Hidden Vices (13 page)

Twenty-Five

Megan pulled into the
garage. Lynn had just finished filling a car when she got out.

“Well, hello again,” Lynn said with a smile.

“Hi, there.”

“Need more gas for that tank of yours?”

“Actually, no, not yet anyway. My engine light has been going on and off and I wondered if your son could take a look at it.”

“Do you want to leave it?”

“I'll wait if that's okay. It's my only source of transportation, so … ”

Lynn nodded. “Okay. Let me go get him. Could you pull up into the garage for me?”

Megan pulled the Range Rover into the garage, nearly hitting a motorcycle.

“This is my son, Duane. Duane this is—it's Megan, right?”

Now who's the bull-shitter? Everyone in town knows my name.

She nodded while Duane used a rag to clean off his hand before shaking hers. “Pleasure.”

“Duane, Megan's engine light is going on and off. Can you run it through the sensor codes on the computer?”

He was tall, with dark hair that could use a haircut. Both arms were covered in tattoos. Each finger also inked. Megan knew it was code for a motorcycle gang. He was hardly the clean-cut type. He wore a white t-shirt under a black vest and a chain hung from one pocket. He stared at her with an intensity that would make most people feel uncomfortable, but not Megan. She returned it.

“Thanks.”

“Can you pop the hood for me?”

Megan did so as he lit a cigarette. Same look as the butts she found on the dock.

Interesting, but hardly proof.
In the short time she'd been in Mount Arlington, it seemed everyone she met was a smoker.

Megan pointed over to the motorcycle. “I guess that's yours.”

“Yep.”

Big conversationalist.
She looked around the garage. A huge ashtray filled with butts was on a desk, and dirty windows looked out onto Howard Boulevard.

“I thought I was going to knock it over when I drove in.”

He spoke over the cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Well, then I guess I'd have to kill you.”

“Hasn't there been enough of that going around here lately?”

“Yep.”

“A neighbor friend said you just worked on her car recently, so that's why I came here.”

“Who?”

“Vivian Campbell. She had to leave it overnight, I think?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Megan's next thought was that this guy has been interrogated more than once. He knew not to say much.

Duane went to turn over the engine. “No light is on.”

“Maybe you fixed it,” Megan answered.

“I didn't do anything. You might have an intermittent short in your sensor light.”

The icy stare prompted Megan to try another route. “I bet you saw all the action the other day being as your garage is directly across from where Judge Campbell was pulled out.”

“Didn't much care. I try to stay away from cops. And detectives.”

“Guess that's why you've taken such a shine to me.”

He closed the hood. “Guess so.”

Dead end.
“Well, then how much do I owe you?”

“Nothin'.”

“What about labor?”

“Told ya, I didn't do anything.”

“Thank you anyway.”

“If the light actually does come on, you can bring her back. Can't figure out what's wrong if the light's not on.”

She nodded and slowly backed out of the garage because she had a strong sense he wasn't joking about killing her if she hit his motorcycle. Megan sent Callie a text:
Nothing from the garage. Call when you get a chance.

Megan went back home, played with Clyde in the snow, and then attempted to relax in front of the fire, only to find she was failing miserably. She wondered when the videos, the secret room, and the judge's dirty little secrets would hit the news. She knew it would get leaked somehow, and if Phillip Thompson was as good as he thought he was, he'd use it as leverage during Vivian's disclosure of stabbing a dead man.

Her cell rang as she was pouring a drink.

“Hey, it's Callie.”

“So, what happened? They had an interpreter there, right?”

“Yeah, Thompson went through the whole story about Vivian being in the house. As slick as he is, he diverted them to the fact he knew about the tapes and the room. They knew they'd lost some of their footing. For now she's not being arrested.”

“What about the prints?”

“Nothing has come back yet.”

“It shouldn't be taking this long. They're either not finding anything or they're building a case.”

“How can they build a case after all the sick shit they found?”

“You'd be amazed what cops can do.” Megan hated admitting it, but during her time before going on a leave of absence, she knew cops in her department who played that game—and not always with clean cards.

“Trouble, the news is going to be interesting tonight. I watched the press interview Thompson outside the station.”

“I'll look for it.”

“You won't have any problem finding it.”

Twenty-Six

Megan moved into the
television room to search for the latest news, and Callie was right. She had no problem finding the breaking news story about Judge Campbell. It was splashed on virtually every channel. Phillip Thompson stood outside of the police station with countless microphones shoved in his face and was as calm as if he were born to be there. He was bombarded with one question after another. He chose to make a statement that he was representing Vivian Campbell. Vivian had not been arrested and he was certain she would not be. Due to lewd materials found in Judge Campbell's secret sex dungeon involving young boys, he felt confident the case had now gone in a different direction. He went on to disclose it was an anonymous tip that led to the videos to be found by the police and was certain they would make that their number-one priority rather than harass a young deaf woman for a crime she was obviously innocent of. Afterward he walked Vivian to his car and they drove off.

“I hope you're right, Mr. Thompson. There is still something nagging at me with this. I can't put my finger on it.”

Megan witnessed countless miscarriages of justice on the job, so it made her uneasy. That troubling feeling just wouldn't go away. She turned the television off when her cell phone rang. Leigh from down the street was calling.

“Hi Leigh, what's up?”

“I just thought you'd want to know. There's an ambulance at Billie's house. Something has happened. She's being taken over to the hospital Jo works at. It looks bad. Her mother and boyfriend are with the police as we speak. I don't know what happened.”

“I bet I do.”
Another drunk boyfriend and too much booze. “
Tell me the name of the hospital again?”

Leigh told her the name and Megan answered, “I'll go over now. Is Jo working emergency tonight?”

“No, she has back to back surgeries. I would go with you but—”

“No, no. Don't worry. I'll let you know what I find out.”

The last time Megan had rushed to a hospital, it was for her mother. The feeling didn't seem much different. The adrenaline rush, the hope that things aren't as bad as every terrible thought running through your mind. The nurse directed her to where Billie was in the emergency room. When she pulled back the curtain, her fears were confirmed. Billie had bruises on her eye and lip, and a cut on her forehead. They were stitching up one arm. A soft cast was on one leg.

The busy doctor asked who she was.

“I'm her neighbor. Her mother had to speak with the police and asked me to come.”

“We're prepping her for tests to make sure there wasn't any internal damage. I'll be back to get her soon. We just gave her morphine for the pain, so she'll become groggy in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Megan closed the curtain. “So, kiddo, how does the other guy look?”

“How did you find out?”

“Leigh called me.”

“And you came down here just for me?”

Megan moved Billie's hair away from her forehead. “Of course. You're my favorite bratty teenage neighbor. Why don't you tell me what happened.”

“They were drunk again. Fighting. He slapped her. I got in between them and he pushed me down the stairs.” Billie welled up with emotion. “I should have come down to your house. I could feel this time was going to be bad.”

“He did this to you before pushing you?” Megan moved her chin slightly. “Those didn't all come from a fall.”

“Mom tried to stop him, she did … try. Where is she?”

“She's at home speaking to the police. Do you want me to call your aunt? She'd want to know.”

Billie nodded yes and put her hand over Megan's. “Thank you, Det-Megan.”

Megan smiled remembering that when she first met Billie, she'd come close to calling herself
Detective Megan McGinn,
and Billie had joked with her about it. “You're welcome, IRS.”

Billie slowly fell off to sleep before the doctor returned. “She'll be asleep for some time, probably until tomorrow.”

“Is there a social worker available? I need to give them information to call next of kin.” Megan was certainly not making that phone call herself. She'd delivered enough bad news for one lifetime and wasn't keen to do so regarding Billie. She couldn't help it. She knew Billie was a good kid, even with the wiseass attitude, and she didn't deserve this horrible treatment.

Megan sat in her truck for a few minutes, staring out at the hospital parking lot and thinking too many thoughts about Billie, about her recent past. Her own mistakes, her regrets. “Someday, things will go right again. I hope.”

She surprised herself by using the word
hope
. She'd lost so much of it within the last year—perhaps there was still some left, somewhere. If there was, it was buried deep, deep down inside.

Callie had sent a text asking her to dinner. She declined. Megan wanted the evening to herself, under a warm blanket with Clyde asleep at her side.

Twenty-Seven

Not surprisingly Megan fell
asleep on the couch in front of the fire. What was shocking was that she didn't have any nightmares, and actually was able to get restful, quality sleep, which hadn't happened in a long time. Her morning coffee was brewing when she went to check for the paper, but there wasn't one. She checked the local paper online and it was covered with information on Judge Campbell's atrocities.

“The tide has turned for you, asshole.” She lifted her mug to the screen in a cheers. “So much for a positive legacy now.”

She turned on her cell. While waiting for a signal, she put the morning news on and was shocked to see a different headline. Mount Arlington's mayor had shot himself in the head in the middle of the night. Megan knew it wasn't a coincidence. “Looks like someone was afraid of what was actually on those tapes.” She threw some clothes on and did a search for the mayor's home address. “C'mon Clyde, we're going for a quick drive.”

When they arrived at the address Megan had found online, a mere three minutes from her current residence, there were plenty of news vans parked outside the home. But what was also outside above the front door was the symbol from the robes in Campbell's basement, the same one on the sign of the museum.

“I knew it. I wonder if that gunshot was really self-inflicted.”

Callie called her as she sat there watching the melee. “Hey, your phone was off all night. Is everything okay?”

Megan placed her Bluetooth earpiece on before driving away from the mob scene. “Crazy news this morning. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I saw it. What do you think?” Callie asked.

“Well, I'm thinking two things. One, he was obviously connected to the men on the tape. What, the guy was late fifties or sixties? He wasn't a victim, he was an abuser.”

“And the second?” Callie asked.

“I'm not so sure he killed himself.”

“What would make you say that? Of course he did. He knew he was about to get caught, so he offed himsel
f
!”

“Callie, in the tapes I watched, you couldn't see the abuser's faces, only hear some of their voices.”

“Sorry, Trouble, I'm not agreeing with you on this one.”

“Time will tell. Time will tell.” Megan's phone beeped. She glanced down at the phone. “I need to take this call, Callie. I'll get back to you.”

“Wait—”

Megan clicked over. “Hey, Leigh. Any news?”

“Jo just got home, but she checked on Billie before leaving.”

“How is she?”

“Out of it. Jo said Billie will be in the hospital for at least a week, if not more. But she'll make a full recovery.”

“Good. Good.” Megan was extremely relieved to hear the news. “And the mother? Arrested? Boyfriend arrested?”

“The boyfriend was arrested for assault and battery. The mother has chosen to go to rehab.”

“That surprises me, but I'm glad.”

“Her aunt is coming today and will stay with her while her mother is away.”

“Thanks for calling. Let's hope it works out for both of them.” Megan earnestly felt that way.

Maybe that kid will have a chance now.

“Okay, Clyde, time to go back to the house.”

Megan pulled up to the lake house to find three other cars in front of her garage. She parked and saw fifteen people, at the very least, walking around the deck of the home. She was far from startled because she recognized all their faces.

“Meganator!” Uncle Mike shouted up the driveway wearing the Irish Donegal tweed cap Megan had bought for him only months earlier. Her father's retired Homicide partner and best friend, Michael Murphy, his wife Maureen, and their whole clan were closer to her than most families.

Megan shouted back, “I'll be right down.” She couldn't help but notice they each were carrying either a tray or a bowl of some sort, but she had a feeling what they were up to. Uncle Mike got the first hug, then Aunt Maureen. All their kids and their grandchildren followed.

Megan smiled. “What's all this?”

Aunt Maureen chimed in first. “We knew you wouldn't come home for Christmas so an early Christmas has come to you. I hope that's all right.”

She was a little overwhelmed but at the same time happy. “Of course. Here, let me open up the house.”

One of the grandkids yelled, “Look Grampie, Aunt Meggie got a dog!”

“I see that.” Then he mouthed, “You got a dog?” followed by his Irish grin and hearty laugh.

As soon as the Murphys walked in, the usual comments flew out on how beautiful the home was and how spectacular the view was. One comment made by one of the grandchildren made Megan laugh. It was when Joseph blurted, “Oh shit!”

Aunt Maureen corrected that language promptly. “Joseph, more words like that and no turkey.” She turned to Megan. “Everything has been cooked and only needs to be reheated.”

“Easy enough, I have two ovens.” Megan pointed to the back wall.

“Michael Murphy, why do I not have two ovens?” Maureen demanded.

“Because we don't own this lake house!” He opened a box of countless bottles of wine and took out a bottle of Irish whiskey. “Let's pour us a few glasses, Meganator, and you can show me that boathouse.” He wanted time to chat Megan up while the kids roamed the house and played with Clyde and the adults set up the tables.

Uncle Mike's eldest son, Michael Jr., yelled for Megan. “Megs, where is the wood for the fireplace?”

“There isn't any, just flick the switch on the side.”

Uncle Mike was pouring a glass when the doorbell rang.

Oh great. That better not be the New Jersey detectives
, Megan thought to herself.

Aunt Maureen acted suspiciously as if she hadn't heard a thing. Then Megan caught on. “Do you know who is at the door, Aunt Maureen?”

Aunt Maureen didn't look up, answering, “I guess you better see who it is.”

Detective Sam Nappa stood at the door with flowers and a dessert. “Hi, partner. Happy early Christmas.” He walked in and whispered in Megan's ear, “They made me come. Nearly
threatened
me if I didn't come.” A handsome smile followed.

Megan smiled. “It's okay. Get in here. Uncle Mike and I are about to go down to the boathouse to have a drink. Come on.”

Uncle Mike, in a rather theatrical tone, said, “Detective Nappa, what a surprise! It's so good to see you. Come join us.”

Surprised my lily-white Irish ass
. But Megan just rolled her eyes.

They strolled down to the boathouse while Uncle Mike was taking in the view. “Very nice, Meganator, even in winter.”

“From what some of the neighbors have said, winter hasn't really started yet, so … ”

The three sat in the chairs at the end of the dock and there was the small talk about the children and grandkids. Then Uncle Mike commented, “For a winter respite, you sure did choose a hell of a place, what with that big murder investigation going on.” He took a sip of the whiskey. “So, tell me about it.”

“I just read what you've read or seen on the news.” Megan used to be terrible lying to her father, and now she was terrible at lying to Uncle Mike and Nappa, but it seemed anyone else was fair game.

“Liar.”

“It's bad, really—” Megan was about to finish the sentence when one of Uncle Mike's grandsons yelled from the yard.

“Can I come out on the dock?”

In unison all three yelled back, “No.”

“Talk to me. To us,” Uncle Mike said.

“I wasn't even here a week, and one morning I see police tape over there,” Megan said and pointed to Great Cove. “That large white mansion is—was—his. They pulled Judge Campbell out of the lake. He'd been stabbed. An ice fisherman found him.”

Uncle Mike interrupted. “I played poker with some buddies a few nights ago and one of them who once worked in New Jersey said he was a bastard.”

“Well, the detectives in this town aren't the sharpest. They've been trying to pin it on his estranged deaf daughter, who can't be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

Nappa chimed in, “How does someone that small kill Campbell and bring his body down that hill to the lake? Unless she wasn't working alone.”

Megan didn't like Nappa's last comment and went on, speaking directly to Uncle Mike. “I ran into an old friend from college here. He owns a restaurant on a nearby lake and Vivian—that's the estranged daughter—she works for him, and he asked me if I could help. Just doing some investigation.”

Nappa made an obvious roll of his eyes and added, “Uh-huh.
That's
all it is.”

Uncle Mike looked back and forth between the two partners. “I'll skip this part.”

“Thank you.” Megan gave Nappa a glance. “Anyhow, I had a slip down the driveway and when I got up, there were flashlights roaming around the pitch-black house. Same thing the next night, so I went over to check it out.”

“Oh Lord help us. I'm not sure I like where this is going,” Uncle Mike said. “Please tell me you didn't break into the house.”

Silence is golden sometimes.

“You're just like your father, Meganator.”

“Wait, wait. Hear me out. The house was immaculate, which was the first tip. Then I went into the basement. I could feel there was something
off
. So then I moved into the gun room, and I found a secret room—but it was more than a room. A large bed was in the middle with cameras and chairs facing the bed.”

Nappa interrupted. “A sex room.”

Uncle Mike shook his head. “I know all of us, and God rest your father's soul, we've all seen terrible things on the job, but that has to be the worst thing ever.”

“There were these robes with a symbol on them. Like a family crest, but I've come to learn—”

“I bet it was a symbol to let others know they were into this kinky crap,” Nappa said.

“One more thing, a big thing. There were all these videos. I watched three and I can't, and don't even
want,
to describe what I saw. The worst part? They branded the boys like cattle, as a sign he's been ‘had' by the members of the sex cult. It was on their backs. Their screams were—” Megan shook her head. “It was horrific.”

“What I read in the paper today about the mayor killing himself—did he have that symbol anywhere?”

“Yes, outside of his house. I went over and checked this morning. Let me go back a little bit. Before I left Campbell's, I took a few of the videos. Then I left the door open to the secret room, dialed 911, and left the line off the hook so it could be traced. I mailed the videos to the police the next day.”

“That is the only part to this story you were smart with. You don't have jurisdiction here. And Nappa told me about what happened in the boathouse.” Uncle Mike pointed his index finger her way. “Someone knows you're snooping around. As your father would say, watch your back.”

Nappa excused himself. “I'm going to see if they need help in the kitchen. Another drink, anyone?”

Uncle Mike handed him his glass. “After that story, I need one, thanks.” He stared out at the cold, mostly frozen over lake. Now that they were alone, it was time to switch gears. “How are you otherwise?”

Megan answered honestly, “Some nightmares. Starting to sleep a little bit better, but I miss Dad and Mom.” She took a small swig from her glass.

“What happened to your mom, it wasn't your fault.”

She turned her head suddenly. “Yes, it was. I just didn't see it coming.”

“You were searching for a killer. You were doing your job.”

“Not well, obviously.” She offered a wry, self-mocking smile.

Uncle Mike tapped her knee. “You made the right decision to take some time off to clear your head. Though I'm not sure if what you've gotten yourself into is clearing your head, but maybe that's what you need right now.”

“To clear my conscience?”

“No, to remind yourself you are a damn good detective. None of the local stooges passing for police around here found that room, did they?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Well, there you go. Now, let's get up to the house. I'm freezing my butt off and I'm hungry!”

It was like old times for Megan, sharing a large dinner with the Murphys, with the exception of the most obvious: her parents not being there. Lots of food, five conversations going on at once, embarrassing childhood stories being told. Megan felt good on the outside and yet there was an impenetrable level of guilt on the inside. She wasn't sure if it was just because she didn't feel closure yet (and she wondered if she ever would) or due to the very distinct memory of viewing the video of the boys being violated. Either way, she wouldn't insult the Murphys by acting down or different than she was in the past. They all put so much effort into coming out to see her, check in on her. Megan may have laughed a little too loud at some conversations, hoping to cover up the difficult time she'd been through, but they were family and family knows. Aunt Maureen caught Megan staring off once or twice and fixed that by piling more food on her plate—a nice medicinal option for the soul, although not necessarily for the body. It was a bandage for her spirit, if only for a few hours.

Aunt Maureen began to clean up the table, to which Megan immediately protested. “No, I won't have it. You brought everything. Nappa and I will clean up. I'll start by putting a pot of coffee on.”

“Absolutely,” added Nappa.

Megan and Nappa began loading the dishwasher and hand-washing the wineglasses. Standing side by side always felt comfortable for both of them.

“So you knew about this visit all along?” Megan asked.

“What do you think?” He laughed. “You seemed like yourself again. It was good to see.” He didn't look at her when he said it.