice had bubbled up through the little slits she'd cut in the crust. Suddenly, the whole kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of apples and cinnamon and nutmeg, and Sam groaned as he broke off a piece of flaky crust and let it melt in his mouth. “On second thought, maybe I'll go for it. Start me with one and see what happens.”

 

 

He looked at the gates in the distance with longing. He didn't like being on the outside, but he knew it was no longer safe to hide himself in the labyrinth. Something was different. Something was wrong. No cars had gone in or out since he had been here, and that was very unusual. The green panel truck was late. It always brought the fresh produce for her dinner. And the man who delivered the meat hadn't come today, either.

He moved a bit deeper into the trees, and watched the house through his binoculars. At first he had thought that she was there, but now he knew better. The little mannerisms he loved were missing. This one didn't push her hair back from her neck with her left hand, or open the kitchen door with her foot. She didn't bend from the waist when she picked up the newspaper, and she failed to tuck her feet up when she sat in the chair. This was not her. It was her stand-in, who walked through the house and pretended to read in the chair. Her stand-in postured in front of the window and ran useless water in the sink.

There were other people in the house who didn't belong there, either. He'd caught a brief glimpse of a man in the shadows when she had opened the door, and where there was one man, there would be more. The men were concealed very well, but he knew the house and where they were hiding. One by the pool; he had seen the bushes move with more than the winter wind. And another in her bedroom, behind her sea green drapes. The binoculars had shown him the tips of two shiny black shoes. A third was in the den, behind the couch. He had seen her turn to talk to him. And the fourth had a place in the hallway, behind the door. That was why she had been very careful not to open it all the way.

He knew he had to be cautious. The shadowy men and her stand-in were performing the drama of her life. This was the trap they'd planned that night in the den, the trick to catch a killer. But the husband would be smart enough to stay out of the trap. He was sure of that.

He huddled at the base of a tree, and let the binoculars drop to hang from their strap around his neck. The woods were cold and damp, and he was glad he'd worn a warm coat. He would not move until it was absolutely necessary. Only then would he let himself in through the gates, and perform his part in their scenario.

 

 

They had just finished watching
Moulin Rouge,
and Marcie dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Then she smiled at Sam. “I just love that last scene. And it makes me cry every time I see it. John Huston was a great director, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was . . . although he did do a couple of films that weren't very successful.
Freud
comes to mind.”

“I've never seen that. Do you have it?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “They ran it once, at four in the morning, but I haven't seen it since. How about watching
Prizzi's Honor?
”

“I'd love to. I missed it when it came out. But don't you have to work tomorrow?”

“I cleared the decks today, so I'm not going in. And I think I'm too jumpy to fall asleep. Let's make another batch of popcorn and watch movies all night.”

“That's a wonderful idea!” Marcie smiled at him gratefully. “I know I couldn't sleep, either. I keep wondering what's happening at the house, and waiting for the phone to ring.”

“You find the movie. It's in the bookcase in the den, and all the titles are arranged alphabetically. I'll get the popcorn.”

Marcie glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway as she went to get the movie. It was only ten-thirty, and she sighed deeply. She'd hoped the killer would strike by now, and everything would be over. This would be a long, sleepless night, and she was glad she was here with Sam, and not alone in a hotel room.

The movie was right where Sam had said it would be, on the shelf between David O. Selznick's The
Prisoner of Zenda,
and Hitchcock's
Psycho
. Marcie grabbed it, and then she noticed another tape with a blue cover in the P section. It was labeled
Passover Seder with Zayda and Bubbe
. She pulled that out and carried both tapes to the living room. If they were going to stay up all night, they'd need more than one movie.

A few moments later, Sam came in from the kitchen carrying a huge bowl of popcorn. He set it on the table in front of the couch and smiled at her. “Here we are. Popcorn straight from the microwave. It's one of my few culinary talents.”

“It smells wonderful.” Marcie took a handful and munched. “And it's absolutely delicious. Do you have any other favorite recipes?”

Sam nodded. “Absolutely. I can heat bagels in the microwave, and I'm very good at thawing those frozen burritos you buy at the grocery store. And last week I perfected my recipe for grilled cheese sandwiches. All you do is toast the bread, put two slices of cheese between the slices, and nuke it for twenty-five seconds.”

“Oh, Sam.” Marcie giggled. “I think you need a wife.”

“I know that, honey. But you're taken.”

Marcie winced. She hadn't meant to start all that again. And Sam had called her honey. Of course, it was probably a slip of the tongue, but she'd be wise to change the subject, before it turned into an uncomfortable evening.

“I brought out two tapes, Sam.” Marcie picked up the tape in the blue cover, and turned to him with a bright smile. “I've never seen
Passover Seder with Zayda and Bubbe,
either.”

Sam laughed so hard, he almost dropped the bowl of popcorn, and Marcie stared at him in confusion. “Did I say something funny?”

It took Sam a moment to stop laughing and then he nodded. “
Zayda
and
Bubbe
are the Yiddish words for grandfather and grandmother. It's a home movie, Marcie. My older brother filmed one of our Passover seders, and I transferred the film to video.”

“Are you in it?”

Sam nodded. “David's ten years older, so I'm just a toddler. It's not exactly a starring role. I spend the whole seder being passed from lap to lap and, at one point, I manage to get down and crawl around the table.”

“I'd like to see it. Do you have any more tapes of you, when you were growing up?”

Sam nodded. “David was quite the amateur filmmaker. I have videos of Sammie's first haircut, Sammie gets long pants, and Sammie in the first grade Thanksgiving pageant.”

“I want to see that one first!” Marcie grinned at him. “What part did you play in the pageant?”

“I'm afraid I was cast as a turkey. I had the best gobble in the class.”

“Don't feel bad about it,” Marcie giggled. “I didn't even have a speaking part. I was a stalk of corn.”

“But you have blond hair! That made you a natural. It was obviously typecasting.”

Marcie laughed. “I wouldn't talk, Sam. After all, you were a . . .”

“I know.” Sam interrupted her. “I put my foot in it that time. And some of my clients would definitely agree with you. Are you sure you want to watch all these old home movies? It could be pretty boring.”

Marcie shook her head. “It won't be boring. I'd like to see you as a little boy, Sam. I bet you were cute. Why don't you get that Thanksgiving one right now and show it to me.”

“Well . . . all right. As long as you sign an agreement promising never to mention it to another living soul. I was a terrible ham.”

“Turkey,” Marcie corrected him. “They didn't have ham at the first Thanksgiving dinner. Hurry up, Sam. I want to see it. And bring back everything else you have.”

Sam sighed as he got up from the couch, but Marcie noticed that he was smiling as he went off to the den to get the tapes. She felt a rush of affection for him, and for one brief moment, she felt a twinge of alarm. Was she being disloyal to Brad by liking Sam? But that was silly. There was no reason why they couldn't all be good friends. The twins adored Sam, and now that she'd gotten to know just how nice he was, she could easily understand why they'd wished their mother had married him.

 

 

Lisa Thomas paged through a magazine, but her eyes weren't on the pages. She was alert to any sound outside the windows. She knew the danger of getting too complacent on an assignment like this. After hours of inactivity, it was easy to relax and fail to notice the danger signs.

She got up and walked to the kitchen, intending to get a diet Coke out of the refrigerator. Then she remembered her briefing, and reached for juice instead. Marcie Calder never drank diet Coke. She wasn't engaged in the same Battle of the Bulge that Lisa was. But Marcie was fond of orange juice. Even though Lisa hated orange juice, she poured herself a big glass and forced herself to sip it with a smile on her face.

Lisa was about to go back to her chair and pretend to look through another magazine, when the beeper she carried in her pocket began to vibrate. She turned her back to the window, and spoke softly into the receiver. “Yes?”

The voice was low, little more than a whisper. “Blue Ford just went through the gates. Single white male in his mid-thirties, brown hair. He knew the combination.”

“Okay. Did you alert the rest of the team?”

“Affirmative. They're in position and standing by. Good luck, babe.”

Lisa felt her heart pound, and the adrenaline surged through her veins. This was it, the moment they'd all been waiting for. Even though she was nervous, she made herself turn calmly and walk toward the glass doors that led to the patio. They'd decided to stage their trap there, where the team could be concealed more easily.

Who was in the Ford? Lisa set her glass down on a nearby patio table, and positioned herself so she could see anyone approaching from the house. She pretended to be admiring the night, out for a casual stroll around the pool, but she was alert for any sound that wasn't a part of the natural night. It was difficult to pretend to be nonchalant when, at any given moment, the hired killer might strike.

Lisa took another deep breath and forced herself to stand immobile, staring calmly off at the rose garden. This type of assignment wasn't new to her. She'd been a decoy several times before. One had been a dope deal, when she'd posed as a desperate junkie looking for a fix. In another, she'd been a woman walking alone at night, a convenient target for a mugger who'd been working the area. The third decoy assignment had been for Vice, and she'd helped to catch a rapist. But her former assignments had been a walk in the park compared to this.

She moved around the shallow end of the pool, and sat down on a redwood bench. This was where she would stay until something happened. Since she could no longer see a reflection in the windows of the house, it was a blind position. She had to trust her life to her back-up team.

Lisa tried to convince herself that she was perfectly safe. Six good men were in place, and they were all crack shots. There was even a bonus. George Williams, himself, was concealed in the bushes at the deep end of the pool. And even though Detective Williams had been retired for over ten years, whenever cops got together, they still talked about some of the amazing collars he'd made.

So why was she nervous? Lisa gave a wry smile. Detective Williams wasn't sitting out here as an unarmed decoy. She was. And her life was on the line. Lisa Thomas could lose her life tonight, and it could happen at any second. All it would take was a carelessly aimed shot, or a moment of indecision, and she would be dead. But this was why she'd become a cop. To help people and to save lives. Marcie Calder's life was at stake tonight, as well as her own. If they didn't get him now, he'd try again.

Lisa prayed for something to happen. Anything. The suspense was almost unbearable. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement near the rose garden.