Chapter 12 #3
She turned away so he would not see the instant effect of his kind words.
Moisture gathered in her eyes. “If I must admit it, then I will. My heart is broken, just as you have always claimed it would be.” She dared to wipe a tear away and then smiled very brightly at Bragg.
“But he is being very noble. He wants to protect me from his fall from grace.”
Bragg studied her. “Francesca, I have always predicted this moment. Hart has a past filled with terribly reckless, self-indulgent behavior. It was simply impossible for the two of you to carry on and not have something or someone rise up from his past this way.”
She hugged herself. “I thought you believed he would someday turn to another woman.”
“There was always that possibility, too. I am not gleeful. I hate seeing you hurt this way. But I happen to agree with you. Calder is actually being noble, for once in his life. He is doing the right thing now. If he cares for you at all, he should be protecting you from shame and scandal.”
She turned away restlessly. “He still cares for me, very much, and I am not giving up. I expect for us to be reunited, sooner or later.”
He was silent for a moment. “I know you think that would make you happy, and I suppose it would, for a time. But what next? How much more of this could you take?”
“It won’t be like that.”
“What can I do to help you now?”
She smiled slightly. “Help me find Daisy’s killer.”
The light in his eyes flickered oddly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“That’s all the help I need.”
He regarded her, rubbing his jaw. Francesca realized he had not shaved that day, and that he had dark circles under his eyes. She noted that he seemed tired, worn, strained. She touched his sleeve. “I have been so wrapped up in my own dilemma that I haven’t asked you about yours!”
“Everything is fine,” he said, pulling away. “What did you find out in Albany?”
Francesca knew everything was not fine, but she would not pursue that topic now. She told him every detail of her meeting with Gillespie, and that she expected him in the city the next day, hopefully with his wife and daughter Lydia.
Bragg was thoughtful. “So you do think he was genuinely surprised that she had been murdered?”
“Yes,” Francesca said. “Frankly, he seemed stunned. But I am almost certain he knew that Honora had become Daisy Jones, and that implies he also knew that she had become a prostitute.”
“So he becomes a suspect—if you are right,” Bragg said.
“I can’t imagine any man killing his own daughter.”
Bragg remained calm. “It does happen.”
“Yes, unfortunately, I suppose it does,” Francesca acknowledged grimly.
“Rick, we need to interview him very thoroughly. We need to confirm, once and for all, if he knew his daughter was Daisy, and if he also knew where she was and what she was doing. Did he have any contact with her? And what about Martha Gillespie and Lydia? Did they know, or was this the judge’s secret? ”
Bragg met her gaze. “Is there any chance he was not surprised by her murder?”
“I have already wondered if it was theatrics,” she said slowly. “Right now, I cannot imagine him being the killer. He is so grief-stricken.”
“We know one fact for certain,” Bragg said after a thoughtful pause. “Daisy was a blot upon the Gillespie name.”
“So you suspect Judge Gillespie? You think he murdered his own daughter in order to protect his reputation?” The concept was simply horrifying. But any alternative theory was far better than Hart remaining on the top of the police’s list of suspects.
“I refuse to rule anyone out. And by the way, Newman brought Rose in today. She will not name the client she was with on the first. I am beginning to think she has no alibi for that evening, and that moves her right to the top of my list of suspects.”
Francesca could not help but be relieved.
She had to voice her thoughts. “That is odd. She has admitted to stopping by at six or seven—at a time when she could be accused of committing the murder. So why not make up an alibi for the entire evening?” She suddenly gasped.
“Wait! Rick—if she murdered Daisy, she would know exactly when the murder happened. And that would explain Rose’s odd alibi.
For example, if Daisy was murdered at eight-fifteen, and Rose did do it, she would claim to be occupied at that precise time—which is what she has done.
She would not know that we are looking at a larger window of opportunity, one in which she could still fit. ”
“That is excellent thinking,” Bragg said with a smile, impressed. “Francesca, sometimes your mind is exceedingly clever.”
“I am going to push Rose tomorrow,” Francesca said firmly, elated with her latest theory. “I want a break in this case, Rick, a real break. What did she say about Daisy’s pregnancy?”
“That subject was not raised,” he said. “Unfortunately I was not present when Newman interviewed Rose and he did not think to ask her about it.”
“Rose surely knew about the child,” Francesca said with growing excitement.
“That certainly adds to her motivation. She must have been furious that Daisy was having Hart’s child!
That would only solidify the bond between Daisy and Hart, while causing more conflict for her and Daisy.
” Francesca made a mental note to herself to discuss Daisy’s pregnancy with Rose immediately.
“Did you have any luck locating either George Holstein or David Masters?”
“Both men denied any involvement with Daisy—at first. I interviewed them myself. They were both very involved with her, but they both have solid alibis, Francesca. Masters was with his wife and two other couples at the opera. Holstein was at a restaurant with his wife, his brother and a dozen other guests for his wife’s birthday celebration. ”
“So our list of suspects is a list of three,” she said seriously. “I want Hart ruled out.”
His gaze was direct, searching. “You are so loyal to him, still. If the two of you do not get back together, I wonder, will you continue to be so loyal and so supportive?”
Francesca was not going to think about a future without Hart. “He deserves my faith.”
“Does he?”
She jerked. “That’s not fair.”
“I have always had a bad feeling about this case,” he said quietly. “I really hope Hart is innocent, but I must consider that he has tremendous motive and all the means.”
“So does Rose. And surely now you must agree she has even more motive and more means! She was there at Daisy’s for most of the evening—for all we know, the entire evening. Hart was at home until well after the murder. He has an alibi,” she said, flushing.
“So he claims,” Bragg said skeptically. “And so Alfred claims.”
He seemed to know that Alfred was lying to protect Hart. Francesca was uneasy, and once again, she felt terribly guilty for her part in the deception.
He gave her a look. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“Only that Calder is not a killer.”
“Again, I hope not,” Bragg said. “In any case, we will be better able to proceed with Gillespie in town. I’ll send word the moment we learn he has arrived.”
“I am very eager to pursue this lead,” Francesca admitted.
She felt as if she had just barely escaped being caught in the terrible but necessary lie she had encouraged Alfred to tell.
Sooner or later she was going to have to confess her deception to Bragg.
Surely he would understand and forgive her?
Then she studied Bragg’s handsome face. The lights were dim in the salon, but there was no mistaking the fatigue and strain she had glimpsed earlier. Her heart stirred. He was fighting to hold his marriage together and she knew it for a fact. “How is Leigh Anne, Rick?”
As if at a loss for words, he shook his head.
She took his hand. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I don’t particularly wish to add to your burdens,” he said.
“Do not be noble now! It’s Mike O’Donnell, I can feel it,” she exclaimed.
He sighed. “I expected O’Donnell to demand money—I even encouraged it. But he is too clever. He has not made any attempt at extortion, and he continues to insist that he has every right to the girls. I can’t arrest him and end this if he does not do anything criminal.”
Francesca was wide-eyed. It took her a moment to absorb what Bragg had said. “So he is playing you.”
“Yes, he is. But sooner or later he will ask for the money.”
“Rick—how is Leigh Anne managing?”
He became grim. “She is both distressed and afraid. I am worried about her. She has yet to come to grips with the fact that she can no longer walk. She doesn’t need any more strain.”
“No, she does not,” Francesca agreed. She hesitated. “An arrest, a hearing and a court case will prolong this situation, Rick.”
“What are you suggesting?” he asked sharply, their gazes meeting.
“You could pay him to leave town permanently—sparing Leigh Anne any further tension and worry.”
He was silent for a moment. “I hate to admit it, but the thought has occurred to me. I want this over, Francesca, so Leigh Anne can genuinely recover from the accident. I want to see her happy again.”
She knew he had no real means to pay off O’Donnell, if that was what he decided to do. As a city official, he had a very modest wage. Leigh Anne had no means, either. Of course, the Bragg family was very well-off. So was Calder.
She wondered if this could bring the two brothers together. “I can help,” she said slowly. “If you decide to proceed this way, I can help you get the funds.”
“That’s generous of you, Francesca. But if I do decide to pay O’Donnell off, I will go to the bank for a loan.”
Francesca knew he was in a moral dilemma. Why not have Hart help his own brother—the brother he was so jealous of—for what might be the very first time in their lives? “Rick, I can help, and I would dearly like to.”
He finally smiled at her. “There is nothing you would not do for a person in need, is there, Francesca?”
She smiled warmly back. “I don’t even think about it.”
A moment seemed to pass. Francesca was well aware that she shared a very deep bond with this man, and that she always would. Inspector Newman said, “Sir? You had better come into the hall.”
Francesca had not heard him open the door and she turned. Newman stood on the threshold, appearing very grim. Hart stood behind him, staring at her and Bragg.
Bragg hurried out, Francesca following. She dared to look Hart’s way, aware that her cheeks had warmed. He was eyeing her coolly and suspiciously. She knew she should be pleased he cared at all, but she genuinely despised his jealous moods and their ensuing tempers.
“What is it?” Bragg asked.
Newman nodded at a young officer. The man came forward, holding up a knife with a large, crusty-brown blade. Francesca’s heart turned over, hard. “Is that a bowie knife?” She was certain it was—just as she was certain the blade was covered with dried blood.
“Yes,” Bragg said. “Bag it.”
Hart strode forward. “Where the hell did you find that? That’s not mine.”
Bragg turned to the young officer, whose cheeks were scarlet. “Sir…sirs…ma’am,” he said, almost stuttering. His eyes were huge O’s. “I found the knife in that big coach in the stables, underneath the back seat.”
An absolute silence fell.
This was not happening, Francesca thought, stunned.
“Sir?” Newman spoke.
Bragg flinched. Looking at Hart, he said, “I am afraid you will be spending the night downtown. Cuff him.”