“I’m inclined to agree with you, but she has some connections that are a little iffy. Just be on the alert, okay?”
“Gotcha.” She got up and headed for the door, but I called her back.
“And Debra? Thanks for picking up all the extra hours. I really appreciate it. Just be careful you don’t run yourself into the ground.”
“I’m fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of a hand. “You stay safe, too, Mack, okay?”
“I will. And can you send Missy in here next, please?”
Missy’s reaction was similar to Debra’s. I got the impression that this was just one more nuisance to her, and as a single mother of two toddlers, she had plenty of those. After I garnered a promise from her to be extra careful and not go anywhere alone, particularly when leaving the bar late at night, she went back to work.
After giving myself a few moments to prepare, I picked up the phone and continued on my mission.
Chapter 18
Over the next hour or so, I called Pete, Jon, and Curtis at home and filled each of them in on the letter writer. I wanted them to hear it from me rather than secondhand. They all took it in stride and promised to be extra cautious until the matter was resolved. Pete was the only one of them on the suspect list due to a lack of an alibi, but I’d known him for years and had no doubts about him. Given that, I didn’t bait any of the men with information, and I let them know that I trusted each of them.
With that done, I went into the kitchen and told Rich. He not only didn’t seem bothered by the news, he acted rather excited about it. “A real-life crime going on right here in the bar,” he said. “Who knew?”
I informed him, as I had the others, that I knew he wasn’t behind it, but I didn’t offer up how it was I knew this. The less he knew about Cora’s poking around, the better.
The only employee left was Linda, and since she wasn’t working, I tried to call her. She didn’t answer, and I left her a message to call me when she had a moment.
I spent a few minutes debating whether or not I should try to call Duncan again, and after some mental debate, I decided to wait and headed back upstairs to the Capone Club room. I didn’t get far. Halfway across the new room addition on my way to the stairs, Greg Nash met me and asked if he could speak to me in private.
Like Sonja, Greg was a newcomer to the Capone Club. He was a local Realtor who had known Ginny Rifkin, another, highly successful local Realtor, who was also the woman my father was dating when he was killed, and the woman who later became a victim herself. Ginny’s death and the subsequent resolution to her murder had made the news, along with the formation of the Capone Club. Greg, when he first showed up, had expressed an interest in participating in the crime-solving activities the group partook of as a way of honoring Ginny’s memory. So far, he had been a quiet observer, not offering much in the way of expertise, thoughts, or ideas.
I led him to the far corner of the room, near the door to the basement. There was no one close by who could overhear.
“What can I do for you, Greg?”
“These letters you’ve been getting,” he said. He began chewing nervously at his lower lip. “Something happened to me today that makes me wonder if I was intended to be the next victim of whoever is writing them.”
He had my rapt attention now. “Tell me.”
He glanced around nervously, still chewing on that lower lip. “I got a call this morning around eleven o’clock at the office. It was a woman on the phone. And she said she was interested in a property I have listed out by the lake. It’s a very expensive property, and when I have listings like that I try to vet people over the phone before I commit to showing it to them, to make sure they’re serious buyers and not just some lookie-loo. This woman told me she didn’t want to give out her name because the purchase needed to be kept private and anonymous for personal reasons she didn’t want to share.” He paused, looking embarrassed. After another glance around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, he continued. “I should have stuck to my guns and followed my own rules,” he said. “But these high-end properties are so hard to sell, and the type of people who can afford them are often quirky and have special needs or demands. So against my better judgment, I agreed to meet her out there at two o’clock.”
“Did you recognize the voice at all?”
Greg shook his head. “No, but the woman did sound . . . I don’t know . . . cultured, I guess, for lack of a better term. I admit I had dollar signs in my eyes, and they might’ve been obscuring my better judgment. Though I have to say, if I had known this afternoon what I know now about this letter writer thing, I don’t think I would’ve gone out there.”
I felt a flush of guilt.
“The property is kind of isolated. It’s vacant and protected with a gate that provides access to the house. It’s bordered on both sides by fencing and large groves of poplar trees. It’s on the lake, so there’s a great view of the water, but this time of year, there’s no one out there.”
Again he paused. He licked his lips, which I noticed were looking a bit ragged from his constant chewing. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in a way that made it look like a shudder.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Fortunately, nothing,” he said. “But that’s because I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. I drove out to the house, and when I reached the gate, I noticed that it was ajar. Normally the gate is locked, and there is a camera and speaker unit that can be activated, and the gate lock can be released from inside the house. But there’s also a number code that can be used at the gate itself if someone wants in. According to the sellers, the only people who know that number are family members and a few close friends. So seeing the gate open gave me pause. My first concern was that someone might be robbing the place, but I went ahead and drove through the gate and up to the house. It appeared to be locked and secure, and I started to get out and go inside, but something made me hesitate. I don’t know . . . it was like the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. Whatever it was, it made me stay in the car and head back down the drive to the gate. Once there, I waited for a while for the time of the appointment to come and go. When no one showed up by two-thirty, I shut the gate and left.”
“I take it the woman who called you initially didn’t call back?”
Greg shook his head, his chewed lips pressed into a grim line. “I phoned the local police and had them go out there with me earlier this evening so I could check the property over and make sure nothing was amiss. The house was locked up tight, and when we went inside, everything looked fine. So I chalked the whole thing up to a case of nerves triggered by the breakfast burrito I had this morning. But after hearing what you had to say, I’m not so sure now.”
Neither was I. Had Greg been targeted by Suzanne? “What is the address of this property?” I asked him.
He gave it to me, and I logged it into my memory.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Greg,” I said. “Can I say for sure that what happened was all in your imagination, and that I think you’re safe? No, I can’t. But I also have no way of knowing if the threat you perceived was real.”
Greg started chewing on his lips again, and he looked around the room with a wide-eyed, wary expression. “I’ve got some vacation time coming,” he said. “I think now might be a good time to use it. I promised myself a week in the Caribbean, and this is the perfect time of year to go there.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” I said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell all of you sooner. In hindsight, it’s easy to see that I probably should have.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Greg said, waving away my concerns. “I don’t envy you the position you were put in, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if I were in your shoes. But I do think that, for my own good, I need to step back from the group for a while and let this thing play out. I have no interest in being a pawn in someone else’s sick and twisted game.”
I nodded my understanding
and reached over to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I do hope you’ll come back once things settle down,” I said. “And I have to confess, I’m a little jealous. I’d give anything to be able to escape to the Caribbean for a week or two along about now and leave all my troubles and worries behind. When you get there, have a big old rum drink with an umbrella in it for me.”
Greg flashed me a warm, friendly smile. “Consider it done,” he said. “And don’t worry, I’ll be back. In the meantime, good luck with this thing, Mack. I hope you catch the bastard and he gets his just rewards.”
On that note, he headed for the front door. Out of all the people I had spoken to and observed so far, he was the one I felt most comfortable dismissing. I was pretty certain he wasn’t involved, because I’d heard him lie before and knew how it was reflected in his voice. It was only a white lie, but I picked up on it right away. Sonja had hit him up for a date, and he had told her he was already seeing someone. Normally his voice had a sweet, fruity taste to it, but when he’d said this to Sonja, the taste had turned so tart it nearly made me pucker. And when he’d said to me that he hoped we caught the bastard, and that the culprit would get his just rewards, his voice had maintained its sweet, fruity flavor. That left me inclined to believe in his innocence.
But I was also determined to be cautious and smart about things. So I made a mental note to have Cora follow up and make sure that Greg Nash did, indeed, head for the Caribbean.
When I got back upstairs to the Capone Club room, the group had dwindled down. Most had gone home for the night, and those who remained were the people who didn’t have to get up early in the morning for any reason. This included our participating cops, Nick and Tyrese—apparently, Nick had returned after fleeing from me earlier; they both worked the night shift and would have to leave soon to start their shifts. Carter was there since he had no specific work schedule now that he was focused solely on his writing, and Stephen McGregor, who was enjoying the holiday break from his job as a physics teacher at the local high school. Sam, Cora, and Mal were also in the room.
I settled into a seat at a table next to Mal, who was sitting across from Cora. As usual, she was tapping away at the keyboard on her laptop. Carter was typing away on his too. The other four men were sitting together at a nearby table, having a lively discussion about how to approach an investigation into who the letter writer might be. On the table in front of them were a number of sheets of paper with various words and diagrams scrawled on them. All four looked up and nodded at me as I entered the room, but they didn’t interrupt their discussion. I listened as I settled in, and after a moment Cora slid her laptop over to me so I could read what she had written on the screen. It was a summary of what had taken place while I was gone from the room, and what Cora had dug up with her computer research. The first item on the screen was a sentence that read: Suzanne Collier is a major contributor to Anthony Dixon’s political campaign!
Like I didn’t think taking down Suzanne Collier would be hard enough as it was. This was not unexpected news, but I was disappointed nonetheless.
I continued reading the rest of the screen, which was a list of names under the heading: MAL AND I SPOKE TO. Between the two of them, they had hit up all of the other suspects except for Tyrese and Carter. At the bottom of the list, she had typed: Not one of them asked if they were suspects or suggested you test them to see if they were telling the truth.
I nodded when I was done reading everything, and then typed something in beneath her info, asking her to check and see if Greg Nash followed through and traveled to the Caribbean, and telling her that Sonja had apparently flown the coop and that I had cleared Teddy. When I was done, I pushed the laptop back over to Cora. She read what I’d typed and nodded.
I gestured toward the trio at the other table. “Have they come up with anything feasible?”
“A lot of anger from Tyrese and Nick over the fact that you didn’t tell them sooner,” Cora said, leaning in close and speaking at just above a whisper in my ear. “I think Stephen is looking at the whole thing like it’s some kind of adventure, and Sam is all about the psychological profile. Carter is mostly hurt that you didn’t confide in him. Although I do believe his pain has been tempered somewhat by his excitement over the book potential.”
I smiled at that, keeping my eyes focused on the three men. I listened as they debated the letter writer’s request to not involve the police, the motive behind that request, and what it might mean now that it had been revealed that this rule had been broken. After a moment, there was a pause in the conversation, and they turned to me to ask my thoughts on the matter.
Tyrese said, “I get why the person behind these letters wouldn’t want you to involve the police, but why was Duncan mentioned specifically? That seems odd, and perhaps telling somehow.”
“I agree,” I said. “It could simply be that the person was aware of my work with Duncan initially, saw us as a team, and therefore excluded him specifically. Or it could be that whoever’s writing these letters has a reason to want to keep me and Duncan apart.”
Nick turned away suddenly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and running a finger around the inside of his collar. It was unusual behavior from him, and I noticed right away. If he did have a romantic interest in me, then he also had a strong motive for wanting Duncan out of the picture. Plus, he had the necessary forensic knowledge, not to mention access to police procedures, investigations, and files. I wondered if he had shared with the other two men the theory that someone from the Capone Club was involved. Despite my admonition to keep it to himself, I expected him to share the information with Tyrese since the two men worked as partners. As soon as I could get Tyrese alone, I would find out if that happened. If, however, Nick chose to keep that information to himself, it would make me even more suspicious toward him.
There was an intensity, a level of determination and focus in Nick that was a little disturbing. Something about him raised my hackles whenever I was near him. It might simply have been his dedication to his work and the nature of his personality. It might also have been a result of his unrequited feelings toward me. But I couldn’t ignore the possibility that it could also be because the man was a twisted, demented, and clever killer. And if Cora’s findings were right, he was a domestic abuser.
“Whatever the reason,” Tyrese said, “it seems weird. I suppose it’s unfortunate in a way that this article appeared in the paper today, but I also think it might turn out to be a good thing. You don’t want to give these people too much control. You can’t let them think they’re in charge. A sudden revelation like this, one that will make whoever is behind these letters think they’ve been getting duped the entire time, is bound to rattle his or her cage. And when you rattle cages, people tend to lash out and do stupid things.”
Sam said, “Or it may simply make them more determined to try to outsmart her. I suspect the person behind this is quite intelligent.”
Nick glanced at his watch and nudged Tyrese. “We need to get going. Our shift starts in just over an hour.”
Tyrese nodded.
“I need to hit the can before we go,” Nick added. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Again, Tyrese nodded, and with that Nick stood up and left the room.
Stephen McGregor got up, grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, and said, “I need to be getting home, too, before the wife gets on my case. Good night.” He followed Nick out of the room.
Tyrese lingered for a minute and finished his cup of coffee—the cops came into my bar for my coffee as much, if not more, than they did for the booze—before getting up from his seat.
“It’s been an interesting night,” he said, taking his jacket from the back of his chair and slipping it on. “Stay safe, everyone.”
As those of us who remained murmured back our own good nights, I realized Tyrese’s exit would give me the perfect opportunity to get him off alone for a quick little chat. I nudged Cora with my elbow, and she understood right away. She leaned o
ver toward Carter and started talking with him about the case. Sam listened in eagerly. I struggled up out of my chair and followed Tyrese out of the room.
The man was fast on his feet and was at the top of the stairs by the time I exited the room, forcing me to holler at him to wait up. He turned, smiling at me and looking curious. “What do you need, Mack?”
After checking to make sure no one was nearby to eavesdrop, I said, “There are some things about this case that I want to share with you confidentially. I’ve told the group that I think there are two people involved, but what I didn’t say to the others is that I suspect one of those people may be a member of the Capone Club.”
Tyrese furrowed his brow, taking an involuntary step back. He was close enough to the top of the stairs that I reached out and grabbed his arm, fearful he might fall. “What the hell?” he said. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I said with a pained smile. His surprise seemed genuine, meaning Nick hadn’t shared this theory with him. “Certain things that have happened, and information the letter writer seems to know, have convinced me that whoever is behind this has some insider knowledge.”
Tyrese shook his head woefully, his mouth skewing sideways as he sucked on the inside of his cheek. “What a damned mess,” he said. “But that helps me understand why you didn’t tell the group sooner.”
“That was part of the reason,” I admitted. “But I was also afraid that if I told them, someone would go off half-cocked and do something stupid that would escalate things. I wanted to keep everything in my control for as long as I could. In hindsight . . .” I shrugged, letting him draw his own conclusions.
“I get it,” Tyrese said. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He sighed and looked at his watch. “I have to go, but if you need anything during the night, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thanks, Tyrese.”
He turned to leave but then hesitated and turned back. “You said Duncan has been working on this on the sly,” he said. “Does that mean the two of you are still together on the sly?”
A Toast to Murder Page 18