Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  About to dive back into his work, Cliff paused; he couldn’t help but google Mackenzie Cartwright. The man came from poverty and credited his work ethic to never being satisfied with one accomplishment. “Always reach for more, otherwise what’s the point?” was his motto.

  Cliff shook his head. He disagreed. He loved his life right now. All the achievements he’d wanted to accomplish were ticked off. Reunited with his parents and settled with a lover he was crazy about, Cliff didn’t need to make a gazillion dollars to measure his happiness. A small picture of him and Paul sat on his desk, and he picked it up. They’d taken a trip to the beach one weekend, on a rare occasion when they both managed to have a day off together. Paul had the sun in his eyes, but he was smiling as Cliff held out his phone to snap the selfie. It had been a perfect day, and whenever Cliff had a rough day at work, he looked to the picture to push him past his bad mood.

  “Mission accomplished.” Cliff laughed and set the frame in its place. Maybe the rest of the day would be quiet, and he could finish going through the contracts before his staff meeting. His phone rang.

  “Cliff?” His head of security, Brian Duffy was on the phone. “There’s a problem with the keycard system. It keeps locking the guests out of their rooms. I’m at the front desk, and it seems to be a glitch in the machine here, so I’m testing it out now.”

  “Dammit. I’ll be right there.”

  So much for that quiet rest of the day.

  * * *

  Around six, Cliff drove into the garage and let out a huge yawn. He was ready for a big glass of wine and a hot shower. The back of his neck ached, and he rolled his shoulders to release the stiffness. He missed exercising and thought about buying a treadmill for the second bedroom. He loved running with Paul in the park in the mornings, but with Paul working so hard, they hadn’t had the time.

  On his way inside, he glanced up at the little black box of the home security system. Now that he knew it was there, it not only made sense, but he was grateful Paul had taken the initiative. He resolved to call the attorney who worked with him when he bought the house to work out a plan for Paul to become a co-owner. He was fully invested in their relationship, and after their discussion at Rob’s house, he was more confident than ever that Paul felt the same.

  He bent to pick up the scattered pieces of mail in the front hall and carried them into the living room. Not bothering to change out of his work clothes first, Cliff poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the kitchen island.

  “Ahhh. Nothing better.”

  Two sips in, he called his attorney, Melvin Smith, and left a message. Before he had a chance to slit open the first bill, loud music blared from outside, and from his seat, Cliff could see through the large front window that Travis had pulled into his driveway.

  What’s Travis doing out of jail? Cliff texted Paul and received an answer immediately: Someone paid his bail. Nothing we can do about it. Be home soon.

  Shit. Well, good to know Paul wouldn’t be too late. Cliff decided to make pasta primavera with shrimp and set to chopping the vegetables to prep for cooking later. Once that was done, he glanced through the mail and saw the bill from the security system. Paul had shown him how to connect his computer to the CCTV and view the surveillance film, and curious now, he decided to take a look.

  Settled onto the couch with a glass of wine at his elbow, Cliff set the video to play and kept his eyes half on the screen while he opened the rest of the mail. After forwarding through several hours of nothing happening except normal comings and goings, something struck a chord in Cliff’s mind, and he rubbed his face, concentrating hard.

  The night of the fire…

  To block out everything else, Cliff closed his eyes and thought hard about that terrible night. He and Paul watched a movie, then a TV show while waiting for the eleven o’clock news. The moment they heard about the explosion and fire at the club, Paul left.

  Something else…Travis’s truck.

  He bolted upright, heart pounding. He rewatched the video and saw once again, just after ten thirty, Travis come tearing out of his house, back the truck up, and speed off, smoke billowing out of the exhaust.

  The night of the fire, he’d heard a door slam, tires squeal, and music blasting. Just before the eleven o’clock news. Just before the fire started.

  Did it mean anything?

  He looked at the clock on the laptop and saw it was almost seven thirty. Paul should be home soon. He paced the living room and ran to the front door when headlights swept up in front of the house and cut off. When he opened the door, Paul broke out in a smile.

  “A personal greeting. I like it. What did I do to deserve this?”

  Cliff pulled him inside. “I think Travis had something to do with the fire.”

  Paul’s smile faded. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Come into the living room, and I’ll show you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Living together, Paul had learned that Cliff wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, so Paul trusted his judgment. Cliff being this agitated meant what he had to say was vitally important.

  “Okay. Let’s sit, and you tell me.” He didn’t bother to put away his gun. They sat on the couch, and when Paul took out his memo pad, Cliff chuckled.

  “I will in a sec, but you know, one of the first things I noticed about you was how you wrote everything down. I wondered if you kept the notebook next to your bed when you had sex.”

  “Not with you. It wasn’t ever memorable until I met you.” He flipped open the pad. “Now, what do you have to tell me?”

  “It’s more show than tell.” Cliff pointed to the laptop Paul now noticed sitting on the coffee table. “The first bill for the security system arrived, and I decided to have a look at the tape, like you showed me.”

  “Good.” Paul nodded with approval. “It’s important.”

  “Right. So I logged in, and then I remembered something from the night of the fire.”

  “Oh?” Paul gripped his pen. “Go on.”

  “We watched a crime show and then the news, remember?”

  “Yeah. We heard about the fire from the special report.”

  “Uh-huh. I remembered hearing a car speed down the street and loud music just round the time the news was starting, but I didn’t make the connection until I saw the tape.”

  “And?” Paul prodded. “What?”

  “It was Travis. He ran out of his house and got into a vehicle Not his usual—one I’ve never seen before, or, come to think of it, since.”

  Not his usual. The words triggered a memory: the morning their window was shot, Judy complaining about what went on at Falk’s the previous evening, the coming and goings and noise until midnight.

  A familiar tingling raced up Paul’s spine, usually signifying the point in the case where everything began to click.

  “Okay. This is good. Very good. Let’s look at the video again.”

  For the next hour, he and Cliff watched and rewatched and then watched it again. Paul wrote down everything: the exact time Travis ran out of his house the night of the fire and the time he came home, not in the vehicle he left in, but his usual one.

  “This is perfect.” He grabbed Cliff and gave him a hard kiss. “I think this is it. Just have to figure out how all the pieces fit together. When I get to the station tomorrow, Rob and I will send the video to the tech guys so they can enhance the footage and hopefully see the license plate of the truck.”

  “So there’s nothing else you can do tonight? You’re done?”

  “One sec.” Paul finished writing his notes. “Done?” He tucked his notepad away and clicked the pen closed. “I don’t think so. What’re you thinking of having for dinner?”

  “I was planning shrimp primavera.”

  He stood and pulled Cliff up as well. “Sounds good.” He kissed him again. “So it can keep for a while.”

  A slow smile curved Cliff’s lips. “Oh, yeah. As long as it takes.”


  “Good. ’Cause there are some other pieces that need fitting together, and they don’t have to wait until tomorrow.” He cupped Cliff’s ass.

  “God, that was bad,” Cliff groaned, but he slipped his arms around Paul’s neck. “Is this good?”

  “It’s a start.”

  They walked to the bedroom.

  * * *

  The next morning, Paul waited impatiently for Rob to show up. When he finally saw him hurrying inside, he immediately knew something was off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “No sleep and not for a good reason. All three girls were up all night with a stomach bug, so needless to say, I’m going to be running on caffeine and fumes.”

  “That sounds awful. I’ll even forgive you the doughnuts today.”

  Rob’s grateful smile was drowned out by his groan of delight at his first sip of coffee.

  “And I have news. Big news, potentially.”

  Rob set his cup down. “Lay it on me.”

  He repeated everything from the conversation with Cliff the night before, reading the times for everything. Rob took his own notes, and Paul could see him figuring out the schedule.

  “So? What do you think? It looks pretty damn fishy to me.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said, “especially the truck switch. How the hell did he manage that?”

  Here’s where it got delicate. “Well, I think there’s a possibility he was given a different car.”

  “By whom? Paulie, I can see you’ve had time to figure this shit out.”

  “Think about it. Who benefitted from the fire?”

  Rob’s eyes grew wide. “Cartwright?”

  He nodded. “It’s what I’m thinking. We were looking at it as a hate crime because that’s what the signs pointed to, but what if it was purely greed? What if Cartwright hired those guys to burn down the Wild Orchid because he needed or wanted the money? Ten million dollars in insurance money is a pretty powerful incentive. We have to wait and hear back from the casinos we called yesterday.”

  “Damn. But it makes sense.”

  “I’ll call Forensics and have them take the film and enhance it.”

  “Okay. Hopefully the footage won’t be too grainy or out of focus.”

  “Yeah. I’m hoping. I’m also hoping I can ferret out some info from the board of the Starrywood Corporation without us having to get a subpoena.”

  “Be your usual charming self. I’m sure that’ll work just fine.” Rob cackled to himself.

  Paul flipped him off, then tipped his head at Rob. “Stop lounging around and get to work, pretty boy.” He snickered, and with a few clicks of the mouse, got the number of the chairman of the Starrywood Corporation and picked up the phone.

  Ten minutes of waiting on hold and Paul was ready to tear his hair out. When the line finally clicked on, he needed a moment.

  “Detective Monroe? This is Harris DeWitt. How may I help you?”

  From his online profile, DeWitt was a stout man with a comb-over and a toothy grin.

  “Mr. DeWitt, thank you so much for taking time out of your schedule to help us in our homicide investigation. We always appreciate the support.”

  Rob rolled his eyes, and Paul grinned.

  “Of course, of course. We see it as our civic duty to help in any way possible.”

  “Wonderful. I’d like to ask you about Mackenzie Cartwright, your executive vice-president.”

  “I see.” His tone turned noticeably guarded. “What do you need from me?”

  “How much stock does Mr. Cartwright own, and what is its net worth?”

  When a minute passed and DeWitt hadn’t answered, a tingling ran through Paul’s blood, like he knew he was on the cusp of something. “Mr. DeWitt? Are you there?” He hoped to prod the man into answering.

  “We’d hoped not to have this information made public before an official announcement to the shareholders, but we planned to remove Mr. Cartwright by the end of the month.”

  His pulse zinged. “Why?”

  “Breach of fiduciary duty to the company. Stock impropriety. May I be frank, but with the understanding that what I say is kept between us?”

  “For as long as possible, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “I see. Well, it’ll all be out in the open soon enough. Cartwright was using company credit cards to pay for his personal gambling trips to Vegas. That was bad enough, but when we recently discovered he used his stock as collateral for his gambling, we knew he could no longer work for this company. He doesn’t represent the image of the Starrywood Corporation. We’ve allowed him to stay until the end of the month, but after that we plan to release a statement that he is no longer associated with the company.”

  Bingo.

  “I see. Well, I’ll be calling you again, but you’ve helped us immeasurably.”

  “I’m glad. And if you need anything, I’m happy to help.”

  “Good. Thank you so much.”

  “Good-bye, Detective Monroe.”

  Satisfaction rose through him as he wrote up his notes. Rob, meanwhile, had looked up the number of the apartment complex Cartwright lived in and called them, getting the runaround until he’d gotten exasperated.

  “This is the third person I’ve been transferred to. I’m Detective Rob Gormley of Thornwood Park PD. I’m investigating a homicide. Now, I need the logs of cars that entered and left your garage the night of July twentieth. I also need the security footage. My partner and I will be over to pick it up in an hour. Have it ready. Thanks.” He slammed down the phone.

  Paul tossed his pen on the desk and clapped. “Look at you go, getting all bossy.”

  “I told you I wasn’t in the mood today, and they picked the wrong person to say no to.” Rob took a big bite of his doughnut.

  “Okay. Now listen to what I found.”

  He filled Rob in, and when he got to the part where DeWitt revealed why they were terminating Cartwright’s contract, Rob’s eyes popped wide and he whistled.

  “Daaaamn.” Rob shook his head. “What a jerk. The noose is tightening.”

  “Yup. Motive established. I’m going to call Manny now.” He picked up the desk phone. “Manny,” he said when the call was connected, “I got something for you.”

  When he explained what he needed, Manny whistled. “Nice catch, Paul.”

  “Wasn’t me. It was Cliff.” And as he spoke those words, he realized how freeing it was to be able to speak about Cliff in the open and not worry about repercussions.

  “Well, good for him and his sharp ears. Send everything over, and we’ll enhance the film.”

  “Perfect. Thanks, Manny.” He hung up. Rob had finished his second pastry and was working on coffee number two. “Okay, before you go into a sugar coma, let’s go to Cartwright’s complex.”

  “I’m ready.” He licked his fingers clean, and they left the station.

  When they arrived at the building, they were shown to the management office. A bald older man with a scowl met them at the door.

  “I can presume one of you is Detective Gormley?”

  Rob stepped up. “Yes, that’s me. Are you Timothy McMillan? The man I spoke with?”

  “You mean threatened, don’t you, Detective?” The scowl deepened. “I don’t appreciate that.”

  “And Thornwood PD doesn’t appreciate being stymied during a murder investigation. Your security logs and film aren’t confidential. You can refuse and that’s your right, but then we’ll get a search warrant, which will give us permission to come on the property and do a much more thorough search. If that’s what you want, then fine.”

  Taken aback by Rob’s glare, McMillan softened his tone. “No, no, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that. Surely you can imagine it must be a shock to get a phone call like this out of the blue.” He and Rob said nothing, and McMillan continued on the apology tour. “I’m sorry, please come in and sit down. I have my security person on detail coming with the flash drive, and I’ve printed out the logs.” He circled behind
the desk and picked up a sheaf of papers.

  Paul nodded. “We’ll stand, thank you. Now I presume you’ve given us the names attached to the license plates of the cars?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that it?” He gestured with impatience at the papers. “May I have it?”

  “Of course. Here.”

  Paul held the papers, and within minutes, he heard footsteps tapping on the floor. A lanky young man in a gray security uniform rounded the corner. When he saw Paul and Rob in the doorway, he stopped and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Oh, um. I’m here to see Mr. McMillan.”

  “Jason, it’s okay. The detectives are waiting for the flash drive. You have it?”

  Jason swallowed again, his brown eyes wide. “Y-yeah. Here.” He dug into his pocket and handed it over to Paul, who tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  “Thank you.” With the flash drive secured and the logs in hand, Paul was ready to leave. “Thank you, Mr. McMillan. Thornwood PD appreciates your help.” He could layer on the bullshit with the best of them when needed.

  Red-faced now, McMillan nodded like a bobblehead. “Of course. Of course. Anything to help.”

  Rob snickered as they walked to their car. “I hope playing good cop for once didn’t hurt too much.”

  “Aw, he was a nice guy. Why’d you have to be such a hard-ass, Robbie?” He grinned.

  “How long have you been waiting to call me that?”

  Paul let loose a belly laugh as they entered the unmarked sedan. “Years, my friend. Years.”

  Once back at the station, he handed the files to Rob. “I’ll take the footage. You look through there and see if Cartwright left his house anywhere between six and nine, let’s say, the night before the fire and then when he returned home.”

  “Will do, but there’s a chance he was already out and simply went to Travis’s house straight from wherever he was.”

  “Of course,” Paul said grimly. “But wouldn’t it be nice if for once things were on our side?”

  Side-by-side, they worked silently as the minutes ticked away. Paul slid the flash drive into the USB of the computer tower and fast-forwarded to the night in question. They already knew Cartwright drove a silver Mercedes 450SL coupe. Lucky for them, the garage had a top-of-the-line, high-definition system.