The Lady Who Cried Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery)

by Lauren Carr

  Life is good. I have been blessed to have him in my life.

  When she came out of the closet, she realized Irving was missing. Gnarly was still sacked out in his bed.

  Don’t tell me Irving has finally decided to let me out of his sight.

  Picking up her clothes basket, she stopped to listen for any sound of the stealthy feline. The house was too quiet.

  Maybe it’s because I’m used to hearing a hundred pounds of fur, paws, and teeth getting into everything. Maybe Irving decided to make a lone raid on the kitchen.

  Leaving the basket behind, Archie started for the door only to be stopped with a sense of dread. Ben and David’s warning about Bevis had sounded serious.

  He wouldn’t be crazy enough to come after me—after that little argument…but his rage was out of proportion—and he is crazy.

  She grasped the gun that she had tucked in the pocket of her sweater. As long as I have the gun close at hand, Bevis won’t show up. If I don’t have it, he surely will.

  At the top of the stairs, Archie peered over the bannister down to the foyer and sitting room. “Irving? Are you down there?”

  His leaving her side was certainly strange. Irving suffered from separation anxiety, which was why Cameron took him everywhere. When left alone, he would tear up the house. He had only recently adjusted to spending his time with Donny, Joshua’s teenaged son. Not so much with Joshua, though.

  Her hand on the gun in her pocket, Archie descended the stairs one at a time while searching for the cat. As big as he was, he certainly would have been hard for her to miss. But then, cats can be quite clever and devious—as evidenced by the kitchen raid.

  He must have needed a litter box break.

  With a shrug of her shoulders, Archie went into the kitchen. Time for a snack. How about a delicious chocolate mousse?

  She went through the kitchen door and went to the fridge. Yanking it open, she reached in to take out the crystal dessert cup. She felt drool form in her mouth at the sight of the rich creamy chocolaty dessert. Closing the refrigerator door, she went to the silverware drawer and pulled it open to reach in for a spoon. A reflection of movement in the silver tray propped up against the splashboard under the cupboard caught her eye.

  Irving, what are you up to? She turned around to face the skunk cat, only to see Bevis, his eyes wide and red with rage coming at her with a butcher knife poised to thrust into her back.

  Her hands full of chocolate mousse and spoon, Archie had no way of grabbing her gun. Her only defense was to duck out of the way of the knife and drop the mousse. She dodged out of the way and ran across the room.

  The crystal dessert bowl hit the floor with a shatter and mousse went everywhere.

  Bevis lunged forward and the knife plunged into the oak drawer.

  In her escape across the room, Archie reached for her gun and turned around. As she was taking the gun out of her pocket and turning, her feet hit the chocolate mouse and she slid across the floor. The gun flew out of her hand.

  Catching herself against the kitchen counter on the other side of the room, she stood up and turned around to face her attacker. For the first time, she got a good look at him.

  What’s he wearing?

  Bevis’ fat, hairless legs were fully exposed up to where the hem of his blue dress covered his butt. If he hadn’t been intent on killing her, Archie would have laughed out loud.

  Her delay gave Bevis time to wrestle the knife free from where it was embedded in the wood. He spun around for her to see his heavily made-up face, complete with false eyelashes. The eyelashes were overshadowed by his huge bosom.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” she blurted out.

  “Go ahead! Laugh, bitch!” He raised the knife up over his head. “It’s because of you he’s dead! My husband! The love of my life! You’re going to pay!”

  Shocked into action, Archie searched for where the gun had fallen.

  The assault was launched from the top of the fridge where Irving had been taking a nice nap on the warm appliance. When he landed on top of Bevis’ head, the wig went soaring like a flying carpet.

  Archie dove for the gun, only to hit another blob of chocolate mousse that sent her feet out from under her. She landed on her stomach. When her hand hit the gun’s grip, she sent the firearm spinning across the room.

  Bevis was still trying to determine what had happened to his wig when Irving bounced off the kitchen counter and landed on top of his head to imbed ten sharp needles into his’ skull. The cat’s high-pitched cry filled Bevis’ ears. Forgetting about the knife, his hands flew to his head in an effort to free the enraged feline that was ripping through his scalp to his skull.

  Seeing that the knife was closer, Archie got up onto her knees and crawled toward the weapon. All the while, she was aware of the fat man in the blue dress whirling around in the kitchen while grappling with the black and white cat who was holding on for all it was worth. When his feet hit the chocolate mousse, Bevis slipped and landed on the kitchen table. Chairs fell over, which caused him to tumble to the floor. His dress flew up to reveal his bare bottom. His eyes filled with blood, he groped about to climb up onto his knees.

  Still, Irving refused to stop in his attack.

  Cursing, Bevis grabbed the cat, ripped him from his head, and hurled him away.

  Irving bounced off the table and on to the floor.

  Spotting the knife block, Bevis replaced his weapon. Seeing his blood-covered hand, he felt his face and learned that it was coated with his own blood.

  Directly below him, Archie, still on her hands and knees, grabbed the fallen knife.

  “You bitch!” Bevis screamed in rage, “Look at what you did to me! I’m going to make you pay!”

  Archie rolled over onto her butt and thrust out the knife to him. “Bring it on!” She was at a disadvantage with him standing over her, but she couldn’t risk taking her eyes off him to climb up to her feet.

  Refusing to back down, the cat jumped up onto the table and hissed at him as if to say, “That makes two of us.”

  “You have no idea who you’re messing with! I’ll show you who’s boss!” Bevis raised the knife and lunged forward.

  He was so enraged that he didn’t hear the gunshot that tore through his lower back at a downward angle, ripping out his testicles and penis. Bevis’ bloody body parts splattered over Archie. The bullet ricocheted off the granite floor between her legs and hit the wall.

  With one hand, she wiped the blood from her eyes while holding up the knife to defend herself.

  Stunned, Bevis looked down at his mutilated lower body. With a roar, he raised his knife and stumbled forward, but he only made it one step before a second bullet tore through his midsection.

  This bullet flew over Archie’s head to ricochet off the refrigerator. It shattered the cookie jar on the kitchen counter. Ginger snaps went flying everywhere. Irving leapt from the table onto the kitchen counter.

  Archie ducked to avoid the second shower of blood and body tissue. Luckily, she was able to scurry away before Bevis collapsed onto the floor. Any chance of survival was thwarted when he landed on top of his knife.

  Expecting to find Mac waiting for her, Archie stood up to find Chelsea standing in the kitchen doorway, Archie’s gun in her hand. Her naturally pale face was white. Her hands were shaking. Tears seeped into her eyes.

  Molly had scurried under the breakfast table with her tail between her legs.

  “Chelsea?” Slowly, Archie moved toward her. She spoke softly. “It’s okay, Chelsea.” She held out her hand to her. “Give me the gun.”

  “Is he dead?” she whispered. “Archie, did I kill him?”

  “I believe so.” Gently, Archie took the gun from her hand.

  “I had to do it,” Chelsea repeated what David had told her. “I didn’t want to, but there was no other way. He left me no choice.”

  “That’s right.” She took her trembling friend into her arms. “He left you no choice.”

 
Ready to fire again, Archie approached the still body to ensure that the threat was over. His head looked like it had been through a blender.

  Definitely a closed casket funeral for you, Bevis Palazzi.

  Once again, the manor was filled with silence…except for the sound of Irving helping himself to the ginger snaps on the kitchen counter. Archie went over to pet the cat, who welcomed her touch on his head. “You’re not such a bad cat after all.”

  The buzz of her cell phone startled her so much that Archie jumped with her gun ready to take on the next attack. She saw by the ID that it was Mac. “Hello, hon…”

  “Archie, the state police are coming out to the manor.” Mac’s voice was filled with worried. “Is everything okay there? Bevis—“

  “I know,” she interrupted him.

  “Are you and Chelsea okay?”

  “Oh, Mac, there’s blood and chocolate mousse everywhere.” She looked at Bevis Palazzi’s body bleeding out across the kitchen floor. His blood was mixing with the chocolate mousse to make a grotesque-looking ooze. “I’m going to have to clean up the kitchen again.”

  Frantically pawing at a ginger snap hiding out of his reach, Irving knocked the only canister to have survived the previous attacks on the kitchen to the floor. The glass canister shattered into a hundred pieces. Chelsea jumped at the sudden noise. Molly scrambled to get close to her mistress. The flour housed inside formed what resembled a mushroom cloud across the floor to cover Bevis and the chocolate mousse.

  Startled by the crash, Archie jumped and grabbed her forehead.

  “What was that?” Mac asked.

  “Irving decided to get a start on dusting for fingerprints.”

  EPILOGUE

  Twelve Hours Later

  At forty-four years of age, Charles Dawson had spent most of his adult life in the prison with no visitors. Deserted by his family upon his conviction of a double homicide after years of being a screw up, he had had no contact with the outside. For that reason, he found it peculiar when the guard fetched him from his cell saying that he had a visitor. He found it doubly puzzling since it wasn’t visitors’ day.

  His curiosity was piqued when he was escorted into the conference room to find a gray-haired man in what appeared to be a very expensive suit sitting behind the table with a notebook, laptop, and folder. Upon his entrance, the man rose from his seat and stuck out his hand. “Charles Dawson, my name is Edward Willingham, senior partner at Willingham and Associates.”

  Charles held up his hands to show that his handcuffs made it difficult for him to shake hands.

  “Take off those cuffs,” Ed ordered the guard.

  The guard objected. “Our policy is for prisoners—“

  “As of three minutes ago, this man ceased being a prisoner,” Ed said. “Call your warden, who may not be able to take your call because he’s rushing around to get the paperwork completed so that this man can leave by five o’clock today.” He smiled at the man standing before him in the prison uniform. “I was on the phone with the governor when he signed the pardon.”

  Charles Dawson was too shocked to notice when the guard took off his cuffs. When he found his voice, he asked in a gravely tone, “What…?”

  “Let me begin by telling you that Senator Harry Palazzi, the man who killed the two women he framed you for murdering, is dead.” Ed went around the table to sit down behind his laptop. He opened up the folder.

  “Good,” Charles said. “If he wasn’t, I’d end up back here.” Slowly, he sat down across from him. Numb from disbelief, he didn’t quite feel the chair. Realizing he could find no reason why this man was there to free him, he asked, “Who are you again? Why are you here?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “The last lawyer I met rolled over and died and let me get railroaded in here,” Charles said. “I told him that Senator Palazzi killed those women. Hell, he told me so to my face, and when I told my lawyer he said that even if it had been true, that no one would believe an honorable man like Senator Harry Palazzi would do such a thing.”

  Ed referred to the folder in front of him. “That was Francis Miller, a public defender appointed by the court to defend you?”

  “Yes,” Charles said.

  “Are you aware that after your conviction he became a junior partner at Samuel Brooks and Associates? He is now a senior partner,” Ed said. “We’re naming him in your law suit, along with everyone else who has played a role in this injustice.”

  “Why?” Charles sputtered out.

  “Most likely money,” Ed said. “Power. A nice office—“

  “I mean why!” Charles shouted. “Why me? Why are you here now when I have been saying for years that I didn’t kill those women? No one believed me. I lost everything. I don’t have a family. Now I’m free, but I have no place to go! That man and his powerful friends who proclaimed him an honorable statesman stripped me of everything. What good does it do letting me out now? Like you’re going to give me back the last twenty years? My youth? I have nothing! What good is it going to do for you to sue them for me? Like—” he laughed, “and how much of whatever we get are you going to take for yourself, Mr. Fancy Lawyer!”

  Ed looked at the man sitting across from him in orange overalls with tears filling his eyes. They were tears of shock, anger, betrayal, relief and fear.

  “Nothing,” Ed said in a soft voice. “I’m taking nothing of how ever many millions the jury will award you—and I know that once they see the evidence we have, they will award it all to you.”

  “What about your fee? Certainly you aren’t doing this for nothing.” Charles gestured at his suit. “Someone has to pay for that suit.”

  “My fee is paid by the Forsythe Foundation,” Ed said. “Named after Mickey Forsythe, a fictional character created by Robin Spencer—

  “I heard of her.”

  “Everyone has,” Ed said. “Our purpose is to right injustices and provide aid, financial or otherwise, to right wrongs like this one. Your case is a perfect example. Now, the man who had the evidence of Senator Harry Palazzi killing his wife and her friend has had this evidence for many years, but chose to do nothing with it for his own selfish reasons. Last night, he turned it over to the authorities in exchange for immunity from criminal prosecution.”

  “So he can’t be arrested for letting me rot in jail,” Charles sneered.

  “He got immunity from criminal prosecution,” Ed said with a smile, “but not civil. He’s going to be named in our lawsuit. He’s got a nice big house in the Outer Banks. Have you ever thought of living on the beach?”

  “Sounds lovely.” The tears in his eyes turned to ones of joy. In spite of his best effort, they spilled from his eyes.

  Ed returned the smile. “Where would you like to go when you leave here?”

  “I have no place to go,” Charles said. “I told you. I have no one. Even my family believed those lies those bastards told about me—about what I did to those women.”

  “Well, the truth is coming out.” Ed gestured to the guard. “I took the liberty of making a few phone calls and brought someone here to walk out with you.”

  The guard opened to door to allow a young man and woman, holding a small boy in her arms, to come in.

  Charles stood up.

  “Let me introduce you to your son,” Ed said, “your daughter-in-law, and your grandson. I thought maybe having a family would help you get your life back on track.”

  Holding his son, Charles Dawson was unable to hear the lawyer over his sobs of joy.

  A week later, the news of the day was about the late Senator Harry Palazzi, murderer and rapist.

  First, there was the discovery of his murdered wife’s body, along with that of her friend in a grave under a work shed in the Maryland Mountains. Then, it was released that a witness had recorded evidence of the late senator detailing how he had killed them when they had confronted him about raping his wife’s best friend.

  In Charles Dawson’s behalf, Edward Willingham filed
a two hundred million dollar lawsuit against the Palazzi estate, Samuel Brooks’ estate, Kevin Cooper, Dawson’s defense attorney, and others for railroading an innocent man into jail. His chances of winning looked very good.

  The senator’s political party was still reeling to come up with a suitable spin for the revelation of who had really murdered Senator Harry Palazzi’s wife and her best friend when Florence Everest’s rape tape was leaked to the media. When Mac asked his lawyer about how the tape got leaked, Ed Willingham had said, “Why Mac, to make public any information given to me by a client would be a violation of client-lawyer privilege.”

  “But Florence Everest is dead, Ed.”

  “Good thing for me then, huh?” the lawyer said. “Dead people can’t sue.”

  After the tapes had been made public, human nature had taken its course. It seemed as if every day a woman or two would come forward to say that she, too, had been raped by the senator. Apparently, Harry Palazzi, confident that his people would cover for him, had attacked at will.

  Any good that Senator Harry Palazzi may have done in office was overshadowed by the statements of the women, well over a dozen, whom he had brutalized and then intimidated into silence. In spite of efforts by the late senator’s media friends to ignore his attacks on women and the violent way he had died at the hands of his own homicidal son, the sheer volume of rape victims and the brutality of his own actions on the recording made it impossible to spin the facts.

  Within seven days, the count of women who had come forward was up to fifteen women, with the earliest rape going back to when Palazzi had been a sheriff deputy.

  Senator Harry Palazzi was going down in the history books as a rapist and murderer.

  The late senator’s political party was scrambling to find a suitable candidate to take his place in the senate who could make voters forget about the monster who had formerly held his seat. There were rumors that calls were being made to Catherine Davenport Fleming, Ben’s wife, to accept the appointment to finish his term and run for his office in the next election.