J. Jance - Improbable cause

Debi handed me a glass. “Of course, I don’t suppose you came here to talk about the weather,” she added.

She was right about that. I wasn’t interested in idle chit-chat. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. Where’s your husband?”

She looked puzzled. “He isn’t here.”

“Where is he?”

“Still down at the university, I suppose. He likes to do his lab work in the afternoons when it’s too hot for him to study here.”

I was relieved to know Tom Rush was out of the house. I’d make a lot more progress with Debi if I talked to her alone. I got straight to the heart of the matter.

“Where was he Saturday afternoon?” I asked.

“Tom?” she asked, setting her glass down on the armrest and shifting uneasily in her chair.

“Yes, Tom,” I answered. “Do you have any idea where he was between noon and say two o’clock? Was he here?”

“I don’t understand. Why are you asking me about him?”

I refused to pussyfoot around with her. “Debi, you neglected to mention to us that you and Dr. Nielsen were having an affair,” I said.

She paled and swallowed hard. “I didn’t think it was important,” she responded after a long moment, her voice bleak and very small. At least she didn’t try to deny it. I’ll give her that much credit. “How did you find out?” she asked.

“Dr. Nielsen told his wife, that afternoon when he came to the office. He bragged to her about it.”

I waited a moment, allowing my words to strike home. “Does your husband know?” I continued.

She straightened suddenly in her chair. “No, he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“What if somebody else already did?” I returned. “What if someone told him and he went down to Nielsen’s office on Saturday afternoon to do something about it?”

A look of horror flashed across her face. She put her hands to her ears as if trying to shut out my words, my voice.

“He didn’t,” she whispered. “He couldn’t. It isn’t possible.”

“Isn’t it? Where was he, then? You still haven’t told me.”

“I don’t know. He left that morning when I did. He said he was going over to the U to study.”

“Where at the U?” I demanded.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. In one of the labs, I guess. He has a lot of lab work now. I don’t go with him. I’m usually at work when he’s there.”

“And what time did he come home?”

“Late. Five o’clock or so.”

“Did you notice anything unusual in his behavior that afternoon or evening?”

“No, nothing.”

“Was he wearing the same clothes he had on when you saw him that morning?”

“I don’t remember what he was wearing. I can’t remember what I was wearing.“ Debi Rush was growing more and more agitated. I could see it in her face, hear it in the intensity of her voice. ”He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it. He’s a kind, gentle, nice boy.“

“Is that why you were screwing around on him behind his back?”

“We needed the money,” she said. “Dental school is very expensive.”

“The money? What money?”

“Dr. Nielsen offered me a raise, a big raise. He said his wife didn’t understand him. I know how that sounds, but he said that she wouldn’t have sex with him anymore. He said if I’d sleep with him, it would be good for both of us.”

I snorted. “That’s right. Wages are deductible.”

Two angry red spots appeared on both her pale cheeks, but she didn’t continue. I finally broke the silence.

“Let me ask you another question, Debi. Why did you lie to us about yesterday morning?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You told us you got to the office on Monday morning at eight, that you were there right on time. But I have a witness who says he saw you come racing into the building at nine o’clock. What happened? Did you go inside and see something that made you think your husband might have been involved?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what? You didn’t come in then, or you didn’t see something to link Tom with the murder? Which?”

“It wasn’t like that at all. You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me.”

“When I saw Dr. Fred, like I told you, I was scared to death. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. I started to call the police right away, but then I remembered my diaphragm, the one I kept in the office. I was afraid if someone found it, they’d ask questions. So I got rid of it.”

“How?”

“I took it out to the dumpster and threw it away.”

“But the dumpsters are in the back alley. You were seen entering by the front door.”

“I tried the back door, but I couldn’t get out. Someone had taken the key to the dead bolt from the drawer. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be.”

Of course it wasn’t there. LeAnn had taken it, but I didn’t tell Debi that.

“And you don’t have one?”

“No. I always used the one in the drawer.”

“And was the dead-bolt lock changed when the other ones were?”

“Yes. I made the arrangements. I called the locksmith and set up the appointment. Dr. Fred asked me to.”

“And how long ago were the locks changed?”

She shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago. I’m not sure of the exact date.”

“After LeAnn Nielsen moved out?”

Debi nodded.

“What time will your husband be home?”

She glanced nervously at a clock on the wall. “Any time now,” she said.

I got up to leave. “All right,” I said. “I’m going. We’ll be checking on your husband’s movements on Saturday.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Debi asked.

I searched her face. “What makes you think he hasn’t already found out?” I asked. “And even if he hasn’t, you must realize that he will by the time this investigation is over. You’d better be the one to tell him.”

With that I turned away and left her sitting there. I didn’t have enough evidence in hand to accuse Tom Rush of Nielsen’s murder, and if the poor simple bastard really didn’t know his wife was fucking around on him, I didn’t much care to be there when she told him.

I don’t like to see half-grown men cry.

Back home in Belltown Terrace, I settled into my recliner and sat there thinking about Tom Rush-wondering if he’d done it, hoping he hadn’t.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. After all, I personally had walked several miles in Tom Rush’s moccasins. I didn’t want to have to arrest him for something I might well have done myself if I’d only had the opportunity.

I fell asleep with the sure knowledge that I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I went to the Doghouse for breakfast the next morning and discovered J. P. Beaumont was suddenly a local media hero. “Saw you on the eleven o’clock news, last night.” Wanda told me as she unloaded a platter of bacon and eggs in front of me. “Somebody else saw you on the five o’clock. They said you went in and talked that crazy guy into giving up.”

“For once the news got something straight,” I said.

“Weren’t you scared? Looked to me like you were wearing one of those bulletproof vests.”

“I was,” I said. “What I really needed, though, more than a bulletproof vest, was a batting helmet.”

Wanda stood there with her arms crossed, frowning. “What’s that?”

“A batting helmet, like they use in baseball games. The guy didn’t have a gun, he had a baseball bat.”

Wanda grinned from ear to ear. “Really? They never told us that on TV.”

“Why should they? It makes a better story if they imply the other guy had a gun.”