by Liz Schulte
In the car I asked if he’d spoken with Jennifer yet.
“No, I thought you might want to go with me for that.” We headed in her direction, and I couldn’t put off discussing Fagan any longer.
“So about Fagan—no alibi at all. Home alone.”
Gabriel shook his head. “How’d you get him to tell you?”
“I riled him up a little.” I smiled despite myself. “I’m not his favorite person at the moment. He looked downright murderous.”
“That’s not funny. How bad?”
“I told him I knew he was hiding something, and I was going to find out what. And I may have implied I thought he was the killer.”
Gabriel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his knuckles whitened. “Well, if he’s the killer, you’ve just hung a target on your back. At least we have that going for us. I take it he’ll be less inclined to share information now?”
“Maybe, but they don’t know anything. No real evidence at either new crime scene.”
“If he decides not to take you to the party thing, you can always dinner with my grandparents.” “Great. How about you? What did you find out?”
“Nikki’s coworker said Nikki was at a party the night Mary was killed. She remembers the date because Nikki was so hung over she had to work for her and that’s when she heard about Mary’s death. She thought the party was thrown by Terry Erath. So I tracked him down and he said there was a party all right, but it wasn’t his. It was a two-day bender thrown by Alfie Laurie. He remembered Nikki being there—and Lakota. He said she was completely wasted and Alfie kicked her out around 9:00 p.m.”
“The time works, but the Lauries live in the opposite direction of the Nelsons.”
“Did you talk to Alfie or Caleb?”
“Caleb was at a study group until midnight and said he saw Mary that day at school, arguing with someone on her phone. I left Alfie a message.”
“I think we need to make a trip to Smithton tomorrow.”
****
I was almost bowled over by the smell of alcohol when Jennifer opened the door, and I understood why Gabriel was so insistent I stop drinking. How many times had I opened the door for him just like this? She didn’t look surprised to see us; she didn’t look like she cared about anything.
Inside, Jennifer and her house were much the same as the last time we were there. Everything about her and her home suggested a funeral that had never finished: the silent rooms, like even the clocks knew better than to tick, the emotionally drained stagger of her walk, like she’d collapse from the grief bearing down on her at any moment, Mary’s untouched room—an unchanging memorial of her lost daughter.
I nodded to her, understanding, not pity, connecting us in more ways than I cared to admit. I told her I needed to see Mary’s room again and Gabriel wanted to talk to her. She shrugged and wobbled her way back to her chair. I gave Gabriel a look and squeezed his hand before I took off upstairs. The room still looked untouched. I suspected she never came in here—I still didn’t go into Danny’s room very often, though I had moved his things out.
I stood in the center and scoured the room for potential hiding places. People didn’t have secret lives without leaving clues behind. People collected bits and pieces from their lives and held on to them like treasures. A ticket that reminded them of a movie they loved, their favorite shirt from high school, and a flower pressed into a book… No matter how cool or tough the person was, everyone kept something. I knelt down and swiped my hand underneath her mattress, but didn’t hit anything. I pulled up the grate over the vent in the floor, took a deep breath, and stuck my hand in the darkness, hoping for no spiders. Nothing. Her jewelry box had nothing that stood out. I went to her shelf and flipped through each book. I picked up one of mine, Dead Inside, and it opened to a small envelope tucked tightly into the binding. I dumped its contents on her bed. A movie stub, a napkin with Horton’s stamped on it and a phone number scrawled across the bottom, and a newspaper clipping of Fagan wearing his politician’s grin.
I have the bastard!
I stuffed everything back into the envelope and put it in my pocket. Downstairs, I was surprised to find Jennifer all alone. She didn’t bother to look up, just muttered in a tired, barely raised voice, “He’s outside.”
I paused before I left. “We’ll catch whoever killed her, I promise.”
She didn’t say anything, but I heard a choked sob. I let myself out, giving her some privacy. Gabriel was in the car, and it was already running. “Did you upset her?” I asked.
His face was solemn. “No. I didn’t push her. Poor woman.”
“I found our connection to Fagan.” I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and showed him what I had.
“It doesn’t prove he killed anyone, but it’s enough to talk to him. Push him a bit harder.”
“Good, let’s go now.”
“Are you serious?”
How could he ask that? I wasn’t going to wait around for him to attack me if I could help it. “Completely.”
Gabriel and I went into the police station together. It was late enough it had thinned out a bit inside. Fagan was hunched over his desk, working on something. I walked into his office without knocking and plopped down in a chair, and Gabriel gave a polite tap on the door. Fagan looked up with an annoyed expression.
“Come to throw more wild accusations at me?”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve come to throw perfectly reasonable accusations at you.”
“I see you brought backup this time.” His eyes flicked to Gabriel, then back to me. “Scared I might kill you?”
Gabriel took the seat next to me. “She has some interesting theories.”
“Yes, I heard some of them this morning. Interesting, but completely misguided.” He nodded to the door. “Do you mind?”
Gabriel shut the door, then resumed his seat.
I couldn’t wait to wipe the smug smile off Fagan’s face. “So what theories do you have tonight?” It offended me that he looked at Gabriel instead of me.
Gabriel held up his hands. “This is her investigation, not mine.”
“You were having an affair with Mary Nelson.” There was no reason to mince words when I could watch Fagan squirm.
His face looked shocked, then suspicious, then settled on purposefully blank. “I didn’t have—”
“I found the diary in your house and this at her house.” I pulled out my envelope with the napkin from Horton’s.
He was too still and quiet, staring at the napkin like it might be a poisonous spider. “You really don’t give up, do you?” Fagan stood. “Let’s not talk about this here.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. For all I know, you’ve recently made a leap to serial killer. I already learned you’re a liar.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Ella. I didn’t have an affair with the victim. Come with me, and I’ll explain everything.”
I glanced at Gabriel and he nodded, so we went with the potentially crazy man outside. He went to the parking lot and gave Gabriel efficient directions to his home, a modest rancher in a nice neighborhood.
“Do you think he did it?” I asked Gabriel before we got out of the car.
Gabriel watched Fagan unlock his front door. “No. I can’t say I like him much, but I don’t think he killed anyone.”
I felt better going into Fagan’s house knowing Gabriel didn’t believe he was a killer. He invited us to sit in the comfortably furnished living room.
“Where’s the diary now?”
“Being fingerprinted,” Gabriel responded.
Fagan closed his eyes and flattened his lips. “She wasn’t seeing me. That isn’t my phone number on the napkin.” Crap, I forgot to check the number. “Mary was having an affair with William Laurie.”
It wasn’t possible for my eyebrows to rise any higher.
“I assume you didn’t compare the number on the napkin to my number.”
I shook my head. I was too excited a
bout busting him to do anything else.
“Would you like to now?”
I retrieved the napkin, and he rattled off his number.
“Mary was with Nikki and Deanna at Horton’s, trolling for older men with money. Ask Deanna; she can verify everything. And Horton’s happens to be the bar William liked best. He used to always go there to flirt with the young waitresses, then sleep it off at my house in Smithton.” Fagan gave me a suggestive onceover and lifted an eyebrow. “I personally like women my own age.”
Gabriel coughed, and Fagan continued without looking at him. “Nikki was in bad shape. So when she slipped out of the bar, I followed her and arrested her on a fake charge. I took her back to Jackson and let her sleep off whatever she’d taken. When I left, William was talking to Mary and Deanna. I don’t know what happened after that because it was none of my business. I’m not the marriage police.”
“But how does this explain Mary’s diary at your house?” I asked.
“I’m getting there. About a week later William came into my office. He offered me $10,000 to use my house in Smithton to meet Mary. I agreed. Not only would a state representative owe me a favor, but the money would be nice too. I stopped going to Smithton and let them have the house. I didn’t know the diary was there. She must’ve hid it herself. Where did you find it?”
“Behind an old novel.” I brushed my hair out of my face. “So this is what you’ve been hiding. William’s affair?”
“Yes.”
“And what makes you believe this has nothing to do with her death? I spoke with one of her friends in Smithton today, and he said she was fighting with someone on the phone the afternoon she died.”
“I know William didn’t kill her because I was with him for at least part of the evening in question. He couldn’t have done it. No one knew about their affair. At the start, I thought Bryan looked good for it, but soon realized he couldn’t have pulled it off. Whoever did this was a planner. Patient. They knew what they were doing—and they had her for a week before her body was found. There was a meticulous lack of evidence. This wasn’t a crime of passion.” He steepled his fingers in front of him. “No matter what you think, I do know how to do my job.”
“Did you talk to Alfie?”
“How could I without giving William away? As far as I could tell, Alfie barely knew her. She didn’t run with his crowd. Was never into drugs.”
I shook my head. “But what if by some chance he saw his dad with Mary? The kid’s annoying, but not dumb. He has access to plenty of money. What if he kidnapped Mary and killed her. She could’ve been talking to him that afternoon.”
“She wasn’t. She was talking to William. I pulled her cell phone record after she died. He said he called it off with her. He couldn’t keep doing that to his family.”
I rolled my neck, listening to it pop. This changed things.
I couldn’t believe Fagan kept all this from me. How was I supposed to solve the case? Wait, I wasn’t supposed to. Bastard.
Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you talk with Mrs. Laurie after the murder?”
“I couldn’t without giving away William’s indiscretion, but she hosted a dinner party for the women’s auxiliary that night.”
The more I thought about it, the more it made sense for the killer to be one of the Lauries. They’d even created a scholarship in Mary’s name. Guilty conscience much? “That doesn’t mean he or she didn’t hire someone. They have money, therefore options. Did you check their financial records?” I stood up and paced the room. “I mean, if I were going to kill someone, I wouldn’t do it myself. That’d be ridiculous. I’d hire a pro. Someone who wouldn’t leave a trace.”
Fagan sighed and crossed his ankle over his knee. “A professional wouldn’t be back to kill two other girls.”
“You didn’t know another two girls were going to die at the time,” I muttered.
“Ella has a point. It’s worth looking into. The Lauries have the capital, and you can’t ignore the fury that drives a cheated-on spouse.” Our eyes met, as if we wanted to make sure this wasn’t opening old wounds for the other. “Besides avoiding embarrassment, would either of the Lauries have motivation for keeping this quiet?”
Fagan looked slightly sick. “It’s my understanding Lola had a prenup—”
“The sort that said if she found out William cheated on her, she could leave him with nothing?”
“I haven’t seen it.”
We all exchanged a look. “Well, I guess I need to talk to William and Lola again.”
Fagan’s eyes widened and he stumbled for words for the first time since I met him.
Gabriel put his hand on my knee. “El, this is a delicate situation. You’re about as gentle as a sledgehammer.”
“I’m delicate. You’re the one who goes around interrogating people.”
“Yes, I ask questions. You accuse. It’s a fine but important difference.”
“I like to get to the point.” I didn’t see anything wrong with that. It was much easier than talking for hours.
“We need to work on your interviewing technique.”
“But they know me. Lola likes me. She might talk to me.”
“They’ll be at the gala,” Fagan said, his cheeks creased in a deep frown.
I didn’t love the idea of waiting, but it would give me time to talk to Alfie and put together a more complete picture of what happened.
I hesitated too long to agree and Gabriel added, “It will give Fagan a chance to pull their financial records. We need real evidence before we talk to them.”
“Fine,” I mumbled.
“I’ll need a warrant for that and they know the judges.”
“I know someone in the DA’s office in Montgomery who might be able to help.”
Fagan closed his eyes. “If we’re wrong and they find out I looked into this, I’m finished here.”
“So don’t let them find out.” Gabriel didn’t seem sympathetic. I had my doubts if he played the political game well or at all. He wasn’t the type. Gabriel would never have backed off the case to let William get away unscathed. He was honorable, and it came through in his actions. Gabriel’s mouth tilted in a smile, and I realized I was staring at him, and much to my surprise, I was smiling too.
I shook my head and turned back to Fagan. “You should’ve done this from the start, and you know it.”
“I really didn’t think—” He didn’t even bother to finish whatever spin he was about to put on the facts. He should’ve done his job and worried more about finding a killer than gaining political advancement. It certainly shouldn’t have taken me coming here and relentlessly pestering him.
“You’re right,” he said, sounding like saying the two words hurt him.
“Now that we’re no longer working against one another,”—I shot him one final glare for good measure—“I think we should discuss the two newest murders.”
Gabriel nodded and Fagan invited us back to the station. “But not a word about what we just discussed. Everyone’s related to everyone here. News spreads like fire on gasoline.”
The games were afoot.
****
As Gabriel and I followed Fagan once more, I studied the houses we passed by. They glowed from within, lit up by people living their lives unaffected by murderers. If I was being honest with myself, something I tried not to do too often, I’d admit I enjoyed this—probably too much. I loved writing, but this was such a drastic change of pace that it energized me. My brain swam with new ideas for stories, new plot twists, new life. Being here and looking into other people’s lives made me feel so detached from mine it was a relief. I didn’t have what happened and Danny’s ghost hanging over me all the time. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t defined by my past. I was just me.
“You’re being suspiciously quiet over there.” Gabriel’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Just thinking.” I looked over at him, lit by the dashboard lights. “
I like doing this.”
“I can tell.” It was hard to know what he thought about my enjoyment of it from his tone, so I waited for what seemed like hours for him to continue. “I don’t love you putting yourself in the path of criminals, but you’re not fragile, and I should’ve known you could handle the stress.”
“This has been a cake walk compared to last year.”
He laughed. “You do seem more vivacious.” He glanced over. “Thinking about making a habit out of investigating, Sherlock?”
I didn’t know what I was thinking other than I enjoyed doing this. It seemed unlikely more people would ask me to look into murders, but I guess I could start writing true crime. “I’m not sure how good I am at it. A lot of my theories were wrong.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You may not have gotten everything right, but you’re dogged and have pushed this investigation further than Sheriff Fagan ever did. Your unyielding personality suits this type of work.”
I smiled and looked out my window again. What would I do without this patient, understanding man? We pulled into the police station and met up with Fagan in the murder room. A picture of Lakota and Nikki hung on a big white board, and I realized how much Lakota looked like Mary. Mary’s image had been burned in my mind for so long, I saw the similarities immediately—a definite resemblance in the eye area and the shape of their faces.
“Was Lakota related to Mary?”
“Distantly.” Fagan glanced back. “How did you know?”
“They look alike. I can see it here and here.” I pointed on the picture.
“We still haven’t identified what murder weapon was used for Lakota—possibly a wood chipper. The thing is, she was missing her skull. We identified her by an intact finger that we could print and her previous arrest records.”
“Jesus,” Gabriel said under his breath.
“Aren’t you supposed to call the FBI in situations like this?” I asked.
Fagan shot me a hateful look, and I held up my hands in surrender.
“Nikki was killed with a hammer—the same one we found. But it was an older hammer, and there were also traces of animal blood on it. We don’t have any conclusive evidence linking the two crimes, let alone Mary’s.” He stared at the board. “No fingerprints, no hair. We do have a boot print from next to Lakota’s body. I have deputies canvassing and visiting hardware stores and construction sites to check for traces of blood on the chippers.”