by Lauren Carr
“Incoming call from Josh Thornton.”
“Hey, Mac, I saw you called.” The masculine voice spilling from the speakers held a hint of a down-home accent. “I’m in court today with a felony assault. We’ve broke for a twenty-minute recess. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Mac said. “I’ve got a friend coming to your neck of the woods today. Chris Matheson, retired fed.” He directed Chris. “Say hello Chris.”
“Hi, Josh.”
“Matheson worked with me on a cold case last year,” Mac said. “He’s also worked with Murphy.”
There was silence in response to Mac’s mention of working with Joshua’s son, who worked on extremely classified government cases pertaining to national security.
“He’s not part of Murphy’s team,” Mac clarified. “He’d worked with him on a single case.”
“I’m investigating a cold case involving an abduction and murder,” Chris said. “One of our key suspects went missing like forty years ago and is presumed dead. We’re hoping that she may have given information about the case to her sister.”
“Her sister’s last known address is in Chester,” Mac said.
“What’s her name?” Joshua asked.
“Caroline Andrews,” Chris said. “She lives on Fox Lane.”
There was a long silence.
“Do you know Caroline Andrews?” Chris asked.
“Oh yeah, I know her well. She was the school nurse at the high school. Her husband taught science. He died at least fifteen years ago.” Joshua sighed. “I’m sorry, but she isn’t going to be any help.”
“Why not?” Mac asked.
“Fox Lane is the senior living facility here in Chester. Caroline’s got Alzheimer’s really bad. She doesn’t even know who she is.” After quickly apologizing, Joshua disconnected the call to chase a witness he spotted at the other end of the corridor.
“Well,” Chris said, “I guess there’s no reason to go to Chester. We might as well head back to Harpers Ferry after talking to Lucille.”
“Maybe Lucille will know something.” Mac spun the steering wheel to maneuver a tight curve.
“Do you remember working with Special Investigator Kevin Crane?” Chris asked.
Mac narrowed his eyes to blue slits while placing the name with the case. “Nice guy. He went on to start a prestigious private investigation agency after his retirement. Offered me a job at one point, but I didn’t want to walk out on the force after all the years I’d had in.”
“He was the lead detective in this case.”
“Bet his career took a hit when he lost a half mil of Horace Billingsley’s money.”
“We all make mistakes. …” Chris’s voice trailed off. “When I was with the FBI, Kevin Crane had a reputation of being one of the quickest minds in the bureau. He had great instincts. My dad used to say you don’t learn instinct. You’re either born with it or you’re not. Crane has it. That’s why I’m so surprised that he was the lead investigator in this case, and yet he didn’t solve it.”
“I have yet to meet a detective who doesn’t have a cold case that’s completely stumped them.”
“Why didn’t Crane focus on Patricia Baker and Gavin Fallon?” Chris asked.
“Because back then, he didn’t have the information you have now,” Mac said. “You came into this case with the knowledge that Mercedes Livingston had not been abducted. From Crane and his team’s viewpoint, this case was a kidnapping for ransom.”
“That’s right,” Chris said with agreement.
“From what you’ve told me, whoever is behind this is very organized and pays close attention to details.”
“Or very lucky that they were able to time George Livingston’s murder right when his wife was running away.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I,” Chris said. “Since our killer wasn’t lucky, then he had to be very well organized and with a good eye for detail.”
“There is a right and a wrong way to put on a name tag,” Lucille Del Vecchio said while chastising a middle-aged woman manning the blood drive’s check-in desk.
Archie had warned Helen that a busy body like Lucille Del Vecchio would only stick around to make her presence known before buzzing off to disrupt another one of her volunteer groups. Upon arriving at the Spencer Inn, they followed the blood drive signs to find the hallway filled with donors lined up against the wall.
An elderly woman wagged her finger at a nervous looking volunteer behind the desk. “Don’t give the donor the name tag to put on. You can’t trust them to put it on correctly. They’ll put it on the wrong side of their chest, the back of their hand, or upside down. Therefore, it is imperative that you put it on for them.”
“It’s so hard being perfect,” Archie whispered to Helen.
According to her background check, Lucille Del Vecchio was in her mid-eighties. However, she refused to let age hold her back. At six-feet tall with broad shoulders, her build was as intimidating as her demeanor. Her face was permanently etched with lines from a lifetime of appraising those in need of her criticism.
“Good morning, Lucille,” Archie greeted her in a perky tone.
Upon seeing the inn owner’s wife, Lucille brightened. “Hello, Ms. Monday. We are so thankful for you inviting us to hold the blood drive here. I’ve already got a full slate of blood donors scheduled through lunch.”
“Glad to be of help. I’d like you to meet my friend Helen.”
As she shook hands with Helen, Lucille asked, “Are you here to give blood?”
Declining, Helen lied. “I gave blood at the police barracks just last week.” She showed Lucille her badge. “I’m in charge of homicide with the West Virginia state police in Jefferson County.” She sighed with relief when she saw Chris and Mac turn the corner at the end of the corridor.
Upon seeing Sterling on his leash, Lucille’s eyes narrowed even more than they had been before. “That’s a dog.”
“He’s a registered service dog,” Helen said.
Lucille backed away as Sterling approached. “What for?”
“Police canine,” Helen said. “My partner and I would like to talk to you, if we may. It’s about George Livingston.”
“The FBI could have closed that case forty years ago. I told them who did it, but they never listened.” Lucille said in a mocking tone, “Sexist pigs refused to listen to any dumb woman.”
“We’ll listen to you,” Chris said. “We’ve come into new information and would welcome any insight you can provide to close the case.”
“What new information have you got?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss that,” Helen said.
“You can use one of our vacant offices.” Mac gestured toward a small conference room at the end of the hallway.
Lucille stuck her nose up in the air. “I only have twenty minutes and then I need to go meet the community theater to discuss next season’s productions,” she said while sashaying toward the appointed meeting place. “I can’t miss that meeting. I’m the only one standing between a stunning array of theatrical magic and a dreadful lineup of trash.”
As was her custom, Lucille took a seat at the head of the table. Helen and Chris entered and sat on either side of her, across from each other. Helen extracted her tablet from her valise and opened it to Lucille’s statement in the case file. Sterling climbed into a chair in the corner where he could keep a close watch on the happenings.
“I don’t understand why people are still investigating this case,” Lucille said.
“Some evidence has come to our attention that leads us to believe George Livingston may have been abducted earlier than originally believed,” Helen said.
“Duh,” Lucille said with a scoff. “I’ve only been saying that since day one. George never would have missed that banquet. I told
the FBI that and the agent in charge decided to make me a suspect instead. I had to hire a lawyer to get him to back off.” She paused to shoot a penetrating glare at Chris. “Do I need a lawyer now?”
“Depends,” Chris said. “Did you do anything wrong?”
Lucille sat up straight. “I never do anything wrong.”
“How about soliciting bribes from contractors?”
Lucille smirked. “I was never charged with that.”
“A witness heard George Livingston order you to clean out your desk when you got back to work on Monday. He was going to order a complete audit and report you for soliciting and taking kickbacks. If that had happened, not only would your career have been over, but you would have been facing criminal charges.” Chris spread his hands apart. “Hours later, George goes missing and all of your problems go up in smoke.”
“I know who told the FBI that,” Lucille said. “George’s bitchy secretary—jealous little twit. She was the source of that whole kickback allegation that the FBI investigated. Nothing ever came of it.”
“You did set up a front company in your aunt’s name,” he said.
“I was never charged,” Lucille said in a firm tone.
“Because you’re so good at tying up loose ends,” Chris said.
“That’s right.” There was that smirk again. “George never would have fired me.”
“Witnesses did hear him tell you to clean out your desk,” Helen said.
“He would have backed off as soon as he saw what I had on him,” Lucille said.
“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, Helen,” he said. “Anyone capable of bribery, wouldn’t hesitate at blackmail.”
Lucille sat back in her seat and laced her fingers across her midsection. “I didn’t get where I am playing by the rules.”
“What did you have on George Livingston?” Helen asked.
“The usual. George was stepping out on his wife, who happened to be the boss’s daughter.”
“Who was he stepping out with?” Helen asked.
“Patricia Baker, who happened to be the last one seen with George while he was still alive. I had bugged George’s office,” Lucille said. “His desk saw a lot of action. Based on their conversations—their affair had been going on for years. We’re talking even before he’d married Mercedes. That’s why Baker’s first marriage broke up. She was in love with Livingston and was biding her time waiting for him to leave his wife for her.” She scoffed. “Talk about an airhead.”
“Did you tell the agent in charge of the investigation about what you had?” Chris asked her.
“That was the only way I got them to back off me,” Lucille said. “I gave them a copy of the tape, but I kept a master copy just in case.”
Chris and Helen exchanged quick glances.
“Did you buy George’s decision to go to dinner with his wife?” Chris asked.
“That whole damn weekend was the leadup to him making this grand presentation of our new million-dollar project that he was going to spearhead,” Lucille said. “Everyone was to be in suits and women in cocktail dresses. Very fancy. George and his whore went over every minute detail. Then out of the blue, he decides to ditch the banquet and his grand speech” —she pounded her chest— “which I wrote by the way—to have dinner with his wife? Of course, I didn’t buy it. Never did.”
“How did you find out that George Livingston wasn’t going to be at the banquet?” Helen asked.
“His secretary told me when I got to the banquet room twenty minutes before it was supposed to begin. George had left a note for her with the concierge. The note said Mercedes wanted George to have dinner with her. When a Billingsley demands a personal appearance, then there’s no saying no.”
“What do you think happened to George?” Helen asked.
“I think Patricia Baker killed him because he refused to leave the boss’s daughter to marry her. She actually believed he was in love with her.” Lucille shrugged her broad shoulders. “I think her ex-husband and partner covered up George’s murder by killing Mercedes Livingston to make it look like a double kidnapping. Then they took the ransom and ran.”
“Gavin Fallon didn’t run very far,” Chris said. “He was murdered.”
Lucille’s gray eyebrows rose high onto her wrinkled forehead. “Maybe Patricia Baker wasn’t as stupid as I thought. Did anyone ever find her body?”
“No,” Helen said.
With a chuckle, Lucille smirked at them.
“They would need to be pretty well organized to have pulled off murder and extort half a mil from Horace Billingsley with the FBI swarming all over the place,” Chris said.
“Only because the fix was in from the first,” Lucille said. “Did you look at the lead investigator’s background? Crane? He had Livingston’s suite sealed off before dessert. What a rude sexist misogynist bastard! That’s the only reason they got away with it. If they didn’t have him on the inside, they wouldn’t have made it to first base.”
“Do you think Crane was in on it?” Chris asked.
Lucille rubbed her fingers together in a gesture to suggest a payoff. “Either that or he was just plain stupid.”
Chris exchanged glances with Helen, who went on to ask, “When was the last time you saw George alive?”
“At his two o’clock speech,” Lucille recalled. “The session was over at three o’clock. It’s all in the statement I gave to the FBI. Or did they lose that, too?”
“Yes, we did read that,” Helen said. “Actually, you stated that the last time you saw George was in his suite when you went to tell him about a phone call from the European office.”
Lucille shook her head. “No, I did not state that. I went to his suite, I tried to see him, but Baker wouldn’t let me in. I never saw him. I never talked to him. Don’t think I didn’t try to get in to see him because he was waiting for that call. I did everything short of knocking the door off it’s hinges to get in.”
“What excuse did Baker use for you not seeing him?” Chris asked.
“He was in the shower,” Lucille said. “I was corporate in-house counsel. She was just a contractor. The only reason she was allowed to be in the room with him was because she was screwing around with him.”
“Did you ever see Livingston and Baker arguing about their relationship?” Chris asked. “Did you see or hear anything from inside his suite to suggest a violent argument?”
Lucille’s mouth twisted back and forth. She seemed to chew on her dentures before she slowly shook her head.
“What about after George’s disappearance?” Chris asked. “You mentioned the lead investigator, Crane, seemed buddy buddy with Baker and Fallon. Did you see anything to indicate that he was indeed working with them?”
“Only that he zeroed in on me as a suspect. He wanted to frame me for it all. Baker lied her butt off saying that there were multiple times that I’d threatened to kill George.”
“Did you?” Helen asked.
Lucille scoffed. “Maybe, but I didn’t mean it. Yeah, I told him that I’d see him burn in hell after he stole my project plans and claimed them as his own. Do you know why I blew everyone away with the speech after the banquet when he disappeared?” She pounded her chest. “Because I wrote it. The whole project was my idea. My work. All he was going to do was give the speech, which I wrote. That’s why I got the vice presidency after he’d went missing.Because I’d earned it.”
Chris said, “Which never would have happened if George Livingston hadn’t disappeared the way he did.”
Doris hurried onto the porch to meet Elliott when he drove his SUV up the lane and rolled to a stop. Flanking her, Mocha and Sadie stepped outside with her.
Driving through the security gate behind him, an older compact SUV turned right into the barn yard and parked near its doors. Doris waved a greeting to Matthew Paxton, a teenager who she
knew from their church. Matthew was the young man who Chris had hired to set up the fire alarm system in the barn.
Yapping as if he believed he was a hundred times bigger than his tiny weight, Chompers took off across the barnyard in pursuit of the intruder.
“Did you find any sign of Thomas?” Doris asked Elliott after he slid out of his vehicle.
He shook his head. “He hasn’t returned back to Helen’s house. His car isn’t there. I can’t find any sign of him. I think he’s gone back home.”
“We can hope. But I don’t want to take any chances. I’ll text Sierra to come here after school and stay until her mom gets back. Chris and Helen will be back later on this afternoon,” Doris said while waving to Matthew. “The lead in the northern panhandle didn’t pan out.”
“Too bad.”
Doris yelled across the barnyard to the teenager opening the barn door. “The horses are out in the pasture. Do you have everything you need, Matthew?”
The young man responded by scooping up the pup who had clamped onto his leg. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“Oh, he’s your payment for a job well done,” Elliott said.
“I don’t think so.”
“He’s free!” Elliott said.
“Not interested.” Matthew left the yapping pup outside, went into the barn, and closed the door.
“It was worth a shot,” Elliott said.
“No, it wasn’t. If he had taken him, you would have had to explain Chompers’s absence to Emma?” Doris turned around to open the door, but before they could enter, a rifle shot rang out from the forest beyond the back pasture.
Sadie and Mocha sprang into action. Sounding the alarm, they raced across the barnyard, and under the fences toward the woods at the far edge of the pasture. Elliott yanked his weapon from his holster which he wore under his jacket and followed the dogs.
Her cell phone at her ear, Doris ran into the barn to check on their visitor. “Matthew! Are you okay?” she called out between giving details of the shooting to the emergency operator. To her horror, she saw his legs through the open doorway leading to the paddock.