8 A Wedding and a Killing Page 19

  “What business is that?” Archie asked.

  “Nursery.” Lee waved her arm around to indicate the elaborate gardens. “Aunt Tu start plant nursery after uncle die. Biggest in whole area. Right off interstate. Everyone go there.”

  “Did your aunt ever talk about Fairbanks’ murder?” Mac steered her back to the reason for their visit.

  “He wasn’t nice man,” Lee said. “No one sad when he die. Very mean. He hit Scarlett and Holly. Aunt Tu call police and they do nothing. She said it shameful thing for man when his death set living free.”

  “How profound,” Archie said.

  Gauging the distance between the two homes, Mac narrowed his eyes. “Was your aunt here at the time of the murder? Was she working in her garden—”

  “Aunt Tu always gardening,” Lee said. “But she say she see and hear nothing.”

  During their conversation, Archie was squatting next to the bloodflowers to admire the red blooms. “What kind of mulch do you use?” She brought a handful up to her nose to sniff.

  “It is a special mixture that I make myself,” Lee said with a grin full of pride. “Aunt Tu created it. Spend many years mixing and experimenting.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Many things. Make flowers big and bright.”

  “Do you sell it at your nursery?” Archie asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Stop by and tell them I send you. They give discount.”

  While Archie gushed at the offer of a discount, Mac once again eased them back to the reason for their visit. “We were hoping that the current owners of the Fairbanks’ home would let us in to take a look at where the murder happened.”

  “I’m sure they would, if home,” Lee said. “They on vacation. Disney World with two children. So sorry.”

  Mac was ushering Archie back to the car when he said, “I guess now we have to stop by the plant nursery.”

  “We probably should.” She brought her hand up to his nose for him to sniff. Smelling the sour scent, he rubbed his hand over his nose to wipe out the odor. “What is that?”

  “Many things.” Archie wiped her hands together. “I’m willing to bet one of them is chicken feces—which means our killer walked through Aunt Tu’s garden on his way into the Fairbanks home to kill Jason.”

  Mac noticed the brick fence separating the two properties. “That wall is the perfect place to hide behind while waiting for the ideal opportunity to slip inside once Jason was alone to take him out.”

  “And frame Scarlett in the process.”

  “Ruth,” Mac corrected her with a smile.

  “Ruth.” Playfully, she shoved the rental car’s keys into his chest. “You’re driving.”

  From the driver’s seat of his cruiser, Bogie glanced over at David when he heard him curse upon reading the text that came in on his cell phone. They were less than ten minutes from Spencer police station. “Bad news?”

  “Is there any other kind?” David shoved the phone back into its case on his utility belt. “We have visitors. Two detectives from New York and Bill Clark, who is raising Cain because I’m not there to kiss his butt.”

  “I’ll kiss him if you want me to.” Bogie shook his fist in the air to signify the type of kiss he would lay on the arrogant town councilman.

  The corners of David’s mouth tugged up at the thought of the muscle-bound deputy chief taking on Bill Clark, who was built like a rail.

  It was clear to everyone by how the councilman avoided Bogie that he was afraid of him. Desk Sergeant Tonya had noticed that over the years, Bill Clark would never stop in when Bogie, the deputy chief, was there but David was not. If he called in for David, he would refuse to speak to Bogie, whose job was to cover when the chief was unavailable.

  At first, everyone assumed that the councilman avoided Bogie because he considered dealing with the second in command beneath him. Then, Mac suggested an experiment. When David was ordered to make an appearance at a town council meeting to answer questions about various minor issues, Bogie appeared in his stead with the excuse that David was ill. Bill Clark tried to excuse Bogie, only to have the rest of the council, familiar with the law officer’s long association with the police department, argue for the deputy chief to stay.

  Like Gnarly sniffing out a bad guy, Bogie sensed Clark’s fear of the deputy chief who could physically snap the twerp in two like a toothpick. The councilman refused to make eye contact with him. During the meeting, when Bogie moved in his direction, beads of sweat formed on Clark’s shiny forehead while he backed away.

  Not unlike Gnarly, Bogie fed on Clark’s fear.

  No one knows what Bogie said, or did, to the chairman of the town council in the men’s room at the Spencer Inn after the breakfast meeting. When asked, he said simply, “We discussed the high cost of medical care nowadays.” He also expressed that he had a very enjoyable breakfast to boot.

  Whatever was discussed, after that breakfast, Bill Clark made fewer appearances at the police station, and never when he saw Bogie’s cruiser in his reserved parking space.

  “Everyone knows why Bill Clark has it out for you,” Bogie told David.

  David felt a lump form in his throat. Images of the gentle face, and the touch of the soft flesh of a woman from long ago came to his mind. The memory of her whispered words of love to him were drowned out by her terror-filled scream as it blasted through his earbud and filled his head when the undercover operation went south.

  Lisa Clark.

  Because I got his little sister killed—that’s why. David swallowed. ”Wh-why is that?”

  “Because he knows no matter how much money he throws around in this town, he’ll never leave the type of legacy that your daddy left behind … or that you’re going to leave,” Bogie said. “All the bucks he’s got, and all the fancy friends he’s paid for, can’t make up for the big thing he ain’t got. You know what that is?”

  “What?” David asked with a sigh.

  “Character. Clark’s got no character and that’s not something that you can buy with any amount of money.” Bogie swung the steering wheel to turn into the Spencer police department parking lot. “He knows it deep down and he’s jealous—that’s what.”

  “Maybe.” David took in a deep, cleansing breath while dreading the next few minutes.

  “Does he ever blink?” The larger of the two detectives, both dressed in dark suits and ties, eyed Gnarly occupying the couch.

  Poised to pounce, the hundred-pound German shepherd directed his unblinking eyes at the visitors—as if to dare any of them to try to take a seat on his sofa.

  Meanwhile, the two detectives and Town Councilman Bill Clark were sitting in the three straight back chairs left in the reception area.

  “Depends,” Tonya replied from her desk.

  When she didn’t elaborate, the smaller of the Mutt and Jeff pair of detectives asked, “On what?”

  “On who he’s staring at.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Bill Clark bit off each word. “He’s a dog, damn it. This is a police station, not a kennel. That sofa is for visitors, which is what we are.”

  “Then tell him to move.” Anticipating a bit of entertainment, Tonya sat back in her chair and twirled the pen she had been using to write.

  The three men eyed each other. Two of the three were armed, but that didn’t seem to matter. In silence, they looked from one to the other.

  “You know him,” the smaller law officer who had introduced himself as Detective Fred Oliver told Bill Clark. “You order him off the sofa.”

  His partner, Detective Morris Probst, agreed. “And while you’re at it, tell him to share those cookies he’s been hoarding, too.”

  The councilman’s beady eyes grew wide. Sitting up straight he turned toward Gnarly. The German shepherd was staring right at him. His ears stood tall. Even in his lying position, he was pois
ed to take any action at a split second’s notice.

  Bill Clark sat back in his seat. “That sofa’s probably covered with dog hair anyway and my suit needs to be dry cleaned.”

  Making a sound from deep in his throat that could have been a laugh, Gnarly laid his head down to rest on the arm of the sofa. The fresh batch of dog biscuits, delivered by Carmine that morning, rested only inches from his snout.

  Detective Oliver chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “But I want to try one of those chocolate cookies,” Detective Probst said with a whine in his voice.

  “If you want a cookie, go get it,” his partner said.

  Detective Probst stood up and took a step toward the box on the end table.

  His eyes narrowing and his ears falling back to lay flat on top of his head, Gnarly uttered a low growl.

  “On second thought, my wife has been telling me to lose weight.” The detective retook his seat.

  Giggling openly, Tonya returned to her work.

  When David came through the door, Bill Clark was the first on his feet. “O’Callaghan, where have you been?”

  “I was out following up a lead on a murder investigation,” David replied.

  “Meanwhile, these two detectives who have come all the way from New York to pick up an escaped killer have been made to wait.” Clark gestured at the two men standing behind him. “A murder suspect who you were notified about more than twenty-four hours ago. Yet, you didn’t hesitate to lock up the grieving father of her victim.”

  “No, I didn’t hesitate to arrest that man,” David said, “because he was stupid enough to assault a woman right here in this police station in front of one of my officers and then was such an idiot that he assaulted a uniformed officer when she tried to arrest him. If stupidity was against the law, we’d be arresting him for that as well.”

  “But you haven’t arraigned him yet,” Clark said. “What’s the hold up?”

  “Me,” Ben Fleming announced before closing the door behind him. “If you have any issues with how Reese Fairbanks’ case is being handled, Clark, talk to me.”

  “You can start talking by telling me why you’re so quick to lock up the family of a murder victim but slow to arrest that victim’s killer.”

  “I take it Fairbanks is a friend of yours,” Bogie said. “Figures.”

  “As a matter of fact we’re fraternity brothers,” Clark said, “but that makes no difference in the fact that a man came all the way here from several states away to see that justice was done in his son’s murder and he ends up behind bars while the woman who killed his only child is running around scott free.”

  “You haven’t picked up Scarlett Fairbanks yet?” Detective Probst asked. “You got a copy of the arrest warrant.”

  “Her church is giving her safe haven,” David said. “We can’t take custody of her as long as she’s on their property.”

  “Bull!” Clark said. “Go in, cuff her, and drag her out.”

  The prosecutor stepped up to look down in the councilman’s face. “Unlike how they do things where your friend comes from, we don’t take orders from small men with big wallets.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Fairbanks’ empire has crumbled,” Prosecutor Ben Fleming announced. “His wife is pressing charges against him for assault, which he was stupid enough to committed in front of a Spencer police officer. In addition to that, I’m pressing charges against him for assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. The prosecutor and sheriff in New York have been arrested for soliciting a bribe, and they’re singing like pop stars about Reese Fairbanks’ dirty dealings throughout the years.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Fact is, Clark, your friend’s ship is sinking. Do you really want to stay on it? I recommend you jump this ship with the rest of the rats.”

  Bill Clark backed up from Ben Fleming. He jerked his chin up and eyed each of them while considering how best to save face.

  Even Gnarly rose up to await his reaction.

  Deciding to reinforce his position of power, he told David, “I want to be kept informed about how this case progresses.”

  “Oh, you will be, sir,” David replied.

  When Bill Clark turned to hurry for the door, he found Bogie blocking his path.

  “In a couple of minutes, I will be questioning another suspect in Eugene Newton’s murder,” David said.

  With a sweep of his arm, Bogie gestured down the hallway to the interrogation room.

  “Come, step into our chamber, councilman,” Bogie said.

  “I’ve never—” Clark said.

  “That’s not what I hear,” Ben replied. “By the way, I’m going to be sitting in on this interrogation, so be careful about what lies you tell.”

  When Bogie clasped his arm, Clark shook it off. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” With that threat, the councilman stomped down the hallway.

  “Our sheriff is now in jail?” Detective Oliver asked. “Is it true that the FBI is investigating Fairbanks for bribing him and Hawkins? Then what are we supposed to do about Scarlett Fairbanks?”

  “Smoke them if you got ‘em, gentlemen,” Ben said. “I’ve been negotiating with Scarlett Fairbanks’ lawyer and the New York attorney general’s office about how they want to proceed. New evidence in the Jason Fairbanks murder is coming out. As for you two, I took the liberty of reserving a penthouse for you at the Spencer Inn.”

  “Penthouse?” Detective Oliver’s eyebrows rose up on his skinny face.

  “Sweet,” Tonya said.

  “Well, you did come all this way,” Ben said. “I talked to the Inn’s manager, Jeff Ingles. Go up to the Spencer Inn and make yourselves comfortable. Have some lunch, and then check in with your office to see what they want to do. Maybe we’ll have some developments by close of business.”

  “How is the food at this Spencer Inn place?” Detective Probst asked.

  “The best,” Bogie said.

  “It’s a five star restaurant,” Tonya told them. “You have to save room for their chocolate lava cake dessert.”

  Puffing out their chests and smiling ear to ear about snagging such a luxurious assignment, the two detectives bumped fists. “Take your time, my friends,” Detective Probst said.

  Once they were out the door, Ben Fleming allowed a sly grin to come to his lips. He turned to David, who peered at him with an arched eyebrow.

  “Penthouse suite at the Spencer Inn?” David asked. “Looks like you bought Ruth Buchanan some time and at a pretty high price. Don’t even think of charging that to the police department.”

  “Don’t worry,” the prosecutor said. “Mac’s covering it. It was his idea to buy more time. Let’s pray he starts making headway in New York on finding Fairbanks’ killer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The last place Mac and Archie expected to meet a rich man’s mistress was at a Chuck E. Cheese, but that was where Portia Anderson, formerly Hagar, agreed to meet the two of them during a birthday party for one of her young son’s friends.

  Since her torrid relationship with Jason Fairbanks, Portia, like Ruth, had put her past behind her. She moved two hours north from Newcomb to a small seashore town, where she met and married the town pharmacist. Even after having two children, she held a slight touch of the sensual beauty that had attracted Jason Fairbanks. Her shapely curves were still visible under her old jeans, button down top, and comfortable shoes. She wore her long dark hair twisted and pinned to the top of her head and lightly touched her face with a hint of make-up. Other than that, she looked like all the other mothers fighting to keep track of their children racing around the children’s restaurant.

  Mac and Archie leaned across the table to hear Portia’s story over the roar of children of every age and size and the musical entertainment by animal characters. Portia divided her attention between them, a ba
by in a car seat, and her young son who was crawling at top speed through the tubes the snaked through the pizza and amusement place.

  “Jason Fairbanks got exactly what he deserved.” In contrast to her message, she smiled and cooed at the giggling baby girl. “Didn’t he?” she asked the baby in a sing-song voice. “Bad things happen to bad people.”

  “Are you talking about him getting killed or before he was murdered?” Mac asked in a serious tone.

  Portia hesitated before replying, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Mac told her, “A couple of hours before he was murdered, someone shot Jason Fairbanks with a stun gun—several times.”

  “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I would have liked to. That animal raped me, just to show me that he owned the town, the law, the courts, and me. That’s why I moved away.”

  “And I’m sure the thought of revenge never crossed your mind when he got away with raping you,” Mac asked.

  “How could it?” Portia asked. “His father owned the county prosecutor. Reese Fairbanks fired me and had me blackballed from every reputable business in town.”

  “That must have made you very angry,” Archie said. “It would have made me mad.”

  Portia glared at both of them. “Didn’t you talk to the police? They did question me already. I had a solid alibi. I was at a job interview.”

  “We did and they did.” With a sigh, Mac leaned across the table to catch her eye. “How about if we start over? … I know you didn’t kill Fairbanks.”

  Suspicion filled her face while she held his gaze. “Then why are you here?”

  “I want to know who tortured him for you,” Mac said. “Maybe whoever it was decided to take matters into his own hands and ensure Fairbanks would never hurt another woman again.”