by Lauren Carr
“I do and I have,” David said. “It’s all a great theory, but we have no proof.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Sari says Russell Skeltner is a regular customer. Leah had said he’d been coming in every day for well over six months—same time, right when she opens—to order an espresso.”
“He used his regular routine,” Mac replied. “Killers do that all the time. They watch a victim, learn their routine and then take advantage of it. Only in this case, it’s the killer who has the routine and made use of it to establish his alibi. If he had strayed from it in any way, then that would make us suspicious.”
“But you are suspicious,” David noted, “with no proof whatsoever that Skeltner and Nora Crump even know each other.”
“The neighbor saw the bike,” Mac said. “The tread from the bike at the Santa Fee Grill matched the tread marks they found at the Skeltner house.”
Mac’s cell phone signaled on his hip with Clint Eastwood’s dare. “Go ahead. Make my day.”
David grinned. “Figures.”
Checking the caller ID, Mac told David that it was forensics while answering the phone.
David got up off the sofa and went over to gaze out the window at the lake. It was a windy day. Waves were rocking the boats and jet skis.
Watching him while he listened to the report from the forensics office, Mac saw a look of sadness cross David’s face and wondered how he was going to take the news of his and Archie’s engagement.
Forcing an upbeat note into his tone, Mac said, “That was forensics.” He slipped his cell phone back into its case clipped onto his belt.
“So you said.” David turned from the window. “What have they got?”
“DNA from the seat on the bike, which matches the DNA from the contact lens and hair,” Mac said. “The DNA on the bike seat is sweat and even some vaginal discharge. Enough for them to collect and run a profile. Whoever rode that bike was a woman.” He added, “All from the same woman.”
“But was there a match from the data base?”
“No, but if we could get Nora Crump’s DNA they could run a comparison.”
“Problem is,” David said, “we don’t have enough to get a warrant for her DNA. Did you hear Ben out there on the course? Have you been listening to me? Without enough evidence to prove any connection between Nora Crump and Mary Catherine Skeltner, we’ve got squat. Since she was at the café close to the time of the murder, it is going to be hard to prove that she was anywhere near that B and B.”
Mac shook his phone at him. “Unless Archie can break into her medical files to see if the prescription from the lens matches Nora’s prescription.”
“Motive? Since we can’t even prove they’ve met—”
“Medical bills had run the Skeltner’s finances into the ground,” Mac said. “Now that she’s dead, Mary Catherine Skeltner’s life insurance will be able to pay off those bills, plus they have mortgage insurance that paid off the house when she got sick. Skeltner’s wife’s death got him out of debt and free and clear to keep the B and B—a prime piece of real estate.”
“So he has a motive,” David said. “Everything you have is circumstantial.”
A whoop from downstairs drew their attention. A second later, David’s intercom buzzed and Bogie announced, “We found something.”
His arms folded across his broad chest, Bogie stood tall behind his chair in his office. Sitting at his desk, Archie was before both his computer monitor and her laptop.
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Archie said when David and Mac came in.
“Did you find their connection?” David asked.
“Athletes,” Bogie said.
“Told you,” Mac said to David.
“Specifically, triathlon athletes,” Archie clarified.
“Traditional background checks turned up nothing,” Bogie said. “Residential addresses. Places where they may have worked together. Clubs, social media sites. Nothing.”
“Nora Crump is a physical education teacher in a public middle school,” she said. “Russell Skeltner is an online counselor for an investment company. Skeltner originally came from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Nora has always lived in the Hershey, Pennsylvania, area.” She sat forward and leaned her elbows on the desk. “Now their spouses were another story.”
“There was a connection between them?” Mac asked.
“Not exactly the way you might think,” she said. “Mary Catherine Skeltner came down with cancer a few years ago. She almost died and has since been strung out on drugs.”
“According to her doctor, she got hooked on them,” Bogie said. “She would have been fine if she had weaned herself off of them once she became cancer free, but she didn’t.”
“She became a burden to her husband, who ended up taking over everything,” Archie said. “Now we come to Gordon Crump and his wife, Nora. Crump’s father was a millionaire with a chain of bath and fixture stores in and around the Lancaster, Pennsylvania, area. He was very successful. Some would say he was a big fish in a small pond. Nora actually married an heir. But, when his father died, Gordon ran the family business into the ground. He had a history of bad investments. He lacked the charisma of his father—”
“Not to mention the hygiene,” Mac recalled his bad breath and body odor during their brief meeting.
“So we have two people whose spouses become burdens on them,” David said. “But both of them are from different locations and worlds.”
“Strangers on a Train,” Archie said with a smile. “Right out of Alfred Hitchcock.”
“Triathlon,” Mac said. “They were both triathlon athletes. They went to the same event—”
“Those events draw amateur athletes from all over the world,” David said. “They all share one thing in common, which creates a feeling of camaraderie.”
“Have you ever done a triathlon?” Mac asked.
David nodded. “I did two or three a year back when I was on active duty with the marines. There are amateur athletes who actually follow the circuit going from one event to another. After the event, the local restaurants would be crowded with participants—eating, drinking—hooking up if you’re lucky.” He let out a breath. “Yeah, I can see where they would hook up at one of these things.”
“Then Nora and Russell meet at a triathlon and discover that they share something more than firm, taut, muscles,” Mac said, “Spouses who were dragging them down. They fall in love and decide to kill each other’s spouse so that they can be together.”
“Which happened last September first.” Archie brought up the Internet site for the athletic event on Bogie’s computer. “Twelfth annual City of Lenoir triathlon in North Carolina. When I found on both of their Facebook pages that they listed hobbies as triathlons, I started hunting for a common event that they were both registered for and attended.”
“Are they friends on Facebook?” David asked.
“No,” Bogie said with a growl. “These two are good.”
Archie continued, “We have both Russell Skeltner and Nora Crump booked at the same hotel, in separate rooms, where the triathlon was registered.”
“Russell Skeltner booked a private flight out of Morgantown’s airport to fly him down,” Bogie said. “We found no plane reservations for Nora.”
“It would have been an eight hour drive,” Archie said. “She could have decided to drive instead.”
“Russell had booked the plane for a return trip,” Bogie said, “but at the last minute he cancelled. When I asked the pilot about it, he said Skeltner told him he got a ride back with a friend.”
“That’s where they met,” Mac said.
“Have you found any evidence of them connecting afterwards?” David asked. “Phone calls? Emails?”
Archie shook her head. “They have to be communicating with throw-a
way phones.”
“Triathlon athletes,” Mac said. “It would have been a cinch for Nora to ride that bike three miles to the Skeltner’s B and B, kill Mary Catherine Skeltner—an ill, weak woman—and then race back to be there when Russell Skeltner planted the cream at their table. Then, that night, Russell Skeltner rode the same bike to the restaurant and then slipped away and ran back to the B and B along the dark jogging trail. No car to trace.”
“Nora Crump has had two of my men on her ever since Gordon was killed,” David said. “She and Skeltner have not gone near each other. The only way we can prove they planned this is to get a confession from one of them—”
“Or to get Nora’s DNA to connect her to the bike, lens, and hair,” Mac said. “Charge her for Mary Catherine’s murder and she’ll be sure to flip on Skeltner for a deal. We’ll have them both.”
“Still,” David said, “I hate to be the wet blanket, but we need something to connect her to Mary Catherine Skeltner to warrant a subpoena for her DNA.”
Slowly, a grin crossed Mac’s face. “Give me your cell phone.” He held out his hand to David.
“My phone?”
“Your phone.”
“Why don’t you use yours?” David took his phone off his belt.
“Because your phone has Special Agent Delaney’s number programmed into it.” Mac hit the button on the phone and pressed it to his ear.
“What are you thinking?” Archie asked him.
Mac held up a finger to silence her. “Agent Delaney… Mac Faraday here… I was wondering… could we borrow a couple of your undercover agents to help close up your poisoning case?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Crump,” David explained to Gordon Crump’s widow, “but once you leave Deep Creep Lake, we can’t guarantee your safety.”
“I can’t stay here indefinitely.” She looked around the police station at the various officers working in the squad room. The two officers who had been with her since the shooting at the Southwestern grill were busying themselves at their desks while she signed the paperwork that David had called her into the station to complete. “I want to take my husband’s body home, bury him, and put this awful week behind me.”
“I understand, Mrs. Crump,” David said.
“Please don’t call me that,” she said with a note of disgust.
“Nora.”
She frowned. “I’ve always hated that name.”
“Maybe you should have kept your maiden name when you married your husband,” David suggested.
“My father-in-law and Gordon wouldn’t hear of it,” she said with a sharp tone. “When will he get shipped back home?”
“The ME’s office will be contacting you about those details.” David shook his head. “Are you sure you don’t want me to contact the Pennsylvania State Police to arrange for protection until we close the case on your husband’s murder? For all we know, you’re a target, too. After all, you were at the café.”
Her mouth hanging open slightly, she gazed at him. “If I was a target, wouldn’t that gunman have shot me at the Grill?”
“He must not have seen you,” David said, “since you weren’t next to your husband when the gunman shot him. The parking lot was dark—”
“No,” she said. “I was close enough to my husband that if the gunman wanted to kill me too, he would have. The business arrangement that my husband had with Tommy Cruze was between the two of them.” She sighed. “I only wish I could have known more about it to help the FBI in their investigation.”
“But you were confused.” It was David’s turn to shake his head. “Remember, you told me that he was driving away in a dark SUV, but he wasn’t. Witnesses in the parking lot saw the gunman run in the opposite direction and through the back door into the restaurant to dump the gun and sweatshirt in the men’s room. He very well may not have seen you. He could be looking for you now.”
She backed up a step. “Bull! I was there. They know that I’m an innocent victim in this whole thing and know nothing. The mob isn’t going to come after me.”
“Mrs. Crump…” David reached out to her.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Nora, it’s my duty to protect you.” He grasped her elbow.
“Get away from me.” She jerked out of his grasp.
“If the mob is looking for retaliation for Tommy Cruze’s murder, they may not stop with your husband. They are very big on sending messages. They may want to kill you too for whatever deal it was that went sour.” He picked up the phone. “I have friends. Marshal Finnegan is with the federal witness protection program. We can get you into the program. They’ll relocate you, give you a new identity. Find you a job. Of course, you’ll never be able to see any of your friends and family from your past ever again, but at least you’ll be safe—”
“Go to hell!” She hurried out of the police station.
One of the officers assigned to protect her looked over at David. “Shouldn’t we go with her?”
With a grin on his face, David shook his head while waiting for the answer on the other end of his cell phone. “She’s on her way.”
Nora Crump took the long way around the lake to drive past the Skeltner Cove Bed & Breakfast. She slowed when she saw a red convertible in the driveway and a buxom blonde brushing her hand across Russell Skeltner’s cheek where the two were standing close to each other on the porch.
Nora was so stunned that she crossed the center line and almost hit a pick-up truck going the other way. “Damn it!” she cursed while wrestling for control of the steering wheel. Once she was back in her lane, she pressed her foot to the gas pedal. She couldn’t get out of Deep Creek Lake fast enough.
Back at her hotel, she galloped up the stairs to her room and through the door to find herself face to face with the barrels of two guns.
“Mrs. Crump,” the largest of the three men who had made themselves at home in her room said. “Nice to finally meet you.” He didn’t move from where his enormous body filled the chair in the corner of the room. The bulk, she could see, was not fat, but muscle. He reminded her of a grizzly bear.
“Who are you?” she gasped out while clutching her purse to her chest against which her heart was beating.
“Oscar Feldman,” he said. “I’m running things here in this area now, since you and your husband eliminated Tommy Cruze from our corporate ladder.”
“I didn’t kill Tommy Cruze.”
“That’s not what my people tell me.”
“Your people are wrong,” she said in a desperate tone.
“Are you telling me that I have dummies working for me?” Oscar dared her to give the wrong answer.
The two gunmen moved in closer.
Clutching her chest, she stepped backwards to find her back against the wall. “This is all a big misunderstanding. That poisoned cream was already on the table when Gordon and I went into the café and were seated there. One of Mr. Cruze’s people took the cream from our table. That was how Mr. Cruze was poisoned. It wasn’t our fault. It was the bodyguard who took our cream.” She brightened up.
The big man furrowed his brow and slowly shook his head. “But our informant in the police department told us that you told them that it was your husband who planted the poison to take out our boss.”
“With all due respect,” she said “it was the bodyguard’s fault that Mr. Cruze was killed. If he hadn’t taken that cream, then my husband would have put it in his coffee and he’d be dead…which he is anyway.”
“Oh,” the large man said. “I don’t understand. Why would your husband plant the poison cream and then drink it?”
“My husband didn’t plant it.”
“But you told the police that he did.”
“I was lying!”
“Oh, you were
lying?” He chuckled at his men, who chuckled as well. “I get it now. You were trying to kill your husband, but Tommy Cruze got whacked by mistake.”
“Exactly,” she laughed nervously. “It was all a big mistake.”
“And I guess our killing your husband, who was actually your intended victim, was a mistake.”
“You killed my husband?” Nora gasped.
“Hey,” he said, “We did you a favor since you were planning to kill him in the first place.” His smile fell. “Too bad we don’t believe in mistakes in our business.”
“Huh?” she asked with a heavy breath.
“You killed one of our own,” he said. “Now, granted, it worked out great for me. I mean, I got a promotion because of it. But, for me to not act on your murder of Tommy Cruze would be like saying that it’s okay to go around killing our people. I have to make you pay for it. You were lucky that my man missed you the other night.” He rubbed his finger across his thick lips while looking her up and down. “Lucky for me, too. Now that I see you, I can see that killing you would have been a big waste of such feminine beauty. Better that you should work off your debt.”
“You didn’t kill my husband,” she cried out.
“Oh, yes, we did,” Oscar said. “Bert here pulled the trigger himself. Didn’t you, Bert?”
One of the gunmen nodded his head. “Two nights ago at the Santa Fe Grill and Cantina. I waited forty minutes for you and your husband to come out of the restaurant before taking him out.”
“Enough talk.” Oscar stood up. “You’re a little bit older than we like our girls, but I have some business associates who like their women firm and athletic—”
When one of the gunmen moved in, Nora whacked him in the face with her purse and ran screaming from the room. While digging through her handbag for her cell phone, she fell down the stairs. The contents spilled out. Spying Oscar Feldman and his two men at the top of the stairs, she grabbed only her keys and cell phone and ran through the lobby and out into the parking lot.