Twelve to Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (6 page)

“Shut up, Carl,” the cook said before telling Mac, “We’re fine.”

“You may be fine, Edith,” Carl replied, “but I’m not.”

“We’re not hurt,” Edith told Mac.

“I need your names.” Mac turned to ensure his button cam projected a clear picture of each of them to those in the command center outside.

“Names, shnames,” Carl grumbled. “We’ve got a mad man pointing a gun at us threatening to kill us, and what do the police do? They send in a dog to entertain the kid and an idiot to take names.”

“Shut up, Carl, or I’m going to shoot you myself,” Edith said before turning her attention back Mac. “You have to forgive Carl. He hasn’t had a bowel movement in two days, and now all this…well, everyone has their limits.”

Mac backed up a full step. “Can you give me just the facts, Ma’am?”

“I’m Edith Collins. This grumpy old man is Carl Kincaid.”

“This is my restaurant,” Carl said.

“Is that what this is?” one of the old men scoffed. “I thought it was the local dump.”

“And your name…” Mac asked.

“Bernie,” the old man said. “Bernie Stein—like the beer mug.” He jerked at thumb at the old man sitting next to him. “This is Hap Goldman. Everyone calls him Hap because he’s always happy.”

Hap shot Mac a wide toothless grin.

“Nice to meet you, Hap,” Mac said.

Bernie grasped Mac’s hand.  “Do you think you could convince the nut with the gun to let us have a pitcher of beer and watch the game?”

“No one is drinking any beer unless they’re paying for it,” Carl said.

“As long as we’re being held hostage, we might as well make the best of it,” Bernie said. “It isn’t like we’re going anywhere. So why not watch the game? It’s Tampa Bay against the Pirates. It’s the first game of a doubleheader, and Hap and I want to see it. Then later it’s the Chicago Cubs against Arizona.”

“No one is drinking my beer!” Carl said.

“Let’s see what the man with the gun has to say about that,” Bernie said. “Hey, Lenny! The game is about to start. Can we watch it? Carl says we can have beers all the way around! On the house! You can have some, too!”

“I did not say that!” Carl objected.

“Sounds like a party.” Lenny pulled out a bar stool and the two elderly man galloped up to the bar. With the excitement of two little boys raiding the ice cream shop, the two men licked their lips when Edith came around behind the bar to pour their beers.

Holding a gun on all of them, Lenny slid a used empty mug that he had been imbibing from since arriving down to the end of the bar for her to refill.

Keeping himself between the hostages and the gunman, Gnarly moved across the bar and lay down on the floor. While he was in the reclining position, his eyes never left Lenny Frost and the gun in his hand.

Carl stood up to confront Mac. “You’re the police. Do something! They’re stealing my beer!”

“Actually, I’m not the police,” Mac told him.

Flabbergasted, Carl sputtered before asking, “Then what are you?”

“A rich man trying to help.”

Scoffing, Carl hurried over to the bar where Bernie, Hap, Edith, and Lenny were changing the channel to the baseball game. Their preoccupation was a good thing. Lenny was now watching the game instead of himself on the news.

Mac turned his attention to the last hostage and found that the redhead was watching him with her piercing blue eyes. Her arms were folded under her bosom.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Mac said.

“That’s because I didn’t tell you,” she replied.

The two of them eyed each other. Once again, Mac was struck with how polished and attractive she was. She did not fit in with the Blue Whale Pub clientele at all.

“LeClair DuBois,” she said.

“Where are you from, LeClair?”

“Georgetown, Maryland,” she said. “I came out here this weekend with my boyfriend. We were staying at the Wisp when we had a fight and he left. I was stuck here all by myself. I never even heard of Deep Creek Lake until this week. I decided to come have a drink to think and decide what I was going to do next.” She cast an eye over in Lenny’s direction. “Then he walked in and pulled a gun on all of us.” With a hollow laugh, she unfolded her arms and looked down at the toe of her high heel shoe. “Some romantic weekend getaway, huh?” With her head bowed, she gazed up at him through her long eyelashes.

“Yeah, some romantic weekend,” Mac said while thinking about Archie, who was waiting for him at home with twelve dozen white roses. He wondered if they had been delivered yet.

Need to get this wrapped up.

A cheer drew Mac’s attention back to Lenny, who was leaning on the bar and cheering with Bernie and Hap. They were all downing mugs of beer—even Edith.

“This is the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever been in,” Mac muttered for those watching in the van.

On his way over to where Lenny was drinking his beer and clutching the gun, Mac casually ran his fingers under the edge of a table to attach the listening device.

Lenny was startled when he clasped him on the shoulder. His eyes widened before he seemed to recall who Mac was and why he was there.

“We have to talk,” Mac told him. “I need to know what’s going on. The police think you killed your agent—”

“I didn’t kill her or Austin,” Lenny said.

“Can you prove it? Where were you last night between six and ten o’clock?”

Mac was accustomed to seeing one of two reactions to the question about an alibi from prime murder suspects: either despair over not having one, or delight over having a solid alibi and being cleared of the crime.

In Lenny’s case, the reaction was one of anger. He bit off each word when he spoke to Mac. “I was at the Wisp alone in my suite, drinking myself into oblivion until I passed out and woke up all alone. How’s that for an alibi?”

“Not good.”

“They knew it. They set me up.”

“Who, Lenny? Who brought you here? Why are you here in Deep Creek Lake? Who is behind this?”

“I don’t know,” Lenny said. “That’s why I sent for you. All my life, people have been using me, lying about me—chewing me up and spitting me out. Hell, I’ve actually gotten used to it. But killing Janice and Austin and framing me? That’s new.”

“You must have some idea—”

“None.”

“Come on, Lenny,” Mac said. “People don’t go framing other people for no reason at all.”

“Someone set me up, Mickey!” Lenny yelled. “First they turned my fans against me with lies about how many drugs I was doing and setting me up for DUIs and all that stuff. Then they kidnapped me and canceled my show, and then Hollywood blackballed me. Then, just as I was going to make a comeback—just when the door opened again—this happened.”

“What door opened, Lenny?”

A smile crossed Lenny’s face. “Ronald Cunningham.”

“The movie producer?” By the grin on Lenny’s face, Mac sensed that he had the right man. Ronald Cunningham was the biggest action-adventure moviemaker in Hollywood.

“I don’t have to tell you about it, Mickey,” Lenny said. “Cunningham is making three movies about you and he wants me to reprise my role from the first one—the role that won me the Academy Award. This is it. This will be my comeback. No longer will I be a has been. With that role—they’ll see that I still have it.”

Unsure of what to say, afraid that the wrong thing would send Lenny over the edge, Mac refrained from shaking his head to show doubt.

“That’s why I came to Deep Creek Lake,” Lenny said. “I was meeting Cunningham and Janice here to talk about my contract.”

“Ronald Cunningham was coming here?” Mac gestured to the dive where they were. A multi-millionaire movie producer holding a power meeting at the Blue Whale Pub? No way.

Lenny nodded.

“Who set up the meeting?” Mac asked. “Your agent?”

“Actually, Cunningham’s assistant did,” Lenny said. “They put me up in the penthouse suite at the Wisp last night. Five-star treatment the whole way.”

“You call
this
place five star?”

“She must have picked the wrong place,” Lenny replied.

“Why didn’t you stay at your agent’s house?”

“Janice’s hubby, Austin, was a bastard,” Lenny swore. “He blamed me for everything. He was the one who convinced Janice to abandon me. Ever since she brought me out here, Austin was riding her ass to dump me again. Last year, he banned me from their house after I tripped and landed on top of their dining room table in the middle of their fancy dinner party.”

Recalling that the passcode for the Stillman’s security system had been changed in the last month, Mac asked him, “Could Janice or Derrick have given you the security passcode for their home here on Deep Creek Lake?”

Lenny scoffed. “Why would they? Austin flat out said that I am not allowed to set foot on their property. Besides, that paranoid old man changes the code after every trip out here.”

Thinking over this information, Mac scratched behind his ear. “If that was the case, then why would Janice have arranged for you to meet with Ronald Cunningham here? Why not in the city?”

With an expression of exaggerated ignorance, Lenny made a broad gesture of shrugging his shoulders.  

Mac took his cell phone from his pocket and hit a button on the screen.

“Who are you calling?” Lenny held up the gun.

“Ronald Cunningham.” Mac spoke into the phone. “Alexis…how are you this fine Saturday? Is he there?”

“You have Ronald Cunningham on speed dial?” Lenny asked.

“He can’t make those movies about my life without my permission, can he?” Mac replied before turning back to the phone. “Ronald? No I haven’t signed them yet. Hey, are you negotiating to sign Lenny Frost for a role in the Forsythe films?” Not wanting Lenny to see the answer in his face, Mac turned away. “Could any of your people have been talking to his people? That’s what I thought. I’ll have my business manager call you next week. Thanks. I’ve got to go.”

When Mac turned back around, Lenny’s face was as red as his hair used to be.

“Lenny, I’m sorry,” Mac said in a soft voice while raising his hands up in a sign of defense. “Ronald Cunningham has no intention of reprising your role from the first film. He doesn’t even have the rights to make the movies because we’ve been unable to reach an agreement. Why would he have signed you up when he still doesn’t have the rights to make the movies?”

“They set me up.”

“Yes, someone did,” Mac said. “Someone lured you to Deep Creek Lake so that you would be in the vicinity when they killed your agent and her husband, and had you come here to…” Not having an answer, Mac glanced around.

“They’re out to get me!” Abruptly, Lenny raised the gun and aimed it at Mac’s face.

Barking, Gnarly jumped up to his feet.

“Halt!” Mac held his hand straight up while ordering Gnarly to stand down.

Abruptly, the joy of the ballgame and the beers was over. Edith backed as far away from the bar as she could get. Keeping his eye on the gun, Carl slid in behind the bar and ushered her behind him.

“They’ve
always
been jealous of me,” Lenny said.

“Who, Lenny?”

“Them!”

“Who are they, Lenny? Tell me so that I can help you,” Mac said. “Who would want to frame you for killing Janice and Austin Stillman? Who would want to kill them and why?”

“I don’t know!” Lenny grasped the side of his head with one hand while waving the gun in Mac’s direction with the other. “I loved Janice! She was the only one—even my parents thought I was a loser—but Janice believed in me. I’d live with them for weeks. They were like my family. They even took me on vacation with them. She was good to me, man! Why would I have killed her?”

He picked up his beer mug and flung it across the room. “I know why! To get to me! They have been working to ruin me ever since—jealous! They’re all envious of me and my talent and they have been trying to take me down and they’ve managed to succeed and this—this is the final straw to break me—killing the only people who have been loyal to me my whole life and framing me for it!”

As if struck with a sudden thought, he grasped the gun with both hands. His red-rimmed eyes were wide as he held the gun steady, with it pointed at Mac’s chest.  “You want to help me?”

Still clutching his cell phone, Mac held his hands up. “Yes I do, Lenny. I do want to help you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Find out who it is,” Lenny said. “Find out who killed Janice and who is framing me.”

Mac looked around at the hostages gathered in the bar. Gnarly was staring at the gun, while waiting for his signal to disarm the gunman.

Too risky right now. If the gun went off when Gnarly’s jaws clamped down on his hand, a bullet could ricochet and hit any of them.

Lenny’s eyes went to the clock above the bar.

12:21 in the afternoon.

“Midnight,” Lenny said. “You have until midnight.”

“Midnight to do what?” Mac asked.

“Midnight to prove I didn’t kill them and find out who has been behind this conspiracy to ruin me my whole life.”

“That’s a tall order,” Mac said.

“If anyone can do it, Mickey, you can.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You have twelve hours to murder,” Lenny said in a low, steady tone. “At midnight, I’m going to kill everyone in this bar—you last, so that you can see everyone die before you—because you failed. Then I’ll shoot myself.”

Chapter Five

Garrett County Sheriff’s Command Center

David bent over the computer tablet that was picking up the feed from the button cam. With a few touches of his fingers on the screen, he captured the image and sent it to his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Sheriff Turow asked. “O’Callaghan, need I remind you that this is not your case? My department is handling this situation.”

“That’s right.” David stood up. “You’re handling the hostage situation and I’m investigating a double homicide in my jurisdiction. You heard Frost. He’s giving Mac until midnight to solve these murders and then he’s going to kill everyone in there, including my man. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Turning around in the tight confines of the van, David found Bogie blocking his way out. “Bogie, you stay here. I want to know everything that they’re doing. Keep me informed about everything that happens inside that pub.”

“Where are you going?” Bogie asked.

“Back to the station to question Derrick Stillman,” David said while climbing out of the van. “He’s got the most to gain from his parents’ deaths, and he was close to Frost. Seems to me he’s the best place to start when looking for suspects.”

David waited until he was outside before taking his smart phone out and forwarding the image he had sent to his phone to one of his favorite numbers. In the text message accompanying the photo he wrote, “Meet me @ station. I need U.”

“Okay, Lenny,” Mac said in a calm tone while stepping toward the pub’s small stage where Lenny had propped himself on a stool. He shifted to place himself between Lenny and the gun and the hostages, who had returned to watching the ballgame, at the bar. “You want me to prove that you didn’t kill your agent and her husband. I can’t do that unless you help me. Tell me who would have killed them to frame you. Give me a name.”

“A name?” Lenny asked with a loud scoff. “There are so many.”

“Seriously, Lenny.” Mac lifted one foot onto the stage and leaned in to him. “Two people were murdered. You’re being framed. That’s more than just simple jealousy. Someone wants you out of the way. Who would want you out of the way enough to kill two people?”

“Sally Riggleman,” Lenny said without hesitation.

“Who’s Sally Riggleman?”

“No-talent comic wannabe at the club—always trying to upstage me,” Lenny said. “Bitch has no talent. It was only her luck that Janice happened to be there when she auditioned and liked her. Said we needed a female comic to balance me out.”

One of Mac’s eyebrows arched. “So Janice went against you to hire this other comic?”

Lenny’s temper flared. “I’d always had the say on what comics we hired and what ones we didn’t. We agreed to that when Janice called me out from Hollywood.”

“Where you were making a big splash,” Mac noted in a tone heavy with sarcasm.

Lenny whipped up the gun and aimed it to Mac’s forehead. Edith, the barmaid, screamed. With a growl, Gnarly jumped to his feet.

“Wait, Diablo!” Mac’s eyes crossed to look at the barrel of the gun. “If you shoot me, Lenny, you’ll have no one to help you. So I suggest you put that gun away and tell me about Sally Riggleman and why she’d want to kill Janice, the one who went to bat to get her a job at the club.”

Lenny hesitated before lowering the gun. “We have an open mic on Wednesday night. Winners of open mic perform that weekend. A few weeks ago, Sally showed up and did this lame routine about women and how they think differently from men and crap like that. Janice happened to be there that night. I mean, like—she’s never there!”

“But she owns the club,” Mac said.

“Janice didn’t get it,” Lenny said. “She doesn’t—like…” He threw up his hands with a laugh. “Get this. She thought Sally was hilarious. She was laughing so hard she was crying but—” With the barrel of the gun, he jabbed Mac in the chest while saying in a mocking tone, “Sally doesn’t even use the F-word in her routine. She’s that lame.”

“The nerve,” Mac breathed. “And people still laughed at her.”

“She must have had a bunch of friends come in on Friday and Saturday,” Lenny said, “because the whole audience was rolling on the floor laughing their fool heads off, and the next thing I know, Janice is ordering Derrick to sign her on for six months.”

Mac shook his head. “If Janice did that to me, I’d be first in line to kill her. We need to go pick Sally Riggleman up right away.”

“Point is,” Lenny said in a low voice. “Sally got a big head over all that and has been nosing around the club trying to work her way into my gig as the headliner and host ever since. Last week, I caught her listening outside Derrick’s office during a private meeting. She’s looking for dirt on me, and I called her on it. I told her that the only way she was going to take my spotlight was to kill Janice because she would never replace me as headliner.”

Spencer Police Station

“Is it true?” Tonya sprang up from behind her desk when David came into the station’s reception area. “We have until midnight to find out who killed the Stillmans and we better pray to God that it isn’t Lenny Frost or he’s going to kill everyone in that bar—including Mac?”

“You’ve been talking to Bogie.” David noticed two men in suits stand up from where they were waiting in the reception area. “Is their son still here?”

“In the observation room,” Tonya said. “Fletcher finished taking his statement but told him to wait. The other guy, Zachery Harris, the writer—he hurried out of here like he had places to go right after you guys left.”

She pointed to the men, who David was eying. “These two came in about a half an hour ago. They’re insisting that they have something important to talk to you about.”

The taller of the two men stepped forward and opened his federal agent badge for David to examine. “Police Chief O’Callaghan, I’m Special Agent Alex Fredericks, and this is Special Agent Richard Saunders. We’re with the DEA—Drug Enforcement Agency—”

“I know what DEA stands for.” David wished he could suck back the arrogance that had slipped into his tone.

Agent Fredericks slipped his badge back into the inside breast pocket of his suit. “We’d like to discuss the Stillman murder case with you.”

Aware that they were standing in the open reception area, Agent Saunders gestured in the direction of David’s office on the second floor. “Can we talk in private?”

Consenting, David hurried up the stairs to his corner office that had a view of the lake and docks behind the police station. He wasted no time in demanding answers after shutting the office door. “I hope you can excuse my bluntness,” the police chief said, “but we have a serious situation right now. One of my men, and a very good friend of mine, is being held hostage by Lenny Frost over in McHenry. Frost has given us until midnight to find out who committed these murders.” David clasped his hands on his hips.  “So I’m not going to waste any time playing games with you two. If you have anything to help me get those people out, you better give it to me right now.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Agent Fredericks said. “There’s something you need to know and keep in mind about this case.”

“What is that? Out with it.”

“Lenny’s Comedy Café has been under investigation by the DEA for several months,” Fredericks said. “It came to our attention that the manager had become a major dealer with one of the most influential drug operators in the DC area and he was working with some major uptown players—all out of the club.”

“Are you telling me that Janice Stillman and her husband were killed because they were involved in drug dealing?” David suppressed the groan that wanted to escape from his lips.

“She wasn’t involved, and neither was her husband,” Agent Saunders said. “We managed to clear them of involvement. They owned the club, but they left the day-to-day operation to their son, Derrick.”

“We needed someone we could trust on the inside,” Agent Frederick said. “So a month ago, we confronted Janice Stillman and her husband with the evidence that we had collected.”

“What was their reaction?” David asked.

“Outrage,” Saunders said. “They agreed to go along with everything we asked, even to help our undercover agent get inside—anything—just so that would help their son get some leniency when it was all over.”

“Is Derrick Stillman involved in the drug operation?”

Agent Fredericks nodded his head. “The comedy club is nothing more than a front for him. When the Stillmans learned that at our last meeting, they confided in us that they were changing their wills. Derrick was going to be disinherited and the comedy club was going to go to Lenny Frost.”

David let out a breath. “Did Derrick know that?”

“That we don’t know,” Saunders said. “They were keeping the information a secret until after we made our arrest.”

“You say the club is under investigation,” David said. “Does that mean you have Derrick under surveillance?” When the two agents exchanged glances and said nothing, the police chief took it as a yes. “Where was Derrick last night?”

“He was on a date with a young woman,” Fredericks said. “He went to her apartment in Georgetown and didn’t leave until shortly after three o’clock this morning. He came straight here.”

“Which means he has an alibi for the murder,” David said. “Yet…he could have paid one of his drug dealer friends to do it.” He held up his hand in a signal for them to wait when his cell phone vibrated on his hip. Seeing that the call was from Bogie, he tapped the screen to put him on speaker phone. “Yeah, Bogie.”

“Lenny gave Mac the name of a potential suspect who he believes had motive to kill Janice Stillman.”

David grabbed a notepad and pen from his desk. “Give it to me.”

“Sally Riggleman.”

Glancing up from the paper, David saw a smirk cross the lips of Agent Fredericks while Agent Saunders’s eyes widened into an expression of concern. “Who is she?” David asked Bogie while keeping his eyes on the agents.

Bogie said, “Lenny claims she’s a regular ladder-climbing comic out to steal his spotlight in anyway possible.”

“And killing the Stillmans accomplishes that how?”

“David,” Bogie said in a low voice. “Lenny’s light is on but no one is home. His mind is so twisted that he thinks this murder is only to get to him. The guy is downright paranoid. But he gave Mac that name. Do you want me to stay here or track her down?”

“I’ll track her down,” David said. “Thanks, Bogie. Keep up the good work.” He still had his thumb on the disconnect button when he looked up from the desk to the agents. “This Sally Riggleman is your agent, isn’t she?”

“We can’t confirm or deny that,” Agent Saunders said. “You have to understand that, O’Callaghan.”

“Of course, I understand,” David said. “I’ve worked undercover operations. But you heard my deputy chief. Lenny is crazy.”

“We know that,” Fredericks said. “We wouldn’t be surprised if he flipped out and killed the Stillmans because he was afraid he would lose the spotlight to Riggleman.”

“He’d inherit the club and be the headliner for the rest of his life,” David said.

“Exactly,” Fredericks said. “Between motive and being nuts—”

“You need to find out what Derrick Stillman knew about his parents’ will and what was going on with Lenny Frost,” David said. “People are going to die if we don’t get this sorted out.”