Black Princess Mystery (28 page)

“I’m sure
you have an example for me,” McNab said with a wry smile.

“Jane
Toppan was a nurse who killed between seventy and one hundred people in her
care. Genene Jones may have been responsible for the deaths of as many as
sixteen infants in the pediatric ward where she worked.”

“I suppose
hedonists are killers who simply find pleasure in murdering others.”

“Yes,”
said Tasheka. “Among male serial killers, this type of individual is common,
but among women it is very rare.”

“Disciple
killers, let me guess. They are women who killed but claimed they were innocent
because some man was exerting pressure over them, turning them into a disciple
of some kind.”

“Exactly,”
Tasheka said, sliding her queen to mid-board. “Karla Homolka in Canada comes to
mind.”

“Oh, yes,”
said McNab. “I attended a seminar on that case up in Toronto.” He gazed at
Tasheka. “She was a beautiful woman. No one would ever suspect her.” McNab
seemed to think of something. “She is beautiful, just like you, Miss Green. But
even beautiful women can be evil, I suppose. Don’t you think so?”

Tasheka
nodded. “Homolka was also implicated in the death of her own sister. On
Christmas Eve, nonetheless. But she claims to have been a disciple of Paul
Bernardo.”

“It’s
odd,” said McNab, moving his king one space, “but I have the distinct
impression that you believe even if the priest’s death was the work of a serial
killer, you refuse to accept the possibility that it could have been a woman.
Yet you have just outlined a number of cases where women committed brutal
murders, many of them against men, and is it not the case that male serial
killers are usually attracted to female targets whereas male victims, such as
Father Tim Murphy, are often murdered by women? Or maybe I’m wrong. Is it
possible you accept that a woman may have been responsible for his death?”

Tasheka
did not immediately answer and they both fell into deep concentration, studying
the board and carefully moving their pieces. “I don’t think a woman did it,”
Tasheka suddenly said. “Not Henrietta and especially not my mother. The fact is
that female serial killers almost always choose someone weaker than them,
either weak men or children. Father Tim was a robust, healthy man. Because of
physical discrepancies understood almost from birth, women seldom attack men of
that ilk.”

“But we
have the element of surprise,” McNab pointed out. “Just for the sake of
argument, look at yourself. Tim Murphy weighed about one hundred and ninety
pounds. You weigh, I suppose, one hundred and twenty-five pounds. That would be
quite the mismatch in a physical confrontation. But if you had been hiding
behind the tree—Dead Man’s Oak, as they call it—this would have negated any
physical advantage Father Murphy would have possessed. Everyone apparently knew
he walked there at night and he was so routinized he reached the tree almost
the exact same moment every time.”

“That’s
very clever, detective,” Tasheka said, then added sarcastically, “I never
thought of it.”

“Just for
the sake of argument, Miss Green, you must concede that a woman even of your
size and disadvantage in strength could have surprised Father Murphy and
knocked him unconscious with a blow to the back of the head.” He paused. “And
we can’t forget that even though you are smaller, you are surprisingly strong.
I checked at your university gym and found out that you were known for
regularly lifting weights. One instructor told me you had a respectable bench
press. Couldn’t that be a factor, Miss Green? Couldn’t a woman improve her
strength to such a degree that she could carry out such an execution?”

Tasheka’s
eyes darted over the board. “I suppose so. Henrietta played rugby and was known
for her rough style, but my mother is the quintessential lady. Regardless, we
have the issue of the hand. Male serial killers often take trophies from
victims, including jewelry, small trinkets, and clothing. Women have been known
to do the same. But one thing that separates the genders is the fact that men
sometimes dismember the body and keep body parts as trophies.”

“Go on,”
he said, studying her.

“Men keep
body parts,” Tasheka continued, ignoring him, “for hedonistic purposes. Women
almost never do that. That someone cut off Father Tim’s hand is a signature to
me that we are looking for a man.”

Detective
McNab seemed on the defensive. “Or let’s look at another possibility,” he said,
making a bold move with his rook. “Imagine that someone has studied the
tendencies of male and female serial killers, someone such as you, for
instance. Would it not behoove this person to purposely do things she was not
comfortable with? I mean, if a woman knew that female serial killers almost
never cut off body parts, wouldn’t it be very wise on her part to do just that?
For the sake of argument alone, you have to admit this could help deflect
attention from her.”

“A serial
killer or a one-time killer,” Tasheka said coolly, “would be prudent to do
anything she could to throw the police off her trail. That’s a subtle thing and
it never occurred to me, but it is certainly worth considering.”

He stared
into her eyes. “Why did you buy him the ring?”

“How do
you know I bought him the ring?”

“It’s my
job,” he said matter-of-factly. “The moment I saw the hand, the ring jumped out
at me. I used to deal with stolen goods and I understand when I’m looking at
quality. Detective Henry saw the ring, too, and he knew immediately that the
motive for the murder wasn’t robbery. If it was, the ring would have been the
first thing taken. I had it appraised that very day and was surprised to learn
its value topped ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars! That got me to
thinking. How in God’s name does a village priest have such an expensive ring?
I suspected he didn’t buy it, so I had to find out who did.”

“You’re
very curious, detective.”

“The next
day,” he continued, ignoring her, “I went to every jewelry shop in the city and
finally found the business that sold it. The owner remembered selling it
because the purchaser was so fussy about what she wanted. And he remembered
that she was a beautiful black woman. We checked the receipts when, lo and
behold, whose name pops up but yours, Miss Green. You bought the ring. But why?
Why would you buy a priest such a valuable and highly personal item like a
ring?”

“You tell
me,” Tasheka said with a poker face. She moved her queen a few spaces and
leaned back in her chair. “Tell me what you think, anyway.”

“It’s not
a question of thinking, it’s a question of knowing.”

“And what
exactly do you know, Detective McNab?”

“I know
that you have been pumping Detective Henry for any information you can get and
that you have been using your feminine powers to do so.”

“Is that a
crime?”

“No, it’s
not a crime, but neither is having an affair with a priest.” He closed in on
her queen with his knight. “You were having an affair with Tim Murphy, Miss
Green. Don’t bother denying it. I went through both your credit card statements
for the last year and found out Murphy made some food purchases at the
Paradise Motel
on Halloween night and
then again the next morning. As I’m sure you know, the
Paradise Motel
is a pigsty where prostitutes turn tricks and dopers
shoot up. I had to go there, just to satisfy my curiosity, and I took your
picture along just in case. One particularly helpful staff person recognized
you. Being beautiful has its drawbacks, Miss Green. It’s like being seven feet
tall or four hundred pounds. You stand out wherever you go, especially to men.
He told me something interesting. Apparently you and the priest are, how shall
I say, vocal people. A guest actually lodged a complaint against you, didn’t
she? You and the priest were making too much noise while wrestling.”

Tasheka
drew back defensively, unable to withstand his onslaught anymore, and tried
somehow to save her queen. “Yes, I did buy him the ring, and yes, we did have a
sexual relationship one time. Your point is?”

McNab’s
eyes sparkled as he tightened the noose around her queen. “I found out one more
little tidbit that is relevant in this case.”

Tasheka
pushed her tongue against her cheek and moved, almost recklessly, it seemed.
She knew what was coming.

“Your
father, Mr. Green, was a shrewd businessman, but also a highly religious man.
To him, it was fundamentally important that you be baptized and attend church
every week, something you did, at least until recently. How it must have broken
his heart when he learned that his little girl, Tasheka the princess, was
actually leading a promiscuous life in university. She was even filmed at a hip
hop party doing the naked booty shake and having sex in the pool with some guy
you didn’t even know, not to mention what happened in the change house.” McNab
shook his head. “Your father had been brought up in an upper class Atlanta home
and he hated everything about that culture of drugs and casual sex. He must
have been devastated. Here he was, an honorable and respected man who had
reached the upper echelon of his profession, and there you were, his pride and
joy, the black princess, and you were getting down and dirty with a bunch of
gangsters. I know he destroyed the film, but he had to pay a pretty penny for
it. The two of you had a long talk and it wasn’t funny when he threatened to
cut you out of his will, though, was it, Miss Green?”

Tasheka
bit her lip. “How do you know that?”

“Your
father shared it with his best friend and I found it out from him quite by
chance while I was investigating you. He wasn’t too impressed with you, believe
me.”

“The party
got crazy,” she said, “and all the women were acting out.”

McNab
studied the board. “You became his little darling again and would not so much
as give any man the time of day. Yet women have needs just like men, especially
jungle women like you, and there came a time when celibacy was so unpalatable
that you needed an out, someone who could keep a secret, a priest, for
instance. As your father lie sick in his bed, you chose Tim Murphy as your
prospective lover and moved in on him. With your good looks and money, he had
no more chance than a mouse stalked by a cat. He fell in love with you over
time and after your father died your mother fell in love with him. It was a
regular little intrigue, a Dostoevskian triangle with young and firm Princess
Tasheka right in the middle, a man of the cloth on one side, and an aging
beauty queen clinging to her memories on the other. Everyone in Lakeside knew
you and the priest were great friends, but it went much further than
friendship, didn’t it, Miss Green?”

“Much
further,” she admitted. “But fornication is not murder.”

“Which
brings me to my point,” said McNab, moving his queen in for the kill. He
pointed at the board. “Check.” He then continued: “I was intrigued by this
illicit affair, but there was another angle. Mrs. Green is the only mother you
have ever known. With your father gone, she is all you have left in the whole
world. When push came to shove, how would you feel about a man who was using
her for money? You’d want to kill him, wouldn’t you?”

“Good
police work,” Tasheka said. “I’m proud of you.”

He smirked
at her.

“Let’s
look at the facts, Miss Green. You are beautiful, intelligent, and rich. In
your youth, you were in trouble with the law. We have it all on file. You were
drinking vodka, breaking into cottages with your friends, riding in a stolen
car that was involved in a high speed chase. You were the quintessential rich
little brat. But then you matured and by the time you finished high school, you
were ready for higher stakes poker. In your first year of university, you were
filmed having sex in the pool and dancing naked with other women in front of a
bunch of wannabe rappers.”

“I never
denied that,” she said, “but it only happened once.”

“You are a
thrill seeker, Miss Green. That’s why you bedded the priest. It was a thrill to
get a man of the cloth out of his clothes. It was a way to push limits, to
rebel against the disciplined world in which you were raised. Daddy wouldn’t
like that, would he?”

“Stop
talking about my father,” she said coldly.

“Daddy
wouldn’t like it,” McNab repeated, “because he believed in values and
self-respect. But you did it because you were raised in the generation that
looked up to Madonna. Yet what does a girl do after she’s been drinking,
participating in a high speed chase, and dancing naked in front of thirty men?”
He nodded. “Thirty men watched you dance naked, princess, and you showed them
everything that Thorston has seen.” He laughed. “Hmm, Miss Green? What's next
for a thrill seeker, a hedonist? Everything else must have seemed boring, but
murder is never boring, is it? It’s the ultimate forbidden fruit, the sweetest
temptation of all.” He stared at her with animal eyes. “The question is did you
take a bite of that apple?”

“No,”
Tasheka said, moving her queen a final time. She met his gaze without trepidation.
“Checkmate, little man.”

McNab
looked down at the board and was shocked to see that she had lured him into a
trap, like a black widow entices a small spider. His pride, obviously stung,
showed in his expression.