Candidate for Murder Read online

  “Why would Erin have wanted to hurt Nancy politically?” David asked.

  “That’s the thing!” Hugh flapped his arms. “Erin wouldn’t have! Nancy was demanding and particular and temperamental, and Erin put up with all of it because she believed in her. Erin knew enough about politics to see that if the people in Spencer even suspected Nancy of smearing Gnarly, her own ranking would go down.”

  “Nancy must have had some reason to suspect Erin of doing it,” Bogie said.

  Hugh slumped. “I wish I could tell you.”

  David and Bogie exchanged glances, and then the police chief said, “You said earlier that everyone went to bed last night shortly after eleven.”

  “Around eleven thirty,” Hugh said.

  David noted that that was the time Erin Devereux had said when he’d first arrived.

  “After the second threatening phone call, Nancy slammed down the phone, told Erin she was fired, and stormed up the stairs. At that point, the meeting ended. George and Salma left together.”

  “What was Nancy wearing when you last saw her?” David asked.

  Hugh hesitated before he answered. “A pantsuit. Her red one. The same one she was wearing at the debate.”

  After thanking Hugh, David and Bogie made their way back to the foyer.

  “Am I being biased in thinking that it would be right up Bill Clark’s alley to leak that story about Gnarly and make it look like it came from Nancy Braxton’s camp?” David whispered to Bogie.

  “Not at all. But having done that, Clark wouldn’t have had any reason to kill Braxton.”

  “Unless after her temper tantrum, she realized that Erin had been telling the truth and that it hadn’t come from her,” David said. “So she decided to confront Clark and expose him.”

  “In her jammies?”

  “I want to see those security recordings as soon as we get them.”

  His arms folded across his chest, George Ward was waiting for them in the foyer. “Gentlemen, word is already leaking out to the media about Nancy Braxton’s passing. We need to make a statement. Is Nancy’s death being investigated as an accident or a murder?”

  “Right now, we’re investigating it as a murder,” David said.

  “And where is Gnarly Faraday on your list of suspects?”

  Stunned, David had no answer.

  George Ward’s wide grin was smug. “My sources are telling me that Gnarly Faraday is missing—that he has been all night. Now, considering that he killed his handler in the army—”

  “Gnarly did not kill his handler!” Sheriff Turow said as he entered the foyer.

  The force of his voice knocked every ounce of arrogance out of George Ward’s body.

  With the commanding presence of his position, the sheriff stepped up close to George Ward, invading his space. “I have sources too, and I know for a fact that Gnarly never laid a paw on his handler. Yes, she was murdered, brutally murdered, but Gnarly was never even a suspect. Now, you will cease repeating that lie here and now. From this moment on, anyone who repeats it will answer directly to me, and when I track down the source of that lie—and I will—that person is going to find out what we do to liars in my jurisdiction.” He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “It ain’t pretty. Do you understand me, Mr. Ward?”

  “Yes, Sheriff.” George Ward cleared his throat. “My sources told me that Gnarly is missing.”

  “Your sources are wrong. Gnarly is home with his family.”

  “They also said Nancy that had bite marks on her body.”

  “Raccoons,” the sheriff said while putting on his evidence gloves. “Common scavengers in these parts. They bit her hours after she died.”

  “My sources said she was found in the lake,” George said. “Did she drown? Considering that she couldn’t swim, it sounds like it was most likely a horrible accident.”

  “Could’ve been,” Sheriff Turow said. “But then she died in the middle of the night, and she wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. And since you said she couldn’t swim—”

  While George digested that information, Sheriff Turow gestured up the stairs. “Have you taken a look at her bedroom, O’Callaghan?”

  “After you.” David gestured for the sheriff to lead the way. “We haven’t spoken to Erin Devereux yet.”

  They located Nancy Braxton’s assistant in the kitchen, where Officer Fletcher was keeping her separate from the rest of the witnesses. On the way down the upstairs hallway to Nancy’s suite, David brought up Hugh Vance’s statement about Nancy firing her the night before, which prompted a loud laugh.

  “Ms. Braxton fired me at least once a week.”

  “From what I’ve heard, she was very difficult to work for,” David said.

  Erin paused with her hand on the door leading into her late boss’ bedroom. “The best word to describe her is ‘abusive.’ Practically every morning, we began with this greeting: I would say, ‘Good morning, Ms. Braxton.’ You’d think that after three years, we would’ve moved on to ‘Nancy.’ No chance with Ms. Braxton. She relished her position of authority. So every morning when I saw her, I would say, ‘Good morning, Ms. Braxton,’ to which she would reply, every morning, ‘F you.’ Only she didn’t say the letter—she said the word.”

  “Every morning?” Bogie asked.

  “Every morning.”

  “Why didn’t you quit?” David asked.

  “Because through Ms. Braxton I met some of the most influential movers and shakers in Washington.” Erin opened the door with a flourish. “I had no intention of ending my career while I was still an executive assistant to an arctic ice queen. I fully intended to one day become a mover and a shaker in my own right.” She flashed them a broad smile. “Today may be that day.”

  “You certainly aren’t broken up about the death of your boss,” David said.

  “I think you’re going to have to search far and wide to find someone who is sincerely broken up about Ms. Braxton’s death,” Erin said. “Salma Rameriz may be. She bought every lie Ms. Braxton told hook, line, and sinker. To Salma, Ms. Braxton was God’s gift to America.”

  “Where’s your room?” Sheriff Turow asked.

  Erin pointed to the room across the hallway. “Ms. Braxton liked to keep me close in case she needed me for anything in the middle of the night. I was on duty with her twenty-four-seven.”

  “Did you hear her leave last night?” David asked.

  With a firm shake of her head, Erin answered that she hadn’t. She waited in the open doorway while the sheriff, the police chief, and the deputy chief searched the room.

  Inside the bedroom, Bogie pointed out the white silk bathrobe draped across the foot of the bed and the slippers on the floor. The red pantsuit that Nancy Braxton had worn at the debate was draped across a chair by her vanity.

  David studied the collection of cosmetics, antiaging creams, and jewelry that, while organized and neatly placed, covered the vanity except for one bare spot on the right side of it. A half-full glass rested in front of the right side of the mirror, and there was a bare area in front of it. Bending over, David was able to make out three perfectly round impressions in the dust pattern around the glass.

  He peered under the vanity and found that the wooden trash can was empty except for a fresh white liner. “When does the cleaning lady come clean?”

  “Thursdays,” Erin answered.

  “Which is today,” David said.

  “She came a bit ago,” Bogie said, “and we sent her home.”

  “So this room hasn’t been cleaned in a week, which explains the dust on the vanity.” David held out the trash can to Erin. “Who emptied the trash?”

  “I guess Ms. Braxton did,” Erin said.

  David, Bogie, and even Sheriff Turow laughed.

  “Try again,” David said. “Where is the trash that was in this can, and what was i
n it?”

  “Nothing,” Erin said. “If anything was in it, Ms. Braxton—”

  “You expect us to believe that an arctic ice queen who lorded her position over everyone would have lowered herself to touch the trash with her own superior hands!” David said.

  Bogie was already on his radio ordering the officers and deputies to not let any garbage leave the estate without being searched.

  “We’re going to find out what you’re trying to hide from us, and when we do, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice,” Sheriff Turow said.

  Erin stood up to her full height. “Do you need me for anything else? If not, I’m going to go call my lawyer now.” Without waiting for an answer, she left the room. They heard the clatter of her heels on the stairs.

  David moved into the bathroom, where he opened the medicine cabinet. Based on the water glass and the size of the dust rings, he suspected that Erin was covering up medications that Nancy Braxton had been taking. The shelves in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror were filled with pain medicine, over-the-counter sleeping pills, cold medicine, vitamins, and other over-the-counter medicines and hygiene products—except for the center of the bottom shelf, where there was a blank space. Once again, the round pattern in the daily accumulation of household soil indicated a recent removal of the pill bottles that had occupied the space.

  “They’re hiding something,” Sheriff Turow said over David’s shoulder while observing the empty bottom shelf. He was holding the bathroom trash can, which, like the one under Nancy Braxton’s vanity, was empty.

  “Of course they are,” David said. “They’re politicians. Hiding stuff is second nature for them.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I think Mac and Archie need to have a baby,” Murphy told Jessica after they had turned onto the freeway heading east. Perched in the backseat of Murphy’s midnight-blue SUV, Gnarly was peering out of the front windshield between them.

  The corners of Jessica’s lips curled up into a grin. “Why would you say that, honeybun?” Her voice oozed with innocence.

  Keeping his eyes on the road, Murphy pointed at the list that Jessica was holding in her lap. “Make sure Gnarly doesn’t go outside to play for one hour after he eats so that he doesn’t get a bellyache? Be sure to play catch with him for one hour every day, or he’ll resort to stealing to alleviate his boredom? No table food? What about the food that he’s infamous for stealing?”

  “That’s why Dad said not to give him any table food—because he steals more than enough. They don’t want him to get fat.”

  Murphy jerked a thumb over his shoulder in Gnarly’s direction. “That dog is more pampered than I was growing up.”

  Gnarly turned his head to look at the side of Murphy’s head. The dog’s narrow eyes betrayed an expression that seemed to indicate that he felt worthy of being so pampered.

  Reclining her seat slightly so that she could scratch Gnarly’s ears, Jessica said, “Tell me what your CO uncovered about Gnarly’s case.”

  “It’s classified.”

  “Don’t give me that classified bull,” she said.

  “You don’t—”

  “Yes, I do have a need to know,” she argued. “By all accounts, he’s my brother.” She waved the extensive list concerning the care and handling of the German shepherd. “Can I count on you to make sure that Gnarly doesn’t eat any dairy products?”

  “Dairy products?”

  “He can’t have anything with milk or cheese in it,” she said. “It gives him gas pains. He’s lactose intolerant.”

  Staring straight ahead, Murphy sat up in his seat.

  “I didn’t think so,” Jessica said. “So I’m going along with you as Gnarly’s caretaker on this little mission. Since I’m in, that means that I have a need to know. So start talking.”

  “I can’t just start talking, and you know that,” Murphy said.

  “Then call your CO, and get her approval to read me in on the case.”

  Keeping his eyes on the road, Murphy tried to reach into the case on his belt for his secure cell phone.

  “What are you looking for?” Jessica asked.

  “My cell phone to call—“

  “What number would you like me to call, Murphy?” Nigel’s voice asked over the SUV’s speakers.

  Shocked by the unexpected question, Jessica shrieked. “What in the—”

  Whirling around in the backseat, Gnarly looked for the intruder and barked.

  “You put Nigel in the car!” Jessica said after gasping.

  “He’s very handy.”

  “Handy like a head-on collision,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I told Tristan to put him in,” Murphy said. “I guess he did it while I was gone. He can make hands-off phone calls, and using my cell phone as a remote, I can have him turn on the engine, adjust the temperature, and open the door for me.”

  Jessica was glaring at him from her seat.

  “Imagine this,” he said. “You’re at the grocery store. Your arms are full with bags of groceries. It’s pouring rain. Using your phone’s Bluetooth, you tell Nigel to turn on the car and open the rear compartment so that all you have to do is dump the bags in the back—and he’ll even open the driver’s door for you. If it’s winter, he can have the interior nice and toasty for you—even the seats.”

  “Will he pull the car up to the curb for me too so that I don’t have to wander through the parking lot looking for him?” she asked with heavy sarcasm.

  “We’re working on that.” With the SUV at a stop, Murphy unsnapped his seat belt and climbed out of the SUV, slamming the door behind him.

  With the front driver’s seat free, Gnarly leaped up to take Murphy’s place.

  Through the windshield, Jessica saw him hit a button on his secure phone to place a call to his commanding officer—a mysterious woman who Jessica had never seen or met. She didn’t even know her name. Murphy called her “CO.”

  “Murphy? Are you there? What number would you like me to call for you?”

  Once again, at the sound of the disembodied voice, Gnarly barked and searched for the intruder.

  “According to my audio memory bank, your voice is not a match for Murphy,” Nigel said.

  “That’s Gnarly,” Jessica said. “He’ll be staying with us awhile, Nigel.”

  “Should I commit the sound of his voice to my audio database?”

  “Yes, Nigel,” Jessica said while noticing that Murphy had hung up his cell phone and was returning it to the case on his belt.

  “I have now committed Gnarly to my friends and family database,” Nigel said. “Gnarly, my name is Nigel. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am here to serve you at your pleasure.”

  Gnarly responded by cocking his head all the way to one side and looking about him for the source of the voice that then knew his name.

  Murphy threw open the driver’s side door. Instantly, Gnarly jumped over the center console and into the backseat to allow Murphy to slide into the driver’s seat. “Okay, you’re cleared.”

  “Yippee,” Jessica said, trying to keep her enthusiasm contained. She and Murphy were going to work on a Phantom case together. She was a temporary Phantom.

  “Do you still wish to make a phone call, Murphy?” Nigel asked.

  “No, Nigel,” Murphy said with a sigh. “I took care of it myself.”

  “Gives me the creeps,” Jessica said. “I love automation, but sometimes I feel like as a society, we’re becoming so dependent on it that we’re becoming slaves to it. Eventually, we’ll end up serving our computers instead of the other way around.”

  “Nigel just needs some adjusting,” Murphy said. “Once your brother fine-tunes him and completely integrates him into everything, you’ll love him.”

  Murphy waited until he had eased back onto the freeway to begin.
“Do you remember yesterday morning, when I told you about Tawkeel?” When he glanced over, he saw Jessica nodding her head. “How he had been working deep undercover for nine months on a case and how someone blew his cover?”

  “You said you suspected that someone high up in Washington blew his cover.”

  “Exactly,” Murphy said. “Not only was Tawkeel’s cover blown, but his handler’s was also. His handler ended up dead—tortured to death.”

  “But that was just in the last few weeks,” Jessica said. “Gnarly’s handler was killed four years ago.”

  Murphy held up his finger to silence her. “Four years ago, Gnarly and First Sergeant Belle Perkins belonged to a unit stationed in Iraq near the border of Syria. Shortly before Perkins’ murder, a contractor with the Army Corps of Engineers, tasked with surveying the region, was sent to their platoon. His name was Benjamin Frost. Perkins’ unit was tasked with escorting this contractor around the area and keeping him safe while he surveyed the remote areas in the desert.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun and games to me,” she said.

  “It wasn’t. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks,” Murphy said. “Then their unit was hit with mortar fire, and two men were killed. They had to relocate. A week later, while Perkins’ unit had Frost out in the field, they were hit by two snipers. A couple of men were injured. The unit’s CO, Lieutenant Frank Watson, personally charged in like John Wayne and took them both out. He got the Bronze Star for that.

  “Then, three days later, they went out again and were ambushed by two pairs of snipers. That’s the attack Sheriff Turow told us about.”

  “They really were determined, weren’t they?”

  Murphy nodded his head. “Four men were killed. Perkins and Gnarly saved their unit by taking out the snipers. Lieutenant Frank Watson wrote up commendations for both of them.”

  He continued in a soft voice. “The next day, First Sergeant Belle Perkins was dead, and Sergeant Major Gnarly was shipped home in a crate and dishonorably discharged.”

  “I still don’t understand how that case is connected to Tawkeel’s.”