Improper Influence

by Melissa F. Miller

Sasha was right. This wasn’t over yet.

  A chill tickled his spine, and the fine hairs on his arms prickled. He opened his mind to the cold fear that grabbed him then closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Leo followed the grim-faced secretary from the reception area past a maze of cloth-sided cubicles to Fred’s office. Judging from her curt greeting and the funereal silence that hung over the building, he assumed Bodhi’s interview hadn’t been a hit around the offices of Better Life Beverages. Coupled with the death of their vice president and the heir apparent, it had probably been a tense week for the staff.

  The woman stopped and knocked stiffly on a frosted glass door. She didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Fred, you have another visitor,” she said, swinging the door open and gesturing for Leo to walk into the office.

  Another visitor? Leo hesitated in the doorway.

  He hadn’t called to arrange a meeting, mainly because he hadn’t wanted to give Fred the chance to put him off. He should have expected that the man would be in some sort of executive session, though—given the news coverage about Champion Fuel.

  At a public company, he knew, the Board of Directors would have scrambled to arrange an emergency meeting to deal with the fallout. But Better Life was family-owned, and Fred didn’t strike him as the sort of CEO who answered to a board made of up cousins and uncles.

  Maybe Fred had called in a crisis management consultant to help him figure out how to spin the public relations nightmare that Sasha and Bodhi had brought down on his head? Or a lawyer.

  The secretary was waiting for him to enter the room. He smiled at her and walked in.

  “Mr. Fredericks, I’m sorry to interrupt. I can wait outside until you’re free,” he announced as he strode across the room to the desk in the corner.

  Fred was on his feet, a befuddled expression on his face.

  The secretary pulled the door closed and returned to her station.

  Fred’s eyes flashed from Leo to the striking blonde who sat on a small couch against the far wall. She appraised Leo with naked curiosity.

  “Uh, don’t be silly, Agent Connelly. Ms. Lane and I were just finishing up.”

  He beamed and hurried around the desk to pump Leo’s hand. He seemed almost giddy at the notion of getting rid of his visitor.

  “Mackenzie Lane? I thought I recognized you,” Leo lied, turning to the woman. “You’re the mayor’s economic development czar, right?”

  She quirked her mouth up into a slow smile. “Deputy Director, actually. But czar works, too. And what is that you’re an agent of, Mr. Connelly?”

  He sidestepped the question. “I’m not here in an official capacity, Ms. Lane—”

  “It’s Mackenzie, please.”

  “Mackenzie. I was asked by a friend of a friend of Mr. Fredericks’ to offer whatever unofficial assistance I could on behalf of his friends in federal law enforcement.”

  She looked suitably impressed by the hinted-at backscratching, which, as far as he could tell, had an effect like catnip on politicians.

  “I see,” she drawled, her voice like honey.

  Leo had dealt with his share of powerful, attractive women. Some of them both more powerful and more attractive than this one. But Mackenzie oozed a very obvious, almost feline, sensuality.

  He imagined it was intended to lull males into a trusting, lustful state. Instead, he found himself on high alert.

  A glance at Fred confirmed that she had a similar effect on him—although he couldn’t determine if it was the sex kitten routine or something else that had Fred on edge.

  Fred cleared his throat. “Mackenzie, I’d like to talk to Agent Connelly here about the status of the investigation into S.J.’s death. So, if you don’t mind, let’s continue our little pow wow later?”

  Mackenzie flushed and her eyes flashed. “This is no small matter, Fred. You need to get out in front of these accusations if you want to preserve your relationship with the City of Pittsburgh. Letting some disgruntled coroner with an ax to grind destroy Champion Fuel’s reputation isn’t going to bring Stone back.”

  Leo checked Fred’s reaction. He seemed less drunk than he’d been the day after his son had died, but no one would describe the man as sober. His voice held a hint of boozy bluster, and Leo would be willing to wager that one of Fred’s desk drawers held a flask that he dipped into on an as-needed basis throughout his work day. Leo would further wager that the need had been near-constant in the days since Stone’s death.

  Fred’s jowls trembled and he clenched and unclenched his fist.

  “You’ve got some nerve.”

  Leo casually moved a step closer to the couch, ready to spring between them if Fred lunged at her. He judged the likelihood of Fred doing exactly that at better than fifty percent.

  “I’m sorry if I overstepped, Fred. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I hope you believe that,” Mackenzie hurried to say, apparently reading the odds the same way Leo had.

  Fred didn’t respond.

  “Fred, I’ll come back. I don’t mind.”

  Leo turned to shake the old man’s hand, but Fred clutched his arm.

  “No, tell me. Do you have any information about S.J.’s murder?”

  Leo cut his eyes toward Mackenzie, who had settled back into the couch now that the immediate danger seemed to have past.

  “Not exactly,” he said in a low tone. “The Fox Chapel Police thought you were a strong suspect, but they’re getting pressure from the city to look elsewhere.”

  He watched the man’s face carefully to gauge his reaction. For a brief instant, Fred telegraphed sadness and anger, but not surprise.

  He nodded sorrowfully. “I figured they had me at the top of the list. Hell, wouldn’t you? I was the last person to see him alive.”

  He continued to address Leo but turned toward Mackenzie, who was studying her manicure and pretending not to listen. “Now, why anyone in the Pittsburgh Police Department would be mucking around, whispering in the borough’s ear, I can’t say. I know some people seem to think the quicker we sweep S.J.’s death under the rug, the better it’ll be for business. I’m his father first and a businessman second, as it turns out. If I find out that someone’s interfering in the investigation into his murder, I’m not going to react well.”

  There was a long silence.

  Leo waited while Mackenzie calculated her response to the veiled threat. When she looked up at Fred, her eyes blazed with anger.

  “For the sake of argument if anyone did call in any favors with the Pittsburgh police, she probably did so in an effort to protect you, you old fool.”

  “Protect me? More like protect your own backside, you mean.”

  She grabbed her tan leather shoulder bag from the floor beside the couch and stood. She stormed across the room, closing the space between them and jutted her chin up into Fred’s face.

  “Really? What was it you said to me the night Stone died? Oh, that’s right, I think it was ‘he’s a problem, but he’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.’ You sure took care of it, didn’t you? Now, unless you want him to have died in vain, I suggest you pull your head out of your rear and take care of these new problems.”

  She cut her eyes toward Leo. “A pleasure to have met you.”

  And with that, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her with a bang.

  Fred rubbed a shaking palm over his eyes and forehead.

  “Can you believe her? I’ve been in business a long time, and I admit I may be calloused. But what kind of monster kills his own son over profit?”

  All kinds, Leo thought. Most murders were committed by family members. Many of them involved financial disputes. But he just nodded sympathetically and clasped an understanding hand on Fred’s shoulder.

  “Now, Ms. Lane, she looks like she’s got balls of steel, if you’ll excuse the phrase. You don’t think ...?” he trailed off, and left the question linger unasked.

  Fr
ed thought about it, then gave his head a quick shake.

  “There’s not much I’d put past Mackenzie Lane. She’s ruthless, that’s for sure. But, a killer? No. If she had taken care of it, I think her play would have been to seduce S.J. and then blackmail him into keeping his trap shut. That’s how she greased the wheels for the bottling plant and the Champion Fuel City of Champions sponsorship.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Some blackmail. Some bribes. Some sexual favors, from what I heard. She’s just an old-school, backroom deal-maker in a shiny new feminine wrapper.”

  Leo studied Fred’s face while he considered this character assessment. Finally, he nodded. It felt right. A nakedly ambitious political hack wouldn’t get her hands any dirtier than required to raise funds and close deals. Shooting a businessman in the back on his front porch would be outside her comfort zone.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Leo was pretty sure neither Mackenzie nor Fred killed Stone. But when he left Better Life Beverages’ parking lot, he continued down the road about fifty yards and pulled off on the shoulder. He killed the engine and fixed his eyes on the parking lot exit.

  If he was wrong about Fred, he expected the man would make a few frantic phone calls and then hurry out of the office to meet whomever he’d hired to murder his son.

  Leo was confident Fred couldn’t have pulled the trigger himself. His hands had trembled both of the times Leo’d been with him. Even if that shakiness was the result of temporary emotion, and not a permanent condition, his hands would almost certainly have shaken too hard to get a bead on Stone.

  He’d seen it again and again during new agent training. A trainee who couldn’t keep a lid on his emotions would never pass marksmanship testing. Whoever killed Stone Fredericks had done so with a single, clean, well-aimed shot. The shooter was likely a professional. Or a sociopath.

  Or an experienced meditator, he considered.

  He had aced his marksmanship training because he was adept at clearing his mind. He had friends who served as SWAT team snipers. To a person, they meditated before setting up, narrowing the world to a scope and a target and blocking out the rest.

  “Do you really think Bodhi killed Stone?” he asked himself the question aloud and immediately laughed.

  There was no way the man who had rescued a stinkbug from torture at the paws of a house cat had executed a husband and father on his front porch.

  No. It was a hired gun or a remorseless antisocial stranger.

  That settled, he pulled out his cell phone and called Bodhi’s number.

  Bodhi answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Leo,” he said in a slightly breathless whisper.

  “Hi. Is everything okay? You sound out of breath.”

  “Sasha’s upstairs sleeping. I didn’t want the phone to wake her.”

  Good girl, Leo thought.

  “Ah, of course. You’re at the apartment?”

  “Yes. She thought it was better if I didn’t go back to my house yet,” Bodhi said, a hint of petulance creeping into his voice.

  “She’s probably right. I just left Fred. I’m pretty sure he didn’t kill his son.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s good for Fred. I wouldn’t say it’s good for you. Somewhere out there, someone’s really pissed off that their efforts to conceal the connection between Champion Fuel and myocarditis failed. If they’re looking to blame someone, they’ll fixate on you.”

  And Sasha, he added silently.

  Bodhi was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “You sound just like Sasha. Don’t worry, I get it. I’ll abuse your hospitality a little longer.”

  “It’s probably just another day or two, man. I’m sure your interview will shake everything loose pretty quickly. To be honest, it’s probably overkill, but we like having you around.”

  Bodhi laughed at that.

  Leo squinted through the windshield as a maroon Civic pulled out from the parking lot and glided down the road toward him. Not Fred.

  “Do me a favor, okay? Tell Sasha I’ll be home in a couple hours. I’ll stop and pick up groceries for dinner, but I have a few errands to run first.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you need anything?” Leo asked.

  “I could really use a small container of almond milk.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks. And, Leo, thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you and Sasha for your kindness.”

  “Don’t even think about, Bodhi. Really. We’re glad to help.”

  Leo ended the call. He and Sasha were glad to help, and he was even gladder that, for once, they may have helped someone without risking their own lives. He considered that evidence of personal growth for both of them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Mackenzie’s pulse thudded in her ears as she sped toward Downtown and the City-County Building. She blew through the light at the end of the bridge and zipped along Grant Street, ignoring the driver who laid on his horn, and she assumed, flipped her the bird.

  She didn’t have time for red lights. She didn’t have time for anything.

  Fred hadn’t killed his son. She’d known from looking into his eyes that he was telling the truth. And if hadn’t been Fred, then she thought she knew who’d pulled the trigger.

  Now some tall, dark, and brooding agent of something or other was lurking around, and it was going to come back to her. All her work, cultivating relationships, forging alliances, and discrediting challengers would be destroyed.

  The good she’d done for the city would be forgotten. The stronger tax base, higher employment rates, civic engagement, public-private partnerships she was responsible for would fade in Pittsburgh’s collective memory, replaced by a sordid story about covering up a health risk at any cost, even murder.

  She twisted the steering wheel and jerked her BMW into the right lane, cutting off a black Saab and making a careening turn around the corner and into the parking lot behind the Medical Examiner’s Office.

  She grabbed her purse and slammed the car door shut then took off running across the parking lot in her heels, her hair streaming behind her. She ignored the shouts from the blue-jacketed hearse driver having a smoke break and raced through the steel door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY.”

  She pounded down the metal stairs to the bottom floor, where the forensic pathologists had their offices and their creepy stainless steel lab rooms.

  She skidded to a stop in front of a closed office door and caught her breath. She tucked in her blouse, which had worked itself out of the waistband of her skirt during her run, and combed her fingers through her hair.

  Then she pulled the door open without knocking and barreled into Bodhi King’s former office.

  The new occupant looked up, startled, then smoothed his expression into a smile.

  “Hi, Mackenzie. What do you think of the new digs?”

  She strode across the small office and put her face close to Wally Stewart’s.

  “What have you done?” She spat the words in barely controlled fury.

  He pulled back.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be coy. I don’t have time for games. I told you to keep an eye on Bodhi King.”

  “And I did.”

  “What else did you do, Wally?”

  “Don’t get indignant with me. You said to make sure he didn’t go poking around in the files. You told me to delete his records. I killed the software trial for you.” He crossed his arms and pouted.

  She resisted the urge to strangle him.

  “I know, Wally. What else did you do?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know any details. Plausible deniability, isn’t that what you said?”

  He glared at her as she struggled to keep her temper.

  She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth. Wally let his eyes travel to her chest, which was heaving with anger and worry.

  You lie down with do
gs, you get up with fleas, her father’s voice echoed in her mind.

  She forced herself to speak in a neutral voice. “You’re right. I did say that. But, unfortunately, we’re well past that now that Bodhi’s face and story are plastered all over the news. Can you please tell me everything you did, so I can try to control the damage?”

  She smiled at his thin, rodent face, and let her tongue flick across her lips.

  He smiled back and his posture loosened.

  “Okay, since you asked nicely. I followed him a few times. Put a sniffer on his computer. Hired a crackhead to steal his laptops. You owe me two hundred bucks, by the way.”

  She massaged her temple. “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t that enough? Seems like you should be a little more grateful.”

  He trailed a finger along her clavicle. She swallowed her disgust and kept her face an emotionless mask.

  “The person I’m really grateful to is whoever offed Stone Fredericks. I’m hoping I can convince him to take care of Dr. King, as well,” she lied smoothly, purring the words near his ear.

  Wally put a hand around her waist and pulled her closer.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She stared into his eyes, willing him to tell her what she already suspected.

  After Fred had told her Stone was trying to run down a connection to the death, she’d gone looking for Saul in his office, hoping to work off her anxiety with a quickie.

  But he’d already left for the night. Wally, that prick, had taken great pleasure in letting her know Saul’s kid had a baseball game.

  She’d let him buy her dinner. After all, he was one of her cultivated sources. He was well-placed because he volunteered for every committee that could garner him attention from his higher ups. As a result, he knew what was going on in nearly every department of the Medical Examiner’s Office.

  He’d alerted her when the software linked the women’s deaths to a common ingredient. And he’d readily agreed to keep an eye on Bodhi. So, she figured it was a logical extension to ask him to make sure Stone didn’t do anything stupid.