The Final Detail: A Myron Bolitar Novel Page 29

  Sophie’s head was still high. There was no flinch in her. “Do you know how we finally learned our daughter’s fate?”

  “From Sawyer Wells,” Myron said. “The Wells Rules of Wellness, Rule Eight: ‘Confess something about yourself to a friend—something awful, something you’d never want anyone to know. You’ll feel better. You’ll still see that you’re worthy of love.’ Sawyer was a drug counselor at Rockwell. Billy Lee was a patient there. My guess is that he caught him during a withdrawal episode. When he was delirious probably. He did what his therapist asked. Rule eight. He confessed the worst thing he could imagine, the one moment in his life that shaped all others. Sawyer suddenly saw his ticket out of Rockwell and into the spotlight. Through the wealthy Mayor family, owners of Mayor Software. So he went to you and your husband. And he told you what he’d heard.”

  Again Jared said, “You have no proof of any of this!”

  And again Sophie silenced him with her hand. “Go on, Myron,” she said. “What happened then?”

  “With this new information, you found your daughter’s body. I don’t know if your private investigators did it or if you just used your money and influence to keep the authorities quiet. It wouldn’t have been difficult for someone in your position.”

  “I see,” Sophie said. “But if all that’s true, why would I want to keep it quiet? Why not prosecute Clu and Billy Lee—and even you?”

  “Because you couldn’t,” Myron said.

  “Why not?”

  “The corpse had been buried for twelve years. There was no evidence there. The car was long gone—no evidence there either. The police report listed a Breathalyzer test that showed Clu was not drunk. So what did you have: the ranting of a drug addict going through withdrawal? Billy Lee’s confession to Sawyer Wells would probably be suppressed, and even if it wasn’t, so what? His testimony about the police payoffs was complete hearsay since he wasn’t even there when it happened. You realized all that, didn’t you?”

  She said nothing.

  “And that meant justice was up to you, Sophie. You and Gary would have to avenge your daughter.” He stopped, looked at Jared, then back at Sophie. “You told me about a void. You said that you preferred to fill that void with hope.”

  Sophie nodded. “I did.”

  “And when the hope was gone—when the discovery of your daughter’s body sucked it all away—you and your husband still needed to fill that void.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you filled it with revenge.”

  She fixed her gaze on his. “Do you blame us, Myron?”

  He said nothing.

  “The crooked sheriff was dying of cancer,” Sophie said. “There was nothing to be done about him. The other officer, well, as your friend Win could tell you, money is influence. The Federal Bureau of Investigation set him up at our behest. He took the bait. And yes, I shattered his life. Gladly.”

  “But Clu was the one you wanted to hurt most,” Myron said.

  “Hurt nothing. I wanted to crush him.”

  “But he too was fairly broken down,” Myron said. “In order to really crush him, you had to give him hope. Just like you and Gary had all these years. Give him hope, then snatch it away. Hope hurts like nothing else. You knew that. So you and your husband bought the Yankees. You overpaid, but so what? You had the money. You didn’t care. Gary died soon after the transaction.”

  “From heartache,” Sophie interrupted. She raised her head, and for the first time he saw a tear. “From years of heartache.”

  “But you carried on without him.”

  “Yes.”

  “You concentrated on one thing and one thing only: getting Clu in your grasp. It was a silly trade—everyone thought so—and it was strange coming from an owner who kept out of every other baseball decision. But it was all about getting Clu on the team. That’s the only reason you bought the Yankees. To give Clu a last chance. And even better, Clu cooperated. He started straightening out his life. He was clean and sober. He was pitching well. He was as happy as Clu Haid was ever going to get. You had him in the palm of your hand.

  “And then you closed your fist.”

  Jared put his arm around her shoulders and pressed her close.

  “I don’t know the order,” Myron went on. “You sent Clu a computer diskette like you sent me. Bonnie told me that. She also told me that you blackmailed him. Anonymously. That explains the missing two hundred thousand dollars. You made him live in terror. And Bonnie even inadvertently helped you by filing for divorce. Now Clu was in the perfect position for your coup de grace: the drug test. You fixed it so he would fail. Sawyer helped. Who better, since he already knew what was going on? It worked beautifully. Not only did it destroy Clu, but it also diverted any attention from you. Who would ever suspect you, especially since the test seemingly hurt you too? But you didn’t care about any of that. The Yankees meant nothing to you except as a vehicle to destroy Clu Haid.”

  “So true,” Sophie said.

  “Don’t,” Jared said.

  She shook her head and patted her son’s arm. “It’s okay.”

  “Clu had no idea the girl he buried in the woods was your daughter. But after you bombarded him with the calls and the diskette and especially after he failed the drug test, he put it together. But what could he do about it? He certainly couldn’t say the drug test was fixed because he’d killed Lucy Mayor. He was trapped. He tried to figure out how you’d learned the truth. He thought maybe it was Barbara Cromwell.”

  “Who?”

  “Barbara Cromwell. She’s Sheriff Lemmon’s daughter.”

  “How did she know?”

  “Because as quiet as you tried to keep the investigation, Wilston is a small town. The sheriff was tipped off about the discovery. He was dying. He had no money. His family was poor. So he told his daughter about what had really happened that night. She could never get in trouble for it—it was his crime, not hers. And they could use the information to blackmail Clu Haid. Which they did. On several occasions. Clu figured Barbara had been the one who opened her mouth. When he called her to find out if she’d told anyone, Barbara played coy. She demanded more money. So Clu drove up to Wilston a few days later. He refused to pay her. He said it was over.”

  Sophie nodded. “So that’s how you put it together.”

  “It was the final piece, yes,” Myron said. “When I realized that Clu had visited Lemmon’s daughter, it all fell into place. But I’m still surprised, Sophie.”

  “Surprised about what?”

  “That you killed him. That you let Clu out of his misery.”

  Jared’s arm dropped off his mother. “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “Let him speak,” Sophie said. “Go on, Myron.”

  “What more is there?”

  “For starters,” she said, “how about your part in all this?”

  A lead block formed in his chest. He said nothing.

  “You’re not going to claim that you were blameless in all this, are you, Myron?”

  His voice was soft. “No.”

  In the distance, out beyond center field, a janitor started cleaning off the memorials to the Yankees’ greats. He sprayed and wiped, working, Myron knew from past stadium visits, on Lou Gehrig’s stone. The Iron Horse. Such bravery in the face of so awful a death.

  “You’ve done this too, haven’t you?” Sophie said.

  Myron kept his eyes on the janitor. “Done what?” But he knew.

  “I’ve looked into your past,” she said. “You and your business associate often take the law into your own hands, am I right? You play judge and jury.”

  Myron said nothing.

  “That’s all I did. For the sake of my daughter’s memory.”

  The blurry line between fair and foul again. “So you decided to frame me for Clu’s murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “The perfect way to wreak vengeance on me for bribing the officers.”

  “I thought so at the time.”
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  “But you messed up, Sophie. You ended up framing the wrong person.”

  “That was an accident.”

  Myron shook his head. “I should have seen it,” he said. “Even Billy Lee Palms said it, but I didn’t pay attention. And Hester Crimstein said it to me the first time I met her.”

  “Said what?”

  “They both pointed out that the blood was found in my car, the gun in my office. Maybe I killed Clu, they said. A logical deduction except for one thing. I was out of the country. You didn’t know that, Sophie. You didn’t know that Esperanza and Big Cyndi were playing a shell game with everybody, pretending I was still around. That’s why you were so upset with me when you found out I’d been away. I messed up your plan. You also didn’t know that Clu had an altercation with Esperanza. So all the evidence that was supposed to point to me—”

  “Pointed instead to your associate, Miss Diaz,” Sophie said.

  “Exactly,” Myron said. “But there’s one other thing I want to clear up.”

  “More than one thing,” Sophie corrected.

  “What?”

  “There’s more than one thing you’ll want to clear up,” Sophie said. “But please go ahead. What would you like to know?”

  “You were the one who had me followed,” he said. “The guy I spotted outside the Lock-Horne building. He was yours.”

  “Yes. I knew Clu had tried to hook up with you. I hoped the same might happen with Billy Lee Palms.”

  “Which it did. Billy Lee thought that maybe I killed Clu to keep my part in the crime buried. He thought I wanted to kill him too.”

  “It makes sense,” she agreed. “You had a lot to lose.”

  “So you were following me then? At the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Personally?”

  She smiled. “I grew up a hunter and a tracker, Myron. The city or the woods, it makes little difference.”

  “You saved my life,” he said.

  She did not reply.

  “Why?”

  “You know why. I didn’t come there to kill Billy Lee Palms. But there are degrees of guilt. Simply put, he was more guilty than you. When it came down to a question of you or him, I chose to kill him. You deserve to be punished, Myron. But you didn’t deserve to be killed by scum like Billy Lee Palms.”

  “Judge and jury again?”

  “Luckily for you, Myron, yes.”

  He sat down hard on the pitcher’s mound, his whole body suddenly drained. “I can’t just let you get away with this,” he said. “I may sympathize. But you killed Clu Haid in cold blood.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t kill Clu Haid.”

  “I don’t expect you to confess.”

  “Expect or don’t expect. I didn’t kill him.”

  Myron frowned. “You had to. It all adds up.”

  Her eyes remained placid pools. Myron’s head started spinning. He turned and looked up at Jared.

  “He didn’t kill him either,” Sophie said.

  “One of you did,” Myron said.

  “No.”

  Myron looked at Jared. Jared said nothing. Myron opened his mouth, closed it, tried to come up with something.

  “Think, Myron.” Sophie crossed her arms and smiled at him. “I told you my philosophy when you were last here. I’m a hunter. I don’t hate what I kill. Just the opposite. I respect what I kill. I honor my kill. I consider the animal brave and noble. Killing, in fact, can be merciful. That’s why I kill with one shot. Not Billy Lee Palms, of course. I wanted him to have at least a few moments of agony and fear. And of course, I would never show Clu Haid mercy.”

  Myron tried to sort through it. “But—”

  And then he heard yet another click. His conversation with Sally Li started uncoiling in his head.

  The crime scene …

  Christ, the crime scene. It was in such a state of disarray. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Because blood splatters would show the truth. So splatter some more. Destroy the evidence. Fire more shots into the corpse. To the calf, to the back, even to the head. Take the gun with you. Mess things up. Cover up what really happened.

  “Oh God …”

  Sophie nodded at him.

  Myron’s mouth felt dry as a sandstorm. “Clu committed suicide?”

  Sophie tried a smile, but she just couldn’t quite make it.

  Myron started to stand, his bad knee audibly creaking as he rose. “The end of his marriage, the failed drug test, but mostly the past coming back at him—it was all too much. He shot himself in the head. The other shots were just to throw the police off. The crime scene was messed up so no one would be able to analyze the blood splatters and see it was a suicide. It was all a diversion.”

  “A coward to the end,” Sophie said.

  “But how did you know he killed himself? Did you have his place bugged or under surveillance?”

  “Nothing so technical, Myron. He wanted us to find him—me specifically.”

  Myron just stared at her.

  “We were supposed to have our big confrontation that night. Yes, Clu had hit rock bottom, Myron. But I was not through with him. Not by a long shot. An animal deserved a quick kill. Not Clu Haid. But when Jared and I arrived, he’d already taken the gutless way out.”

  “And the money?”

  “It was there. As you noted, the anonymous stranger who sent him the diskette and made all those phone calls was blackmailing him. But he knew it was us. I took the money that night and donated it to the Child Welfare Institute.”

  “You caused him to kill himself.”

  She shook her head, her posture still ramrod. “Nobody causes someone to kill himself. Clu Haid chose his fate. It was not what I intended but—”

  “Intended? He’s dead, Sophie.”

  “Yes, but it was not what I intended. Just as you, Myron, did not intend to cover up my daughter’s murder.”

  Silence.

  “You took advantage of his death,” Myron said. “You planted the blood and gun in my car and office. Or you hired someone to do it.”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “The truth has to come out,” he said.

  “No.”

  “I’m not letting Esperanza rot in jail—”

  “It’s done,” Sophie Mayor said.

  “What?”

  “My attorney is meeting with the DA as we speak. Anonymously, of course. They won’t know whom he represents.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I kept evidence that night,” she said. “I took pictures of the body. They’ll test Clu’s hand for powder residue. I even have a suicide note, if need be. The charges against Esperanza will be dropped. She’ll be released in the morning. It’s over.”

  “The DA isn’t going to settle for that. He’s going to want to know the whole story.”

  “Life is full of wants, Myron. But the DA won’t get it in this case. He’ll just have to live with that reality. And in the end it’s just a suicide anyway. High profile or not, it won’t be a priority.” She reached into her pocket and took out a piece of paper. “Here,” she said. “It’s Clu’s suicide note.”

  Myron hesitated. He took the note, immediately recognizing Clu’s handwriting. He started reading:

  Dear Mrs. Mayor,

  The torment has gone on long enough. I know you won’t accept my apology and I can’t say that I blame you. But I also don’t have the strength to face you. I’ve been running away from that night all my life. I hurt my family and my friends, but I hurt nobody so much as I hurt you. I hope my death gives you some measure of comfort.

  I am the one to blame for what happened. Billy Lee Palms just did what I told him to. The same goes for Myron Bolitar. I paid off the police. Myron just delivered the money. He never knew the truth. My wife was knocked out in the accident. She also never knew the truth and she still doesn’t.

  The money is all here. Do with it what you will. Tell Bonnie that
I’m sorry and that I understand everything. And let my children know that their father always loved them. They were the only thing pure and good in my life. You, of all people, should understand that.

  Clu Haid

  Myron read the note again. He pictured Clu writing it, then putting it aside, then picking up the gun and pressing it against his head. Did he close his eyes then? Did he think of his children, the two boys with his smile, before he pulled the trigger? Did he hesitate at all?

  His eyes stayed on the note. “You didn’t believe him,” he said.

  “About the culpability of the others? No. I knew he was lying. You, for example. You were more than a delivery boy. You bribed those officers.”

  “Clu lied to protect us,” Myron said. “In the end he sacrificed himself for those he loved.”

  Sophie frowned. “Don’t make him out to be a martyr.”

  “I’m not. But you just can’t walk away from what you did.”

  “I did nothing.”

  “You made a man—the father of two boys—kill himself.”

  “He made a choice, that’s all.”

  “He didn’t deserve that.”

  “And my daughter didn’t deserve to be murdered and buried in an anonymous pit,” she said.

  Myron looked up into the stadium lights, letting them blind him a bit.

  “Clu was off drugs,” he said. “You’ll pay the rest of his salary.”

  “No.”

  “You’ll also let the world know—and his children—that in the end Clu wasn’t on drugs.”

  “No,” Sophie said again. “The world won’t know that. And they also won’t know Clu was a murderer. I’d say that’s a pretty good bargain, wouldn’t you?”

  He read the note again, tears stinging his eyes.

  “One heroic moment in the end doesn’t redeem him,” Sophie said.

  “But it says something.”

  “Go home, Myron. And be glad it’s over. If the truth were ever to come out, there is only one guilty party left to take the fall.”

  Myron nodded. “Me.”

  “Yes.”

  They stared at each other.

  “I didn’t know about your daughter,” he said.

  “I know that now.”

  “You thought I helped Clu cover it up.”