The Pirate Ghost Page 8

  “Busily planting evidence all the while, I’ll wager,” Gabriel said. “You’d better get home before they can do more damage.”

  “I’m coming along,” Charles said.

  “No, you are not,” Wilkes said. Taking Tess by the arm, he began walking to his car once more. “You are going to stay well away from this investigation, or I’ll have you thrown in the can for obstructing justice. Got that?”

  “Certainly,” Charles said. “But I’m not going to stand idly by and watch an innocent woman railroaded into jail.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you would.” Wilkes ushered Tess into the passenger seat of his vehicle and then hurried around to open his door. “Call your lawyer or whatever else you want to do. Just stay out of my way until I want to borrow money,” he told the banker. “Goodbye, Mr. Dumont.”

  They pulled out of the parking spot with a lurch and then moved to join the midmorning traffic.

  “Have you known Dumont long?” Wilkes asked as he drove.

  “No,” Tess said, morosely watching an airplane approaching the Tampa airport. Dark clouds were building up overhead as they drove. She wondered what cares and worries the airplane passengers brought with them. Surely, no one else had troubles as bad as hers.

  “He acts as if he’s known you a long time.”

  “He hasn’t.”

  “The guy’s a jerk.”

  “He does like to sound important,” she admitted.

  As she said it, she realized for the first time that it was true. He wasn’t the type of person who spoke constantly of his many duties and responsibilities, but he dismissed his responsibilities in an offhand manner that made it seem he was extremely important. It was as if he were so capable that he could discount his own importance. It was an interesting way of drawing attention to himself while appearing to be pushing it away.

  Of course, he’d been calling attention to himself quite vehemently today. She supposed it was a misguided attempt to draw official ire away from her by being obnoxious. It hadn’t worked, though. No, Detective Sergeant Wilkes wasn’t the type to be distracted.

  “So this personal relationship he spoke of isn’t all he likes to imply?” the officer said.

  “No. We went out Sunday night,” Tess said. Then she scowled, regarding the policeman behind the wheel stonily. “I’ve known him about a day and a half, Sergeant. Does that cover the topic fully?”

  “I suppose so,” he said, impervious to the anger in her voice. “I’ve noticed that when people wade in offering to call lawyers before there’s any need of them, it’s sometimes a sign they suspect the person is guilty.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because honest people usually don’t think about lawyers until we advise them to call one.”

  “I haven’t asked to call a lawyer,” she remarked.

  “No, you haven’t,” he said, nodding his head. “So why does this friend of yours think you need one?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Because he’s a guilty sod himself is why,” Gabriel said suddenly in Tess’s ear.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Wilkes said as he turned onto her street.

  “Sorry,” Tess said.

  “He’s a banker, is he not?” Gabriel persisted. “Think of all those he’s turned out into the street, the houses and businesses he’s foreclosed on. He’s a guilty sod, all right.”

  Tess smiled wryly. Her ghostly friend certainly had his own point of view on the matter.

  They pulled into her driveway behind a black-andwhite police cruiser. Two officers stood waiting beside it. Wilkes stopped and got out quickly, saying, “Okay, let’s do it. And keep it neat.”

  “Gabriel,” Tess whispered quickly before she got out of the car, “if you’re going to follow me around like this, I’d really prefer that you don’t talk to me. You’re going to have everyone thinking I’m crazy before this is over.”

  “Fine, but you mind yourself with these fellows,” he advised.

  “I will,” she promised. Then she got out of the car and ran to unlock her door for the officers.

  DETECTIVE SERGEANT Wilkes and the two uniformed officers conducted a thorough search of Tess’s house. The warrant only gave them the power to look for a murder weapon or “evidence of intention to commit murder” hidden on her property “real or rental.”

  With this in mind, they confiscated most of her sharp knives, leaving her with a dull paring knife and an even duller butcher knife.

  They overturned the cushions of her chairs and couches, the mattress on her bed and checked the entire contents of every closet in her house. They sorted through every drawer, took down the stacked items on every shelf and peered beneath any loose carpeting and throw rugs.

  It was a very thorough search indeed. But as far as Tess could tell, it yielded nothing.

  “Your home was broken into, and you were nearly burglarized this past night, and these ruffians have you in their sights when they should be trying to uncover the identity of that criminal,” Gabriel said harshly. He’d remained quiet through most of the search, but the sight of the men looking through her dresser drawers was too much for him.

  “Shhh,” Tess said.

  “Shush as you will, but it’s still a shame.”

  Yes, it was a shame, but they didn’t know about the break-in. Everything had happened with such shocking speed that she hadn’t even thought to tell them about the intruder. Besides, only Gabriel had seen the man. Now she felt certain that it was too late to bring up the incident. Sergeant Wilkes would assume she was mentioning it only to provide an explanation for anything they might find. He’d be prompted to search even harder.

  “When did your divorce from Darrell Cage become final?”

  Detective Sergeant Wilkes sat on a chair opposite her at the kitchen table and opened his notebook.

  “Three months ago.”

  “Did you have many occasions to see him since then?”

  “More than I wanted,” Tess said. “I mean, well, no, I guess that’s what I meant.”

  It annoyed her that her every word might make her seem suspect to these men. She wasn’t used to watching her words so closely.

  “Did he bother you?”

  “He didn’t seem to think divorce was a very good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Probably because one of his lady friends might have started talking about marriage if he didn’t already have a wife at home,” she said bitterly.

  “Played the field, did he?” Wilkes was writing in his notebook as he spoke. “More than one affair?”

  “Probably. I don’t know of more than one.”

  “Was he ever abusive?”

  “He was drunk a lot,” she said. “The abuse went with that.”

  “He hit you?”

  “Twice,” she admitted.

  “It’s good the rogue is dead,” Gabriel said quietly from somewhere behind Tess.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Five years. A little more,” she said. It was hard to believe they lasted that long, but then Tess had believed in marriage, hoped she could make things work.

  “He was three years older than you?” Wilkes pressed on. Her answers were just raw data to him, facts to be fed into his investigation.

  “Yes. I was still in college when I met him.”

  A fat raindrop hit the kitchen window as they spoke, then another and another. It would be pouring soon, and that seemed appropriate.

  “The real-estate business was his old man’s, nght?”

  “Yes. Darrell wouldn’t have had the patience to build it up himself,” she said. “He liked things easy.”

  “You work as an accountant, you said. Have you been working since college? Ever do any accounting for him?”

  “No. Darrell didn’t want me to work, and we didn’t need the extra money.”

  “You just did as he said?” Wilkes asked, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me,
but you don’t strike me as that type of woman.”

  “Sergeant Wilkes, would you work if you didn’t have to?”

  The man paused a second, then a smile touched his lips briefly. “No,” he admitted, “I’d go fishing.”

  “Well, I guess I went fishing,” she said.

  “But you’re working now.”

  “Yes, I am definitely working now.”

  “Your husband was here last night?”

  “He wasn’t my husband,” she corrected him. “Yes, he was here. He tried to get rough with me, but I managed to throw him out.”

  “You threw him out? What are you, about five foot five? A hundred and ten or so?”

  “Five-six, and my weight is none of your business.”

  “Okay, but you threw him out of your house?”

  “Did a fine job of throwing, too,” Gabriel whispered.

  “He was more than a little bit drunk.”

  “Must have been,” Wilkes commented. He wrote something down.

  “You don’t think I just threw him out,” she said. “I’ll bet that you think I stabbed him to death instead.”

  “Not in this house, you didn’t.”

  “So why are you even searching the place?”

  “His car was parked two houses down the block from here,” Wilkes said. “It looks like he went off with someone, figuring to come back for it.”

  “And you figure that we went for a moonlight drive together — maybe in my car, right?” Tess said, suddenly quite angry. “You people are insane. What did I do? Stab him to death with a steak knife? Is that what I did? But why would he go anywhere in my rusted old heap when his fabulous car was parked outside? How could I talk him into that?”

  “I don’t know,” Wilkes said. “We’ve got both cars in the police garage now to check them out.”

  “My car? You even hauled my car in? Well, I guess I should be glad it’s not sitting out in the rain with the windows open. Thank you for that.”

  “Miss Miller,” Wilkes said sourly, “I’m not terribly interested in what you think of how I do my job. A man was killed, and you’re a very good suspect. That’s all I know at this time.”

  “And it’s all you care to know, too.”

  “No, I’d like to know who killed Darrell Cage. If it’s not you, then I want to know who. That’s all.”

  “And when you do catch his killer, will I get a nice apology for all the trouble you’ve put me through?”

  “No, you won’t. You are a suspect in a murder investigation. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Listen!” she snapped. “I was unemployed for over eight months while I was getting my divorce! I drive a worn-out old car because I had to sell my new car to pay rent. But I didn’t go back to Darrell, and I didn’t kill him in all that time. Why on earth would I kill him now that I’ve got a job and I’m due for a raise in just over two weeks? My rent is paid, there’s food in the fridge, and I’m almost caught up on my utilities. And yet I choose now to kill that weasel? I’d be rich if I had killed him when we were still married, so why would I wait until I wouldn’t gain anything by it?”

  “I didn’t say you planned to kill him,” Wilkes said calmly. “It just happened.”

  “I’m as good as locked away for life as far as you’re concerned, aren’t I? Maybe I should have let Charles get me that lawyer.”

  “I’ll tell you when you need a lawyer.”

  “Sarge?” One of the officers came into the kitchen then. “We’re finished in here. There’s nothing else.”

  “Okay.” Wilkes stood, looking out the window at the rain that fell steadily now. “Whose garage is that?”

  “My landlord’s,” Tess told him.

  “Take a look in there,” he told the officer. “The side door might be open.”

  The officer looked sourly at the garage through the rain. “Right,” he said. Then he opened the kitchen door and sprinted across the lawn to the garage, where the side door was, indeed, open.

  “Oh, God Almighty!” Gabriel exclaimed. “We were so close to being shut of them! Don’t let them in the yard, lass! Don’t on your life let them search the yard.”

  “Don’t call me lass,” Tess whispered, though some intangible feeling told her that her invisible friend had left the room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling worn-out.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Wilkes said. He laid a sheet of paper on the table before her and held his pen out. “Sign this,” he told her.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a form stating that we didn’t break anything in our search. Insurance business,” he said.

  “I’d better check...no, why bother?” she said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Taking the pen, she signed the document and pushed it back across to him.

  “You’re left-handed,” he remarked.

  “Yes, I’m left-handed. Is that a crime, too?”

  “No.” He folded the paper and slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  “Sergeant!” A call from outside brought their attention to the yard. The uniformed officer was running back to the house from the garage, a plastic bag swinging loosely in one hand. “Sarge, I found it!” he exclaimed as he burst into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” Wilkes asked, approaching the officer and taking the clear plastic bag from him. Then he smiled, turned to Tess and dropped the bag onto her kitchen table.

  Inside the sealed Ziploc bag lay a steak knife similar to the odd assortment of knives they’d already taken from her kitchen. This knife, however, was unmistakably coated with blood!

  “Miss Teresa Miller,” Detective Sergeant Wilkes said, “you are under arrest for the murder of Darrell Cage. Now you need a lawyer. And you’d better keep quiet until you get one.”

  The advice wasn’t necessary, in any case, for Tess couldn’t think of a thing to say. All she could do was stare at the knife on the table—the knife which, in all probability, had been used to kill Darrell Cage.

  Chapter Nine

  “You will have to go through booking, of course, but their evidence is rather flimsy so I don’t expect you to spend the night.”

  Walter Chambers, the lawyer Charles had found for her defense was a stout fellow with thinning blond hair and tinted glasses. He looked as though he’d be more at home chasing ambulances for whiplash claims than handling a murder defense, but, in his favor, he didn’t promise any miracles and didn’t smile overly much as some lawyers she’d known had done. The attorney she’d used for her divorce, for instance.

  “Is that knife all they’ve got?” she asked hopefully. “No wtnesses?”

  “Should there be witnesses?” he asked straightforwardly.

  Tess shook her head emphatically. “No, of course not.”

  “Listen, I know all that stuff they say on TV about never asking a client if they’re guilty,” Chambers said. “It’s a fine, optimistic way to go about life to think everyone innocent—especially your own clients. But this is a different matter. Spousal abuse is a big deal these days. So, Teresa, if you are guilty of killing the creep, then please tell me now. If you don’t — ”

  “Mr. Chambers, I—”

  “No, wait, don’t cut me off while I’m at the point in my speech where I look like I don’t believe in you. Let me redeem myself by saying that on the face of it you look innocent to me. I think the knife was a plant. But I’ve been wrong before, and I’d rather start out knowing everything than have surprises pop up in the end. So, did you do it?”

  “No,” Tess said flatly. “I wanted to, though.”

  “Honest. I like that.” He did smile then, and he removed his glasses to rub his eyes while working a kink out of his neck. “You won’t believe how people can suddenly find deep wells of respect for guys they hated in life, especially if they’re accused of killing them. Frankly, it looks false to judges and juries.”

  “We’re raised not to speak ill of the dead,” Tess offered.

  The attorney s
ighed. “So, how many times did he hit you?” he asked gently.

  “Twice,” she said. “Once when he was roaring drunk after a big land deal fell through. The second time was when I told him I’d hired a lawyer to get a divorce.”

  “It wasn’t habitual?”

  “No, Darrell was a braggart and a creep, but not really a physical person.”

  “What about the knife? Did it look like one of yours?”

  “It could be,” she admitted. “I rented the place furnished, and that included everything. The flatware is a rather eclectic mix of stuff, and I’d say there were at least three different sets of steak knives mixed together in the drawer.”

  “All right, then, the knife bears only a superficial resemblance to what you’ve got.” He made a note on his pad. “They found it in the garage. Your car wasn’t in the garage at the time?”

  “No, the police impounded it. Besides, I don’t rent the garage.”

  “What?” He stopped, pen poised over the paper. “You don’t have use of that garage?”

  “No, I only rented the house. My landlord uses the garage for storage.”

  For a moment, he just stared at her as a tentative smile slowly crept onto his lips.

  “And you have no use of the garage at all?” he asked. “No key? Nothing of yours is stored in there?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “That’s it!” He slapped his palm down on his legal pad and stood, grinning. “You’re clear, Teresa, and they can throw that knife in the trash!”

  “Why? What are you talking about?”

  “This is great!” he exclaimed, slapping the table again in happiness. “Look, the house you live in is your property because you’ve paid for the right to call it such. The search warrant covered your property, real or rental, and only your property! See? That knife wasn’t on your property! That means that it was illegally obtained during a search and, as evidence, it just doesn’t exist! It’s no good, and will never be any good, in court!”

  “Really?”

  “Exactly. It was a sloppy search, and you’ll be out of here in little more than an hour.” He shuffled his papers together and folded his pad to leave. “They’ll probably still finish the booking, but that’s as far as it’ll go. Don’t you worry.”