I checked the time; we needed to leave to make our appointment.
“I disagree with his strategy. I should come in with a soft touch, and Lee as a more jaded opponent. So far my gut has worked in getting information,” Mary said, leaning toward the phone to make her point.
“This is where my experience comes into play,” Mary continued. “This isn’t an interrogation; it’s a conversation. He’s going to be defensive. His mother may be there. If she feels we’re trying to get him to admit to something that wouldn’t be in his best interest, she’ll shut the whole thing down.”
“Mary—” Jackson started.
“Am I the lead or not?” she asked, voiced raised; a few people turned to look.
Instead of answering her, all Jackson said was, “Lee has this. Call me when you have information.”
Before she could continue her argument, he hung up.
It was clear she was deciding whether to call him back. Then she surprised me by saying, “I’ve got this check.”
A few minutes later we were in a cab heading to the Upper West Side.
“That’s odd; there are cars everywhere, and that’s the address he gave us, isn’t it? The one where all the people are going in and out?” Mary asked.
“It is.” I instructed the cab driver to leave us a few doors down, so we could decide if we should approach. Mahir hadn’t called to reschedule, so we walked toward the building for the meeting.
The steep stairs were difficult for Mary, but with a little help, we made it to the top, leaving her winded. I grabbed the door knocker and gave it three good taps. As I was about to ring the bell, I heard a woman’s voice, and the door opened. In front of me stood a well-dressed woman, not much older than me. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and her nose was swollen and red.
“Can I help you?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.
“Um yes, we’re here to see Mahir. I’m Lee Stone, and this is Mary Collier. We had an appointment with him.”
She seemed confused. “Mr. Stone, I’m his mother, and…”
A gentleman with dark exotic looks moved up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders in a supportive way. I assumed he was Mahir’s father.
“I see we arrived at an inopportune time. Would you tell Mahir he can call to reschedule?”
The two looked shocked, and his father said, “Mahir died early this morning.”
I saw Mary step back in shock, and I caught her before her heel caught the stone stair. “Oh my God, I am so sorry for your loss,” she said, clutching her chest. “What happened?”
Mary, what the hell are you thinking? I wanted to say. You’re a stranger; why would these people tell you that?
“The police are still investigating. What did you come to see Mahir about?” his mother asked.
Now I was sure we were unexpected. “It’s not at all important—” I started before Mary blurted words I couldn’t claw back.
“Fiona O’Dell. We’re investigating her disappearance,” Mary said.
Shock registered across Mahir’s mother’s face and was quickly replaced with anger.
“May that bitch rot in hell,” Mahir’s mother said with such hatred it felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees.
Mahir’s father encased her shoulders with his arms and said softly in her ear, “Lucine, do not bring that karma back to us.” He gently kissed the top of her head.
Her face became grave, and she stood a little taller with stiffness to her. “Are you here on her family’s behalf?”
“Oh, no, no,” Mary said, touching her arm. “She may have taken a valuable product from our employer, and we were sent to find her and bring her to justice.”
I was shocked and angry. Why would Mary cross that line? She was accusing Fiona of a crime when she had no evidence she had done anything wrong. I was about to make my apology for us both and leave before this got any worse when Lucine spoke.
“I see. Go back down these stairs. There is another flight of stairs to your right. When you get to the bottom, the door is unlocked. Go in and make yourself comfortable; we’ll be right down.”
With that, they turned around and went back into their house. We descended the stairs, but not without me asking Mary if she had lost her mind, and her telling me to hush.
We sat on a soft cloth couch, taking in the luxurious surroundings. These people were loaded and didn’t mind showcasing their good taste. The first thing that popped into my mind as we waited was, Did Fiona target Mahir because he was wealthy? Was she trying to extort an unfounded settlement from him to keep her quiet? From all I’d gathered about Fiona, she wasn’t above a hush-money scheme.
The Abajians entered the room, and before I could open my mouth Mary already had a sentence out.
“I’m so sorry for your loss and sorry to take you away from your loved ones.” Mary sat forward on the edge of the cushion.
“Anything I can do to help extract justice against that woman…” Lucine said as her husband moved his hand over hers in comfort.
“If it isn’t too painful, can you tell us anything about Mahir’s contact with Fiona that may give us some insight into this girl?” Mary probed respectfully.
“I assume you’re aware of the…incident,” Lucine began, and we nodded. “My Mahir was a shy, gentle soul we raised to respect women. He was polite and thoughtful and never would have become involved with such a woman.”
“Do you know how they met?” I asked.
“He said they were in classes together, and she started conversations with him. According to him, he politely shut her down. Mahir told me she was a flirt and had disrupted several relationships between classmates. My poor Mahir thought her attention toward him was a ploy to make him uncomfortable,” she said, shaking her head.
“While the police investigated, it appeared no one put any effort into seeking other suspects, so I hired a private investigator. We found out Ms. O’Dell had quite the checkered past.” Lucine’s voice rose, and her head moved slightly back as her jaw jutted.
“I see,” Mary said, in a conspiratorial tone. “What did you find out?”
“Lucine, what about the non-disclosure?” her husband interjected.
“Please, don’t be crazy, Matthew. Mahir signed it, not me,” she said with a cutting edge.
“But—”
“Enough! I want this out in the open.” She turned to her husband in a silencing manner.
I wouldn’t want to be her opponent in court. From our brief encounter so far, she was formidable. Since she appeared to relate to Mary, I remained shielded from her view, so she could tell her story to Mary.
“It was a terrible time in our lives. Mahir had always been a good boy, and his life was difficult as we emigrated from Armenia. But that isn’t what you want to know.
“Mahir had attended Columbia undergraduate and wanted to spread his wings. We decided the California university system was a good match. So he enrolled in an accelerated masters and doctorate program.
“The night we received the call they’d arrested him was the worst night of my life. I had no idea he’d given a statement to the police. Once Ms. O’Dell had identified Mahir, and he was under arrest, we were on the next plane. We hired a criminal defense attorney and got him out on bail.
“Our attorney hired a private investigation firm, and the depraved life this girl lived was shocking—”
“Lucine, there is no need to go into graphic detail. I believe Mary and Lee can use their imaginations,” Matthew said as he shifted.
“No, Matthew, it must be said. Ms. O’Dell frequented sex clubs and online sugar daddy services, which are nothing less than prostitution. Our investigator interviewed many students who had fallen for her particular brand of crazy and one who had stalked her.”
“Again, Lucine, my love, this is just stirring up bad emotions,” Matthew interjected.
She continued as if he hadn’t said a thing.
“Digging into her background,
we found she’d been part of a similar sex ring in Boston where she’d been at school last. We also found a student committed suicide because of his despair over finding out about a dalliance Fiona had with a professor.
“When the DA decided not to present the case to the grand jury, the charges were dropped. The school granted them both early graduation status, and Mahir returned home.
“He became more depressed as the weeks passed, and the doctors changed his medication. It is incomprehensible that one person could cause such destruction in life,” Lucine said as she blotted under her eyes.
“Sometimes people that sick will continue to torment their victims. Do you have any reason to think Mahir has had any communication with her?” I asked.
“I don’t believe so; however, the police have confiscated his phone. The phone is under my plan, and I can ask for a copy of his incoming calls and text messages. But I don’t believe that girl would contact him and leave a digital footprint,” she said.
“Would you be willing to share the report your private investigator put together with names and places?” I asked.
She reached for a small computer on the table and asked for my email address. Within a few seconds, the report sat in my inbox.
“I’m emailing you the card of the detective who’s in charge of the investigation. I will email my investigator, Salvo, and tell him he has my permission to share any information he has with you. If you can prosecute this girl, let me know. My heart is saying she had something to do with Mahir’s death.”
“Again we’re sorry for your loss and will pray for your son. We can see ourselves out,” Mary said, giving Lucine a quick embrace.
We exited the home in silence as more people came and others left.
Mary
I studied the photograph of Fiona from her employment package, as if the picture could come to life and explain her complexities. She was someone’s daughter, possibly someone’s sister, and, I perceived, no one’s sweetheart. Unfortunately, all I could see was a beautiful girl with an ugly heart. Who was I to know her real story? Was she abused as a child? Did her neurotransmitters misfire and not send enough chemicals through her blood to reach her brain? Or had she sustained an injury to her frontal lobe? I needed to know what made Fiona tick.
“Fiona, who are you?” I asked the universe. “Where are you? Do you have what we want, or are we on a wild goose chase? Were you connected with Mahir’s death?”
I opened my PowerPoint application and placed a circle in the middle, representative of Fiona. From there I linked everyone we believed had hurt her or had a reason to want to hurt her. The next grouping of lines was where she might go based on our information. Before I knew it, there were numerous lines, but none intersected at a common point.
The night passed before I realized it. I was so engrossed in my diagram that sleep eluded me. I dissected all there was to know about Fiona, and what I uncovered alarmed me.
I had twenty minutes before I needed to meet Lee in the breakfast area, so a quick shower and fresh clothes were in order. This would leave me enough time to devour a couple pastries and a carafe of coffee before we met.
Lee entered the room and interested female eyes swung his way. A handsome man at six feet four inches, a confident swagger, and a thick sexy mess of brown hair, added to his rugged looks. All he needed was a cowboy hat to round out many a woman’s fantasy. His best feature was his eyes, the color of shards of thin blue glass. Lee had no idea women devoured him with their eyes, because he never looked around to see; his only focus was on his present task.
“Lee, you need a woman in your life,” I told him as he flipped his coffee cup and put it on the saucer.
His lips twitched into a small smile as if something amused him. That mischievous smile kept me interested in what he was thinking.
“Mary, I was married for fifteen years, and it wasn’t the most pleasant experience for my wife. I’ve been told I’m a hard-ass and difficult to please, and those are my good qualities. Many women have told me I set my standards too high, and I have no romance in my soul.”
“A man has needs.” I reminded him as I poured my second cup of coffee. “You’re too young not to have a companion to enjoy life with, my dear.”
“I don’t want to get into this, Mary; it won’t go well. You don’t have to eat home-cooked meals when fast food is available,” he replied, refilling my water. “When’s your niece, Emma, due with the twins?”
“Ah, I see, a change of direction to throw the old lady off task of trying to organize a love life for you. To answer your question, Emma is due in three months. Now, let me continue. There is a lid—”
“I know, Mary; there’s a lid for every pot. But, Mary, some pots don’t need a lid. Now back to business—”
“Are you a Capricorn?” I asked. The man was stubborn and determined enough to be one.
“What’s that?” He looked confused.
“When were you born? What month?”
“January 6. Is there a point to this question?”
“There you go, the mountain goat, the responsible one. Methodical, tough, unyielding. OK, we have to find you a water sign…” I was about to give him a list of qualities to search for when he snapped his fingers to get my attention and told me to focus.
I’d brought Emma and her husband together. I could do the same for Lee, if he gave me some room to work.
“First, I want to meet with the detective assigned to Mahir’s case,” Lee said. “His mother was holding something back. All she told us was he died, and we can’t do much with that. Was he mugged? Did someone find him after he committed suicide? Was it accidental? If our case doesn’t intersect with his death, then we need to move on.
“I spent a lot of time on Fiona’s background to project where she may feel safe to go. I tried to narrow down a place she’d be comfortable enough to sell the information,” Lee said.
He stopped while the server took our order, and I used that time to fish out my murder board I’d printed out before I’d left the room.
He reached for it with a surprised expression as I handed it to him.
“What’s this? It’s like a picture of the London underground.”
“This, my boy, is what you call a murder board. I’ve placed everyone we know about on this board, and together we can decide which leads to follow.”
“Holy sh…hell, Mary, I’m impressed,” he said as he reached into his messenger bag and took out a stack of paper stapled at the top left corner. “I took the FBI course on profiling when I joined homicide and worked a few cases with them. I read the report from the psychologist Mahir’s family had hired for his case, and I did an abbreviated workup on Fiona. You know, to get into her head.”
He handed me his notes, and I adjusted my glasses for proper reading. He’d circled the words “sociopathy,” “manipulation,” and “inability to form lasting friendships” several times. Lee had noted Fiona’s childhood had been bleak and left her with abandonment and abuse issues to resolve.
“Well, we could have guessed that, but how does it help us find her?” I asked.
“Since she appears to fund her activities through, shall we say, certain men’s generosity, I had Jackson tap into the sugar daddy site Claire gave us. Her profile had been inactive, but in the last three days, there’s been some activity. Jackson took a chance and sent a query, and believe it or not, he set up a meetup scheduled Friday in Boston. That gives us two days to get what we need here and get up there,” Lee said, sitting back, tapping the back of the spoon on the table.
I glanced at the report again. Fiona had attended college and graduate school in Boston, but had left under a cloud of suspicion. There were no visible connections that would bring her back there. Boston wasn’t exactly a hotbed of sexual activity. Something didn’t fit, and it irked me that I couldn’t find it.
I glanced up to see Lee studying me, as if he could see my deduction and induction process whipping at warp speed through my head
.
“Lee, none of this makes sense.”
“I can read your mind, Mary. You’re worried Hightower is having us track her down as a personal agenda. Am I right?” he asked, blowing out a soft breath of air.
“It has crossed my mind more than once. Let’s meet with the police detective, and if there’s no connection here between Mahir and Fiona, we move on to Boston,” I said. “Did you call and set up an appointment?”
“Yes, we’ll meet at the station. She was reluctant, but, the fact we were following Fiona piqued her interest. And, Mary, I speak law enforcement, so please let me handle this meeting.” He paid the bill and carefully placed it in his expense report compartment.
“Lee, that blonde over there has been trying to catch your eye. You want to amble on over there and strike up a conversation?” I asked, part tease, part question.
“Not my type, Mary.”
OK, now we were getting somewhere. “What’s your type?”
“Sensible, self-sustaining, and no drama,” he replied without a thought.
“So, a woman who knows her way around a vibrator and binges on Netflix?”
“Pretty much.” He chuckled.
I liked the way his dimples folded into his cheeks when he laughed. I was determined to find this boy his happily ever after.
The precinct appeared like any other in a large city, a hive of activity. Some people were seated filling out papers, and others were demanding attention of the officers at the front desk. This one needed a fresh coat of paint, and the gray tiles, once white, required a good wash.
I strolled over to the chest-high desk where an officer greeted visitors, and Lee took the lead. He was comfortable in this environment, a place officers called their house, and he relaxed, as if this was his home.
“I’m Detective Stone here to see Detective Hughes. God, sorry, Lee Stone,” he said, shaking his head. “Old habits.”
“Where were you stationed?” the younger man asked.
The Last Lie She Told (Lies and Misdirection Book 1) Page 4