Sealing Fate Read online

  “Of course, you could have prevented that simply by doing what you were supposed to do.” Michael grinned devilishly. “As a matter of fact, Barbara was here protesting the fact that I sent in your fingerprints when you arrived.”

  Barbara said angrily, “You son of a bitch, you were never supposed to set him up! We agreed that you wouldn't really use any of the evidence against Brian.”

  Michael turned to Brian. “That was before he let me down.” He then regarded Barbara. “You got what you wanted. I saw to it. I got nothing. I needed a little insurance. When it became clear he wouldn't do it, something had to be done to make sure it didn't all unravel. I had to be sure the two of you didn't decide to lay all this on me.” Michael raised his hands to gesture that it was only fair. “If you think about it, you'll see I had no choice.”

  Brian was silent. He thought about Barbara plotting to kill Cathy, and his heart hurt more than it ever had in his life. He thought about Barbara accepting his confession of infidelity, angrily at first and then forgivingly. He thought about her telling him to call the police when Michael's calls came in, knowing he wouldn't, knowing just how far to go. Then he thought about the tape recorder in his breast pocket, still running.

  Amongst the whirlwind of thoughts, he hadn't noticed Barbara move over next to him. His mind was still racing as he noticed her reach toward the desk and pick up the gun he had thrown there, the gun he was to use on Jason Ross. She pointed the gun at Michael.

  Brian opened his mouth and raised a hand to tell her to stop. Before he got a word out, she fired. The bullet entered Michael's chest and moved him backward in the chair. She fired again, the second bullet piercing his throat just above his Adam's apple. Michael grabbed at his neck with both hands as a fountain of blood erupted into the air. He struggled for breath, clawing at his throat and gasping. There were gurgling sounds as the blood overwhelmed his throat and lungs, and he fell to the floor, dead.

  Barbara dropped the gun on the desk and turned to Brian. She spoke calmly and coherently, “We figured out who was blackmailing you and came to see him. You borrowed that outfit just in case they wouldn't let us in any other way. But he let us in. We confronted him with what we knew, and he panicked. He pulled the gun. You and he struggled, and the gun fell. I grabbed it and shot him.”

  Brian was too shocked to speak or even to acknowledge that he had heard her. He saw Barbara look down at the body. The flow of blood from the neck was now at a trickle. The green carpet was stained dark in wide circles around the body. Brian closed his eyes and then fell to his knees and vomited.

  Chapter 22

  People were all around Brian, someone asking if he were okay. Brian nodded weakly. He could hear the sound of sirens, a faint echo at first and then becoming an unremitting wail as they drew near. How long had it been since the shooting? Two minutes? Five minutes? He had no idea. He climbed to his feet with help from one of the new faces in the office. No one asked questions. No one walked over to where Michael lay, expelling what blood he had left onto the ever-widening black circle on the rug.

  Brian thought about the recorder in his pocket and made an immediate decision. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he told whoever stood beside him. “I'll be right back.” He walked over to the bathroom and closed the door. He pulled out the recorder and dropped the microcassette into the toilet. Then he flushed it. He took the miniature recorder and wiped it clean of fingerprints. Then he placed it in one of the bathroom drawers, touching it only with the tissue.

  When Brian returned to the turmoil in Michael's office, he sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Barbara sat down next to him, but neither spoke. He could hear the murmurs of the bystanders, some speculating about what might have happened, while others recoiled in horror at the sight on the floor. No one asked Brian or Barbara what had happened. Peering through his hands, Brian could see Sheila across the room, crying onto the shoulder of a coworker. Amongst it all, he felt bad for her.

  Within two minutes, four uniformed officers stood at the door to the office with guns drawn, as someone near the door identified Brian and Barbara as being involved in the shooting.

  The officer in front yelled, “Police! Hands on your heads.”

  Brian and Barbara both obliged.

  “Everyone else into the outer office and wait for an officer to speak to you. Touch nothing in here,” the officer commanded.

  Two of the officers had Brian stand, put handcuffs on him, and told him to sit back down. They then did the same to Barbara.

  Within three minutes, other police officers arrived. Uniformed officers received directions that sent them out of Michael's office and out of Brian's view. Paramedics rolled in a gurney and prepared to remove the body. Technicians arrived and poured over the scene, photographing Michael's body and examining the surrounding outpourings of blood. They began looking at everything in the room but moved nothing. Brian still sat on the couch, his body shaking with the shock of the events that had befallen him, silently watching this forensic world that had been set irreversibly into motion.

  He couldn't bring himself to look at Barbara, who sat next to him silently. He knew she periodically looked over at him for what he speculated would be confirmation that he would describe the events leading to Michael's death as she had laid them out. Brian took deep breaths, trying to hang onto what little control of his emotions he had left. His stomach muscles had knotted over waves of nausea. His head pounded as he felt the blood rushing to it and seemingly never leaving. He felt the droplets of water on his brow, though his body wasn't hot.

  Brian put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, resting his chin in both hands. He stared down at the floor. Feelings of sadness and loss swept over him. He fought to suppress the feelings of anger that rose inside. He wouldn't allow himself to think about Barbara and what she had done. He feared it would come out as he spoke to the police, and there was a larger fear that he would not be able to cope with those new realities.

  Brian looked up to see the familiar faces of Merrick and Palmer, who were watching him with deadpan expressions. For the first time, Brian looked over at Barbara, who stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought.

  “Mr. Madsen, you okay?”

  Brian nodded. He meant to say something, but no words came out.

  Merrick directed that the handcuffs be removed from Brian and Barbara. One of the uniformed officers quickly pulled out his key and removed them. Merrick looked pointedly at Brian. “I'd like you to come with me, sir.”

  Brian mechanically stood and began to follow Merrick and Palmer from the room, as did Barbara.

  Merrick looked at Barbara. “Not you, Mrs. Madsen. If you'll wait right here for just a minute, Detectives Wagner and Lane will be along to speak with you. They're the two plainclothes officers over by the desk.”

  Barbara suddenly looked worried. “But I want to stay with my husband. This is a very stressful time, and I …” She let her words trail off.

  “Let me assure you that we are aware of that, ma'am. But we have procedures we have to follow when investigating a homicide.”

  She visibly cringed and then sat down on the couch. Brian suddenly felt tired and very alone. Merrick gestured that Brian follow with a wave of his hand, and they walked from the room. Palmer followed behind Brian as they walked through the mass of humanity in the outer office. Several uniformed officers interviewed bystanders. One was speaking with Sheila, who held a tissue to her eyes. Brian felt a desperate urge to speak to her, to share what they knew about Michael. He felt a bonding born of shared tragedy to this woman he didn't even know. It occurred to him that maybe he needed a friend.

  Brian's walk down the same corridor he had used to get to Michael's office had an entirely different feel to it. A familiar, last-mile quality that he had often feared as walls of threats and incriminating evidence had closed in on him. Somehow he wasn't scared, just lonelier than he had ever felt, numbed by a compounded sense of loss too horrible to b
ear. He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on Barbara's role in Cathy's death or in setting him up as her killer. It was all too heartless, too inhuman, to comprehend. He lacked the mental strength to withstand such obsession. At the same time, he knew that such thoughts could not be avoided, only deferred.

  Brian followed Merrick into a conference room, where Merrick pointed to a chair at the end of a long table. Brian sat down, staring straight ahead as Merrick and Palmer took seats on either side of him.

  “Mr. Madsen,” Merrick began, “I'm going to record our conversation.” Merrick placed a tape recorder on the table between them. He pushed a button on the machine, assured himself that it was properly running, and then said, “Mr. Madsen, you are under arrest. We're going to read you your rights at this point before we go any further.”

  Taking a small plastic card from his pocket, he began to read without waiting for a response from Brian. “You are under arrest for the murder of Cathy Jenkins. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to legal counsel before questioning. If you wish but cannot afford legal counsel, one will be appointed for you. If you elect to waive these rights, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?”

  Brian nodded. “I understand. But I didn't kill Cathy.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Madsen, we're not quite done. Do you wish to waive these rights and answer questions about the deaths of Cathy Jenkins and Michael Hayward without the presence of counsel?”

  “I do. I didn't kill Cathy. He did.” Brian gestured toward Michael's office.

  Merrick regarded him closely before responding, “We obtained the warrant for your arrest for the murder of Cathy Jenkins based, in part, on the fact that we now have what has been confirmed as the murder weapon with your fingerprints all over it.”

  Brian nodded. “I know that. I was set up. He blackmailed me.” He motioned again in Michael's direction.

  Merrick sat back in his seat and looked at Brian, as if analyzing him. It was the expression of a man who sifted through bullshit for a living, listening with his eyes for Brian wasn't sure what. Evasion? Inconsistency of words and expression? Some unidentifiable manifestation of guilt in my words, face, or movements that would convict me before I left this room? It was a moment devoid of time. Brian couldn't tell if the silence had consumed only seconds or many minutes.

  “Why don't you tell us about it?” Merrick finally said.

  “It's a long story,” Brian said, unsure of where to begin.

  Merrick nodded. “We have time.”

  Brian drew in a deep breath and then said, “I had an affair with Cathy Jenkins. It began the night of my inaugural party and continued until … until she died. I had been with her that night. I got home at about one and went to bed. When I got up in the morning, it was all over the news.” He noted Merrick's eyes, fixed upon him, conveying nothing. “I cared about Cathy, and my wife didn't know anything about the affair. I was still trying to cope with the news, and what I should do when his first call came in.”

  Brian briefly cupped his hands over his mouth. He noticed his breathing had grown faster. “Hayward knew about Cathy and me. He told me that Cathy's apartment had been stripped of traces of my presence. He told me he had taken objects from the apartment that contained my fingerprints, but if I cooperated with him, they would never find their way to the police.”

  Brian studied the face that was devoid of expression and said softly, “Jesus, I wish I'd handled it differently. I put him in total control, right from the start. Then there was no way back.” Brian looked down at his shoes but didn't stop talking. “He said I must kill someone for him, or Cathy's murder weapon would go to you guys. And that's what happened. I just couldn't do it.”

  He looked at Merrick and shook his head. “I actually thought I might, especially when my family's safety was threatened. Then there was the car bomb. You remember that? It's because I was balking. He did it to convince me he'd kill my family if I didn't go through with it.”

  Brian momentarily rested his head in his hands. Then he suddenly looked up at Merrick. “Bob Galvin. Have you heard anything about him? Can you find him?”

  “Who's Bob Galvin?” Merrick asked with narrowed eyes.

  “He's a private investigator and a buddy of mine. I called him to help me find the caller. That son of a bitch did something to him. He said something about it today.” Brian leaned back in his chair. “What did I do to him?”

  “We'll check on him,” Merrick said, and he dispatched Palmer with a nod. After Palmer left the room, Merrick asked, “So how did you know your caller was Hayward?”

  “I met with Jason Ross after I learned Jason was the one I was supposed to kill.” He left out the specifics of their meeting in the garage. “Jason gave me a list of three who had serious grudges against him. Hayward was on the list. What really did it though was his secretary. Once after he called, she called back. Apparently she heard some of it and wanted to know what it was all about. Then she changed her mind and hung up.

  “When I got here today, I recognized her voice. Then Hayward acknowledged it all. He said there was no way we'd prove it, that my fingerprints were on the murder weapon that he had already delivered to the police. He said he didn't even know Cathy Jenkins and had no motive to kill her and asserted that I had a secret affair to cover.”

  “So you killed him?” Merrick asked almost casually.

  “No.” Brian looked down again.

  “Your wife killed him?” Merrick said after a moment.

  Brian nodded and then added, “But it was self-defense. More accurately, defense of both of us. Hayward pulled out the gun. I struggled with him, and she managed to come up with it and fired to stop him.”

  Merrick studied him carefully. “There's a number of things that you haven't been honest about in the past,” Merrick said pointedly. “Like never seeing Cathy Jenkins socially. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. I just felt so trapped,” Brian said desperately. “I thought I had no choice. Between the blackmailer threatening to turn over evidence and threats to my family …” His voice trailed off.

  Merrick nodded and gave him an understanding look. Brian could feel that the man accepted his statement as truth, the true parts and the rest. “We'll check out what you've said. It'll be up to the district attorney to decide whether there's a prosecution. But if you're telling the truth, and I think you are, I'll recommend against it. In the meantime, I'm going to have to take you in and book you for the murder.”

  He waved the warrant in explanation. “The warrant is because your fingerprints are all over the weapon that killed Ms. Jenkins. If your story checks out, this won't go too far.” He paused. “You lied to us about how well you knew Ms. Jenkins, but given your marital and political situation—-not that I think it was a smart idea, mind you—-I can see how that happened.” He stood up and signaled Brian to do the same. “One more thing. Get a good lawyer to make sure everything goes right and that you get out sooner rather than later.”

  The police escorted Brian from the building in handcuffs. The hallways had been largely cleared of onlookers, though uniformed officers were intermittently stationed while investigators worked the site. There was no sign of Barbara, and the door to Michael's office was now closed. When they walked out of the building, the sudden darkness struck Brian. It seemed darker and colder than usual. A sense of foreboding confronted him.

  A voice softly said something he couldn't make out. Then someone pushed down on his head and guided him into the back seat of a police cruiser. Unfamiliar faces watched as he was driven away.

  In his mind, Brian saw Cathy's warm smile and thought about how much she had loved him. He had known how much she cared from the beginning, but he had not wanted to deal with it. He had seen it only as a complicating issue. Now with the sudden shock of a mortal wound, he wanted to tell her how wonderful she had been, but he acknowledged to himself that he woul
d never get that chance.

  Brian leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He saw Barbara standing in Michael's office, denying nothing and never looking at him. Then he saw her with the gun as Michael fell to the floor, a look of stunned disbelief overtaking him, trying to figure out what had happened even as he was dying.

  Brian was booked, photographed, and fingerprinted. Then he was permitted to make a phone call. He called one of his former law partners, who he was sure would know a good criminal lawyer. Brian was assured that he would be contacted in the morning. After his call, a guard escorted him down a long corridor of metal compartments. He was taken to a cell that contained a single bed, a small sink, and a toilet. Brian's handcuffs were removed, and he was moved inside. He looked at the fourteen-foot square room, bereft of all decoration, and heard the metal on metal sound of the doors being closed behind him.

  He lay down on the bed and looked around this foreign world, hearing the words and movements of other occupants in the distance. Brian closed his eyes. He knew there was no chance of sleep, wanting only a few moments of peace from the graphic images of death that pervaded his thoughts.

  Chapter 23

  Brian drifted a few times, finding refuge from his thoughts, but he never really slept. In the morning, he was told that Barbara had been there but was not allowed to see him yet. At eight o'clock, he was informed that an attorney, Lloyd Martin, was there to meet with him. He was taken to a small room with two chairs and a table at its center. A tall, thin man with thick gray hair that was almost white waited for Brian's escort to leave before speaking. He wore an expensive suit and wire-rimmed glasses. There was a stately quality to the way the man carried himself. He held a briefcase at his side. The effect was something between IRS auditor and television commentator.