Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1)

by LaVonne Griffin-Valade

  Al prodded. “You need bodyguards? I’m really struggling to see why you’ve put all these security measures in place. Locked gates, electric fencing, and a semiautomatic pistol.”

  “Protection, obviously.”

  “From what? Unless you’re a serial defrauder of other infirm and incapacitated clients like your own father. Or perhaps you keep more in that safe than a handgun.”

  That finally pushed Larkin into silent mode. The three of us sat for a full minute in a deathly hush. Then it was my turn again.

  “Did you recently loan your pistol to a woman named Kat McKay?” I asked.

  Larkin erupted in derisive laughter. “Absolutely not.”

  “What is your relationship with her?”

  “I don’t know a woman named Kat anything.”

  “She claims to have borrowed your handgun so she could learn to shoot,” I countered.

  “What? I would never loan anything to a stranger, let alone a firearm.”

  “I guess I’ll have to confirm that with her.”

  “Please do, Sergeant.”

  What might have been confirmed was that Larkin’s kid had loaned Kat the gun, just as she’d told me yesterday. And if that was the case, Brady also knew the weapon was stored in his father’s safe and knew the combination.

  “Mr. Larkin. I’m not quite ready to arrest you for murder, but you’ve already admitted to a crime.” Bach stood and snapped the handcuffs from his duty belt. “You’re under arrest for criminal mistreatment in the first degree, a Class C felony, punishable with up to five years in prison.”

  “Yes, I’m fully aware of the length of punishment. I’d like to be able to call my attorney in Portland first.”

  Al clipped the handcuffs around Larkin’s wrists. “You can make that call from the county jail.”

  “What about my son?”

  “He’s over eighteen and no longer a minor, but I can call juvenile authorities, request an exception so he can be placed in foster care tonight,” I said.

  “God, no. I’ll ask one of the men to sleep in the main house and make sure he catches the school bus tomorrow.”

  I rose from the leather chair. “It’s better if we do the asking. Anyone in particular of the three?”

  “John Vickers in the mobile home closest to the main house. He understands how to keep Brady in line.”

  “I’ll speak with your hired man,” Bach said. “In the meantime, Sergeant Blackthorne will deliver you to authorities at the county jail, and they’ll take it from there.”

  Before I’d climbed in the front seat of my Tahoe to haul our prisoner off to the pokey, Al and I agreed to meet at the office at seven the next morning. We would drive to Kat McKay’s house from there. He thought having a homicide detective arrive unexpectedly might demonstrate how seriously we were looking at her as a murder suspect. I didn’t disagree, particularly since the only space available for an interview at my trooper station was the storage closet.

  “And I’d like to get to the bottom of a few things before Larkin posts bail. Otherwise, there’s every chance he’ll light out of here, despite all that Christian poppycock,” he added, actually employing air quotes.

  One man’s abiding faith was another man’s Christian poppycock, it seemed.

  The drive to the county jail in Canyon City was uneventful, as was the handoff to the sheriff’s deputies. I suspected Larkin’s attorney would fly in tonight and he’d be out on bail by late afternoon tomorrow. The attorney might eventually even find a way to kick the charge down to Class A elder abuse, a piddling violation that would amount to Larkin having to fork out a whole two thousand bucks or so to the State of Oregon.

  Frank Sylvester could be dead by then, turning Asa Larkin’s lame justification for spending Sylvester’s cash assets in advance of inheriting them into a matter of ethics and morals rather than fusty legalities. With all that in mind, it heartened me to see him plopped in a jail cell alongside some of our more unsavory local denizens.

  After Larkin was tucked in, I checked messages. Duncan had called twice earlier in the evening and later texted: “Seems police business has you working overtime tonight. Be careful out there. Hope to see you tomorrow”

  Tomorrow. I drove straight to my apartment and crashed under the covers, exhausted and desperate to avoid thinking about Duncan or what might play out in our interview with his sister Kat in the morning. I peeked at Libbey vs. Chase lying on the nightstand. I could continue reading or just admit I’d grown weary of the novel’s bad cop/bad cop antics some time ago. I turned out the light and fell into a restless sleep.

  I rose without disturbing Louie. Pulled on my wooly slippers, adjusted the heat, and filled a glass with ice-cold tap water. I turned to the microwave’s fluorescent clock face: early in a day that promised to be long.

  Craving more sleep, time to think, to sort out the meaning of this past week, I tore through my morning regimen nonetheless, arriving at the office at six twenty. I fired up the coffeemaker and refilled the sugar bowl.

  Hollis arrived shortly after, joining me at our break table in the alcove, where the two of us waited fretfully for the day’s first shot of caffeine.

  When the brew signal chimed, he poured each of us a mug full and returned to the table. “A trip to Erna’s this morning?”

  “Nah. The visit to Asa Larkin last night ended late.”

  “The guy will start thinking we suspect him of something.”

  “He’s definitely got the picture now.”

  “Is he under arrest?”

  “Yeah, but not for killing the Nodines. At least not yet.” I sipped the hot coffee. “Larkin’s charged with a Class C felony. I think we were already on the verge of putting this together, but he’s been dipping into Frank Sylvester’s assets for his own benefit.”

  Hollis yawned and palmed one eye. “So, some possible prison time. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  “We’re heading to Kat McKay’s place in the next little bit. She’s still a suspect in the Nodine case, especially given what Cecil told me yesterday.”

  “How does that sit with you this morning?”

  I’d gone to sleep last night aching to warn Duncan his sister could be on the brink of being charged with murder. Thinking about it now brought on a niggling headache.

  “Not great. But neither does an unsolved murder case.”

  It occurred to me I could be straight with Holly, explain my objectivity was being tested and why. But even with my police partner, I wasn’t about to share certain weaknesses.

  Detective Bach coughed. “Good morning,” he called to us.

  “Coffee?” I inquired.

  “No, thanks. Brought along some chamomile tea.” He and his thermos joined us in the alcove. “How’s your newborn, Hollis?”

  “He’s got a healthy set of lungs.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  Hollis smiled, collected a third chair, and placed it next to our cluttered, cramped break table.

  “I filled Hollis in on last night’s visit to Mr. Larkin. The arrest part, anyway.”

  Bach’s voice was throaty from lack of sleep. “Where do we want to start with the McKay woman?”

  I sipped more coffee, praying it would hurry up and burn through the brain fog. “My thought would be to start with the romance angle, rather than the weapon.”

  He lifted his thermos and poured a cup of urine-colored tea. “Romance? You mean with Larkin? He was adamant about not knowing who she was.”

  “No, I’m talking about Kat’s relationship with Dan Nodine. It couldn’t have been a happy love affair.”

  “Seems a smart place to start,” Hollis added. “Largely because of the Kel-Tec 9. Did Dan know she was borrowing another man’s gun?”

  I all but winced at Holly’s chance double entendre. “Exactly. Goes to motive. If he knew, did he throw a fit, react violently, or threaten her in some way? Or maybe he was making it hard for her to move on quietly without him.”

&nbs
p; “All right, we’ll start the questioning there,” Al said, examining his watch. “Zero seven hundred. We need to get on it.”

  Kat McKay. Not someone I’d ever thought of as a murderer. I saw her as a lonely woman, hitting forty, and stuck in a wasteland of available options. I could relate to that.

  “Maggie,” she said, opening her front door. “You’re back.” Even in her pink beautician’s uniform, hair pulled up in a ponytail, and but a tad bit of makeup, she was lovely. For the first time, I saw a resemblance to Duncan, the same large green eyes.

  “Good morning, Kat. This is Detective Alan Bach with the State homicide unit. We have a few questions.”

  “May we come in, Ms. McKay?” he asked.

  “This is about the murders of Dan and Joe, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I don’t understand. I already spoke with Maggie about all that.”

  “Something else has come to light,” I said.

  “All right.” She led us to her dining room.

  Once again I appreciated her taste in décor. The room was charmingly spare. A simple antique pedestal table of dark oak, a matching sideboard, and four ladder-back chairs stained a deep burgundy. No gewgaws or doilies.

  When we were all seated, Bach turned on the digital recorder, attested to the purpose of the interview, and dove right in. “How long were you involved with Dan Nodine, Ms. McKay?”

  Kat gathered together the planes of her body, a sort of protective armor. She then rested a manicured hand at her throat. “Like I already told Maggie, six months.”

  He opened his Portage police notebook. “And while you were in a relationship with Mr. Nodine, you borrowed Asa Larkin’s semiautomatic handgun?”

  “Remind me, is that Brady’s father?” she asked me.

  I nodded.

  She turned toward the detective. “His son lent it to me. He’s a good friend of my boy, Rain. Brady’s over here a lot, and I mentioned once I was thinking about buying a handgun.”

  “And he brought his father’s Kel-Tec pistol by so you could test it out?” I asked.

  Kat paused. “Brady made it seem like the gun was his, and I was interested in that model.”

  “And that’s the weapon you took to the wildlife area for target practice, correct?” Bach asked.

  “Yes. I’d only ever shot a hunting rifle before. Once when I was younger. I didn’t like it, though, the kick of the rifle butt. But I’d never used a pistol.”

  “How’d you do?” Al asked.

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” There it was in her voice: that trace of ice.

  “The target practice. Were you a good shot?” Bach clarified.

  “I was doing all right, until Maggie’s fish and wildlife officer came along.”

  “Kat, you said you were interested in the Kel-Tec. Did you research different brands and makes of handguns?” I asked.

  “Yeah. On the internet.”

  “How long ago was that?” I continued.

  “A while back.”

  “But while you were dating Dan?”

  “Well, a few months before last week. So yes.”

  I leaned closer. “Had he threatened you? Is that why you decided to buy a gun?”

  Kat smiled. “No, he was always nice enough, just not my type in the end.”

  Did she mean the Dan Nodine I knew, the scumbag who gut-shot Cecil’s dog?

  “You didn’t see him as nice when he stole money from you,” I reminded her.

  She seemed to have forgotten that. “It was already pretty much over between us by then.”

  “He was more than a petty thief, Kat. And I can’t help wondering how jealous he got when you borrowed the pistol from Brady.”

  “Brady’s just a kid.”

  “He’s nineteen. Wealthy by comparison. The kind of young guy Dan Nodine wouldn’t want loaning his girlfriend anything,” I pressed.

  She removed a nail file from her pink beautician’s smock. Tapped it lightly on the tabletop. “You’re trying to get me to tell you something bad about Dan, aren’t you? Well, let’s see. Poor hygiene, lazy, I guess—but he was always sweet to me. Boring, but sweet.”

  “I loved him like a brother when I was a kid, but he grew up to be sneaky, dishonest, and mean. Nobody could have missed that.” By rights, I could have called the man an asshole, but with Bach present, it was best to avoid using profanity during an interview with a civilian.

  I nudged further. “And you didn’t answer my question. Was he jealous when Brady lent you that gun?”

  “Dan had no idea I had it. But even if he’d known, he wouldn’t dare question me.”

  “Mr. Nodine wouldn’t cross you even if he’d wanted to, right?” Bach asked.

  She held his gaze and absentmindedly filed her nails.

  He continued, “Otherwise you might have ended things.”

  She shrugged. “I really don’t know if he understood that, Captain Brock.”

  “Bach. Detective Bach,” I corrected, even though Al’s name tag was clearly visible.

  “My apologies.”

  “I’m having a hard time believing Dan never got angry with you or said a cross word,” I said.

  “All right. He was pissed when I told him it was over between us.”

  “Did he threaten you then? Or harm you physically?”

  “No. But he wasn’t happy when he left.”

  “What day was that?” I asked, despite having already noted the date on our murder board myself.

  “Like I told you, Maggie, a week before someone killed him.”

  “You didn’t have much of a reaction when I gave you the news.”

  “Not everyone reacts the way you think they should, Maggie.”

  Hardly anyone reacted the way I thought they should, but that was beside the point. Kat hadn’t reacted at all.

  Al broke in. “Were you relieved when you learned Dan Nodine was dead?”

  “I wouldn’t say relieved, exactly, but…This is going to sound cruel. I felt bad for Ariel, is all.”

  “His brother’s fiancée?” Bach asked.

  “Yes. She really cared for Joe.”

  So Kat was capable of empathy. That was something, at least.

  I decided this was a good time to share Cecil Burney’s story. “What if I told you we have a witness who says you seemed pretty agitated when you marched into that wigwam burner last Thursday evening?”

  “And Ms. McKay, I want to remind you. Last Thursday—February twenty-first—the Nodines were murdered inside the wigwam burner. Sometime between five forty-five and six fifteen p.m.”

  “Around the time you were seen there,” I added.

  She stood. “You don’t honestly believe I killed those men, do you?”

  Al and I said nothing.

  “Maggie, you’ve known me forever. We’ve been close at times.”

  Pure bullshit.

  Kat went on. “And I happen to know you’ve got a little crush on my brother.”

  I was surprised she knew of my days-old fling with Duncan, but I held my edge. “None of that has anything to do with why we’re here.”

  “One more thing, Ms. McKay. The murder weapon has been positively identified as Asa Larkin’s pistol. The same one you borrowed.”

  She sat back down. “What? I returned it before they were killed, I swear.”

  “We know the gun was returned,” I said. “We just don’t know when.”

  She placed a fist over her lips, thinking through her answer. “Before the shootings, I know that.”

  “You need to be more specific,” I said.

  Bach planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “While you’re reflecting back on when you returned the gun, tell us why you went to the wigwam burner that night.”

  Beyond the garden window, her starkly bare locust tree glinted in the sun. Mottled shadows fell across the room. Winter sending mixed messages again.

  Kat exhaled. “I was looking for my son. He ha
dn’t come home after basketball practice. It pissed me off. He had a major test the next day. Brady’s not the best influence on my son, but I thought if I found Brady, I’d find Rain.”

  “How did you know to check at the old mill?” I asked.

  She paused briefly. “I’d overheard Brady telling Rain he’d seen his father’s stolen truck inside that decrepit burner. It sounded like he would’ve driven off with it, except the key was missing.”

  “Why drive out there the back way on the mill road?”

  “Apparently that’s the route Brady prefers. Probably a better chance for undetected speeding, I guess.”

  I needed to remember to put the mill road on our list of byways to cruise on a regular basis.

  “Why didn’t he just tell his father about the truck, Ms. McKay?” Bach asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell his father, Kat?”

  “Supposedly his father already knew who had it and where it was. I don’t know him, don’t know why he never called the police. That wasn’t any of my business. Just Rain. Rain was my business.”

  “Kat, you keep saying you don’t know Mr. Larkin, but I spotted his Prius parked in your driveway night before last. After I dropped by and spoke with you about his gun.”

  The nail file slipped from Kat’s hand and bounced lightly on the tabletop. “Tuesday night? Rain had gone to bed early. Later I thought I heard voices. It might have been Brady. He could have come through the back door and I didn’t notice.”

  No doubt Hollis had been right. Brady had sneaked out of the ranch house despite Larkin suspending his driving privileges a few hours before.

  “Do you know if Brady was friendly with the Nodines?” I asked.

  “I guess Brady had been paying the twins to buy his alcohol for a while. Dan let that slip. I confronted Brady about it, because of Rain. He told me my son didn’t drink, but I didn’t believe him. I made him promise not to get Rain in trouble. He can’t be caught drinking. He’d lose his basketball scholarship.”

  “Ms. McKay. When exactly did you return the weapon to Brady Wakefield?” Bach asked.

  “Three days before Dan and Joseph were killed.”

  I couldn’t help but feel relieved she’d passed the semiautomatic back to Larkin’s kid before the murders. Which was both self-serving and quite possibly premature.