14 The Chocolate Clown Corpse (16 page)

“Aren’t you tired, Emma? He could talk to you in the morning.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No! I’ve been trying to get this done for a week, and I’m not waiting any longer!”

I was sure Joe was tired, too, but he had to speak for himself. And as I expected, he agreed to go back to Sarajane’s and let Emma get whatever was bothering her off her chest.

The surprise came when Emma asked me to go along. And the next surprise came when Joe endorsed her suggestion. Why would he want me to sit in on a discussion of a client’s case?

We left my van at the station, and Emma rode with Belle. As soon as we were in Joe’s truck I quizzed him. “Why am I here, Joe?”

“I know you’d rather be working on your payroll . . .”

“Ha! Working on a payroll isn’t exactly thrilling.”

“I guess not. But you seem to soothe Emma. She trusts you.” He laughed. “Especially after you busted her out of the hospital. Plus, I can tell you’re dying to know what she’s going to say.”

“That’s true. I was expecting a detailed report as soon as you got home.”

It was only eight thirty when we got to Sarajane’s. Bless her heart, she let us have the room off the parlor that we’d used for Joe’s conference with Belle a few days earlier.

Belle was dying of curiosity, just like me, but she said she was going to bed. Sarajane delivered a pot of coffee to us. She also said good night.

Naturally, after days of trying to talk to Joe, Emma found it hard to begin. Joe didn’t help her. He just busied around, getting out a big legal pad for notes and fixing a cup of coffee. Then he took a pen in his hand and looked at her expectantly.

Emma sighed deeply and spoke. “The truth is, Royal Hollis didn’t kill Moe. I did.”

Huh?

Emma’s statement was crazy, but as she made it she seemed perfectly calm and rational.

I tried to take it in. It wasn’t easy. Although Joe and I had touched on the possibility that Royal hadn’t killed Moe, that had simply been wishful thinking. Everyone’s assumption had been that he had done it. Royal had even confessed.

Or had he?

Joe had never been happy with Royal’s confession, true. But I had thought that was because Joe didn’t think Royal was competent. He doubted that Royal understood what was going on, and he didn’t think Royal grasped the implications of the story he told the sheriff’s deputies.

Plus, Joe didn’t think Royal intended to hurt Moe. If he had hit Moe, it was because Moe struck him first.

In addition, the sheriff kept urging a serious legal charge on the prosecutor. Joe thought Royal Hollis was being accused of a more serious crime than he committed—murder rather than manslaughter. These things had nothing to do with the truth of the homeless man’s confession.

Even after Elk told us that a woman had been present when Moe and Hollis tangled, it had not occurred to me that Royal might not have committed the crime at all. I had just considered the missing woman a possible witness. Now Emma was making the possibility of Hollis’ innocence a probability.

Emma’s confession was going to make Burt Ramsey feel like an idiot.

Then it hit me. Burt Ramsey wasn’t going to like feeling like an idiot. Instead of freeing Royal from all charges, Emma’s claim was going to cause a whole bunch of trouble. And in the end it might not help Royal Hollis.

“Oh my gosh!” I said.

I may have reacted with excitement, but Joe maintained professional decorum. “That’s hard to believe, Emma. Why don’t you tell us the whole story?”

Her hands were shaking, but Emma kept speaking calmly.

“I’m not saying I intended to kill Moe. But I did it. I was so upset with him—well, I struck him in anger. And he died. It was entirely my fault.”

“Why were you angry with him?”

“Oh, it was just the end of a whole lot of things—and some of them were my fault. I think I’d finally just had enough.”

She looked at Joe imploringly. All he did was nod. This was enough encouragement, I guess, because Emma kept talking.

“Maybe I’m just dumb, but Moe had fooled me completely. When we first met, I mean. He was so active in the community, served on committees, and donated a lot of money to projects that made the town better. And personally he was, well, a good guy. He was always cheerful and considerate.” She blinked hard. “Then we got married, and the real Moe came out.”

“I knew Moe well enough to know he liked to have his own way,” Joe said.

“He sure did. Like—well, the first shock I had was how disappointed Moe was to learn that all my money was tied up! He didn’t even try to hide the way he felt about that. Jack—that was my first husband—knew I was a pushover. Everything he left me is in trust, and I can only use the income.” Her voice rose. “And Moe’s capital was gone before we married. He gave it all away!”

Joe shook his head. “I always wondered where Moe got his money.”

“Verita! His first wife. It came from her. They lived simply, but Moe gave away every cent she had.”

“Moe did own the Clowning Around building. And his house.”

“They’re both mortgaged to the maximum. Moe had nothing but his social security. He was broke all the time. He could always come up with a clown event to go to or a charitable campaign to give to. Or a city council candidate to back. Anything to get his picture in the paper. It took everything he had.”

“You were supporting the two of you?”

“Mainly. My income isn’t all that large, and Moe wanted to own two houses and give—give generously—to every project that came along.” She sighed deeply. “Then there were other problems. After we were married, his whole personality changed.”

I doubted that. Moe had always been a jerk, but Emma simply hadn’t seen it until after they were married.

“Moe began to be rude,” she said. “To me. And he wasn’t, well, provident. Like not closing the house up properly. He made me leave so suddenly in October that there was still food
in the refrigerator up here. He wanted me to sell my house in Indiana! Or mortgage it. He yelled at me because I wouldn’t do that. My whole life got to be a nightmare.”

“What happened the day Moe died?” Joe asked.

Emma dropped her head to her hands for a moment. “That awful day,” she said. “Moe was so angry when Harry Vandercool called him. Of course, he did his happy act for Harry—thanked him effusively and promised to come right up and take care of the situation. But—oh!—Moe was really mad. He snarled and yelled at me all evening. Like it was my fault! And then Chuck called and wanted to see him. Moe was already mad at Chuck, though he would never tell me exactly why. It was something about money Moe had given to some organization—but that had nothing to do with Chuck. Moe talked so ugly to him—I was ashamed of him. But Chuck insisted on seeing him. He said he’d meet us at the house up here. I remember Moe said, ‘He claims he can explain.’ That whole thing made Moe have another fit. It was a nightmare.”

Emma stirred her cup of coffee and sighed deeply. “I guess one reason I went up to the cottage with Moe was that I thought I might be able to keep him from fighting with Chuck. I was so ashamed of myself for being married to Moe. I guess that’s when I made up my mind I was going to ask him to leave my house. But I thought I ought to see a lawyer first. And we did need to check on the Michigan house. So we left early and got here around noon.

“As soon as we parked in the drive, we saw that poor man in the hot tub. The way Moe acted was simply horrible! He jumped out of the car, screaming at him. I jumped out, too, and I tried to get Moe to stop yelling. Poor Mr. Hollis climbed out of the hot tub. He was trying to put his clothes on. And he was wet, of course! He couldn’t get them on.”

She fished a wadded up Kleenex out of her purse. “I felt so sorry for him! And Moe was awful. I grabbed his arm. I tried to tell him to calm down. That only made things worse. Moe shoved me aside. He went up on the deck. Mr. Hollis was trying to get away. He tried to put his underwear on, and he fell down.”

“Did Moe hit him?”

“No. Moe was just yelling. Mr. Hollis got back up on his feet. He moved away and backed down the stairs. He fell in the snow. Then Moe got hold of the poor man’s shoes! It was wintertime. I’m sure he had only one pair of shoes. There was snow and ice everywhere. Mr. Hollis tried to get the shoes back. That’s when they began to struggle.”

“Over the shoes.”

“Yes! I was so angry with Moe.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “Why?”

“After all, Royal Hollis was on your property.”

“Moe’s property! Not mine.”

“But at the least Hollis was trespassing. In the eyes of the law he was definitely in the wrong. Why were you angry with Moe? Why not with Royal Hollis?”

“Because Moe had no compassion! He was cruel! I couldn’t bear it!” She wiped her eyes again. “That’s why I hit him.”

“You hit Moe?”

“Yes! I caught him completely off guard. He had his back to me.”

“Did you use a weapon?”

“No, no! Just my hands. I ran at him, and I hit him in the middle of the back with both hands. He went down—ass over teakettle!”

For a moment Emma looked triumphant. “But I didn’t mean
to
hurt
Moe! I just wanted him to let that poor man go. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Joe frowned. “I don’t see how shoving him—even a hard shove—could kill him, Mrs. Davidson.”

She looked up sharply. “Moe hit his head! As he went down he whacked his head on the steps to the deck. He was bleeding. And he just lay there.”

Mrs. Davidson mopped her eyes; her Kleenex was sodden. Joe looked solemn, and I must have been bug-eyed. This story was perfectly believable—but also a complete surprise. None of us spoke for at least a full minute.

Then Joe pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and put it on the table in front of Emma.

“Thank you,” she said. She blew her nose. “Mr. Hollis ran away.”

“Did you call an ambulance for Moe?” Joe asked.

“Chuck said he would take care of him.”

“Chuck was present for all this?”

“Oh, no. He drove up just as Mr. Hollis ran off. I told him what had happened. I also told him I was going to get a divorce.” Emma patted her eyes again with Joe’s handkerchief. “Moe was still lying there, but he was moving. It never occurred to me that he was seriously hurt. Honestly, I thought he was just trying to get sympathy. Chuck told me it would be best if I just left and went home. He said he’d calm his dad down and call me that evening.”

Emma blew her nose again. “But that evening Chuck came to see me instead. He drove down to tell me Moe was dead.”

There was nothing to say. I patted Emma’s hand. Her tears were still running, and she was holding her head in both hands. It was several minutes before she looked up at Joe.

“And now,” she said, “now you’re wondering why I didn’t call the police right that minute.”

“What did you do?”

“I listened to Chuck! He convinced me that I shouldn’t do that. He said that the police thought Moe’s death was an accident. That he fell on the stairs and hit his head. He said that I was perfectly justified—those are the words he used, ‘perfectly justified’—in trying to stop his dad from attacking Mr. Hollis. He said legally I didn’t need to come forward, explain what had happened, to stand trial. I hadn’t meant to injure Moe, and his death was just an accident. And he said that’s what the police thought. So there was no point in my confessing.”

She mopped her eyes again. “I was a coward! I let Chuck convince me.” She took two deep breaths before she spoke again. “I had no idea anyone had been arrested for Moe’s death.”

“Emma,” I said, “did you call the police station a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes. Someone said it was the chocolate company.”

“It was me.”

Emma nodded. “I thought it must have been. That’s when I found out that poor Mr. Hollis was being accused of killing Moe. Of course, I immediately told Chuck I was going to come forward.”

“And he tried to stop you?” I asked.

“He said I had it all wrong. That I didn’t shove Moe down. That it was Royal who hit him.” She twisted her hands together. “And that’s just not right!”

Joe frowned. And I’m sure I did, too. Joe was the first one to speak. “Emma, let me think about all this for a moment.”

“I’ll do anything you say to make the situation right.”

Joe didn’t answer. He stared at his yellow pad and drew a picture of a boat on it. He was probably wishing he had never left his boat shop. I was certainly wishing I were back in at TenHuis Chocolade. Because Emma’s problem was a real doozy.

Mostly because she’d handled it all wrong.

I don’t know a lot about law, but I did—unfortunately—know a lot about Sheriff Burt Ramsey. And Sheriff Burt Ramsey had a culprit all lined up for the death of Moe Davidson. Ramsey would be happy to send Royal Hollis to prison and forget him. Ramsey wasn’t going to want the widow of the victim turning up and trying to plead guilty. Not a widow who had been under treatment—even briefly—for mental issues. That was going to be a complicated case. Because, let’s face it, Emma might not have shoved Moe. She might well have just imagined that she shoved him—or I was ready to predict that that would be Ramsey’s theory of the case.

Joe finally spoke. “Emma, the first thing you need is your own lawyer.”

“I was hoping you could help me handle this matter.”

“I’m representing Royal Hollis. Your interests could well be adverse to his. Do you see what I mean?”

“But I want to help him go free!”

“I understand that. However, you need a different lawyer to make sure you don’t wind up being treated unfairly yourself.”

“But that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Woodyard! Because you represent Mr. Hollis. Can’t you just call me as a witness?”

The discussion went on for ten minutes. Emma was completely focused on unburdening her conscience. She didn’t seem to see the implications. After all, her story was so nutty that
once she told it, any judge in Michigan might commit her to a mental hospital with a clear conscience.

In the end she agreed to let Joe contact his former mentor, Mac McKay, and get him to recommend several lawyers to her. Mac is a former Warner County attorney, Joe explained. Joe had been an intern for him, back when he was a law student at the University of Michigan.

“Mac knows everybody in the legal world in this part of the state,” Joe said. “He doesn’t practice anymore, but anybody he recommends will do a good job for you.”

“I guess that’s the best I can do,” Emma said. “It’s just that you and Lee have been so kind to me. And Lee saved my life! And I just can’t die until I’ve done my duty.”

By then it was nearly eleven o’clock, and Joe and I went home. We had to stop by the Shell station to pick up my van. All my payroll records were still in the passenger’s seat. Seeing them there made me more tired than ever.