The Lady Who Cried Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery)

by Lauren Carr

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “He definitely knows something,” Mac mused. “I think he knows who did it, but he’s protecting them. We need to go talk to Sheila McGrath, the widow who’s keeping him.”

  “But first, we search Nick’s house.” She swung the cruiser around the end of the cul-de-sac and pulled into the driveway of the yellow house.

  The neighbor and her children were outside building a snow fort. Seeing Cameron and Mac climbing out of the cruiser, Sandy waved across the yard at them. “My, you police are certainly busy here today.”

  “Now we’re here to search the house,” Cameron strolled across the snow-covered yard in the direction of the fort. She stopped when she saw a look of befuddlement fill Sandy’s face.

  “Again?”

  On his way to the front door, Mac stopped when he heard her say that.

  “We didn’t search it before,” Cameron said. “We only took Mr. Fields in for questioning. Now we have a warrant—”

  “But the FBI was just here,” Sandy said. “They were searching the house, too. They had FBI written across the back of their coats. They didn’t tell me what they were looking for, but I think they found whatever it was because they all left about an hour ago.”

  “Cameron,” Mac said, “get descriptions of these guys while I go look.”

  Inside, the house showed every sign of being searched. Drawers were pulled out and the contents dumped. Furniture was overturned and the cushions ripped open. Mac yanked out his phone to call David.

  “Did you find anything?” David asked.

  “Someone else was here first.” Mac went into the kitchen. “They were posing as the FBI, and this place is thoroughly searched.” A plastic bag with used duct tape rested on the counter. Remnants of cabinet varnish were attached to the sticky side of the tape. Mac bent over to peer at the underside of the top cabinet. “I think they found it. It must have been the tape.”

  “Nick had a copy of the tape and blackmailed the senator after Khloe was killed,” David said.

  “Now that they have the tape, he has no leverage to stay alive,” Mac said. “They have to kill him to keep him from telling what he knows about the senator being a sexual predator.”

  Looking around for another place to search, Mac yanked open the freezer door and peered inside. It was filled with boxes of frozen dinners. A freezer bag was tucked in one of the shelves built into the door. It was filled with three items that resembled frozen fleshy tulips.

  “Mac, are you still there?” David called to him.

  “Give me a minute.” Mac pulled out the bag and held it up. He peered through the frost and ice to distinguish what it was he was looking at. “David, do you know what a uterus looks like?”

  In his corner office at the police station, David hung up the phone.

  There were possibly three uteruses in Nick Fields’ freezer. Does that make him our killer? His alibi isn’t airtight. Maybe he’s not the killer, but he’s certainly involved. Maybe it’s his hostile wife. In either case, Nick Fields is in trouble up to his pierced ears.

  Mac knows what he’s talking about. He’s gone up against Senator Palazzi before. Yes, Palazzi would send his cleanup team to get rid of Nick, which was why he was safe as a baby in his holding cell.

  Russ Burton’s muscles flashed before his eyes. Not your average lawyer.

  David’s heartbeat kicked up until he could hear it in his ears. Urgency propelled him out of his chair behind his desk and out the door. “Where’s Burton?” He yelled down to Tonya while galloping down the steps.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Russ Burton. Fields’ lawyer,” David called back to her while on a dead run to the stairs leading down to the cells.

  “He left forty-five minutes ago,” Tonya answered, but the police chief was already out of earshot.

  The stairs came out to the Spencer officer on duty to guard the prisoners in the cells. Otto the cat burglar had already been arraigned and transferred to Virginia to face charges on the burglary at the bank in Williamsburg. The only prisoner left to guard was Nick Fields.

  “I want to see Fields.” David moved over to the door between the guard and the cells.

  “Sure, Chief.” The officer unlocked the door and slid it aside for David to go on through. “What’s wrong?”

  Without answering, David entered the cellblock area. The small police station had only four cells. Nick Fields had been placed in the furthest cell on the right. “Fields, get up!” David called to him when he came within sight of the cell and saw the young man under his blanket on his cot. “I want to talk to you!”

  Nick Fields did not move.

  David’s heartbeat was so loud that it seemed to pound against his eardrums. “Let me in there.”

  “Maybe it’s a trick,” the officer said. “He’s pretending to be sick or—

  “Open it up!”

  The officer unlocked the door, slid it open, and pulled out his gun just in case. David rushed in and over to the bed. He threw back the blanket. Nick Fields was on his stomach. With one movement, David grabbed his shoulder and yanked him over onto his back to reveal his dead eyes staring up at him.

  So much for being safe as a baby in a holding cell.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Driving up the beltway to the exit for Sheila McGrath’s home address, Cameron almost swerved into the next lane and collided with a van in her blind spot when David announced Nick Fields’ death from the speaker on Mac’s phone.

  “How was he killed in his cell in your police station?” Mac asked.

  “The only one who was in there with him was his so-called lawyer,” David said.

  “So-called?” Cameron repeated. “Then he’s not a lawyer?”

  “What’s the cause of death?” Mac asked.

  “Doc isn’t here yet,” David said. “But from what I can see, I think his neck was snapped. The killer must have placed him in the bed to give him time to get away before we noticed and realized this guy was really a hired gun sent to kill Nick for blackmailing the senator. Tonya went onto the Internet to look up Attorney Russell Burton with this law firm in Washington. The real Russell Burton is at least twenty years older than the guy who showed up here.”

  Mac and Cameron heard a movement in the background.

  “Doc’s here,” David said. “I’ve got to go. Let’s hope the state police forensics team finds something else inside that house to tell us what’s going on. Tell me what you find out from Nick’s sugar momma.”

  Before they could say good-bye, David disconnected the call.

  “From what we know, she wasn’t involved,” Cameron said.

  “If she has enough money to support Nick in the lifestyle to which he wished to become accustomed,” Mac said, “who’s to say she doesn’t have enough juice to have him exterminated.”

  “True,” Cameron said. “We’re making a lot of assumptions in this case. I mean, do you have any evidence to prove what Khloe’s big announcement was going to be?”

  “She knew that Senator Palazzi was her birth father,” Mac said. “We have a text she sent Bevis saying that she was his sister. How could she tell him that without proof?”

  “DNA,” Cameron said.

  “But where did she get the first suspicion that she was—after her mother’s death?” Mac asked. “On the tape, Khloe’s mother said she had more than one copy. If anything happened to her, one would be made public. We know one copy went to her lawyer. She must have had the second copy somewhere in that house, and Khloe must have found it. Since she had been disowned, she decided to cash in her insurance policy with Daddy.”

  “Nick said he knew what she was going to announce,” Cameron said. “Maybe Khloe gave the tape to him for safekeeping—”

  Mac shook his head. “That house had been searched. I think Nick found out that she had been murdered and, before her body was discovered, went there to find the tape to use for his own gain.”

  “He certainly w
as an opportunist.”

  “We know that,” Mac said. “Only an extreme opportunist would pretend to be gay for money and fame.”

  Seeing that Cameron was pulling into the parking lot next to a nursing home, Mac sat up in his seat. Cameron was equally curious.

  “Did you put the right address in the GPS?” Mac asked her.

  She was already double-checking the address. “This is it. Maybe Sheila works here.”

  They climbed out of the cruiser and made their way in through the main entrance. Mac tapped on the glass at the reception desk and presented his badge showing that he was a detective with the Spencer Police department. “Excuse me, we’re looking for Sheila McGrath.”

  The receptionist stared at the badge and then at Mac. From him, her eyes fell on Cameron, who was also showing her police shield. “You’re the police?”

  “Yes,” Mac replied. “Does Sheila McGrath work here?”

  This question prompted the receptionist’s eyes to grow even bigger. “I better get Mrs. Phillips, the administrator.” She scurried out from behind the desk and trotted down the hallway.

  “That was weird,” Cameron said.

  “Everything about this case is weird.” A grin crossed his face. “I love it, don’t you?”

  “That’s why I do what I do.”

  “Excuse me,” a big-boned older woman who resembled a prison warden strode down the hall toward them. The receptionist was directly behind her. “I’m Mrs. Phillips, the nursing home administrator. I understand you’re asking about Sheila McGrath.” She folded her arms across her abundant bosom. “What is this about?”

  Mac and Cameron showed their badges, which Mrs. Phillips took her time examining. When she saw that Cameron was with the Pennsylvania state police, her eyes narrowed. “What interest does the Pennsylvania police have in Mrs. McGrath?”

  “We believe that she may have some information regarding the murders of three young women,” Cameron said. “One in Pennsylvania, another recent murder in Spencer, Maryland, plus there was a murder twenty months ago in Los Angeles, California.”

  Mrs. Phillips’ eyebrows furrow. “You say a recent murder in…”

  “Spencer, Maryland,” Mac said. “It is very important that we speak to Mrs. McGrath. This doesn’t mean that she’s involved, but she may have—”

  “I guarantee she’s not involved,” Mrs. Phillips said in a sharp tone.

  “With all due respect,” Cameron said, “how well do you know Mrs. McGrath? Do you really know what she does when she leaves here?”

  The corners of Mrs. Phillips’s mouth curled. For the first time during their conversation, she looked amused. “I think I’d better take you to Mrs. McGrath and let you ask her that yourself.”

  Without another word, she spun around on her heels and walked down the hallway at a pace so brisk that Mac and Cameron had to practically jog to keep up with her. They made two turns to go down corridors before the administrator pushed through a door to a resident’s room and threw out her arm like a master of ceremony introducing the headline act. “Here is Sheila McGrath.”

  Mac and Cameron followed her into the room and stopped abruptly at the sight of a bed with the figure of a woman lying on it. An oxygen tube was up her nose, as well as a feeding tube and every other type of machine possible. The room was filled with the noises of beeps and hisses.

  “Mrs. Sheila McGrath has been here for close to four years,” Mrs. Phillips announced, “ever since she sustained massive brain injuries in the car accident that killed her husband. It would have been a blessing if she had died alongside him. She’s been on life support ever since. So if you’re thinking she killed three young women, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Mac and Cameron exchanged glances.

  “Does Mrs. McGrath have any living relatives?” Mac asked. “Anyone who could be using her identity?”

  “A woman with a bad attitude maybe,” Cameron said, “and humongous breasts.”

  “Mrs. McGrath has no living relatives,” Mrs. Phillips said.

  “This is a private nursing home,” Mac said. “It’s expensive. Who’s paying her bills?”

  “Her estate.” She turned to Cameron. “Her account is handled by her estate attorney, Teresa Winston. She’s the senior partner at Winston and Associates in Rockville.”

  “A woman,” Cameron hissed at Mac.

  “Do you have her phone number?” When the administrator’s expression betrayed disgust, Mac added, “It’s apparent that someone has stolen Mrs. McGrath’s identity and is possibly stealing from her estate. I think Ms. Winston would want to know about that as soon as possible.”

  With the same brisk pace, Mrs. Phillips took them back to her office and dug through the giant stack of files on her desk until she found the one she was looking for. Rather than give the number to Mac or Cameron, she dialed the number on her phone and asked for Teresa Winston. After a long pause during which she stared out the window and refused to make polite conversation, she greeted the lawyer. “We have a couple of detectives here asking about Sheila McGrath. They seem to think some killer has stolen her identity. Now I told them that you’re the most reputable lawyer in the area, but they claim to have some evidence to say otherwise.” She thrust the phone out to Mac. “Ms. Winston wants to talk to you.”

  With a deep sigh, Mac took the phone.

  “This is Teresa Winston,” the gruff voice that sounded more like a man than a woman said from the other end of the phone line. “Who is this?”

  “Mac Faraday,” he replied.

  There was silence from the other end of the line. “Faraday? As in…are you the same Mac Faraday—”

  “That would be me.”

  The impatience in Ms. Winston’s tone disappeared. “What evidence would you have to suggest that Sheila McGrath’s identity has been stolen?”

  “Well,” Mac drawled, “considering her current condition, I guess she would have no need for a luxury home in Potomac, Maryland, or to purchase a red jaguar and a black Ferrari, both registered to her. Both of those purchases have been made in the last eighteen months. We also have evidence of her taking numerous trips during the last three years.”

  “Don’t forget the lip implants,” Cameron said in a harsh whisper.

  “This wasn’t done by my firm,” the lawyer said. “You know how rampant identity theft is. It had to have been stolen by the Chinese who somehow got access to her name and social security number, or maybe one of the employees at the nursing home—”

  “Now wait here, Ms. Winston,” Mrs. Phillips said.

  Mac held up his hand to shush the administrator. “So you haven’t seen any large sums of money suddenly disappear from her account, or weird bills come—?”

  “Like for liposuction?” Cameron asked. “Why would a woman in a coma need liposuction?”

  “I’m sure the attorney handling her estate would have brought any regularities in her account to my attention,” the lawyer said.

  “Do you mean you’re not personally handling Mrs. McGrath’s finances?” Mac asked.

  “I am a senior partner,” she answered. “We’re talking about a monthly routine of paying bills, handling investments—I’m more concerned with bigger cases than this. So I handed it off to one of my junior partners—a very capable young attorney. Bevis Palazzi. His father is Harry Palazzi, the senator. Why wouldn’t I trust him?”

  Cameron saw Mac staring straight ahead with a glazed look in his eyes when they climbed back into her cruiser. “I know that look,” she said. “Josh gets the same look when he gets to a certain point in his cases.”

  Mac was still staring.

  “It goes without saying,” she went on, “that Teresa Winston is going to go into Bevis’ office and demand to see Sheila McGrath’s account. Now, she could do something about it and nail Bevis, or she could cover it up. What do you think she’ll do?”

  “In either case, Bevis will know we’re on to him and cover it up before we can say ‘embezzler,’” Ma
c said. “Who stole Sheila McGrath’s identity to play house with Nick Fields?”

  “I still think it’s Teresa Winston,” Cameron said. “We only have her word that she knew nothing about it. As the senior partner, she had access to everything, plus the power to make Bevis keep quiet about it. He probably even demanded a percentage for his silence.”

  “Tell me again what that neighbor said about Nick’s wife,” Mac said.

  “Nastier than a junkyard dog,” Cameron said. “Somehow Sandy offended her from the get go. She was jealous—like she was afraid of the lady stealing Nick from her.”

  “She hated her.”

  “According to Sandy, it was like for no reason.” She asked him, “What are you thinking?”

  Mac strapped on his seat belt. “Take me back there. I want to talk to her myself.” He took his cell phone out of its case.

  “She doesn’t know her name.” Cameron started the car engine.

  “That’s okay. She can still tell us who she is.” Mac pressed the button to call Archie.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You’re right,” Dr. Washington told David, “his neck was snapped.” Kneeling next to Nick Fields’ body stretched across the bed in the holding cell, she pointed to the bruising around the back of his neck. “Whoever did it knew exactly what he was doing. We have bruising on the jaw where the killer grabbed it in his hand and jerked his head all the way around until he snapped it like a twig. Happened so fast, Fields probably didn’t know what hit him.”

  “They teach that in the military.” Bogie peered at the wound from over her shoulder.

  The officer who had been guarding the cells looked like he was going to be sick. “Chief, I am so sorry,” he said for the dozenth time.

  “It’s not your fault, Brewster.” David patted the officer on the shoulder.

  “Hon, can you hand me my camera from my bag over there?”

  David jerked around to watch Bogie reaching into the medical examiner’s bag to take out her camera. He caught the smile Bogie gave her when her hand touched his when she took it. Interesting. Way to go, big guy.