“How many times has Blake met with the Harbaugh brothers?”
“One other time. Tonight was the first night they asked me to come.”
“And what was discussed?”
Sandaker looked like he swallowed a bug. He stared at the ground and kicked at some pebbles. “I can’t, I mean . . . that’s like ratting or something. You want to know what they think, you should talk to them.”
She felt a flash of anger. She’d gotten into this work to prevent bad things from happening and on this case, it felt like she kept bumping into the same obstacles — pride, territoriality, a distorted sense of honor. “All right, I can understand. But can you tell me — aside from considering Detective Faber incompetent and wishing Roger Payton was around — what? Do they think Payton did it?”
“They think he knows stuff he’s not talking about. That’s all I know. Okay? With these guys it’s a lot of tough talk, a lot of going in circles, if you asked me. I went along because Blake is a friend. But I’m going to tell him tomorrow I got my own stuff to—”
“Do me a favor and keep this between us for now.”
He blinked. “Keep it . . . ? Yeah all right.” He just stood there, holding his left shoulder with his right arm, shivering a little. “Can I go now? I won’t say anything. I’m done — I won’t even meet with them again. I won’t call, I won’t do anything.”
And there it was. “Call? What do you mean, you won’t call?”
He got that look again, regretting that he’d just said too much, should have quit while he was ahead. “Russell didn’t have his phone. So they used mine. To call the other guy, the one who just had his wife and kid killed.”
“Why’d they want to call him? Mr. Sandaker? Why call him? Invite him into their investigation? Or something else?”
“He, ah, he didn’t answer.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know.” He glanced at his car. “Well, maybe they wanted to see how his case was going. If anything had . . . changed or anything.”
“You mean if someone else had gotten in touch with him?”
“They didn’t say anything about that. They just wanted to talk to him. They don’t tell me much.”
“You sat there with them for a half an hour . . .”
“They think it’s the mall,” he blurted. “Like that pedophile guy who followed the woman and her daughter home from Great Northern? Russell and Matt, they think it’s like that, and that’s where this guy picks his victims.”
Kelly’s nerves were humming. “Why do they think that?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. Honestly, ma’am, I didn’t want to be there.”
She decided she’d gotten enough for now, and started back for her car. “Don’t go anywhere, Mr. Sandaker — to be continued.”
“My wife is going to pop any day now,” he said. “I’m not going nowhere.”
CHAPTER TEN
Friday, November 30
She spent the morning in Broward’s office looking through Danica Payton’s bank statements. Starkey and Giovanetti had invited her to make her base in the US attorney’s office in Syracuse, but that was too far away and too sterile. She wanted to be in it. And she liked Broward’s little set up; quiet with just her and one patrol officer working the main desk, the heat whirring softly through the air ducts.
Danica Payton’s statements showed twelve months of spending on her debit card and credit cards. Kelly spread them all out on the desk.
Broward came in. Snow dusted his police parka. “So you had quite a night. I just talked to Orzo.”
She gave him the whole story, including what Sandaker had said about the mall theory.
Broward seemed to shrink. “Yeah, those Harbaugh guys . . . I’ll get them to come in. Where do you want to do it?”
“Ask them to come down to your office. Tell them you want them to meet the FBI agent working their sister’s death, just keep it light.”
Broward nodded and looked away. He probably felt inadequate — there’d been a detective in his department who had botched the case, and the victim’s brothers didn’t think local law enforcement could catch her killer.
“Your guy Wagner called me this morning, too,” Broward said.
“I told him to.”
“Okay. So, you know that the rifling tests came back negative for Archer’s gun on all victims. It wasn’t him. Severin’s not going to be happy.”
She’d known it wasn’t Archer but leaned against the desk and thought about it. “Severin is already unhappy.”
“I hear you. He can be . . . you know, like he was yesterday. But he’s all right.”
“You think everybody is ‘all right.’”
Broward pointed at his wavy hair. “Tinfoil hat, a little bit — Severin thinks everything is a conspiracy. But this sews it up, I guess. Least as far as Ted Archer. He didn’t shoot anybody besides himself.”
Maybe a little crude, even for Broward, but at least he was on the same page as her. It was locked now: based on the tests of Ted Archer’s Winchester 94, the projectiles recovered from his wife and the one embedded in a nearby tree hadn’t been fired from his gun. The Danica Payton and Tammy Haig crimes didn’t match Archer’s weapon either. And so he wasn’t a killer, hadn’t taken his life in a fit of guilt.
Then why?
Overwhelmed by grief? Maybe.
Because Detective Severin’s skepticism had been the final straw for a man already hanging by a thread? Or because the killer had gotten into Archer’s head, pushing him toward suicide? See how I take a man’s family, watch how he self-destructs. She couldn’t see Jason Sandaker for that, not the way he was last night with his mouth hanging open and his baggie of weed in his hand. No way. The killer — the caller — was someone else.
He says he can end my pain. It’s in my mind . . .
Keeps talking about the nature of suffering . . .
Three men left behind after losing their families. One dead now. But between the negative gun match for Archer and her first-hand experience with Jason “aw-shucks” Sandaker, they were still in the dark.
Meanwhile, the Harbaugh brothers were operating their own little investigation. They thought their sister’s husband, Roger Payton, had been overlooked as a suspect.
Broward looked around at all the Danica Payton paperwork. “How we doing?”
“Think I need to go to her house.”
“Okay. We can do that. Hang on.” He left and came back a minute later with a small manila envelope and shook out a set of keys.
“You have keys?”
“Yeah, Roger gave us a spare before he went up into the Adirondacks. I said, you know, we might need to look around from time to time. He was fine with that.”
* * *
She followed Broward to the Payton’s home in Liverpool.
“Danica’s family originally owned this place,” Broward said. “You can sort of see the original structure — see that right there? Then Danica’s father added on this front addition and over here — walk with me — the deck around the back here, and this whole section.”
The back yard was unkempt, the grass long and covered with autumn leaves. Broward pushed the door open to a foyer with hanging jackets and boots, a washer and dryer, everything still and cold. She noticed dog hair on the carpet.
“They have pets?” she asked.
“They had a dog. Nice Golden Retriever. It went to one of her brothers — I think Matt took it in. I mean, it was her dog from before she and Roger got married. I think he liked the dog, but it’s getting old, and I think he just . . . I don’t know. It went to the brother.”
They passed through a large kitchen with an impressive cast iron stove. The house had a musty smell and some of the floors were uneven, yet there were signs of money, like the stove. Some modern art hung from the living room walls.
Kelly mused over a series of framed black-and-white photos showing Danica with Roger. Paris, she recognized. Then some place tr
opical, maybe Belize. One in Times Square.
“So you wanted to look for receipts,” Broward said. He pushed aside a stack of boxes and opened a door to a back room. After he clicked on the light and waved a hand at the cramped space she saw more boxes, piles of paperwork, tons of photos tacked to the walls, more travel mementos.
“Roger likes old signage,” Broward said, pointing to a corner. “You’ve seen it — The Post is full of ’em. Old gas station signs, soda pop — I think there’s one in here for Foot Rest Hosiery . . . yeah, look at this. Little girl on a swing. Oh and this is Golden Shred Marmalade. Classic. He loves this antique stuff. Here’s one — this is my favorite: ‘Suits, Cleaned and Pressed — fifty cents.’ The good old days, I guess.”
She was looking at one for Muratti’s Young Ladies’ Cigarettes and feeling a little uncomfortable. Roger Payton had given Broward a key, but being in someone else’s home when they weren’t there felt slightly wrong, especially as the woman who’d lived here was dead.
Kelly opened the top right drawer of the roll top desk. Pens and pencils, a pack of cigarettes, hair ties, a cigar-cutter. The larger bottom drawer contained files. “They both used this office?”
“I believe so.”
“Can you check that file cabinet for me?”
They spent close to an hour looking at every receipt they could find. The unheated house got to her. Something about being cold indoors was even more bone-chilling and a couple of times she saw a wisp of her own breath. “This isn’t going to work. I might have to subpoena for Roger’s bank statements, credit cards.”
“Oof. Yeah. Well that’s going to take a little time. It might help if you told me exactly what you were looking for. We could get some more hands on deck. What about—”
She held up a crumpled receipt and turned it toward the light.
Broward came closer. “What you got?”
“DSW. Women’s running shoes. Purchased on Sunday, May 20, this year.” She looked up at him. “Roger bought his wife some new shoes. Not that we need to, but I bet if we took the sneakers in evidence over to DSW, they would be the ones on this receipt.”
He just stared, and then the corner of his mouth curled up into a goofy smile. “I see where you’re going now.”
“What time is it?”
Broward checked his watch. “Not quite ten.”
She took her phone out and went through her contacts. She found the one for Blake Haig and dialed. Broward kept looking at her with that bemused expression.
“Mr. Haig?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Not a telemarketer, I promise. Agent Kelly Roth. We recently spoke at your house.”
“Right, yeah, I know who you are. You want me to come in? I heard what happened and I’m — well I’m going to be working a double tonight into tomorrow morning, but maybe after I—”
“I appreciate that. I appreciate your openness. We would like you to come in and talk with us, yes, but right now I need to ask you one question.”
“Sure.”
“Do you keep all your receipts? Or would you have kept any of Tammy’s?”
“Uh, I haven’t really hung on to any of Tammy’s things. You know, like I said . . .”
“Maybe you could check for me. Even look at your bank or credit card statements, anytime around eight months ago to about a year ago. I’d really appreciate it.”
Silence on Haig’s end.
“Mr. Haig? You there?”
“Is there a lead or something?”
“I’m just putting my timeline together. Boring cop stuff, but important. I’ll reach out to you soon.” She flicked a look at Broward who was looking on, rapt with attention.
“Because I think someone was following us at the mall once,” Haig said.
She stiffened. “Did you speak to Detective Orzo about that?”
“Yeah. Absolutely I did.”
“And what did Detective Orzo say?”
“I don’t think he took it very seriously.”
Broward gave her a quizzical look as she determined her next move. “All right. Well I’m going to look into it. And you’ll be around, right, Mr. Haig? So we can talk this all through in person.”
“I’ll be around, yeah.”
“Thanks.”
She ended the call.
“What did he say?” Broward asked.
She showed him the receipt. “When I was at the Archer’s house yesterday morning, I saw a receipt for Dick’s Sporting Goods. Looked like football stuff Ted Archer had bought for his son. Blake Haig says he and his wife went to the movies at the Regal. These are all places in the Destiny mall. And Haig just told me he mentioned someone following him and his wife there.”
“He reported it? I didn’t see it anywhere.”
“I didn’t either. He might’ve said it to Orzo at any point, Orzo dismissed it — it never went in the official report.”
Broward took a moment. He put his hands on his hips, the palm of his right hand resting on the grip of his gun.
She waved the receipt. “We know Roger was there because it was on his personal credit card. He’s buying women’s shoes? Then she’s with him. They went together. Blake Haig and his wife were there together, too. And I bet if we look into it, Megan Archer went with her husband and son to Dick’s Sporting Goods.”
He looked doubtful. “I mean, I go to Destiny. Probably every person in Liverpool has been to Destiny. Auburn, Constantia. Everybody goes . . . just maybe not Severin.”
“We’ve found no link between the victims, but if we include the meeting of Blake Haig and the Harbaugh brothers, even after the fact, there is. And they think there’s a connection to the mall. Our killer has got a place where he nests, where he watches and decides.”
“Only one of these guys is going to talk to me without an arrest,” Broward said. “And that’s maybe Russell. My ex-wife took her car to his shop for a few years.”
“Let’s go talk to him.”
* * *
Russell Harbaugh was standing beneath a vehicle in the garage. He was poking at something in the undercarriage of the car. He glanced over as Kelly and Broward approached, finished what he was doing, then pulled a red rag from his pocket and wiped his hands.
“Chief Broward. How ya doing?” he said.
“I’m okay, Russell. This is Agent Kelly Roth of the FBI.”
“Yeah, I saw her on TV. How’s it going? Get my sister’s killer yet?”
“That’s what we’re here to talk about,” Broward said.
Russell sniffed, then finally gave Kelly his attention. “Yeah?”
“I know you’ve been meeting with your brother and Blake Haig and Jason Sandaker.”
“It’s a free country. Well, what’s left of it.”
“I don’t have any problem who you associate with, Mr. Harbaugh. I understand — Danica was your sister and you want to know what happened to her, find the person responsible. So do I.”
“Does that get you a promotion or something?”
“I grew up here. I don’t like to see my community afraid like this. Some sick son of a bitch running around out there doing this to women and children. I want to put him away.”
She had Russell’s full attention now. He wiped his hands on the rag again. “Good. That’s good, Agent, uh . . .”
“Roth.”
He gave her a direct look, his icy blue eyes probing. “Rick Roth — that your brother? Played basketball?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I remember Rick Roth. We played against Baldwinsville a lot. I’d get stuck covering him. The guy was all arms and legs.” His eyes flitted to Broward. “So what do you need from me? First you get FBI, now you want to know what I know.”
Broward opened his mouth but Kelly could sense a pissing contest in the offing so she beat him to a response. “That’s fair to say. A lot of the time, civilians know more than we do. I’d like to hear what you think happened to your sister.”
Russell loo
ked over her shoulder. She turned around. A guy in blue coveralls was leaning back in his chair in a small office that attached to the garage. He was eating a sandwich and watching them. When Kelly met his gaze, he dropped back to all four chair legs, and went out of sight.
“It’s just about my lunch break,” Russell said.
“What do you usually eat?” Kelly asked. “I’m buying.”
He grinned for the first time, revealing straight white teeth. Danica had been a star athlete, beautiful, and her older brothers were handsome and in excellent physical shape. Russell seemed smart, too, the tough guy a bit of an act. He gave Broward another quick look, measuring him, then said to Kelly, “That’s all right. We can talk right here.”
“Fine. I’ll come right to the point. What makes you think that the Destiny mall is part of this?”
Russell walked out from beneath the suspended automobile. He took a wrench from his back pocket and dropped it into an open toolbox where it landed with a clatter. He tossed the rag in after the wrench. “Instinct,” he said.
“Instinct?”
“The sicko who used the Great Northern Mall to pick out the little girl and her mother — he hung out there and he followed them. They were from Liverpool, but you probably know that.”
“David Renz.”
“Yeah, that’s him. So, different mall, same idea.”
“And that’s it? What else?”
“Roger and Dani went there a lot together — to Destiny. When I talked to Blake Haig at Dani’s funeral, he said they did too. And then he said he thought someone was following them, him and Tammy, the last time they were there together.”
“So who came up with it first? You and your brother, or Blake Haig?”
“I don’t know. It just kind of came out.”
She thought about that — a case of an idea circulating and no one quite sure who’d had it first.
It needed to hold up if she was going to get Genarro behind it and really get moving.
“Did you ever call Ted Archer? Ask him about it?”
“I did, actually. I called him last night.”
“From your own phone?”
The Husbands Page 12
