Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

“But she continued working on it after you resigned from it.”

“Tom needed her experience when he took over for me.”

“One more thing. Did she ever have a child?”

“I think she did. She mentioned that she’d dropped out of college because she was pregnant. Perhaps she put it up for adoption.”

“All right. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He hung up and made a note on his pad, then went over to Connie Trent’s desk. “It’s time I spoke with Belinda Easton. Maybe you should come along.”

They drove out to the Easton home, through a warm afternoon that bathed the streets in mellow sunshine. It was not a day to talk of death, but as they pulled up behind a string of cars in front of the Easton house it was obvious that friends and relatives had come to do just that.

Someone opened the door for Connie and Leopold, thinking they were family. Belinda Easton paled at the sight of them. “Does this mean you’ve identified the body?”

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Easton. It is your husband.”

She sagged at the words, though she must have expected them. A tall man with an angular face moved quickly to get a grip on her. “Sit down, Belinda. Here!”

When she was seated on a straight-backed chair he said, “I’m her brother, Albert Haskins. This has been a terrible blow to the entire family.”

Leopold glanced into the living room where a half-dozen others were watching in silence. “Is there a place where we can speak to your sister in private?”

“Through here.” He led the way into a study that Easton had apparently used as an office; “All these people — I just got here myself and found the house full.”

Belinda Easton seated herself facing them. “Those are my neighbors. They came as soon as they heard the news of the fire.” Then, “Tell me how he died. Did he suffer?”

Leopold cleared his throat. “Both victims were shot to death. Your husband was also hit across the face with enough force to break his jaw and do other damage. Then the bodies were doused with gasoline from a can in the garage and set on fire.”

“My God!” She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t want to see him like that!”

“You won’t have to. A visual identification would not be possible. But we do have to find this man Casper Stone who escaped from custody. Right now he’s our most likely suspect.”

“He said Rich cheated him. I knew he was trouble from the beginning. I even warned Rich about him.”

“Has there been any recent communication from him?”

“No.” Then the full import of Leopold’s earlier words seemed to penetrate. “You said both victims. She was with him, then?”

“Belinda—” Her brother tried to interrupt but she persisted.

“Was it Monica Raines?”

“We believe so, yes. Did you know her?”

“I met her before Stone’s trial. How any law firm could defend such a man is more than I can understand.”

“It’s our legal system, Mrs. Easton. Pardon me for asking this, but was your husband romantically involved with Monica Raines?”

“I knew they were seeing each other. I asked him about it and he said she was giving him advice on some of his legal problems with these investors.”

“She wasn’t a lawyer. Such advice would have been foolish and possibly illegal.”

Belinda Easton smiled sadly. “I imagined their meetings had other motives.”

“You suspected she was with him last night.”

“Yes. She went with him to the beach house frequently.”

“And Casper Stone? Did you see him or anyone lurking around this house last night?”

“No. I retired early. I was asleep when Lieutenant Trent here woke me with news of the fire.” A woman poked her head in then to say she had to leave, and Belinda hurried out to speak with her.

Leopold turned his attention to her brother. “She seems to have recovered from the shock of her husband’s death.”

Albert Haskins agreed. “They’d had their troubles in recent years, as you might have gathered. Rich was in way over his head as a financial adviser. It’s a wonder Stone was the only one who came after him with a gun. And from what I hear, instead of trying to set things right, he was busy romping around with that Raines girl.”

“Why didn’t your sister leave him?” Connie Trent asked.

“I suggested it more than once, but she always hoped he’d straighten out.”

Belinda returned then, long enough to say she really couldn’t tell them any more just now. “Perhaps tomorrow things will be less hectic and I’ll have my wits about me.”

Her brother grunted. “And maybe by then you’ll have caught that bastard.”

There was a radio call for Leopold when they returned to the car. Tom Griswald had phoned in to report that the fugitive Casper Stone had contacted him about surrendering.

They drove directly to Griswald’s office, on the same floor and just down the hall from Molly’s office with the firm. She was there with him when Connie and Leopold were ushered in, studying the fax message on his desk without touching it, as if somehow the fugitive’s fingerprints might have been transmitted through the telephone line with his words.

“It came in just over an hour ago,” Molly told him. “Tom asked me what to do and I said you had to be notified at once.”

The message had been sent from a fax machine at Copies & More, a commercial copy center a few blocks away that offered mailing and fax services as well. “Did he know your fax number?” Leopold asked Griswald.

“It’s on my letterhead.”

“I’ll get on the phone to this place,” Connie said. “They should remember the guy from an hour ago.”

The brief message had been hand-printed on one of the Copies & More forms. It read: Mr. Griswald. I’m in terrible trouble. I need your help. Meet me at the bus station at ten tonight. Don’t bring the cops. I’ll talk to them later. Casper.

“Why didn’t he just phone me?” Tom Griswald wondered.

“Because a call can be traced,” Molly suggested.

“This can be traced too. It came from Copies & More!”

Connie Trent got off the phone and answered Griswald’s objection. “He paid for the fax but told them to wait fifteen minutes before they sent it. Then he left.”

“What’s the description?” Leopold asked.

“Medium height and weight, still wearing the suit and white shirt but without the tie. He had on a baseball cap with a Yankees logo, pulled down over his eyes. He barely opened his mouth, only mumbled a few words.”

“Dark hair?” Leopold asked.

“As much as the clerk could see, under the cap. She said the suit looked dirty, stained. She thought he’d been in a fight.”

“It’s got to be Stone,” Griswald said.

Connie agreed. “We’ll have that bus station surrounded.”

“Wait a minute! I’m still his attorney. He contacted me. I assume he wishes to surrender, but I have to talk to him first.”

“He’s right,” Molly said. “Tom has to speak with his client first. Naturally we hope he’ll surrender, but that decision is his.”

Leopold didn’t like it. There seemed too many ways that Casper Stone might slip through their fingers. “All right,” he said after a moment’s thought, “but we’ll be waiting a block away.”

Later, when Leopold was alone with Connie Trent in the car, she opened up. “Captain, excuse me, but you can’t do this! I know it’s Molly’s law firm but you can’t risk letting a double murderer — a three-time murderer really — slip through our fingers if he decides he doesn’t feel like surrendering!”

“The fax he sent says nothing about killing Easton or the woman, Connie.”

“It wouldn’t, would it?”