Purrfect Murder (The Mysteries of Max Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  “How did you even know I was coming in?” she asked, her eye falling on the poker that indeed had a slight dent in it.

  “Your uncle told me about the invitation he extended you,” he said a little gruffly, and she wondered if he’d been up all night, going over the evidence.

  “Yes, well, I thought perhaps there was more evidence to be found on Frey’s laptop.” She hesitated, then decided not to hold back. Chase might not be willing to share, but she wasn’t going to be so stingy. “After I talked to Gabby Cleret and Aissa Spring, I checked Frey’s social media pages.”

  “And?”

  “Well, turns out Paulo Frey was doing his darndest to earn himself the prize for the world’s nastiest social media troll. The guy actively trolled women and gays, and was engaged in online warfare with dozens of people.”

  “Yeah, I saw that,” Chase said, taking a break from checking the laptop.

  She drew up a chair. “So I figure that maybe whoever killed him might have been one of his victims. Someone who decided enough was enough.”

  He stared at her. “And you hoped to find a lead on his laptop?”

  She nodded. “There’s only so much you can glean from a public Facebook page. If I could use his laptop to log into his accounts, I’ll bet I’d find a treasure trove of stuff, and maybe a lead to his killer.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” he admitted. “Which is why I’ve been going over his laptop half the night.”

  She didn’t know why, but the fact that they’d shared the same idea somehow gave her a little thrill of excitement. “And? What did you find?”

  “So far, nothing good,” he said with a shake of the head. “You called it when you said the guy was a hardened troll. Which is surprising for a writer of his stature. You would think he’d be afraid it would affect his sales.”

  “Did he have another account? In a different name, perhaps? An alias?”

  “If he did, I haven’t found it,” he said, scooting over to allow her access to the computer. This greatly surprised her. Was he inviting her to actively join the investigation? Perhaps her mom’s cooking had changed his opinion about nosy reporters whose last name is Poole?

  “Did you check his emails?”

  “I checked a bunch of them, but there are thousands and thousands. To get through all of them will be a Sisyphus job.”

  “Then we better get cracking,” she said with a grimace.

  “Be my guest,” he said, rising. “Coffee?”

  “Black,” she said, cracking her knuckles. Frey’s laptop looked a little dilapidated, but then any laptop would, after spending a year soaked in human waste. It was a miracle the thing was still functioning. While Chase spent the next hour holed up in Uncle Alec’s office for their morning briefing, she went through Frey’s emails, checked his browser history, and generally tried to get a sense of what the guy had been up to in the weeks before his death. And it was when she checked his bookmarks that she hit the jackpot. Apparently he’d been a member of some kind of cyber-vigilante group called the Army of No, Frey clearly one of its ringleaders and moderators.

  As soon as she logged into their private forum, she discovered he’d been extremely active coordinating what he called campaigns against degenerates, conducting online warfare on anyone and anything he disapproved of. She found the conversations that had launched the coordinated campaign against Gabby Cleret, but it quickly became clear to her that the Army of No mainly sought out gays and transgenders and outed them online, posting their pictures and causing trouble for them.

  “Check this out,” she said when Chase finally joined her. “This Army of No actually revealed the identities of over a dozen gays and transgenders to their communities, no doubt causing a lot of trouble for these people.”

  He read a few of the exchanges and shook his head. “This is so much worse than trolling,” he finally said. “This is actual criminal behavior.”

  She pointed at the screen. “I’ll bet one of these victims decided to get even, and bashed Frey’s head in.”

  “But how did they even know he was behind these attacks? This entire group was working in complete anonymity, and Frey’s name is never even mentioned.”

  Chase was right. Frey’s involvement with the group was a strict secret, all the members using aliases. Frey’s was TransKiller, as he seemed to have developed a particular distaste toward transgenders, and singled them out.

  “Someone must have found out,” she said.

  “We have to compile a list of all the victims,” Chase said.

  She gave him an amused look. “Are we actually working this investigation together now, Detective Kingsley?”

  He shrugged. “I’m starting to see that if I’m ever going to fit in in this town, I better adapt to the way things are done around here. And from what Chief Alec’s been telling me you’re a great researcher, so…”

  “So you’re allowing me to take part in the investigation?”

  He studied her for a moment. “I’m drawing the line at you going out there and interviewing suspects—actively pursuing leads. But this…” He gestured at the laptop. “This is analyst’s work, and I don’t see why you can’t give us your two cents. It’s not as if there’s any danger involved.”

  Annoyed, she said, “So I’m being relegated to playing second fiddle, huh? You actually want to keep me from going out there and doing my job?”

  “Doing my job,” he corrected her tersely. “Interviewing suspects is police business, Miss Poole. And so is following leads. What would you do if a suspect turns violent? Or, God forbid, you actually confront the killer and he turns the tables on you? You don’t have a gun and even if you did, you’re not trained to protect yourself.” He shook his head adamantly. “You’re not qualified and I want you off the street. Your uncle Alec feels the same way.”

  “I very much doubt that,” she insisted.

  “Look, I’m cutting you a lot of slack here,” he said, gesturing at the computer. “And to be honest, I still think this is a bad idea.”

  “Well, thanks for nothing,” she said, and quickly got up.

  Just then, her uncle stuck his head through the door. “Frey’s publisher is here. You want to be present while I do the interview? You too, Odelia,” he said with a pointed look at Chase, who emitted an exasperated groan.

  “I’m happy that someone appreciates my help,” she said as she breezed past Chase and followed her uncle out of the small evidence room. On the way over to his office, she saw that Rohanna was busy cleaning the vestibule, moving and shaking to the music, as usual, and singing along to some unheard tune. She smiled. At least someone was having fun around here.

  The interview with the publisher didn’t take long. The man had been in town to pick up Frey’s belongings that had been released, like his clothes, his suitcases and the printed-out copy of his manuscript. Uncle Alec was going to hang on to the laptop for a little while longer. When questioned why Frey’s family didn’t collect the writer’s stuff, he said Frey was estranged from his family, and he was all he had. The publisher hadn’t been happy with Frey, either, for he’d been having trouble finishing his new book, apparently too busy with his Army of No and his trolling to spend time writing.

  When the interview was over, Chase and Odelia returned to the evidence. The moment she stepped inside, she clutched Chase’s arm. “The laptop!”

  “What?” Then his eyes swiveled to the table. “Oh, Christ.”

  The laptop they’d left on the table was gone.

  The cop cursed under his breath, and instantly rushed out, Odelia right behind him. But when he asked Dolores, the dispatcher said no one else had been in there, and that she definitely hadn’t touched that laptop.

  Odelia stared around, and her eye fell on Rohanna, who was now busy dusting off a cabinet in the corner of the vestibule. It held pictures of Chief Alec holding up a very large bass, and several of his fishing trophies. She approached the cleaner, and when she tapped her on the shoulder,
Rohanna started, and took out her earbuds. “Hey, honey. Everything all right?”

  “Have you seen anyone pass by here? Something went missing from the evidence room,” she explained.

  But the cleaning lady shook her head. “I haven’t exactly been paying attention. But I don’t think I’ve seen anyone. Why don’t you ask Dolores?”

  She nodded, and quickly darted a glance at Rohanna’s rolling cart. No sign of a laptop, of course. She dropped the crazy notion. “Thanks,” she said, and shook her head at Chase, who’d been watching from a distance.

  Judging from his frown, or the way he’d folded his arms across his chest, he wasn’t happy about this. “I should have locked that room,” he said now, as they walked back to the evidence room. “Never leave evidence unattended. It’s the first rule,” he added, scowling at her, as if he personally blamed her.

  “What?” she asked. “Is this my fault now? I didn’t take that computer.”

  “I know you didn’t. But someone did. Someone snuck in here, managed to get past Dolores unseen, and snuck back out.”

  Rohanna’s eye traveled to the window, which was open and didn’t have any bars, like all the windows in the police office. “Do you think they might have gotten in through there?”

  They both moved over to the window, and Chase opened it all the way so they could lean out. The view wasn’t anything to write home about: a small patch of wasteland that once had been intended for a parking lot, but now was just a tangle of weeds. Someone could easily have come through there, hopped in through the window and absconded with that laptop. But who?

  “It might have been thieves,” she suggested. “Kids wanting a free laptop.”

  But Chase shook his head grimly. “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah, actually so do I. Whoever stole that laptop must have known it contained information that might lead us to the killer.”

  He fixed her with a serious look. “Whoever took that laptop just might be the killer.”

  And even though she rarely saw eye to eye with the burly cop, she had to admit he was probably right this time. Which meant the killer must have been watching them, following the investigation. Which also meant that the killer… was one of them. Not an outsider, but someone from Hampton Cove.

  Chapter 22

  I woke up feeling refreshed, and stretched happily. I couldn’t remember having slept this great in quite a while. I opened one eye, saw that Dooley was still occupying the other side of the couch, and closed my eye again. Maybe I could squeeze in a couple hours more, now that I was going so well. But then I suddenly remembered Clarice’s startling revelation of the previous day. She’d actually revealed the identity of the murderer! And we hadn’t even told Odelia! Instantly, I was wide awake, and gave Dooley a poke.

  He mumbled, “Juss… lemme… sleep… zzz.”

  I prodded him again, hissing, “We have to tell Odelia who the killer is!”

  He opened his eyes lazily. “Huh? Killer? What are you talking about?”

  “The killer! The Paulo Frey thing!”

  He smacked his lips, then yawned, and as I watched, I could practically see his brain booting up, and grasping the meaning of my words. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up with a jerk. “The killer! We have to tell Odelia!”

  “That’s what I just said,” I grumbled.

  I hopped gracefully from the couch and stretched my back, then strode languidly over to the stairs and started making my way upstairs. When I didn’t find Odelia in the bedroom, I realized time had gotten away from us, and she’d already left. It was a lot later than I’d thought!

  “She’s gone,” I said when Dooley sauntered into the bedroom. We both trotted down the stairs again, and were about to leave through the pet door when two cats came barging in. They were the last cats I wanted to see: Harriet and… Brutus. I leveled a disapproving look at the latter. This time he’d gone too far. “Brutus, this is my house, and I want you out of here.”

  Brutus gave me one of his trademark infuriating grins. “Wow, wow, wow. Now hold it right there, Maxie. Keep it cool, buddy. I’ve come in peace.”

  “We’ve decided to offer you a peace treaty, Max,” Harriet explained.

  “So now you’re on his side, are you?” asked Dooley bitterly. He gave her a glowering look. “You’re dead to me, Harriet. And you too, Brutus.”

  “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, Dooley,” said Harriet, clearly the negotiator in this standoff.

  “Oh, but I mean them, all right,” said Dooley.

  “You’re dead to me, too,” I told Harriet. “Collusion with the enemy is not something we treat lightly, Harriet. You’re not part of this family anymore.”

  “You’re being very immature, Max. And you, too, Dooley. We’re all grownups here, so let’s act like it.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Dooley.

  She rolled her expressive eyes. “Look. Last night at dinner it was pretty obvious that Odelia and Chase are developing feelings for each other.”

  “I think the word lovebird is appropriate here,” growled Brutus.

  Harriet gave her new mate an adoring look. “They were exactly like lovebirds, weren’t they?”

  “They sure were, honey pie. Just like us.”

  “Oh, sugar plum,” she cooed.

  I thought I was going to be sick. “What’s all this about last night?”

  “Well, since you weren’t there, you didn’t see it, did you?” asked Harriet primly. “But Odelia and Chase made the loveliest couple.”

  I exchanged a look of panic with Dooley. “Couple?” I croaked.

  “Lovebirds?” squeaked Dooley, on the verge of a panic attack.

  “Yeah, you should have seen them,” grunted Brutus with a chuckle. “Your regular Romeo and Juliet. Anyways, where were you guys last night?”

  “None of your business,” I snapped.

  “If you have to know, we were investigating,” said Dooley haughtily.

  “Investigating?” scoffed Brutus. “In your sleep? Some investigation!”

  “For your information, we cracked this case wide open,” said Dooley.

  “Dooley,” I said warningly.

  “You cracked the case?” asked Brutus. “You mean you caught the killer?”

  “We most certainly did,” Dooley confirmed.

  “Dooley!” I said. “Shut up!”

  “Yeah, shut up, Dooley,” said Brutus. “Cause I’m pretty sure there’s nothing to tell.”

  “We know exactly who the killer is,” said Dooley, ignoring the anxious looks I was giving him, “because we found a witness to the crime.”

  At this point, Harriet asked, “You talked to a witness? Who was it?”

  “Don’t tell her, Dooley,” I told him. “This is for Odelia’s ears only. Besides, I thought she was dead to you?”

  “She is dead to me,” Dooley confirmed, “but as long as she keeps asking me questions I can’t not answer, can I? That would be just plain rude.”

  “Entering the house of another cat when you’re not invited is rude,” I said with a pointed look at Brutus. “And so is colluding with the enemy,” I added with a nasty glance at Harriet.

  “Oh, I’m invited, all right,” said Brutus. “Ain’t that right, honey bunch?”

  “I invited him,” said Harriet. “This is my house, too.”

  “You’ve got some nerve,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I don’t see why we can’t all live together,” said Harriet now, sounding like a seventies hit song. “Why we can’t all simply get along and be friends.”

  “Because Brutus is a bully and a brute, and bullies and brutes don’t get along with non-bullying brutes like us,” said Dooley.

  “Kicking a friend out of your house is kind of a brutish move, buddy,” said Brutus.

  “You’re not my friend,” I said stubbornly.

  “A friend of a friend is a friend,” he riposted.

  “Well, since Harriet is dead to me that makes you…” I hesita
ted. This was all getting very confusing. “Anyway, I don’t want you here so that’s that.”

  Brutus grinned, displaying two sets of very sharp teeth. He patted my cheek with his paw. “Maxie. Baby. Your human and my human are inches away from getting it on, which makes us more than friends. The moment those two lovebirds move in together you and me are gonna be brothers, bubba! We be shacking up together. We be like homies, bro!”

  “Yes, Max,” gushed Harriet. “You should have seen Odelia and Chase last night. So Brutus is right. Very soon now we’re all going to be living together, so why don’t you let bygones be bygones and welcome him into our family?”

  “Over my dead body,” I growled, shaking off Brutus’s paw.

  Brutus moved in, and whispered in my ear, “That can be arranged.”

  I glared at him. “Why don’t I simply tell Odelia I don’t want you here?”

  “Yeah!” cried Dooley. “Maybe she’ll make Chase give you away!”

  “In your dreams, buddy,” growled Brutus.

  “Odelia listens to what we tell her,” I said. “And if we tell her we don’t want you here, she’ll give Chase an ultimatum: either get all loved-up and cuddly on her couch and watch Cops together, or get rid of his furball.” I gave Brutus a sweet smile. “I wonder which way Chase is going to lean.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, but I could see a hint of doubt in his eyes. He’d probably never met a cat that could make himself understood by his human before, and it wasn’t a gift he shared with us. He’d have no way of pleading with Chase to keep him, and I was pretty sure that if Dooley and I put our collective paws down, it was bye-bye Brutus.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” said Harriet, aghast.

  “Oh, but I most definitely would.”

  “He’s bluffing,” said Brutus, giving me a nasty glare. “He’s just trying to come between us, sweetie pie, and it’ll never work.”