Split Second skamm-1 Read online

  The voice calling from below startled him. “Sean, get your butt down here. Jorst is back.”

  He looked out the window in time to see Jorst pulling his massive old car into the driveway. He turned off the light, put the photo in his pocket and carefully but quickly made his way down the steps and back toward the kitchen where Michelle was waiting. They exited via the back door, came around the side of the house, waited for Jorst to go inside and then knocked on the front door.

  The professor came to the door, flinched when he saw them and cast a suspicious glance over their shoulders. “Is that your Lexus at the curb?” King nodded. “I didn’t see anyone in it when I passed by. And I didn’t see either of you on the sidewalk.”

  “Well, I was stretched out in the backseat waiting for you to come home,” said King. “And Michelle had gone to one of your neighbors’ homes to see if they knew when you’d be back.”

  Jorst didn’t look like he believed the story, but he ushered them in, and they settled in the living room.

  “So you talked to Kate?” he asked.

  “Yeah, she said you gave her the heads-up about us.”

  “Did you expect that I wouldn’t?”

  “I’m sure you two are very close.”

  Jorst stared intently at King. “She was a colleague’s daughter, and then she was a student of mine. Implying anything else would be a mistake.”

  “Well, considering that you and her mother were talking about getting married, you’d at least be her stepfather,” said King. “And here we didn’t even know you were dating.”

  Jorst looked very uncomfortable. “And why should you, since it’s none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather busy.”

  “Right, the book you’re writing. What’s it about, by the way?”

  “You’re interested in political science, Mr. King?”

  “I’m interested in lots of things.”

  “I see. Well, if you have to know, it’s a study of voting patterns in the South, post-World War II to the present, and their impact on national elections. My theory is that the South today is no longer the ‘Old South.’ That, in fact, it’s one of the most heterogeneous, teeming pools of immigrants this country has seen since the turn of the last century. I won’t say that it’s quite yet a bastion of liberalism or even radical thought, but it’s not the South depicted in Gone with the Wind, or even in To Kill a Mockingbird. In fact, the fastest-growing population element in Georgia right now is Middle Eastern.”

  “I can see how the Hindus and Muslims coexisting with the bubbas and the Baptists must be fascinating,” opined King.

  “That’s good,” said Jorst. “Bubbas and Baptists. Mind if I use that line for one of my chapter headings?”

  “Feel free. You didn’t know the Ramseys before Atticus, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Arnold Ramsey was at Atticus about two years before I arrived. I’d been a professor at a college in Kentucky before coming here.”

  “When I said the Ramseys, I meant both Arnold and Regina.”

  “My answer is the same. I didn’t know either until I came here. Why, did Kate say otherwise?”

  “No,” Michelle said quickly. “She did tell us that her mother was good friends with you.”

  “They both were friends of mine. I think Regina saw me as a hopeless bachelor and took it upon herself to make me feel welcome and comfortable. She was a truly remarkable woman. She worked with the drama class at the college and even performed in some of the productions. She was an astonishing actress, she really was. I’d heard Arnold talk about her talents, especially when she was younger, and assumed he was merely exaggerating. But when you saw her up there on stage, she was mesmerizing. And she was as kind and as good as she was talented. She was loved by many people.”

  “I’m sure she was,” said King. “And after Arnold died, the two of you—”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Jorst interrupted. “Arnold had been dead a very long time before we started seeing each other as anything more than friends.”

  “And it got to the point where you were talking marriage.”

  “I’d proposed and she’d accepted,” he said coldly.

  “And then she died?”

  Jorst’s features became pained. “Yes.”

  “In fact, she committed suicide?”

  “So they say.”

  Michelle said quickly, “You don’t think so?”

  “She was happy. She’d accepted my proposal of marriage. Now, I don’t think I’m vain in saying that it seems pretty far-fetched that the thought of being married to me would have driven her to suicide.”

  “So you’re thinking she was murdered?”

  “You tell me!” he snapped. “You’re the ones running around investigating. You figure it out. That’s not my area of expertise.”

  “How did Kate take the news of your upcoming nuptials?”

  “All right. She loved her father. She liked me. She knew I wasn’t looking to replace him. I truly believe she wanted her mother to be happy.”

  “Were you a Vietnam War protester?”

  Jorst seemed to take this abrupt change in direction smoothly. “Yes, along with millions of other people.”

  “In California ever?”

  “Where exactly is this all going?”

  King said, “What would you say if we told you a man came to visit Arnold Ramsey for the purpose of enlisting his aid in killing Clyde Ritter and that this person mentioned your name?”

  Jorst looked at him coolly. “I’d say whoever told you that was seriously mistaken. But then again, if it’s true, I can’t control other people using my name in conversation, can I?”

  “Fair enough. Do you believe that Arnold Ramsey acted alone?”

  “Until I’m presented with credible evidence to the contrary.”

  “By all accounts he wasn’t a violent man, yet he performed the most violent act of all, murder.”

  Jorst shrugged. “Who knows what beats deeply within the hearts of people?”

  “That’s true. And Arnold Ramsey was involved in some serious protests in his youth. Perhaps one of which led to someone’s violent death.”

  Jorst looked at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  King had revealed that piece of information solely to gauge Jorst’s reaction to it. “One more thing. Did you drive separately or with Arnold Ramsey to the Fairmount Hotel on the morning he killed Ritter?”

  To his credit Jorst didn’t show any reaction. His features were impassive. “You’re saying I was at the Fairmount that morning?”

  King stared right at the man. “You’re saying you weren’t?”

  He thought about this for a moment. “All right, I was there. With hundreds of other people. So what?”

  “So what? Along with dating Regina Ramsey, that’s a pretty significant detail you forgot to mention.”

  “Why should I have? I did nothing wrong. And in answer to your question, I drove separately.”

  “And you must have run out of the place the very second after Ramsey fired, or else you wouldn’t have had time to pick up Regina and go and tell Kate in the middle of algebra.”

  Jorst looked stonily at them; however, several beads of perspiration had appeared on his broad forehead. “There were lots of people running all over the place. I was as terrified as anyone else. I saw what happened. And I didn’t want Regina and Kate finding out on the news. So I drove as fast as I could to tell them myself. I thought I was being considerate. And I don’t appreciate how you seem to be drawing a negative conclusion from what I thought was a selfless act.”

  King drew very close to the man. “Why did you go to the hotel that morning? Did you have a beef with Ritter too?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So why, then?” persisted King.

  “He was a presidential candidate. We don’t get many of those down here. I wanted to see for myself. It’s my field, after all.”

  “What if I say
that’s complete bullshit?” said King.

  “I don’t owe you an explanation,” Jorst shot back.

  King shrugged. “You’re right. We’ll send the FBI and the Secret Service down, and you can tell them. You have a phone we can use?”

  “Wait a minute, just wait a minute.” King and Michelle looked at him expectantly. “All right, all right,” Jorst said quickly. He swallowed nervously, looking back and forth at them. “Look, I was worried about Arnold. He’d been so enraged about Ritter. I was afraid he might do something dumb. Please believe me that never for one second did I think that his plan was to kill the man. I never knew he had a gun until he fired it. I swear.”

  “Go on,” said King.

  “He didn’t know I was there. I followed him over. The night before, he told me he’d be attending the event. I stayed in the back. The crowd was so big that he never noticed me. He stayed far away from Ritter, and I started thinking that I’d just overreacted. I thought about leaving. I moved toward the door. Unbeknownst to me, it was right about then that he started moving toward Ritter. I turned back once, when I was right at the door. Just in time to see Arnold pull his gun and fire. I saw Ritter fall, and then I saw you fire and kill Arnold. And then the whole place exploded. And I was running as fast as I could. I was able to get out so quickly because I was already by the door. I remember almost running over one of the hotel maids who was standing by the door too.”

  Michelle and King looked at each other: Loretta Baldwin.

  Jorst continued, his face now ashen. “I couldn’t believe that it had happened. It all seemed like a nightmare. I ran to my car and drove off as fast as I could. I wasn’t the only one. Lots of people were fleeing that scene.”

  “You never told the police this?”

  “What was there to tell? I was there, saw what happened and fled, just like hundreds of other people. It’s not like the authorities needed my testimony or anything.”

  “And you went and got Regina and told her. Why?”

  “Why! For God’s sakes, her husband had just shot a presidential candidate. And then been killed himself. I had to tell her. Can’t you understand that?”

  King pulled the photo he’d taken from the upstairs bedroom out of his pocket and handed it to Jorst. Jorst accepted it with shaky hands and looked down at the smiling face of Regina Ramsey.

  “I guess I can, particularly if you were in love with her back then too,” said King quietly.

  54

  “So what do you think?” asked Michelle as they were driving off. “He might have been telling the truth. And maybe he thought he’d be the first on the scene to comfort the poor widow. Capitalize on his friend’s death at the same time he’s playing Good Samaritan.”

  “So he’s a creep. But maybe not a murderer.”

  “I don’t know. He clearly bears watching. I don’t like it that he withheld being at the Fairmount all these years and that he was planning to marry Regina. That alone puts him high up on my suspect list.”

  Michelle jumped as though she’d been stabbed. “Wait a minute. Sean, this may sound crazy, but hear me out.” He looked at her expectantly. “Jorst admits to being at the Fairmount. He’s in love with Regina Ramsey. What if he’s the one who talked Ramsey into killing Ritter? He clearly knew that Ramsey hated Ritter. He was his friend and colleague. Ramsey would listen to him.”

  “But Kate said the man she overheard wasn’t Jorst.”

  “But she couldn’t be sure of that. Jorst might have changed his voice a little because he knew Kate was in the house. Okay, so Jorst is the one who makes a pact with Ramsey. They go to the hotel, each is armed.”

  King picked up the thread of her deductions. “And then Ramsey fires, but Jorst doesn’t. He slips out, hides his gun in the supply closet, where Loretta sees him, and then races off to tell Regina and Kate.”

  “With the thought of marrying the widow at some point.”

  “Well, he waited a long time to ask her,” commented King.

  “No, he might have asked before and she might have said no. Or he wanted to wait a reasonable time so there’d be no suspicion. Or maybe it took that long for Jorst to make Regina fall in love with him.” She looked at him anxiously. “So what do you think?”

  “It makes sense, Michelle, it really does. But then Regina died. Jorst didn’t end up with her.”

  “Do you really think Regina Ramsey was murdered?”

  “Well, if Jorst is to be believed and they were getting married, why would she have killed herself?”

  King said slowly, “And Kate knew they were talking marriage. And Jorst said that Kate seemed to be okay with it.”

  Michelle said, “But what if she wasn’t?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kate loved her father. She told me that if her mother hadn’t left him, he might not have killed Ritter. But he does and he’s dead. Then her mother is going to marry a colleague of her father’s. And then she dies.”

  “So you’re saying Kate murdered her mother?”

  Michelle put up her hands. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility. I don’t want to believe it. I like Kate.”

  He sighed. “It’s like a balloon. You punch one side, and another bump pops out on another side.” He glanced at her. “Did you put together those timelines I asked for?”

  Michelle nodded and pulled a notepad out of her bag. “Arnold Ramsey was born in 1949. He graduated high school in 1967 and attended Berkeley from 1967 until he received his Ph.D. in 1974. Arnold and Regina Ramsey were married that year too, by the way. Then the two bumped along until he took the position at Atticus in 1982. Kate was about a year old then.” She stopped and looked over at him. He had a confused look on his face. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Well, according to what Kate told us, Ramsey was supposed to have been involved in some war protest in which maybe a police officer died. That started all his problems. Now, she told us that Berkeley reluctantly let him graduate with his Ph.D. because he had completed all the work for it, including his dissertation. So the incident must have happened about the time he was actually graduating.”

  “That’s right. So?”

  “Well, if he received his Ph.D. in 1974, he wouldn’t have been protesting the Vietnam War. Nixon signed the cease-fire in early 1973 and, though both sides sniped at each other about violations of the cease-fire pact, fighting didn’t start up again until 1975. And if the incident with the police officer happened before Ramsey earned his Ph.D., I bet Berkeley would have just canned him.”

  Michelle sat back. “I guess that’s right.”

  “And if Ramsey wasn’t protesting the war in 1974 when the police officer was killed, what was he protesting?”

  Michelle suddenly snapped her fingers. “Nineteen seventy-four? You mentioned Nixon. That was when Watergate was happening. Right?”

  King nodded thoughtfully. “And it makes sense that Ramsey would be protesting against a guy like Nixon, calling for his resignation, which he finally gave in August of that year.”

  “But Kate said it was a war protest in L.A.”

  “No, she said that’s what her mother said. And she said Regina had been drinking heavily during that time. She easily might have gotten the date, event and even the place wrong.”

  “So the incident that involved the officer being killed might have been in Washington and not L.A. and was about Nixon and not Vietnam?”

  “If so, we should be able to find out details about that.”

  “And the law firm that interceded on Ramsey’s behalf. Do you think that’s D.C.-based too?”

  “I guess we’ll find that out.” King pulled out his phone and punched in some numbers. “I’ll check in with Joan. She’s great at digging up stuff.” However, there was no answer and King left a message.

  King continued, “If somebody got him off, and a law firm was involved, that’s something tangible we should be able to track down.”

  “Not necessarily. You can’t possibly account
for the whereabouts of everybody back then. Hell, Jorst could have been throwing rocks at City Hall in L.A., and we’d never be able to prove it. And finding anybody to talk about it might well be impossible. And if there’s nothing in the public record, poof, that’s it.”

  King nodded. “What you say is completely logical. But we still need to check it out. It’ll cost us nothing but time.”

  “Yeah,” said Michelle. “But I’ve got a bad feeling we’re running out of that really fast.”

  55

  King and Michelle slept over at a motel near Atticus and arrived back at Wrightsburg the next morning. Parks was waiting at King’s house.

  “Have you heard from Joan?” King asked him. “I tried last night but there was no answer.”

  “I talked to her yesterday evening. She found out something about Bob Scott from the stuff I brought.” He told the pair about the warrant in Tennessee.

  “If it’s the same Bob Scott, then maybe he can lead us somewhere and get some of these questions answered,” said King.

  “Call Joan again, and we’ll map out how we’re going to play this.”

  King dialed Joan’s number but there was still no answer. Then he called the main number for the inn where she was staying. As he listened to the front desk person, his face grew pale and he felt his knees weaken. He slammed down the phone and shouted, “Damn it!”

  Parks and Michelle both stared at him.

  “Sean, what is it?” she asked quietly.