Suspicion of Malice (50 page)

"Porter has fifty-one percent. He can outvote me.
Basically, he can do what he wants." Dub sat in his
chair watching her explode. Enjoying it, the bastard.

"Stall him! All we have to do is
wait."

"Yeah, I've been hearing that song for months
now. The cancer's in remission. Porter could outlive
both of us."

"Remission? Is that what he told you? No, Dub. No." Liz sat in a chair and rested her elbows on the
desk, supporting her head in her hands. "Do you know what an unresectable tumor is? That means
they can't operate. He has one in his liver. Chemo won't do any good. He may not last out the month."

Dub stopped swiveling his chair back and forth.
"Jesus. Who the hell told you that? Claire?"

"God, no. Claire will deny he's even sick. A few weeks ago I asked the insurance agent for a favor— call Porter's doctor. He's going to die, Dub. Don't let
him sign anything. Call Broward Marine and give
them some excuse. Say we've got loans outstanding
that don't show up on the books. Say our orders
are off."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"If he found out—"

"Screw if he finds out! Do it first thing Monday
morning." Liz picked up a stack of computer print-
outs and slammed them back down on his desk.
"And I want those goddamn accountants out of here.
Can't you see what Anthony Quintana is after?
Can't you?"

Dub stared up at her. "Yeah, Porter is nuts, and he
thinks Roger was ripping him off, and he wants—"

"No! It's Claire. Claire hired him, not Porter. That crap about Roger is bullshit. Claire wants this com
pany sold. She's the one, not Porter. She must have
known
Broward Marine was going to make an offer.
Claire wants this company valued by someone
from outside."

"Why?"

"The money! Are you blind? If Porter dies, the
shares go to you. If he votes to abolish the corpora
tion and sell the assets, and
then
he dies, all the
money goes to Claire. Not you, Dub. Claire. All you
get is your fucking forty-nine percent."

"Minus our corporate liabilities," he said, "but it's still a nice piece of change. Lizzie, I don't
want
the
company. I'm sick of it, to tell you the truth."

She was speechless for a minute.
"How
can you
say that? It's for your family. For Sean. The girls
aren't interested, but Sean is. He'll run the company
someday. Sean and his children. It's for them, Dub. Stop thinking about yourself for once."

Dub was laughing. "My God, this is too much. Too
much. Elizabeth, you were bom in the wrong cen
tury. You'd be a match for Lucretia Borgia any day.
I'm just a way to get your son on the throne."

"Your
son, Dub. Yours too."

"No, he's all yours. You've seen to that. He thinks
I'm dog shit. Come on, Lizzie, why don't we sell the company? We'll have plenty of money. How much
do we need?"

Anger boiled up inside her, making her vision
blur. She clenched her fists. "The money isn't the
point.
I've been poor, and I could be again, but I
absolutely refuse, I will not allow, our children to
have no sense of who they are. They will have a
place. They will see the name Cresswell on a boat and know it means something. Yes, Sean, because
the girls don't care. You know where your son is
right now? In the computer room still working. He
wants
to take part. This is his birthright, and you
would let it go?"

Dub was rubbing his forehead, and his eyes were
hidden behind his hand.

She stood over him. "You know I'm right. You know I am. Kill the deal, Dub."

"Okay, fuck it." He dropped his hand to the arm
of the chair. "You handle it, Liz. I leave it all up
to you."

"Porter doesn't trust me. You have to do it."

"How?"

"We'll figure it out over the weekend." She wanted
to drop to the floor and weep with relief, but her voice was calm. "All we have to do is put him off
till he's too sick to sign anything. It won't be long."

Dub came out of his chair so fast Liz had to move
back. He stacked the records and correspondence and put them in a drawer. He grabbed his jacket off the
end of the desk.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Out. Don't wait up."

"I was hoping we could all have dinner together."

"Not tonight."

"What do I tell Sean? He's expecting you. We're
having pizza and watching movies. All of us."

"Baby, he won't even notice." Dub patted her
cheek. "You two have a good time. Don't wait up."

After he left, Liz stood like stone in the center of the room, then went to the window, looking down
into the nearly empty parking lot. A few seconds
later Dub came into view and got into his shiny red
Corvette. A ridiculous car for a man his age. He
drove too fast in it. He sometimes drove drunk. She imagined his car going over an expressway embank
ment, bursting into flames. She knew that one day
he would leave her. Knew it. And knew she would
have to do something, but not yet. Just wait. Wait.

The guard at the entrance waved from the shack,
and the chain-link gate rolled back. The Corvette braked, then turned and vanished at the corner. Still staring out the window, regathering her senses, Liz
saw someone else come out from under the awning
at the front of the building. A solidly built young
man. His shadow stretched out in front of him. He crossed the parking lot and at the street turned left toward the river, going out of sight behind the ware
house at the edge of the property. A hundred yards
farther on was the long tin roof of the boat shed. The
setting sun had turned it deep orange.

Feeling a nudge of panic, Liz ran downstairs and
got into her cart, still parked by the front of the build
ing. She whirled it around and went across the lot.
The guard saw her coming and opened the gate. She
waved at him and went the same way Sean had
gone. There were no other vehicles on the dusty
dead-end street, only a couple of trucks parked off
to the side. A line of palm trees marked the Cresswell
docks.

Sean was walking with his head down, staring at
the pavement. Liz stopped the cart just ahead of him.
"Hi, honey. Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. Just taking a walk."

"Not in this neighborhood. It will be dark soon.
Get in. I'll take you back."

"Jesus, Mom, I've been inside all day! I wanted
some air, okay?"

"Get in. Please. I need to talk to you."

He scowled at her but did as she asked. She pulled ahead a few more yards and parked between two of the palm trees. Turning to look at him directly, she
said, "Sean, something's wrong. What is it? You know you can tell me anything."

"Nothing's wrong."

"I can see it, honey. What happened? Some trouble
with a girl?"

Sean stared straight ahead.

"Please let me help. Whatever's wrong, it's be
tween you and me. You know I have never betrayed you." As she watched him, his face reddened, then twisted. His eyes squeezed shut. His chest rose and
fell in great, heaving sobs, a man's sobs. "Sean?
You're scaring me. What happened?"

He told her, and her breath stopped. He had gone
to Jack's the night of the party, going in the back way
to find Bobby Gonzalez and borrow a few dollars. He
had stumbled over Roger's body, still warm. He had taken the wallet out of Roger's pocket, the Rolex off his wrist.

Sean inhaled a breath through clenched teeth. "I
don't know why I took the stuff. That's all I did. I didn't kill him. I didn't. You've got to believe me."

Liz put her arm around his shoulders. "Yes, of course I believe you. Did you see anyone?" When Sean shook his head, she asked, "What did you do with his things? Where are they?"

"Somebody stole the Rolex. I went to South Beach
that night, and I was wearing the watch. About five
guys jumped me in an alley. They had knives and
said if I didn't give up the watch, they'd kill me."

"Oh, God. That's where you got the bruises on
your cheek. I was afraid of something like that." She touched his face, which he rarely permitted. Razor stubble rasped under her fingers. He was only nine
teen, but too soon a man. She said quietly, "What about the wallet?"

Sean reached into his pocket and withdrew a black
leather wallet that Liz had never seen before. She
took it from him, opened it. Roger's face looked back
at her. Blond, smiling. She felt her stomach tense. She
shoved the wallet into her pocket.

"I was going to throw it in the river. I'm sorry I
took it. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do." Sean
wiped his nose on his shoulder, dampening his shirt. "Don't make me talk to the cops. Please, Mom. They
might revoke my probation. I'd go to jail."

"I won't tell the police."

"What about Dad? Are you going to tell him?"

"No. We're going to forget this ever happened.
Now listen to me. You never went to Jack's house.
You never saw Roger. You must keep this the dark
est, deepest secret in the world. All right? You left
our house that night around eleven o'clock, just as we told the police, and you drove straight to the
beach. You never went anywhere else. Do you understand? Okay, now tell me. Where did you go? After
you left our house, where?"

"I went to the beach."

"That's right." She squeezed his hand. She wanted
to hug him, but he would be embarrassed. "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry. Nothing will ever
hurt you. I swear. Whatever happens, I'll take care
of you. You believe me, don't you? Sean?"

"Yes. I believe you."

"I love you very much, Sean. No one will ever
love you as much as I do." Liz turned the key in the
golf cart. "Come on. I'll take you to your car. I want
you to go home now."

"What are you going to do?"

She turned the wheel, and the cart hummed back
toward the boat yard. "I have to finish some pa
perwork. Do you have any money with you?" He
said he did. "Why don't you go pick out two or three
movies and order a pizza? I'll pay you back when I
get home. I won't be long."

Liz didn't know what she would do, but something would come to her. It had to.

She found Ted Stamos moving boxes out of his office
in the assembly building and stacking them up on the mezzanine floor they called the catwalk. He
would start his new job next week. Porter had arranged for Ted to have his own secretary and a company car. His office would be in the executive suite. Ted had said he wanted to set it all up tonight so it
would be waiting for him when he came in on
Monday.

Ted was maneuvering a hand truck under a stack
of cardboard boxes that he had set by the railing on
the catwalk. Each was marked Stamos in his uneven
handwriting. At a distance, he could pass for a man in his twenties. Wide shoulders and narrow hips.
Brown hair sticking out over his forehead. Seen
closer, his lean, sun-browned face showed the lines
of thirty-seven years.

Liz pulled the wallet out of her pocket and
dropped it onto the top box, flipping it open. Ted
leaned over, curious, frowning at the picture on the
driver's license. "What— Holy shit." Liz went into
his old office and Ted followed, closing the door. The
air conditioner rattled away in a corner.

As if someone might hear them in this deserted
place, he whispered, "Where the hell did you get
that?"

She told him.

Ted fell heavily into his desk chair, an old brown
relic on casters. "Did your boy see anything?"

"No. You were damned lucky. Give me your hand
kerchief." Liz intended to clean off the wallet and
every piece of plastic inside it. "I told Sean never to
mention this again."