Chapter 6 #2
She did not know why they always found themselves at this place, this point. “I don’t want to do better,” she said, and she had said those exact words to him before.
He made a harsh sound. “Daisy was killed in a fit of rage. She was stabbed six times with a medium-size bowie knife. While we have not recovered the weapon—and we may never recover it—the blade was probably five inches long and an inch to an inch and a half wide. The stab wounds were randomly placed, and some were so deep they were probably delivered in a two-handed manner. The conclusion is inescapable—the murderer was furious with Daisy.”
Did this mean that Bragg also knew Hart had been furious with Daisy last week? She said slowly, with care, “I just interviewed Rose, and Daisy’s staff.”
“Good. Then you know that the maid stated that Hart fought with Daisy last Thursday afternoon, breaking a door and reducing Daisy to tears. I know that Daisy tried to hurt you recently, Francesca, in an attempt to get Hart back. Was that why Hart was so angry with her? Or was it because she refused to leave the house when he told her to get out last month?”
Francesca continued to hug herself. Bragg had definitely been doing his homework.
She walked away from the window, away from him.
“He was angry. So was I. Neither of us was furious, Rick.” She faced him.
“Daisy was my friend—until recently. Recently, she became difficult. But Hart showed no inclination to bother with her. In fact, as you must know, except for last Thursday afternoon, he has not been at the house in months.”
“But we really don’t know that, do we?” He was hard.
“Daisy always dismissed the staff when she was entertaining Hart. She would dismiss them two, three even four times a week. It was very rare for anyone to know who was calling on those evenings. I hate to be the one to point this out, but Hart could have been a frequent guest.”
“Why are you doing this?” Francesca gasped, shaken and stunned.
“Why are you suggesting that Hart was having an affair with Daisy behind my back? You are happy now, you have your marriage back, you are with your wife! Surely you do not want me! So why can’t you leave Hart and me alone? I am happy, Rick!”
“Are you really? Do you really, in your heart, trust Calder? Is that why you lied to the police last night?” he demanded. “If you truly believed in his innocence, you wouldn’t be lying to the police—to me—in order to protect him!”
She froze. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry Francesca, but I spoke with your father this morning. You got home at midnight last night. There is simply no way you were at Daisy’s at midnight. The earliest you could have arrived there was half past.”
Francesca closed her eyes in despair.
“How could you lie to me?” Bragg asked, agonized. “After all we have been through? Is it me that you don’t trust?”
Francesca opened her eyes and their gazes met and held. “I hated lying to you. But I know how much you and Hart relish going at each other! You shouldn’t be on this case if it is personal for you, if you cannot be objective, if you secretly think to crucify your brother!”
“I have no desire to crucify anyone.” Bragg was shocked.
“And I hope for your sake—and my father’s, and Grace’s, and Rourke’s sakes—that Hart is innocent.
But damn it, Francesca! It doesn’t look good!
What in hell was he doing there in the first place, and what was he doing there for an entire hour? ”
“The coroner said she was murdered between seven and nine,” Francesca cried. “Not between eleven and midnight!”
“I can think of several good reasons for the killer to return to the scene,” Bragg snapped.
“He is your half brother,” Francesca cried desperately. “Rick, you are so generous with everyone else! If you can give a stranger the benefit of the doubt, why can’t you give your own brother that same benefit? Can’t you find it in your own heart to want to help him, and to want happiness for him?”
“Are we talking about the case, or your future and your marriage? Francesca, you chose to become involved with a dangerous, difficult man. I warned you. Your father is against Hart, too. But you can be impossibly headstrong, and you have made up your mind. I hope Hart is innocent, but I have no delusions about him—the way you seem to. Maybe you should walk away from this case, if it is so personal for you.”
She was ready to cry. “I can’t. And I know he is innocent. I know it.”
“I think you protest overly. Rose said she overheard Hart threatening Daisy at Kate Sullivan’s funeral.”
She went rigid, shaking her head. “He did not mean it that way!”
“So he did say something to you about getting rid of Daisy?”
“No! He assured me that Daisy would not hurt us or our relationship, that is all,” Francesca cried, painfully aware of what she was doing.
Concealing Hart’s exact words was no different from lying to Bragg again.
But thankfully, Rose hadn’t seemed to quote Hart precisely.
“You are so busy preparing to indict Hart, have you even stopped to consider that Rose has just as much motive?”
“She is also on my list of suspects. Right now, Rose hasn’t given herself an alibi. She refuses to identify the gentleman she was entertaining last night. I am sure her judgment is lacking because of her grief. I am inclined to think that shortly we will also have a rock-solid alibi for Rose.”
Francesca spoke in anger now. “You want Rose to have a rock-solid alibi so you can continue to investigate Hart!”
Bragg seemed just as angry. He walked over to the fireplace and stared at some of the photographs above it.
“Rose hates Hart with a passion,” Francesca cried, walking over to him. “She was insanely jealous of his relationship with Daisy. Because of Calder, she and Daisy broke up for several months. She was jilted by Daisy, Bragg, and we need to check this out.”
“I intend to follow every single lead,” he said slowly, with more calm. “But Hart is right on one point. He told me last night that he did not want you involved in this investigation.”
Francesca dug in her heels. “Unless you think to charge me with obstruction of justice, I am on this case.”
Bragg studied her for a long moment. “Maybe it is a good idea that you are on this case. Maybe you will finally realize just what you are in for, if you proceed to marry Hart.”
“Maybe you will finally realize just how unfair you are to him,” Francesca shot back.
She grabbed his sleeve. “I understand why Hart hates you, Rick. He is jealous of you, because you have a real family by blood, because your father wanted you and his did not, because, to this day, he thinks your mother loved you more than she did him.”
“Then he needs to get on with his life,” Bragg flashed.
“He remains jealous that we ever were involved, too. But mostly, he is jealous that you have such a stellar reputation—one that is deserved.”
Bragg stared. “What is your point?”
“I understand him, but I don’t understand you. Why are you as jealous of him?”
Bragg searched her eyes; Francesca did not flinch. He finally said, “I’m not jealous. But because I continue to care so much for you, I hate the fact that he will ruin you, Francesca, in one way or another.”
“You don’t know that. And maybe it is not your place to sit in judgment on him as you do,” Francesca cried.
“I am going to tell you something about your fiancé,” he said very harshly.
“I spent my childhood taking care of him, protecting him, rescuing him, until Rathe rescued us both. Our mother was too busy and then too ill to do any of those things. I remember helping him eat supper when he was in diapers—I couldn’t have been much older than three!
I remember going to the corner grocery, a few coins in my pocket, holding Hart by the hand.
I was maybe six, maybe seven—he was four or five.
I remember giving him a glass of milk for breakfast when Lily was too ill to do so.
Damn it! He never tried to return a single favor, he never once showed any gratitude, he never even tried to be my brother.
He has spent his life thinking only of himself, doing whatever he pleased, come hell or high water.
It took me years to realize that the brother I yearned for and cared for didn’t exist, and never would.
Something is wrong with your fiancé. He has one goal in life—to serve his own selfish needs.
I am judging Hart the way I would judge anyone. ”
“That’s not true,” Francesca whispered, stricken by Bragg’s indictment. “And there are two sides to every story. Maybe he was too jealous of you to ever be the brother you hoped for and deserved. Somehow he was scarred terribly by his childhood, while you were not.”
“We both grew up hungry, wearing hand-me-down, patched clothes. We both grew up watching our mother service men—until we had to watch her die. Don’t tell me I am not scarred.
I knew I was never going to be like those johns—not ever—I knew I would never use anyone, and that instead, I would help everyone that I could. ”
“God knows why the very same past pushed you into a life of good works and Hart into a life of scandalous self-indulgence,” Francesca said, saddened. “Isn’t He the only one who should judge here? It isn’t too late, Rick, not if you don’t give up.”
He stared, his expression twisted with his own anguish.
“It’s not too late to forgive and forget. It’s not too late for the two of you to find your way back to each other. You’re brothers.”
“Oh, it’s way too late,” Bragg said harshly. “Tell him to get a lawyer, because I am fairly certain he will need one.”
She was alarmed. “Are you going to arrest him? How can you arrest him! You said yourself Daisy was killed before nine, and Hart didn’t get there until close to midnight! What about Rose? She was there at the scene before Hart.”