To finally have answers…
Of course Amanda agreed with the shrinks and decided the question didn’t even merit an answer.
“It seems clear Mr. Porter stole the letter,” she said. “But how did Ben Marsh die?”
Molerno threw the Styrofoam cup in the trash. “The murder is the only thing Porter did not blame on you. But his wife Maribelle lost no time pointing her finger in your direction.”
“Maribelle? I don’t understand! Both Porters were there that night and as far as I know, they were still there when I left. Why would Maribelle implicate me?”
“I don’t think she dislikes you any more or less than she dislikes the whole of humanity, but after the shootout, you were a convenient scapegoat. Point is, Maribelle’s accusation perfectly fit my working theory, so I arrested her for murder.”
Amanda couldn’t believe her ears.
“I believed all along that Ben’s death was an unintended consequence of the theft,” Molerno continued. “I think he might have left the premises in a cab that night, but he then doubled back and sneaked into Building 16 to confront Sara Orlando.
“We may never know how he got in undetected—could have been through your alley door, could have blended in with the late customers and hid—but he was in the Orlando booth when the Porters took the letter from the frame.”
“How can you possibly know all that?”
“I know because Carlson Porter turned on his wife, or more accurately, he offered information when he should have kept his big mouth shut. As soon as we arrested Maribelle, with very little cause the man imploded and told us his wife never meant to hurt Ben. He said the whole thing was an accident.”
“Maribelle killed him? I don’t believe it!”
“Ben Marsh was drunk and primed for a fight. When he saw the pair lifting the letter, he confronted them rather violently, and Maribelle bashed him with the tomahawk. It took both husband and wife to haul him into that window seat.”
“But why would they leave the thing buried in his chest?”
Molerno shrugged. He walked to the window and looked out at the Charlotte skyline. “Who knows? Maybe they were too squeamish to pull it out. Or since they were both wearing gloves, they figured they’d never be tied to the weapon. Or maybe they were stupid…”
“Or maybe they remembered the incident when Sara handled the tomahawk just hours before and decided to frame her for the murder,” Amanda finished bitterly.
The speculation brought on a massive headache. She was overdue for her next morphine fix, but above all, she was mightily relieved to finally have answers.
“What will happen to them?”
Molerno walked back and sat on the edge of her bed. “That will be up to the judge and jury but I guarantee they won’t see the light of day for a very long time. If they weren’t such nasty people, it would be kind of sad. Obviously they were tired of being under Michael Thigpen’s heavy thumb and you can’t blame them.”
“I can,” Amanda commented angrily. “And by the way, how come we all made it to the hospital in time? Why didn’t we die?”
He barked out a laugh. “Believe it or not, the three of you made a lot of noise. I’m thinking it was a cross between the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral and the assault on Ramadi. Anyway, you rousted Jack and June Harris from their mobile home and they came to the rescue. June administered first aid, Jack called for the troops. Long story short, those two sorry shits saved your lives.”
Amanda had to think about that. It seemed she’d have to revise her opinion about the Harrises. In spite of the dead dove, they would never again be “sorry shits” in her estimation.
But as the enormity, the horror of the brush with death took hold of her mind, she longed to sink back into oblivion. She closed her eyes.
“Hey, don’t check out on me just yet.” Molerno tapped her sore collarbone. “You’re not out of the woods yet, Rittenhouse.”
She opened one eye.
“Far as I can tell, you aren’t licensed to carry a concealed weapon in North Carolina. That’s a misdemeanor, you know.”
She knew, and she didn’t care, and by the chuckle in his voice, neither did Molerno. She closed her one eye and let go.