8 A Wedding and a Killing Page 11

  “Ruth? You’re talking about Ruth Buchanan?”

  David could practically hear Prosecutor Ben Fleming scratching his head. Gritting his teeth, he swiveled his chair around to take in the tranquil beauty of the lake off the docks behind the police station. The office that was home to the chief of police occupied the shady corner of the upper floor. Its breathtaking view of the lake was supposed to aid in reducing the daily stress that came with the job.

  David afforded himself a beat to remind himself to stop and enjoy nature’s beauty more often before turning his back on it in order to answer Garrett County’s prosecutor. “Yes, Ruth Buchanan. Her real name is Scarlett Fairbanks. After killing her husband, she’s been hiding out at Spencer Church, right here under our noses.”

  “Your father’s funeral was held at that church,” Ben said.

  “Yeah,” David said. “She must have had quite a laugh cleaning up the sanctuary after it had been attended by over seven hundred cops from all across the country.”

  “I know Ruth,” Ben said. “Reverend Hess is a very dear friend of mine. She, her husband, and I all went to college together. The only reason they didn’t officiate my wedding to Catherine is because she’s Catholic and her family insisted on my converting.”

  “What are you saying, Ben?” David suspected he knew the answer. Back off. He rubbed his aching head.

  “Deborah is not a fool,” Ben said. “She wouldn’t be offering safe haven to Ruth unless she was one hundred percent sure that she was innocent.”

  “The reverend claims Ruth killed her husband in self-defense,” David argued. “Neither of them have said anything like Ruth didn’t do it. If it was self-defense, then this woman should turn herself in and go back to New York and defend herself.” He added with a growl in his tone, “Ben, her guilt or innocence is not my concern. The fact of the matter is that there’s an outstanding arrest warrant in New York for this woman. There are detectives coming down from New York as we speak. We are going to look like a bunch of idiots if we let that rogue woman pastor hold us at bay with a cross in one hand and a Bible in the other.”

  There was silence from the other end of the line before Ben asked, “What does Mac say?”

  “I’m the chief of police,” David said. “Mac’s thoughts are irrelevant.”

  “So he agrees that something doesn’t add up,” Ben said. “He sees that Ruth is not a cold-blooded gold-digger.”

  “He got Willingham to defend her.” David sighed while rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Good,” Ben said. “I can work with Willingham. I’ll call him and we’ll decide the best way to proceed. In the meantime, you have a couple of officers sitting outside looking like they’re staking the place out.”

  “Looking like?” A smile crept to David’s lips.

  “Tell them not to make any move to arrest Ruth until Willingham, Mac, and I can figure out what to do,” Ben said. “When the guys from New York show up, put on your best ‘I’ve got my hands tied behind my back’ expression. You know that look, right?”

  “Law enforcement one-oh-one.” Thinking about how he had already given that order to Brewster and Fletcher, David grinned. If Fleming knew how well I knew him.

  “If those New York detectives want to whine to someone, send them my way,” Ben said. “Right now, I want you to concentrate on finding Eugene Newton’s killer. Where are you on that, by the way?”

  The reminder of the shooting that had started the whole stand-off prompted David to check the time on his phone. It was twenty minutes after ten. Either Tonya had forgotten to buzz him that Helga Thorpe had arrived, or she had stood them up.

  “Eugene was shot with a forty-five caliber semi-automatic,” David said. “We have a suspect whose husband has a forty-five registered in his name. She’s supposed to be here for questioning, but it looks like she didn’t show.”

  “That’s bad for her.”

  “Really bad,” David said.

  After hanging up the phone, David cradled his head in his hands while hoping Helga Thorpe would be disarmed of any handbags when he went to pick her up for questioning.

  “Oh, how I hate church ladies,” he moaned while shaking his aching head.

  Chapter Ten

  “Something is very wrong with Ruth’s situation,” Deborah confided to Mac while escorting him outside, where he was planning for Archie to pick him up. When David had stormed out, he had left Mac without a ride home.

  Edna remained in the sanctuary to comfort Ruth.

  “You’re only now just figuring that out?” Mac replied.

  After checking to ensure their privacy, the pastor closed the front door once they were outside. “How much do you know about the underground railroad and how it works—at least the group I work with?”

  “Not much,” Mac replied. “When I was working on that case I told you about, my colleague was very strict about only letting me know what I needed to know to close the case.” He held his breath at the memory of turning a blind eye to a few details in order to close the case as an accidental death of a woman who was really still alive. The body involved in the case had been a cadaver obtained from a medical school.

  “That’s how we protect the women and children.” Folding her arms across her chest, Deborah dropped her gaze to her feet. “Those we help are strongly encouraged not to talk about where they are from or the people and lives they have left behind. That way, there’s less chance of them getting tracked down.” She looked up at him. “Another way we ensure that their husbands don’t find them is by moving them three, four, or maybe even more times before they reach their final destination. The volunteers at stop number one have no idea where the runaways they have helped end up.” With an arched eyebrow, she studied Mac’s face. “Ruth only made one stop.”

  “Are you saying she didn’t come here through the underground railroad?”

  Deborah’s auburn hair brushed her shoulders when she shook her head. “She couldn’t have.”

  “But she and her daughter had phony IDs and—” Mac stopped himself. “But anyone with connections to the right people could have that done up.”

  “Those types of identification, good ones like what we supply in the underground, don’t come cheap,” the pastor said. “We’ve been blessed with volunteers who have connections to supply them.”

  “Plus, Madame X gave her fifty-thousand dollars to get her on her feet,” Mac said. “Obviously, this woman who helped her had deep pockets and connections to supply phony IDs. The question is if she was working alone or—could Ruth have been helped by a different underground railroad?”

  “It’s … possible,” Deborah replied. “There are groups of people who help abused women and children—they don’t need to be organized. I’ve even read of some men or women who have single-handedly helped women to escape bad situations.” With a gasp, she clutched Mac’s arm. “I just had a thought. Back when Ruth came to me, I was looking for a live-in caretaker here at the church. I advertised through an online employment service that was nationwide. I said in the ad that we were a church. Maybe Madame X—or her associate, since it was a man who called—found me through that listing, and I just assumed because of things he said that Ruth was coming through the underground.”

  “You mean that it was simply a coincidence that you work for the underground of abused women and Ruth ended up being an abused woman, too?”

  “God knew she needed us, and so He sent her to us,” Deborah said with a coy grin. “I’ve seen it happen more than once.”

  “Well, if Madame X was not part of the underground, she still had to be another part of Ruth’s past,” Mac said. “Why was it so important to her that she invested fifty thousand dollars to help her escape? Was she helping Ruth, or setting her up? I need to see the case file for Ruth’s husband’s murder. Archie should be able to get her hands on it.”

  “Arc
hie?” Deborah asked. “What about Willingham? He’s Ruth’s lawyer now.”

  “Most likely the prosecutors in New York will refuse to turn the case file over until Ruth is taken into custody and arraigned.”

  “But if what Ruth says is true about her father-in-law running things up there …” The pastor clutched her throat.

  Mac was nodding his head. “Everything is digital nowadays. If the notes for the case and the autopsy report are in the police system up in New York, Archie should be able to get access to it.”

  “Should I ask how she can do that?”

  “No.” Seeing Archie pull her SUV into the parking lot, Mac told Deborah good-bye and climbed into the front seat.

  “Where’s Gnarly?” she asked Mac after he gave her a quick kiss.

  “Keeping a box of dog cookies under surveillance.” Mac strapped himself in while she drove away. “What did you find out?”

  “The autopsy report makes for some very interesting reading,” she replied. “From the looks of it, Jason Fairbanks was already having a bad day before he got killed.”

  “What can be worse than getting shot to death?” Mac asked.

  “Getting drenched in water and then getting shot in the groin multiple times with a stun gun.” She turned her eyes off the road long enough to wink at him.

  Cringing, Mac involuntarily clamped his knees together. “Are you sure about that?”

  While keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she held up the finger to her other hand. “His clothes and body were moist when his mother found his body.” She held up a second finger. “The medical examiner found several electrical burn marks in his groin area that are consistent with being shot with a stun gun at a very high setting. If he had survived, it’s questionable whether he would ever have been able to father children again.”

  “Ruth said nothing about shooting him with a stun gun.”

  “She didn’t need a stun gun,” she replied. “She had the real thing. But wait. There’s more.”

  “More?”

  She grinned at him. “Wait until we get home. You’re going to love what I have to show you.”

  Thorpe Sporting Goods and Boat Rental was located in McHenry, on the other end of Deep Creek Lake. Over fifty years in business, it was a staple on the lake and had expanded into a big operation. Additions had been attached to the main store to display sportswear, including wet suits and footwear. Another wing showed off kayaks, canoes, and other water craft. The original store was devoted to Sirrus Thorpe’s first love: fishing equipment.

  David found the business owner where he could usually be located—perched on a stool behind the scarred up counter in the main section—constructing a fishing fly.

  All of the modern day glitz and glamour of Thorpe Sporting Goods and Boat Rentals was thanks to the driving ambition of his wife. Helga had a business office in the very back of the store. From his only encounter with Helga, David sensed that she was the motivating force behind every expansion of the family business that Sirrus had inherited from his father. Devoted to his fishing, Sirrus showed no interest in the going-ons of his employees or expanding the family business.

  “Good morning, Mr. Thorpe.” David leaned across the counter to draw Sirrus Thorpe’s attention from his fishing fly.

  “Sure is a good morning indeed,” Sirrus replied in his usual monotone. “Caught me a twelve pound largemouth bass this morning.”

  “Twelve pounds?” David inhaled to keep the gasp out of his voice. The fisherman’s calm made it seem inappropriate to show how impressed he was. Reeling in a twelve pound largemouth bass was no small feat. “I guess the rest of the day is all downhill from here on out.”

  “Only looking up since sunrise,” Sirrus said without taking his eyes off the lure. “Dropped it off at the taxidermist on the way in. Be sure to check out my latest trophy next month. He’ll be mounted right over my new line of fishing lures.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” David said. “Mr. Thorpe, is your wife here?”

  “Nope.” The old fisherman held up the lure to admire it.

  David waited for him to elaborate.

  Sirrus picked up his fishing tackle box and carefully placed his new lure among his collection. He then closed the lid and placed the box back on the floor under the counter. When he stood back up, surprise crossed his face when his eyes, framed with deep crow’s feet, met David’s blue eyes.

  Did he think I had left? David asked him, “Did your wife tell you that I called her last night?”

  “She never tells me anything.”

  “She had an appointment to come into the station for an interview about Eugene Newton’s murder.”

  Sirrus set more fishing supplies on the counter in preparation for making another fly. After a long moment of silence, he responded to the police chief’s comment. “And?”

  “She didn’t come in,” David said.

  Sirrus lifted his gaze from his fishing materials. The two men stared at each other.

  “Do you know where Helga is?” David finally asked.

  The old fisherman returned to sorting the fishing line. “Nope.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  “Morning,” Sirrus replied.

  “Where did you see her?” David asked.

  “Our house.”

  After not receiving any additional details, David sighed. “What was she doing at your house?”

  “Packing.”

  David waited a long beat before making a rotating motion with his finger. “Packing to go where?”

  “Someplace.”

  “Where someplace?”

  Sirrus shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  The police chief’s voice rose loud enough to attract the attention of the employees in the kayak department. “Your wife was packing to go away and you didn’t ask her where she was going?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t care,” Sirrus replied.

  David found it impossible to keep the frustration out of his groan. He dropped his head and grasped the counter with both hands. After sucking in a deep breath, he lifted his head to meet the old man’s eyes.

  In contrast, Sirrus Thorpe appeared calm.

  The police chief asked, “Did Helga take her car when she left?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “Nope.”

  “You saw her packing a suitcase?”

  “Yep.”

  “What time did she leave?”

  To this question, Sirrus hesitated before answering. “Don’t rightly know. She left while I was out fishing. Reeled in a twelve-pound largemouth bass.” He flashed the police chief a wide smile that filled his wrinkled face. “It’s been a great day all the way around.”

  David fought to keep his tone professional. “Mr. Thorpe, according to our records, you have a Smith and Wesson semi-automatic registered in your name.”

  One of the old man’s thick gray brows, which starkly contrasted the dark brown of the toupee taped to the scalp above it, arched. “Really?” He added in a drawl, “How about that? I forgot all about that old thing. Got it years ago when some businesses here on the lake got broken into.” He smacked his thick wrinkled lips. “I wonder where that got to.”

  “Eugene Newton was shot with a gun just like it.”

  Sirrus’ eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  David extracted a search warrant from his jacket pocket. “I have a search warrant for that gun.”

  Sirrus shrugged his bony shoulders. “If you can find it, you can have it.”

  “Mr. Thorpe, your wife is a person of interest in Eugene Newton’s murder and she’s left,” David said. “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Only that she’ll come back.”

  “Your wife
was the business manager,” David noted. “Where’s her office and laptop?”

  With a jerk of his head, Sirrus indicated a hallway leading to the back of the store. “Back there. Ask Becky to let you in.”

  “Who’s Becky?”

  “Helga’s assistant.” Sirrus went back to admiring his fishing flies. “Tell her I said to give you Helga’s laptop.”

  David went down a short corridor which housed restrooms on either side of the hallway. The swinging doors at the end opened to a storage room filled with shelving that went up to the ceiling. The shelving contained every type of sports item from clothing to safety vests to gear. To his left, the police chief spotted a corner office sectioned off with thin scarred up walls.

  A young woman clad in khaki slacks and a tank top sat at a small desk confined behind a cubicle outside the office door. With wide eyes that held more than a hint of fright, she watched the uniformed police chief approach her.

  “Are you Becky?” he asked.

  Swallowing, she nodded her head.

  “Mr. Thorpe told me to speak to you.” He offered her his hand to shake. “I’m David O’Callaghan. The chief of police in Spencer. I’m investigating the murder that happened yesterday and we have a warrant to search this store and that includes Helga Thorpe’s office.

  “You think she killed that man in the church yesterday?”

  “I’m not able to answer any questions about the case itself.” David gestured at the office door. “Can you let me in, please?”

  “It’s already unlocked.”

  While going around her desk, David asked in a casual tone, “Did you work yesterday?”

  “Yes.” She turned in her seat to follow his movements. “I came in at nine o’clock and left at six o’clock.”

  “Was Helga Thorpe here the whole day?” David opened the office door and peered inside.

  “She was in and out, like always. I know she went to the church in the afternoon after someone called to tell her about the murder.” She followed him into the office.