Consigned To Death Part 35

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I should have investigated those paintings' histories myself. Instead I kept quiet. More shame on me. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote, 'The cruelest lies are often told in silence.' I've kept many secrets in my life out of misplaced loyalty." She laughed derisively.

I didn't know what to say. Mrs. Cabot continued speaking before I had to decide how to respond. "No more," she said. "I decided not to enable my daughter in her drug abuse either."

"What do you mean?"

"I arranged an intervention last night." Her voice cracked with emotion, but I also heard pride of accomplishment. It was a long moment before she continued. "I convinced Andi to drive down with me yesterday. When we got home, I surprised her with the intervention."

My mouth fell open. I was astonished. More than astonished, I was shocked.

I'd persuaded myself that Andi was guilty of murder-of killing her own grandfather. To learn otherwise was staggering, and I had trouble focusing on the conversation with Mrs. Cabot. Alverez's message was clear-he'd referred to the suspect as "her." If it wasn't Andi he had in custody, who was it? I was speechless, yet I needed to react. What had Mrs. Cabot said? An intervention? She'd arranged an intervention? I shut my eyes, leaned against the window frame, and forced myself to concentrate. With my mind still reeling, I asked, "What was it like?"

"It was extremely emotional. The professionals from the rehabilitation facility coordinated everything. We invited several of her friends from New York, and we all told her the truth."

"What was her reaction?" I asked, unable to imagine anything less than a calamitous explosion.

"She was upset," Mrs. Cabot said, in what I a.s.sumed was yet another example of understatement.

"What happened?"

"She decided to try and get over her addiction." Her voice cracked again. "You know, perhaps, that the goal of an intervention is that the addict immediately admits herself to the program. Thank G.o.d, she agreed." I could sense the fear behind her words, and my heart went out to her.

"You must be so relieved," I said.

"I am." She stopped, her wrenching emotion palpable. She cleared her throat and when she spoke again, it was in the calm, pleasant voice I'd come to expect. "It's only the first step, of course, in what will be, no doubt, a very difficult process. But at least it's a step in the right direction."

I shook my head. Having seen Andi in action, I was a non-believer, yet I needed to say something positive. I gazed out the window toward the ocean. Under the cement-colored sky, the ocean looked bleak, seaweed dark, a green deeper than bottle green, and endless.

Nothing positive came to mind. I wondered whether Andi had any sense of the anguish her actions caused others. Finally, I said, "It must have been very hard for you."

She paused. "Yes, well, I suppose so. But I am confident that I won't be in this position again. If nothing else, my recent liberation from the conspiracy of silence precludes it."

We agreed to talk in a day or two about the appraisal.

Hanging up the phone, I stayed at the window for a long moment, watching the forbidding-looking ocean, trying to make sense of what I'd learned.

Since last evening, Andi was in rehab somewhere in the Boston area. I shook my head. If she was in a secure location, who then, did Alverez have in custody? I felt the icy chill of uncertainty wash over me again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

I felt jump-out-of-my-skin on edge. Nothing made sense, and I began considering a desperate move to get more information-calling Wes. I was telling myself what a stupid idea that was when Max reached me on my cell phone.

"Cathy from the Rocky Point police just called to ask us to come on down and meet with Alverez and Murphy, the ADA."

"Wow. When?"

"Now."

"What do they want, do you think?"

"To review evidence, I'm guessing."

"Do we go?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then."

"This probably means they've made an arrest," he said.

"Who do you think it might be?"

"I don't know."

"It isn't Andi," I said, and filled him in.

"Good luck to her in getting off drugs," Max said.

"Yeah. It's so sad. About this arrest ... what do you think the charge might be?"

"No idea. We'll know soon enough, I guess."

As I hurried down two flights of stairs, I was flooded with relief that the waiting was over.

I called my office en route, but got voice mail. I was surprised and glanced at the dashboard clock. Ten. I was puzzled. It was unlike Sasha to be late, especially since she'd know that Fred would be waiting for her.

I called her home number and got a machine. Her cell phone went to voice mail. I didn't know what to do.

A stab of fear a.s.sailed me, and for a chilled moment, I wondered if something had happened to her. Using my pin number, I checked for messages at work. Nothing.

I couldn't imagine why I couldn't reach her, and as I pulled into the police station parking lot, I began to feel more than mildly concerned. I sat in my car and tried all three numbers again. No luck. I left messages at Sasha's home and on her cell phone, asking her to call me on my cell as soon as she got the message. Kicking myself for telling Fred not to answer the phone without getting his cell phone number, I decided to wait until noon, and then, if I hadn't connected with Sasha, to go back to my office, and talk to him to learn what he might know.

I pushed open the door and saw Max. He was standing near the front, reading notices on a bulletin board. He smiled at me, and said h.e.l.lo, then turned and got Cathy's attention. She led us into a big corner room, nicely furnished in blond wood. It looked more like a CEO's office than a police chief's. She invited us to sit, and we chose chairs around a circular table near a window.

"The chief will be right in," she said, and left.

I looked around. A big desk was angled to maximize the ocean view through two sets of windows, and a wall of built-in bookcases were crammed with binders, directories, files, and matching wicker storage boxes.

"I'm so curious, I could bust," I said.

Max smiled. "We'll know more soon."

"Whatever we learn is going to be a shock to me," I said. "Remember, I was certain it was Barney."

Alverez walked in on my words. He looked tired, but he didn't act it. He smiled and conveyed the same level of power and confidence as always.

"Thanks for coming in on such short notice," he said. "Murphy just called. He got stuck in a meeting, but should be here in about fifteen minutes."

Max nodded. "No problem."

"In the meantime, I can fill you in." He sat down at the table. "Did I hear you right?" he asked me. "You thought it was Barney?"

"Yeah, I did. Didn't you?"

He shook his head. "Nah, his alibi was tight. Plus, I thought it was a woman. Remember the footprint we found by the Renoir?"

I nodded and glanced at Max. "Yeah. I remember. I don't know, I thought maybe it was unrelated or something. This morning, when you left the message saying you caught 'her,' well, then Max and I thought it might be Andi."

"Andi." He pulled his ear, thoughtfully. "Maybe. I never liked her for it myself. All huff and puff and no action. Did you see how she ran away from me at the Grant place that day?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe she was on drugs when she killed him."

"Yeah, that'd be the only way she'd actually be able to do it."

"But it isn't her."

"No. How'd you know?"

"I spoke to Mrs. Cabot just now. She had an intervention yesterday, and Andi entered rehab last night."

He nodded. "And now? Who do you think now?"

I shrugged and glanced at Max.

"No idea," Max said.

An image of Sasha came into my mind. Sasha, so shy and una.s.suming, so quiet, so self-contained. Still waters run deep, I thought. It couldn't be, I told myself, my eyes growing wide with dismay. I felt myself choke, as if I'd swallowed too big a bite of food. I remembered suddenly that she wore size nine shoes. I closed my eyes, unable to restrain the tears that threatened me. I felt as if I might faint.

"Don't overlook the obvious," I heard Alverez say.

I opened my eyes, stricken, but braced for the worst.

Alverez looked mildly amused, as if he thought it was a pretty good joke that what was self-evident to him wasn't apparent to us. If it was Sasha, I thought, surely he wouldn't be amused.

"So ..." Alverez began. As he spoke, I heard a rustling sound behind me and turned toward the open door. Martha, her chin raised defiantly, her hands handcuffed behind her, her head turned as if to shield her face from view, pa.s.sed by, followed by a uniformed officer. I shivered and looked away.

"Martha," I whispered.

"Of course," Alverez said, nodding. "It was obvious from the start."

"Not to me," Max protested. "Martha Troudeaux?" He looked appalled.

Sasha had nothing to do with it, I thought, relief tinged with guilt that I could have suspected her at all. I realized how much I cared about her, and how grateful I was to learn that she had nothing to do with it. "Martha," I repeated softly, still shocked.

"Yup," he said, watching me react.

"Where are they taking her?" I asked, not quite whispering.

"To a cell," Alverez answered.

"She killed Mr. Grant?"

"Yes."

"For the painting?"

He nodded. "For money, yes."

"And then she tried to ruin me? It's unbelievable. She and Barney couldn't compete so she set out to ruin me?"

"Yeah," Alverez agreed, "no question about it. She tried to destroy you."

"It's outrageous!"

Max reached over and patted my shoulder. "But it's over."

"I can't believe it!" I repeated. I shook my head, astounded that someone would plot against me. Worse, that someone I knew and had worked with would deliberately set out to wreck my life. "How could anyone have done such a thing?" I exclaimed. "It's disgusting! It's unbelievable! It's outrageous!"

"Calm down, Josie," Max said.

I forced myself to breathe deeply. "I'm okay," I said, trying to regain control. "I'm okay," I repeated. I shook my head and smiled a little. "It's just such a shock, you know?"

"I can only begin to imagine," Alverez said.

"So," I said, trying to focus on the facts, "when you say it was obvious from the start, did you mean because she's known for doing Barney's dirty work?"

"That's right." Alverez shook his head. "And Barney counted on it."

"I always wondered how he could stand to be with her," I said, feeling calmer. As I waited for Alverez's response, I wondered where Sasha was and hoped that she was all right.

"Barney got a lot out of the relationship," Alverez said, matterof-factly. "Her definition of caretaking was broader than most wives', and her pa.s.sion was una.s.sailable. But as far as I can tell, she has no moral core. I've never seen anything like it."

"Like what?" Max asked.

Alverez shifted in his chair. "She felt no guilt about any of it. Not the murder. Not trying to frame Josie. Not stealing the Renoir. Nothing." He shook his head. "From her perspective, she did what was necessary to protect her Barney, and if she had to, she'd do it again."

I shivered and closed my eyes as a memory rushed into my mind. I could see her mean little pig eyes challenging me to defend my pricing of the bamboo stool at the tag sale. I could hear her sarcastic, mean-spirited tirade. I could easily imagine her murdering someone. And once the initial shock wore off, I could, in fact, believe that she'd set out to frame me. She was evil.

She chose to frame me not because she hated me but because I was an easy and desirable mark. From her perspective, if I were arrested for Mr. Grant's murder, no one would suspect her or Barney, and, as an added bonus, she'd eliminate a tough compet.i.tor.

While it was natural to picture her lashing out, doing what she'd always done, protecting her beloved husband, it was appalling to think that she'd kill and then try to destroy me in the process. I shivered, horrified to realize that she had murdered an old man and set out to ruin my life.