by Mayer, Dale
“And yet the dying words of a dead woman speak far louder,” the coroner murmured, staring at the crime scene photo.
“Or is it just what we’re expected to think?”
The coroner’s eyes sharpened with interest. “What is it you think happened?”
“That’s why I’m here. Given her injuries, was she even capable of writing that name in blood? Or is it possible the killer did it to throw the guilt onto her long, well-established fixation?”
He leaned back, his fingers drumming on the top of the desk, and smiled. “That’s an interesting theory.”
He turned to a stack of files on his desk, picked up a couple, checked the names, returned them to the stack, and pulled out another one below. “You’re correct in the sense her injuries were extensive. The initial blow was on the top of her head—which was a direct downward blow, as if she were sitting on a chair or couch at the time. The weapon could potentially be a hammer or something of equal size and force. It broke the skull and pretty well rendered her unconscious from that moment on.”
“The throat slitting was after that?”
He nodded.
“So then the victim couldn’t have written the name in blood.” She sat back, wondering at the relief that flowed through her. “That’s good to know.”
He picked up the photo and looked at it. “The hammer did crack the skull and penetrated into the brain matter, so it’s unlikely.”
“Is it possible she was still conscious afterward or she woke up later?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen cases where it was certainly possible.” He stressed the last word. “It’s not probable though.” He tapped the photo. “Her hand is lying right in the blood, as if she wrote those words.”
“Of course. But then that’s just one simple movement, isn’t it? The killer only had to write the name, place her arm in the appropriate position, turn around, and walk away.”
He frowned. “I see what you mean. And it certainly would have been easy enough to do. It’s too bad we can’t get fingerprints off those bloody marks.”
“I wondered about that, and I had to call forensics on it. Although the letters were clear enough to read—maybe too clear for a dying woman to form. She’d been dead, I would say, at least two hours before the Coronado PD got there. Possibly longer.” She looked over at him inquiringly. “Do you have a time of death for me?”
“It would have been in the wee hours of the morning. My estimate is between two and four a.m.” He was looking through the papers in the file. “We’re still waiting on the tox screens to come back. The cause of death was blood loss from the slashed throat. However, what would have rendered her incapable of fighting back, leaving her an easy victim at that point, was the blow to the top of the skull.”
“So, you’re saying it’s quite possible she didn’t write that name.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “In fact, given that blow, I would say it’s most likely that the killer wrote that name. And that changes your investigation entirely, doesn’t it?”
Feeling happier, and yet she had no justification for it, she stood with a small grin.
“You’re happy about that?” he asked shrewdly.
“I had no reason to pin anything on him. Just because a man was alone at the time that somebody he used to know was killed shouldn’t be motive enough for charging him. I need forensic proof, and none was found at the scene.”
“Just the name in blood, huh?”
“Yes. But I can think of a lot of reasons why somebody might do that. And first and foremost is to throw suspicion onto someone else. In this case this person was an easy victim because of his history with Marsha.”
“Glad I could help. I’ll let you know when I get the tox screens back.”
“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.” She walked out, her mind buzzing.
She needed to shift this investigation in a new direction. The trouble was, she had no other direction to go. She needed to talk to Macklin.
She pulled out her phone, called him, and said, “I need to ask you more questions. You want to come down to my office, or you want to meet somewhere?”
“Meet somewhere. I’m just finishing up at the gym and was about to head home. How about coffee?”
She gave a half dance step of joy, grateful she was alone, and looked around to make sure she really was.
“Sure,” she said in a deliberately neutral voice. “Let’s go to the coffee shop beside the gym. I’m only about five minutes away.”
“I’ll go in and grab us a table then.”
He hung up, and she stared down at the phone. She was way too happy to be meeting somebody she needed to question. Still, this was good. If he was in an amiable mood, he might be more open to giving her information that would lead her in the right direction. Because only one person would know who hated him enough to pin a murder rap on him, and that was Macklin himself.
At the coffee shop, she stood in the open doorway. It was the same coffee shop where she had asked him to leave with her. The noise in the room muted. She hated that about her job. It was never considered a good thing to have the police walk in. As she walked over to Macklin, she could feel dozens of pairs of eyes watching her. As she sat down, she gave a wide grin. “That will get them all gossiping.”
He gave her a startled look and then chuckled.
She liked that about him. He had a sense of humor even amid this very difficult time. But then, if he was innocent, there was no reason for him not to be happy. Only the guilty had something to hide.
Just then the waitress walked over. Macklin ordered coffee for two. And nothing else. When the waitress asked Alex if she wanted something to eat, Alex shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Once the waitress left, Macklin turned to look at her. “What kind of questions do you need answered?”
“If you didn’t kill Marsha …”
“I didn’t.”
She nodded. “If you didn’t,” she repeated, “then somebody is throwing the investigation in your direction. So the question really is, who do you know who would do this?”
He sat back, his huge arms and shoulders making the chair childlike in comparison. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else. I just haven’t come up with anybody who would hate me so much.”
“A man like you must have enemies.”
Macklin pinned her with a stare, all humor gone. “A man like me?”
She realized how much she had insulted him. “I don’t mean that in any negative way. But you do a lot of dangerous work, difficult missions. And you’re obviously a ladies’ man. It’s possible you’ve pissed off a husband, an ex-boyfriend, some of Marsha’s friends?”
“No, I’m not a ladies’ man. I was a ladies’ man, but Marsha was a huge wakeup call. I don’t go in that direction anymore, thank you.” His tone, although quiet and level, was a rebuke. “I already told you all this.”
And she didn’t want to feel ashamed of asking the questions she needed to, but she had made a judgment call, and that was unfair. She nodded. “Any other people who might have done this to you?”
“I have no idea. There’s no reason to have singled me out versus anybody else in my unit. I’m not a paid killer who picks off well-known people, like a mercenary or a money-for-hire assassin. I work as part of a unit of the military on highly classified missions. There was no reason to single me out.”
“What about here on your home turf? Did you get a promotion that somebody else thought they should get? Do you know someone who didn’t make it through BUD/S training and is holding a grudge against you?”
As he heard mention of the BUD/S training, his eyebrows raised. He leaned forward and said, “I hadn’t considered that.” He turned to look out the window. “A lot of people didn’t make it. Only three of us did.” His fingers drummed the tabletop. “But I can’t say I knew any of the others. I met them through the training program, and we weren’t friends before I went in.”
“I ha
ve to ask, were there any sexual indiscretions, any affairs with married women? Anything like that, that somebody maybe held a grudge for?”
He stared at her in bewilderment. “That’s not who I am. Your comment about the BUD/S training would be closer, in that most of the men are incredibly competitive. And maybe not always thinking some of the tests were fair. It certainly wasn’t an easy or a comfortable training, but those of us who survived and passed know we accomplished something tremendous. But of course those who didn’t pass had failed something they had really hoped to achieve. But again there was no need to target me. If they were to target those who passed, then they would have to target the three of us.”
“Who were the other two men?” She pulled a notebook from her jacket pocket, opened it to a clean page, and looked up at him.
“Jim Burgess and Bill Toronto.”
She wrote down the names. “I’ll check into them and see where they are now.” She turned to look up at him. “Do you know if the men are stationed in Coronado right now?”
He frowned. “I thought Bill Toronto was, but I haven’t seen him around in a couple years. As for Jim, I think he went back east.”
“I’ll find out.”
The coffee arrived just then. She smiled and added a little bit of cream, thanked the waitress as she left and said to Macklin, “That’s good. That’s a start. What about other areas of your life? How about your current missions? Any problems with any of the other team members?”
He gave her a hard stare and said in a flat tone, “No, no, and no. It won’t be one of my teammates. It won’t be one of the other unit members either. We’re a close-knit family here. And much of what you’re asking, I can’t speak about.”
“Understood. So let’s hope what you can give me is enough,” she said, her voice cool. “If it’s not, I will go through the proper authorities. I know you don’t want to think about it, but I can’t knock these people off the list until we discuss it. So, I agree, it’s not likely to be any of your teammates, but getting your back up when I ask questions won’t help you or me. What I need is their names on a list and then to put a line through them.” As she watched, he backed down as if understanding her thought processes.
“You’re still barking up the wrong tree.”
“That’s fine. I’m happy to climb back down again, but I won’t leave any stone unturned until I get to the bottom of this.” She turned to a clean page. “Let’s go through the men you’ve worked with.”
“Have you got the rest of the morning?” he joked.
She gave him the stare that she used to intimidate all kinds of men. “Absolutely.”
It didn’t take quite all morning, but it was ninety minutes later before they got through every name he could remember.
She made detailed notes. He looked tired, annoyed, frustrated when she was done. Her tone was calm when she said, “Now, what about service people?”
He looked at her. “What are you talking about?”
“The pizza delivery man? The nurse at the dental clinic? The receptionist at the garage you take your vehicles to? All those kinds of people.”
He just stared at her.
“Yes, I’m serious. Like I said, every person in your life.”
He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I have no idea.”
“Then that’s your homework. I want you to go home and think about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing, and who might have served you, who might have seen you with Marsha, who might have known she was a difficulty in your life.”
“Then go look at the court records. I’ve had two restraining orders. That involved an awful lot of clerks, lawyers, judges. Plus it’s public record. Any nosy body could find it online if they were so inclined. There are so many people who could know about that.” He leaned forward on his arms. “Are you going through her life as intently as you’re going through mine?”
“Yes, I am, but I don’t have her to ask any more questions of.”
He glanced at her. “Look. I’ll think about it. Can I email you the list?”
She wrote down her email address, ripped it off the bottom of her notepad, and handed it to him. “You do that.” She stood, pulling money from her pocket to pay for the coffee.
He held up a hand. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said, his tone implacable.
She glanced at him for a moment and studied the look on his face. “Thanks. Maybe next time it won’t be such a chore.”
Before he could get an answer out, she turned and walked out. He was right in one sense—she had to focus on Marsha, but she knew Macklin could be called away on a mission at any time. And that meant catching him while she could. Unfortunately for Marsha, she wasn’t going anywhere.
*
Macklin sat at the table. He couldn’t believe how drained he was. Her questions had been in-depth, intelligent, and she had been extremely meticulous in working his way through every man in his unit, not only the current unit, but every one previous. She’d done her homework before meeting with him. He appreciated that, but, at the same time, having his life turned upside down like this was not fun. And once again, Marsha had to be laughing her fool head off, wherever she was.
He didn’t know what made a person like her become what she’d been, but he wished there was an early warning system. It had completely ruined his view on relationships. Yet, he was petrified of having the next five years of his life ruined by somebody else. Even though Marsha was dead, she was still causing him trouble. He stared out the window, watching as Alex got in a vehicle and drove away.
She was very intense, very focused. He’d seen that look in several other women. Mason’s partner, Tesla, for one, and Bristol, Devlin’s partner. They had that same inclination to shut out the rest of the world, focusing on whatever they were working on. Tesla was an IT specialist; Bristol, an inventor of all things cool and astonishing. He’d been lucky enough to meet her a couple times. And he realized that was who Alex reminded him of. She was tall, unlike Bristol, but Alex had that same drive, that same focus in her eyes, that same sense that she would be relentless in getting to the bottom of this. He appreciated that because he still didn’t want to see Marsha’s killer go unpunished.
And he really needed Alex to turn that intense attention of hers away from him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire any more than he had to.
The waitress walked back over with the coffeepot and refilled his cup. “You okay?” she asked in concern.
Macklin drummed up a smile. “Yeah. Just not one of my better mornings.”
The waitress chuckled. “Welcome to my world.” She turned and walked back to the front reception area.
He thought about that, realizing how many people had crappy lives, crappy jobs, crappy days, and how many of those he might have intersected with off and on over the last couple of years in particular.
He thought of the few places he’d been with Marsha, both good and bad. And then realized Alex was right. There could be any number of people who maybe not so much hated him but saw him as an easy scapegoat. He searched through his pockets for a piece of paper. Not finding any, he snatched a clean napkin and jotted down the places where he and Marsha had gone.
There were a couple restaurants and a coffee shop where she’d thrown fits. If anybody had seen Marsha blow up, it would be easy to believe he’d been such an asshole that he had turned around and killed her. The problem with any of this was the fact that all those incidences were years ago. So somebody had to have been hanging on to that occasion in their mind and had to have known who he was.
His phone rang just as he finished adding in one more notation to his list. He pulled out his cell and smiled when he saw Corey’s name. “What’s up?”
“I was just thinking we should do some investigating on our own,” he said. “This is too big a deal to leave to the police to figure out.”
“I hear you. I just spent all morning being grilled about my ass
ociations by Alex,” Macklin said. “Honestly I wouldn’t have a clue even where to look.”
“I do. The first house that was broken in to. You know who lived in it last?”
“You mean before the woman who lives there now?”
“Yeah. It was Bill, the guy you graduated BUD/S with. He lived there for two years. He moved out about five weeks ago.”
Macklin stared at his phone and shot back, “No shit?”
“You interested now?” Corey laughed. “I will meet you back at your place, one hour.” And he hung up.
Macklin could do nothing but stare at the list on his napkin and think about the massive list Alex had taken away with her. Maybe she was on to something after all.
Chapter 5
When Alex made it home that night, she had to admit her nerves were frazzled around the edges. She’d been in meetings all afternoon. Her boss had pushed to know what progress she’d made. It was a little hard to choke out zero progress in front of a group of Coronado HP officers and Barry. But, when she had explained what they had so far, nobody had any answers as to how to move forward. Looking at the houses, looking at the people, looking at the relationships in each person’s history took time.
She spent another hour plus on the phone talking to each of the tenants, asking questions about relationships and how long they’d live there, where they’d lived before, and if they knew Macklin. Everybody had said they didn’t know who Macklin was, and, as she filled up a whiteboard full of charts, she realized just how little was in common among any of them. It made no sense. She stared at the board for a long time, until Lance walked over and said, “Time to call it quits, boss. Go home, and think about it.”
She shot him a shuttered look. “The trouble is, while we’re sitting here figuring it out, he’s already scoping out the next house.”
Lance entered her office. “That’s likely very true. But we don’t have any way we can catch him right now.”