Shots in the Dark

by Allyson K. Abbott

  The dinner service was equally busy, and the evening hours flew by. Somewhere around ten o’clock we finally got a break and things slowed down. My leg was aching, my arms were throbbing, and my head was pounding from working on my feet—or rather foot—for so many hours. I told Billy I was going to take a short break and went into my office, where I downed a handful of ibuprofen. I sat down at my desk after dragging the spare chair around so I could prop my casted foot on it. And then I just sat for a while, letting my mind wander.

  I nearly fell asleep, but a knock on the office door a short time later brought me back to attention. I got up and maneuvered my way to the door, where I found Clay Sanders.

  “I hope it’s okay that I knocked,” he said. “Your staff said you were in here.”

  “Of course. Come on in.”

  I headed back to my seat, and Clay stood across the desk from me. “You look beat,” he said.

  “I am. It was a busy day. And getting around with these things”—I pointed to the crutches, which were propped off to one side—“makes it doubly hard. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you’d had any luck with Melanie Smithson.”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. Then I replayed the essence of my initial conversation with Melanie to him. “You’re right. She sounds like she’s afraid of something. And to make matters worse, my cell phone is dead.” I told him what had happened and that someone had called me just as I dropped the phone into the toilet. “Maybe it was her,” I said. “If it was, I may never know. Even if I could figure out who called by looking at my bill, she apparently deactivated the number we have. I tried to call it again a little while ago and got a message saying it was no longer in service.”

  “Bummer,” Clay said. He was looking down at my desk, at the stack of drawings. “What are these?”

  I explained to him how the group had spent last evening playing around with the faces in the drawings to see if any of the results looked familiar.

  Clay started shuffling the papers around. At the fourth or fifth one, he stopped, cocked his head to the side, and took a step back.

  “What is it?” I said.

  He picked up the drawing and turned it so that I could see it right side up. “Does this look like anybody you know?” he asked me.

  I stared at the picture, and that niggling thought that had been hiding out at the back of my mind leaped to the forefront. The lower face featured a narrow, weak chin and thin, pale lips. The face was instantly familiar. “It looks like Rory Gallagher!”

  Clay nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Yes, it does.” He set the papers down and walked over to the couch. He sat, placed his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, and stared at the floor, saying nothing. He looked troubled.

  “It could be a coincidence,” I said. “We have no way of knowing what the man Harrington met with looked like underneath that scarf.”

  Clay shook his head and gave me a grim smile. “Maybe, but it makes a weird kind of sense. Rory has always been a strange, moody kind of fellow, and as far as I know, he’s never dated anyone for very long. And there’s the incident of the family dog that was so dedicated to Tiffany and bit Rory.” Clay looked at me briefly, then tore his gaze away. I could see his thoughts were churning.

  “Where are you going with this, Clay?” I had an idea, but it was so disturbing, I didn’t want to voice it.

  He made a face like he felt ill. “Ben told us that Tiffany seemed upset, that she got into one of her moods after they attended a family gathering, remember? And Rory might have known where Ben and Tiffany were staying when they went to Door County.” His expression made it obvious that whatever he was thinking, he found it distasteful, and I felt certain he’d made the same leap I had.

  I had a mental image of puzzle pieces floating around me. Slowly, they started coming together, fitting snug and tight. The idea that Rory was behind it all did answer some questions and fill several holes. It could explain why Tiffany suddenly grew so sullen and withdrawn in her teenage years. It could explain why she started cutting herself, and why she wouldn’t reveal who the father was when she got pregnant during her senior year in high school. The puzzle pieces fell into place one by one, until only a couple remained floating. But the ones that had fit together provided enough. The picture they formed was of Rory Gallagher’s face.

  I thought I knew how to make those last pieces drop into place. I recalled my promise to Kelly Gallagher. At the time I’d had every intention of keeping it, and I’d already broken that promise by telling Mal. But this . . . this changed things, didn’t it?

  Except what if we were wrong? What if I told Clay what I knew and none of what we were surmising proved to be true? Would he leak it somehow, print a scandalous story about it? Could I trust him? I didn’t know if I could, but maybe if I made him promise he wouldn’t take it any further, I’d be able to tell if he meant it by listening to his voice and looking for changes. Except here I was reneging on a promise that would have rung truthful when I first made it to Kelly Gallagher. Clay might make promises to me that he intended to keep, but there were no guarantees he wouldn’t change his mind down the road for some reason, the same way I had.

  The puzzle pieces flapped and fluttered as they floated, insistent, demanding. It felt like the right move was to say something, and I prayed that I wouldn’t live to regret what I was about to do.

  “Clay, Kelly Gallagher confided something to me when we were looking at Tiffany’s paintings, something I think might be relevant to our discussion. But I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Clay looked at me with angst-filled eyes. “Was it about Tiffany getting pregnant during her senior year?” My stunned expression gave him his answer. “I already know about it,” he said. “Aidan spilled the beans one night when we were at a party. He was very drunk. He made me promise not to tell anyone.”

  “And did you keep that promise?” I asked, wondering about the rumors that had circulated about Tiffany’s absence that year.

  “Until now I did,” he said, and based on the taste of his voice, he was telling the truth. “Colin Gallagher’s preference of Aidan over Rory is painfully obvious, even during the few times I’ve seen the family together. What if it’s because he knows Rory is twisted? What if he knew about him and Tiffany all along and tried to cover it up? He couldn’t let a scandal like that get out.”

  The idea that Tiffany might have had an incestuous relationship with her brother was bad enough. The thought that her father had known and done nothing about it was even worse. My heart ached more than ever for that poor girl. Had Kelly known? I didn’t think so. But I thought she might have suspected.

  “What about the semen they found in Tiffany?” I asked him. “There was no sperm.”

  “Maybe Colin forced Rory to have a vasectomy, knowing that his proclivities might get him into trouble again down the road.”

  “How can we find that out?”

  Clay’s forehead wrinkled with thought, and he ran a hand over his head. “I don’t know. Getting medical information these days is like trying to push a wall. It was easier before all the facilities went to these electronic medical records. Back in the day I could get someone to sneak a peek into a medical file for me anytime. But now if they do that, it can be tracked. No one is willing anymore. They’re afraid they’ll get fired or, worse, prosecuted.”

  “Didn’t the trial files say that they were able to determine a blood type from the semen? Isn’t that how they knew it wasn’t Ben who’d had sex with Tiffany?”

  Clay nodded, looking thoughtful. He got up from the couch and said, “Give me until tomorrow and let me see if I can come up with something. And let’s keep this between us for now.”

  I nodded, and as I watched him leave my office with his shoulders slumped, his step almost dragging, I knew that if what we suspected was true, it was going to devastate a lot of lives.

  Chapter 34

  After Clay left, I came out of the office
and saw Mal sitting at the bar.

  “How did your shopping go?”

  “Well enough. I bought, wrapped, and shipped all my gifts back home. They’ll be late, but then my family expects that of me.” He winked. “What were you and Clay talking about in there?”

  “I was updating him on my call to Melanie Smithson,” I said. And I left it at that.

  There was a lot of cleanup to do, so I busied myself helping Missy and Billy get things tidied up and chatted with Mal as I worked. Everyone was tired but in a good mood. I knew my staff would be eager to head home for the Christmas holiday, so I let them all go when I closed up at two. Mal hung for a few minutes and offered to help me finish the cleanup, but I told him to go home. I wanted some time to think through things without any other distractions.

  I still hadn’t heard from Duncan and figured that meant his work stuff had kept him longer than expected and I wouldn’t be seeing him tonight. I took my time with the rest of the cleanup and closing duties, toddling along as best I could with my crutches, my mind thinking about Tiffany, Ben, and the Gallagher family. At around two thirty in the morning my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mack. It’s Duncan. Wasn’t sure if you’d still be up.”

  “I am and will be for a bit. We had a very busy day, and Pete had to go home sick. One of my other waitresses called in, too, so I’ve got a bit of cleanup to do yet.”

  “Want some help?”

  I smiled at the unexpected surprise. “I’d love some.”

  “I can be there in fifteen minutes. The usual knock.”

  “Got it.”

  I disconnected the call and headed for my office to disable the door alarm. But I’d gone only a few steps when I heard someone knocking at the front door. I switched directions, and when I got to the front door and looked out, I saw Clay Sanders standing outside. Beside him was Aidan Gallagher. I hesitated, wondering why Clay was here with Aidan. Sensing my reluctance, Clay hollered through the door.

  “Mack, can you let us in? We need to talk. I tried to call you, but I forgot about your phone problem.”

  I cursed, remembering that I hadn’t given Clay the new number. I unlocked and opened the door.

  Clay rushed in, Aidan on his heels. “I got the evidence we need,” Clay said.

  I shut the door and turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I couldn’t get anyone to tap into medical records for me, so I thought about it and decided to give Aidan a call. We’ve been talking, and while it took some convincing, I’ve managed to sway him to our line of thinking. He just came back from his house, where he went through Rory’s wallet. Rory donates blood, and he carries a card in his wallet with his blood type on it. The blood type of the semen found in Tiffany was A-positive, and Ben is O-negative. That’s how they knew he couldn’t have been the donor. Want to guess what type Rory is?”

  “A-positive?”

  “You got it. What’s more, Aidan said Rory had some kind of surgical procedure done after his first summer home from college. It was all very hush-hush. Aidan doesn’t know what was done, and he said his mother doesn’t know, either. But after I shared our theory with him, he had a guess.”

  “A vasectomy,” I said, feeling my excitement grow.

  Aidan shook his head sadly, looking abashed. “I knew my brother had issues, but I never would have guessed he was this messed up.”

  Clay, looking excited, said, “Aidan is willing to go with us to the DA’s office to see if we can compel them to look into the case again.”

  I looked at Aidan, surprised. “Are you sure?” I asked him. “This is bound to destroy your family.”

  “My family is already destroyed,” he said, looking morose. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Okay. How—” My bar phone rang then, and my first impulse was to ignore it. But then I thought it might be Duncan. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need to get that.” I crutched around behind the bar and grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

  “Is this Mackenzie Dalton?” a female voice asked.

  I recognized who it was right away: Melanie Smithson. “It is.”

  “I tried to call you earlier on your cell phone, but no one answered.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I dropped it in . . . in some water, and it’s not working at the moment. I tried to call you to let you know, but it said the number was no longer in service.”

  There was a pause, and when I looked over at Clay and Aidan, Clay mimed the pouring of a drink and gave me a questioning look. I nodded, waved a hand at the bottles behind me, and then moved from behind the bar. Aidan walked up and settled on a stool, while Clay came around behind the bar and started mixing drinks for the two of them.

  “I thought long and hard about whether or not I should call you,” Melanie said. “You have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone. He’s threatened me several times. He said he would kill me if I ever said anything.”

  I looked over at Clay as he set a drink down in front of Aidan and gave him a thumbs-up, getting a curious look in return. I mouthed the name Melanie Smithson to him and pointed at the phone. I started to tell Melanie that it was okay, that we already knew Rory was the culprit, but she went on in a rapid-fire, panicked voice before I could get a word out.

  “He is . . . was,” Melanie went on, correcting herself in a sad tone, “infatuated with her, you know. And he’s not right in the head. He raped her when we were in high school, and he kept after her all those years, showing up at unexpected times, strong-arming her into having sex with him, threatening to kill her if she didn’t, and later threatening to kill Ben. He tried his damnedest to break those two up, and when he couldn’t, it made him furious. Tiffany told me she was afraid he would go through with it and kill Ben.” She paused, sucked in a quivering breath, and then said, “I think he finally did, or at least he tried.” She sucked in a quick, ragged breath and rambled on. “You can’t tell anyone. And you have to find a way to get him put away. If he finds out I told you about him, he’ll kill me. I know he will.” The fear was evident in her voice, and I could tell she was one heartbeat away from having a full-blown panic attack.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We already figured it out on our own. In fact, we’re putting together a plan right now to go to the DA and ask them to look into the murder again.”

  “That won’t happen,” she said. “That family has too much money, too much influence. They’ll buy their way out of it somehow.” She hiccuped back a sob. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Maybe you need to say more,” I said. “Would you be willing to talk to the DA if I go with you?”

  “Are you crazy?” she screeched. “The minute I set foot back in Milwaukee, that family will have some hired killer do away with me.”

  Aidan and Clay were both watching me closely, hanging on my every word. I felt bad for Aidan, and a little awkward, given that I was trying to convince someone to help me crucify his brother. His sad, hangdog expression tore at me. I hobbled around on my crutches, angling myself away from the men’s stares.

  “I know a lot of cops,” I told Melanie in a low voice. “I can see to it that you’re safe if you come back.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t do it,” she sobbed.

  “The only way we’ll ever be able to put Rory away is if we gather enough evidence so that the DA can’t ignore it. With your help—”

  “Rory?” she said, her voice shrill. “Not Rory, lady. It’s Aidan.”

  “What?” I shot back. My voice reverberated in the phone like a gunshot. I felt my blood run cold. Literally. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my body began to tremble. My ears suddenly became hypersensitive, and I heard noises, sounds coming from behind me. And another noise, more distant. And then I felt the cold, hard steel at my neck.

  “Hang up the phone, Ms. Dalton,” Aidan said in a cold, dead voice. I knew he was right behind me, not only because of how close his voice was, but
because I could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck mingling with the coldness of what I knew from the smell was a gun.

  “Aidan, what the hell?” Clay said.

  “Hang up the phone now,” Aidan said, jabbing the gun into my neck.

  “I have to go,” I said to Melanie. “Thanks for calling.” As I took the phone from my ear and went to press the disconnect button, I heard her gasp.

  “Turn around,” Aidan said. “Slowly.”

  I didn’t have much choice other than to do it slowly, thanks to my crutches. Carefully, I twisted around until I was facing him. I glanced over at Clay, who was standing behind the bar, looking confused and bewildered.

  “It was you,” I said to Aidan. “You were the one who raped Tiffany. You were the one who tried to kill Ben.” I looked over at Clay. “It makes sense,” I said to him. “Aidan and Rory look alike, have the same eyes, nose, and hair. If we had put Aidan’s lower facial features on that drawing instead of Rory’s . . .” I left the rest for him to glean, knowing he’d figure it out.

  He did, and when he shifted his gaze to Aidan, there was no doubt he understood, based on the expression of betrayal I saw on his face. Despite that, he said, “She’s wrong about you, Aidan, isn’t she?”

  “Shut up, Clay,” Aidan snapped. His voice was loud enough that it made me jump, but not so loud that I couldn’t hear something else. “Go sit down,” Aidan said to me, gesturing toward one of the barstools. “I need to think.”

  I started for the stool he’d indicated, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to keep him talking. But Clay beat me to it.