Walk. Trot. Die Page 9
“A little something,” Dave said, reaching for his own burger.
Burton wondered how much of his pension, if any, he could still retain if he threw Kazmaroff through Margo’s plate glass window overlooking the north holding paddock.
“Headquarters got Portia Stephen’s deposition this morning.”
Burton stopped in mid-bite.
“And?” he prompted.
“She changed her story, man.”
Burton put his sandwich down and stared at his partner. He knew it was coming and now, strangely, he felt in no rush to hear it.
“She says she’s sorry she forgot to tell us before,” Kazmaroff continued. “But now she says it’s only true that she and Tess Andersen left Jilly in the clearing...”
“What does she mean ‘it’s only true?’”
“She means, up to that point, it’s true. Do you need extra catsup? It’s after they left the clearing that her story changes....”
Burton said nothing. He stared at his hands and waited.
Kazmaroff took a large bite of his hamburger and spoke through a full mouthful:
“She said that Tess Andersen went back to the clearing alone.”
Chapter Six
1
It didn’t rain at the outdoor memorial service, which was slightly unusual for November in Georgia. Burton stood next to Kazmaroff and felt the sweat trickle down his neck. It was hot, which was also not usual for November.
The service was held on the polo grounds at Bon Chance Farm. Jilly’s son, Justin had chosen the site, and while the motive behind the decision probably lay in some gruesome irony twisted up in young Justin’s mind having to do with the site where his mother was savagely murdered, the rest of the service attendees chose to believe the site-choice was a tribute to his mother’s love of riding.
The young man, himself, sat in the first row of folding chairs. He wore jeans, a navy gabardine blazer, Gucci loafers and no socks. And a nasty smirk across his pink cheeks. No one sat in the row with him. Behind him sat Mark Travers in dark chinos, a tan blazer and sunglasses. Burton could see Travers’ flashing white caps even at forty yards distance.
He and Kazmaroff stood off to the side of the chairs, not easily visible by the mourners, but not hiding either. There was a coffin, even though there was no body. Burton wondered what was inside. Her saddle? Her whip? The severed head of a beloved childhood pet?
Next to Mark sat Margo, bandaged and doped. Burton noted she leaned heavily on Mark and that he held her hand. Burton and Kazmaroff exchanged a look.
Behind Mark and Margo sat Portia and her husband, then Tess, and Robert Shue, Jilly’s boss from the agency. They were all dressed elegantly, somberly, and did not speak to each other. In the last row of chairs sat several people whom Burton recognized as boarders at the barn. He was surprised to see Kathy Sue there. She was holding the hand of a pudgy bald guy who looked like he should have a sign across his chest reading “Corporate Accountant”. There was no sign of Lint or Jessie.
The Methodist minister approached the speakers stand that had been covered in carnations and spoke briefly, generically, about the sudden loss of life and the overall need to accept tragedy in one’s daily round. Burton tuned him out and continued to survey the stand of mourners.
His eyes rested on Tess.
So. She had lied.
She looked away from the minister and found him. She smiled a small smile. He wasn’t sure but he thought she winked at him. He felt his stomach clench.
“...and more to those left behind who need endure the terrible vacancy, the insurmountable...”
“It gives ‘em both opportunity and motive, you know,” Kazmaroff said under his breath.
Burton turned his focus back to Mark and Margo.
“Neither have alibis,” he noted.
“One of ‘em knows horses well enough not to be intimidated by a Clydesdale,” Kazmaroff said. “Hell, she’s nearly as big as Best-Boy, herself.”
“Very nice, Dave.”
They were silent a moment, then Burton spoke:
“Nothing draws people together like hating the same person.”
“None of which eliminates Miss Andersen’s involvement in this,” Kazmaroff said pointedly. “She doesn’t have an alibi either.”
Justin Travers took the minister’s place at the stand and stared out over the gathered crowd, a huge grin across his face. Burton noticed the boy’s hands fidgeted a lot with the carnations.
“Good-bye, Jilly!” Justin said happily. “Good-bye, Mommy-sweetest. How we will all miss you. Thank-you, Reverend, you must surely have known my mother intimately to have been able to talk as you did just now.”
Burton saw the minister flush angrily in his seat in the front row.
“Uh-oh,” Kazmaroff said. But he was smiling.
“I, for one, will miss the daily, incessant phone calls,” Justin continued. “The constant interest in even the smallest detail of my life--my grades, what tests I had coming up, have I met any nice friends? The woman was insatiable!” He leaned over the podium and pointed to Robert Shue. “But I guess you know that, huh, Mr. Shue?”
“Make a note to talk to Shue again,” Burton said.
Robert Shue frowned fiercely at Justin and spoke a few words to Tess who appeared to nod sympathetically.
“Oh, yeah, and I’m sure Miss Andersen will be a willing ear to tell your troubles to!” Justin continued. “Isn’t that right, Tessie? ‘Come to Mama’, huh?”
“Shut-up, Justin!” Tess spoke clearly above the murmurings of the crowd. “Say what you need to say about your poor mother and then sit down!”
“This is a joke!” Kazmaroff said, still obviously enjoying the joke.
“Well, I’d like to do just that right now, thanks,” Justin said, the humor temporarily gone from his face. “Although it’s nice to be told ‘shut-up’ in front of fifty people at your mother’s funeral. I wish you could try it sometime--”
“You can’t have it both ways, Justin,” Tess shot back. “If you hated her, then save your spleen for another time. If you’ve got something nice to say about her--”
“Now YOU shut-up!” Justin screamed. “You hated her! So don’t lecture me about how to behave! You fucking bitch, you probably killed her!”
Tess looked at him in horror as Mark jumped up and tried to calm the boy down. Justin twisted away from his ex-step father’s attempts to soothe.
“And now I’ve got nobody!” he sobbed, surprising everybody. “I don’t even have a poor excuse for a mother, I’ve got nothing because somebody got selfish or jealous or something petty and fucked, and now I’ve got nothing and nobody, and I hate you for it! I hate all of you!” Justin dashed from the podium, knocking over a huge display of flowers from Shue’s agency. He stopped long enough to grab up a handful of dirt and pelt the casket with it.
“Just watch things here,” Burton said to Kazmaroff. “I’m going after him.”
Burton followed the boy, allowing him enough space to choose his retreat. Justin ran, without apparent design, down the dirt and gravel tractor-road, past Margo’s house and the cars parked for the service in front of the main barn, and up a small incline to a wide gate which opened onto what was known as “the geldings’” pasture. He stopped at the gate and hung on it, hugging it to him. Burton gave him a moment and then began a purposefully noisy walk up the incline. Justin whirled around, his eyes blazing, his cheeks streaked with oily tears. He looked confused at first, as if he couldn’t place Burton, then seemed too weary to process how he felt about him. He turned back away and let Burton walk up to him.
“Pretty wild, back there,” Burton said as he draped one arm on the gate. He noticed that some of the horses -- ever in search of an unexpected carrot or apple chunk -- were starting to wander over to the fence. He easily spotted Best-Boy among them.
“Leave me alone,” the boy said, not turning to face Burton. “Everyone just leave me the fuck alone.” He buried his head in his arms and
leaned against the gate. Burton thought the gasping sounds he heard from the boy were his desperate attempts not to weep. Suddenly, the boy jerked his head up, just as three horses from the herd -- Best-Boy among them -- edged in closer to the gate.
Justin screamed in surprise and fear and waved his arms at them. Burton fought the impulse to stop him from scaring off the horses. Hell, it might do him some good, he thought. The horses shied sharply, then wheeled away and galloped back to the herd, spraying pebbles and dirt clods behind them. Justin watched them go, his face streaked with tears.
He turned to look at Burton and Burton was careful not to show any indictment.
“It’s okay,” Burton said.
The boy put his head back into his arms. And this time, he cried.
2
Tess straightened the folds of her Ungaro jacket. It shimmered like liquid silver across her lap and she touched it as if she could gather solace or strength from its fabric. The heel of her Prada pump pushed into something soft on the dirty linoleum floor. Gum. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.
“Can I get you anything?” Burton asked. He didn’t look at her when he made the offer. He and Kazmaroff sat with Tess and a female police officer in the small interrogation room. They’d intercepted her immediately after the memorial service which, thanks to Justin, had been cut short. Burton noted that Tess had revealed no surprise at being asked to return with them to headquarters for questioning. He wondered if Portia had confessed her changed deposition to Tess.
Tess shook her head.
“No, thank you,” she said.
“Nice service for Jilly,” Kazmaroff said idly. “After Justin’s departure,” he said to Burton, “some people actually got up and said some nice things about her.”
“Why were you there?” Burton asked Tess.
Obviously flustered by the abruptness of the question, Tess refolded her jacket again.
“I...well, I...why wouldn’t I be there?” she asked looking from Kazmaroff to Burton.
“You mean, seeing how you and Jilly were so close and all?” Kazmaroff asked.
Tess appealed to Burton.
“Should I have a lawyer here?” she asked.
“Probably,” Burton replied, not looking at her.
“Oh, my God,” she said, staring at him.
“Portia Stephens says you lied about leaving Jilly that afternoon,” Kazmaroff said, leaning in close to her. “She said you told her to lie to the police about what really happened.”
Tess licked her lips.
“I don’t need a lawyer for this,” she said. “It’s all easily explainable.”
Burton looked at her.
“Explain, please,” he said.
“I did go back for a minute...and there was no sense in both Portia and me returning, so I told her to wait for me and I was going to go back and get Jilly--”
“Portia says you told her to return to the barn,” Kazmaroff said.
“Well, that’s untrue.”
“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?” Burton asked.
Tess looked at him, her eyes filled with pain.
“I...yes, of course,” she said, softly.
“What happened when you went back?” Kazmaroff asked.
“Jilly wasn’t there.”
“Did it look like a chain-saw massacre had taken place?”
Tess gave Kazmaroff a disgusted look.
“It looked just as I’d left it not two minutes earlier.”
“So, you mean, blood and human tissue were clinging to rock and trees?”
Tess stood up.
“Am I being arrested for murdering Jilly?” she asked, her voice shrill and shaking.
“Sit down, Tess,” Burton said, tiredly.
“Yeah, sit down, Tess,” Kazmaroff said, sarcastically. “We’re not there yet.”
“You didn’t look for her? Call out for her?” Burton asked.
Tess sat back down. Her Ungaro jacket slipped to the floor.
“Of course, I did,” she said, speaking only to Burton. “But I was having a problem with Wizard. He was acting really agitated, spooked. It was all I could do to keep him under control. I swear, I thought he was going to bolt on me.”
“So, you...?” Kazmaroff prompted.
“I went back to rejoin Portia. Honestly, I didn’t put it past Jilly to be hiding in the bushes trying to make my horse shy! It’s the sort of sick, childish thing she would think of.”
“How easy would that be, do you think?” Burton asked gently.
“What? Make my horse shy?”
“No, hide in the bushes with a 2,000-pound Clydesdale.”
Tess opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.
“So,” Kazmaroff prodded her. “You rejoined Portia on the trail?”
“No,” Tess said quietly. “She’d already gone on ahead.”
“Even though you told her to wait?” Burton asked.
Tess shook her head.
“I thought she understood me. Maybe she didn’t.”
“Yeah, I guess using the fact that Portia’s not too bright and could’ve got your instructions wrong is as good a defense as any,” Kazmaroff said.
Tess shot him a look filled with hatred.
“I did not give her instructions,” she said.
“So you’re saying Portia’s not involved in this? You acted alone?”
Tess looked at Burton.
“I think we have more than enough for today,” Kazmaroff said, smiling. “Thank you, Miss Andersen for answering our questions. You’ve been very cooperative,” he added sarcastically.
“You’re finished with me?” she asked Burton.
Burton just stared at her.
“Show Miss Andersen out,” Kazmaroff said to the female police officer. “We don’t have enough to hold you at present,” he said to Tess, his voice sounding to Burton like a flat tape recording from one of his wife’s sit coms. “We’ll just have to ask you to be patient.”
Tess snatched up her jacket and walked from the room, her left foot sticking to the floor with every stride.
3
The scratching sounds of the mice as they evacuated the open tack trunk made Margo turn her head in time to see the little beasts--their stubby tails like tiny apostrophes--scurry out the tack room door.
Where’s that stupid cat? Margo thought as she eased herself down against an empty saddle rest. The pungent-sweet smell of leather mixed with the musky smell of oats and grain. The barn was silent except for the muffled crunchings of a dozen horses eating their morning Wheaties in their straw-padded stalls.
“Can you believe I’m riding him? Isn’t it wild?”
Jessie stuck her head in the door and grinned at Margo, who blinked at her silhouette before the bright morning sun. Jessie stood, in schooling chaps and riding sneakers, next to Best-Boy. The strap of her riding helmet hung, unlatched, down her cheek.
The huge horse lowered his massive head and nuzzled Jessie’s shoulder.
“It’s like riding a building!” Jessie added, gleefully, scratching the animal between the eyes. “Aren’t you, sweetie-pie?”
“Don’t let him do that,” Margo said, wincing as she tried to shift her weight on the saddle rest. “The last thing we need is a horse his size thinking he’s boss.”
Jessie held Best-Boy’s stirrup and placed her foot in it.
“I need a step-ladder!” she yelped. Swiftly, she climbed into the saddle and adjusted her stirrups. She paused for a moment and looked at Margo, hunched over and broken, leaning against one of the saddle rests in the darkened barn. “You gonna be okay?” she asked.
Margo shifted painfully again and grimaced.
“Just make sure that horse is okay,” she said, tartly. “Or you’ll only be exercising Dancer and Puddle-Glum from now on.” Margo surprised herself by her sharp tone.
“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Jessie said, turning the horse away from the barn. “Don’t worry about us.”
“Hey, boy,” she said, softly. The horse swung his head away from his feed and moved instantly to the sound of her voice. Inexplicably, Margo felt tears spring to her eyes. God, when was the last time I visited my own horse? Let alone, rode him?
How long before she’d be able to again?
“Hey, boy. Don’t got any sugar for you today, pal.” The horse nuzzled her hand, his glossy brown eyes regarding her with sleepy affection.
Margo left the barn, watching Jessie and Best-Boy manage the gate to the south pasture. She must be going to take him on a trail ride, Margo thought with surprise. She had assumed the girl would exercise him in the ring. She watched Jessie latch the gate behind her without dismounting and then break into a trot toward the pasture and the woods beyond. Even at this distance, she could see the smile on Jessie’s face. And the sight made her wonder the last time she had smiled just to be on horseback, the sun on her back, a dry trail before her.
She shook her head and slowly limped her way back to her office in the main barn.
I’m practically a suspect in a brutal murder, not to mention someone tried to kill me. I’ve got injuries--some of which will alter how I do things for the rest of my life--I’m in constant pain, and what am I thinking of? I’m wondering why the fun seems to have gone out of riding!
She laughed, then clutched her chestful of broken ribs.
As soon as she reached her office, the phone rang. She took her time maneuvering over to her desk to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Margo, sweetheart, is this a bad time?”
“No, Mark. I got lots of time.” Margo eased herself into her desk chair, trying not to whimper onto the line as she did so.
“I was hoping to come by today. Maybe take you to get something to eat, what do you think?”
Margo closed her eyes and smiled sadly. How many years she had waited for this phone call, to hear those words.