Truth-Stained Lies (5 page)

C
athy’s phone chimed as she was sitting down with Jay in the interview room at the police department, but she ignored it.

Her brother was falling apart. That dazed look in his eyes had turned into deep grief, and he’d dropped his head into his arms and was sobbing. She lowered her head against his and rubbed his back, wishing she could take this weight off of him.

The phone stopped ringing, then chimed to let her know she had a text. She didn’t want to turn away from Jay even for a minute, but she glanced at her phone and saw that it was from Michael. Must be important. She quickly read his text.

Her pulse quickened. “Jay, I have to call Michael. He says he found something.”

He lifted his head, wiped his face and his nose. “Yeah, go ahead. Maybe he has a lead on the clown.”

She clicked on Michael’s number, waited for it to ring. When he answered, she said, “Hey, Michael. Whatcha got?”

“Cathy, I’m at Jay’s.” His voice sounded strained. “I’ve been printing out his emails from today. The one Annalee sent him … and the one he sent to you.” There was a pause. “Did you get that, by any chance?”

She tried to think. Had she even checked her email today? “No, I didn’t get it. I haven’t checked email since lunchtime.”

Jay pulled a tissue out of a box and blew his nose.

“Cathy, it’s incriminating,” Jay said in a low voice. “I don’t understand why he didn’t mention it.”

Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed hard. “Well, okay. Hold on and I’ll read it.”

As he waited, she looked on her phone and clicked on the envelope icon, opened her mail.

“What are you doing?” Jay asked.

“Checking the email you sent me.”

Jay frowned. “What email?”

“The one you sent earlier today.”

Jay sat up straighter. “I didn’t send you an email today.”

She found it, clicked on it. “Yes, you did. Here it is.”

“Cathy, I didn’t. What does it say?”

She read aloud: “Just wanted you to know that I’m taking care of things so that I’ll have Jackson back with me soon …” Her voice trailed off as the implications hit her.

“What? I didn’t write that!” Jay snatched the phone and read the next sentence. “Annalee will soon be out of the picture.”

Cathy felt the blood draining from her face. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Jay kept reading through his teeth. “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. My son needs me.”

He slammed his hand on the table. “Unbelievable!” he yelled. “I did not write that email!”

Cathy heard Michael’s voice from the phone. “Cathy!”

She took the phone back. “Yeah?”

“He’s saying he didn’t send it?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

Jay grabbed the phone out of her hand again. “Michael, the guy has hacked into my account too. I would never write something like that. It has to be the same guy. My password was my birthday. It probably wouldn’t be hard to guess. The killer must have signed onto my Google account.” He looked at Cathy, his eyes desperate. “Cathy, this clown … this killer … is setting me up. Why?”

Cathy’s heart plunged, and she looked out the small rectangular window in the door, to the police milling around beyond it. They were going to go crazy with this. They wouldn’t even look for anyone else. A clown … Jay’s gun … the custody battle … the email …

She felt sick. She took the phone back from her brother. “Michael, we have to stop him.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“He believes me, doesn’t he?” Jay asked.

She knew Michael heard, but he didn’t answer right away. “Michael, my brother is not a killer.”

“I know that, Cathy.”

“He loves his son. He wouldn’t take his mother from him.”

Again, “I know.”

“He did
not
kill her!”

“Cathy, what matters right now is how this looks to the police. I’m going to start looking for the clown. Preempt
their finding the email by showing it to them now. If you don’t and they confiscate his computer — and they will — it won’t look good.”

She looked at her brother. He had backed into a corner of the room and was shaking his head, staring at nothing, as if trying to imagine how much worse this could get. How was she going to get him out of this?

M
ichael left Jay’s house with the printed emails, dropped them on his passenger seat, and drove to a costume shop on the south side of town, close to the beach. The store was a combination bridal shop and costume store, with the rentable wedding gowns filling the front half of the shop, and racks and racks of dingy, over-worn costumes in the back.

He went in, hoping he could convey a sense of authority so they’d give him information.

The man behind the counter smiled a friendly smile. “Help you, sir?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m an investigator working on a case, and I was wondering if you could tell me if anyone has rented a clown costume in the last week or so.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “An investigator? You mean a cop? You got any identification?”

“No, not a cop.” The words still twisted in his gut. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Well, I don’t know if I should give out information about my customers. Did one of them do something illegal?”

“One of them may have committed a serious crime today wearing a clown suit. Unless you want to be implicated yourself, I suggest you look through your records to see if it was your suit.”

“Implicated
myself
?”

Michael had known that would get his attention.

“Look, I’m not responsible for anything anybody does wearing my costumes. I’ll look.”

The guy moved his computer mouse until his display came to life, then typed in a few things. As he waited for his search results, he glanced at Michael again. “Wait a minute. I know who you are. You’re that cop who lied on the stand.” He snapped his fingers. “Michael Hogan, right?”

Michael’s voice went flat. “Yes, that’s who I am.”

“Yeah …,” the man said, staring at him as if fascinated. “Shame about your brother. I’m really sorry.”

Biting his molars hard, Michael nodded.

“They said you were a real good cop. It was all just a crying shame.”

Michael cleared his throat. “About the clown suit …”

“Yeah, sure.” He put on his glasses and looked at the screen. “This week, you say?”

“Right. Or better yet, tell me the last time any of your clown suits were rented out, and if any are still out.”

The man studied the screen. “We have several clown suits, different styles, different sizes. We rented one last month. Two this month so far … Any idea how big the person is you’re looking for?”

“Five-ten, average build, unless the shoes gave him
height … or the wig added inches. Here’s a picture.” He showed him Jay’s crude drawing.

The man shook his head. “That wouldn’t be either of these. Rented these to some regular customers, two girls who go to the children’s hospital to entertain the kids. Petite little things.”

“Did you rent
any
to a man?”

He clicked around a little more. “No, I’m sorry. I just don’t show that any of our larger-sized ones were rented. Besides, I don’t have a costume that looks like this. Mine are yellow, not red.”

Michael couldn’t give up so easily. “Do you sell any of your costumes? Can people order them here?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“See if anybody has ordered one.”

The man did another search, then shook his head. “No, I didn’t think so. We get lots of orders around Halloween, but not that many this time of year. No clowns.”

Michael hesitated. “Are there other shops in town?”

The man looked pained to have to speak of his competition. “Yeah, there are a couple. You could try the Party Hearty. They have a few clown costumes — mostly cheap stuff that I wouldn’t be caught dead selling. And there’s a store called Dance, Etc. over at Pier Park. It has dance costumes mostly, but they sell other costumes too.”

“All right,” Michael said, jotting the names down. “Could you do me a favor and print out pictures of the clown costumes you carry?”

“Sure,” the guy said. “No harm in doing that.”

As he waited for the prints, the owner turned back to Michael. “Whatever happened to that guy that killed your brother?”

Michael’s jaw locked. “He was acquitted.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. Crazy. But I mean, where is he now?”

“He’s disappeared,” Michael said. “We don’t know where he is.”

“That’s too bad. It was so clear he was guilty. To get off on a thing like that …”

Michael took the pictures, thanked the man, and went back to his car. Before pulling out of the parking space, he sat staring at his steering wheel, trying to compose himself.

Too bad
.

The man had no idea how bad it was. To the general population, his brother’s case had been entertainment. To his family, and to Cathy, it had been a gutting that had left them hollow and raw.

Besides his brother, who’d been his best friend, it had cost Michael his career and reputation.

He closed his eyes and prayed that the day would come when he would find the bottom feeder who had murdered Joe, and make sure he finally got justice.

For now, he had to keep going, without that satisfaction. Time had eased the anger and anxiety, but it hadn’t done much for his bitterness. Michael had not only been a disgrace to the police force, but he was a disgrace to Christianity. That he had gotten on the witness stand and publicly lied …

And now, the bitterness that churned inside him was a terrible witness to people like Cathy, who needed to see strength in his faith, rather than turmoil.

He constantly let her down in that regard. But worse, he constantly let God down.

He started the car, backed out of the space, and headed to one of the other shops in search of Jay’s clown.

A couple of hours later, Michael had only three names of people who had rented or bought clown suits that would fit a man of five-ten, and they were all women. He supposed Jay could be wrong about the clown being a man. But none of the suits matched the description Jay had given anyway.

He had hit a dead end.

He decided to drive the route the killer might have taken leaving Annalee’s house and see if there were any video security cameras along the way that might have caught his white truck on tape.

He found a few on traffic lights at some of the major intersections the guy might have taken. But he didn’t have access to those. He’d have to ask his brother to check them out. Max would bristle at the suggestion, but Michael didn’t care as long as Max got the tapes. Max had flunked the detective exam twice before passing, and Michael had reached that goal first. Max had a huge chip on his shoulder and frequently misinterpreted what Michael said about his older brother’s investigations. But there was a lot riding on this. Max would have to get over it.

When Michael had exhausted the possible routes and made note of all the cameras he found, he went back to Annalee’s. Police were still searching her house, and by now, neighbors had walked up the street to watch the activity. Two local television news vans had set up shop on the street.

Michael got out of his car and scanned the property. From what Jay had said, the clown had driven in the direction away from the other houses down the street. He wouldn’t want anyone to be able to confirm Jay’s story.

The clown would have removed his wig as he drove
home, but the makeup would still have been on his face. Someone would have noticed at a red light, wouldn’t they? Unless it wasn’t makeup. If it were a mask, he could have just pulled it off. Still … someone might have seen the ruffled polka-dot collar.

He walked over to the neighbors, listened quietly for a moment to a couple of women talking.

“Custody battle,” he heard one of them saying in a low voice. “They’ve been fighting for over a year.”

“In a knock-down-drag-out over their son,” the younger woman said. “If they don’t go after her husband, they’re crazy.”

Michael seized the opportunity. “Excuse me.”

The two women turned around. One looked about sixty, the other in her forties.

“Do you ladies live around here?” he asked.

“About half a mile up the road,” one of them said. “We’re cross-the-street neighbors from each other.”

“Did you know Annalee?”

The older woman squinted at him in the end-of-day sunlight. “Who are you?”

“I’m an investigator,” he said, deliberately leaving off the word “private.”

Probably assuming he was one of the police detectives, the younger woman said, “Oh yeah, we knew her. She came to neighborhood association meetings. Is it true she was shot?”

Michael evaded the question. “Did either of you happen to see anyone in a white pickup truck on the street today?”

The younger one shook her head. “I just got home a little while ago. I’ve been working all day.”

He turned to the older one. “And you, ma’am?”

“No, I’ve been inside all day. I didn’t see or hear anybody. Is that who did it? Somebody in a white pickup?”

“We don’t know yet. I’m just checking out everything. Do you know of anyone in the area who might have had a birthday party today? For children, I mean?”

They looked at each other like they couldn’t figure out the question. “I don’t know anybody,” the younger one said.

“No, it’s Monday. People usually have parties on weekends.”

He considered how to phrase the question. “So … have you seen anyone around in a costume?”

The older woman’s eyebrows popped up. “You mean a clown costume?”

Hope bloomed. “Yes.”

“No, but one of the other police officers asked us that a little while ago.” She brought her hand to her throat. “Is somebody in a clown costume breaking into houses out here?”

Disappointment deflated him. “We’re not sure, but you should be diligent to lock your doors. Arm your alarm systems. Stay alert when you come and go.”

“They need to be looking at that husband of hers,” the younger one said again. “She said he was abusive, and he would do anything to get that boy. She said he was fighting her tooth and nail. If you’re looking for a clown suit, I’d start by looking in his closet.”

He didn’t bother to tell them he’d just been in Jay’s closet and there was nothing of the kind.

Suddenly feeling weary, he decided to head back to the police station and give Cathy the emails, pictures, and names of the women who’d rented clown suits. Maybe Jay had made a mistake about the color. But if the suit was
yellow, he probably would have noticed blood splatters. Or would he miss that among all the polka dots?

Whatever the case, Cathy should at least show Jay these pictures. Michael wished he could help her more.