Shades of Murder (The Mac Faraday Mysteries) (9 page)

Big in size and demeanor, Neal Hathaway seemed to cross the patio in two steps. Mac was pleased to see that, like him, Neal didn’t feel obligated to wear his bank account. He was clad in khaki shorts and flip flops on his bare feet.

He clasped Mac’s hand in both of his with a grip so strong that it threatened to break his fingers. When Neal shook his hand, it felt like he was going to pull Mac’s arm from its socket. “I heard you were Robin Spencer’s son. Is that right?”

“That’s what the DNA tests say.” Mac massaged his arm after their handshake.

“I loved your mother,” Neal said. “Beauty and talent. You don’t find that very often in a woman. My late wife was loaded with both.”

Mac was able to place most of the group on the patio from the painting.

A woman sitting at the table rose to grasp Mac’s hand. In contrast to their host, her slender hand was so limp and clammy that it reminded Mac of a dead fish. “Mr. Faraday, we have mutual friends. I’m Dr. Nancy Winter-Kaplan. This is my husband, Peyton Kaplan. He’s Hathaway Industries vice president in charge of security.”

Like in the painting, her black hair was mixed with silver strands cascading over her head like a spider web. Her lips and nails were bright red. Between the dark hair, blood red lips and nails, and pale complexion, she reminded Mac of a vampire.

When Nancy turned around to introduce her husband to Mac, they found him standing over a buxom blond writing notes on a wi-fi tablet at the table. The image of Peyton and Susan Dulin was strikingly similar to how Ilysa had painted them. His focus was directed down the front of her low-cut blouse to her abundant breasts.

“Peyton,” his wife called sharply for his attention.

He almost knocked over a chair while snapping to attention.

“Mac Faraday is here,” she said with a hiss in her voice. “Robin Spencer’s son. He owns the Spencer Inn resort.”

“Mac Faraday.” Peyton clasped Mac’s hand. “Great to finally meet you. I heard a lot about you.”

There was a tinge of doubt in Mac’s tone when he asked, “You’re in charge of security at Hathaway Industries?” His instinct told him that he could trust Gnarly to guard his dinner plate more than this man.

“That would be me,” Peyton told him. “Started out at the Pentagon over thirty years ago with the Army, went into intelligence, and now I’m in charge of some of the most sensitive information regarding defense satellites.”

Neal slapped Peyton on the back. “It’s not a job you hand off to someone you can’t trust. I’ve known Peyton for over thirty years. We’ve been friends since college.”

“You wouldn’t believe the cutest shop that I found in McHenry.” Laden down with shopping bags and packages, a woman in stiletto heels hurried out onto the patio. Overburdened, she barely made it to the table before spilling her treasures across papers that they had been working on.

“Rachel, did you leave anything in the store?” Scott asked.

“I didn’t have time to try anything else on,” Rachel said. “I had to come back to change before meeting some friends up at the inn for cocktails.”

While Rachel went on to run down her social plans for that evening, David whispered to Mac, “Rachel Fields-Hathaway. Scott’s wife.”

She went on to show off her purchases. During the fashion show, she made a point of listing the cost of each item. The prices she rattled off made Mac, who had yet to adapt to his upper class bank account, physically ill. He could see by the set of Scott’s jaw and the roll of Neal’s eyes that they were equally disgusted by Rachel’s talent for extravagance.

Like she was shooing a pest away, Nancy Kaplan gestured at the bags piled up in front of her. “Rachel, get your stuff out of here. Some people work for a living.”

Scott’s announcement reminded all of them of the police’s presence. “David brought Mr. Faraday here to catch Ilysa’s killer.”

The police chief said, “We’d like to re-examine the crime scene.”

“Why are you taking another look at her murder now?” Nancy asked.

“Because it’s never been solved,” Mac said.

Scott joined in. “I, for one, would like to see Ilysa’s killer caught.”

Neal said, “Bully! So would I!”

Nancy Kaplan squinted at Bogie. “What prompted all this renewed interest after eight years?” Her small dark eyes turned their attention to the police chief.

“We’ve had a break in the case,” David said. “Mac Faraday has come into possession of Ilysa’s last painting.”

Silence fell over the patio like a blanket dropping out of the sky to land on top of them. Even Rachel seemed to forget about her new treasures to whirl around to notice the visitors for the first time.

Neal’s jaw dropped. His eyes grew wide. Grasping the back of a chair, he held himself up while cocking his head in Mac’s direction. Seeming to fear his father was going to fall over, Scott clutched his arm.

The housekeeper appeared out of nowhere to grab Neal’s other arm, which startled Mac. He thought she had gone back inside after showing them out to the patio.

Neal was still opening and closing his mouth as if he couldn’t find his voice, when Mac explained, “A collector of stolen art recently died and left it to my mother. He had purchased it from a fence shortly after your wife’s death.”

Neal rushed forward to grab Mac by the shoulders. “Do you have it with you now? Can we have it back?”

David explained, “The statute of limitation on the theft has run out. Legally, it belongs to Mac.”

“What do you want for it?” When he saw Mac’s surprise, Neal said, “I assume that’s why you came to see me. To offer to sell it to me. Well, I want it. Name your price.”

Mac reminded him, “You don’t even know what condition it’s in.”

“I don’t care,” he replied. “Ilysa put her heart and soul into her paintings. That painting was her favorite. It was to be her masterpiece.”

Scott said, “It’s the only self-portrait she’d ever done.”

“You didn’t see it,” Rachel told her husband. “I didn’t think it was that good.”

“Still, she painted it for Dad.”

Neal’s voice deepened. His eyes were still on Mac’s. “Whatever you want, I’ll pay. No haggling.”

Mac could feel David’s and Bogie’s eyes on him while the determined man ordered him to name his price for something he wanted so badly that money was no object.

The feeling was surreal.

“I didn’t come to sell you the painting, Mr. Hathaway,” Mac confessed. “It’s natural that you’d want it. Frankly, I wasn’t thinking about that. I want to help you find out who killed your wife.”

It was Neal Hathaway’s turn to be shocked. He cleared his throat and blinked several times before saying, “I want that, too. Very much…If I were you, I’d focus on Victor Gruskonov, Ilysa’s agent.”

Susan added, “He told Ilysa that he was coming that weekend, but none of us saw him.”

“He got hung up on a business deal and was coming in later,” Neal said. “He was supposed to come in Sunday night, rent a car, and be here to go up to the Inn for breakfast Monday morning. Ilysa was going to let him handle the sale of this painting at the show in Paris, and then that was going to be it. She was retiring.”

“Retiring?” Mac asked. “To do what?”

“Be my wife.” Neal choked up. “We were going to start a whole new life together. We were going on a second honeymoon and travel all around the world to visit every country. It was going to be a year-long honeymoon. This was to be her last painting. She wasn’t going to work with Victor anymore…” He took out a handkerchief to dab at his eyes.

Greta patted his arm.

“But Ilysa ends up murdered and Victor Gruskonov never shows up.” Mac slowed down when he saw David’s brow furrow. His eyebrows were almost meeting between his eyes.

Nancy was nodding her head. “I don’t see where the mystery is. Have you people been looking for Victor Gruskonov?”

“We walked in on him and Ilysa arguing in the kitchen one night a few weeks before she was killed,” Rachel said. “Do you remember that, Scott? It was before you went to Europe.”

“I do,” Scott said. “Ilysa was furious. She was screaming at Victor that it was his fault. Man, I never saw her so mad. She threw him out. She was mad for days after that.”

Mac asked, “His fault for what?”

“No idea.” Scott shook his head. “I asked her and she refused to talk about it.”

Rachel was hugging herself with her arms folded across her chest. “I felt so bad for her. Whatever it was upset her. After that fight, I never saw him again.” She asked Neal, “Did you ever see him after that?”

“Only a couple of times,” Neal said, “I know what you’re talking about. Something definitely happened between them to severe their friendship. Things changed. I asked Ilysa, too. She wouldn’t tell me.”

Bogie reminded Mac, “Unfortunately, we’ve never found Gruskonov to question him.”

David asked, “What did Victor Gruskonov look like?”

Peyton scoffed, “You’re asking that now?”

“He had long hair that he wore in a pony tail and a black goatee. Right?”

Everyone nodded their heads.

“But none of you saw him for weeks before the murder?”

Again, they nodded their heads.

Mac asked them, “Would any of you have recognized him if he cut his hair and shaved the goatee?”

The question was met with a mixture of shrugs and nodded heads.

Bogie told them, “Our BOLO includes a picture of Victor Gruskonov without the beard. We’ve got that covered.”

The sunny studio bore no resemblance to the crime scene that David and Bogie had investigated eight years earlier. The artist studio had been converted into a fitness center with machines, mats, and brightly colored prints on the walls.

“We’ve had the studio redecorated,” Rachel said. “Are you going to be able to reconstruct what happened?”

“We should be able to.” Bogie opened his valise to remove a folder filled with crime scene photos. He crossed the studio to the breakfast bar on which rested a collection of fruits and vegetables in baskets. The counter was home to a juicer, blender, and food processor.

David turned to Neal and his son. The rest of their guests had followed them into the studio. “I think it would be best if you all waited outside.”

“But what if he has some questions?” Neal asked.

Before David could respond, Mac called over to them. “Who was it that found Ms. Ramsay? Mr. Hathaway? I’d like him to stay. Everyone else should leave.”

With disappointed expressions, everyone left and David closed the door behind them.

Neal waited with his back against the wall while Mac leaned up against the breakfast bar to read over the reports in the folder that Bogie had brought with him. On the other side of the breakfast bar, Bogie and David went through the crime scene photos one at a time.

After a long wait in silence, Neal cleared his throat.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Mr. Hathaway.” Mac looked up from the report. “Tell me about when you found your wife’s body.”

Neal glanced from Mac to David and Bogie. After clearing his throat, he began. “It was Labor Day. We were planning to go up to the Spencer Inn for brunch. When I woke up, Ilysa was gone. She liked to come over to the studio at night to paint—when it was quiet. I had assumed she went to bed here when she got tired. So I came looking for her.”

“Did she do that often?” Mac asked.

“All the time.”

“Would she be alone here when she painted?”

Neal Hathaway stared at him without answering.

“This is a murder investigation,” Mac pointed out. “I have to ask.”

“We had the perfect marriage,” he answered in a strong voice.

“Okay,” Mac said. “So you wake up. Your wife is gone. Everyone is getting ready to go out for breakfast. What time was that?”

Neal answered without hesitation. “A little after seven o’clock.”

“Tell me about when you got here. Was the door open?”

“No, it was shut.”

“Was it locked?”

“No. I just opened it and walked in and there she was in the middle of the floor.” He covered his mouth with his hand. His face contorted with emotion. “There was blood everywhere. It was the single worst thing I’d ever seen in my life. You can’t imagine.”

Envisioning the hundreds of murder cases that he’d worked on during his career, and the effect of loved ones finding the bodies, Mac could imagine. “Was anyone with you?”

“I was alone.”

“What happened then?”

“I called over to the main house on the intercom and told Greta that Ilysa was dead and to call the police.”

David asked, “What else happened?”

“Silence. Greta asked if I was all right. I remember nodding my head because it was hitting me. I said call the police. Then I hung up and everything became a blur.” He looked up from the spot where he had found his wife’s body. “I don’t think I can be much help after that. I think I went into shock.”

Mac asked in a low voice, “How did Scott and Rachel get along with your wife?”

Neal stood up straight at the suggestion of disharmony between his son and his wife. “He loved Ilysa. He was best man at our wedding. We were a very happy family.” He warned Mac. “Don’t even think of going there in looking for suspects.”