The Fallen Angels Book Club (22 page)

“I want to talk about Rory's murder. I have an idea who murdered him.”

There was silence. Miller cleared his throat. “Who?”

I wanted to hang up the phone and run in the other direction. “Not over the phone. Would lunch tomorrow work for you?” Being around other people seemed like a good idea.

“I've got a better idea. I've got a three-thirty flight to L.A., day after tomorrow. How about meeting me at the airport for lunch?”

Airports have a lot of people
.

“Fine. I'll meet you at Gino's on the upper level at noon.”

I slept fitfully. The cast in my dreams included a large turtle that had Abby's blue eyes. He wore an oversized alarm clock and told me I was running out of time. He ran away but his clock clanged.

It was six o'clock in the morning. I shut off the alarm and got up.

On my break, I went back to the bank. I was on a slippery slope and didn't know how much time I had to find firm ground. Fortunately, this time the young woman I'd bumped heads with a few days ago was busy tormenting another customer. I approached a young man who appeared to be hiding behind his computer monitor.

“I'd like access to my safe-deposit box.”

His face filled with relief, as if he were glad I'd asked for something he knew how to do. Alone, I took out the contents: five pictures, divorce papers, prison release papers, my acceptance to Hastings and a small box. The police still had the chest I kept at home. I fanned through the photos. Four of them were of rooms in homes so Bill could provide his “fence” with a snapshot of coming attractions. I slipped them into a large envelope I had brought with me.

The last photo was of my family.
My family
. Rita's words about my family's view of me came back and my eyes glistened as if hearing them for the first time.
Breathe.
The safety deposit box held all my personal possessions. I had put them there when I knew I was going to prison. After I got out, keeping a safe-deposit box seemed like a smart precaution. No one could go through my things. It was silly, but I didn't want to lose my papers. The sparse collection of memories made me feel human. I didn't bother to open the small box that held my wedding ring. No, I dumped it all into the envelope and got up to leave. I had to believe I'd get through this.

It was time to move on.

The young bank assistant tapped away on his keyboard. After signing the forms to close out my box, I headed back to my office.

I wasn't planning on going away anymore.

I
slipped through the Triple D lobby, grateful that Emily was preoccupied on the reception phone. I hoped to talk to Mark, except he was busy on a conference call. Avery looked up as I walked by, but he hastily turned back to the work in front of him. Back in my office, he'd put Lily's trust documents in my basket for processing. She'd be pleased with Avery's work, but likely not with me. Avery was right. Next time I'd think twice about which candidates qualified for pro bono services.

“Hey, how's it going?” Mark asked moments later. “You wanted to see me?”

“Where have you been? I keep missing you.”

A hint of red crept up his neck. Could Rena have anything to do with it?

“I've been around. Why were you looking for me?”

“Are you ready for Avery? I think we should give him all our Riddick documents at the same time. It should be done today.”

“Today? You said we had more time. I guess I can pull everything together if I have to.”

“Good, then let's do it. We can make some brownie points with the boss.”

He sat and began playing with the paperweight on my desk. “Hollis, I think Rena is real nice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we've gone out to dinner and took in a concert at the amphitheater.” He put the paperweight down and started playing with the stapler. “You don't think she's involved in any of the book club mess, do you?”

“You mean, is she a suspect like me? No, I don't think so. She hasn't been a member long enough.”

“Good. Good and there's no conflict because I'm not a criminal attorney.”

“Yes, I know.”

His nervousness was amusing. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

“Okay, then. I've got to get back to work.” He got up, but not before he knocked over my phone.

I waved away his apologies. “Go. It's okay. I'll let Avery know we'll be ready for him.”

Luckily for Mark, the meeting with Avery went uneventfully. If Avery was impressed by our work performance, he didn't show it. The meeting conversation drifted and when the talk turned to fourth round draft picks, I departed for home.

There was a light tap at the front door. Often the kids behind my unit needed to go through my condo to my back patio to retrieve a ball. They always knocked, as if that would bother me less than if they used the doorbell.

I looked through the peephole. It wasn't neighbor kids. It was the police. I fought down alarm.

A uniformed female officer looked grim.

“Mrs. Lynley? My name is Officer Winton. I'm with the San Lucian Police Department; I'd like you to come with me to the Alameda County Sherriff's office.”

Weariness and wariness slipped over me. “My last name is Morgan. I took back my maiden name. Why do I need to go to downtown? What's this about? Am I being arrested?”

“No. Nothing like that. Sorry for frightening you. We need your help with an identification. One of our detectives thinks you can help.” The young woman turned halfway from me. Another uniformed officer stood at the curb in front of a marked police car. I knew for sure I'd be the topic of the next homeowner's association meeting.

“Who do you want me to identify?”

“Sorry, ma'am. I can't tell you because I don't know. My captain just sent us here to give you a ride to the station.”

“Since when does San Lucian PD offer carpooling?” I willed the comment back, but it was out there. It didn't seem to matter.

“I'll wait for you to get your things.”

Was I doomed to live a life on the speed dial of law enforcement? Sitting in the backseat, I was grateful they couldn't hear my thoughts. It only took a few minutes to arrive at the back entrance of a low white building located in the block next to the one that held Detective Faber's office.

Not surprisingly, it was Faber who stood in the lobby area talking to Lincoln.

“Ms. Morgan, thank you for helping us out.”

“Did I have a choice?”

His eyes met mine. “I ... we didn't mean it to be that way. We're working with Oakland PD on a case. Early this morning a body was discovered in an apartment in an unincorporated area near Kensington. We think you might know him.”

“A body I might know. Who?” My voice faltered.

“We ran the fingerprints. It's William Lynley. We'd like you to confirm it is, in fact, your ex-husband.”

I don't know who else I expected to identify, but I still found it hard to hear it was Bill. I nodded in shock and turned away from Detective Faber's questioning eyes. Detective Lincoln was ready for me and offered a box of tissue from a nearby desk.

I shook my head. I wouldn't show these men my tears. “My god, how did it happen?”

“He was shot.” Detective Faber sat on the edge of a desk. “The place had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Someone took great pains to ensure we wouldn't be able to identify the killer without going to some trouble.”

“Did one of your books have a shooting, too?” Detective Lincoln didn't hide his sarcasm.

“No.” Even if one had, I doubted I'd have had the strength to admit it.

Detective Lincoln ran his hand through his hair. “Well, finally that run is done.”

Detective Faber looked at his watch. “There was nothing in his apartment when we found him, except for an empty wallet and a phony driver's license. We think he was leaving town when he was confronted by his killer. Ms. Morgan, you'd be doing us a service if you'd identify the body. Will that be a problem?”

“No. No problem.” I closed my eyes for a moment. “I've never seen a dead body before, though.”

“Like I said, you'll be doing us a service.”

Nervousness gripped me as I walked into the cold metal-furnished chambers of the county morgue. Television came close, but nothing compared to the reality of a room filled with death. I looked down at Bill's ashen face and knew whatever spirit had made him Bill was gone. This man had ruined my life, but I let him. I said my goodbye to the Bill I once loved, not the Bill I saw now.

I nodded to Detective Lincoln, who lowered the sheet over his face and pushed the gurney to the side.

Gratefully, I allowed Detective Faber to lead me back to the hallway. We walked toward an interview room.

He stared at me. “When was the last time you saw your ex-husband, Ms. Morgan?”

It was his tone of voice that caught my attention. “The last time I came here to talk to you. I haven't seen him since.”

Lincoln stopped inside the doorway. “No kidding? Yet, you're the last person he dialed on his cellphone.”

“Well, I don't know about that. He told me he had his phone disconnected.” I walked in front of Detective Lincoln and sat down. I fought the rising nausea.

“Interesting. When did he tell you this? You didn't mention it at our last meeting.”

“He didn't tell me. He wrote me a letter. I forgot about it until just now.” I had to pull myself together before something very bad happened. “I told him I didn't want to ever see him again so he wrote me a letter.”

“Where's the letter?” Detective Lincoln asked.

“In my purse.”

Detective Faber held out his hand. “We'd like a look at it.”

My hand shook as I pulled out the paper. Detective Faber quickly read through it and handed it to Detective Lincoln.

Detective Faber spoke. “Ms. Morgan, we'd like to keep this letter. Do you have any idea about the third person Lynley referred to?”

“None. I told you I didn't want anything else to do with Bill. I don't know what he was involved in.”

“Do you have time to continue talking for a moment? You may be able to help us with the link between your husband and Rory Norris.”

“Truly, I can't. I don't know any more about Bill's connection to Rory than what you already know.” It took an effort to keep my foot from tapping madly on the floor. I used my hand to stop my knee from shaking. “Despite this letter, Bill and I didn't keep in contact.”

Detective Faber opened a file in front of him. “I believe you. The fact of the matter is that the only common denominator we can find between Rory Norris, Abigail Caldwell and now Bill Lynley is … you.”

“Don't you think I'm aware of that?” I had to keep my frustration from turning into anger. “Except I don't know what it all means.”

Detective Lincoln put a bottle of water in my hands. They still shook. “Ms. Morgan, what did Lynley mean, ‘someone I trust'? That's kind of an odd thing to say to you. It's like he's telling you who might have the information, don't you think?”

It was odd, but I hadn't taken the time to think about what Bill meant. “I honestly don't know. I have no idea who Bill trusts, but I doubt it's me. I don't know what the bad guys might want.”

“If he's warning you off, he's making an effort to tell you there's something to be on the lookout for.” Detective Faber tapped the file with his pen. “I think it's a coded message. What do you think?”

“I … I—”

“I think he was trying to tell you something. He knew you might keep trying to find your friend's killer. He wanted to give you help without giving you an answer that could lead to more trouble for you.”

Detective Lincoln sat next to me. “Ms. Morgan, where were you last night around ten?”

His question almost caught me off guard. “At home. I was home in bed. And no, there's no one who can give me an alibi. You don't really think I killed Bill, do you?”

“I know your ex was a jerk. He let you spend time in state prison. Time he should have spent. You lost one and a half years of your life. I know I'd be very angry, maybe even furious with my spouse.” Detective Lincoln folded his hands. “Maybe, with all those months in prison, you had time to think about how you'd kill him, exercising some long-delayed justice.”

I looked at him in amazement. He'd come so close to the truth. However, my dream scenario of punishing Bill to the fullest extent was merely bravado. “You must be crazy. I'd never put the rest of my life in jeopardy. Go look somewhere else for your killer, Detective. It isn't me.”

Faber looked down at a paper in the file. “You know the odds are against you getting a judge to issue a pardon order to clear your record. With these murders hanging over you, it's a long shot.”