Real Murder (Lovers in Crime Mystery Book 2) (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

Joshua was still out on the front porch with the sheriff  going over their plans for interrogating Philip Lipton and Russell Null when Cameron, on a whim, brought up the website for Null Landscaping on her laptop.

A family-owned business for over fifty years, she was  certain that they had a theme color, like green—the same color found in the paint transfer on Douglas O’Reilly’s car.

When Joshua had walked out of the study with Sheriff Sawyer, Irving scurried in and jumped up onto the desk to rub the side of his head against the corner of the laptop monitor while she typed “Null Landscaping” into the search engine.

“Scare anyone today, Irv?” She scratched him behind one of his ears while scanning the listings that came up in her search.

After climbing up onto a stack of case files, Irving lay down with his front paws tucked under him. He was so large that he spilled over all four edges of the stack of folders.

Cameron clicked on the website for Null Landscaping. A home page came up with a picture of Russell Null posing in front of a big green four-wheel-drive truck with a magnetic sign on the door that read, “Null Landscaping, local family-owned business, celebrating 80-plus years in business.”

Green.

The grin of satisfaction was still stretched across her face when Joshua came back into the study. “What do you think are the chances that an insurance company would  keep accident claim records going back to nineteen sixty-six?” she asked.

“Slim to none,” Joshua replied with a smirk. “But it’s worth a shot.” He went around the desk to see the  homepage she had displayed on the computer screen. “Green truck. O’Reilly was hit by a green truck.”

“A decade before the time of the recording would be  nineteen sixty-six,” Cameron said. “If they smashed into Douglas and his car, then there had to have been damage to the truck. Wouldn’t they put in a claim with the insurance company? If I can get a copy of that claim—”

“Call Dirk Reed,” Joshua interrupted her to say. “He was the main insurance guy in these parts back then. He knows everyone and everything—”

“More than Tad?”

Joshua chuckled. “Dirk has a memory like a bank vault. He never forgets anything. If Null Landscaping put in a  claim for one of their trucks about that time, Dirk will remember it.”

Her brow furrowed with doubt. “We’re talking nineteen sixty-six, Josh. How old is this guy?”

“He’s got to be in his nineties.”

“Where will I find him? Fox’s Nursing Home?”

“What’s today?” He checked the calendar for the answer to his question. “Wednesday. You’ll find him at the bowling alley.”

Tri-State Lanes was located in East Liverpool, Ohio. Even though she was on medical leave, Cameron clipped on her badge and strapped on her gun to go looking for Dirk Reed, the source for everything pertaining to insurance in the Ohio Valley, according to Joshua. She expected the ninety-plus-year-old man to be sitting passively next to a lane with a  hearing aid, and maybe, if he was perky enough, a beer next to his elbow.

Since Joshua had said that everyone knew Dirk Reed and he was a regular at the bowling alley, she went up to the front desk to ask where to find him.

The pretty young woman in tight faded jeans and big blonde hair smiled broadly. “Oh, yeah, everyone knows  Slim. He’s on lane seven.” She pointed into the alley. “He’s up now.”

Cameron turned to see an extremely tall and very thin man running up to the lane and letting loose with a bowling ball that went flying down the alley to knock over all the pins, at which point he threw both fists up into the air while those on his team cheered loudly.

“Tur-KEY!” Slim Reed cheered before tucking his thumbs under his armpits and dancing a jig back up the alley while gobbling like a turkey.

“Turkey?” Cameron muttered.

Hearing her, the clerk behind the desk explained, “That’s his third bowling strike in a row. It’s nothing new for Slim,  but he still cheers like a little kid when he gets one.”

The group of elderly men and women on his team were still bumping fists and giving high fives when Cameron  approached them. Spotting her badge and gun, they let out a mocking “ooh” and made jokes at Slim’s expense when she asked for him.

“Looks like they finally caught up with you, Slim,” said a man with a handlebar mustache and suspenders over his plaid shirt.

“My momma always said it will all catch up with you eventually,” Slim said.

“Are you allowed to question Slim here when you’re from Pennsylvania?” a woman with dark hair and a suspicious expression asked Cameron.

“I only have a few questions,” Cameron replied. “Slim isn’t in any trouble.”

“Rats!” Slim slapped his thigh. “And here I was hoping that you would take me for a ride and spank me for whatever it was I did.”

There was a round of naughty laughter among the oldsters while Cameron ushered Slim to a table in the dining area  off the lanes.

Once they were out of earshot, Slim said, “I hope I didn’t offend you with that shot about spanking.” The naughty-little-boy sparkle in his eyes was replaced with a sincere  gentlemanly tone. “I have a tendency to get carried away when I’m with the gang.”

“I can understand that,” she replied before adding in a whisper, “I’m the same way.”

“Good.” He sat up in his seat. A business-like expression came across his face. “What do you need, Detective?”

“Null Landscaping.”

“My insurance company handled all of their business for half a century,” Slim said. “My grandson is still handling their accounts.”

“Nineteen sixty-six—”

“Baltimore Orioles swept the World Series over the Los Angeles Dodgers with four games,” Slim interjected. “France withdrew from NATO. Lyndon Johnson was the president. Hubert Humphrey was the vice president. The United State Supreme Court decided on the Miranda rights in
Miranda versus Arizona
, and Brandon Null filed one damage claim in that whole year—his sons had taken one of his company trucks out on a joy ride and hit a deer before slamming it  into a tree.” With a roll of his eyes, he chuckled.

“You don’t believe that that’s what happened?”

“Not unless that tree was painted red. There was red paint and what looked like blood on the grill and fender of the truck,” Slim said.

Cameron felt her heart beat faster.
Red. The same color as Douglas O’Reilly’s car.
She had to swallow before she could get out her next question. “Did you pay the claim?”

“Brandon Null was a good customer, just like Russell is,” Slim said. “He paid his policy on time and in full and rarely put in a claim. The story the kids told was that they had hit a deer and then lost control of the truck and slammed into a tree. I figured it wasn’t a tree, but another car, and Brandon paid for the guy’s repairs off the record. But then since so much work had to be done to the truck, they put in a claim.” He shrugged his shoulders. “No one ever put in a claim for damage to the other car, so who was I to quibble?”

“I don’t suppose you remember when they hit this deer?” Even though Slim’s memory was exceptional, like Joshua had told her it was, she assumed it was too much to ask. But it was worth a shot.

“First Tuesday in September,” Slim said. “I don’t remember the exact date. My old memory isn’t what it used to be. But it will be in my records.”

Cameron blinked. “Records?”

“Of course,” Slim said. “What kind of businessman doesn’t keep good records? It will all be in there, along with my pictures of the truck and the damage.”

“You have pictures?” Cameron’s voice went up an octave.

“Sure.” His eyes disappeared into a face filled with  wrinkles when he flashed her a broad smile. “Do you want to see them?”

In a small county like Hancock where everyone knew everyone, it took less than five phone calls for Joshua to  uncover that Henry MacRae was staying in a VIP suite at the Mountaineer Resort. The hotel manager confirmed that Congresswoman Rachel Hilliard had also been staying there in a separate suite but had left that morning for a flight  back to Washington.

“By the way,” the hotel manager said as an aside before Joshua hung up the phone, “MacRae and the congresswoman had a big fight in the lounge last night before she  left suddenly this morning.”

“Would you by any chance know what it was about?” Joshua asked him.

“Nope,” he said. “They tried real hard to keep it under control, but the congresswoman had the same expression she got on her face when the head of that ethics committee was questioning her last year about that little fiasco with some of her campaign funding being traced back to a union with mob ties.”

“You mean that expression she had right before she  blurted out, ‘Who the hell cares!’”

“Yeah,” the hotel manager chuckled. “That interview  video went viral.”

Joshua stopped laughing when he recalled that the senator who had been head of that ethics committee died less than two weeks later of a sudden heart attack.

After confirming that Rachel Hilliard was gone and MacRae was alone, Joshua strolled into the lounge and took a  seat at the table next to his. After ordering a cognac, he  cocked his head at the police superintendent. “Hank?”

Colonel MacRae jerked his head from where he was watching the horse races on the closed circuit television. He slowly shook his head until recognition crossed his face.

“Joshua Thornton.” Joshua rose and shook his hand. “Hancock County Prosecuting Attorney.”

“We met at the governor’s inaugural dinner a couple of years ago,” he said. “Surprised to see you here. From what I’ve seen on the news, crime has been hopping in Hancock County. The body of a deputy turning up after being missing twenty years.—”

“And now my neighbor got murdered two days ago,” Joshua said. “I’m sure you heard about that.”

“No,” MacRae said quickly, “I don’t believe I did. I’ve been focused on the deputy. We don’t want it to look like law enforcement in West Virginia will roll over and play dead—especially when the victim is one of our own.”

“I’m glad to see you and I agree on that.” Joshua mouthed a thank you to the server who delivered his drink.

“Of course we do,” MacRae said while Joshua took the first sip of his drink. “Neither of us would be in this business if it wasn’t for the love of justice. We certainly aren’t in it for the fame and riches,” he added with a chuckle.

“Well, some of us may be in it for other, more sordid  reasons,” Joshua said over his glass.

MacRae hesitated to study Joshua, who stared directly into his eyes. “Are you talking about power?”

“Maybe,” Joshua said. “I haven’t decided if it was that, or maybe love, or maybe an even mixture of the two.”

“What are you talking about, Thornton?”

“I told you that my neighbor was murdered the other night,” Joshua said. “You didn’t ask me who she was.”

“Is it someone I know?”

“Dolly Houseman.”

Colonel MacRae’s face turned white when the color drained from it. He swallowed.

“She used to be the madam at Dolly’s, which was located right out here.” Joshua jerked his thumb in the direction of the long country road down from the resort. “But I believe you know that already.”

Eying each other, the two men drank in silence. MacRae almost drained his drink in one gulp before ordering another. Joshua still watched him.

MacRae rubbed his face with his hands. “You didn’t just drop in here by coincidence.”

“No.”

“You heard the tape?”

“Of course I did.”

MacRae moved over to Joshua’s table. As he sat down, he said in a low voice, “I can explain.”

Sitting up, Joshua crossed his arms on the tabletop. “I’m listening.”

“Congressman Hilliard’s plane crash really was just an accident,” MacRae said.

“Which happened exactly the way you and his wife planned six months earlier during your rendezvous at Dolly’s?”

“Listen, I’m going to tell you what I told Dolly when she tried to blackmail me,” MacRae said. “Bring it on. I had  nothing to do with Rod Hilliard’s death. I was in Huntington that weekend and the week before working a double homicide, and I have a whole team of police officers and detectives to alibi me.”

“So you paid someone to do it for you while you were wrapped up in a case,” Joshua said. “Like you said, I heard the tape. You and Rachel Hilliard conspired to kill her husband in what appeared to be a plane crash so that she could take over his seat, and then she used her influence to get you into Charleston, which is exactly what happened six months after that conversation was recorded.”

“Six months,” MacRae said. “A lot can happen in six months.”

“Like what?”

“Like I came to my senses,” MacRae said. “That’s right.  I went along with it during the conversation, in the heat of passion, wanting her like I always want her. Have you ever heard about addiction?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s possible to be just as hooked on a woman,” MacRae said. “Sometimes I wish my drug was cocaine. I’ve been Rachel Hilliard’s lapdog ever since that night I busted her for possession of pot and she batted those eyelashes at me and offered me a carnal bribe.” He took a big gulp of his drink. “With one hit, I was hooked and have been sorry ever since.” He looked over at the prosecutor. “Is Congresswoman Hilliard a conniving, power-driven, manipulator? Yes. Do  I love her? No. Sometimes I don’t even like her.” He shook his head firmly. “But I’m hooked on her.”

“Is your addiction strong enough to make you kill for her?” Joshua asked.

“No,” MacRae said with certainty. “Yes, we talked about killing Rod to clear the way for her to get to Washington, but when it came to actually doing it, I couldn’t. I’ve done a lot of things for that woman that I’m not one bit proud of. But  murder?” He shook his head. “That was where I drew the line.”

“If you didn’t do it, why did you pay blackmail to Dolly Houseman all these years,” Joshua asked.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I told Houseman to take the tapes to the police if she wanted because I didn’t do it. She never did. I know she took the tapes to Rachel, and Rachel has been  paying her off.”

“Do you think Rachel Hilliard arranged her husband’s murder without you?”

“Why else would she pay the blackmail?” MacRae replied. “But she wouldn’t do the dirty work herself, I know that.” He chuckled, “Rachel’s too smart to get blood on her hands.”

“Even if Dolly had enough evidence to destroy her?” Joshua asked.

“Do you know how many friends Rachel has collected throughout the years?” MacRae asked. “Dirty friends. Those rumors about mobsters funding her campaign with dirty money aren’t just rumors. You wouldn’t believe all the scandal that’s continuously brewing around her. But does the media ever even hint about it? No.” With a chuckle, he shook his head. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Like her enemies having sudden and fatal accidents?”

MacRae’s face was void of emotion. “You’ve been doing some research.”

“Were you aware of the number of former call girls who used to work with Rachel Hilliard who died suddenly within years of Dolly’s closing its doors?” Joshua asked. “It’s like Rachel made sure her past got completely deleted … maybe to pave her way to the governor’s mansion. How well are you going to sleep at night knowing that you played a role in putting her there?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Thornton,” MacRae said. “I know more than you what Rachel Hilliard is capable of.” After glancing around, he moved in closer to Joshua. “She does not do her own dirty work. The weekend Rod Hilliard’s plane went down was the same weekend that a senator’s daughter was getting married. Rachel had three hundred witnesses in Hawaii to alibi her. Do you think that timing was a mistake?” He held Joshua’s gaze. “Sure, I can say with certainty that if—and I mean if—someone brought that plane down, Rachel was running things behind the scenes to make it happen. And as for the sudden deaths of all of Dolly’s girls? If that’s what it took to pave the way for Rachel to get ahead? Yeah, most likely she was behind that, too. But it wasn’t me who did it for her. Who’s her guy? I have no idea, and I don’t want to know.”

“What if I told you that forensics found two blood types at Dolly Houseman’s murder scene?” Joshua asked. “What  if I told you that forensics says the DNA from the killer’s blood type came from a woman? Would that make you  consider Rachel Hilliard a hands-on killer? Maybe if she got desperate enough to protect her political career?”

MacRae stared at him in silence, which answered more than any words could. The server brought his check. He  took the pen and wrote down his room number.

Joshua waited until the server left before continuing  their conversation. “If you aren’t her guy,” he asked him in a low voice, “then who is?”

“I said I didn’t know.”

“You’ve been with her for over forty years,” Joshua said. “You know her better than anyone. You have to have some suspicion of who it would be.”

With the pen that he had kept from the server, MacRae wrote on the cocktail napkin and slid it across the table in Joshua’s direction. He said in a low voice, “Rachel hasn’t  deleted everyone from her past—yet.” He then got up from the table and walked out.

Joshua picked up the napkin and read the name that Henry MacRae had written across it.

Larry Van Patton.

The former bartender at Dolly’s, who was then the bar owner Dolly had called after realizing she was dying.

Joshua glanced up from the napkin in time to see Henry MacRae waiting for the elevator to take him downstairs to his room from the VIP lounge on the top floor. A movement near the bar caught Joshua’s eye. The name on the napkin connected with the familiar face.

Larry Van Patton waited for Henry MacRae to board the elevator before making his way through the crowd to the stairwell.

After depositing a twenty-dollar bill on the table for his drink, Joshua reached across the table to see what room number Henry MacRae had written on his bill to charge his drink to.

Suite 214.

It was one floor down.

A group of executives with a convention was coming off the elevators at the same time that Joshua hurried out of the lounge. Ducking and dodging the crowd, he forced his way through the bottleneck to reach the door leading to the stairwell.

The sense of urgency roaring in his ears was drowning out the party noises from the conventioneers. Joshua ran down the stairs to the next floor and threw open the door in time to hear the sound that, to anyone else, resembled that of a car backfiring. But with the situation at hand, he recognized it for what it was—

Gunshots.

At the sound of the gunshots, a busboy in the corridor dropped a serving tray that he was picking up from outside a room door to put onto the cleaning cart.

While Joshua ran down the corridor in the direction of the gunshots, the server ran toward him in his haste to escape on the elevator from whatever was happening. When Joshua grabbed him by the arm, he pulled away. “You need to let me in that room.”

“Are you crazy?”

The sound of a crash came from inside the room followed by shouted cursing.

“I’m the county prosecutor! If you don’t unlock that door to let me in, someone is going to die!”

Another gunshot prompted the server to thrust his  keycard into Joshua’s hand before running down the stairs.

Joshua ran to the room and pounded on the door. “This is Thornton! Van Patton, I know you’re in there, and I know what you came for! Give yourself up! I’m coming in!”

The next gunshot sounded close to the door.

Joshua dropped down to grab the gun he wore in his  ankle holster and used the keycard to open the door. Keeping low, he pushed his way inside. He was halfway through the door when the two men fighting in the room rolled along the wall to crash into the door and pin him against the doorframe.

Larry Van Patton had Henry MacRae in a headlock. MacRae twisted in his grip to jab Larry in the ribs. The blow was enough to make Van Patton collapse onto the floor with MacRae under him.

Joshua squeezed through the door, stepped over them, and aimed his gun at the former bartender. “It’s over, Van Patton. Give up.”

“Never!” Larry Van Patton jumped up and grabbed Joshua’s arm with the gun.

Fighting to keep from accidentally firing it at Henry MacRae, Joshua elbowed Van Patton in an effort to fight him off.

Meanwhile, MacRae swung his legs around and kicked Larry Van Patton directly behind the knee. Van Patton buckled and dropped down onto the floor. As soon as he was down, the police superintendent slugged him to knock him out. “Now stay down!”

The suite was a wreck with overturned and broken  furniture. The mirror over the dresser was shattered where one of the men had been slammed into it. Joshua spotted a  semi-automatic on the floor at the end of the entrance hall and another next to the bed. He also spotted bullet holes in the walls. How neither man had been shot was a mystery to him.

Gasping and moaning, Larry Van Patton rolled on the floor. Equally exhausted, Henry MacRae climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed.

There was a loud knocking on the suite door. “Hotel security! Open up in there. Police are on the way.”

“You’re going to jail, Van Patton,” Joshua said while making his way around the overturned furniture to open the door.

“You’ve got nothing on me,” Van Patton grunted.

Joshua threw open the door and introduced himself. “The man you want to arrest is on the floor. His name is Larry Van Patton. The charge is attempted murder.”

“I bet I know who sent you.” MacRae said before  looking up at Joshua. “What’d I tell you? Tying up loose ends.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Van Patton said. “I came here to the Mountaineer to have a few drinks, but I got lost and walked into this room. This guy, who I happen to know from long ago, got paranoid and  started shooting at me. I haven’t talked to Rachel in decades.  I know nothing about her wanting to tidy things up.”