Doublecrossed, p.22
Doublecrossed, page 22
Griscoe shook her head. “You mean the plan was to kill you and inherit your half of the house?”
“Yes. They wanted my down payment of $85,000.”
“That’s brazen. Patient, too, since it’s not always easy to sell a house, especially if one of the owners is missing or has died under suspicious circumstances.”
“The real estate plot might have been Marnie’s idea, not my brother’s. Or maybe he planned to impersonate me. He already did that successfully with two dealers. Then he could take his time marketing the place.”
“He impersonated you?”
“Yes. Alex looked very convincing.”
Griscoe added this information to her notebook. Then she looked at her watch. “Okay, I think that’s all we need for now. You must be really beat—I know I am.” She handed me a pad of white paper and a pen. “We’ll pick up again later, but after you get some sleep, would you please write a detailed statement for our records?”
I agreed to do so, though I dreaded the possibility that my timelines might not match the ones I’d told her.
*
When Griscoe and I arrived at the Coach & Carriage, it was almost dawn. The motel manager had been called ahead, but he was grumbling about the hour as he escorted us to a room and started the air conditioner, which recycled the ancient smell of cigarettes.
After he left, the detective asked if I would be all right alone.
“I’ll be fine. Just don’t forget me.”
“I won’t forget you,” she promised. “I’ll see you later.” She wrote her cell number on the back of her card. “You can use the room phone. And you have a voucher for meals at the motel’s diner but please stay on the premises until you hear from us.”
“Thanks for all your help.”
Her eyes twinkled. “My pleasure.”
I switched on the battered television that clung precariously to a bracket in the corner of the room and fell into a dreamless sleep.
*
I was disoriented when I woke at 2:45 p.m. Opening the blinds, I saw that it was still raining heavily, which was useful because the sailboat’s deck would be washed even cleaner, though it was disturbing to imagine my brother’s body exposed to the weather. I had also left the hatch open, so hopefully the shoeprints and blood on the galley floor had been smeared, and any fingerprints I’d missed were degraded. I didn’t know if the cloth sails or the flat boom ties could be analyzed, whether the technology used by the local police was sufficiently sophisticated, but perhaps the wet material wouldn’t yield any traces of my presence.
Upset by visions of the boat, I concentrated on the room. The walls were hung with a collection of cheap bullfighting scenes, thick daubs of gold and black and red paint standing in relief against the mechanical reproduction. The gray carpet was threadbare and stained, especially near the entrance. The lilac air freshener was cloying. The shower dripped.
With nothing much to do, I worked on my statement, taking care to replicate what I’d already reported to Griscoe and Fantana. I ripped up numerous pages and flushed them down the toilet because the erasures might reveal mistakes that could deviate from my recorded version. The finished summation was eleven pages long. After reviewing it four times, I signed the bottom and printed my name and the date.
At five-thirty, Detective Griscoe knocked on the door. I opened it to find her holding a dripping black umbrella and wearing a blue nylon jacket that rustled when she entered.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Wyatt.”
“Call me Alex, okay?” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Any news?”
“No, not really. We had a false alarm—a red Solara parked near the docks in Oceanport. The local cops scared its owner when they pulled him from a tavern, off of his favorite bar stool. Probably the guy figured he was being arrested for a DWI before he even got in his car.” She chuckled at the thought. “We also checked the passenger manifests for all international flights to Ireland yesterday and today. There was a no-show. Male. For last night.”
“Really? Under what name?”
The detective gave me a sidelong glance. “Yours.”
“What?”
“Yes. Alex Wyatt.”
I covered my mouth with my hand. “I can’t believe he did that.”
“Guess your brother has an odd sense of humor.” Griscoe studied me. “One thing we’re sure of, if that was his flight, no one fitting Ms. Hardwick’s description was on it. We sent her photograph for review by the airline personnel. All the female passengers were accounted for.”
“Then he didn’t fly to Ireland, and Marnie didn’t either.”
“Right. Maybe he booked the flight to confuse us and they’re meeting elsewhere, though I don’t buy that idea.” The detective checked her notes. “Also, this morning, Fantana contacted the managers at your bank and the guy at Ms. Hardwick’s branch and successfully froze all the accounts. We were able to confirm that the second half of the home equity hasn’t been withdrawn.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Yeah, all good.” Griscoe came to her feet. “However, until they’re caught, I’m sorry to say you’re still in jeopardy and will need to remain here.”
I didn’t like staying in the motel, but I had no choice.
*
After Griscoe left, I walked to the diner, which featured a silver and white façade from the 1950s. The food was awful. An open-faced roast beef platter with two slices of white bread underneath the meat and a huge mound of mashed potatoes drowned in thick brown gravy. A thin, faintly red tomato sliver and a leaf of iceberg lettuce were intended to provide color.
I returned to my room and laid on the bed to read. At nine o’clock, Denise Griscoe called.
“Just wanted to give you an update. We located their cars but not them. The agent for a rental sailboat, a 32-foot O’Day, reported it overdue for return, and when shown your brother’s photo, he identified him as the renter, though Mr. Wyce had posed as a female—as you. An air and sea search are underway.”
I didn’t say anything. I could hear Griscoe flipping pages of paper.
“They found a suitcase in Mr. Wyce’s car. No diamonds, money, or coins inside, just his fake passports and IDs. In Ms. Hardwick’s vehicle was a suitcase and a bag packed with the purchases you described, including a woman’s gold Rolex watch. We’ll document the items so you can contact the companies and ask for extensions on their return policies.”
“That would be a big help.”
“I’ll keep you posted. Perhaps we can do breakfast at eight-thirty?”
I agreed to this, wondering why Griscoe wanted to dine on a Sunday morning. Was she attracted to me? I hoped not. I didn’t need more complications, especially with the police.
*
Detective Griscoe was on time. I gave her my written statement, and we chatted about nothing in particular as we walked to the diner. After sitting in a booth, the waitress arrived with coffee and took our orders.
“The Coast Guard located the boat.” She described where it was found and from which marina it had sailed. “I’m waiting for more information.”
We made more small talk until the waitress landed huge platters in front of us. The sight of the food made me feel sick. The detective flooded her pancakes with maple syrup and tucked in, while I toyed with my mushroom omelet, certain that a dozen eggs had been used. As Griscoe was halfway through her meal, her cell phone rang. She excused herself and stepped outside.
When she sat in the booth again, she looked serious. “The sailboat is being towed to port because it ran out of gas.”
“And my brother and Marnie?”
“They were on board.”
“Thank goodness! Do the police have them in custody?”
“Not exactly.” The policewoman sighed, looked through the window, and then at me. “I’m sorry to tell you that both your brother and Ms. Hardwick are dead.”
“Oh, no!” I whispered, thudding against the red padded seat. It was my turn to stare through the window.
Griscoe was silent, letting me deal with the shock. Finally, she continued. “It appears as if the two had an argument, or maybe you were right about your brother’s intentions…that he rented the sailboat in order to kill Ms. Hardwick and dispose of her body.”
Visions of Alex’s bloody shirt bombarded me. Tears started in my eyes.
Griscoe pinched napkins from the table dispenser and handed them to me. I wiped my face and fought the urge to run out of the diner. Even though Griscoe was saying what I already knew, for some crazy reason it felt like I was hearing about my brother’s death for the first time.
“I hoped he would leave the country…” I began, my voice thick with emotion. “He was a disturbed man, but he was also the last of my family.”
The detective sipped some coffee and waited for me to stop crying.
“What happened?” I asked at last.
Griscoe glanced at her notes. “Well, as far as we’ve learned, it seems that Ms. Hardwick was killed with a .38 Smith & Wesson.”
“That’s the gun I told you about.”
“Yes, your brother had the .38, but Ms. Hardwick also had a Beretta. Preliminary reports indicate they shot each other. We’ll know more after the forensic team files a report.”
I looked at her. “Where was Alex shot?”
“In the chest. We believe Ms. Hardwick was coming up the ladder from the cabin or standing in the galley next to the open hatch. It’s likely she shot him first, then he fired at her, since Ms. Hardwick died almost immediately from a head wound.”
“And my brother?”
“The coroner thinks he died within a few minutes. From asphyxiation. Mr. Wyce was on deck when the boat was found.”
“From asphyxiation?”
“Blood in his lungs,” she said quietly.
I stared at her, lost. It didn’t take an effort to produce more tears. They were genuine. Griscoe was silent as another surge of grief overcame me.
“I’m sorry…I just can’t imagine all of this. First, I learn Alex has been alive all these years and now that he’s dead.”
Griscoe handed me more napkins, listening, as I talked about my brother. After I ran out of words, she cleared her throat.
“I shouldn’t speculate, especially to someone who’s involved—a victim of a crime—but this whole situation is strange. We don’t know what the provocation was, but it’s damned odd to rent a boat just before an international flight. I’m sure your brother had a reason. The ocean is a great place to hide a body. Even so, why did Ms. Hardwick agree to go sailing, particularly if she was suspicious of him? Maybe she brought the Beretta as protection.”
“So, you believe Alex meant to kill her?”
“Seems that way.” Griscoe shrugged. “And maybe the explanation for her willingness to accompany him is a simple one. That she planned to double-cross Mr. Wyce. Grab the money and valuables, murder him, and make a run for it.”
“Really?” I wiped my eyes again and rested my head on my hand. “I have no idea what either of them planned to do—with each other or with me. It was my hope that my brother would take what he’d stolen and leave. Maybe agree to meet Marnie somewhere and then not show up. I wish he had. No one would have died.”
“Like I said, we’re not positive why they shot each other, only that they did.” She took up her fork and stabbed a chunk of pancake. “One thing’s weird. Nothing of value was on the boat except for a man’s Rolex watch, some twenties in Ms. Hardwick’s purse, and two hundred dollars in his wallet. The money, coins, and diamonds weren’t there or in either car.”
I blew my nose, leaned against the window, but my sorrow didn’t prevent Griscoe from her speculations.
“If I had that kind of loot, I wouldn’t let it out of my sight. He had his plane ticket, a phony passport and driver’s license, the Rolex, and a disposable cell phone, which might provide some additional information regarding his contacts. Also, we have your driver’s license and brokerage checks, which will be returned tomorrow.” After parading a bite of sausage through the maple syrup, Griscoe swallowed and laid down the knife, resting her arm alongside the plate. “Your brother probably had some safe spot he was using where the missing items are stashed. Maybe he stayed there during the months they were hatching their scheme. Any ideas about the location?”
I shook my head.
“Well, this is now an official homicide investigation. Your prints and hair and DNA samples are being compared with what was found on the sailboat. The forensic team and the photographer have finished at the house, but even so, you won’t be allowed home for a while. We can bring some things from the house if you make a list.”
“That would be nice of you.”
“No problem. And Fantana will contact your broker tomorrow morning. The banks will also maintain surveillance for suspicious activity in case any additional checks are presented for payment. With the deaths of the perpetrators, that’s unlikely to happen. I’m sure you’ll be able to access your finances very shortly. Don’t worry. We’ll get you back on track as soon as we can.”
*
I relaxed my Luddite ways and purchased a cell phone to call Cope, who was shocked when I gave her a synopsis of the events, and to continue my communication with Denise Griscoe. Being confined in the motel was a trial, but the detective brought more books to read, some of my clothes, and my driver’s license. She reported that all of my computer files and e-mails had been screened, and the home and office landlines checked for incoming and outgoing numbers. The police provided a list of Marnie’s catalogue purchases so I could contact each company. My broker was extremely apologetic and explained the firm had a fraud division that would assist in recovering the coins and diamonds. He also informed me that because I was a preferred, long-term customer and the checks had been used in a crime in which I was blameless, the company would consider a partial reimbursement. I didn’t tell him that I had the coins and diamonds purchased with the money. I should have, but I didn’t.
Though my bank account contained less than a hundred dollars, my portfolio was still healthy with bonds, mutual funds, and some cash, and I was soon allowed to use its charge card. Visa, MasterCard, and American Express mailed new cards immediately.
From Alex’s cell phone, the police located the coin dealer, who recognized Alex’s photograph. The man was concerned the Krugerrands and other coins were lost, explaining that one coin, an Eagle, was very valuable. The payments for the diamonds were eventually traced to a disreputable money lender in Jersey City. There the trail ended. The police speculated again that Alex had a safe house and the outstanding stolen items were there.
I was brought to identify my brother’s body and Marnie’s. Griscoe came along, apparently supportive, perhaps a bit doubtful underneath, or so it sometimes seemed. When the coroner’s assistant peeled back the cover to reveal Alex’s face, ghoulishly picked apart by seagulls and burned by the sun, I almost fainted. It took a few minutes to recover in a room set aside for friends and family who had to undergo these grisly viewings. I then returned to identify Marnie. Her red hair was shockingly bright compared to the bleached white of her skin. A large gauze pad covered the bullet hole in her forehead.
I rented a car so I could get around, and two weeks later, when I believed no one would follow me, I returned it, took a bus to the commuter parking lot, and drove the Audi to my father’s place. There, I inspected the coins and diamonds and confirmed that my name—Alex Wyatt—was on the bills of sales and the certificates of authenticity. My brother had done this to match the brokerage checks and had presumably created a passport in this name in order to prove ownership at the airports or when he sold the items. By coincidence, this would benefit me when I attempted to sell them. The audacity and complexity of my twin’s plot was astonishing. It was sad that Alex hadn’t turned his brilliant mind to legitimate endeavors.
The police never researched my background or learned about my second house. The picture I painted of my captivity was accepted with reluctance bred of caution, though there was a small flap when the police found a few strands of my hair in the boat’s cabin. As I hoped, they decided the hair had been transported on my red parka or baseball cap, a theory I supported, saying that Marnie was wearing my red parka when she left, and Alex had probably taken my cap from a hook in the laundry room.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I MET WITH GRISCOE on several occasions. One morning, over coffee, she mentioned again how illogical it was for Alex to rent the boat, especially when there were easier ways to hide a dead body, if that had been his goal. She was also still unsettled about the missing cash, diamonds, and coins, as well as Marnie’s willingness to go sailing with him.
“There were no signs Ms. Hardwick had been bound or forced onto the boat, so Mr. Wyce must have offered a persuasive excuse, or it suited her purposes to go, as we discussed.” Griscoe sighed. “Just bothers the heck out of me that she had a thousand dollars from your checking account and half of the home equity loan—or so you told me—and was willing to risk dying in order to get more. And that none of this money was with her or in her car.”
I nodded. “Alex might have pressured her to give him the cash, which he hid somewhere. If Marnie assumed the money was still in his possession, perhaps she went on the boat to get it plus the rest of the stuff.”
“So, he ditched everything before they drove to the boat. Or did he stop at his apartment on the way? They took separate cars, so I guess that’s possible, but what a lot of conniving.” She blew out a breath of frustration. “I shouldn’t share this detail, but we found tread marks from Ms. Hardwick’s shoes on the passenger side of his car and a few strands of her hair on both front seats.”
