Cindy said, “Claire, help me up.”
“Stay where you are, sweetie. It’s better if you sit still until the paramedics arrive. Unlike me, they have medical equipment and will be able to check you out properly.”
Joan said, “Cindy, what happened to you?”
“A man up there tried to shoot me. I ducked, but then I also tripped and fell down these steps. It was silly, really. Claire says I’m going to live.”
Joan groaned and said, “Oh, that freaking Peter. He’s a maniac.” She sat down next to Cindy and took her hand.
She turned her head up to look at Claire and said, “I wanted to tell you that those gunshots jogged a memory. Sam Alton. I remember him now.”
With those words, she instantly had Claire and Cindy’s avid attention.
“I guess you could say he was my boyfriend. We didn’t use our real names with each other. I called him Butchie. He called me Princess. We kept each other company from time to time, but it wasn’t love between us. Our relationship came out of pure and simple need, on both of our parts.” She cleared her throat and sighed, saying, “Still. He was very kind and he didn’t deserve to die. I’m so very sorry that he’s dead. I never saw who shot him, but I know that Peter has to have been involved. I wish I had seen Butchie’s killer. I wish I knew how it happened.”
Sirens wailed, amped up, and stopped as an ambulance drove up to the service gate at the bottom of the steps.
Joan and Claire both stood up.
There were the sounds of panel doors slamming and voices shouting. Claire ran down to the driveway and helped the team by opening the gate for them so they could carry a stretcher through.
“Hurry,” she yelled. “We need you up here.”
Chapter 29
Inspector Richard Conklin was conducting a bedside interview at St. Francis Memorial Hospital for the second time this week. But this time, it was more than that. This interview was an official interrogation.
Peter Carter had gone through surgery, had cleared the recovery room, and was now settled in his private room. Hours earlier, his surgeon had pronounced him in stable condition.
Conklin had arrested Carter for his attempt on Joan Murphy’s life. If the force was with Conklin, the dangerous fool in the hospital bed was going to admit to being part of a conspiracy to murder Joan Murphy—twice—as well as the plan to murder Joan’s friend and proven lover, Sam Alton.
Right now, Peter Carter was in a talkative mood. His hand was cuffed to his bed rail. His eyes were closed, and the sheets were pulled up under his arms. His leg was in a cast and in traction. Prior to this interview, Conklin learned that this man was a person who couldn’t shoot straight without his glasses. To Conklin, Peter Carter looked like an ordinary and even pleasant man.
“Feeling okay to talk?” Conklin asked.
“Only if you promise not to judge me,” the man said.
“I’m not like that,” said Conklin. “I just want to clear up a few things. Before we start, though, I want to make sure you understand your rights.”
“Okay. I told you already. I understand them.”
“Fine. And I’m going to keep recording our conversation on my phone.” He showed the phone to Carter, then set it down on the tray table.
Carter said he understood his rights and Conklin believed him. He also believed that Carter was desperate to be understood and forgiven so that he could return to something like life as he had known it.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
Conklin said, “I want to start in the middle, Peter. Look, you should know that Arthur O’Brien is dead. He overdosed in his apartment.”
“No way. Are you shitting me?”
“Sorry. I know he was a friend. We have his cell phone and have the phone records. He called you many times while you two planned the hit on Joan at the Warwick. What I don’t know is how it all went wrong.”
Carter sighed. “Damn it. I told him to always call my prepaid phone. I guess I didn’t realize that he’d called me on my cell.”
At Carter’s words, Conklin silently congratulated himself. He hadn’t been positively sure of the connection between these two men until this minute. Thanks for confirming the conspiracy, bud.
He said, “People can get rattled. Sometimes they make mistakes when they’re doing something they’re not used to doing, right?”
Carter agreed. He said, “Artie was an old school friend. I knew I could trust him. He needed the money. He isn’t, you know, a professional.”
“Sure. We get that. So he was supposed to kill Joan and keep the jewelry, right? But why kill her? Help me to understand.”
“I didn’t have a choice. Robert doesn’t love Joan. He’s told me so many times that he loves me, but I know he’ll never leave her. I thought if she just happened to die while she was on a date with someone else, he’d be a free man. He’d own the house and we…”
Carter trailed off. Conklin didn’t want him to fall asleep. Not now. “Peter. Peter, I’m still here.”
Chapter 30
Conklin reached over and shook Peter Carter’s arm, keeping him awake before he slipped into a post-operative slumber.
His eyes opened. “Oh. It’s you. What was I saying?”
“You were saying that you got Arthur to kill Joan?”
“Well, yeah. Better him than me. I wanted to have a clean conscience. A clean enough conscience, anyway. I mean, if I didn’t actually shoot her…”
He winced from pain, looked at the water glass on the tray table. Conklin handed it to Carter and watched while he drank, sputtered, then handed the glass back to Conklin.
Conklin asked, “And what about Samuel Alton? Was killing him in the original plan?”
Carter nodded.
“That’s yes?”
“Yes. It wasn’t anything personal. He was just collateral damage. It had to be done.”
“I see. I understand all that. You had to kill the witness, right?”
Carter nodded, winced, and then closed his eyes.
Conklin said, “Peter. Is that a yes?”
“Yes. For God’s sake, are you thick? I think it’s time for me to take a nap. Where’s Robert?”
Conklin didn’t want to answer that one. Because Robert Murphy was a material witness, Conklin’s team had him in lockup. Sac and Linden were questioning him, but charges had not yet been brought to the table.
Meanwhile, Conklin pressed on with his interrogation. “Peter, Robert will be in to see you later. I’m sure of it. But for now, we have to finish here. Understand?”
“Go ahead, then,” Carter said. “I’m in a lot of pain, man. Let’s get this over with.”
“Good,” said Conklin. “Two more minutes. That’s all.”
Peter asked, “What was the question?”
“The key card,” Conklin said. “We have the key card to Joan’s hotel room. It was in Artie’s possession. How on earth did Artie get that?”