“Based on the conditions Dr. Malone recorded, I’d put the time of death at between ten P.M. and twelve A.M.”
“The embalmer arrived at a little after nine thirty the next morning. That would mean he’d been dead for at least nine hours at that point,” McCabe said.
“I would agree with that,” Dr. Singh said. “As you know, I’ll need to get back to you with the results of the analysis of the stomach contents and the toxicology report.”
“But you don’t anticipate any surprises?” McCabe asked.
“Based on what I’ve seen, I will be surprised if I should find anything unexpected.”
* * *
After the autopsy, McCabe and Baxter discussed whether they needed to interview Kevin Novak’s children, and they decided they did. Children—especially teenagers—saw things. Sometimes a parent even confided in a child.
McCabe thought Sarah Novak might refuse when she asked if they could come over to speak to her children, but she nodded and said they would be waiting.
When she opened the door for the detectives, Novak seemed to be in much better control of her emotions than she had been on Monday afternoon.
“Thank you for agreeing to let us come by, Mrs. Novak,” McCabe said. “We have just a few questions for the children. They might have heard or seen something, or your husband might have mentioned something to one of them.”
Novak said, “I agreed to this because my children have been asking me questions about the investigation. I thought it would help them if you would explain what you’re doing and how you intend to find the person who killed their father.”
“We’ll do our best to explain.”
Novak turned and led the way into her living room.
The Novak children, Scott and Megan, were sitting on the sofa, one at each end. When McCabe and his mother walked into the room, Scott got to his feet.
It was an old-fashioned gesture of courtesy. Obviously, his parents had raised their son to be well mannered, McCabe thought.
“Please, sit down, Detectives,” Sarah Novak said.
She slid past her son and sat down in the middle of the sofa, between her children. Maybe they had been sitting there together like that before the doorbell rang.
Megan was thirteen. Petite, with her mother’s dark hair and bone structure.
As McCabe sat down, she saw the thick book open on the girl’s lap.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“A book about the Black Death,” Megan replied.
“The Black Death?” Baxter said.
Sarah Novak explained, “Last month, the teen book discussion group read a novel set in France during that era.”
“Ahh, so you’re doing some background reading,” McCabe said.
“I did it before the discussion,” Megan said. “I brought in some illustrations I’d found of the plague doctors wearing the masks they wore to protect themselves when they were treating patients. The masks had long bird beaks and were hollow so that they could stuff them with straw and spices. We got into this discussion about medicine in the fourteenth century, and Dr. Burdett offered to loan me one of his books.” Megan’s clear gaze held McCabe’s. “I’m reading it now because I need to finish it so that I can return it.”
McCabe said, “Under the circumstances, I’m sure Dr. Burdett won’t mind if it takes you a bit longer to get his book back to him.”
Megan shook her head. “Daddy said we should always return anything we borrow as soon as possible.”
“We saw the raven you gave your father in his office,” McCabe said. “Are you interested in birds?”
Megan nodded. “Daddy and I are—we were both interested in birds and the folklore and mythologies about them.”
Scott cleared his throat. He had sat back down on the sofa beside his mother. Hands gripped together, he leaned forward. “Detective, we’d like to know if you have any leads in solving my father’s murder.”
A teenage boy trying to be the man of the house, McCabe thought.
She responded to him as she would have an adult. “We don’t have anything yet that would help us to come up with a list of likely suspects. The forensics unit has collected all of the physical evidence available at the scene. The medical examiner has completed your father’s autopsy. And, now, it’s up to Detective Baxter and me to go through what we have and try to put it together.”
“Like one of Mom’s jigsaw puzzles,” Megan said.
McCabe nodded. “Exactly. I’m afraid it isn’t like in the movies or on crime shows. We have to do this one piece at a time. And that was why we asked your mother if we could speak to the two of you.”
Scott Novak sat back and unclenched his hands. “What do you need to know?”
“First of all, if you and Megan would think back over the past few weeks or months—think about the conversations you had with your father. Do you remember anything he said to you that made you think he was worried or concerned about something?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Megan said.
“Have you?” McCabe asked.
Megan nodded. “The police always ask questions like that, don’t they?”
“Yes, I guess we do.”
“About Daddy … sometimes it was like he wasn’t really listening. Like when he told me this ghost story that was completely off target.”
“A ghost story?” Sarah Novak said.
“Oh, Mom, you know how Daddy tells—” Megan paused, then went on, focusing on McCabe and Baxter. “He would tell us stories to make a point about something. I loved scary stories, so sometimes he would tell me ghost stories.”
“And he told you a ghost story recently?” McCabe asked.
“Last week. These girls at school were giggling and looking at me and then I realized I’d sat in pasta sauce someone had spilled on a seat in the cafeteria. It was totally humiliating. And I mentioned it to Daddy, and he told me a story. It should have been a story about how silly it was to be self-conscious and let a little pasta sauce mess up my whole day. But instead he told me this story about a woman with an overactive imagination. It wasn’t even a real ghost story.”
“What happened in the story?” Baxter asked.
Megan made a face. “A woman reports the maintenance man in her office building for not doing his work. He’s fired. It turns out he’s sick, and he dies. She feels guilty. Then one evening, she’s there alone, working late. She comes out and sees a man at the end of the hall. It’s dark and she can’t see who it is, but she thinks it’s the man who she got fired. She runs and pushes the elevator button. The man calls out to her to wait. The elevator door opens and she steps in and screams as she falls to her death. When the police arrive, the man explains he was trying to tell her the elevator was being serviced and he had come upstairs to put the sign up. But for some reason, she was frightened and ran away from him.”
McCabe said, “Well it’s kind of a scary story.”
“Yeah, sort of,” Megan said. “But it’s not a real ghost story. And it had nothing to do with what I was upset about. Daddy usually did a lot better.” She peered around her mother at her older brother. “Didn’t he, Scott?”
“Yeah, he did. Dad told great stories. Meg’s right. He hadn’t been really focusing lately.”
Megan said, “Sometimes it was like he was from another planet. Like in that old movie when the pod people from outer space replace the real people and have to try to act like they have human emotions.”
Scott said, “Dad had been acting odd since Uncle Bob died. But then for the past three or four days, he was even weirder.… I mean, like he was thinking about something else when you were talking to him.”
Baxter said, “Did you ask him what was up?”
“Sure,” Megan said. “But he would just apologize and say he was thinking about work or something.”
“Did he say what the ‘something’ was?” McCabe asked.
“Like something at church or something. One time, he said
he was thinking about a conversation he’d had with Reverend Wyatt about the parking lot.”
“What about the parking lot?” Baxter asked.
“Whether or not to expand it,” Sarah Novak said, speaking for the first time since her children had begun recounting examples of their father’s distraction. “Kevin was on the facilities committee. They were—are—trying to decide whether we should make an offer for the land adjacent to the church so that the parking lot can be expanded.”
“More folks joining the church and more cars?” Baxter asked.
“Yes,” Novak said. “But Reverend Wyatt thinks it would be a less expensive and greener option to provide more shuttles.”
“Is this an issue that’s causing conflict in the church?” McCabe asked.
“No. Most people are waiting to see what the committee will recommend.”
“What about on the committee?” Baxter asked. “Any animosity there?”
“You can’t seriously think someone from the church killed Kevin because of a difference of opinion about expanding a parking lot?”
“No,” McCabe said. “Unless more was involved. But sometimes a difference of opinion over a minor issue reflects an ongoing conflict between two people.”
Megan said, “Everyone at church liked Daddy.” She paused and frowned. “Or, at least, everyone acted as if they liked him. Maybe someone didn’t.”
Novak glanced at her daughter and said quickly, “The facilities committee was not divided into vicious factions over the parking lot expansion.”
McCabe said, “Scott and Megan, anything else you can tell us about your dad?”
Megan shook her head. “Are you coming to his funeral? On cop shows, the detectives always come to the funeral to watch the mourners and see how they’re reacting.”
“Yes, on cop shows they do,” McCabe said. “But it makes people uncomfortable when cops turn up at funerals in real life.”
“I think you should come anyway,” Megan said. She turned to her mother. “Tell them to come, Mom. They might see something.”
Novak met her daughter’s gaze. Then she said, “If you think it would be useful to attend my husband’s funeral … it’s all right if you attend.”
“Thank you,” McCabe said. “We’ll discuss it with our lieutenant. If we do attend, we’ll be discreet.”
“You can sit in one of the anterooms and watch everything on camera,” Megan said. “Then you can see if anyone seems weird.”
McCabe said, “That’s not a bad idea. We’ll give it some thought. We should go now and let the three of you do whatever you need to.”
She stood up, and Scott came to his feet as well.
“I’ll see them out,” he told his mother. “Be right back.”
He followed McCabe and Baxter outside, pulling the door closed behind him. “I need to tell you something,” he said.
“What’s up?” Baxter asked.
“You can’t tell my mom, okay?”
McCabe said, “We’ll try to respect your request, Scott, but it will depend on what it is you tell us.”
“I went out on Sunday night,” he said in a rush. “That night … I went out.”
Baxter said, “Your mother said you were up in your room listening to music.”
“I went upstairs and turned the music on and put my Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and then I sneaked out down the kitchen stairs.”
“Where did you go?” McCabe asked.
“To see if my dad had really gone to the funeral home.”
“You thought he might have gone somewhere else?”
Scott glanced away and then back at them. “I could see my mom was upset because he’d gone out. And I knew something weird was going on between the two of them. I wanted to make sure my dad really went to the funeral home.”
Baxter said, “Okay. So where else did you think he might be going?”
Scott glanced down at the ground. Then he shrugged. “I didn’t know. I just wanted to make sure he was there.”
“And was he?” McCabe asked.
“Yeah, like he said he’d be. His snowmobile was out back, and the lights were on upstairs in his office and down in the basement.”
“Did you go inside to speak to him?”
Scott shook his head. When he looked up tears had filled his eyes. He dashed at them with his hand. “I didn’t want … I didn’t want him to know I thought he’d been lying to Mom. He was there like he said. There was no reason to go in.”
“About what time was it when you were there?” Baxter asked.
“I dunno. It must have been around nine thirty. It took me a while to get there because the power pack on my snowboard kept stalling out.”
“Did you see anyone else while you were there?” Baxter asked.
“No. I didn’t see anyone at all. It was really weird with the lights out on some streets and the cars buried in snow. Like this blizzard had come and everyone had gone inside and shut the doors.”
“They had,” Baxter said. “Inside, out of the cold. How long did you hang around outside the funeral home?”
“Maybe ten minutes,” Scott said. “I was already cold when I got there, and I couldn’t stand around too long. But I didn’t want to just turn around and come right back after I’d gone to all the trouble of going over there. Except I needed to get back before Mom tried to bring me up a snack or something and realized I wasn’t here.”
“So your mother didn’t realize you left the house,” McCabe said. “Why are you telling us?”
Scott glanced away again. “Because I felt creepy about lying.… I mean about letting Mom lie without knowing it when she said I was here.”
“You’re a good son, kid,” Baxter said.
“Not always. But I have to be now. You know?”
“We know,” McCabe said. She touched his arm. “We won’t tell your mother unless we have to, okay?”
“Thanks.”
He went back inside. Baxter said, “As I said before, partner, I’m betting on another woman.”
“Scott didn’t say that was what he suspected.”
“But he did say things were weird between his parents.”
McCabe stopped to gaze at a birdhouse sticking up from the middle of a snowdrift. “So you think Kevin Novak persuaded some woman to come out on a cold, miserable night and meet him for fun and games at the funeral home?”
“That would have been a little kinky,” Baxter said. “But it would explain why he had the sudden urge to spend the night there.”
“But Scott said he saw his father’s snowmobile. No mention of another snowmobile or car or any other means of transportation. If a woman was coming to meet Novak, she apparently still hadn’t arrived an hour after he got to the funeral home and turned on the lights.”
“Well, we know he lied about the broken pipe. And he didn’t put the alarm back on the door, so I say that sounds like he was expecting someone.”
“Maybe you’re right about the other woman. Maybe she arrived via cross-country skis or snowshoes. Maybe she wasn’t coming over, but he just needed to get away from his wife because he felt too guilty to be snowbound with her. But if there is another woman, the question is, who is she?”
“Could be someone at the church. Or maybe a widow he met over her husband’s coffin.”
“Even if he were having an affair, that doesn’t explain why he ended up dead.”
“It might. Suppose you’re right and he was feeling guilty. He’d cheated on his wife of eighteen years. But he loved his wife and wanted to stay with her. He tells his fling that, and she isn’t happy. She’s so unhappy she kills him. One of those fatal attractions that ends badly for the cheating husband.”
“If he was cheating,” McCabe said. “It would be nice—and admittedly unexpected—if it turned out he was both in love with the woman he was married to and managed to keep his pants zipped.”
“You’re sounding a little bitter, partner. Romance gone wrong?”
“W
hat romance?” McCabe said. “Let’s get out of here before Sarah Novak starts to wonder why we’re hanging around her yard, chatting.”
“You were the one who stopped to admire the snowdrifts.”
“I was looking at that birdhouse and wondering if Kevin Novak and his children built it.”
“Being a good father doesn’t mean he wasn’t cheating on his wife.”
20
“We ought to find out some more about compound bows,” McCabe said, as they were driving back to the stationhouse. “I wonder where Kevin Novak bought his.”
“There’s an archery store out on—”
“I know the one you’re talking about. I’ve seen their ads. He probably would have gone there if he was into hunting as well as target shooting.”
“Some of the other members of the church archery clubs might have shopped there, too.”
“But,” McCabe said, “if Novak was one of their customers, the store might be feeling a little defensive right now. Not the kind of publicity you’d want to have—a customer killed with the bow he bought from your store.”
“So, I guess,” Baxter said, “we’d do best not to go in flashing our badges.” He glanced at her sideways. “Actually, partner, I’ve got an idea.”
“Do I really want to hear this?”
“Well, that depends on how much you want to get some useful information.”
* * *
McCabe picked up her own car and swung by her house to change.
When she walked into the archery store, she was wearing boots, blue jeans, and a sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She felt like an actress making her first awkward debut. She had not been particularly good at undercover when she was drafted into the “john patrol” to bust men who were cruising for streetwalkers. In fact, she had soon realized she objected on general principle. Male cops were not expected to strut their stuff in short black leather skirts on street corners.
Well, this time she was sufficiently clothed, and this was a murder investigation not a misdemeanor bust. And all she had to do was smile and be chatty, Baxter had assured her.
The lieutenant had agreed with him that there was nothing wrong with a police detective developing an interest in target shooting and bow hunting as recreational activities and going shopping for a bow. As far as McCabe and Baxter knew, no one at the archery store was a suspect. If the clerks felt like talking about their customers, there was nothing wrong with listening.
What the Fly Saw Page 12