For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,88
the police. And then it dragged on and on, and I thought she might never come back. The thought of her. . . you know, with him like that. . . I needed someone to make her come back. I knew you could do it.”
That was it? I was supposed to deliver Madlyn Beckwirth, um, Barlow, from the seductive grip of Martin Barlow, and then back to Gary? I was supposed to convince her that she really loved Gary, even though she knew she didn’t? Who the hell did he think I was, a combination of J. Edgar Hoover and Dr. Ruth?
“But somebody killed her. Was it you?”
Beckwirth looked as if I’d suggested he’d jumped up one morning and landed on Mercury. “Me? Kill the woman I loved? You alread said I didn’t do it.”
I shrugged. “It’s happened before. Jealousy, crime of passion. It’s not a new thing.”
Gary shook his head violently. And started to cry again. “Not me,” he said. “Not me.”
“Then who?”
He shook his head again.
“Are you telling me you’re still covering up for them? After they permanently took away the one person on this earth you loved, you’re going to let them get away with it? What do you owe these people, Gary?”
He vibrated in the chair, but said nothing. I decided that playing good cop wasn’t working, and I’d have to switch into bad cop mode. So I raised my voice again. A lot.
“Fine!” I screamed. “This whole thing is coming down tonight, Gary! And if you don’t do what’s right, it’s going to come down right on your head! I know all I need to know, and tomorrow morning, you can kiss this pretty house of yours goodbye! Enjoy your last day as a wealthy man!” I all but ran for the door and let myself out, fully aware that I had no idea what I was yelling about.
First, I scared Milt, then I threatened Gary, so next were the Barlows. Pissing them off again proved to be considerably more fun than dealing with Gary. Just the sight of me at their front door was enough. Martin tried to slam it in my face. But I had seen enough traveling salesman cartoons. I wedged my foot inside the door. It hurt a little, but New Balance makes a damned sturdy little shoe, and Dr. Scholl will be getting a new customer as soon as I can get to the drug store.
“If you want to win this election, you’re letting me in. Otherwise, you can hear what I have to say nice and loud on your doorstep, where everybody else on the block can be in on it, too,” I told him, and I saw Rachel, behind him, nod her head. Martin relieved the pressure on my foot, and I walked into the house. Martin made a point of closing the door as quickly as possible. I did my best not to limp.
“Say what you have to say,” Rachel said, biting her upper lip. It gave her the rather dubious appearance of a chimpanzee in a polyester doubleknit.
“I know all about the goofy wife-swapping deal with you and the Beckwirths,” I started. Martin’s eyes widened, but Rachel simply watched me with practiced calm. “It probably wouldn’t play well with Martin’s tenure petition, would it? Or with the voters. But then, neither would a murder conviction.”
“Murder?” Rachel spat. “We didn’t kill Madlyn. Gary did. Don’t you read the papers?”
“Gary Beckwirth enjoyed his suffering way too much to end Madlyn’s life that way,” I countered. “He loved her. If he was going to kill anybody, he’d have killed Martin for having better sex with Madlyn than he could.”
Martin flushed and made some stammering noises. Rachel, again, was icy cool, but the lines around her mouth were showing just a little bit.
“We didn’t kill anyone,” she repeated, “and I don’t hear you proving otherwise.”
“I have all the proof I need,” I said, knowing I had none. “I know that Martin called me and threatened me on a cell phone he stole. By the way, Marty, Mr. MacKenzie wants his cell phone back, and he expects you to pay the long distance charges on his bill. But I doubt there were any threatening, anonymous calls to Madlyn. You just made those up, didn’t you, Rache? I know all that. And I’ll hand it all over to the cops tomorrow unless you two decide to cooperate.”
Rachel turned to the man everyone thought was her husband. “It all comes down to money,”