All Fall Down (19 page)

“Tablets or injection?”

“Injection.”

“For a normal dosage, about fifteen minutes. An overdose, five to ten minutes, depending on the amount injected.”

“I see.” Logan wrote in his notebook.

Rick began tapping his fingers on his desk. “Obviously you think the Foss girl was drugged with Dilaudid.”

“That’s right. Is Dilaudid ever sold on the street?”

“Yes,” Rick said slowly. “We don’t hear as much about it as something like crack or ice, but it’s out there.”

“In a place like Sinclair?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but…well, yes, it’s possible.”

“But doubtful.”

“Yeah, doubtful.” Rick picked up a pen and began tossing it from one hand to the other. “Sheriff, why are you asking me all these questions? I’m sure the medical examiner’s office can tell you all about Dilaudid.”

“Yes, but you can tell me about Mrs. Peyton. Nothing she’s currently on matches what was found in Rosalind Van Zandt’s bloodstream, but I wondered if she has ever been on Dilaudid for that broken hip.”

“No. She’s allergic to it.”

“Have you ever prescribed Dilaudid?”

“Yes.”

“Frequently?”

“That depends on how you define frequently.”

“How many times in the last year?”

Rick frowned. “I’d have to go through my files, but I’d say about six, seven times. Maybe more.”

“Can you give me the names of some of the people for whom you’ve prescribed the drug?”

Rick dropped the pen, raising his hands. “I don’t know, Sheriff. I could ask Miss Roush to check—”

“Just off the top of your head.”

Rick sighed in exasperation. “Okay. Let me think. Of course, you realize that since I’m an orthopedist, I’ve prescribed the drug for people with bone injuries. That’s what I am—a bone specialist.”

“Yes, Dr. Bennett, I do realize that,” Logan said calmly, ignoring Rick’s patronizing tone that said a simple county sheriff probably wouldn’t understand the subtleties of medical specialties.

“All right. Well, there was Aaron Howard—tractor accident that crushed his leg. Dan Frank—cracked vertebrae from a fall. Lucky he didn’t break his neck. Muriel Boyd—broken hip like Mrs. Peyton. Martin Avery.”

Logan looked up from his notebook. “Martin Avery?”

“Yes. His right shoulder was badly fractured in that car wreck. Took months to heal, and he was in a lot of pain.”

“So he took the Dilaudid after he came home from the hospital?”

“Yes. For a couple of months.” Rick stiffened. “You’re not thinking what I
think
you are, are you?”

“And what would that be?”

“That Blaine had access to Dilaudid.”

“She did, didn’t she?”

“It was in the house, yes.”

“Did any of it ever come up missing?”

“
No!
At least, Bernice never mentioned it, and she’s the one who gave the shots.”

“
Would
she have mentioned it?”

“Certainly!” Rick leaned forward. “Are you implying that Blaine Avery drugged those girls?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Rick glared at him. “How can you sit there so damned cold and say that? You
know
this woman. She isn’t capable of murdering anyone, especially not a teenaged girl carrying a ten-week-old fetus. That’s downright heinous—”

“Ten-week-old fetus?” Logan said sharply. “How did you know the fetus Rosalind was carrying was ten weel old?”

Rick blinked in surprise. “Uh…Blaine told me.”

“I told Blaine the fetus was two months old. That’s what I told Joan Peyton. I told
no one
the exact age of that fetus. How did you come up with ten weeks?”

“I…don’t know. I must have heard it somewhere.”

“From Rosalind?”

“I’m not an obstetrician, and she didn’t consult me about her pregnancy,” Rick said tightly.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure she didn’t consult you
professionally
.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“Are you saying I was the father of Rosie Van Zandt’s baby?”

“Were you?”

Rick’s face was growing red in his fury. “I was
not!
”

“Then I don’t suppose you’d mind submitting to a DNA test to help us determine paternity.”

“I certainly would mind! Why should I? I hardly knew the girl.”

“Oh, yes, you did. Listen, Bennett, do you think I’m a fool? Something has been nagging at me since I found out Rosalind was meeting someone out at the Avery house. She never knew when Robin or Blaine or Blaine’s brother-in-law would drop by.
Unless
, of course, the movements of those three people were monitored very carefully. Now, Rosalind was no longer close to Robin—a fact that in itself was suspicious—so the information couldn’t have been coming from Robin. So who was it coming from?”

“I have no idea.”

“How about someone who talked to Blaine or her family at least once a day? How about the good doctor who was supposedly Blaine’s staunch supporter during the Martin Avery investigation and naturally solicitous during her illness, keeping up with her every move?”

Rick stood up, his fists clenched. “That is utter bullshit!”

“Really? Well, how about this? Robin thought Rosie might have had a key to the house made the afternoon Blaine was taken to the hospital with pneumonia, because Robin gave Rosalind the key so she could go out to the house and get some of Blaine’s things. There’s only one place nearby that makes keys—Dillard’s Hardware Store. Unfortunately, no one at Dillard’s remembered Rosalind coming in to have a key made. But today I found out something. You know old man Dillard who owns the hardware store? He keeps meticulous records of keys they make. Strange habit, one he developed a long time ago when someone was having copies of keys made at the store so they could break into houses. I asked him to do some checking for me and find out who had keys made around the time of Blaine Avery’s illness. And guess whose name turned up?”

“Mine, I suppose.”

“Right.”

“So I had a key made around that time. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You didn’t have one key made, you had two made. And one of them didn’t turn out to Dillard’s satisfaction, so he made a third one. He tossed the second one in a drawer. He’s proud of his key-grinding and keeps the few failures he has.” Logan withdrew a key from his pocket, watching Rick’s face go from red to white. “I have that extra key right here. I tried it out a little while ago, and although it’s not a smooth fit, it still opens the door to the Avery house.”

Rick stared at him defiantly for a few seconds; then his shoulders sagged. “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Fine. But I suggest you have him meet you down at headquarters, because that’s where you’re going.”

1

“You admit you were having an affair with Rosalind Van Zandt?”

“Yes.”

Rick sat behind a table in the interrogation room, his face pale, perspiration sheening his upper lip.

“And you lost just about everything in your divorce, didn’t you, Doctor?” Logan went on. “You needed money in the worst way. Rosalind didn’t have any money, but Blaine does. So when Rosalind turned up pregnant, refusing to have an abortion, threatening to tell the whole town, you killed her.” Logan’s voice lashed through the room. “You murdered that young girl and your unborn baby so you could get your hands on Blaine Avery’s money.”

Rick’s lawyer, a well-dressed, grim-faced man, said coldly, “That is an assumption.”

“Is it? Well, I think your client killed Rosalind Van Zandt.

“No!” Rick shouted. “I didn’t kill Rosie. I
didn’t!
”

“Did you give Rosalind an engraved bracelet?” Logan asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, that solves one mystery. Now, let’s solve some others. When did you get involved with the Van Zandt girl?”

“I’d advise you not to say any more,” Rick’s lawyer said.

Rick didn’t seem to hear him. He stood up and walked to the window, then took a deep breath. “Old Mrs. Peyton broke her hip in April. When she went home from the hospital, I started going by to check on her every few days. That’s when I met Rosie. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. And she was very…attracted to me. She didn’t make a secret of it.” He turned and smiled wanly at Logan, who stared back coldly. “Anyway, in July I talked her into coming by my office. I told her I loved her and…well, you can take it from there.”

“You told her you loved her. Did you love her?”

“Well, no. I hardly knew her. I thought she understood that it was just talk.”

“Sure. Seventeen-year-old girls are very sophisticated.”

“She
was
sophisticated,” Rick flared. “And she was no virgin, I can tell you that.”

“Did she ever tell you who her other lovers were?”

“No. But I can guess. Tony Jarvis for one. Maybe John Sanders.”

“Was she still seeing Jarvis when she got involved with you?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.”

“Okay, get on with your story.”

Rick sat down again. He looked limp and defeated. “Meeting at my office was too risky, so when Blaine got sick and her house was left vacant, I knew it was perfect. I took her key when she was in the hospital, had two copies made, and started meeting Rosie at the house a couple of times a week. Two weeks before she died, she told me she was pregnant. I’d put her on birth control pills, but I guess she’d forgotten to take them regularly. She was terrified. That’s why she waited so long to tell me.”

Logan’s face was tight with contempt. “I’m sure she wasn’t the only one who was terrified.”

“No, she wasn’t. I couldn’t let her have my baby, if it even
was
my baby, and I’m still not sure about that. I explained to her that she was too young, that if it got out we’d been having an affair, I’d be ruined. She knew about my financial difficulties.”

“Now why would a successful doctor be having financial difficulties?”

“My divorce.”

“Come on, Bennett. There are no children—you aren’t even making child support payments. What’s your wife got on you that forced you to make such a ridiculously generous settlement? She did get everything except the office, didn’t she—the house, the Mercedes, the boat,
and
a very large sum of money?”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things.”

Rick sighed. “I loved Ellen. I wanted her to be comfortable.”

“You are lying,” Logan said flatly. “But never mind that now. I’ll find out the truth later.”

Rick’s lips tightened. “Anyway,” he went on, “the last few months have been like starting all over again.”

“Which is why you wanted to marry Blaine,” Logan said. “You were tired of living in that tiny apartment and driving a six-year-old station wagon, never having money for a vacation or the extravagances you love so well.”

The lawyer leaned forward. “That is
another
assumption—”

“I
care
about Blaine,” Rick said.

“Oh, yes, you
loved
your wife, you
care
about Blaine, but you were having an affair with a young girl.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Logan’s mouth curled derisively. “I guess not. Go ahead with your story.”

The lawyer frowned disapprovingly. “Dr. Bennett, don’t say anything else.”

“He’ll find out anyway,” Rick said. “Besides, I can’t live with this anymore.”

The lawyer sighed in frustration. “I don’t know why you bothered to call me.”

“I talked Rosie into having an abortion,” Rick continued. “I was going to take her to someone I know out of state. We planned it for a weekend when there was a rock concert in Charleston. It wasn’t unusual for her to stay with some cousin there and go to concerts, so I didn’t think Joan would get suspicious. We were supposed to meet at Blaine’s at seven o’clock.”

“On Friday, November fifteenth.”

“Yes. But at six-thirty Rosie called, just as I was leaving the office. She said she’d changed her mind. She was crying. I asked if she was at the Avery house, and she said no. I said to go there and we’d talk about it, but she refused.”

“Did you go out to the house anyway?”

“No. What was the point? I was so scared of the consequences of all this that I went to a bar. Harry’s.”

“About what time?”

“Around seven.”

“
Around
seven? Can you be more specific?”

“No.”

“Then how can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

“Because Harry made a big deal about me being there for the happy hour. I usually stopped in only around nine or ten for one drink. I don’t want people thinking I’m an alcoholic.”

“What time did you leave?”

“I don’t know. Nearly midnight. Harry closes then. He told me I had to leave. Offered to call a cab for me.”

“How do I know you were there all evening?”

“Because I played pool with someone. Then Harry turned the TV on to a wrestling match. I hate wrestling, but I got so loaded I bet him on it. I won. He ended up giving me twenty dollars. He’ll remember that. Besides, the place was packed. You could ask thirty people if I was there, and they’d tell you I was.”

Logan rubbed his temples. “So Rosalind called you and told you she wasn’t at the Avery house. But she was. Why would she lie about it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she was afraid I’d come out there and try to change her mind.”

Or maybe she was making the call under duress, Logan thought, remembering that Blaine Avery had been at the house that night.

2

Logan knocked on the tall white door of the Peyton home. It opened so quickly he was sure he’d been watched through one of the sidelight windows as he pulled up in the sheriff’s car.

Joan Peyton stood at the door, her smile failing to mask the apprehension in her eyes. “Hello, Logan. I hope you’re not bringing more bad news.”

Logan suddenly felt guilty, the way he often did around the families of assault and murder victims, as if some irrational part of him believed that if he were a better law enforcement officer, he could prevent all such tragedies. He forced down the feeling and smiled back at the woman. “No, Miss Peyton, no more bad news. I just need to talk to Mrs. Litchfield.”

“Bernice? Whatever for?”

“I really can’t say, Miss Peyton.”

“No, certainly you can’t. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry I asked.” She stepped back, motioning him inside. “Come in out of the cold.”

Logan stepped into the entrance hall, casting an appraising look at Joan. It had been less than a week since he’d come to this house to tell her about Rosie’s body being found on Blaine’s property. That night she’d looked harried—she was worried about Rosie’s disappearance—but otherwise she’d appeared very much as she had fourteen years ago when he’d graduated from high school. Now her skin looked dry and bleached, emphasizing new lines around her mouth and eyes. Even her hair seemed to have lost its luster; it was carelessly pulled straight back with a silver barrette to expose a quarter inch of gray strands at the hairline.

“Bernice is upstairs with Mother,” Joan said. “Before I go get her, though, I’d like to talk to you for a minute.” Logan looked at her inquiringly. “I heard about Rick Bennett being taken in for questioning this afternoon.”

“How do you know that?”

“I called to see if he’d come and check on Mother this afternoon. Miss Roush told me you’d taken him away.”

“That sounds more dramatic than it was.”

“Logan, please don’t evade me. You don’t really think Rick knows anything about Rosie, do you?”

“Well, yes,” he said uncomfortably.

She looked at him searchingly. “What does he know?”

Rosalind was Joan’s niece, for all practical purposes her daughter. She had a right to the truth. “He admitted to being the father of her baby.”

“What?” she cried, her hand flying to her throat. “
What?
”

“He was having an affair with her. It had been going on since midsummer. In the weeks before Rosalind’s death, they were meeting at the Avery house because Blaine was at Cait’s and the house was empty.”

“I…can’t…believe it.” Joan walked shakily to one of the leather wing chairs and sank down. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “I can’t believe it. Rosie and I were so close. How could I not have known? How could I have let something like this happen?”

Logan felt awkward in his pity. “I don’t think there’s much you could have done about it, ma’am. Bennett and Rosalind were very careful.”

“Not careful enough to prevent pregnancy!” Joan suddenly stood up, her eyes blazing. “And to think I trusted that man, that I let him take care of my mother! My God, I invited a killer right into my very own home!”

“We don’t know that he’s a killer.”

“You don’t
know!
You mean you haven’t arrested him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because being the father of Rosalind’s child isn’t a crime. Besides, his alibi checks out.”

Joan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t
you
think he killed her?”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Logan said. “Only hard evidence counts.”

“How terribly fair-minded you have to be to do your job.”

“You’re the one who recommended back in high school that I’d be suited to this line of work.”

The anger abruptly seemed to drain out of Joan, and she gave him a tired smile. “So I did. And I never told you how proud I am of you for getting your degree, did I? Well, I’m telling you now.” She sighed and ran a hand across her forehead. Weak light bounced off her wide silver bracelet, and Logan noticed the beautiful sapphire-and-diamond ring she wore on her right hand. He remembered Rosalind’s opal-and-diamond ring, which was originally to have been a birthday present to her mother. He wondered if this ring had been a birthday present for Joan. “How’s Blaine taking all this?” she asked suddenly.

“As far as I know, she doesn’t know. Why?”

“I was just thinking of how close she and Rick seemed to be getting.” She sighed. “Blaine always was a kind and unselfish person. She reminds me of my sister.” Her posture straightened, and Logan could almost feel her control returning. “I’ll get Bernice for you now. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

How many people would think to offer him refreshment at a time like this? Logan thought. But he remembered that even in high school he’d been sneakingly impressed with the elegant Miss Peyton’s impeccable manners. “No, thanks, Miss Peyton. I’m just fine.”

In a few minutes Bernice Litchfield appeared at the door to the library. In spite of her sixty years, she looked like a chubby, frightened little girl called to the principal’s office. He smiled warmly. “Hello, Mrs. Litchfield. I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me.”

“Mrs. Peyton’s asleep. She’s been so upset all morning, but I finally got her to sleep. Joan
—Miss
Peyton—is with her now.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you come on in and sit down? And close the door, please.”

“Close the door?” Bernice repeated warily, as if she thought Logan was going to sexually attack her.

“I want to talk to you confidentially. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.” Bernice shut the door and came to sit on the edge of a leather couch, her hands firmly planted on her big knees in their white hose.

“Mrs. Litchfield, you did private-duty nursing for Martin Avery, didn’t you?”

“Yes, indeed. Poor man. Such a tragedy. First the paralysis, then…well, what happened.”

“Yes. I understand that he sustained a broken shoulder as well as spinal damage in that car accident.”

“Yes.
Bad
fracture, it was. Bad.”

“Can you tell me what painkiller Dr. Bennett prescribed for him?”

“What painkiller Mr. Avery had?”

“Yes.”

Bernice’s pale eyes rolled to the ceiling for a moment while she thought. “Dilaudid.”

“I see. How long were you with Mr. Avery?”

“From the time he got home from the hospital in February until he…died. In May. A couple of weeks later Miss Peyton came to me and said she wasn’t real happy with the nurse she’d engaged right after her mother broke her hip. Seemed she got too snappy with Mrs. Peyton. You’ve got to have patience in this field, Sheriff. A
lot
of patience, particularly with the elderly, like Mrs. Peyton. This other woman, whose name I won’t mention but I’m
sure
you know her—flouncy, undernourished little thing with fake blond streaks in her hair and skin-tight uniforms—anyway, she just wasn’t a good nurse. Too young, I’d say. The young ones, they don’t have the touch us older women do. Just don’t have it. Besides, I’d taken care of Joan’s sister, Charlotte, a long time ago, and I took care of Mr. Peyton last year right up until the week of his death, right before Christmas, so Joan knew I could handle the job.”

“I didn’t realize you’d been with the Peytons before.”