Severed Relations Page 11

  Finn pushed the hair out of her eyes. He took off her glasses and tossed them aside, looking for blood as he unlatched her seatbelt and helped her out of the car.

  Elizabeth Barnett fell against him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight to stop her shaking. Her cheek was against his shoulder but Finn O'Brien still heard her whisper:

  "He wanted to kill me, didn't he?"

  CHAPTER 19

  DAY 3 – AFTERNOON

  "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

  Sam Barnett called for his wife as he threw himself against the door of the Coulter's guesthouse. That door shook and rattled as he turned the handle the wrong way, pulled on it and finally wrenched it open. He flew inside still calling his wife's name, but it was Finn O'Brien he found standing in the small kitchen.

  "Where is she? Where's my wife?"

  Finn lifted his chin. "In the bedroom. She's fine. She just had a fright."

  "It was that man from the clinic, wasn't it?"

  Sam Barnett threw back his coat and punched his hips with his fists. He walked a few steps forward, a few back. He eyed Finn. He looked at the tea bag the detective held over a steaming mug of water and waited for answers.

  "No, sir. This appeared to be nothing more than a reckless driver," Finn said. "Given what's happened, I think Mrs. Barnett is imagining the worst."

  "Nothing new there," Sam muttered.

  So as not to show his surprise at the man's aside, Finn lowered the tea bag and watched it bob before the water soaked in and made it heavy enough to sink. Sam Barnett, though, was not fooled. He knew when he was being judged.

  "Look, O'Brien, there's something you should know about Elizabeth. She doesn't just have an active imagination; she is paranoid. If she can't control something then it's suspect. The rest of the world is out to get us, every day there's a disaster waiting around the corner – teachers who give our kids a bad shake, my health, financial ruin, plane crashes, car accidents – you name it she's thought about it. That's why we live here, behind a wall, schools within walking distance. When we were first married I thought all this was a charming quirk. It was cute that she thought the world revolved around the two of us; then I found out that she didn't want the world to be anymore than the two of us. No matter how easy I try to make her life, nothing helps. That trip to Paris? Most women would kill to have their husbands take them on a trip like that. It took me three months to convince her to go. You'd think I was torturing her.

  "Anyway, I wanted you to know that. About Elizabeth's paranoia, I mean. She hides it well, but it's the real deal with her."

  "I wouldn't be so quick to discount your wife's feelings," Finn lifted a brow but kept his eyes on the tea bag. He could hardly see it now as the water colored to bronze.

  "I don't think I appreciate your tone, detective."

  "I am only thinking that she might have subconsciously picked up on something that led to your troubles." Finn looked up and let his lips rise in an effort to sympathize. "And it is not unreasonable to think either of you might have difficulty distinguishing between an accident and an attack. I'm glad I was able to calm her."

  "Yes. About that," Sam said. "Exactly why were you with my wife? Where were you two when all this happened?"

  Finn considered the man's polite outrage, his offense at, rather than gratitude for, the detective's help. He tried his damndest to find a soft space in his heart for Sam Barnett, but the only thing that was warming were Finn's hands around the mug.

  "I was at the morgue at the same time your wife came to inquire about when your daughters' bodies would be released."

  Sam Barnett trembled briefly, the answer pricking at him and then settling into a pain in his gut. He sank onto a chair near a small table. He muttered his wife's name once and he shook his head as if he had just been told his child had cheated on a test.

  "When Mrs. Barnett came upon me, she was pleased. I had saved her a trip to the station. She wanted to tell me that two lockets were taken from your daughters' bedroom."

  "I didn't know," he said. "And I didn't know that she had gone back to the house again. We've been…" Sam Barnett sat up straighter yet his hands hung between his knees. He was somewhere between defeat and defense. "We haven't actually spoken much."

  Finn understood what the man was saying. He and Bev hadn't spoken much in the last six months even though many a word had passed between them.

  How do you feel?

  Why did you do it?

  Did you take your medicine?

  You killed a cop.

  Do you want me in court with you?

  That man you saved was a nobody.

  Are you hungry?

  I think we should separate.

  You ruined our lives for a nobody, Finn.

  I want a divorce.

  Sam Barnett fell silent. Finn thought of his grandfather and how he would cast a keen eye on him when he went quiet. Bíonn ciúin ciontach, he would say. The quiet are guilty. But of what? Of believing his wife incapable when she had already proven herself capable of so much? Was he guilty of needing to prove his own worth by proving his wife worthless? Neither of those things made Sam Barnett a criminal or a sinner; it only made him a sad, small man.

  "All right. Well. That is something solid. Something to go on. Yes, that's good." Sam Barnett put his hands on his thighs but made no other move. "And what about the car? Can you identify the driver?"

  "No, I cannot." Finn pulled his lips together in what passed for a regretful smile. "The car was an older model. Black. Oxidized paint. Two doors."

  "I'm surprised that's all you got. Most cops I know are very observant."

  "Sometimes my job is made difficult by circumstances. For instance, I would have appreciated hearing the information about Stephen Grady first thing. Since you were reluctant to share that, I am wondering what else you might be holding back." Finn leaned forward. "Perhaps something personal to you alone. Something your wife knows nothing about. Perhaps you crossed someone and that would explain what has come down upon you."

  "If I had pissed someone off, don't you think they would want to hurt me?"

  "Perhaps that's what they think they are doing," Finn answered.

  "Then mission accomplished. For the record, I haven't pissed anyone off." Sam stood up and headed for the bedroom only to turn around. He held out his hands for the tea. "I assume that is for Elizabeth."

  Finn held the mug toward him. Sam Barnett took the tea and didn't try to hide his dislike of everything Finn O'Brien: the way he stood, the fact that he never looked away once he caught your eye, the way his face was cut into planes and his body was mounded with muscle, the disrespect his casual clothing implied.

  "I'll have to talk to your captain about this extraordinary kindness of yours. Putting my wife to bed, bringing her tea. Some people might consider that inappropriate behavior but I appreciate it, detective. Seriously, I do."

  "Some people might consider going to work so soon after your children are murdered inappropriate."

  "You bastard," Sam muttered as he took hold of the mug, but Finn didn't let go.

  "I called your office," Finn went on. "Your secretary hadn't seen you today nor did she expect you in."

  They squared off, two men as different as night and day with skin in a game neither wanted to play. Sam broke first.

  "Okay. Look. I'm sorry if I sound like an ass. It's just that I've taken care of Elizabeth the last ten years. I know her limitations. There are certain things I do quietly if I think they will upset her," Sam said. "You understand how it is when a man has things to do."

  "That I do." Finn let go of the mug but Sam stayed his ground.

  "The truth is, I told Elizabeth that I was going to the office hoping she would just stay here and rest. I should have known better. Elizabeth imagines that she is helping when she isn't; she imagines she is bringing something important to the table when there isn't even a table. You understand, right? I mean the morgue thing was out
of line. The lockets, she did good on that."

  Sam paused but if he were waiting for the detective to agree to Elizabeth Barnett's limitations. When he didn't, Sam Barnett said:

  "Okay, look, you don't know either of us really. I'm sorry she interfered with what you were doing, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. Let's just leave it at that."

  Sam held the mug in one hand. He took Finn's shoulder with the other and gave it a squeeze before dismissing the detective by showing his back. Finn spoke to that.

  "Don't underestimate your wife, Mr. Barnett. She is a strong, courageous woman."

  Sam looked over his shoulder and Finn thought he saw the man smile just a little.

  "I know all about my wife, detective."

  "Then why lie to her? Today of all days." Finn pressed on and the button he hit was the right one.

  Sam Barnett did an about face. Finn saw the flash of anger and the determination to keep it under control, but the detective wanted none of that. He wanted Sam Barnett to forget the lawyer in him. Finn stepped forward and met the man halfway, contenders storming into the ring.

  "You think I've got some deep, dark secret don't you?" Sam growled. "Well, here's a news flash. The only thing you've found out is just how much I love my wife; how much I want to spare her anymore pain."

  "Where were you?" Finn demanded.

  "I was seeing about coffins," Sam said. "After what happened today, I suppose I should be glad I don't have to order one more."

  CHAPTER 20

  At noon, Ariba's Mexican Food Restaurant was a cross between a human beehive and a mosh pit. Everyone tried to be heard over the sounds of the kitchen, the canned mariachi music, waitresses calling out their orders, and customers talking as they tried to wolf down their food before their phones rang. The waitresses were surly, the cooks none too concerned with health regulations, and the chairs and tables held together with gum and glue. Ariba's was, in short, perfect.

  Every cop in Wilshire Division ate at Ariba's and when Finn O'Brien walked in each one fell silent. While waitresses called out orders and dishes clattered and recorded Mariachi's sang a song of love, the cops shut their mouths, hunched their backs and bowed over combo plates so they wouldn't have to look at the cop killer in their midst. When Finn took a step, chairs were pushed back, blocking his way. When he turned he found yet another chair in his path and another so that he was forced to walk a maze toward the table where Cori sat perusing a menu at a corner table littered with chips, two water glasses, and three empty bowls of salsa. He pulled out a chair and when he sat down, the hive was buzzing again. Instead of offering him a sweet greeting in the midst of such animosity, Cori said:

  "God created phones for a reason, O'Brien."

  She closed the menu with a flourish and gave him the stink eye.

  "You seem a wee bit upset with me, Cori. Perhaps you've gone to the dark side like the rest of them."

  Finn crossed his arms on the table and let his gaze scrape across his fellow officers. Cops ate like the meal in front of them was their last. They did that because the minute they walked out the door their ticket could be punched. Pity, they all thought Finn might be the one punching it.

  "Screw them and the horse they rode in on," she said. "But you're over an hour late and you didn't have the courtesy to call me. That made me insane. Everybody hates your guts. Half of these fools want to put a bullet through your head or a bomb under your car. There are also random acts of violence in this city, accidents and my all-time favorite, force majeure. All of that creates a need for partners to communicate appropriately and often so one of them doesn't go out of her friggin' mind with worry."

  She put her hands on the table. She was done. It was his turn.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Perhaps you'll be a little kinder when I tell you why I'm late."

  Cori twirled a strand of hair around her finger and tucked it behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered so he couldn't see how very afraid for him she had been.

  "You've got to remember to call so I know you're okay."

  She flipped that lacquered strand of hair back over her ear. She was still antsy even though Finn was sitting right in from of her. He couldn't blame her. The last time he'd been missing in action Cori found him in a hospital looking worse than the one-eyed Balor of Celtic myth, his badge gone, and a murder charge on the horizon.

  "Okay. I'm done," she said. "Who goes first? What the heck, you go since it seems like whatever you were up to was so newsworthy it drove everything else out of your mind."

  "Bev served me with divorce papers this morning," he answered.

  "That's a bitch for sure." Cori gave a nod. She pulled her lips together, surprised by the news and determined not to read anything more into it than what it was. "I'm sorry but not everybody can get through tough times, O'Brien."

  "Like you did?" Finn smiled at the woman across from him with her big hair and bigger heart. "Do you think I don't know every cop in L.A. had you guilty by association because you were my partner? I never told you how much I appreciated you standing up for me."

  "That's what partners do. Whatever you need."

  She tended to her napkin because it was hard to look into Finn's eyes and see only gratitude. On a practical note, she didn't want him to see what was in her eyes.

  "I love you for it, woman." Finn said that like it was a chuck under the chin.

  "Yeah, well, I'm pretty loveable." The moment of wanting to tell Finn the deep dark truth of her feelings passed as it always did. "So, that's where you were? With Bev?"

  "No. I just thought you should know now that it's official. I wasn't sure myself until this morning," Finn said. "I was at the autopsy. Elizabeth Barnett showed up."

  "The doc didn't let her in, did he?"

  Finn shook his head. "She was there to find out about collecting the little ones. She's gray, Cori."

  Cori opened her eyes wide and shrugged. Finn put his hand to his head.

  "Her hair went gray overnight. I've never seen anything like it."

  Cori lifted her gracefully arched brows and that made her eyes look sultry and more than a little sexy.

  "So you two talked about her do? That's cozy."

  "For just a minute," Finn laughed and then he told her the rest: the locket, the car, and the encounter with Sam Barnett.

  "He thinks she has some clinical problems. I don't see it. Did you?"

  Cori shook her head. "I'd say she's a tough cookie but everybody has a breaking point. From what little I saw he calls the major shots – where they live, what they do, where they vacation – and her kingdom is home and hearth. Maybe they have a War of the Roses thing going on. You know, territorial stuff. Passive-aggressive."

  "I wouldn't have thought she would play games like that," Finn said.

  "I think the lady has a lot of layers, so keep an open mind," Cori warned. "I'll write it up for the book, but between yesterday and today I'm starting to color in the lines. She's nice enough but exacting. The housekeeper said there were very strict rules for how the house was cleaned, where she could go and where she couldn't, when she could take a break and what she could eat out of the fridge."

  "Was there resentment for the house rules?" Finn asked.

  "No. She said it was a good job and paid well. She also said she Mrs. Barnett wasn't mean like some, just exacting. Once she got the hang of the rules, everything was good. She said the little girls were just normal kids and they were happy. Mrs. Barnett made them clean up after themselves but she cut them slack. We're not looking at Mommy Dearest where the kids were concerned."

  "Anything else on the housekeeper?" he asked.

  "I had Earl do a quick check on two relatives. One of the nephews is a gangbanger, Venice 13. She says he's a good kid when he comes around, but she knows to keep him at arm's length. Her older brother was in Folsom for ten years on armed robbery. He's living up north and the housekeeper hasn't seen him for years. Other than that, I didn't hear anything that worried me." />
  "How did she get along with Rachel Gerber?"

  "Okay. They worked well together. She said Rachel kept the girls in order – homework was always done, they were picked up from school on time, play dates were met. Rachel didn't get personal but she was good to the girls, just a little stand-offish."

  "That should have suited the missus," Finn noted and raised his finger to catch the waitress' eye. The waitress ignored him.

  "Maybe under different circumstances, but remember it was Mr. Barnett who insisted on the nanny," Cori said. "Scuttlebutt in the park is that the two ladies did not get along. The other nannies thought Mrs. Barnett was intense where Rachel was concerned, but Rachel thought she was a psycho bitch."

  "That's not good," Finn said. "Did the ladies give you any reason why?"

  "Seems Mrs. Barnett was a fault finder. She accused Rachel of stealing, of not watching the kids closely enough. She used to show up at the park unannounced – that one I could understand since a lot of moms do spot checks on their kids – but what really ticked Rachel off was that she alluded to impropriety with the husband. No direct accusations, just innuendo. Then Mr. Barnett would come home and the wife was perfect. No hint of a problem."

  "I doubt Barnett would be interested in the nanny considering the missus is a looker," Finn said.

  Cori snorted. "Don't kid yourself. If a woman shows interest in a man you can bet he'll show some back. Besides, Barnett might have made a play for the nanny if Mrs. Barnett is as ridged in the bedroom as she is everywhere else. If he did make a pass, though, he didn't get far. According to her two buddies from the park, Rachel Gerber thought he was a bore. Look, we know Mrs. Barnett wasn't excited about having help, it just sounds like she was trying to make it uncomfortable enough for Rachel to quit. It happens."

  "Great. Her husband thinks she's paranoid, the nannies think she's the employer from hell and the ladies at the clinic think she's Mother Theresa," Finn said.

  "What do you think?" Cori asked.

  "I think that she's extraordinarily clearheaded in this crisis." He took the photo out of his pocket and handed it to Cori. "Those are lockets that were taken from the house. I've already put out a bulletin to the pawnshops. Look at the back. Everything is noted properly."