Malice Times Page 19

  “This garden is so beautiful,” Regina said.

  Archer smiled at her. “Celia loved this place. She spent as much time out here as she did everywhere else combined.”

  “It still looks immaculate,” I said. “You’ve been keeping it up.”

  “I haven’t personally. I couldn’t stand being out here after it happened. But I felt I owed it to her to keep it flourishing, so I hired some people to take care of it. They come in every day. It costs a fortune, but it is part of my penance.”

  “I want to know exactly what happened the night Celia and Brad were killed."

  He didn't even blink an eye. "I don't remember actually doing it. I've gone over it a thousand times with my psychiatrist this week and he seems to agree with you. Maybe I agree with you too. Maybe I didn't kill them. I don’t know. Maybe I did, and I’m just following false hopes. The last couple of days are the first days I have set foot out here in almost a year. Like I finally have permission."

  Bill came in with a tray and handed us our drinks. He laid a basket of biscuits and a tray of butter on the table. He left without saying a word. Archer took a sip of his coffee.

  "I remember finding them dead, shot repeatedly to death in the guestroom. It was the night that your dad threw his annual Fourth of July party. I came home and there they were, but I don't remember leaving the party or getting home. They were just there."

  “Okay. Stop right there. Let’s see if we can’t pull a little bit more detail out from that day. Start from the beginning.”

  32

  Archer spent the morning at home watching Wimbledon. The finals had taken place the Saturday and Sunday before, but he had taped them. He always liked watching Wimbledon on the Fourth of July. It was one of his pastimes and 1994 was one of those rare years where Wimbledon ended on the Sunday before the Fourth. The Fourth was on Monday. So Archer had videotaped the finals and threatened anyone if they told him the outcome. They were worth the wait. Conchita Martinez beat Martina Navratilova in three sets. Archer had been a big Chris Evert fan and when she retired had quickly become a Steffi Graf fan. Lori McNeil had somehow managed to knock Steffi Graf out in the first round of the tournament and made it all the way to the semis against Martinez and had taken Martinez to eighteen games in the third set before Martinez was able to finally finish her off. With Martinez playing Navratilova in the finals, it was a no brainer who he would be rooting for. The men’s match featured Pete Sampras against Goran Ivanišević. Archer was a big fan of Sampras and was delighted with a straight set win that included a dominant shutout in the third set.

  Celia didn’t care much for tennis, but she sat and watched with him. She enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the whole event. The regal air the whole thing brought. They talked very little at all anymore and certainly not when they were watching television, which seemed to be more and more often lately, much of which neither one cared anything about. Monday night was taken up with Murphy Brown and Northern Exposure. Tuesday night was Roseanne, Coach and NYPD Blue. Wednesday gave them Unsolved Mysteries, Home Improvement and Grace Under Fire. Thursday was the only night that they both actually enjoyed with Mad About You, Wings, Seinfeld, Frasier and Homicide. Friday and Saturday they were out, rarely with each other. Sunday was Dr. Quinn. Too much television and not enough intimacy. The signs of a bad marriage.

  After finishing, they both got ready and headed off to the Marchello house for the Fourth of July party. They soon separated. Archer started to drink slowly, but as the day went on and he saw Celia and Brad Graber continually get together to have brief snippets of conversation, the drinking started to increase. He watched Celia intently. It was subtle, but it was there, a kind of electricity that came over her body whenever she would speak with Brad. They never stayed close to one another for very long, but they made their way back to each other often. Archer started to watch Brad. He could never compete with someone like him. He never thought he would have to. Celia and Brad were from two completely different worlds. Archer blamed himself immediately. He had brought her into his world. If he just had the nerve to stand up on his own two feet and take control of every aspect of his life and not allow himself to be taken into the Marchello world, Celia and Brad would never have crossed paths. Celia would have more respect for him.

  Brad stole glances towards her across the lawn when they weren’t speaking, as would she. It was clear there was an infatuation there, but there was tenderness in those glances. Could there be more than lust during the hazy summer months? Was there love in those tender looks?

  Archer drank more and later followed Celia and hid behind some trees that were up against the house. Brad Graber came over to her. They looked around furtively. Neither one of them could see anyone looking their way. Brad grabbed her around her waist, pulled her tightly against him and kissed her. She reached her arms up around his neck and pulled his face harder against hers. They disentangled as quickly as they came together.

  “Is everything taken care of for tonight?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I talked to him earlier,” Brad said. “He’ll be coming by the house later to collect.”

  “What about Bruce?”

  “Bruce? Regan’ll take care of him. We don’t have to worry about it.”

  “I’m a little anxious,” Celia said. “We’re home free, but I’m scared.”

  “It’s natural to be scared when the end is so close, but we’re going to be rich beyond our wildest dreams and we’re going to be able to leave this poisonous town and live a good life together. It’s almost over, baby,” Brad said.

  Then, Marchello interrupted them. Celia walked away. Archer didn’t hear anything of the conversation between them. He slumped down against the wall. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Marchello had seen him hiding and approached him, but he couldn’t remember what they said to one another. He just wandered off and sat down. He drank some more. As he was sitting there just staring at the sky, Celia approached him.

  “You are drinking rather heavily today, aren’t you?” Celia asked.

  “What do you care?” he asked.

  “Not much anymore, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, I got that impression. Don’t you have someone to meet?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Celia asked.

  “You think I’m stupid. You don’t think I keep track of you at these parties. You’ve been meeting up with Brad Graber every chance you get.” Archer didn’t want to tell her that he had been hiding behind some trees like a scared cat eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “I’m in love with him Stephen,” she said. “Like I used to be in love with you.”

  “You never loved me,” he said.

  “Oh, I loved you very much. But it has been very hard to be married to someone so weak for so long. I thought I was marrying someone so very different than the man you ended up being. I thought you had strength, but you had none. Everything you are is what Joseph made you and you let him. First my respect left, the love lingered. It still does. I really want you to be more than what you’ve become. You can be so much more, Stephen.”

  Then, she left. Archer continued to drink. The more he drank, the angrier he got. The lights went out around the garden. He got up out of his chair and stumbled his way towards his car as the fireworks began to boom in the sky. When he got to his car, he tried unlocking the door, but his fingers didn’t seem to work. Then, he was falling backwards. Someone caught him. He could hear the car door being unlocked and he was tossed into the car. Things got very fuzzy and the world started to spin uncontrollably. He passed out.

  Archer came to in his big chair in the living room. It was cold. The windows were open and a breeze was blowing in from outside. It was odd for July. A gun clutched tightly in his hand. He dropped the gun and it clanged on the tile floor. The room smelled like someone had extinguished the fire in the fireplace. He could hear music wafting down from upstairs. The stereo was on an easy listening channel. They were playing Vivaldi
's 'Four Seasons.' It was the winter section. Archer stood up slowly. His head pounded with every inch he rose. Archer swooned forward putting his hands on the table in front of him.

  He followed the music. At the foot of the steps he called out, “Celia?”

  He started walking up the steps closer and closer to the music. “Celia,” he said at the top of the steps. He walked down the hallway to where he saw a light glowing from the guest bedroom. The music drifting out through the doorway.

  They were lying on the bed, covers pulled over them. The sheets soaked crimson red. Graber's eyes were closed, but Celia's were open. She stared up at the ceiling like she was counting the cracks. She looked so beautiful. Completely covered in blood, but still so beautiful.

  Archer didn’t know what to do. He called Marchello. He answered after a few rings. “Joe, they’re dead. I killed them.”

  “What? You did what?” Marchello asked.

  “I shot them both. They’re both dead. You have to help me.”

  “Help yourself,” Marchello said and slammed the phone down.

  Archer didn’t know what to do. He had never had to deal with anything like this before. Archer was not a self-reliant man. People told him what to do and he did it. Celia was right. He called Dempsey. Dempsey was all too eager to help.

  33

  He stopped and buried his face in his hands. Regina went over to him and tried to comfort him, stroking his back, kissing the top of his head.

  "They were fully clothed when you found them?" I asked.

  Archer and Regina both looked at me intensely. Tears were welled up in both of their eyes. Archer grabbed hold of Regina's hand and she let him. He said, “Yes."

  "Completely clothed?"

  "I said yes."

  In the photograph they had been dressed, but the covers had been pulled aside, which meant that Michael covered them up after taking the picture. Perhaps they were covered and Michael pulled away the covers to get the money shot. Or they were uncovered and Michael covered them up in some small act of decency. I wanted to believe that, but it didn’t matter one way or the other. The only thing that mattered was that they were clothed. That along with how drunk everyone indicated Archer was that night made it impossible for him to have killed them.

  "Was my brother blackmailing you?" I asked.

  "Like I said, he blackmailed me for information, but he did get some money off of me originally." Archer said. “It was a one shot thing as far as money was concerned. I paid him and he didn’t bother me again for money until about a week before he died. He wanted some more money. I told him that I wasn’t going to be blackmailed forever. He told me that he wasn’t blackmailing me. He said that he would give me the pictures, but that what I was paying him for was a picture I have never seen before and that I would find very illuminating.”

  “He said that?” I asked.

  “Yes, but that I couldn’t have the pictures until the Fourth of July.”

  “Did he give any reason for that?”

  “Just that it wouldn’t matter anymore then. Whatever that meant. He could be very cryptic.”

  “Why didn’t you get the pictures before?”

  “He said he was keeping them in case someone came into a great deal of money.”

  “He knew,” I said. “The little bastard knew.”

  “About the fortune Graber came into?” Regina asked.

  “Yes. He had overhead just like you had and he had followed Graber or Celia back to your house. That’s why he was here taking pictures.”

  "How much did he get you for originally?" I asked.

  “Two hundred and fifty grand.”

  “That’s a lot of money. My brother didn’t have two hundred and fifty grand.”

  “He used it to buy The Malice Times.”

  “I thought my father bought The Malice Times for him.”

  “What would give you that idea?”

  “My father. Besides no way $250,000 paid for The Malice Times.”

  “I wasn’t the only one your brother was blackmailing. That is how he made his living. He was very good at ferreting out secrets.”

  "Was he blackmailing Dempsey?"

  "Of course he was."

  "Do you know how much?" I asked.

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  "I need my brother's bank records. Do you have them?"

  "Yes," he said and left the room to search for the records.

  "What do you want the bank records for?" Regina asked once he was out of earshot.

  "The way Archer was talking, after the first time he arrested Watkins, made me think that Michael was making deposits into his bank account. If that's true then that hundred grand I found isn't blackmail money. I think I might have an idea of where it came from, but I want to make sure that the blackmail money from Archer, Dempsey and Watkins is accounted for."

  "Then what?"

  "It looks like I'm going to New York,” I said. “I need to check out that gun. Watkins is either the dumbest killer of all time or he is being framed rather effectively. It could go either way. I also need to have a talk with Paul Regan."

  Archer returned with the records. On August 6th, he made two deposits. Both for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

  “One of the two-fifty is from you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “The other one was from Dempsey.”

  “What about Watkins?”

  “There is no deposit from Watkins,” he said.

  “But you said that there was a blackmail payment from Watkins.” But then I understood. Archer looked out across the garden avoiding eye contact. “I see. How did you manage to make it look like one of those payments was from Watkins?”

  “It was a lot easier to fix Dempsey’s and Watkins’ bank accounts than you would think.”

  I sighed and shook my head. "I need one other thing.”

  "What?"

  "I need my brother's phone records for the day he was killed."

  "I don't have those here. They’re at my office, but I’ll get them for you."

  “Thank you,” I said. “Can you help me up, Regina?”

  “It is always good to see you, Regina,” Archer said. “Please don’t make yourself a stranger. I’d like to see you more.”

  “I’m busy, you know that,” she said.

  “I know, but try to make a little time for me.”

  “I’ll try, daddy,” Regina said.

  “Okay. I guess now is as good a time as any to ask these questions. Celia Archer?”

  “Not her mother,” Archer said.

  “My mother is in a home in Buffalo remember. A home being paid for by this man.”

  “Did Celia know?” I asked.

  “Of course she did,” Archer said. “I never got to spend any time with Regina when she was growing up. Every now and then her mother would let me see them in Buffalo. I provided support. Celia was very understanding. It happened before I met Celia during my time in law school. She worked as a bartender at a bar I frequented. She was older. It was a fling. She had no real interest in me and I was far too ambitious in those days.”

  “Archer, why did you allow yourself to get involved with my father and used so badly for so long?” I asked.

  "I came here as idealistic as any young attorney, except for one small thing. I was being handed the district attorney’s job. I had been recruited. Told how great of a mind I had. Recruited by your father. A district attorney’s job at twenty-six-years-old. I had a very ambitious young wife. No one gets that opportunity. Then I was here and I was stuck. And I fit in. Oddly, I fit in. And then that same young wife grew older and wiser and lost her respect for me and fell in love with a man who earned her respect."

  Regina and I left the Archer house.

  “You should have told me,” I said. “I thought out of everyone, I had one person I could trust.”

  “You can trust me,” she said. “You could trust Rae, too.”

  “Trust is hard to come by these day
s,” I said.

  “Especially for someone who doesn’t know how.”

  34

  Regina returned me safely to the confines of my bed. I thought about the night Brad and Celia had been killed as the pain killers began to do their work. There were so many possible scenarios. As much as I didn’t think it could have been Archer, it very well could have. How did the gun end up in his hand? Watkins was the logical choice, but if he had the diamonds as the duffel bag suggested, what was he still doing in Malice Grove? Finally, it could easily have been Michael. How far of a leap is it from blackmailer to murderer, especially when such a big score is staring you right in the face?

  I drifted off to sleep. The guest bedroom opened up in front of me as if I were some little gremlin hanging from the ceiling. A single low-watt bulb burned in a tiny lamp on an end table by the king-sized bed giving the room a hazy glow. The covers of the bed were folded down neatly. The flowery design of the comforter popped yellow, purple, blue and red reminiscent of Celia’s garden. An afghan with tiny little clocks imprinted all over it laid at the bottom of the bed, folded up just as neatly as the covers. At the head of the bed were four big fluffy pillows, two on each side.

  Celia and Brad were talking. Their voices like birds twittering. Brad went to the bed and lied down on his back. Celia went to the other side and sat on the bed facing Brad. They twittered at each other lovingly.

  A cuckoo popped out of a clock on the wall. Cuckoo. And disappeared again. Why was everyone looking at the clock?

  Brad handed something to Celia, an ornament of some kind. I couldn't make it out. I tried to call to him, but I didn’t speak bird. Celia took the object from his hands. She smiled. He looked happy as well.

  Cuckoo. The bird flew out of the clock and fluttered around for a moment and disappeared back inside the clock.

  She clasped the necklace around her neck. A small charm, what looked like a gold seagull dangled from the necklace.

  Cuckoo. A seagull flew out of the clock and came to rest on top of a tall dresser.