J. Jance - Trial By Fire

“It’s missing,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “When I came home from my trip, you were gone and so was the painting. I know you had talked about selling it. Did you send it out on consignment?”

The Klee? My Klee? What on earth is he talking about? Why would I sell it? I’ve been saving it all this time for my old age.

Two blinks for no. For: Of course I didn’t send it out on consignment.

But it’s gone? Where could it be? Did someone steal it? When? When could they? How could that happen?

She was always careful about keeping the doors locked. Had someone broken into the house?

He was talking to her again. Asking another question. With her own thoughts whirling around and with the pain trying to surge back over her like an overwhelming wave, Mimi had to concentrate on his words with every fiber of her being.

“Do you know who did this?”

Two blinks. No.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Two more blinks.

“Donna Carson says she came by to check on you that afternoon after work. She said you were fine-that she offered to go to the store for you or to take you there. You said you didn’t need anything. Do you remember that?”

Two blinks. No. I don’t remember.

“Maybe someone came to the door after that. Maybe you opened it and let them in. Is that possible?”

It’s possible, but I can’t imagine doing anything that stupid. Many blinks. I don’t know. I have no idea.

But if someone came there, if they got into the house and took my painting, what about Maggie? Is she all right, or did they hurt her, too? Why doesn’t he tell me about Maggie? I need to know if she’s okay or not. Oh, God, please tell me they didn’t put sweet little Maggie into the fire with me. If they had, wouldn’t I have heard? Wouldn’t I have known?

All the while the pain was looming closer. She knew that soon she wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer. I’ll want him to push the button. I’ll need him to push it and send me away.

What? What’s Hal saying now? His voice seems very far away. Is it my hearing, or is he whispering?

“I love you,” he said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

I’m not going to leave him. Of course not, but I do need him to push the button. Please push the button. Now.

Sister Anselm appeared beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s time for more morphine.”

I don’t know if he’s the one who presses the button or if she does, but I know the button has been pressed. I know about how long it takes from the time the button is pushed until the soft cottony feeling begins to creep over me, pushing the pain away.

I want to tell him how much I love him. Quick. Please ask me if I love you so I can blink one blink for yes, but he doesn’t ask. As Hal melts into the background, I notice that he’s crying again, with tears slipping down over the half-grown stubble on his cheek.

Mark Levy returned to the waiting room carrying a cup of coffee, a soda, and two very sticky Rice Krispies Treats from the latte stand in the lobby.

“I thought maybe you were hungry,” he said. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat yours.”

It turned out Ali did want it. She had eaten only half the hamburger she had taken to Athena’s place the night before, and that bit of sandwich had long since disappeared.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m starved.”

She had been listening in on Agent Robson’s interview for some time. All three of them-Robson, Serenity, and Winston Junior-turned to look as Mark delivered his purchases, and then they looked away. As they resumed their conversation, Ali realized Mark had done her a very real favor. Now the three of them most likely assumed that Ali was there with him-that she was part of James’s entourage. That belief rendered her all the more invisible, but eating the Rice Krispies Treat left her fingers too sticky to type. For a time she simply listened.

Robson had evidently been off somewhere overnight tracking the elusive ELF possibility and had not participated in the interview with Hal. Some of the information Ali had already gleaned from Dave, Robson was hearing for the first time.

When Agent Robson raised the ELF question with Win and Serenity, both of them took the position that whatever had happened to Mimi was personal, not political. Robson’s suggestion of Mimi’s possible involvement with environmental issues was met with eye-rolling derision.

“Are you kidding?” Serenity returned. “Mother has enough fur in her closets to send an environut into a spasm. Same goes for global warming. She thinks that’s a load of bull.”

“You don’t believe your mother would have been involved in any form of environmental activism?”

“Absolutely not,” Serenity said.

Her conclusive response made Agent Robson backpedal. “Maybe I’m looking at this from the wrong direction,” he said with a frown. “Maybe the situation is the reverse of what I was thinking. Is it possible she had taken some kind of public stand in opposition to environmental activism? Maybe she wrote a letter to the editor or signed on with some anticonservation group, and that’s what brought her to the attention of some nutcase.”

“My mother isn’t political,” Serenity declared. “As far as I know, she’s never written a letter to the editor in her life. She supports the symphony. She supports the Friends of the Library, but I don’t think she’s ever taken up with any environmental groups, on either side of that question.”

“What about her husband?” Robson asked.

“Exactly,” Serenity said. “What about him?”

“Would he be involved in some kind of environmental activism?”

“No. Hal Cooper is interested in money. Period. He came sniffing around my mother because he figured out she was loaded. If she dies, he’ll walk away with a fortune.”

“What about a prenup?” Robson asked.

“There wasn’t one,” Serenity said. “If Mother dies first, he gets the whole thing, unless he happens to get sent up for murdering her, right?”

Dave had said that Hal had stood up well under questioning the night before. If Agent Robson knew that, too, he didn’t let on.

“It’s true,” he agreed. “Convicted killers generally aren’t allowed to profit from their crimes. Just how much money are we talking about here?”

“When my father died, the galleries were worth about ten million,” she said. “There was only enough insurance for me to buy up Mother’s half. Winston and I split the rest. I’m paying Win off over time.”

“Five million, then?” Robson asked.

“More than that,” Serenity said. “There were a couple of houses, and some rental properties. She sold the houses to buy the new one in Fountain Hills. I believe she owns that one free and clear.”

“It’s more money than I thought,” Robson conceded. “People have certainly been murdered for a lot less. What can you tell me about your stepfather? Do you know anything about his personal leanings?”

“I have zero idea about his ‘personal leanings,’ as you put it,” Serenity replied. “The less I know about the man, the better. He’s my mother’s husband, but he sure as hell is not my stepfather. The only person Hal Cooper is looking out for is Hal Cooper, and nobody else.”

Robson jotted a few words in his notebook. It seemed as though the news that Hal Cooper would benefit greatly from his wife’s demise was causing the ATF agent to at least think twice about the possibility that the attempt on Mimi’s life might be a murder-for-profit plot as opposed to some kind of bizarre political statement.