Endgame

by Dee Davis

  "So who is this Doc Martin? A local physician?" Gabe asked, on a breath of frustration. They were getting nowhere fast.

  "Nah." Weston shook his head. "Another part-timer. From Oklahoma. Has a house out in Rio Grande estates."

  "Is he even a real doctor?" Madison's frustration was apparent, mirroring his own.

  "Hell, yeah." The flicker of anger was back, but to his credit Weston held it in check. "A heart surgeon. Retired. Lives just upriver from the Stewarts."

  "I don't suppose he'd happen to be out here," Gabe threw out, even though he was already fairly certain of the answer. The crisp fall wind was enough to tell him that most residents had already closed their houses for the season.

  Weston's grin widened. "Well, now, seems in that you've got a bit of luck. The Martins are still here. Not due out 'til the end of the week."

  "You think he'd talk to us?"

  "Don't see why not." Weston shrugged. "I can go with you if you'd like."

  "I still wake up at night and expect to find him next to me." Alicia Dashal's smile was melancholy and a bit apologetic, as if she wished she were made of stronger stuff. Nigel exchanged glances with Payton, wishing he could get the hell out of there. Interviewing widows wasn't exactly his cup of tea. He'd much prefer the Bolivian jungle.

  "Where exactly did the accident happen?" Payton had morphed into the role with the ease of a chameleon, his tone the perfect blend of solicitude and authority. The bloody git should have been an actor.

  "In his workshop." The widow dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue, her carefully made-up face accentuated with a permanent smile, the effect of one too many plastic surgeries. "He liked to work with wood. It helped him clear his head." Her smile was bitter. "Sometimes I think it was more about escaping all of this." She waved her hand at the perfectly appointed living room, the Georgetown brownstone probably worth a small fortune.

  "I think most men need a retreat," Payton said, his words erasing the bitter expression from her face.

  "Yes. I suppose they do." She nodded, as if reassuring herself. "I was the one who found him, you know."

  "It must have been awful," Payton said, his tone encouraging her to share with them.

  Stupid woman. She'd opened her home without question to two strangers claiming to be insurance investigators without even asking for identification. Nigel shook his head and forced himself to focus on the conversation.

  "I don't think I'll ever forget it. Jacob slumped over the workbench like that. He'd been using the saw."

  "An electric one?" Payton asked.

  She nodded. "Circular, I think you call it." She paused to blow her nose. "The paramedics said he died instantly. Some sort of power surge."

  "And you didn't call the police?"

  "There was no need." Her eyes widened. "Was there?" The last was said on a whisper, almost as if she was afraid to voice the actual words.

  "Probably not." Nigel shook his head, trying to reassure the woman, knowing that he hadn't accomplished the goal. He was not a man to suffer fools lightly and this woman represented everything he'd been brought up to despise. Too much money, too much time, and not the sense God gave a goose.

  "We just need to cover all the bases." Payton smiled. "You understand."

  "Of course." The woman nodded, then frowned, something unpleasant occurring to her. "There won't be any problem with the money..." She trailed off, her expression somewhere between alarm and embarrassment. Perish the thought that Alicia Dashal wouldn't get even more money.

  "I couldn't say for certain at this point." Nigel drew out the words, watching as she blanched, then feeling absurdly guilty, he put her out of her misery. "But let me hasten to add that we've no reason to believe there'll be a problem."

  "There's no need to worry, Mrs. Dashal." Payton reached over to pat her hand. "Everything will be just fine. As I said, we're just here to dot the i's and cross the fs. In fact, all that's left is to see the workshop. Would you mind showing us?"

  Her smile was genuine this time, if a bit water-logged. "Of course." She stood up, tottering on high heels meant for a much younger woman, and led the way through the house into the back garden.

  The enclosure was immaculate. Nigel couldn't help wondering if there was staff waiting in the wings to dash out and catch a leaf should it dare fall from the tree. The shed in the corner had a derelict look, as if it had been dropped into the garden by mistake.

  Mrs. Dashal opened the front door and motioned for them to enter. "I haven't been in here since he died, you understand. It's only been four months." The tears appeared again, and Nigel tried to determine if they were driven by real emotion or were just a show for the two of them. "I just can't face it. Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," Nigel assured her, relieved that they would be able to examine the shed on their own. She nodded once and turned for the house, and Nigel stepped across the threshold into the musty shadows of the shed.

  Payton was standing by the workbench, his gaze encompassing the room. "She said he was using the circular saw, right?"

  "Yes. Is that it on the workbench?" Nigel wasn't big on tools. In truth he couldn't tell a circular saw from a jigsaw.

  "Looks like it." Payton frowned reaching over to pick the saw up using a piece of scrap wood. "Based on the dust, I'd say no one has touched this thing since the accident."

  "Judging from the amount of corrosion I'd say the thing has seen better days."

  Payton turned the saw slightly, examining the casing. "It's vintage, actually. Which goes a long way toward explaining what happened."

  "Come again?" Nigel asked, feigning interest. What he really wanted was a drink. He'd done his bit for country and queen, and there was really nothing to do but wait it out. Preferably in the hotel bar.

  "These things aren't insulated like they should be. And judging from the rust, I'd say this shed isn't exactly the ideal place to be operating electrical tools." Payton shot a look at the rickety, rotting walls.

  "So the poor sod was doomed from the start, eh?"

  "Looks that way." Payton nodded. "No GDI, no insulation. Combined with an old machine and I'd say electrocution was pretty much a forgone conclusion." He bent over to look at something behind the workbench.

  "So this has all been a bloody waste of time." Nigel tried but couldn't keep his temper in check.

  "Maybe." Payton reappeared holding the end of an extension cord. "And then again maybe not." He held it out for Nigel's inspection. "The ground pin is missing."

  Nigel frowned down at the plug end. "But doesn't that happen a lot? I mean especially when the wall plug is two prong."

  "It's possible," Payton said, his tone preoccupied. He had picked up a screwdriver and removed the saw's casing. "But not when you consider this." He pointed to the end of the saw where the cord joined the base.

  Nigel leaned over for a closer look. The wires emerging from the cord had clearly been cut and resoldered. A makeshift booby trap that, combined with the missing ground, had shocked Jacob Dashal quite literally to death.

  The Martins' cabin was more like a small resort. Complete with satellite TV, the two-story structure had a wraparound porch and a two-car garage. Situated among a stand of spruce on a spit of land that dropped down to the Rio Grande, the property was worth a small fortune.

  Peace and tranquility, it seemed, always came at a price.

  Still, as retreats went, this one was first-rate. Christened Lands End by a signpost at the head of the driveway, it was a beautiful place, and despite Gabriel's presence and their reason for being here, Madison closed her eyes and let the rustle of the trees and the whisper of the river soothe her.

  Gabriel must have noticed her withdrawal, because she felt his hand on her elbow, urging her forward. She opened her eyes, and with a sigh, moved on, patently ignoring the touch of his fingers against her skin.

  A tall man Madison guessed was in his late sixties stepped down from the porch, outfitted in waders and fishing vest. He lifted his
hand in welcome. Sheriff Patrick Weston had obviously reached him.

  Although they had declined the sheriff's offer to accompany them, he'd insisted on calling Ronald Martin to let him know they were coming, much to Gabriel's chagrin. The man obviously preferred popping in on everyone unannounced. She shot Gabriel a look, managing at the same time to disengage her elbow.

  "I'm guessing you're the folks from New York?" Dr. Martin's voice still held the command of his profession, his bushy eyebrows rising in tandem, the combined effect off-putting. "My wife just got off the phone with Weston." There was a hint of rebuke in his voice.

  So much for the sheriff paving the way.

  "We've got some questions about Alan Stewart's death." Gabriel as usual took control of the situation, and Madison stifled a surge of irritation. "Sheriff Weston thought you might be able to help."

  Martin studied Gabriel for a moment and then with a nod motioned to some Adirondack chairs on the deck. "Why don't you have a seat and we'll talk out here?" They followed him up onto the porch. "Virginia doesn't allow me in the house in my gear."

  Madison took a seat facing the river, the sound louder now that they were out of the Jeep. Gabriel leaned against the railing, waiting for Dr. Martin to sit.

  "So what's this all about? Alan died almost two years . ago. Seems a little odd that you people are finally getting interested."

  "Finally?" Gabriel's eyebrow rose, punctuating the question.

  "I tried to drum up interest in Alan's death at the time. Something just seemed off to me. The angle of the body, the timing. Did you know Alan?"

  Madison shook her head as Gabriel replied in the negative.

  "Well he wasn't a trip-and-fall kind of guy. I just thought there ought to be an autopsy."

  "You thought there'd been foul play." Gabriel's comment was terse, his expression thoughtful.

  "Lord, no." Dr. Martin held up both hands, looking at Gabriel with horror. "I merely thought there could be some medical cause."

  "Like a heart attack." Madison's comment was soft, almost an afterthought, but both men turned to look at her, the doctor with something akin to relief on his face.

  "Exactly."

  "Did Stewart have problems with his heart?" Gabriel shifted against the railing, his body tensing.

  "That was what was so odd. He'd just had a complete workup and everything had checked out fine. But I was one of the first on the scene, and based on years of observation, I'd have been willing to bet the farm it was some sort of cardiac event."

  "And so you advised Mrs. Stewart to consider an autopsy."

  Martin nodded. "But she wasn't sure, and when she talked to Patrick he assured her it wasn't necessary."

  "Without seeing the body?" Gabriel's tone was dry, his expression condemning.

  Martin shook his head. "Patrick's a good man. Been the sheriff a long time. But he's a don't-rock-the-boat kind of guy. "

  "And so he ignored your concerns?"

  "Not exactly." Martin shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. "It was more that I was overruled."

  "By whom?" Gabe was leaning forward now, his attention focused solely on the doctor.

  "A colleague of Alan's. Man named Cullen Pulaski. I'm sure you've heard of him."

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Finding anything?" Cullen walked over to the computer console where Harrison Blake was examining a string of code.

  "I'm not sure." Harrison didn't bother to look up, merely typed in a command and pulled up another string. "I think maybe I've got a signature from last night's sabotage, but I'm not certain. I need to run a few more tests." He swiveled around to look up at Cullen. "If I'm right, we just might be able to trace back to the computer the hacker used."

  Cullen felt a surge of excitement. "When will you know for sure?"

  "Hopefully in couple of hours. I'll let you know as soon as I have something definitive."

  "Excellent. Any progress on Luther Macomb?"

  Harrison shook his head. "Unfortunately that's been more of a dead end. The police records are sketchy at best. Apparently it was raining that night. Visibility was poor, and the road conditions sucked. Macomb's car evidently went into a skid, slid through a guard railing and off an embankment. Unfortunately, the car exploded on impact."

  "Meaning there's no way to verify for certain. Maybe you could talk to the officer of record?"

  "I already did. The guy couldn't remember much of anything. Claims it was too long ago. Basically he just recited the facts he'd noted on the report. I followed up by talking to the towing company, but the guy said they compact as soon as the case is officially cleared. And since this one was ruled an accident, that would have been immediately. He's double-checking to be certain, but if there was any evidence, I'm betting it's long gone. After all, it's been two years."

  "Maybe it won't matter. I just heard from Pay ton. They found evidence that Jacob Dashal's electrocution may have been intentional. Which brings us to four murders— two proven and two likely. That ups our statistics substantially."

  "You heard anything from Madison and Gabriel?"

  Cullen shook his head. "Nothing. I tried both their cell phones. Evidently they're too high in the mountains for reception. I've got the local sheriff's land line if we really need them, but they're due back tomorrow, so I figure we'll just wait."

  Harrison nodded. "Regardless of what they find, I'd say that we have more than enough evidence to prove that there's a killer out there. And since the dead men's primary connection is the accord, I'd say we're looking at conspiracy. Unfortunately, that still leaves us with two major questions—who's pulling the strings and why?"

  "Actually you've omitted one, Harrison, and I'm afraid it supersedes the others. The most important question is 'who's next?'"

  "So did you get hold of Cullen?" Gabriel walked over to the bedroom door and dropped her carryall. He'd already left his duffel by the fold-out sofa.

  "No." Madison shrugged. "I couldn't get my cell phone to work. And I'm afraid this place doesn't run to a land line."

  "Not exactly the standards you're accustomed to," Gabriel said with a smile that held little warmth.

  Madison had to admit the cabin did lack certain amenities. But it had a roof and two beds, and for the moment that was more than enough. With the season dying, most of the accommodations in the area were closed. The XO was a dude ranch that attracted fishermen by the droves during the summer months, and thanks to its location higher up the valley, a smattering of hunters in the fall.

  "Beats sleeping in the Jeep." She stood in the corner that passed for a kitchen, cleaning up the meal she'd made from the meager supplies they'd bought in town. They were booked on a flight tomorrow morning, which meant an overnight somewhere, and she had to admit that despite the rustic accommodations the view was amazing.

  Perched on a cliff overhanging the Rio Grande, the cabin had a huge picture window framing the splendor of the mountains surrounding the valley, although it was too dark to see it now. The sound of the river filtered through the open door, the entire scene one of domestic bliss.

  She shook her head. There was nothing domestic going on here, except maybe the dishes. "You should try your phone."

  "Already did." Gabriel had moved to the window, his profile forbidding. "It doesn't work either. So we'll just have to wait until tomorrow to talk to him."

  Madison walked over to stand beside him. "There's got to be a logical explanation."

  "Maybe." His tone was noncommittal.

  "Cullen was the man's friend, after all. And Alan Stewart was the third to die. At that point Cullen had no reason to believe something nefarious was afoot. He probably just wanted to make it easier on Mrs. Stewart."

  "Cullen doesn't strike me as a particularly compassionate kind of guy."

  "Then you obviously don't know him very well." Actually, he'd hit the nail on the head. Although Cullen cared deeply for the people in his life, he wasn't particularly good at showing it. But still she
couldn't stand to hear Gabriel maligning her godfather. Or maybe she just hated the fact that he was right. Either way, she wasn't about to let herself agree with him.

  "I know him as well as I need to." He trailed off, still staring out the window.

  "Dr. Martin seemed fairly certain that Stewart had had a heart attack." She tried a different approach, determined to get him to engage. "If that's true, we could have our third death by potassium chloride."

  "Seems possible." He turned around, his icy gaze meeting hers. "But unfortunately, even with an exhumation I doubt we can prove it conclusively."

  "Maybe not in court, but I think we have enough to prove the pattern." She sat down on the fold-out sofa, and blew out a breath, her mind turning over the details. "Four murders out of six deaths is statistically sound."

  "Yes, but one of the four died by significantly different means. And you said yourself that the probability of it being the same killer is unlikely."

  "No, I said that serial killers usually don't vary then-methods. Professional killers, on the other hand, tend to do what it takes to get the job done."

  "But the fire seems particularly unprofessional to me."

  Madison shrugged. "It's a puzzle certainly, but not completely inexplicable. It's possible that more than one killer is involved, which makes particular sense if the thing is politically motivated. It's also possible that something went wrong with Barnes's murder. I mean, if the fire had caught hold, there wouldn't have been any forensic evidence."

  "Still seems to border on inept to me." Gabriel's eyebrows were drawn together into a frown, the effect making him appear even more formidable.

  "I agree. But even so, it still doesn't rule out the fact that Cullen was right. People involved with the Chinese accord are being killed. We just don't know who is behind it."

  "Isn't that where your profession is supposed to come in?" His tone for once held no condemnation.

  "Yeah. But only with all the facts in evidence. It's hard to put together a picture without knowing why these particular people were chosen. I need to get a look at the data Harrison has put together. Maybe he found something on the computer that can identify the person behind the sabotage. And if so, then maybe we can start there, assuming that the events are related."