by Emily James
She’d still been sleeping when I left. It might be the first good night’s sleep she’d had in months—or longer, depending on when she escaped her husband.
Erik had texted me Chief McTavish’s address this morning. He hadn’t asked why I wanted it. The paranoid part of me wondered if he wanted plausible deniability in case one of the detectives investigating McTavish’s disappearance asked him why I’d want to visit. The truth was probably closer to that he was distracted and hadn’t thought it through far enough to wonder about it.
My GPS took me to what I’d consider a middle-class section of Fair Haven. It was off the lakeshore, but they were single-family homes with yards.
I parked in the driveway and headed for the door. Before I could reach it, Mrs. McTavish came out, dressed in a woolen winter coat and gloves, her purse over her shoulder. No scarf or hat meant she’d likely been born a northerner. Most days when I went out, you could barely see my face with the way I bundled up.
She stopped with one hand on the door knob and a cautious expression that probably came from being a long-time cop’s wife. “May I help you?”
“I’m Nicole Fitzhenry-Dawes.”
All Isabel’s talk about not being able to trust the police must be getting to me because an explanation of why I was here stuck in my throat like it was afraid someone might overhear me.
Mrs. McTavish’s gaze swept her street almost as if she also expected someone to be watching us. “You’re investigating?”
Chief McTavish had clearly said something about me to his wife. I nodded.
She held open the door, and I stepped inside. Up close, her eyes and nose had the extra-pink appearance of someone who’d been crying.
The center of my chest twisted. At least I knew where Mark was. I might not like where he was, but I didn’t have to lie awake at night wondering if he was alive or not.
Mrs. McTavish hung up her coat and slid off her shoes, another sign that she was born somewhere north of the Mason-Dixon Line. It was strange that I knew so little about her. We’d only met a couple of times at department events where family was invited. As far as I knew, she didn’t socialize much at all.
I left my coat and shoes by the door as well. I’d been here long enough now that I’d known to wear respectable socks instead of the ones I had with monkeys or kittens on them when I was going to someone else’s house.
She motioned me to a chair but didn’t offer me anything to drink, almost as if she didn’t want any delays. “What can I do to help?”
My conscience wouldn’t let me stretch the truth to her about my role. She should know up front. “My investigation isn’t official.”
“I never thought it was.” She had a sharp way of speaking, almost as if she’d been military or law enforcement herself at some point. Or maybe that just came from years of living around them. “Owen said you’re always sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Ouch.
“He also said you’re one of the best he’s ever met. He probably didn’t tell you this, but he tried to get permission to hire you as a consultant on the case he was sent here for.”
He hadn’t told me that. I wish it’d been approved. I’d be much further ahead now. Or I’d be dead.
Maybe not being involved up until this point was a blessing in disguise.
I caught her up on the little I did know and why I’d come.
“Owen couldn’t say much, obviously, but he would tell me when he cleared someone. He knew how hard I found it to see the people he worked with and wonder which ones I shouldn’t turn my back on.” She reached a hand out to the end table beside her and felt around. “Let me grab a pen and paper.”
It seemed there were a lot of things I hadn’t known and hadn’t even considered about Chief McTavish—like the effect his job would have on his wife. How could you make friends in a new place when you didn’t know who your husband might uncover as a criminal? What McTavish did was different from simple police work. His wife couldn’t even trust his coworkers because he was only sent to places where corruption was suspected.
She went around the back of her chair and opened a door almost directly behind it. She left it hanging open and disappeared inside. Brown packing boxes lined the far wall, some open but most taped shut.
The skin on the back of my neck did a little shudder-shiver.
Chief McTavish had been here for nearly a year now. There shouldn’t still be boxes from when they’d moved in. And as far as I knew, he hadn’t been close enough to unraveling the corruption situation to be packing to leave already.
So why did his wife look like she was stowing their life up in boxes only days after her husband went missing?
She came back out with the paper and pen and shut the door behind her. She sat back in her chair and jotted names down on the list.
“Were you two thinking of moving to a new place?” I said as casually as I could manage. “I noticed your boxes.”
Her pen stopped, and she looked up.
“Owen was right about you.” Tiny lines showed at the corner of her eyes, but I couldn’t tell if they were because she wanted to narrow her eyes at me or because she was laughing at me inside. “I’m not planning to skip town, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her tone didn’t carry censure or guilt, so my guess was she found it funny that I was suspecting her. I wasn’t going to let that distract me from the question, though. It was still one that felt like it needed an answer. I’d seen too many people dodge questions by laughing off the possible motives behind them. “Then why the boxes?”
The laugh lines disappeared, and her pen drooped. “I stopped unpacking completely a long time ago. We rarely stay anywhere long enough for it to feel worthwhile. Why take out my gardening gear if we’ll be somewhere else before spring, or why unpack the extra sets of sheets if our kids won’t be able to get vacation time to visit before we leave again?”
If we managed to find Chief McTavish and he was alright, he was probably going to hate that I’d gotten this look into his private life. In my defense, I wouldn’t have pried had I not worried his wife might be hiding something.
Mrs. McTavish had turned her attention back to her paper and was writing again. “His job was the one thing we truly argued about. I wanted him to quit internal investigations years ago.” She glanced up. “It wasn’t just the moves, either. It always took a toll on him, knowing no one had his back at work, and they wished he wasn’t there.”
It reminded me a bit of how I’d felt before I came to Fair Haven. I’d had few true friends, and I’d always felt like the people I worked with were nice to me because I was the bosses’ daughter. It wasn’t until I came to Fair Haven that I started to feel I’d found a place to belong. “There are people who’d like to see him stay here. I’m one of them.”
She gave me a smile that was sad around the edges. “I know. He’d finally agreed that this would be his last Internal Affairs job, and he’d applied to keep the job as Fair Haven chief of police. Sergeant Higgins wanted to plan a surprise party when it became official, after this corruption investigation was closed. This one’s been the worst yet. Every lead turns out to be another rabbit trail laid down to veer him off course.” She folded the paper up and handed it to me. “Now it might all be too late.”
I wanted to make her all sorts of promises, but I knew better. Chief McTavish was a good officer. Mark was a good medical examiner. They’d been struggling at this for months. There were no guarantees I’d figure this out, and there were even fewer that I’d figure it out in time to save Chief McTavish, wherever he was.
Instead of saying anything, I accepted the paper and slipped it into my purse.
She walked me to the door and pulled my coat from the rack.
“I know you think you’re always careful when you’re investigating a case, but don’t take even the smallest risk this time.” She extended my coat to me, but didn’t release it when I took hold. “Owen told me one more thing about
this case. The former chief wasn’t the puppet master. He was an underling brought in to expand the operation. Whoever is behind all of this is still walking free. We don’t know who he is, but I’m sure he knows that you’ll eventually make the connection and start hunting for him. That means he might already be planning to hunt you first.”
16
I was thankful Anderson was handling Mark’s bail hearing because Mrs. McTavish’s warning didn’t leave much room in my head for anything else.
I’d assumed Chief Wilson was the one who came up with the corruption scheme in Fair Haven. He’d wanted a perfect record so that he could make a run for county sheriff. A little extra money to pad his lifestyle hadn’t hurt, either.
It’d never crossed my mind that Wilson could have been recruited by someone else.
Isabel was gone by the time I got home. She’d left me a note about making deliveries and that she would be back later. That was probably for the best. I’d already shared too much about this case with her.
It also left me with time to kill until Mark was released and we could figure out what to do next.
I took the dogs for a quick walk in the bush, making sure to dress them in their special I’m-not-a-deer jackets even though hunting season was over. Russ had tried to assure me that no one was allowed to hunt on Sugarwood property anyway, so we’d have been safe, but I wasn’t taking chances. As soon as I found out about hunting season, I’d gotten Mandy to help me create a big orange jacket that I could Velcro over top of the jackets I put on them to keep them warm.
They looked a bit like traffic cones with legs afterwards, but no one could claim they’d mistaken them for a deer.
The dogs settled in for their post-walk nap as soon as we got home, leaving me alone with the slip of paper Mrs. McTavish had given me.
I swear it’d gotten heavier the longer I carried it without looking at it. It was childish to continue to wait simply because I was afraid of whose name might not be on the list.
I took it from my purse and smoothed it out, but didn’t look at it immediately.
I couldn’t be a baby about it now. We had to know where to start. It was my whole reason for going to see Mrs. McTavish.
Just because someone’s name wasn’t on here didn’t mean they were involved with what had happened. It only meant Chief McTavish hadn’t been able to fully clear them yet. They could still be innocent.
I forced my gaze down to the list. It was longer than I’d expected. The first step would be to see who was missing.
I pulled out a fresh piece of paper. I’d write down everyone before reading the list carefully to avoid missing anyone out of some subconscious bias.
The Fair Haven police department had twenty-two employees, including Chief McTavish. Only sixteen of those were police officers. Mark, the three dispatchers, the chaplain, and the part-time counsellor weren’t sworn officers of the law. Mark, the chaplain, and the counsellor weren’t even directly tied to the Fair Haven PD. They served the whole county.
I numbered twenty-one spaces and started writing names. Thankfully I’d always had a good memory, and I’d been around the police department long enough now that I’d dealt with almost everyone.
I filled the list and then started crossing names off of mine.
Elise and Erik had both been cleared. I knew they would have, but it felt good to have my faith in them confirmed.
So had Troy.
Seeing his name on Mrs. McTavish’s list loosened something in my chest. I hadn’t realized it, but I must have been afraid Troy had been part of the corruption scheme and had been betrayed by his partner or partners. I’d rather think of him as a good man who died trying to do what was right.
Mrs. McTavish hadn’t written down any of the adjunct names, including Mark’s. Chief McTavish had cleared Mark first. That meant those names weren’t absent because they hadn’t been cleared. With that many absent names sharing the one thing in common, it seemed like Chief McTavish had been focused on the police officers.
I didn’t have enough background to know if that was because he knew something about the corruption situation that meant it could only have been an officer running it all or if he simply considered them less likely and was leaving them for last. Though that seemed backwards to how I would have operated. Most people would cross off the easiest suspects first.
I put a single X through the block of names and went back to matching up officers.
Only three officers’ names were missing when I finished.
Brandon Rigman, Grady Scherwin, and Quincey Dornbush.
“It’s not Quincey,” Mark said when I showed him the list later that afternoon. “I know Quincey.”
I’d crossed Quincey’s name off, written it back on, rinse and repeat so many times while waiting for Mark that I’d had to get a new piece of paper. I nudged the paper closer to Mark across my kitchen counter. “Was there anything in the autopsy reports that Chief McTavish had you review that could link to Quincey?”
Mark shook his head. “But I can say the same about Rigman and Scherwin. Scherwin didn’t work any of the cases.”
Which meant there was still something Chief McTavish knew that we didn’t. “Maybe he did clear Quincey, but he hadn’t had a chance to tell his wife yet.”
“Maybe.” Mark glanced down at his lap and shifted a hand. One of the dogs must have read into his tone of voice and decided he needed some comfort. “The best thing we can do is figure out the leader behind all this. That won’t directly clear Quincey, but it’ll be a step.”
Mark didn’t have to say it would also help clear him. It spoke loudly to the kind of man he was that, instead of going to Elise and Erik’s house to rest and clean up, he’d come straight here to work the case. His personal effects still sat in a plastic bag on my kitchen counter.
I flipped the list of names over. We’d both remember them, and we didn’t need Quincey’s name staring us in the face, distracting us. “Whoever’s in charge of this had already started before former Chief Wilson joined. Mrs. McTavish made it sound like the ringleader helped Wilson become chief.”
We had to assume the ringleader didn’t approach anyone and everyone, trying to recruit them. He must see something in them that made him think he could convince them to look the other way when he told them to. Wilson had certainly been ambitious enough.
That was another tick in favor of Quincey not being involved. He wasn’t at all ambitious. He was happy to live a quiet life in Fair Haven, and he hadn’t even tried for a promotion.
Rigman had plans to move into crime scene reconstruction. That was a goal, but it didn’t match as cleanly as Wilson’s goals for advancement would have.
Grady Scherwin, though, liked power and prestige. I didn’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, Grady Scherwin would come back as a peacock one day.
“Do you know how Chief Wilson became chief?” I asked.
Mark’s hand continued to stroke whoever sat by his knee. It had to be Toby. Velma was the more affectionate one normally, but she also stayed still about as well as a fly at a picnic. I’d been told by the few other Great Dane owners that I’d met that Velma would settle down once she turned two. That seemed like a lifetime away.
“I was still in New York when he took over,” Mark said, “but the previous chief—John Zacharius—had an accident.”
The way Mark said accident, with a gravity reserved only for delivering bad news, I knew the accident had been fatal.
“Wilson became the interim chief, and you know the rest.”
The rest was that Fair Haven’s crime rate appeared to go down under Chief Wilson’s leadership. What no one had known at the time was that was because he’d chosen to cover up a lot of what was actually happening, presumably not only to set himself up for sheriff one day but also because he was receiving a lucrative payoff.
Mark stilled. A whine issued from near him, but he was on his feet. “I have the file. Chief McTavish passed it along to me a day or two b
efore Troy died. I hadn’t had a chance to go through it in detail yet.”
If he had the case file for Chief Zacharius’ seemingly accidental death, then we were definitely on the right path. McTavish must have come to the same conclusion we had.
We had to get that file. “Where is it?”
“At my house.”
We tucked the dogs into their crates and headed for Mark’s house. I let him drive. I’d have been too tempted to speed.
He parked in his driveway. With the crime scene tape gone, I wouldn’t have known that anything bad had happened her only a few days ago. His house looked like it always had.
I reached for the door handle.
Mark laid a hand on my arm, stopping me. “The clean-up crew won’t be here until tomorrow, right?”
“That was the soonest they had an opening.”
“You’d better stay here. The smell will be one you won’t be able to forget.”
I shuddered, removed my fingers from the door handle, and gave Mark’s hand a quick squeeze.
“I won’t be gone long,” he said, and then he was out of the car and headed for the house.
A minute ticked by. Then two.
My ribs started to ache like my lungs were trying to push their way out. I sucked in a breath and realized I hadn’t been breathing. It shouldn’t be taking Mark this long to find the file. His office at Cavanaugh Funeral Home was one of the neatest I’d ever seen, and that was saying something, given that I’d worked for my parents and they didn’t tolerate messiness in their firm.
Could the murderer have come back now that the scene was released? They couldn’t plant any more evidence against Mark, but they could plan to attack him and stage a suicide. That would instantly close the case. The detectives investigating were so sure Mark was guilty that they wouldn’t question whether his suicide was real or not.
