Premeditated

5. An Idea Is Brewing

An Idea Is Brewing

Susan sat in an old rocking chair on the back porch, a glass of wine in her hand.

“I don’t know how you sit in that thing,” Kevin said. “It hurts my ass.”

“I think someone warned you of a sagging ass a long time ago.”

“I hear you,” he said. “And just so you know, I saw a young woman today who actually had a nice ass. She must have taken care of hers, unlike some people I know.”

Susan put her index finger to her chin. “You know, I was thinking that what we went through today could be interesting.”

“What could be interesting?”

“The premise—a husband wanting to kill his wife, but she doesn’t suspect anything. It could be a great book if it were done properly.”

“Or a wife wanting to kill her husband,” Kevin said.

“Yes. You’re right, of course. And I like that even better.”

Kevin laughed while he poured more wine. “I don’t know if I like the fact that you like that.”

Susan seemed not to hear or at least not to not be paying attention to him. “It could make a great plot for a book,” she said. “I need a new angle.”

Kevin shifted his weight to the right side of the chair. “What kind of an angle?”

“Suppose we carried through with this? Did, in theory anyway, what the cops were thinking.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes widened, and she focused intently on her husband. “I mean, suppose we faked my murder, but I gave you the perfect alibi? Then we could see how good the detectives really are. They would be like live beta readers. They’d be doing our work for us—finding the plot holes. If it works, I could use it for the plot of my new book.”

“I think they might get a little pissed off,” Kevin said.

“Bullshit. Name the characters after them and mention them in the acknowledgments, and they’ll be as happy as a tick on a dog, as they say in this neck of the woods.”

Kevin grinned. “Get up to speed, honey. They probably haven’t used that saying in fifty years, but that aside, how are we going to develop the perfect alibi?”

She took a drink, set the glass down, then chewed on her fingernail. “That might take some doing. But I’m sure you can help.”

“How?”

“By helping me figure it out. What is a perfect alibi? It’s one that is a real alibi.”

“You’ve lost me,” Kevin said.

“Alibi is a Latin word meaning ‘elsewhere’, hence, when someone asks what’s your alibi, what they’re really asking is where you were. Were you elsewhere? Nowadays, alibi has weakened, and it’s come to mean any excuse, no matter how lame. But the original is irrefutable. If you can prove you were somewhere else when the crime was committed, then you couldn’t have committed the crime.”

“Sounds simple but difficult at the same time. Just how are you going to provide me with this perfect alibi, and how am I going to kill you?”

Susan picked up her glass again and sipped. “I thought for the killing we’d do something simple, like a shooting. As to the alibi, we’d have to make it good. Maybe have you in another city when the deed happens.”

Kevin nodded. “All well and good, except how do I commit the crime if I’m in the other city?”

She stopped rocking and leaned forward in the chair. “Exactly! I want them to think the same way. If they’re focused on trying to prove you weren’t in the other city, then we’ll have to make sure that you were—or, at least, that they think you were.”

Kevin sucked his beer dry and tossed the empty can in the trash. “I’m game. Tell me how.”

“Let me think on it,” she said. “Nothing comes to mind yet.”

shield

Ribs and I spent the remainder of the day sitting in the car while we waited on witnesses to give us clues about a junkie’s death. If we weren’t doing that, we were walking the streets trying to get clues. Right now, we were in the “sitting” phase.

We weren’t going to put much time into the investigation—only enough to carry us over until the next real body came up.

“Shouldn’t be long,” Ribs said, leaning against the headrest. “Not at the rate we’ve been getting bodies.”

“I hate to sound crass, but I hope it’s not too long. All we’ve got on this case are whores and drug dealers for witnesses, and we’re not getting the truth out of them.”

“If they even know the truth,” Ribs said. “And I doubt if they do. What they think is the truth, and what is the truth are usually different.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” I said, and we both laughed.

“Speaking of the truth, how did poor little Marissa fare after telling you lies about where she was?”

“She’s faring in her room,” Ribs said. “She told us she was going to a friend’s house and we found out that the ‘friend’ was actually the corner store. Next it will be the mall.”

“Don’t be too hard on her,” I said. “She’s a good girl.”

“And I intend for her to remain a good girl,” Ribs said. “A nice long stay in her room will help. Or a trip to a convent.”

“Don’t start your nun s**t on me,” I said. “I never did like them.”

“I know. I know. According to you, half the troubles in the world are caused by nuns and the other half by priests. That’s fine if you want to believe that—in your sick, warped way—but other people don’t have to agree. Some people think nuns and priests do a good job.”

“Yeah, the same people who foolishly give their hard-earned money to the church each week.”

“Maybe it makes them feel good?” Ribs said.

“I don’t mind a heartfelt donation making people feel good, but they should donate to someone who really needs it, like the homeless and poor.”

Ribs sneered. “What good would it do? The homeless will buy booze or drugs, and the poor will buy lottery tickets.”

“And you call me cynical,” I said. “Did they teach you that philanthropist philosophy in Catholic school?”

Ribs looked at his watch and said, “Let’s go. I’m ready to call it a day. Besides, Marissa has been bugging Rosalee to drive her to the mall. I need to get home and put my foot down. I don’t know what these kids do at the mall, but she’s too young to go.”

“I guess we might as well call it a day,” I said. “We don’t have a single lead yet anyway.”

“Let the other junkies figure this one out themselves,” Ribs said. “I’m hungry.”

I turned the key to start the engine, revved it up, and looked to my left to see when to pull out. “I’m sure the good citizens of Houston will sleep well tonight knowing you’re on the job.”

“Go to hell, cuz. Let them sleep well knowing I’m at home eating nachos.”

I saw an opening in the traffic and pulled into the lane. “It’ll sure make me comfortable,” I said. “At least I’ll know you’re not in my kitchen, drinking my beer.”

Ribs laughed. “It wouldn’t take much to get me there tonight. And I could use a beer before talking to the little demon. I can tell you one thing, she’s not going to the mall.”

“Leave the girl alone, Ribs. She wants to go to the goddamn mall for Christ’s sake, not a drug party.”

“Mall, drug party. All the same if you ask me.” Ribs rested his legs on the dash. “Just get me home so I can kick her ass and get this over with.”

“You got it, cuz. Stay tough.”

He grinned. “You never call me cuz. Is that a jab?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” I said. “It doesn’t matter, because you know I don’t agree with you.”

“That’s because you’d let Marissa do anything. You’re a sucker. All she has to do is smile, and you’d do anything she wants. That’s okay for you, though, because you’re only there once in a while. I have to live with her.”

I pulled alongside his car and unlocked the doors. “Time for the taskmaster to get out,” I said.

“See you tomorrow,” Ribs said. “If I don’t kick my daughter’s ass first.”

“You’d never do anything remotely like that. First, Rosalee would kill you, and second, you’d feel guilty for a month.”

Ribs laughed. “Okay, you might have a point. But it’s a weak one.”

I waited for Ribs to open his car door, then headed for home. It had been a long day, and I was ready for some relaxation. While driving, I called the sheriff in Conroe and filled him in, as the Hemphill’s house was on the lake in Bentwater. If anything were to happen, I wanted him to let me know about it.

As I got closer to home, I thought about dinner, which reminded me I had to stop at the grocery store.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the fruit aisle and doing my best to select good tomatoes—a near impossible task in Houston—when I heard someone call my name.

“Detective Cataldi, what a surprise. It’s been a long time.”

I looked around and saw a woman who seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

Then she said, “Did you ever get that watch back?”

And I knew immediately—she was Number Two, the kidnapper who had gotten away..

I’m sure my cheeks reddened. I shifted my stance and set the tomato down. “I did get it back. Someone sent it to me.”

She picked up a tomato and smiled. “Must have been a nice person to have done that?”

She was taunting me and we both knew it. “Yes, it must have been.”

“What are they for?” she asked.

“What?” I said, then realized she was referring to the tomatoes. “Red sauce. I’m planning to make spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Am I invited?” she asked.

Her question took me off guard. “I, uh…I guess so.”

“You guess so? Am I, or aren’t I?”

I don’t know how she did this to me, but I felt as if I’d fallen. “Yes, come on over. It will be tomorrow night.”

She smiled. “I’m hungry already. I’ll need the address,” she said.

I looked at her with my eyes squinted. “You don’t know where I live?”

“How would I? I’ve never been to your house.”

“I guess not,” I said, then wrote my address on a card and handed it to her.

She placed two tomatoes in her basket and said, “Great. See you tomorrow. What time?”

I thought for a moment, wondering what time I’d be home. “Make it around 7:00,” I said. “But you better call first. The number is on the card.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

With that, she headed off down the aisle, and I was left watching her ass.