“And that’s all there is to it?”
“As far as I’ve been able to tell.”
Baronick shrugged. “As I mentioned, I’ve been chatting with a number of your local citizens. They’re a fascinating bunch. Everyone seems to know everything about everybody around here.”
“Anybody tell you who killed Ted Bassi or Jerry McBirney?”
“Not exactly. But I’ve learned some interesting tidbits, and I’ve been able to compile a list of potential suspects.”
“Really?” Pete crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back. This should be entertaining.
“On the surface, it would seem everyone loved Ted Bassi with the notable exception of Jerry McBirney. Did McBirney kill Bassi and then someone else took revenge on McBirney? Possibly. On the other hand, no one had much good to say about McBirney. I have a sense there’s going to be considerable dancing on his grave once he’s in the ground.”
“Can’t argue with anything you’ve said so far.”
“I did come up with one strong suspect for both murders. One person with motive, means, and opportunity.” Baronick beamed as though he’d just discovered the cure for cancer.
“And who might that be?”
“Marcy McBirney.”
“Marcy? What motive does she have for killing Ted Bassi?”
“Crime of passion. They were having an affair.”
“No, they weren’t. Ted was helping her find a divorce attorney.”
“I’m sure he was. The man didn’t want his lover married to someone else.” Baronick snickered.
It struck Pete that he hadn’t questioned Marcy’s version of the story. He hadn’t wanted to.
“But your ex-wife isn’t my only suspect. As I mentioned, it’s possible we have two killers. Supposing Jerry McBirney killed Ted Bassi, then I have two—make that three—other suspects for the McBirney homicide.” Baronick held up one finger. “The boy. Logan Bassi. Getting revenge for the murder of his father.”
Pete cringed. He feared the same thing, but hoped more than anything to find evidence to the contrary.
Baronick held up a second finger. “Zoe Chambers.”
Pete choked. “What?”
“I discovered that she and McBirney have a rather nasty past, including an attempted rape.”
Pete held his poker face. How the hell had Baronick found out about that? Did he know the rest of it? McBirney’s visit to her at her barn? The threats? If he didn’t, Pete wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “That’s two.”
Instead of holding up the third finger, Baronick folded both hands together and rested them on the desk. “My third suspect is still in love with McBirney’s widow, even though he’s divorced from her. That would be you, Chief.”
“Visibility sucks,” Earl said.
Zoe, content to leave the foul-weather driving to her partner, squinted into the night. With the exception of the black sky, everything was white—the surface and the edge of the road, as well as the curtain of snow sweeping across Medic Three’s headlights. Her nerves played hell with her gut. The night was too eerily similar to Monday, and she kept seeing Ted’s body in that Buick.
“Are you all right?” Earl said. “You’re awfully quiet this evening.”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t. The computer had refused to offer any indication of what sent Logan off to who-knows-where. She’d made it up to the V’s in the tax records. The clue was probably buried in old lady Zuckerman’s file.
Or she’d missed it completely.
Plus Logan still wouldn’t answer his cell phone. She stared out the window at the blizzard. Where the hell was he?
The radio crackled. “Medic Three, this is Control. What’s your 10-20?”
Zoe reached for the mic, but paused. “Good question. Where are we?” They were returning to the garage from Brunswick Hospital on Route 15 after a cardiac run, but her mind had drifted and one snowy bend in the road looked the same as another.
“We’re coming up on the intersection with Mays Road,” Earl said.
“Thanks.” She keyed the mic. “Control, this is Medic Three. We’re about a half mile north of Mays Road on Route 15.”
“Medic Three, respond to a vehicular accident with injuries. Route 15 approximately two miles north of Dillard. Fire-rescue has been notified.”
“Copy that. Medic Three en route.”
“Eighteen forty-two.”
Zoe grabbed the clipboard and started filling out a new report while Earl flipped the switch for the emergency lights.
“It’s gonna be like this all night,” Earl predicted. “No one wants to give up their Friday night drinking with their buddies just because the weather’s a little bad.”
“A little?”
The ambulance fishtailed as Earl maneuvered around a sharp bend, but he managed to maintain control.
A minute later, they rolled past the farm. Zoe looked up at her house. It was completely dark. Odd. She hadn’t left any lights on in her half, but the Kroll’s half was always brightly lit.
They came up behind a slow moving car and Earl whooped the siren at the driver.
“Watch,” Zoe said. “He’ll panic and run off into a drift.”
Instead, he stayed squarely on the road, but slowed down even more. “Hold on.” Earl tapped the siren again and then pulled out and gunned it around the car.
Another mile and Zoe made out the orange glow of flares through the white lace curtain of snow. “There.”
“Got it.”
She radioed in to Control and jotted the time on the report.
As they eased up to the scene, Zoe assessed the view before them. One car, a dark colored sedan with the front end caved in against a utility pole, which was snapped off at the point of impact. Wires sparked and crackled and were all that kept the pole from coming all the way down.
Ah-ha. That explained the darkened farmhouse.
A second car was pulled off the road on the far side of the smashed one, its headlights adding to the illumination provided by the flares.
Zoe and Earl climbed out of the ambulance. Sirens wailed, and an air horn blasted in the distance. Snow pelted her in the face, and she pulled her hood over her head. Grabbing the jump kit from the back, she half ran, half skated toward the car.
A figure leaned into the car’s open driver’s door, his back to her. He straightened and turned, taking a step toward them, catching the light of one of the flares. His hands and the front of his coat were dark with blood.
“Oh, my God,” Zoe gasped. “Pete.”
Pete realized instantly what Zoe was thinking. “No,” he said. “It’s not my blood.” He wiped his hands on his bomber jacket. Damn. Another one for the trash. “He’s got a head laceration. It’s bleeding like a mother, but I don’t think it’s that bad. His leg, on the other hand…” Pete wanted to warn her who “he” was, but she rushed past him before he had a chance.
He’d been on his way to Brunswick to investigate his mall theory. The roads were treacherous, but the idea of that kid being out in this weather—not to mention Sylvia at home on the verge of a stroke worrying about him—was more than enough incentive to take the risk.
The crash must have happened mere minutes before he came upon it. He almost broadsided the damned car since it blocked both lanes. Smoke poured from under the wrinkled hood. He’d grabbed his fire extinguisher, a flashlight, and his cell phone and ran to the passenger door.
Pete aimed the light through the window. The driver, his face bloody, shielded his eyes from the beam, but Pete recognized him.
Matt Doaks.
Pete hit the smoldering engine with the fire extinguisher and called in the accident to the EOC. Then he wrestled the driver’s door open to get a better look. He was greeted with a moan.<
br />
“Chief Adams,” Doaks said through clenched teeth. “Man, am I glad to see you.”
“Where are you hurt?” Pete took in the wilted airbag drooping from the steering column and noticed Doaks was wearing his seatbelt. So he wasn’t a complete moron.
“I don’t know. My chest hurts, and my head’s throbbing. And I can’t move my right leg.”
Pete aimed his light toward Doaks’ feet. The left leg seemed okay, although wedged under the dashboard, which was considerably closer to the driver than it was before impact. However, the right shin appeared to have an additional angle to it besides the normal ankle and knee joints.
“Don’t move. I called 9-1-1.”
“I smell smoke.”
“Fire’s out.”
Doaks swiped a hand over his face, and when he looked at the blood, he let out a yelp. “Holy shit. I’m bleeding.”
“Scalp wounds do that. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry? How much blood does a person have?”
“Enough. What have you had to drink tonight?”
“Nothing. I guess I hit an icy patch. One minute I’m driving along. The next, I’m spinning and—” He made an explosion sound and spread his fingers wide. Then he winced. “Ow.”
“Not a good night to be out,” Pete said. “Where were you headed?”
Doaks pressed a hand to his head. His face contorted with pain. He took a couple of shuddering breaths. Then he relaxed a bit. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Where were you going that couldn’t wait for better weather?”
“I was supposed to meet a friend in Brunswick.” He made a feeble attempt at a grin. “You know. A female friend. Hot enough to melt all this snow. Damn. My head’s killing me.”
“Consider yourself lucky that your airbag deployed or that statement might be truer than you realize. As it is, looks like you’re going to miss your date.”
“I need to call her. Don’t suppose you’ve seen my cell phone?”
“You’d better wait until you get to the hospital for that.”
Pete left Doaks searching for his errant phone. As he lit and set out the flares, he heard a short blast of siren in the distance and a moment later, the ambulance had arrived.
“Matt?” Zoe was saying. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Pete didn’t catch Doaks’ response.
Earl pulled a penlight from his cargo pants and checked their patient’s pupils. Zoe caught Doaks’ wrist, eyes on her watch.
Pete turned his attention to the red emergency lights sweeping through the veil of snow about a half mile down the valley. The throaty sirens of the fire engine echoed off the hillsides. A minute later, the truck braked to a stop behind Pete’s car. Seth pulled up behind them. Fire fighters swarmed around the wreck, conferring with Zoe and Earl and dragging equipment from the truck.
“Hey, Chief.” Bruce Yancy, captain of the Vance Township Volunteer Fire Department approached him lugging a Port-a-Power in one hand like it was a lunch box. He extended the other gloved hand toward Pete, who took it and winced. The big, burly man had a grip that could crush a steel beer can with minimal effort. “You responsible for putting out the engine fire?”
“Sorry if I invaded your territory.”
“No problem. We’ll just have to sign you up with the Fireman’s Association.” Yancy’s laugh matched his size.
These guys loved their work.
“Poor bastard did a number on that utility pole. Both electric and phone lines are down. Course that’s nothing compared to his car.” Yancy patted the Port-a-Power. “Especially after we cut it open to get him out.”
Seth, wearing a reflective vest over his parka and a fur-lined hat with earflaps, shuffled up to them. “Hey, Chief. What have we got?”
“Matt Doaks.”
The young officer swore. “Another township supervisor? How bad?”
Not as bad as Jerry McBirney. “He’s conscious and alert. Worrying about standing up his girlfriend.”
Yancy chuckled and slapped Pete on the back. “I’ll let you boys do your job, and I’ll go do mine. Maybe we can get him out of here in time to make his date.”
Not from the looks of that leg, Pete thought as the fire captain hustled off.
Pete and Seth took up positions to direct the minimal traffic. Two more fire trucks arrived. Firefighters set up lights and proceeded to carve up Doaks’ car like a Thanksgiving turkey. From his post, Pete watched Zoe and her partner in the heart of the frenzy, working to stabilize and immobilize the patient. A shout went up as they wedged open the car enough for the paramedics to ease Doaks onto a backboard and the gurney.
Zoe and Earl started to push the cot through the snow, but Doaks waved one hand in a frantic gesture. Zoe leaned over him, her ear close to his face. Then she turned back to the car and leaned inside. After a moment, she straightened up and returned to Doaks.
Pete watched as she winged Doaks’ cell phone at him.
TWENTY-THREE
“The nerve of that bastard,” Zoe muttered after she and Earl deposited their patient into a cubicle at Brunswick Hospital’s emergency department.
“What’s frosted your ass?” her partner said.
That was a good way to describe how she felt. Only a few hours ago, Matt had been pleading for her to take him back. Claiming he was ready to settle down. Then he turned around and asked her to find his cell phone in the mangled wreckage of his car so he could call his date and let her know why he was a no-show.
“Just Matt being Matt,” she said. Earl already knew enough about her sorry excuse of a past with the jerk. She decided not to bore him with more recent developments.
“Is he hitting on the nurses already?” Earl grinned at her.
“Something like that. Do me a favor? Take care of the clean linens for the gurney, and I’ll make a coffee run. I’m buying.”
“Hey, I never turn down free caffeine. You’re not planning on detouring out to McCluskey’s Bar for a little vodka to add to it, are you?”
“Vodka? Hell, no. Whiskey.” Zoe winked at him as she headed for the double doors, slapping the square silver button on the wall to open them.
She made her way through the mazelike hallways toward the employees’ lounge, and reflected on the moment they’d arrived at the accident to find Pete covered in blood. Not again, she’d thought. One of the curses of working for a small, local ambulance service was pulling up to a scene only to discover she knew the patient. This week there had been Ted, and McBirney, and then Pete. On top of all that had happened, Pete being hurt was too much.
But, no. It wasn’t Pete. It was Matt. Yet another man from her past.
Another set of automatic doors swished open for her, and she made her way through the maze of hallways to a pair of elevators. As she waited, her mind drifted to Logan. Where was he on this nasty night? Was he safe?
Was he alive?
Zoe closed her eyes. Which was worse—Logan being found guilty of McBirney’s murder and sentenced to life in prison, or being dead?
The elevator dinged and her eyes flitted open. The doors parted. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor.
A few minutes later, she entered a minimalist cafeteria and lounge. A half dozen assorted hospital employees sat at the Formica tables, eating, drinking, and chatting. A skinny young man with hollow eyes stood behind the counter by the cash register. Zoe contemplated buying him a cup of coffee, too. He looked like he needed it more than she or Earl did.
“How’s Doaks?”
Zoe spun to find Pete behind her. He wore a different coat…one that wasn’t blood-soaked. But this one looked too lightweight for the weather…probably an all-purpose spare he kept in his car. His hair was wet from melting snow, and she bit bac
k an urge to reach up and brush away the lingering droplets. “They’re taking x-rays and running tests. It’s pretty obvious his right leg’s broken. His pupils were equal and reactive, so my guess is his head injuries are superficial.”
He motioned for her to step up to the counter. “How about you? I saw you chuck his cell phone at him. Not standard procedure for handling trauma victims.”
He’d seen that? How embarrassing. “Matt has a knack for knowing how to push my buttons. But I’m fine. What are you doing here? Do you suspect he was drinking?”
“Not really. I was coming into town anyway, and I wanted to check on you.” He nodded to the skinny kid. “Two large coffees. My treat.”
“Actually, I said I was buying for Earl, too.”
“No problem. Make that three.” Pete pulled out his wallet and counted the bills. The skinny kid made change and handed them three large foam cups.
They moved to another counter that held five coffee pumpers.
“Why were you driving into Brunswick in this weather?” Zoe said as she waited for Pete to fill the first cup.
“I’m still trying to track down Logan Bassi.”
Her heart leapt into high gear. “Did you hear something about where he might be?”
“No.” Pete handed a full cup to her and started on the second. “No one knows anything. It’s like the kid crawled into a hole somewhere and vanished.”
She hoped it was a warm, dry hole. “What makes you believe he’s in Brunswick?”
“Just a hunch. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of around home. So I thought about where I might go if I were a seventeen-year-old.”
“And?”
“I thought of the mall.” He handed her another cup.
Why hadn’t that occurred to her? Logan and Allison always met their friends at the Brunswick Mall.
Pete fit a lid on his coffee, and Zoe doctored Earl’s with half-and-half and sugar, gave it a stir, and snapped lids on it and on hers.
Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) Page 23