Carnal Vengeance (41 page)

Erica didn't love her.
She had been with a man all weekend. Rachel's brain slowly analyzed what else that meant.

Erica didn't kill Frampton.
Which meant she probably didn't kill Ziegler or O'Day either. Rachel had been certain it was Erica, since Ziegler was drugged, then cut and left to bleed to death, the same way Erica's second husband had died. Also, right after they had talked of coming up with a special punishment for O'Day, he was killed. She had been positive Erica had done it for her—a unique, very private gift. Then, when she heard about Frampton, she recalled April saying Erica was in Florida, and she had no doubts left at all. But she'd been wrong about everything.

Knowing all the facts, Rachel had initially deduced that it was one of two women. If the murderess wasn't Erica, it had to be the other.

She was about to pour herself another drink, but took a long swallow straight from the bottle instead.

Erica thought she didn't need her anymore, but she didn't know about the tape Rachel had hidden in her wall safe. The night Erica became drunk enough to brag about how she'd gotten rid of her first two husbands, Rachel had had a tape recorder running under the bed.

It had been clear to Rachel that Erica was pulling away and she planned to keep the tape as insurance that Erica would never abandon her. However, she also knew Erica would be furious if she found out, so she simply held on to it as a last-ditch measure. It had never been necessary to tell Erica about the tape.

The necessity had now arrived, but Rachel hadn't had the guts to use her insurance. The pitiful truth was that she couldn't blackmail Erica, because she loved her too much to hold her against her will. Nor could she turn her and the tape over to the police.

Carrying the half-empty bottle of bourbon with her, she went to the safe and extracted the tape. For a moment she considered listening to it one last time, but when she remembered the sounds of lovemaking and erotic dialogue that flowed through the confession, she changed her mind. Her heart was hurting too badly for that.

She unwound the ribbon of tape from its plastic case, dropped it all in a steel saucepan, then lit a match. In seconds, her insurance against Erica's abandoning her was gone.

There was only one thing left to do, she thought, taking another swig from the bottle. The real perpetrator had to be protected. Rachel owed April too much to let her suffer for such worthwhile deeds.

She composed her thoughts as she found paper and pen to write out her confession. In perfect agency format, Rachel described how and why she had killed Ziegler and O'Day. She couldn't claim to be in Florida when Frampton was hit, but she knew who had been there besides Erica and the real murderess.

Holly Kaufman.
Rachel laughed aloud as she realized there was a way she could save April and get revenge against Holly at the same time. How ingenious of April to convince Holly to go flying to her reporter's bedside! Unfortunately, Rachel didn't have specific details of how Frampton had been lured to his death, but she figured the rest of the confession would make the last part believable.

She claimed that the two of them had planned the murders together and that, with Holly's reporter friend getting shot, she had the perfect excuse for being in the vicinity. Rachel knew Wells was under guard and not permitted to have visitors, so Holly was undoubtedly asleep and alone in a motel room at the time of the murder. She'd have no alibi. It couldn't have worked out better if Rachel had planned it in advance.

She considered blaming Holly for all three, but if the reporter regained consciousness, he could swear to Holly's whereabouts during the O'Day murder. It was safer this way.

When she was finished with that chore, she went to her bathroom closet and removed several containers of the antidepressants April had prescribed for her. She had been saving them up for this moment—an event she had thought about often over the last twenty years. A moment that her job and her passion for Erica had managed to postpone.

As previously planned and mentally rehearsed so many times, she prepared the stage. Her alarm clock, set to go off in four hours, was placed on the coffee table in the living room next to her final report. The front door of her apartment was left unlocked.

When the alarm continued to sound without being turned off, some neighbor would come to complain and, finding the door unlatched, should investigate further. Otherwise, it could be days before anyone might come to check on her and she wanted to make sure her last words were found quickly.

She sat down on the couch, dumped all ten containers of pills on the table, then one handful at a time, washed them down with the rest of the bourbon. At one time she had thought about eating her gun, in the more traditional law enforcement manner, but that was such an unattractive way to go.

Settling back to wait for it to take effect, however, she thought of something that had never been in the plan before. She stumbled into her bedroom, pulled off the tailored, mannish clothes she was wearing, then slipped into the black lacy nightgown she had bought yesterday as a gift for Erica.

At least she would die feeling pretty.

* * *

"Holly Kaufman?"

She looked up at the man who had stepped in her path just as she was entering the lobby of her apartment building. As soon as she acknowledged her name, he flashed his badge and photo identification.

"Agent Thackery, FBI. Would you come with me, please?"

Holly's brows rose in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd suggest you come along peaceably." His face was expressionless.

"May I see your identification again, please?" Holly asked just as politely. He held on to his badge case as she compared the picture with the man. "All right, but where is it you want to take me and why?"

He put his case away and said, "FBI headquarters. Senior Agent Quick from Miami asked me to bring you in for questioning immediately."

"Agent Quick is here? In Washington?"

Agent Thackery nodded curtly. "He arrived a short while ago."

Holly thought he didn't sound too pleased about it. She couldn't imagine what other questions she could possibly answer, but she didn't seem to have any choice. She left her overnight bag with Pete, then left with Agent Thackery.

Upon arrival at the FBI building, she was taken to a room furnished with a rectangular table and eight chairs. Recording equipment was set up at one end of the table. On impulse, she tested the doorknob after she was left alone.

Locked!
Instantly, panic set in. What was this all about? Was she under arrest? Had Rachel already found out that she had talked and made good on her threat? Why was Agent Quick in D.C.?

As if on cue, Quick entered the room with Agent Thackery and a woman who was just as physically generic as her male counterparts.

Quick greeted her with a smile. "Miss Kaufman, this is Agent Varden and you met Agent Thackery. Thank you for coming in. Please have a seat." Once she sat where he directed, the others took chairs around her. "I just need to ask you a few more questions," Quick said, still maintaining his friendly demeanor. "Perhaps the best place to start is for you to tell us everything you've done from the time you left Wells's hospital room at eleven-fifty last evening."

She reminded herself that this man was not her friend, despite his smile or tone of voice. He was an FBI agent, just like Rachel, and he would be more apt to believe his colleague than a stranger. She straightened in the chair with her hands folded on her lap and tried to remember every detail of the time that had passed.

"I took a cab—a Yellow one—to the Miami International Airport. The next flight back here was on Delta at six-thirty this morning, so I took a room in the airport hotel. The plane had mechanical difficulties, and we never left Miami until about nine. Then there was a stop in Atlanta, and I think it was around one-thirty when we landed at Dulles. As it turned out, I could have taken a later, nonstop flight and gotten in sooner."

"And from there?" Quick prodded when she stopped her narrative.

"Um... since my car was at National Airport, I had to take a cab there. With everything that had happened, I really didn't feel like going home yet, so I decided to go by my office and catch up on some paperwork. Oh yes, I went through a McDonald's drive-through on the way and picked up lunch. By the time I got to my office, it was a little after four. The building security guard checked me in and out again about eight. I'm afraid I fell asleep at my desk. It all just caught up with me at once, I guess. Then I went home and Agent Thackery was waiting for me."

Agent Varden spoke to Quick. "I should be able to verify the cabs, the hotel stay, the airlines, and the time spent at the office without any problem."

"Fine," Quick replied. "Then contact the rental car agencies out of the Miami airport. Other than a cab, that's about the fastest way she could have gotten up to Boca Raton and back in time to catch that flight."

"Boca Raton?" Holly asked. "Why would I have gone there?"

Agent Thackery looked skeptical. "Are you implying that you haven't heard any news today?"

"No, I haven't. I just told you what my day was like. Besides," she murmured, "every time I've listened to the news lately, it's been bad."

"It's all right, Miss Kaufman," Agent Quick said in a soothing voice. "Before I explain, I just want to clarify one thing. You checked into the hotel, went directly to your room, and stayed there until... When?"

Holly frowned. "Four-thirty, I think. Wanted to make sure I got through security and had time for coffee before boarding. But I didn't stay in the room the entire time."

"Oh?" Quick asked. Varden and Thackery inched closer expectantly.

Holly shook her head. "I couldn't sleep and thought I'd go buy a magazine or book to read. But the newsstand was closed."

"What time was that?" Varden asked.

"About two."

"Did you see or talk to anyone at that time?"

The memory made Holly smile despite the circumstances. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. There was this very nice maintenance woman changing the trash bag in the can near the newsstand. She guessed what my problem was and offered me a book that someone had thrown away and she had salvaged. She was only going to leave it in the employees' lounge at the end of her shift, so I took it."

"Describe her," Quick said abruptly, and Holly did the best she could. "What happened to the book?"

"I have it right here," Holly replied, then realized where it was. "I mean, it's in my overnight bag. I left it with the doorman at my apartment building."

Quick dismissed Varden, instructing her to get started on verifications. Turning back to Holly, he began the explanations she'd been waiting to hear.

"Jerry Frampton was murdered in a hotel room in Boca Raton around the time you say you were talking to the maintenance woman. If that checks out, you're in the clear."

Holly felt the blood rush from her head. "Why would you suspect me? I was the one that warned you that he might be next."

"That's true. Unfortunately, we never had a chance to warn
him.
Since I took your statement in Miami, I've been temporarily assigned to work with the task force investigating the murders here. But to answer your question, you are a suspect because Rachel Greenley accused you of doing the Frampton murder."

"Dear god! She knew I was flying down there. All she had to do was follow me down on the next flight, kill him, and blame it on me."

"If she did follow you down there, she used a false name and ID. We're checking the security video as well as showing her picture to all the airline employees on duty yesterday and this morning to see if anyone remembers her going out or coming back. The thing is, she would have known that would be the first thing we'd do, but even with fake ID and a disguise, her size would still make her somewhat easy to spot in a crowd. It's why she wouldn't have normally been assigned to field work. On the other hand, she could have felt safe accusing you because she really
didn't
do it and believed you did."

Surprisingly, Holly followed his logic. "But even if she didn't kill Frampton herself, I have a feeling she knows who did. Can't you force the truth out of her?"

Quick shook his head. "Not anymore. Rachel Greenley committed suicide a few hours ago. Left a deathbed confession—which is usually considered strong evidence—that she killed Ziegler and O'Day, and you murdered Frampton."

Holly wrung her hands together and looked from one man to another. "It's not true. I could never kill anyone. And even if I could, wouldn't it be stupid to let the authorities know what was going on right before I did it?"

Agent Thackery arched one eyebrow at her. "A very smart killer might do just that to throw us off."

Holly leaned toward Quick with a pleading expression. "Don't you see? She's done exactly what she threatened to do if I told anyone about the Little Sister Society."

"Personally, I think that's what it is. However, my opinion doesn't hold much weight in a court of law. We have to verify everything you said before you're off the hook. Of course, that automatically presents another problem. If Greenley lied about you killing Frampton, what else did she lie about? Maybe she lied about taking out Ziegler and O'Day. There's a possibility that she's protecting a third person."