by Ally Shields
“Detective York, this is Officer Calvin. We’re at the scene of a car break-in. The victim, Duncan Brice, says he knows you.”
“Slender white male, brown hair?”
“Fits our civilian. Thing is…an unknown suspect smashed his rear window. Citizen witness called 911 at 09:23. Described a suspect—sex and race unknown—fleeing the scene in a white hoodie and jeans. This officer and partner responded to the scene. Arrival at 09:32 simultaneous with vehicle’s registered owner, Mr. Brice.”
Despite Maggie’s impatience for him to get to the point, the officer’s stilted report tugged at her sense of humor. Some of his stiffness was academy training, but he had to be a rookie. As he continued, she quickly forgot about his delivery.
“Witness reported a black, plastic bag thrown into the vehicle. When owner opened it in our presence, we observed one red gasoline can and one High Point C9 pistol inside. Owner stated the property is not his. He became agitated and advised us to call you.”
Holy crap. A second gas can. And a pistol. What was going on? Or should she be asking…who?
“Good work, officer. Don’t let anyone touch anything else. Call in a CS crew to process the car and confiscate the can and pistol as evidence. Let me talk to Brice.” While she waited, Josh came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. She gave him a ten-second update on the call and put Brice on speaker.
“Detective York?” Brice sounded exasperated. “I swear this stuff isn’t mine.”
“Maybe so, but we’ll check for prints. If yours are on the gun or can, you’ll be talking with us at length…at the station. Did you see who did this?”
“No, but others did.” His voice was defensive, resentful, but what else was new? “I’m the victim here.”
“I guess we’ll find out. The officers will talk to any witnesses.”
“This is Detective Brandt,” Josh said, leaning closer to the phone. “How long was your car unattended?”
“Less than thirty minutes. I was in the drug store. When do I get my car back?”
“When the lab’s done with it. Just stay cool, Brice. Unless you’ve got something to hide.” Maggie spoke with the beat cop again before hanging up.
“If he’s telling the truth, somebody’s had tabs on Brice to get the timing just right,” Josh said. “This case is like a bad joke. Want to bet there are no prints on either item?”
“No sucker bets on a sure thing. But I guarantee the pistol was used in Gundermann’s murder and probably the swamp shooting. You don’t frame someone with the wrong weapon.”
Josh swore sharply. “This would be a great case to dissect over beers, but being the cops expected to solve it…” He yanked on clean jeans and a T-shirt. “I guess we’ll be spending another Saturday at the station.”
“Yeah, it sucks.” But Maggie was already calling the task force detectives assigned to the Gundermann file. She brought them up to date and gave them Brice’s contact information in case they wanted to interview him more formally.
Maggie ran the new development through her head while she stepped into the shower. The killer was playing games with the Department…and paying very close attention to the investigation. Did he have more than an outsider’s knowledge? She couldn’t stand the thought of another dirty cop. Two such cases in a year would be a media crisis for the NOPD. If anything else turned up, she’d have to warn Jenson.
She flipped the shower to full blast with a frustrated twist of her wrist. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.
* * *
While awaiting the lab reports on the new evidence, Josh and Maggie went over the stack of documents on their desks—reports from other task force members regarding witness interviews, background checks, and results of database searches. Most of it had been sent digitally, otherwise they’d be buried a mile deep.
Maggie pulled up a report of concealed carry licenses and gun purchase permits for every person remotely linked to the three murders, including known members of the Witching Hour Society. Of the current short list of suspects, Dawn had a carry license, and Charlotte’s and Sophia’s husbands both had registered handguns. Fiona Gordon’s former husband owned seventeen pistols, but given the couple’s troubled divorce, it was doubtful he’d give her the time of day much less a lethal weapon.
“Did you see this?” Josh handed her a report from the Sheriff’s office regarding the Bunjer missing person case. “They have an unverified sighting by a local but consider it credible.”
“That’s great. I was afraid they’d push the matter aside, considering there was no proof of a crime. I’m relieved they’re pursuing it.”
“I’ll re-issue our own alert and list the Sheriff’s Office as a secondary agency to be contacted. Finding Big Roy alive could break this case wide open.”
Mid-afternoon the anticipated news arrived from the lab: the gas can and C9 pistol were clean of prints. Ballistics matched the pistol to both shooting incidents, but the serial numbers had been removed and were not recoverable. The gas residue in the can matched the other two samples.
None of it proved a thing. But it raised a whole lot of questions.
Like who was planting evidence? And why all the inconsistencies? The killer had shown moments of brilliance and extraordinary knowledge of police work contrasted with a clumsy recklessness. A clever mind, but an impulsive nature? Or the normal variations to be expected from multiple killers? By Maggie’s count at the Michaels’s rescue, at least twelve were involved. Had someone masterminded the murders, leaving the latest incidents to low-level associates? As for the investigation, was someone on the inside feeding them information?
She cleared her throat, drawing Josh’s attention away from reading reports. “We should call Jenson.”
His brows drew together. “About what?”
“A heads-up on a possible insider. If Sutter and Brice are being framed, someone has detailed information on our investigation.”
He still looked perplexed. “Like the real killer. Who would know the details better?”
“Sutter’s and Brice’s names weren’t released to the public. They’re not known suspects.”
“Aren’t they? They both came to the station. This killer is thorough. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s noted every interview and field trip. And the possibility still exists that Sutter or Brice is the killer and clever enough to muddy the waters. You’re jumping ahead of the evidence.”
“It’s not a hard leap to make after last year.” Maggie rubbed her temples to ease the threatening headache. “It’s a stretch, but I’d hate for Jenson to be blindsided again.” She picked up the reports and selected four. “I’ll leave copies of these on his desk, and he can draw his own conclusions.”
Josh gave her a thumbs-up. “Nice compromise. After that, why don’t we call Harry and Annie about boating on Ponchartrain tomorrow?”
She brightened immediately. “An awesome idea. Why don’t you call while I copy these?”
As Maggie returned from the Captain’s office, Tom Ross and Stan Barclay, the task force officers assigned to the Shayre case, walked in. They’d been friends of Josh since he first joined the NOPD.
“Just the people we were looking for.” Ross, the more outgoing, sauntered up with a wide grin on his face and swung a fist out to lightly bump Josh in greeting. “Heard about the evidence dumps. We’ve got something new too.” He thrust out his chest in mock pride.
“Quit screwing around and just tell them,” Barclay growled. “I want to go home.”
Ross pointed a thumb at his partner. “He gets like this when he has to work weekends.” Barclay shot him a look and Ross went on. “We’ve been tracing the drugs in the Shayre overdose. Everyone and their mother has a prescription of hydrocodone. So that didn’t help.” His grin grew. “But I bet you didn’t know Fiona Gordon co-owns a pharmacy with her ex-husband. Part of the divorce settlement. Getting drugs and a box of syringes without a paper trail would be easy for her.”
“We asked her husband,” Barclay said. “While he didn’t bad-mouth her as much as expected, he thought she’d be capable of doctoring the books to cover thefts of inventory.”
“So then we picked her up,” Ross finished with a smug look. “She’s in Interrogation. And she ain’t happy. Want to watch?”
The four detectives crowded into the Observation room for a look before the interview. Fiona Gordon sat on the other side of the one-way mirror. Her rigid back and compressed lips heightened the disdainful expression stamped on her face. The sides of her salt-and-pepper hair swept back in a severe cut that was sophisticated or overly masculine depending on your point of view.
Maggie quickly discovered she couldn’t read auras through a glass barrier, but she didn’t need special powers to see the woman was pissed. “She knows we’re watching.” As if Gordon had heard, she shot a dark look at the mirror. Due to the prevalence of TV cop shows, everyone knew about observation rooms.
“Let’s get this done,” Barclay growled.
Maggie stopped them at the door. “Hey, guys. Ask her if she owns a gun. I noticed her hubby has a collection.”
Ross waved. “Will do.”
Gordon firmed her mouth as Ross and Barclay entered the room, but she waited for them to begin.
“We have just a few questions, Mrs. Gordon.” Ross pulled up a chair and sat; Barclay took the seat next to him. Ross explained they were following up some loose ends on the Shayre case.
Gordon stiffened. “Bernice Shayre? I barely knew her.”
“But you were acquainted. She died of a drug overdose. I understand you own a pharmacy. Perhaps you can offer us some insight regarding the drugs involved.”
Gordon blinked, seeming to absorb this, then crossed her legs with a dismissive laugh. “I’m not a chemist. I know nothing about drugs and wouldn’t recognize hydrocodone if I saw it.”
“Was Bernice Shayre a customer?”
“You’d have to check our records. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but my connection to the pharmaceutical company is limited to enjoying its profits.”
“But being an owner, you could access the store’s inventory,” Barclay suggested. “Has anyone asked you to provide them with drugs or syringes, or asked about obtaining drugs without a prescription?”
“Possibly a friend wanting a favor?” Ross added.
“So that’s what this is about.” Gordon’s eyebrows converged above her nose. “You think I supplied someone with the means to commit murder. I most certainly did not, but I’d hardly tell you if I had.” She stood abruptly and both men came to their feet. “Oh, don’t get up on my account. I spoke with my attorney when I knew you were nosing around. He said I can leave whenever I want, unless I’m under arrest.” She raised her nose. “Am I?”
“No. You’re free to go,” Ross said, outwardly unruffled, but he had to be disappointed. “I have one last question. Do you own a gun?”
“A gun.” Her eyes flashed with speculation at the off-topic question. “I thought she overdosed, so why the gun question? I don’t have to tell you, but no. No guns, no drugs.” She turned away. “My attorney will call you in case you think of other questions.”
“Have him do that.” Ross made a face at her back.
While Barclay followed her out to the station’s front entrance, Ross stepped back into the Observation room. “Cool as a cucumber.”
“She was surprised you knew about the pharmacy,” Maggie said. “She acted puzzled by the gun question, but I had a feeling she was waiting for it.”
“She’s a piece of work,” Ross said, “but is she guilty?”
Maggie didn’t know either, but she had something else she could try. “You talk it over. I’ll be back in a minute.” Maggie tore out of the room and raced through the front entrance. Gordon was walking rapidly down the street. “Fiona. Fiona Gordon,” she called and ran after her.
The woman stopped and turned. “I should have known you’d be here. Have you decided to arrest me after all?”
Maggie waved her hand vaguely toward the precinct. “I didn’t even know they were bringing you in.” Which was true. She hadn’t known until Ross and Barclay told her. “I’m trying to reach Isabella LeMontaire, and for obvious reasons she’s not at the shop. Do you have a different number for her?” During this disingenuous speech, Maggie tried hard to focus on Gordon, but she was having trouble seeing her aura.
The other woman eyed her suspiciously. Afraid she’d already given herself away and that Gordon was going to leave, Maggie boldly captured the woman’s gaze. Gordon’s eyes widened, her nostrils flared, and her aura flashed briefly—a mixture of deep, dark shades of red, green, purple, and a pulsing layer of indigo. Rage, conflict.
Then Gordon blinked, breaking the connection. Her composure slipped back into place, and she responded in icy tones. “If I see her, I’ll tell her to call you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” Maggie watched her walk away and experienced a moment of satisfaction. Gordon had tried to hide her aura, but thanks to something Dalia had said, Maggie annoyed her just enough to read it anyway. She couldn’t interpret the subtler meanings, but Gordon’s cool exterior wasn’t in sync with her very disturbing aura. Had Gordon murdered them all? Shayre, Gundermann? Even Valerie Preston, her sister’s best friend?
Maggie hurried back to the precinct, pausing at the door to glance behind her. Gordon stared back from down the street. It caught Maggie by surprise, raising a sudden chill. Gordon was uneasy, possibly worried. What would she do, kill again?
Josh opened the door for her. “What was that about?”
Maggie blew out her cheeks and kept her voice low. “I was reading her aura.” His reaction reminded her she hadn’t yet shared her recent meeting with Dalia. “I’ll explain later,” she said as Ross and Barclay approached.
“Something wrong?” Barclay asked.
She shook her head. “No, sorry about taking off like that. I needed a phone number for another Society member. But she refused to give it to me. I should have figured.” Maggie switched the subject to the interview. “Do you guys think we learned anything new?”
“She mentioned hydrocodone,” Ross said, as they turned back toward the squad room. “Press reports only said overdose. The drug’s name was never released.”
“A guess?” his partner offered. “It’s a popular drug.”
“She said it like she knew,” Ross persisted. “And most people don’t use the generic name.”
“I’d try the husband again,” Maggie said. “Ask him for access to their inventory records. Maybe we can spot an irregularity.”
“A second canvass of Shayre’s neighborhood and workplace might also be worth your time,” Josh added.
“With Gordon’s photo this time,” Barclay said. “It might jog someone’s memory.”
“Always somethin’ more to do.” Ross’s mouth quirked as his Nawlins’ accent deepened. He and Barclay turned to head out the front door, and Ross flipped his hand in a casual farewell. “But dang if this fish ain’t beginning to stink.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Maggie sat on the balcony outside Josh’s apartment that evening, welcoming the light breeze that had sprung up as the sun faded in the west. Josh was playing tennis with Harry, getting in an hour of brother-bonding time since they’d cancelled tomorrow’s lake outing. After the interview with Fiona Gordon, they talked with the DA, who confirmed they were close to a search warrant, possibly an arrest…if they could close a few more loose ends.
Currently Maggie waited for a call from Ross and Barclay, who were questioning Gordon’s ex-husband regarding the pharmacy inventory and his gun collection—specifically whether he’d purchased a C9 for his former wife.
Unable to sit still, Maggie stood and crossed to the wrought iron railing, leaning on it to absently survey the neighborhood. Her gaze drifte
d over the few walkers who’d ventured out of the air-conditioning, a restful sight in sharp contrast to the tension building around her. She’d grown edgy with the wait, probably the real reason Josh had left to play tennis—she was driving him crazy.
She jerked the phone to her ear on its first ring.
“Ross here,” a familiar voice said. “Husband was more than happy to give us copies of the records, but he doesn’t think we’ll find anything. He looked hard for evidence to force her to sell him the other half of the business.”
“And the C9?”
“He didn’t give or buy her any kind of pistol, but he taught her to shoot when they were first married. She got hooked and has kept on with the sport. Said he’d be surprised if she didn’t have at least one gun around.”
Experience with firearms. Another small detail to bolster a warrant, but not the infamous smoking gun they needed.
“Thanks, Ross. Looks like we’ll be working Sunday too. Good-night.”
Maggie sighed. Every case had discrepancies, false leads, tips that went nowhere, but how could this series of cases have so many? If it weren’t for the ghostly trio, she’d wonder if the cases were linked at all.
She heard a noise in the apartment and turned as Josh came through the balcony’s sliding door. He was toweling his hair dry, and she suspected he’d dunked his head under the faucet to cool off.
“Any news?” he asked.
“Ross called. Husband says no on the gun.” She gave him the details.
“Let’s hope there’s something in those inventory records.” He hung the towel over the railing. “I thought about this while Harry and I were playing. Just like everything else, Gordon fits…and she doesn’t fit. I can see her doing something spiteful like the spiders, but planning and carrying out the murders? I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t feel right, does it?”
Josh chuckled. “Feeling things is your deal, not mine.” He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Let it go for tonight. I brought supper home.”