A Wedding and a Killing (17 page)

Chapter Fifteen

David dreaded Chelsea’s silence. Unlike Archie Monday, who waited patiently and with understanding for Mac to come around to making the big commitment, Chelsea Adams yearned for more stability in her life.

Why wouldn’t she?
David understood. Her brother disappeared shortly after high school, to turn up after several years living as a recluse in an abandoned castle on top of the mountain. Chelsea’s mother died shortly after his disappearance.

To add to the family upheaval, her first love had broken her heart. The fact that
he
was the first love who had broken her heart compounded his guilt.
Who would have thought that fifteen years later we would reconcile?

David welcomed Mac and Archie’s engagement with mixed emotions. He was happy for them, but anxious about what it would mean for him and Chelsea.
Is she going to start chomping at the bit for us to walk down the aisle, too? I love her, but am I ready for that?

With anxiety, David would take note every time his lovely lady with platinum blonde waves would cast her pale blue eyes at him while she thought he was sleeping.

The morning after Mac had left for New York, David found her sitting at the picnic table on the back deck of her two-story condo staring out at the tranquil lake, which was still in the early hours of the day.

Deep Creek Lake was in the height of the summer season. At eight o’clock, the vacationers and summer residents were still getting ready to enjoy the sunny day. There was only one fishing boat on the water when David carried his hot steaming coffee out onto the deck. In a nearby tree, a bird was chirping excitedly. David wondered if the tabby cat that belonged to one of Chelsea’s neighbors was on the receiving end of the bird’s apparent tantrum.

Oblivious to the bird’s chatter, Molly was dozing in the middle of a sunbeam. Gnarly, who had spent the night while his owners were in New York, was stretched out with his head resting across her neck. When David emerged through the French doors to join them, the German shepherd eyed him without lifting his head, as if he didn’t want to wake his female companion from her nap.

Molly’s master was dressed for work in a pale blue business suit with a matching blouse and pumps. The hue of her suit seemed to be tailor made to match her pale eye color.

David laid his hand on her shoulder. His touch startled her out of her stare across the water. Feeling her jump, he paused in bending over to kiss her on the lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I was thinking,” she stammered before reaching up to pull him back down to kiss her. “Good morning.” She brushed her hand down the front of his white shirt and across the badge pinned to his chest. “If you’re going to keep spending the night here, you need to bring more shirts to keep in my closet.”

“Maybe.” Sipping his coffee, David sat down in the seat next to her. “What were you thinking so hard about?”

“Last night,” she said. “Those were all such nice people … and how they all came out to support Ruth and … fun. I always thought church people were stuffy and no fun but—” She giggled. “I’ve never done the bunny hop before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Do you believe in God, David?”

“Of course, I do.” Avoiding her gaze, he took a long sip of his coffee.

“Why don’t we go to church then?”

“Because we’re living in sin,” David replied in a mocking tone.

“But aren’t we all sinners?” she shot back. “You and I are having premarital sex. There’s a killer out there who murdered their trustee. Gnarly stole a sausage off my neighbor’s grill last week. You and I run into people who lie, cheat, and steal every day. Some of us are bigger sinners than others, but isn’t that why God sent Jesus? To pay for our sins so that we can be saved?”

David lifted his eyes to look at her. “I wondered what you were in such a deep conversation about with Reverend Deborah last night.”

“Where do you stand, David?”

He looked out at the still water on the lake. He was aware of her eyes searching his face. After a long silence, he swallowed. “God and I aren’t exactly on good terms right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“You weren’t here when Dad was dying,” David said. “He was in excruciating pain and he died slowly over a very long time. You remember him. He was the backbone of this lake. He did so much to help so many people … he devoted himself to helping others … he made so many sacrifices, including giving up the love of his—” Feeling his fury rising, he stopped and took a sip his coffee. “And God let him suffer like that.”

She hung her head in silence.

“Then there’s the evil I saw overseas—horrible things done to good people,” David said. “What kind of God lets things like that happen?”

“God doesn’t do those things,” Chelsea said. “People do those things. A person killed Eugene Newton. Evil people organized, trained, and planned for those planes to fly into the World Trade Center buildings and the Pentagon.
Not God.”

“He
could have stopped it.” David drank down the rest of his coffee. “Are you ready to go?” He stood up and went back inside.

“Yes.” She stood up.

Molly was instantly awake. Gnarly jumped back to allow her to climb to her feet to rush to her mistress.

Carrying Chelsea’s laptop case and purse, David came back to the door.

“I’m going to start going to church, David,” Chelsea announced.

David groaned. “And you expect me to drive you?”

“No,” she said. “Bogie volunteered to take me. He and Doc go to Spencer Church. Molly and I will ride with them, so you don’t have to go.”

“Good.”

She laid her hand on his chest. “I’d like for you to come with me, though.” She smiled coyly.

David’s phone buzzed on his hip. Perfect timing. Without answering her, he brought his phone to his ear. “O’Callaghan here.” The news from the other end of the line brought a smile to his face.

“Have Bogie meet me at the station in fifteen minutes.” He disconnected the call.

“Good news from Mac in New York?” Chelsea asked about his grin.

“No,” David said, “but it is good news. We got a hit on one of Helga Thorpe’s credit cards. She used it this morning to check into a motel in Breezewood, Pennsylvania.”

“That’s a major stop on the Pennsylvania turnpike,” Chelsea said.

“Exactly.” David handed her the laptop case. “She must have been laying low—waiting for things to cool off.” He ushered her and the dogs to the door. “I hope you don’t mind if I leave you at the station and ask Fletcher to take you on to work. Bogie and I need to go meet the Pennsylvanian State Troopers in Breezewood before she moves on. They’ve got a unit staking out the room until we get there to pick her up.”

“Don’t say a word,” Quinton Hawkins warned Sheriff Nichols before hissing in Mac’s direction. “You set us up.” He shot a sneer at FBI Special Agent Sid Delaney. “This case will never see the inside of a court room.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the federal agent said. “We recorded the
whole
conversation. You made the offer to Mr. Faraday.
You
solicited a bribe.”

“Forsythe isn’t even your real name?” Sheriff Nichols asked.

Mac slowly shook his head. “Mickey Forsythe is a fictional character in a series of books written by Robin Spencer. We set up a phony identity using his name. A very rich man who thinks he’s above the law, beating up his wife in your jurisdiction—sort of like Reese and Jason Fairbanks. That’s how they got away with beating up their wives all those years without anyone doing anything to put a stop to it.”

“Entrapment.” The county prosecutor’s tone betrayed his impatience with them inconveniencing him.

“I don’t care,” Mac said. “Everyone is going to know what type of men you really are--very willing to forget your sworn duties and look the other way while a woman was being abused—just like you did for years with Scarlett Fairbanks.”

“Scarlett Fairbanks killed her husband,” the sheriff said. “Everyone knows that.”

“No, she didn’t,” Mac said. “And if she had, then you put her in the position where she was forced to defend herself because you refused to protect her from that animal.”

“You have no proof of that,” Prosecutor Hawkins said.

Special Agent Delaney said, “I’m sure a jury is going to see the connection between Reese Fairbanks’ generous financial support for both of your election campaigns and the lack of action on your part to ever charge his son even though Mrs. Weber, the Fairbanks’ neighbor, called the police a dozen times over the years to report the domestic disputes. Jason Fairbanks broke his daughter’s arm and the doctor reported it. He was going to testify against him.”

“And he recanted,” Hawkins said with a laugh while crossing his arms. “Not my problem.”

“He recanted thanks to Reese Fairbanks intimidating him,” Mac said.

“Now that was Fairbanks’ doing.” Sweat was rolling down the sheriff’s flabby cheeks.

“Shut up, Nichols,” the prosecutor ordered before telling Mac. “Legally, Reese Fairbanks did nothing illegal. He never laid a hand on that doctor and he never threatened him.”

“He threatened to foreclose his parent’s mortgage on their home and throw them out on the street if he testified,” the special agent said. “We have statements from both of them and their son.”

“Meanwhile, you strong armed Scarlett Fairbanks and threatened her with jail time if she didn’t drop the divorce,” Mac said.

“She skipped town and took Fairbanks’ daughter with her,” the prosecutor said, “which is against the law.”

“So is beating someone to a pulp!” Mac shot back.

“What do you want?” With a handkerchief, the sheriff mopped the sweat from his forehead, cheeks, jaws, and down under his chin.

“I told you to shut up, Nichols,” the prosecutor said. “Don’t say another word.”

“You shut up, Hawkins,” Sheriff Nichols said. “It’s over. From here on out, it’s every man for himself.”

The prosecutor scoffed at the sheriff before directing his laughter at Mac. “And we’ll just see who is left standing.”

“Get him out of here,” Special Agent Delaney ordered his partner to remove the prosecutor. “Put him in a holding cell with a violent criminal and turn your back for an hour or so,” he said for the lawyer’s benefit. “Let’s see how he likes it.”

While they escorted the cuffed prosecutor out of the interview room, Mac glared down at the sheriff from where he stood on the other side of the table.

Even while Sheriff Nichols hung his head in shame, the former homicide detective was sickened by images of abused women and children—a few who had been killed—who he had encountered during his career. Here sat a man who had taken an oath to protect them, who could have helped Scarlett, Holly, and Reese’s wife Jenny, and he didn’t—for money.

“I want a deal,” the sheriff broke the silence to say.

“I’m not in a position to offer any deals.” Mac turned the chair around and straddled the back to sit across from him. “But I can put in a good word for you. I want to know about Jason Fairbanks’ murder.”

“There’s nothing to it,” Sheriff Nichols replied. “His wife shot him and ran off. He had hunted her down and dragged her back before. She figured if he was dead, that he couldn’t hunt her down again.”

“Someone threw water on him and shot him with a stun gun.” Reminded of the shot he had received from the arresting officer the night before, Mac involuntarily rubbed the welts the stun gun had left on his back. He imagined the pain of the extra jolt from being wet when the electric current was shot through him.
Not that Fairbanks didn’t deserve it.
“I want to know who did it.”

Sheriff Nichols slumped. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t know that for certain. Fairbanks ordered us to focus on Scarlett and getting Holly back right away.”

“So you didn’t really look anywhere else,” Mac said. “Weren’t you even curious about why Fairbanks clothes were damp? Didn’t you read the autopsy report where it said he had welts in the groin area consistent with being shot repeatedly with a stun gun? Don’t tell me you thought Scarlett had done it.”

“We knew Scarlett would never have gotten close enough to Jason to have done that,” the sheriff said.

“Then who?” Mac asked. “Who could have gotten that close?”

“No woman alone,” the sheriff said. “Not without help.”

“This injury seems to be very personal,” Mac said, “like the type of injury a woman would wish on a man for hurting her.”

The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I never got evidence to confirm anything concrete.”

“But you did hear something.” Mac leaned across to him. “You want a recommendation from me, you better give me something.”

“Portia Hagar.” The sheriff’s jaw worked as he clinched his teeth. “Jason Fairbanks made the mistake of slapping around the wrong woman. She worked for the Fairbanks and had an affair with him. Then she made the bigger mistake of trying to leave him. He didn’t like that and slapped her around. She called the police—”

“Who did nothing,” Mac said.

“She did succeed in getting a restraining order.”

“But that does no good when the monster you are restraining owns the police,” Mac said.

“No one owns me,” the sheriff objected.

“What do you call it when you refuse to uphold the law on the say so of a man who is giving you money?” Mac’s lips curled into a snarl. “How is it that Scarlett’s lawyer didn’t know anything about this restraining order keeping her husband away from his mistress when she was trying to divorce him?”

When Sheriff Nichol’s hung his head, Mac knew the answer. “Really? Fairbanks had Scarlett’s divorce lawyer under his thumb, too?”

Sheriff Nichols grumbled.

With a sigh of disgust, Mac asked him, “What happened with Portia after she got the restraining order against Jason Fairbanks?”

“She got her butt fired from Fairbanks’ bank,” the sheriff said. “Fairbanks then got her blackballed all over town. I heard that she was planning to move out of the area. One night, Jason got drunk and went to her place. She says he raped her.”

“Did you believe her?”

“She had bruises all over her,” the sheriff said. “He claimed she liked it rough.” He wiped his sweaty forehead. “I thought for sure Hawkins would have to indict Jason. He went too far that time, but Hawkins didn’t do a thing. Less than a week after Hawkins had made that decision, Jason Fairbanks was dead.”

Mac studied the man across the table. His face was drenched in sweat. He refused to meet Mac’s gaze. “What are you not telling me?”

“Let’s just say that through the years, the morale in my department has been less than high.”

“Your deputies know what’s been going on,” Mac said with a nod of his head. “How could they not?”

“If they didn’t know,” the sheriff said, “they certainly suspected.”

“Could some of them have decided to teach Fairbanks a lesson?” Recalling the anger he saw in the deputy’s eyes, the same one who had shot him, Mac once again fingered the welts on his ribs.

“None of my people had anything to do with Jason Fairbanks’ murder,” the sheriff insisted.

“What about Fairbanks’ mistress?”

Sheriff Nichols raised his eyes to Mac’s. “She had an alibi for the time of the murder. She was at a job interview an hour away.”

“She could have arranged for someone to kill Jason Fairbanks for her,” he said.

“No money trail to indicate that,” the sheriff countered.

“Maybe whoever killed Fairbanks for her was looking for a different sort of revenue,” Mac said. “Where is Portia Hagar now?”

“A big bank in Albany,” Sheriff Nichols said. “I heard she got married.”

Mac referred to his notes on the case. “Did you even bother questioning the Fairbanks’ neighbor to see if she saw someone go in to finish off Fairbanks after his wife had left?”

Sheriff Nichols nodded his head. “Tuyon Weber.”

“Did she see anything on the day of the murder?”

Nichols was already shaking his head. “She saw nothing. She spoke with a thick Vietnamese accent, but there was no mistaking her in that she heard no shots at any time that afternoon. Nor did she see anything.” He added, “I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was lying though.”

“Why?”

“Because she was the neighbor who kept calling the police every time Fairbanks beat on Scarlett or his daughter,” Sheriff Nichols explained. “More than once she chewed out the officers responding to the call for not doing anything.” He chuckled. “Even with her thick accent, there was no mistaking what she was saying to them. She could very well have seen the whole thing go down and claim not to know anything in order to protect Scarlett Fairbanks.”

“Does she still live at the same address?”

“She’s dead.” Sheriff Nichols went on in response to Mac’s fallen expression. “She was an old woman. She died a couple of years ago of a heart attack. Her niece lives in that house now.”