Death by Marriage (Caribbean Murder #3)

“Even when you’re free, you’re not free,” Abels muttered. “They come after you like a pack of thieves.”


“Pick up your damn head and look at me,” Mattheus demanded. This could be it. He could have the killer right here, red handed.

Salmon raised his head just a little bit. Mattheus scrutinized his round face carefully. He was younger than Mattheus thought he would be, late thirties maybe, scrawny, bones shaking under his skin.

“You know what you’re here for now, don’t you?” Mattheus was going for the jugular.

“No,” Abels bit his lip.

He was acting sassy, but he was scared, and their conversation was being recorded. If all went well, Mattheus could get a confession from him and the case would be closed.

“I’m out of the clinker,” Abels said in a thin tone. “And you’re trying to throw me back in.”

“You got it all down pat,” Mattheus said. “Pretty smart.

Abels smiled a crooked smile. “Could say I’m smart,” he answered. “Most people think so. Then I got framed for a job I never did.”

Mattheus wasn’t getting taken in. “What did you get framed for?”

“Killing some lady,” Salmon smirked.

“You do it?” Mattheus asked chummy.

“No, “said Abels. “She was a fancy dame and they needed someone to pin it on fast. It was just before elections. So, they found me dealing drugs in the neighborhood. That was it. I had a record, so they jumped my bones and good.”

Mattheus pushed his stool back slightly. “You had a pretty, damn good lawyer though,” he prodded, taking the conversation on a different track. “You think he’d go along with something like that?”

Abels leaned in close to him, like they were two conspirators exchanging notes. “That guy couldn’t stand my guts.”

Mattheus let out a long, slow whistle. “Then why the hell did he take on the case?”

“He had to. They told him to do it and it made him look good. That’s all he cared about, looking good for the public. And keeping the cops happy and sweet. This guy got plenty of passes by looking good. He didn’t give a hoot about me - let me fall right through the hole. I’m positive that he was in cahoots with the big boys on this one.”

“Think so?” Mattheus said. This could go to his motive to take Paul down.

Abels stretched his neck upwards and rubbed his long hands over his bony face. “Yeah, I think so. I think they’re all in cahoots. You too.”

“Not me, Mister,” Mattheus took exception. If there was one thing he refused to do, it was to be in cahoots with anybody. “I work on my own.”

It didn’t seem to impress Abels, who scoffed.

“So you got out of jail and let your lawyer have it. Right?” Mattheus said. “Must have felt good to get back at him?”

Salmon looked confused. “What do you mean let him have it? I haven’t seen him since the trial.”

Mattheus edged closer, turned up the heat. The guy’s face was about two inches away.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Mattheus smirked. He had this guy locked up in his mind, bound in chains, confessing the killing. Mattheus desperately wanted to hear him confess.

“How the hell could I see the lawyer?” Abels spit the words out.

“I mean you took him down, just like you did the lady.”

At that, Abels froze. His eyes shifted back and forth fast, as if he were trying to grab onto an apparition floating in front of his face.

“Wait a minute, now.” He was getting the gist of it.

“Wait for what?” Mattheus said. But Abels looked so confused that Mattheus suddenly wondered if this guy even knew that Paul had been found in a pool of blood, dead.

“Why should I wait another second?” Mattheus growled. “We waited long enough to get our hands on you. You got out of jail a couple of weeks before Paul was killed. Everyone knew you blamed him for what happened to you.”

“Holy Christ,” yelled Abels. “Someone killed Paul?” He started shaking bad then.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know it,” Mattheus stood right up against him.

“What the hell does that have to do with me?”

“You hated the dude. He lost your case.”

Abels laughed in Mattheus face as spittle ran down the side of his mouth. “I hate a lot of people, Mister. It doesn’t mean I kill them.”

Mattheus stepped back looking at the fear in his eyes. “Where were you on the first Sunday of the month?”

“Easy. The festival. That day I was with friends in St. Croix. A whole bunch of people were there. We celebrated and I went with them to a carnival that afternoon. Lots of people saw me there. I helped a guy in one of the booths. I’ll give you his name.”

Mattheus stepped back. The guy’s eyes were still darting around in his head.

“I’m a rotten lousy critter, man, I’m a thief, I’m a bastard, but I didn’t kill anyone. In fact, I feel awful that the dude died.”

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