She kissed his c
heek and left, and he felt exactly like the second grader he was when he first saw her in the lunchroom and she smiled at him. Like he’d been punched in the gut, and liked it.
As Scott was drifting off to sleep later, a thought popped in his head which jerked him wide-awake, and he got back up and dressed. He knew someone who would still be up and might be able to help him follow up on something, and a quick call confirmed it. He made a detour to the 24-hour convenience store by the highway to gas up and buy the doughnuts he knew would be welcomed.
When Scott pulled into Hannah and Sam’s driveway, the kennel dogs were in full voice and both house dogs ran up to meet his SUV. Scott got out and patted Jax and Wally before walking up the wheelchair ramp to a side door, which led into the kitchen.
“Hannah went to bed already,” Sam said as he let Scott in. “She had a stomach ache.”
“If you’d seen all she ate today you wouldn’t be surprised,” Scott replied.
“No amount that woman puts away would surprise me. She said it was the cinnamon rolls Bonnie brought to Ava’s this evening that did her in.”
Sam was a talented athlete in high school, and still had a thick, muscled neck and a body builder’s upper torso, which he maintained by using a home gym. He wore sweatpants that were tight over his muscular thighs and then hung loose where his lower legs had been amputated below each knee. He still had the shaved head and goatee look he adopted in the army, and despite the wheelchair, he still emanated a strong physical presence. He took a beer and soda out of the fridge and offered Scott the soda.
“I guess you didn’t kill Theo,” Scott began after he sat down at the kitchen table.
“No, not that I didn’t want to,” Sam laughed. “I guess Hannah told you he came out here with little Willy that night and got the dogs all in an uproar, looking for that black lab.”
“Hannah said you fired a shot over his head,” Scott said cheerfully.
“My wife is not known for her ability to keep her mouth shut, even if it incriminates her husband,” Sam said.
“She’s a good detective, though. I’m thinking of deputizing her.”
“You can’t trust her. She’d be telling all your suspects what you had on them. She can’t help herself.”
“I have kind of a weird question for you,” Scott said.
“Shoot.”
“If I wanted to track down Brian Fitzpatrick, is that something you could do through your contacts at the bureau?”
“You don’t have to,” Sam said. “I know where he is.”
“I can’t believe Hannah didn’t tell me that.”
“I dearly love my wife but I don’t tell her everything.”
“So how do you know where Brian is?”
“You remember Jay Wallace?”
Scott nodded.
“He joined up the same time as me, but he went to Germany. He’s in Seoul now, but we keep in touch. He works for the folks in the funny-shaped building in DC. He was on his way to Gitmo a few years back and spent a week’s leave in Bimini. First night there he walked into some dive and Brian was there, pouring drinks behind the bar. Jay said Brian had a beard and his hair was long, but otherwise he looked the same.”
“What was he doing there?”
“Working, trying to make a living; same as you and me.”
“Did he say why he left?”
“He said he wanted to be somewhere nobody knew him and nobody had any expectations of him.”
“So he left his gorgeous wife and two children because he couldn’t handle the responsibility?”
“Well, we both know why he really left, don’t we?” Sam said, and looked at Scott expectantly.
“I’m not so sure. If Theo did pay him to leave town, why would Brian have to pay him back? Maggie said there were loan papers marked paid in full with bank receipts. Brian guaranteed the loan with insurance policies. That doesn’t jibe with a payoff to leave town.”
“It may have been some shady business deal between them that only needed to look legitimate. When you move around that much money, you better leave a clean looking paper trail,” Sam said. “You could order an audit.”
“I don’t officially know about any of this,” Scott said.
“It’s not easy being the lone arbiter of morality and justice around here, is it?” Sam said, smiling at his friend. “Especially with the Fitzpatrick women sticking their noses in everywhere.”
“You aren’t kidding,” Scott said. “But you gotta admit life would be pretty boring without them.”
Sam raised the long neck beer he was drinking and Scott met the neck of the glass bottle with his plastic bottle of soda.
“I’ll drink to that,” Sam said.
“Did Brian ask Jay about Ava? About the kids?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t believe that guy. What a jerk.”
“I always thought so,” Sam said, nodding. “Even before he left.”
“Did he say anything about Theo?”
“Nope.”
“Did you tell Ava where he was?”
“I told Patrick.”
“Patrick knows about this?”
“I told him as soon as I found out. He talked to Jay about it.”
“Christ, I’m starting to think I don’t know anybody like I thought I did.”
“Y
ou don’t,” Sam said in a matter-of-fact way. “You can never really know another person completely.”
Sam’s face was unreadable, as if to illustrate his point.
Creaking wood floors announced Hannah was up, and the men dropped their conversation. Scratching her head and squinting in the light of the kitchen, Hannah frowned at the sight of Scott.
“Are you here to arrest me?”
“No, I’ve come to see if you’re hungry. I have a box of doughnuts in the car.”
“Really?” asked Hannah, and immediately perked up. “Why didn’t ya bring ‘em in? I’ll see if we have any milk.”
Sam shook his head as Scott picked up his car keys and left the house, laughing.
Sarah called Scott first thing in the morning to say she was sending a couple deputies to search the secret room at Theo’s house, and she planned to stop by the station before noon; was he free? Scott said of course he would make himself available whenever she could
make time for him. It was like talking to his mother; he knew what she wanted to hear, and the tone he used was just as important as the words.
Scott went down to the bakery to talk to Bonnie Fitzpatrick, who was at first glad to see him, but when he asked what time Patrick got home
on the night Theo was murdered she stared at him like he’d sprung horns.
“I have to ask in order to eliminate him as a suspect,” Scott said.
“I know you’re just doing your job, Scott, but this is Patrick we’re talking about.”
“I don’t think he killed
Theo,” Scott told her. “I have to make sure no one else can accuse him.”
She softened a bit but still frowned.
“If my second born doesn’t go home with some floozy, he’s in my kitchen eating leftovers by 2:15 a.m. Men, as my mother often told me, are just like dogs, and occasionally like to roll in shit. My son Patrick is no exception. But on that night, he was home.”
“You’re sure?” Scott asked her.
“He was home,” she said emphatically.
It didn’t put Patrick completely in the clear, as he could have left the bar at 2:00, dropped Mandy off at 2:05, run down to the vet’s office, taken five minutes to kill Theo and still have been home by 2:15.
Scott walked down to Mandy’s trailer and had no trouble making it to the vet’s office and then to the Fitzpatrick’s house within the time frame, at only a fast walk. If Patrick did it, he wondered, was it premeditated or an impulse? If he agreed to meet Theo there, or stalked him there, it was one thing. If he ran into Theo and they argued, it was another. Scott was sure Willy Neff had seen it all; if only he could find him.
Scott went to the bookstore and was relieved for once to see Maggie wasn’t in. Mitchell was working behind the café counter, and he didn’t look glad to see Scott.
“Have you come to arrest me?” he asked Scott, using his big brown eyes to full puppy dog effect.
“No,” Scott said. “I
have some questions for you about Saturday night.”
“I was so wasted,” Mitchell told him. “I don’t remember much.”
“When you went to your girlfriend’s apartment, which way did you go?”
Mitchell shrugged.
“From campus down Rose Hill Avenue, left on Pine Mountain Road and down to the corner of Iris Avenue.”
“Did you see anyone or anything unusual?”
“Not that I can remember. It was really late, and there was all this fog. It was kinda creepy.”
“If you remember anything else, or anybody else, will you let me know?”
“Sure, man,” Mitchell said. “And hey, sorry about the mess I made in your office.”
“Not to worry,” Scott said. “I’m just glad you weren’t trying to drive anywhere.”
Scott remembered what Maggie had told him about local gossip implicating Mitchell.
“Anyone giving you any trouble?”
“No more than usual,” Mitchell shrugged. “Why?”
“No reason. You would let me know though, if anyone gave you any problems?”
Mitchell rolled his eyes.
“Maggie told me ‘bout that. I think I can handle whatever the blue hair mafia gang hands out. I’ll let you know, though, if they get physical.”
Scott smiled ruefully, and felt foolish. He waved and turned to go.
“You know,” Mitchell said, as Scott started to walk away. “You might want to talk to some of the people in Yvonne’s building.”
“Yvonne, your ex?”
“Yeah,” Mitchell sighed. “I guess I need to accept it at some point.”
Scott came back to the counter, leaned in close, and said in a low voice, “Never give up, my friend. I’m not saying you should stalk her or bother her, or show up drunk in the middle of the night to serenade her, but keep in touch. If you don’t burn that bridge there’s always a chance you can re-cross it.”
Mitchell nodded and seemed to consider this sage advice.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And thanks for the tip. I’ll stop by and talk to her.”
Mitchell sighed heavily again.
“Tell her I’m sorry.”
Scott stopped at Trick Rodefeffer’s real estate office on his way to Yvonne’s apartment and found Sandy at the secretary’s desk. She didn’t look any happier to see him than Mitchell had.
“I didn’t know you were working here,” Scott said.
“Have you seen Knox’s secretary?” Sandy asked him.
Scott nodded yes, trying not to smirk.
“Then you can see why I’m here. I’m not making the same mistake with Trick.”
“How is Anne Marie?” Scott asked her.
“Still in a coma,” she said shortly, and stuck her head into Trick’s office to tell him Scott was there to see him.
When he entered the office Trick came around the desk, pumped Scott’s hand, and offered him a beer.
“It’s a little early for me,” Scott said, noting Trick had already tossed back a few, judging by the fumes emanating from him.
Trick was a slimmer, paler version of his bloated orange brother, with thinning blonde hair. He wore the same good old boy khaki and navy, but without the jewelry, and he was not so carefully groomed. Known to chase anything in a skirt, Trick, with big bags under his red veined eyes, was not wearing middle age well.
“I’m so sorry about Anne Marie,” Scott said, taking a seat across from Trick.
“Oh yea, terrible thing, just terrible,” Trick said. “She was visiting a friend in Glencora and got caught in some awful weather coming back. Fog, snow, rain, ice–such a mess–went right over the guardrail.”
With his hand he demonstrated Anne Marie’s car soaring through the air.
‘Without coat, purse, or cell phone,’ Scott thought but didn’t add. Instead he shook his head and looked sympathetic.
“What can I do ya for?” Trick asked, and Scott was reminded how much he hated when grown men said that, thinking it was funny.
“I understand you were working on a deal with Theo to sell the glassworks property,” Scott said, and Trick stared vacantly into space for a moment before abruptly returning to reality.
“The glassworks, the glassworks, oh yes, yes, yes, yes, that we were. We were indeed. Uh huh, uh huh. What about it?”
“I understand Theo was trying to cut you out of the deal,” Scott said.
“Oh no, no, no, no, not at all. That was just a misunderstanding, an error on the part of Theo’s lawyer, perhaps, a miscommunication, an honest mistake. That was never Theo’s intention.”
“I see,” said Scott. “What will happen to the deal now?”
“Well, it’s Gwynnie’s deal now, isn’t it?” he said.
Scott doubted anyone
had ever called Gwyneth “Gwynnie” to her face and lived to tell about it.
“So it’s still going through as planned?”
“Oh yes, the gentleman in question is dead set on it. Can’t wait to get his hands on it. He’s going to put a bicycle factory in there.”
“Bicycles?”
“Mm hmm, mm hmm, big business, apparently. Custom cycles, mountain bikes, Tour de France, road rallies, cross country races, or something like that. A big cash cow, according to him. The guy is loaded, really rolling in it, filthy rich. He was a trust fund kid, and then made a fortune selling an Internet company he started up.”
“I have to ask everyone associated with Theo where they were the night he died,” Scott said.
“Oh, home, home, home,” Trick said. “Home with the wife, she can verify it.”
When Scott stood Trick did also, swaying a bit, and had to steady himself with a hand on the edge of the desk.
Sandy verified Trick’s alibi, as he knew she would, before Scott left the office, shaking his head over someone who could get so drunk so early in a day.
Scott stopped by Yvonne’s building, which housed Delvecchio’s Insurance on the ground floor and apartments above. It was separated by a narrow walkway from the antique store next to it, was two doors down from the alley and the newspaper office, and across the street from the veterinary clinic. Scott wondered if you could see the back entrance to the clinic from the upper floors.
By the downstairs door to the interior stairway there were four doorbells with names written on masking tape next to them, and Yvonne’s was one of them. Scott buzzed her apartment, but when her roommate came down, she said Yvonne wasn’t in. The roommate couldn’t remember seeing or hearing anything after the party except Mitchell the night Theo died, and no one else who was home in the building had anything more to add. Scott went up and looked out the top floor hallway window, which had a clear view of the back of the veterinary clinic.
Scott left his card with a note on the back for Yvonne, and headed back to the station via the alley. As he crossed Peony Street, he looked up the hill and saw Duke sitting on the front porch of Machalvie Funeral Home, surveying his progress. Scott almost waved, but thought it might look odd to anyone watching. He did, however, nod his head briefly, out of respect.
Back at the station, Sarah was waiting impatiently, and spent some time getting Scott caught up on her progress on the case.
“I don’t know if I shared the post mortem info with you or not,” Sarah said, taking out a report. “Theo being so prominent a citizen put him at the head of the line with the coroner’s office. We don’t usually get these back so fast.”
Scott shook his head.
“It was pretty much what we thought. He was struck on the back of the head with enough force to crush the skull into the brain. There was internal as well as external bleeding. A blow like that would render someone instantly unconscious, and if no medical intervention was made, that person would most likely bleed to death within a half hour. He probably didn’t know what hit him, and was out before he hit the floor. We’ve narrowed the time of death down to between 1:30-4:00 a.m. through our interviews, and the post mortem supports that.”
Scott was not surprised but nodded appreciatively.
“The toxicology tests show he was so full of drugs and alcohol I can’t believe he could stand upright let alone walk and talk. These included cocaine, Oxycontin, beer, and whiskey.”
“That’s our Theo,” Scott said. “He was a rock star.”
Sarah looked at him as if
that was an odd thing to say, and then continued.
“You’ll love this. Those slipped discs the doctor had the x-rays to prove? Either those were someone else’s x-rays or Theo had a miraculous recovery, because he didn’t appear to have a back problem, just a back pain medication problem.”
Scott shook his head over this but did not comment.
“He had advanced heart disease, cirrhosis of the liver, and his lungs had what looked to be precancerous cell activity. He was a walking time bomb, health-wise.”
Scott was not surprised to hear any of this.
“He had $750 in cash in his wallet, and an assortment of credit cards, so the motive doesn’t seem to be robbery. Here’s a surprise: the aluminum baseball bat was not the murder weapon. Looks like Theo used it to break in the office, but there was no hair or tissue on the bat that would be consistent with the injury he received. So, we’re looking for something shaped like a baseball bat, or another bat, I guess. There were flakes of paint and rusted metal in the wound, so perhaps a metal pipe of some sort.”
She concluded her report and looked to him for a comment.
“Thanks for letting me know,” was all Scott said.
Sarah continued looking at him speculatively as she returned the report to her briefcase, and then consulted her notes.
“Oh, here’s one for you. We found a signature under the label inside the threat card,” she said offhandedly. “It was signed by someone named ‘Lily Crawford.’”
Scott said “huh” because it surprised him, and Sarah rolled her eyes at him.
“I know Mrs. Crawford really well,” he said. “All right with you if I go out and see her myself?”
“Fine with me,” Sarah said dismissively. “It was obviously a prank, and I have plenty to do without following up on practical jokers.”
“Anything more on the whereabouts of Willy Neff?” Scott asked her.
“No one seems to know or care,” Sarah said. “If we can’t find anyone else to hang this on, he may be our default leader in the suspect pool.”
Scott must have looked as shocked as he felt because she looked at him incredulously.
“I’m kidding, of course. What is up with you today?”
Scott shook his head and rubbed his eyes, saying, “Lack of sleep, I guess.”
“I have a couple guys going out to the lodge to look for the secret room. Unless Mr. Neff’s hiding out there with a lead pipe, it’s probably a complete waste of our time.”