Murder Take Two (31 page)

“The spirits guided me. The most humane way to kill her.”

“Kill who?”

“Laura my beloved. We are one. She is mine and I am hers. Hand in hand, we will walk through the flowers of all colors. They helped by telling me where.”

“Who helped?”

“The colors.” Short, sharp, as though he'd been perfectly clear and she was slow.

“Are you married, Mr. Cayliff?”

“No.”

“Ever had a girlfriend?”

“Only Laura my beloved. She is my soulmate.”

“How did you know Laura would be working in Hampstead?”

His smile flickered on and off. “
Variety,
of course. Filming on location in Hampstead, Kansas. I had to make sure we'd be together, but I didn't know how until the spirits told me.”

“They told you to kill Officer Yancy?”

“To get his gun, so she wouldn't suffer.”

“You understand you've been arrested?”

“Yes, yes, read my rights. Mirandized. Isn't that what you call it?”

“You understand what that means?”

“I just said so.”

“At any time during this interview, you can stop and ask for an attorney. Do you understand?”

“I don't need an attorney. The plan is finished.” Loud, irritated.

Parkhurst, behind him, straightened, alert and ready.

“Tell me the plan,” she invited.

“I've already confessed,” he said. “Freely, with no coercion. I stabbed the police officer to obtain his gun.” Delmar wanted to make that clear. He had no animosity toward the police, he simply had to have the gun. “I shot Laura. Now.” He looked around. “I need my backpack. It's all in there. It's perfectly clear.” He was getting agitated.

“We have it, it's safe. Tell me your plan.”

His eyes flicked over her rapidly and found a spot on the wall behind her. “First, I need surgery for correcting nearsightedness. That's very important. Eyes are the mirror to the soul. Glass—or plastic, even polycarbonate—disfigure the soul. Why aren't you taking notes?”

“You said you had it all written down.”

He nodded. “I don't know if I can remember every detail.”

“You're doing fine.”

“This mole must be removed.” He rubbed his wrist. “It saps my strength. You see the color? Brown. Brown allows all the inner strength to flow from the body.”

“I see.”

“I've thought this out very carefully, and the spirits have guided me. I could have committed suicide, but that wasn't right. In court, my plea will be justifiable homicide, and I'll ask for the death penalty. The only stipulation is, I must choose the prison. Our new life has to start correctly. I haven't decided yet. I have a list. It's in my backpack. I really need my backpack.”

“You can give me the list later.”

“It's very important.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “It's the beginning of phase two.”

“What was phase one?”

“Laura's death,” he said sharply. “I confirmed my love for her by her death. I have to follow the plan exactly. Arrest…” He nodded at Susan. “Prison…” He was getting agitated again.

Parkhurst watched closely.

“… my trial…” He calmed down. “I will act as my own attorney, and I will be convicted.” He took a breath and his eyes darted around the room.

“I understand,” Susan said.

“You don't understand.” Voice raised.

Parkhurst took a step nearer.

“That's only the end of phase one. It's all in my notebook. I have to have my notebook.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Cayliff. The notebook is being kept in a safe place.”

“I have to have it.”

“Tell me more of your plan,” she said.

“It isn't my plan.” He was losing patience with her stupidity. “It's the universe. I had to figure out what the universe wanted. It took a long time and the spirits got angry if I got it wrong. After I'm convicted, I have to be executed by firing squad. One expert marksman with a Springfield 30.06. Facing me, he'll put a bullet just above my right eye, then one above the left eye. He will move to my right side and place one just above the ear. Two in the back of the head, and the final bullet on the left side just above the ear.”

“Tell me about Kay Bender,” Susan said.

“I don't know anyone by that name.”

“She fell from the hayloft and—”

“I killed her.” Hands against his face, his fingertips rubbed his temples. “She looked like Laura my beloved. The spirits were confused. I had to remove her.”

“How did you kill her?”

“The railing. I cut through it. And put the pitchfork where she could fall on it. It had to be done.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“She was trying to be Laura my beloved, invading her soul.”

“Where did you get the saw?”

“One of those trucks,” he said.

“Who was there while you cut the railing?”

“The spirits wanted me to be alone.” He leaned forward and whispered to the table, “I know he's there.”

“Who?”

“The officer standing right behind me. I can sense him.”

That may be the only sane comment Delmar had made since he was brought in. “He's there to listen to this interview. What else can you tell me?”

“The actress who was stabbed.”

“You know her name?”

“Of course, I know her name. I told you I'm not stupid.”

Susan had deliberately waited to ask about Sheri Lloyd, wondering if he would mention her.

He gave another one of his small superior smiles. “Are you going to ask me if I killed her?”

“Did you?”

“Yes. It had to be done.”

“Why did it have to be done?”

“She was making Laura unhappy. That would have messed up the plans. Laura had to be happy when she died.”

“Where did you get the knife?”

He thought a long moment. “I don't want to talk anymore. I have a headache. Would you get me some aspirin, please?”

Susan leaned back and let Parkhurst ask questions. Delmar Cayliff refused to say anything more. He refused the help of an attorney. Earlier, he'd been eager to make her understand his plan; now he was through talking. He didn't want to waste any more time. He wanted to join his hand with Laura's in heaven. He wanted his backpack with his notebook.

Susan had Ellis and White take him away. Her mind playing over Cayliff's statement, she wandered along the corridor to the soft drink machine before realizing she had no change with her. Parkhurst stuck a hand in his pocket, brought out a handful of change, and held it out to her.

“You want one?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She took enough coins and thumbed them in the slot. One can rumbled down, she gave it to him and collected the second. A few weeks ago, it would have been nothing; now it was awkward. Stupid. There was no emotional significance in taking quarters from his palm. Yeah? Then why did she feel stiff, why did he look stiff?

“Have you seen his backpack?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“Let's take a look.”

Five minutes later she dropped Cayliff's backpack on her desk. The front pocket held a topographical map, a hardback, and a paperback both about the Sante Fe Trail. Inside the main section, there was an album with pictures—news photos, glossy studio giveaways, and snapshots, some blurred and grainy, some clear, taken without permission with a zoom lens, clippings, articles about Laura and reviews of the movies she'd been in. There was a bag of trail mix, a roll of clove Life Savers, a pair of white socks, two bottles of water, and a notebook, bluish gray, a three-ring binder like kids used for their homework, filled with ruled paper. In tiny, neat script, he'd written minutiae of his daily existence and the cosmic meaning of it all. On the day he'd gone to the bank, he'd endorsed a check with the bank's pen, it had black ink. Later he'd seen a movie with a character named Black. Black was a murky color meaning the universe wasn't pleased with him, he wasn't trying hard enough. Another movie, a western, had a Wells Fargo stagecoach. His bank was Wells Fargo. The evening news reported a child had fallen into an abandoned well. This meant the spirits were with him and wished him well. Stopping at a red light behind a red car was a double warning; the spirits were angry. A right turn followed by spotting the street sign
GOLDEN AVENUE
appeased the spirits.

Susan flipped pages until she came to the third of June, the day of the stuntwoman's accident. “She had to die. She looked too much like Laura my beloved. The spirits were confused.” Three pages of colors with the descriptions these colors meant for the moods of the spirits, and explanations of why these moods affected the universe. Many pages of detailed plans to kill Yancy and take his gun, all to remove Laura my beloved from this world with the least suffering.

Susan quickly scanned pages and found, “She's stabbed. She can't upset Laura my beloved now.”

And June 7. “It's done. The gun's mine. The time is now. I'm coming, Laura my beloved.”

“The mayor will be happy,” Parkhurst said.

“Yeah,” Susan said.

“You can have Osey get on television and tell the world how we captured this guy with diligence and careful police work.”

“Yeah.”

“He confessed.”

“Yeah, he did. Did you think there was anything odd about his confession?”

“The man is a nutcake. Everything about him is odd.”

“Yeah.”

“You don't sound overjoyed considering you just cleared a very high-profile case.”

She wasn't. She was uneasy about Cayliff's confession. Inconsistencies abounded.

“You inform Ms. Edwards,” she said. “I'll handle the press.”

27

As Parkhurst shifted the Bronco into gear and pulled out of the lot, he glanced at his watch. Four o'clock. Laura was probably at the hotel. He felt guilty about her and guilty about Susan. Susan had said stay out of it. He'd been as much as lying to her and she knew it. Disobeying a superior hadn't ever been a conscience-heavy matter. Going soft?

Going stupid. Being his superior wasn't the half of it, being Susan got all tangled in there. He could hear his father say, “Hey, chickenshit for brains, you a coward too?” A real sweetheart, his old man. “If you're not man enough to go for it, you're no son of mine.”

Aw, Laurie, what are you doing back in my life?

Leaving the Bronco in the hotel parking lot, he weaved through cars and went inside the Sunflower. On the fourth floor, he got off and went to Laura's suite.

Before he could knock, the door opened and Nick Logan stormed out. Seeing Parkhurst, Nick turned and called into the suite, “Your Mountie's here.”

Parkhurst thought throwing him against the wall with a forearm across his throat and jabbing one quick punch to the gut was just the thing to let out a shitload of frustration.

“Ben—?” Laura, face shiny clean like she'd just taken a shower, started toward him, arms extended, then hesitated. “What's the matter? You look ready to punch someone. What is it with the male sex? You always want to hit each other.”

He half smiled. There was something very clear and pure about rage. You knew what it was and you knew what to do with it. You hit someone. If you were like the old man, you battered your wife and beat up your children. If you were one of the children, you told yourself you were better than he was. You might even have believed it until an ex-wife came along and reminded you you weren't better, simply not a drunk and you had better control.

Laura laughed, a light sweet sound, and walked into his arms, put her hands on his face, and kissed him softly. He was wrong about the control.

“Laura—”

Her arms slipped around his neck, and she breathed into his throat. “I see you haven't forgotten me.”

An inner voice ordered: throw her over your shoulder, march into the bedroom, and toss her on the bed. He cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her soft lips. Lightly. Control. Oh, yeah.

“You want to hear the latest from the cop shop?” His voice was hoarse.

Anger flashed up in her blue eyes so quickly, he thought she'd yell at him. She didn't, she slapped him. Not a ladylike tap or a choreographed move, she hauled off and landed a flat palm across his face hard enough to make his teeth clack.

“Hey. What was that for?”

“You know what it was for. For being a prick, for pulling away like you always did, for hiding under your cop shell.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Laurie—” He gathered her in his arms again, smoothed back her gold hair, and murmured apologies.

She smiled up at him. Awareness, forgiveness, promise—all in a three-cornered smile. The inner voice again. Throw caution to the winds.

*   *   *

In front of the police department, Susan looked, she hoped, suitably serious and spoke, she hoped, with suitable solemnness. Lights blinded her, mikes bristled in her face.

“Have you arrested the killer?”

“Who is he?”

“What's his name?”

“We have a man in custody,” she said.

“Did he kill two people?”

“Does he know Laura Edwards?”

“What do you know about him?”

“Why did he want to kill Laura Edwards?”

“Would you describe him as a stalker?”

“We're not releasing his name at this time,” she said.

“Does Laura Edwards know him?”

“Is he a friend?”

“A boyfriend?”

“At this point, we haven't interviewed Ms. Edwards. She is shaken up over the incident. We'll have a great deal more information after we've spoken with her.” Susan slipped back inside, as questions were shouted and microphones shaken.

At her desk Delmar Cayliff's notebook waited and she went back to it. By seven o'clock, she was still at it. She squinted, rubbed her eyes, and leaned back, then leaned forward, snapped on the desk lamp, and kept reading. Where was Parkhurst when she needed him? Probably having a jolly little reunion with his ex-wife.