Murder By Association: A Stanford Carter Prequel (Stanford Carter Murder Mystery Book 2)

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Murder By Association: A Stanford Carter Prequel (Stanford Carter Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 8

by Gary Starta


  “I know. I’m entertaining the idea of twenty four hour surveillance of her home.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Diggs balled the plastic wrapper from a half-eaten croissant into her palm for emphasis. “For the moment, we seem to be containing Samantha Baxter just like this plastic wrapper is retaining its ball-like shape. Only wishful thinking will keep her contained like this for any length of time. Soon she will find a way―much like this wrapper is doing right now, to break our containment.” (The wrapper began to unfold as if it were a sprouting flower). “See how it’s beginning to change shape. Even though my eyes are glued to it, this wrapper is taking another form.”

  “A funny thought occurred to me Caitlin. All of your little demonstrations over the years have always revolved around food.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Geoffrey’s thin smile disappeared quicker than a passing comet when he met Caitlin’s glaring eyes. Geoffrey always equated Caitlin’s sapphire eyes with the expanse of the night sky. Mesmerizing and captivating, they had the capability of making him feel as small as a speck of stardust.

  “Okay, I agree, Caitlin. Around the clock surveillance might not prevent her from eluding us. Are you thinking about obtaining a search warrant?”

  “We’ll never get a judge to give us one based upon circumstantial evidence. Let’s see.” Diggs began counting on her fingers. “She didn’t leave the murder weapon. We’ve got no prints. The blue fabric could have been taken off any one of the fifty or so sweaters distributed to city employees. And Mayor Schroeder believes she’s above reproach.”

  “Then maybe we should be considering other suspects.”

  “No. I think she’s our perp. In fact, every psychic bone in my body tells me she staged this murder to look like a serial. The medical examiner’s latest finding supports this.”

  Carter had called Diggs two hours earlier with Shirley’s postmortem findings. Carter was now convinced the stab wounds to the vic’s hands were made post mortem. Shirley could find no clotting or swelling on her palms. “I think this confirms my theory, Geoffrey. Baxter surprised her victim because she was a woman. The vic had no time to defend herself.”

  “And if that’s true, Caitlin. Then why plant the material from the blue sweatshirt? Why would she want to implicate any city employee―including herself? If Baxter truly wants these murders to foil Mayor Schroeder’s bid for reelection, then why leave the fabric?”

  “She may have made a mistake in her haste. She may have ripped a swatch of material from the sweatshirt to make us believe there was a struggle. Maybe she feared leaving any material from her own clothes. Then again, Boston does lay claim to the best forensic lab in the nation. Maybe she was worried a forensic connection could be established. Or, she might have intentionally left the fabric to make us believe this was an inside job, which could make things look a whole lot worse for the Mayor. A lot of city employees have these sweatshirts. A lot of people might come under suspicion. Maybe she never thought we would discover her motive.”

  “Okay, Caitlin. I’ve had time to think about your proposal and the answer is no.”

  “What do you mean? I haven’t given you any proposal.”

  “I know you Caitlin. You want to make yourself bait.”

  Diggs tossed her head back. “There’s no other way.”

  McAllister sat pensive. Diggs allowed a few stubborn minutes of silence to pass, believing he would acquiesce to her plan.

  “Okay,” McAllister said. “You’ll wear a wire and it will be fitted with a microchip in the receiver. That way I’ll be able to track you.”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary, Geoffrey, but I’ll wear it. I’ll simply feign car trouble right in front of her residence. If she’s the killer, I don’t think she’ll be able to resist the opportunity to add to the body count.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with you on that one. She picked the homeless woman to make us think she’s killing at random. I can’t see why she wouldn’t want to make you the next ‘Plunger’ victim as well.”

  “Gee, thanks for your support.” Diggs’ voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “I’ll be tracking you Caitlin. I won’t let her harm one beautiful hair on your head. If she attempts to take you anywhere, I’ll follow the GPS signal.”

  “I’ll be ready for her. The first move she makes on me will be her last. There shouldn’t be any need to track me.”

  McAllister playfully mocked Diggs. “Such confidence.”

  “And that’s why you love me.”

  A kiss ensued. Diggs broke the lip lock prematurely, fearing officers might be watching. But this time, Diggs’ instinct was wrong. Someone else had been keeping tabs on them. An orange taxi had followed the agents all the way from the hotel. McAllister had ignored the vehicle, never suspecting a tail from a cab. Employing a rifle mike, a man resembling a portly version of Robert De Niro had sat quietly in the backseat of the cab, listening in on the agent’s love tiff. He ensured the cabby’s silence with three bills bearing the image of Ben Franklin.

  “Go enjoy a dinner, and forget you ever gave me a fare.” The fifty-something-year-old man told the driver. He waited a few minutes for the agents to enter the crime lab and then commanded the cabby to click off his meter and continue driving another five miles until he reached a neighborhood delicatessen.

  For the remainder of the ride, the cabby smiled. His beaming face reflected in the rearview mirror, ensuring his passenger he was devoted to his cause. The passenger kept a pensive eye on the cabby. He locked the eavesdropping device in an attaché case and wondered if three hundred dollars was still enough money to buy someone’s silence.

  * * *

  “I don’t think we should see each other for a few weeks.”

  The Mayor’s words spilled out of him, stinging with betrayal. He tried to deliver those words with eloquence, as if they were part of a speech. But emotion tinged the words, making them more much personal.

  On the other end of the phone, actress Eva Davies stewed in silence. She hoped a few minutes of dead air would fill Mayor Schroeder with enough guilt to change his mind. When it didn’t, Eva tried another tact.

  “This is crazy, baby. I refused a movie role just so we could spend the summer together. Now’s not the time to cut me off. Remember how I told you I would help you get out of this mess. Well, I still can if you don’t shut me out.”

  “Look, Eva. I’m not shutting you out. Can’t you see I’m protecting you? If any harm should come to you out of this…”

  Eva interrupted. “I love you.” Her steady delivery even surprised herself. But it didn’t convince the Mayor.

  Schroeder had categorized Eva Davies the first moment he had met her. A free spirit, Davies would never commit. This was fine for Schroeder. He had no intentions of leaving his wife, especially during an election year. Yet Schroeder errantly concluded Davies would never desire commitment because she liked her freedom. He didn’t know she had been seeing a psychiatrist so she could overcome her fear of divorce and finally take a man’s hand in marriage. Nor did Schroeder realize Eva Davies truly pined for a relationship that transcended sex―a relationship that didn’t have to be hidden underneath covers or become a tool for blackmailers. Ultimately, Davies longed for a union that could be symbolized with a wedding band.

  The actress recited a line she had not rehearsed, desperate the Mayor would disconnect.

  “Have you considered a divorce?”

  She could feel the tension on the other end of the line mount.

  “We could be together. You could tell the blackmailers to go fuck themselves.” And then Eva’s voice quieted to a whisper. “You could help the woman who came to me.”

  “What? What woman came to you?” Now the Mayor’s tone became desperate, demanding.

  “She stopped me in the parking garage. She implored m
e to keep you from giving in to their demands.”

  “She did, did she?”

  “You sound as if you know the woman.”

  “I do. The FBI agents suspect she is the new ‘Plunger.’ But I don’t buy it. She’s a tree hugger, not a killer.”

  “You’ve got to tell me who she is. I can go talk to her. I might be able to find just who these blackmailers are.”

  “I could have had the police do as much, Eva. No, I see you want to help me–but we can’t risk exposing this to the public.”

  “I can use tact, Art. I’m an actress. I could get her to talk without involving the police, without bringing the public into this. I’m willing to do this. I would risk my life for you.”

  “If I tell you her name, will you promise not to interfere?”

  “And why would you do that? If you don’t want me to interfere?”

  “I don’t want this woman sneaking up on you again, that’s why.”

  “Okay, I’ll promise not to question her.” She sighed as the Mayor gave her the name. “You know you could make this whole mess go away a lot easier. Just tell them you don’t care if our relationship goes public.”

  Silence told Eva the Mayor would never consider such an option.

  Confused and angry, Eva hung up the phone. At the moment, Eva felt as if she could kill.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Silent in the cool darkness of a summer morning, the gray sedan lurches forward, gliding along the city street with the stealth of a stray cat. With engine cut and lights out, Diggs coasts the vehicle to a stop without detection. Now parked directly in front of Samantha Baxter’s two-story, Laurier Stone brick face dwelling, Diggs can scan the roadway behind and ahead of her. She is surrounded by blackness. No oncoming cars, no noise or lights emanating from those parked curbside. Not even a dog barking. She summons some courage to remove herself from the car, because despite her proposal to “go it alone’ Diggs can feel butterflies mount in her belly. A street lamp casts a shadow off Baxter’s house, illuminating it so she can see its color, dark rosewood―nearly the shade of blood. Diggs hopes it isn’t an omen. The journey from curb to doorway is a short one, only a few yards of grass separate Baxter’s house from the street. Ironic. Diggs is puzzled. Why would such a lover of open space voluntarily choose to live in such a modicum of greenery? Upon further inspection, Diggs takes note of several exquisite Wedgwood Blue lilac bushes. Baxter has managed to maximize her limited landscaping after all. The flowering shrubs gave off a fresh, aromatic scent, which permeates Diggs’ nasal passages. It makes Diggs pause once more. Could a killer be connected with such beauty? Lost in thought, Diggs glances up at a second story window she believes to be a bedroom. In a minute there will be no turning back. Once she rings the doorbell, Diggs will set a wheel in motion. The bureau will begin treating Baxter as a suspect, profiling her as a woman ready to kill in the name of the environment. She inhales deeply and pushes the dwelling’s intercom buzzer.

  A raspy voice responds. “Who’s out there? Whad’d’ya want?”

  Diggs is taken back by the woman’s poor diction. She wonders if this really is Baxter’s house. She surmises the woman must be groggy, probably just stumbling on her words. Public speakers enunciate after all, they don’t come into positions of power by embracing street slang.

  “I’m quite sorry, Ma’am. I hope to use your phone. You see my car died.”

  “Ain’t you got a cell?”

  Diggs can feel her skin prickle as if ants are crawling up and down her backside. Her gut tells her this woman might not be who she seems. But logic tells her the woman might be putting on a front. Maybe Baxter slips into this ‘street’ character when her mind loses control. She could be a split personality. The barkeeper described her as a leather clad babe. Duality might be plausible. Diggs takes another breath, telling herself that McAllister would most likely concur with the latter reasoning. It gives her courage to proceed.

  “I feel like an idiot, Ma’am. My cell’s dead as well.”

  “Alright. I’ll come down with a phone. You can use it on my stoop. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t let any strangers in my house, especially at five in the morning.” Diggs hears shuffling.

  “Certainly, I apologize for waking you.”

  Diggs waits in the dusk of morning while Baxter descends a stairwell. Stair boards groan in protest of the early intrusion.

  Then the door suddenly swings open without warning. Diggs feels the confidence of the past dissolve into the present. She instinctively steps back but an arm concealed in black clothing snakes out, throwing an uppercut. In one fluid motion the punch connects with Diggs’ chin. A blunt object cradled in the woman’s fist fortifies the blow. Blood begins to drip from Diggs’ face. Nerve endings coalesce in the agent’s chin. Her face stings not only from pain, but from embarrassment as well. She should have aborted the plan, but pride pushed her forward. She had ignored a gut instinct to save face with McAllister. Caitlin Diggs always found it impossible to admit a mistake, especially when her veteran partner and love interest, Geoffrey McAllister was involved. She had little time to dwell on her folly now. Rallying to recover, she pivots, completing a 180-degree circle with hands raised defensively. She lifts her right leg in an effort to kick the weapon from her attacker’s hand. But in that instant, the attacker rolls into Diggs, somersault style, sending her toppling to the pavement. Now the woman holds the advantage. She straddles her chest. Diggs wonders if Geoffrey can hear the scuffle on his receiver. She hopes the woman might talk again to let Geoffrey know it is okay to move in. In the ensuing seconds, Diggs knows she will have to defend her life, nevertheless. McAllister has parked the surveillance van three blocks away. It will take a minimum of sixty seconds for him to arrive. Surprising Diggs further, the woman withdraws a paper from the pocket of a leather jacket while keeping a gun trained on her. She unfolds the paper like it’s a giant map. Diggs squints to read the block lettering before her. The woman, whose face hides in the sheath of nylon mask, begins to read Diggs’ eyes. It was as if she expected the agent’s astonishment. Diggs eyes tell her everything. The agent no longer believes the woman holding her at gunpoint to be Samantha Baxter. The note reads like a script.

  ‘Do not attempt to speak until I direct you. If you want to live you’ll make like I’m. Samantha Baxter. I’m going to take your keys. You will not resist me. You will accompany me to a destination where we can negotiate your release. Until then, keep your mouth shut. I know you’re wired and I also know you’re equipped with a tracking device. Enjoy the ride.”

  Painfully aware she has played right into someone’s trap, Diggs can only nod her head in consent. The masked woman lifts her off the ground, binds her hands behind her back and throws her into the sedan’s backseat as if she makes a habit out of kidnapping federal employees on a daily basis. Diggs has been played. Worse, she has no idea who now holds her captive. As the car lurches into twilight, Diggs’ is only sure of two things. The woman driving the car is too tall and too strong to be Samantha Baxter; and their destination will most definitely become a trap for any officer unfortunate enough to get caught in it.

  * * *

  “I’m in pursuit right now,” McAllister shouts. “Thank God I’ve still got a lock on her GPS signal.”

  On the other end of the phone, Detective Stanford Carter listens in horror. He doesn’t want to tell the agent his initial thought. McAllister is most likely being led into a trap. Why would someone fail to search for the wire? Carter can only conclude that someone has eavesdropped on the agent’s conversation. But was that ‘someone’ Samantha Baxter? He wouldn’t rule out the Mayor’s aide however until he perused her residence for himself. Now that Diggs had been taken hostage, Carter would have all the probable cause he needed to search her domicile.

  “Agent McAllister continue your pursuit. But I would strongly recommend you subsist from using any forc
e until we determine where the kidnapper’s headed. I’m going to Baxter’s house to see if I can find where they’re going.”

  “Affirmative, Detective Carter. I will keep you apprised of their route. In the meantime, I would request you enlist all available backup.”

  Carter hesitates. “That might not be such a good idea, Agent. I think the kidnapper wants to engage as many of us as possible. If she didn’t, why lead us on a goose chase, and why allow you a means to track her?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if we’re truly dealing with Samantha Baxter, myself. And if I would venture to take a leap, my gut tells me we might not even be dealing with a female.”

  “That notion has passed through my mind as well. I’m finding it hard to believe that a city employee has suddenly transformed herself into a career criminal. But I do know the last murder was a ruse. She or he is no serial. They took Agent Diggs for a reason. I’ll let you know if I can find out what that is.”

  By the time Carter closes his call, he has entered a squad car and left the crime lab’s parking lot engaged in a high-speed race to the Baxter residence. Fifteen minutes later, Carter retraces Agent Diggs’ steps towards the house. A sickness wells in his stomach when he finds the front door ajar. The kidnapper is no longer concerned about covering her trail. Agent Diggs’ life might depend upon my ability to take advantage of this carelessness. He prays this new ‘Plunger’ has left some kind of calling card for him to decipher. Foregoing any verbal announcement, Carter enters the residence with gun drawn. A staircase carpeted in gray lays immediately to his right. His immediate inspection of the rug finds no trace of blood drops or sign of disturbance. To his left, blinding beams of sunlight obscure his view. He trudges forward with small, light steps, gun still drawn. His racing heart punctuates every deliberate step he takes. An arched passageway leads him to a spacious living area. It doesn’t take Carter long to find her. A female leg protrudes from beneath a coffee table. Carter returns his weapon to his holster and squats down to ID her. He has no doubt. The woman lying dead in a pool of her own blood is most definitely Samantha Baxter. Her face has been left intact. But the crown of her skull has been obliterated. The bullet had apparently entered and exited the very topmost portion of her skull. Carter does not waste time hunting for the bullet. He has found his clue. Experience tells him what kind of monster has done this. Samantha Baxter has been killed gangland style, by a professional. And if Diggs has been taken by a professional killer, Carter surmises only a show of force might save her now. Odds favor the kidnapper is working in tandem. It explains why Diggs is being led away from the house, so the killer can fortify his position. But Carter detests playing into anybody’s hands. The Mayor would probably demand nothing less than a fully armed strike force. The perps are probably counting on this. There has to be another tact. Abandoning his selfish desire to protect CSI Jill Seacrest, Carter engages his phone. As the phone rings, he curses his over protective behavior. He would never stand for preferential treatment himself. If he and Jill are to be effective officers, they can’t operate on the defensive. Once connected, Carter advises Jill to wrap up her scene. He will pick her up in ten minutes. Instinct tells Stanford Carter to forego protocol and to follow his heart. He can think of no better person to be his backup than Jill Seacrest. He imagines Agent Geoffrey McAllister feels quite similar about his partner.

 

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