Thicker Than Water (22 page)

On the elevator up to the Brenner offices, Louis tried to put the pieces together in his head. All he had were some suspicions, a connection between Duvall and Senator Brenner and a gut feeling that Brian Brenner had something to hide. Maybe he just wanted to see Brian's face when he said Kitty's name.

The elevator doors opened and Louis stepped into the reception area. The receptionist recognized him and told him Scott was due back soon. When Louis told her he wanted to see Brian, she waved him past with a smile.

Brian's door was open. He knocked but didn't wait for an invitation to come in.

“You got a minute?”

Brian looked up. He was sitting behind a mountain of files at his desk. He looked paler than normal, his big bland face blending in with the stacks of manila folders on the desk. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“Scott isn't here,” Brian said.

“I can wait,” Louis said.

Louis came further into the office. He could feel Brian's eyes on him as he moved to the window.

“Ah, maybe you'd be more comfortable out in the reception area,” Brian said.

Louis ignored him, pretending to look down on the street and river below.

“Nice view,” Louis said.

Brian didn't answer.

“You know, I'm getting to like Fort Myers,” Louis said, perching on the edge of the sill. “It's a nice town, big but not too big. A place where everybody knows everybody else.”

His eyes went up to the diploma on the wall behind Brian. He did the math and figured out that Brian had been sixteen or seventeen when Kitty was killed.

“You grew up here, right Brian? Went to high school here?”

Brian looked like a cornered cat.

“Oh, yeah,” Louis said. “That's right. Your family has that big old crumbling house over on Shaddlelee Lane. Have you unloaded it yet?”

Brian reached for a tissue and wiped his nose. “No, we just got it appraised.”

Louis smiled slightly. “I like old houses.”

“You already told me that,” Brian said flatly.

“Yeah, but your family's place, it has . . . charm. Why did you decide to sell it now, after all these years, Brian?”

“It was time.”

Louis shook his head slowly. “Too bad you've got to let it go. How does your brother feel about selling it?”

“He thinks it's worth saving,” Brian said tightly. “But Scott likes all lost causes.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Louis said.

Louis went toward Brian's desk, Brian watching him closely. Louis pulled a chair close and sat down. Brian looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to tell Louis to leave but didn't know how. He plucked another tissue from a walnut box on his desk and blew his nose.

“I'm not interrupting anything important, am I?” Louis asked.

Brian threw the tissue hard into the trash can near his feet. “What do you
want?”
he asked.

“I just came by to run a few things by Scott about Kitty Jagger.” Louis paused a beat. “You remember Kitty don't you?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe I could run them by you.”

“I'm not part of that case,” Brian said, moving papers. “That's Scott's project. I don't know anything about it.”

“Do you think he did the right thing?” Louis asked.

Brian looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“Exhuming the body.”

“I don't know,” Brian said flatly.

Louis leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. A part of him didn't really want to talk about this, but he was getting angry, sitting across from Brian and thinking about what he might have done.

“I saw Kitty the other day,” Louis said.

Brian just stared at him.

“She looked good,” Louis said. “All dressed in pink. Had a rose in her hand. For a minute, I thought maybe I could just walk over to her, wake her up and ask her who murdered her.”

Louis paused. Brian looked like had stopped breathing.

“I wonder what she would say,” Louis added.

Brian reached across the desk, grabbing another Kleenex. Louis watched him snort into it, then toss it away. Louis stared at the tissue, sitting on top of crumpled paper.

“Something's in bloom again, huh Brian?” he said.

“I don't know. Look, I have work to do. I think you should go.”

Louis rose. He glanced at a closed door. “Can I use your john first?”

Brian started to protest, but finally just waved his hand.

Louis went into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door. He turned on the light and picked up the brass trash can. It was partially filled with used tissues. He glanced around. Paper cups. He picked out what looked like a thickly stained tissue, and slipped it in a cup. Folding the cup flat, he put it in his pants pocket. Then he flushed the toilet and went back out to Brian's office.

Brian was standing by his office door. “You need to leave now.”

Louis threw up a hand. “Hey, I understand. You're a busy man, Brian. I'll catch Scott tomorrow.”

Louis walked out and Brian shut the door behind him.

When Louis reached the reception area, Scott Brenner was just coming in, carrying his briefcase. Scott smiled broadly when he saw Louis.

“Louis! Perfect timing. Come on in, I have some great news.”

Louis hesitated, but Scott had already gone into his own office, leaving the door open. Louis followed and stood at the door.

“God, what a day,” Scott said, tossing the briefcase on his desk. “Sandusky tried to get a prohibitory injunction to stop the sheriff's office from reopening.” Scott yanked off his tie. “Of course, this dealt more specifically with who actually had control over the old evidence—”

Scott stopped, smiling. “Shit, you don't want to know all that. Bottom line was, Sandusky didn't want the old evidence reexamined.”

“You won the argument?” Louis asked.

“Yes!” Scott said, pumping his arm. “Sandusky looked like a man who had just had his tongue pulled out through his ass. It was magnificent. We need a drink. Brandy, right?”

Louis nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. He was watching Scott, but thinking about Brian in the next office. He had to be sure first; he couldn't do to Scott what he had done to Ronnie. He couldn't make an accusation until he had proof. But once he did, how was he going to tell Scott that his brother might be a murderer?

Scott pulled open the doors to a built-in bar and made two drinks. He brought Louis his glass, then held up his own in a toast.

“Let justice be done,” Scott said.

Louis hesitated, then clinked his glass against Scott's.

“Though the heavens may fall,” Louis said softly.

Louis dropped two quarters into the vending machine and punched at the button. The can of Dr Pepper tumbled to the bottom and he pulled it out.

As he took a drink, he looked down the hallway to where Octavius was loading linens into a closet. Louis looked up at the clock, then in the window of the autopsy room. There was a body laid out, but it wasn't Kitty. Vince must have put her in storage until the Sheriff's department released her.

Louis walked the hall, slumped down in a plastic chair, then rose again, walking the other way. What the hell was taking Vince so long?

A door opened and he saw Vince coming toward him, carrying some papers. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt instead of his usual green scrubs, but still had earphones looped around his neck. As he grew closer, Louis could hear the tinny whine of Marvin Gay singing “Ain't That Peculiar.”

“First you bring me fossilized jism, and now you bring me a snotty Kleenex,” Vince said. “Louis, this has got to stop.”

“I know. I'm sorry. Were you able to type it?”

Vince nodded. “AB-negative.”

A strange mix of emotion passed through Louis. The excitement of knowing he was closing in on Brian was tempered by the knowledge that one more person was going to get hurt by all this. He still had to face Scott.

“Louis, you want this too?” Vince was holding out the papers.

“What is it?”

“Kitty's updated autopsy report. You want to take Scott Brenner his copy?”

Louis nodded, taking the report from Vince. He opened it, then saw Vince moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Wait a minute, Vince.”

Vince turned, throwing his arms out. “Louis, Louis, Louis. Unlike the rest of the people around here, I have a life. Let me live it.”

“Just tell me, did you find anything new?”

“Yeah, one thing,” he said. “We found clay in her hair.”

“In her hair? Why didn't the mortician wash it out?”

“Well, she had the blunt trauma wound on the back of her head. I guess whoever did her couldn't get it all.”

“Clay,” Louis said slowly. “Why the hell would she have clay in her hair? Did she get it in the dump?”

“I doubt it,” Vince said. “It had traces of silica quartz and vinyl acetate mixed in. It wasn't clay, like dirt. It was like what they use for cement work.”

“Cement work?”

“Yeah, you know, the stuff they use to stick tiles on the wall.”

Louis was quiet, thinking.

“One more thing,” Vince said. “Remember I told you I thought that the head wound was not what killed her? I was right. She died from the stab wounds and she almost bled out. She was very dead by the time the body was moved to the dump.”

“So wherever she was killed, there was a lot of blood,” Louis said.

“It would have left a mess, I would think.”

Vince started away. Louis rubbed his brow, trying to think. This couldn't be all there was.

“Vince,” Louis called. “If she was already dead when the killer put her in the landscapers' dump, how did she breathe in the fertilizer?”

Vince turned. “What fertilizer?”

Louis flipped through the report as he walked to Vince. “Here. Right here, the potassium monopersulfate.”

Vince took the report and looked at the listing. “Who told you this was fertilizer?”

“We looked it up.”

“Well, potassium is in fertilizer, but when you add monopersulfate to it, it's a different chemical compound.”

“What is it used for?” Louis asked.

“Pools. They use it to chemically balance swimming pools.” Vince handed him back the report. “I'd guess your girl probably went swimming just before she was killed and took some water into her lungs.”

Louis ran a hand over his brow.
Shit, one little mistake.

Vince mistook his contrition for fatigue and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Louis, give it a rest. Go home.”

Louis nodded, folding the report. He watched Vince disappear down the hallway and leaned back against the cool wall. He was thinking about Brian and he was seeing the Brenner house. Not as the rotting place it was now but as Kitty must have seen it twenty years ago. A beautiful mansion where she could swim in a moonlit pool, pretending she was Lady Kitrina Jaspers.

He knew now what had happened. Now he just had to find a way to prove it to Mobley.

Louis searched O'Sullivan's for Mobley and when he didn't see him, he looked at his watch. Mobley had said eight o'clock. Where was he?

Then, through the smoke and bodies, he saw him sitting in his usual booth in the back. The glass in front of him was empty and Louis stopped at the bar before going back. Sticking his manila folder under his arm, he carried Mobley a scotch and water and brought a Heineken for himself.

Mobley looked up at Louis as he sat down, but then his gaze dropped to the fresh scotch. He picked it up, downing nearly all of it in one swallow. His face looked drawn, and there was something in his eyes Louis couldn't quickly place.

Two men came by the table, heading toward the restrooms. Mobley looked up at them.

“Hey, guys,” he said.

They kept walking.

Mobley's eyes drifted down to the glass in his hands. It hit Louis at that moment that what he was seeing in Mobley's face was the sting of exclusion. And maybe even a little fear that he wasn't going to survive this.

Mobley drank the last drop of scotch and settled back against the booth. “Okay, what was so damn important?”

“I know who killed Kitty and I know where,” Louis said, sitting down across from him.

Mobley eyes narrowed. “I just got the damn case reopened and you've got it all solved.”

Louis put the folder on the table. “I think Duvall sold Jack Cade out in 1967,” he began. “Sometime during the investigation and trial, Duvall latched onto Brian Brenner as a suspect—”

“Brian Brenner? Give me a fucking break, Kincaid.”

“Stay with me for a minute. I think Duvall was afraid of the fallout if he accused the sixteen-year-old son of the city's most prominent family of murder. So he went to Senator Brenner and struck a deal to protect Brian. Jack Cade got twenty years in prison and Spencer Duvall got rich.”

Mobley stared at Louis. “You got proof of this supposed deal?” he asked.

“No.”

“I didn't think so,” Mobley said. He motioned to the waitress for another drink.

“The vaginal semen sample taken from Kitty was AB-negative blood. Brian Brenner is AB-negative.”

“How do you know that?”

Louis hesitated. “How I know isn't admissable. You'll have to test him yourself when you arrest him.”

“Arrest him? What are you talking about?”

Louis searched through the folder and pulled out Kitty's original autopsy report. “There was potassium monopersulfate in Kitty's lungs. Vince told me it's a common pool chemical. Kitty's friend Joyce told me Kitty liked to go swimming at night. Then when Vince did the second autopsy he found silica quartz and vinyl acetate in her hair. That's a cement mix they used to put up tiles.”

“So?”

Louis pushed another paper across the table.

“What's this?”

“A building permit. I went over to the planning department and pulled it. It's for the Brenner house on Shaddlelee Lane, specifically to renovate the pool cabana.” Louis pointed to a date. “It was pulled by Leyland Brothers Construction November 1, 1965.”

“Kitty wasn't killed until April 9th of the following year, right?” Mobley asked.

“Maybe the work got stalled or something. We can call Leyland Brothers to find out. But that isn't what's interesting. Look at this.” Louis slapped a second permit in front of Mobley. “A new permit was pulled for the same job by a different contractor, Delacarpini and Sons.”

Mobley was looking at the date on the second permit. “April 30, 1966.”

“I think the cabana was still under construction when Brian killed Kitty there,” Louis said. “That's why she had cement powder in her hair. And then, after Brian dumped Kitty's body, the second permit was pulled and the cabana work was completed.”

Mobley looked up at Louis.

“Maybe Brian got scared and told his father. That's why Charles Brenner made the deal with Duvall to set up Cade and then he hid the evidence by bringing in new workers to finish the cabana.”

Mobley was rubbing his temple, looking at the permit. “I was in that house once, for a party in high school,” he said quietly.

“Brian's been trying to sell it,” Louis said. “He knew this might all come out if Cade brought suit against Duvall.”

Mobley looked up. “So you think Brian killed Duvall too?”

Louis nodded. “Duvall was treated for depression right around the time of the Cade trial. I think he always felt guilty about what he did, and when Cade got out and threatened to sue him, it all came back.” Louis paused. “Maybe Duvall was going to come clean, maybe he even told Brian. Brian had no choice. His father wasn't around to clean up his mess this time.”

Louis finally picked up his Heineken. It tasted good, and for a second, that surge of adrenaline he had been expecting with Vince came forward.

“But why Jack Cade? Why'd they set him up?” Mobley asked.

But before Louis could answer, Mobley spoke again. “Never mind. I can guess. Cade did the Brenners' lawn, right?”

Louis nodded slowly. “I called Cade and asked him. Cade was always losing his tools. Brian probably found the Clot Buster in his yard and realized he could make it look like Cade did it.”

“What about the panties? They had Cade's blood type on them, not Brian's,” Mobley said.

“Cade told me he found the panties in his truck the next morning and figured Ronnie left them there. He used them to jack-off in. I think Brian put the panties in Cade's truck to set him up.” Louis paused. “The semen inside Kitty was AB-negative. It's a rare blood type, Lance, only five percent of the population. That's what is important.”

Mobley was quiet, looking down at his glass.

“Jack Cade was the perfect murderer,” Louis said. “He was the man any jury would love to hate.”

Mobley took a long, slow drink of his scotch, then looked off across the bar. It was a moment before he looked back at Louis.

“What about Scott? Is he involved?” Mobley asked quietly.

Louis shook his head. “First of all, he was away at school at Florida State. And second, he's the wrong blood type.”

“What is he?”

“I don't know, but I guarantee he's not negative.” Louis paused. “I don't think Scott knows anything. My guess is the old man never told Scott, just in case something ever did come to light. If Brian went under, at least the favorite son wouldn't. The heir and the spare.”

“What?”

“That's what Ellie Silvestri called Scott and Brian.”

Mobley's shoulders slumped slightly as his gaze drifted over all the evidence Louis had laid before him.

“Jesus H Christ,” he said. “Why the hell would Duvall do it?”

“Money, success, status.” Louis paused, deciding not to bring up Candace right now. “He knew what he was doing.”

“Faust selling his soul to the devil,” Mobley said, shaking his head.

“He sold it to Dr. Mephisto. I looked it up.”

Mobley just stared at him. Then he picked up his glass, finished off the scotch and set the glass down. The laughter of the bar floated around them. Mobley ran both hands across his face.

Louis watched him, not knowing what to say. There was nothing he could do now. He had taken things as far as he could. It was all up to Mobley now.

“Sheriff?” Louis asked.

“Scott and I have known each other a long time,” Mobley said, without looking up. “I want to talk to him first. Before we go after Brian.”

Louis tensed. “Look, I like Scott, but Brian's his brother. If we tip—”

Mobley's head shot up. “This is
my
call, Kincaid. You want to be there, fine. But we handle it my way.”

Mobley started gathering up the papers. When Louis tried to help, Mobley jerked the folder away. “I can do it, goddamn it,” he said.

Louis sat back in the booth.
Jesus, don't let him blow this.

Mobley rose, picking up the folder. His eyes traveled over the crowded bar and came back to Louis. “Five
P.M.
tomorrow,” he said. “Brian Brenner's office.”