Hidden Vices

by C. J. Carpenter

“I’m not so sure he killed himself.”

  “What would make you say that? Of course he did. He knew he was about to get caught, so he offed himself!”

  “Callie, in the tapes I watched, you couldn’t see the abuser’s faces, only hear some of their voices.”

  “Sorry, Trouble, I’m not agreeing with you on this one.”

  “Time will tell. Time will tell.” Megan’s phone beeped. She glanced down at the phone. “I need to take this call, Callie. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Wait—”

  Megan clicked over. “Hey, Leigh. Any news?”

  “Jo just got home, but she checked on Billie before leaving.”

  “How is she?”

  “Out of it. Jo said Billie will be in the hospital for at least a week, if not more. But she’ll make a full recovery.”

  “Good. Good.” Megan was extremely relieved to hear the news. “And the mother? Arrested? Boyfriend arrested?”

  “The boyfriend was arrested for assault and battery. The mother has chosen to go to rehab.”

  “That surprises me, but I’m glad.”

  “Her aunt is coming today and will stay with her while her mother is away.”

  “Thanks for calling. Let’s hope it works out for both of them.” Megan earnestly felt that way.

  Maybe that kid will have a chance now.

  “Okay, Clyde, time to go back to the house.”

  Megan pulled up to the lake house to find three other cars in front of her garage. She parked and saw fifteen people, at the very least, walking around the deck of the home. She was far from startled because she recognized all their faces.

  “Meganator!” Uncle Mike shouted up the driveway wearing the Irish Donegal tweed cap Megan had bought for him only months earlier. Her father’s retired Homicide partner and best friend, Michael Murphy, his wife Maureen, and their whole clan were closer to her than most families.

  Megan shouted back, “I’ll be right down.” She couldn’t help but notice they each were carrying either a tray or a bowl of some sort, but she had a feeling what they were up to. Uncle Mike got the first hug, then Aunt Maureen. All their kids and their grandchildren followed.

  Megan smiled. “What’s all this?”

  Aunt Maureen chimed in first. “We knew you wouldn’t come home for Christmas so an early Christmas has come to you. I hope that’s all right.”

  She was a little overwhelmed but at the same time happy. “Of course. Here, let me open up the house.”

  One of the grandkids yelled, “Look Grampie, Aunt Meggie got a dog!”

  “I see that.” Then he mouthed, “You got a dog?” followed by his Irish grin and hearty laugh.

  As soon as the Murphys walked in, the usual comments flew out on how beautiful the home was and how spectacular the view was. One comment made by one of the grandchildren made Megan laugh. It was when Joseph blurted, “Oh shit!”

  Aunt Maureen corrected that language promptly. “Joseph, more words like that and no turkey.” She turned to Megan. “Everything has been cooked and only needs to be reheated.”

  “Easy enough, I have two ovens.” Megan pointed to the back wall.

  “Michael Murphy, why do I not have two ovens?” Maureen demanded.

  “Because we don’t own this lake house!” He opened a box of countless bottles of wine and took out a bottle of Irish whiskey. “Let’s pour us a few glasses, Meganator, and you can show me that boathouse.” He wanted time to chat Megan up while the kids roamed the house and played with Clyde and the adults set up the tables.

  Uncle Mike’s eldest son, Michael Jr., yelled for Megan. “Megs, where is the wood for the fireplace?”

  “There isn’t any, just flick the switch on the side.”

  Uncle Mike was pouring a glass when the doorbell rang.

  Oh great. That better not be the New Jersey detectives, Megan thought to herself.

  Aunt Maureen acted suspiciously as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Then Megan caught on. “Do you know who is at the door, Aunt Maureen?”

  Aunt Maureen didn’t look up, answering, “I guess you better see who it is.”

  Detective Sam Nappa stood at the door with flowers and a dessert. “Hi, partner. Happy early Christmas.” He walked in and whispered in Megan’s ear, “They made me come. Nearly threatened me if I didn’t come.” A handsome smile followed.

  Megan smiled. “It’s okay. Get in here. Uncle Mike and I are about to go down to the boathouse to have a drink. Come on.”

  Uncle Mike, in a rather theatrical tone, said, “Detective Nappa, what a surprise! It’s so good to see you. Come join us.”

  Surprised my lily-white Irish ass. But Megan just rolled her eyes.

  They strolled down to the boathouse while Uncle Mike was taking in the view. “Very nice, Meganator, even in winter.”

  “From what some of the neighbors have said, winter hasn’t really started yet, so … ”

  The three sat in the chairs at the end of the dock and there was the small talk about the children and grandkids. Then Uncle Mike commented, “For a winter respite, you sure did choose a hell of a place, what with that big murder investigation going on.” He took a sip of the whiskey. “So, tell me about it.”

  “I just read what you’ve read or seen on the news.” Megan used to be terrible lying to her father, and now she was terrible at lying to Uncle Mike and Nappa, but it seemed anyone else was fair game.

  “Liar.”

  “It’s bad, really—” Megan was about to finish the sentence when one of Uncle Mike’s grandsons yelled from the yard.

  “Can I come out on the dock?”

  In unison all three yelled back, “No.”

  “Talk to me. To us,” Uncle Mike said.

  “I wasn’t even here a week, and one morning I see police tape over there,” Megan said and pointed to Great Cove. “That large white mansion is—was—his. They pulled Judge Campbell out of the lake. He’d been stabbed. An ice fisherman found him.”

  Uncle Mike interrupted. “I played poker with some buddies a few nights ago and one of them who once worked in New Jersey said he was a bastard.”

  “Well, the detectives in this town aren’t the sharpest. They’ve been trying to pin it on his estranged deaf daughter, who can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

  Nappa chimed in, “How does someone that small kill Campbell and bring his body down that hill to the lake? Unless she wasn’t working alone.”

  Megan didn’t like Nappa’s last comment and went on, speaking directly to Uncle Mike. “I ran into an old friend from college here. He owns a restaurant on a nearby lake and Vivian—that’s the estranged daughter—she works for him, and he asked me if I could help. Just doing some investigation.”

  Nappa made an obvious roll of his eyes and added, “Uh-huh. That’s all it is.”

  Uncle Mike looked back and forth between the two partners. “I’ll skip this part.”

  “Thank you.” Megan gave Nappa a glance. “Anyhow, I had a slip down the driveway and when I got up, there were flashlights roaming around the pitch-black house. Same thing the next night, so I went over to check it out.”

  “Oh Lord help us. I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Uncle Mike said. “Please tell me you didn’t break into the house.”

  Silence is golden sometimes.

  “You’re just like your father, Meganator.”

  “Wait, wait. Hear me out. The house was immaculate, which was the first tip. Then I went into the basement. I could feel there was something off. So then I moved into the gun room, and I found a secret room—but it was more than a room. A large bed was in the middle with cameras and chairs facing the bed.”

  Nappa interrupted. “A sex room.”

  Uncle Mike shook his head. “I know all of us, and God rest your father’s soul, we’ve all
seen terrible things on the job, but that has to be the worst thing ever.”

  “There were these robes with a symbol on them. Like a family crest, but I’ve come to learn—”

  “I bet it was a symbol to let others know they were into this kinky crap,” Nappa said.

  “One more thing, a big thing. There were all these videos. I watched three and I can’t, and don’t even want, to describe what I saw. The worst part? They branded the boys like cattle, as a sign he’s been ‘had’ by the members of the sex cult. It was on their backs. Their screams were—” Megan shook her head. “It was horrific.”

  “What I read in the paper today about the mayor killing himself—did he have that symbol anywhere?”

  “Yes, outside of his house. I went over and checked this morning. Let me go back a little bit. Before I left Campbell’s, I took a few of the videos. Then I left the door open to the secret room, dialed 911, and left the line off the hook so it could be traced. I mailed the videos to the police the next day.”

  “That is the only part to this story you were smart with. You don’t have jurisdiction here. And Nappa told me about what happened in the boathouse.” Uncle Mike pointed his index finger her way. “Someone knows you’re snooping around. As your father would say, watch your back.”

  Nappa excused himself. “I’m going to see if they need help in the kitchen. Another drink, anyone?”

  Uncle Mike handed him his glass. “After that story, I need one, thanks.” He stared out at the cold, mostly frozen over lake. Now that they were alone, it was time to switch gears. “How are you otherwise?”

  Megan answered honestly, “Some nightmares. Starting to sleep a little bit better, but I miss Dad and Mom.” She took a small swig from her glass.

  “What happened to your mom, it wasn’t your fault.”

  She turned her head suddenly. “Yes, it was. I just didn’t see it coming.”

  “You were searching for a killer. You were doing your job.”

  “Not well, obviously.” She offered a wry, self-mocking smile.

  Uncle Mike tapped her knee. “You made the right decision to take some time off to clear your head. Though I’m not sure if what you’ve gotten yourself into is clearing your head, but maybe that’s what you need right now.”

  “To clear my conscience?”

  “No, to remind yourself you are a damn good detective. None of the local stooges passing for police around here found that room, did they?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Well, there you go. Now, let’s get up to the house. I’m freezing my butt off and I’m hungry!”

  It was like old times for Megan, sharing a large dinner with the Murphys, with the exception of the most obvious: her parents not being there. Lots of food, five conversations going on at once, embarrassing childhood stories being told. Megan felt good on the outside and yet there was an impenetrable level of guilt on the inside. She wasn’t sure if it was just because she didn’t feel closure yet (and she wondered if she ever would) or due to the very distinct memory of viewing the video of the boys being violated. Either way, she wouldn’t insult the Murphys by acting down or different than she was in the past. They all put so much effort into coming out to see her, check in on her. Megan may have laughed a little too loud at some conversations, hoping to cover up the difficult time she’d been through, but they were family and family knows. Aunt Maureen caught Megan staring off once or twice and fixed that by piling more food on her plate—a nice medicinal option for the soul, although not necessarily for the body. It was a bandage for her spirit, if only for a few hours.

  Aunt Maureen began to clean up the table, to which Megan immediately protested. “No, I won’t have it. You brought everything. Nappa and I will clean up. I’ll start by putting a pot of coffee on.”

  “Absolutely,” added Nappa.

  Megan and Nappa began loading the dishwasher and hand-washing the wineglasses. Standing side by side always felt comfortable for both of them.

  “So you knew about this visit all along?” Megan asked.

  “What do you think?” He laughed. “You seemed like yourself again. It was good to see.” He didn’t look at her when he said it.

  “In some ways. I’m not sure how long it will last, but the past few hours were good, really nice.”

  “It’s going to take time. I noticed the letter I brought from Mrs. McAllister on the mantel. It hasn’t been opened yet.” Nappa had whispered his observation.

  Megan paused before answering. “Not yet. It’s too soon.”

  He nodded. “I understand. Back in Narcotics I had a father of a dead son send me a note. The kid wasn’t doing or dealing drugs. He got caught in the crossfire, needlessly gunned down.”

  “Why the reason for the note?”

  Nappa placed the last wineglass on the drying tray. “I held him. He passed away in my arms. His father thanked me for not letting him die alone.”

  Silence dominated the conversation until Megan said, “A terrible part of the job.”

  Uncle Mike shouted over, “Meganator, how’s that coffee doing?” He could probably tell Megan and Nappa were getting serious in conversation and wanted to keep the light mood rolling, especially after their conversation down on the dock earlier.

  “On the way.”

  The Murphys and Nappa didn’t stay much longer after coffee. It was a good hour back to Brooklyn, not taking into account there could be NFL football traffic en route. It was back to the twenty hugs for a goodbye. Uncle Mike donned his Irish cap again.

  “That looks good on you. I knew I picked out a good present.”

  “I know.” Uncle Mike turned to walk out, then stopped. “Meganator?”

  “Yeah?”

  He threw a shiny coin at her. Of course she caught it. Turned it over in her palm to inspect what it said.

  “It’s a blessed Irish coin. Carry it with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled, although to Megan it looked like more of a concerned look, the kind her father would give her from time to time. “You’re welcome.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Megan was nearly done with the cleanup from the Murphys’ visit when there was a knock at the door. It was Callie. When he walked in, he commented, “It smells great in here.”

  “Family from the city surprised me with an early Christmas dinner. There are a ton of leftovers. I’ll make you a plate.”

  He waved it off. “No, no don’t go to the trouble, Trouble. I’m around food all day.”

  Megan stopped clearing and gave him a look as if to say, Are you fucking kidding me?

  “Well, I don’t want to be rude.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll eat at the counter and watch you play domestic goddess and keep you company.” Callie looked tired, run-down.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Megan asked after several minutes.

  He was finishing a mouth full of food. “Tired. Between everything with Vivian and the restaurant and your big mouth,” he grinned, “I guess I could use a good night’s sleep.” He paused, frustrated. He moved his fork in the air as he spoke. “Plus, I still can’t understand why you think the mayor didn’t kill himself. It seems so obvious to me.” He sipped his wine waiting for an answer.

  “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. It’s just a feeling. They’ll run tests and I’m sure you’re probably right.”

  “You get a lot of gut feelings. What does your gut say about me staying over tonight?”

  “Right now, I’m stuffed.” Megan threw a few pieces of turkey Clyde’s way. He managed to catch both in mid-air.

  “You’re avoiding answering.”

  Megan was avoiding. Sometimes sex complicated things, and with Nappa being here recently, she felt as though she were cheating somehow.

  “Hold on. I know what’s going on
here. One of your guests tonight was your detective partner from the city! Mr. I Just Walked Off the Cover of GQ magazine.” He pointed his fork at her. “Am I right? Yeah. I’m right.”

  Megan refused to answer. “Are you done? Next topic.” She started to wipe down the counters. “How is Vivian doing?”

  “So so. She’s lost a few massage clients over this fiasco so I’m trying to find more hours at the restaurant for her, but then reporters come in and bother the clientele.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Callie shrugged his shoulders. “It will pick up again once this blows over.” He stopped and became more serious. “Do you think Vivian is off the police’s radar or are they still gunning for her? Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted going into Campbell’s house. I don’t know if it was the best idea.”

  “You said Thompson was good, one of the best. He enjoyed the camera, that was obvious. I don’t think he would have made a decision that ultimately would reflect badly on him.” But Megan had a worried look.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m just concerned about Detective Krause. Her head is in a different place. This is all about her career.”

  Callie stared at Megan, hesitant to ask, yet he still crossed the line. “And you? Were you ever like that?”

  Megan didn’t like the question, and it was obvious by her glare and cold silence.

  “No, it’s just a question. Don’t take it the wrong way.” He knew he’d just made a big mistake. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Megan threw the rag down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

  Callie knew as soon as the question came out of his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, to insinuate she was anything less than professional. “Damn it.” He followed Megan into the bedroom finding her lying on the bed facedown, staring at her parents’ picture on her nightstand.

  “I never thought about my career like that.” Megan didn’t say it in a pouty way. It was more reflective. “In the beginning, because I’m Pat McGinn’s daughter, it was more important to be a clean cop. Do the right thing, prove myself.”