Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

“But why was he there in the first place?” I asked.

Barb tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “I have no idea. Absolutely none.”

I swallowed. This wasn’t good. This really, truly wasn’t good. A zillion questions bounced around in my brain, but Barb wasn’t likely to have any of the answers. And even if she did, I didn’t want to trouble her by asking them. I was here to help, to be a friend, and that’s what I would stick to.

The waiting room door swung open so fast and so far that it banged against the wall. Two men strode in, one on the heels of the other. I assumed one was Daniel Markakis but had no clue who the other guy might be.

Both of them were fiftyish, both walked with confidence, and both wore expressions that said they had all the answers and would dole them out to us if we asked politely and were willing to pay.

They even looked the same with their slightly too long hair, rumpled pants, dress shoes with no socks, polo shirts, and dark jackets. Maybe they’d gone to the same college and taken the same course. How to Dress When a Client Calls You in the Middle of the Night. The only real difference between them was that one carried a briefcase.

Barb stood and walked to the man on the right with her hand outstretched.

“Dr. Carpenter,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming.” She looked at the other man. “And you must be Daniel Markakis. I’m Barb McCade.”

Before either man said a word, the door opened again and a police officer poked his head in.

“Ma’am? Oh, uh…” He looked at the newcomers. “One of you is the lawyer?”

Markakis nodded. “I need to see my client. Right now.”

The doctor spoke up. “And I need to see my patient. He had a stroke less than two weeks ago. Before anything else happens, I need to make a determination that he’s physically able to withstand questioning.”

The deputy looked from one man to the other. I could almost see visions of lawsuits dancing in his head. Then he did what any sensible young officer would do. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and withdrew.

Markakis wheeled to face Barb. “Mrs. McCade, glad to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Before we go any further, I have an agreement that needs signing.” He laid his briefcase on a chair and, from it, withdrew a pen and a multipage document. Using the pen as a pointer, he gave Barb a fifteen-second contract synopsis. “If that’s agreeable, please sign here. Then all we’ll need is a monetary exchange and I’ll get started.”

Barb halted, midsignature. “But I don’t have any money with me.” Her eyes went wide again. “I don’t have any—”

“Here.” I handed Barb the money I’d started pulling from my wallet as soon as I saw the briefcase open. It was a five, which was what I always had handy for bets with Rafe.

“Minnie, I can’t—”

“Take it.” I forced it into her hand. “Pay me back later.”

The bill dangled from her fingers. Markakis deftly reached out. “Thank you, Mrs. McCade. You can provide the rest of the retainer at your convenience. The end of the day tomorrow?” He smiled. “Excellent. Now I need to talk with my client.”

The door opened and the young officer looked in. “Uh, the sheriff says you can meet in the conference room down the hall.”

In short order, we were all sitting in hard plastic chairs around a laminate table that looked older than I was. A limping Cade was ushered in by a uniformed man with a shorn head and biceps, which wanted to burst out of his shirtsleeves. Barb was sitting next to me and I felt her entire body twitch at the sight of the handcuffs around his wrists.

The officer more or less dropped Cade into a chair. His gaze skated over the rest of us; then he left. He’d made no acknowledgment whatsoever of our presence, and that, more than anything, made me realize where we were.

“Barb, honey.” Cade’s voice was raspy and twisted. “This is all a huge mistake. I never, ever would have killed anyone.”

“Of course not.” Barb slid her chair closer to her husband and reached out to him. She was sitting to his left, next to the side affected by the stroke, next to the side of his face that sagged, next to the arm that didn’t have the strength to lift itself, and she cupped her hand to his drooping face. “I know you wouldn’t. Not ever.”

Dr. Carpenter went to Cade’s other side and began taking his pulse. He asked a few questions, about light-headedness, headache, etc., then stepped back, frowning. “You’ll do for now, but this had better not take long.”

“Right.” Markakis clicked his pen. “Let’s get going. Russell McCade, I’m Daniel Markakis. What I need first and fast is a quick summary of tonight’s events. Are we ready?”

Cade, listing slightly to the left, looked at his new lawyer. “Daniel Markakis. You’re the guy who—”

“That’s right. Now, unless you’d like to be billed hundreds of dollars an hour to discuss something you can read in old newspapers, let’s get on with it.”

Barb bristled, but Cade gave a lopsided grin. “We’ll find out in a minute if you’re worth that kind of money.”

The pen Markakis held stopped making notes. “How’s that?”

Cade sat back a little. “Just before midnight, I received a phone call. It was a man, and he spoke in a low, whispering voice.”

A tingle crawled up the back of my neck. Whispery male voices? Phone calls don’t get much creepier than that.

“He told me,” Cade was saying, “that he was holding my wife hostage, and that I needed to come right away to discuss a ransom, that if I called the police, he’d”—his words caught—“he’d kill her.”

Barb made a faint and pain-filled cry.

“Keep going.” Markakis scribbled furiously.

Cade coughed and continued. “The man gave me an address and said to get there as soon as I could. I found my aide and told her there was a family emergency. She talked to the nurse on duty and they found someone to give me a ride.”

Markakis looked up. “Not a taxi?” Then he must have realized what he’d said. “Never mind. We’re Up North. The closest twenty-four-hour taxi service is probably a hundred miles away. Go on.”

We waited. Cade sat quietly, staring at the wall; then finally he looked at Barb, smiled, and started talking again. “The driver they’d found for me was a custodian. He dropped me off at the address, telling me to call if I needed a ride back, and left. It was a duplex. I could see a light on inside, so I walked to the front door.”

He swallowed. “The door was open a few inches and I went inside. A woman was lying facedown on the floor. Her hair… there was blood all over it, and her… her head was the wrong shape. I assumed it was Barb. I shouted her name, ran to her. I turned her over and saw that it wasn’t Barb at all, but Carissa. Carissa Radle.” He closed his eyes and dipped his chin to his chest. “I checked her pulse, but she was dead,” he whispered.

“And who is Carissa Radle?” Markakis asked.

Cade looked at him. “You know what I do for a living?” The attorney nodded briefly. “Carissa was a big fan of my work,” Cade said. “We’d had lunch two or three times.”

“Alone?”

Barb started to say something but stopped when Cade shook his head. “No, in a restaurant, with my wife at my side.”

Markakis made another note. “I suppose you’ve told all this to the police?”

Cade nodded. “I just wanted to clear up what is obviously a misunderstanding. Before tonight I had no idea where Carissa lived. I only got truly concerned when I told them about the phone call and they seemed not to believe me at all. That’s when I told them I wanted an attorney.”

The door opened and a man walked in. He was tall and thin, basically shaped like the letter I , which was how, not that long ago, I’d learned to remember his last name. Detective Inwood glanced around the table, slowed when he saw Markakis, slowed again when he saw me, then finished up with Cade. “We’ve made some accommodations for your ill health,” he said, “but it’s time to finish up the interview.”