by Lauren Carr
Sandy shook her head. “She refers to him as her husband. She doesn’t even call him by name. Only ‘my husband.’ She’s very proud of it.” A smirk crossed her face. “With her attitude, she must know it’s a miracle that she was ever able to snag a man.”
“Well, if that’s what she calls him…” Cameron asked, “Do you know her name?”
“No,” she giggled. “Only that she is very aware of her rights and what rights I don’t deserve—like having five children and a big dog.”
“You have no right to have five children and a dog?”
“That’s what she said—her exact words—when she was screaming at me about the kids making too much noise in the pool.” Sandy screwed up her face. “She’s obviously a socialist. That must narrow down your search some. You’re looking for a fat, ugly, female socialist with a nasty attitude.”
“Who is more territorial than a junkyard dog,” Cameron said. “Do you know anything else about her?”
Sandy laughed at her comparison. “She certainly has the disposition of one.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, there is something else that can help you.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s got huge breasts.”
“Breasts?” Cameron asked.
“Humongous.” With a wicked grin, Sandy indicated by waving both of her hands in front of her own bosom.
“Okay,” Cameron laughed. “We’re looking for a nasty, ugly, fat socialist with huge breasts. Should be easy to find.”
After a moment of thought, Sandy said, “She must have a really good job. She drives a red jaguar convertible. He drives a black Ferrari.”
Cameron made note of her information.
“I guess I wasn’t much help,” Sandy said.
“Actually, you’ve been very helpful.”
As soon as Cameron was back outside, she was on her cell phone to the Spencer Police department. She could have called her own, but since this was David O’Callaghan’s show, she thought it best to run the information through Bogie.
“How’s it going, Cam?” Bogie greeted her.
Cradling the phone against her shoulder, Cameron pushed through the front door of the yellow house. She could hear Mac’s voice, forcibly demanding something, coming from the kitchen in the rear of the house. “Bogie, I need you to find something out for me—or maybe Archie. Who owns the house that Nick Fields lives in?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After assuring Cameron that he would look up that information immediately, Bogie disconnected their call and turned his attention back to Archie, who was going over her statement about the burglary before signing it. While reading, she was sucking on the top of the ballpoint pen. Noticing her furrowed brow, the deputy chief sat back in his chair behind his desk and crossed one long leg over the other. “What’s the matter, Ms. Monday? After all these years, you suddenly decided you don’t trust me.”
“Haven’t you ever heard about the woman who was married for over twenty years, sleeping every night with her husband who would get up in the morning, kiss her goodbye and then, carrying his briefcase, go off to work?”
Bogie nodded his head. “She had no idea she was married to a professional hit man who killed close to a hundred people during the course of his career.”
“Proves you never really know anyone.” She leaned over toward his desk and signed the statement. “I have no idea what you do after you leave this station at night.” Shooting him a wink, she slid the statement across the desk toward him.
“Now don’t you go spreading that around.”
“I don’t know what you’re ashamed of, Bogie,” she said. “Doc Washington is a young, vibrant woman. She’s certainly smart enough to know a tremendous catch when she sees him. You deserve to be happy. Enjoy it.”
“I think women hate seeing men who aren’t attached.”
“No, I just want everyone to be as happy as Mac and I are,” Archie said.
“You have had a special glow about you since coming back from your cruise,” he said, which brought a broad smile to her face.
“Where’s O’Callaghan?” a loud voice with an arrogant tone demanded from the reception area.
Gnarly erupted in a round of loud barking at what he considered a foe. He was right.
Bogie’s mustache rose up into his nostrils in response to the snarl that came to his lips. His eyes narrowed. He pushed back from his desk and stood up.
“Amazing how fast a pleasant moment can turn ugly,” Archie said. “Usually with the introduction of nasty.”
But Bogie didn’t hear her. He was on his way to the reception area.
“He’s out investigating a murder.” Tonya had lived on the lake her whole life. Many suspected the long hours the desk sergeant put in at the station were an excuse to not go home, to which two of her three grown children had returned with their offspring after a short time spent in the outside world.
Tonya was a huge fan of every dog. Sometimes, Mac felt like she was simply going through the paces while making small talk until they arrived upon the topic of Gnarly and his latest escapades. She had three dogs of her own that she doted on more than her kids. The dogs were more self-sufficient.
“He’s the chief of police,” the man replied. “Why isn’t he ever in the office?”
Bogie’s booming voice drowned out that of the town councilman. “Because the work that needs to be done is out there. You got a problem with that, Clark?”
The displeasure was doubled with the chubby man at Bill Clark’s side. When he didn’t get results through the county prosecutor and governor, Bevis Palazzi had gone to the chairman of Spencer’s town council, who was more than happy to throw a snag into Police Chief David O’Callaghan’s operations.
“I have a lot of problems with how this department is run,” Bill Clark replied. As chubby as Bevis Palazzi was, Bill Clark was slender from spending most of his days on the golf course cutting political deals. “Number one is a lack of communication. Mr. Palazzi’s good friend, Khloe Everest, was killed almost a week ago, and your department refuses to give him a status report on how close you are to catching her killer.”
“Mac Faraday went ape on me when I asked him about it,” Bevis said from a safe position behind Clark. “When I tried to talk to O’Callaghan, he hung up on me—me, a taxpayer who he had been hired to serve. It’s a disgrace, the trouble I had to take to ensure that this police department respected my rights. It makes me wonder how the little man who has no connections gets treated.”
“Maybe if you grew some manners the police department would be more willing to cooperate with you,” Archie said.
Bevis charged forward with his hand raised. “You’re opinions are uncalled for, bitch!” He found himself face to chest with Bogie, who had stepped in between them.
His hackles up, Gnarly cut off Bill Clark, who tried to intervene on Bevis’ behalf. Seeing the snarl on the German shepherd’s lips, Clark decided to back up to take shelter behind Tonya, the desk sergeant.
“You have nothing to worry about, Clark,” Tonya said to the town councilman. “Gnarly doesn’t eat garbage.”
“Bevis lost a very good friend,” Bill Clark said while eying Gnarly glaring up at him. “We’re here to demand some action.”
“You want action? I’ll give you action.” With a wicked smile, Tonya stepped aside.
When Gnarly moved forward, Bill Clark turned and ran. Enjoying the thrill of the chase, Gnarly galloped after him. With a high pitched shriek, the councilman hopped up onto Tonya’s chair and then on top of her desk.
The bad man put away, Gnarly whirled around and seemed to hitch his rear end up in Clark’s direction before trotting back to Tonya, who tossed him a doggie biscuit, which the dog caught in mid-air.
“Looks to me like you have a temper, Mr. Palazzi,” Bogie said in a low voice.
“Eighty percent of murders are committed by friends or relatives of the victim,” Archie said. “Sixteen percent are actually committed by family memb
ers.” She added, “Also killers often follow the police and use whatever connections they can to get inside the investigation, or to get the media to keep tabs on how close the police are to catching them.” She leaned around Bogie to ask, “Bevis, is that why you’ve been calling in all of your political favors to get a status report on Khloe’s murder? Because you’re a psychopath, and you want to know how close we are to catching you?”
With a roar, Bevis tried to reach around Bogie to grab her. “You—” He exploded with a string of obscenities while trying to reach Archie. Bogie held him back for as long as he could before finally picking him up, body slamming him down onto the floor, and pinning him there with his knee in his back.
Standing over Bevis, Gnarly’s barks sounded like cheers of approval for Bogie’s quick action.
From where he was seeking safety on top of Tonya’s desk, Bill Clark knelt with his mouth hanging open. When he found his voice, he stammered. “You’re all insane! This is totally unacceptable. Do you have any idea who this is?”
“From what I see, he’s a murder suspect,” Tonya replied.
“This is Senator Harry Palazzi’s son! He’s going to be senator one day.” He pointed at Archie. “She provoked him.”
“Which makes him trying to physically attack me okay?” Archie said. “I guess in your book, if he killed Khloe, it was perfectly okay because she had to have provoked him in some way.”
With Bevis handcuffed, Bogie dragged him up to his feet. “You want a status report, Clark? Here it is. I’m about to question a suspect in Khloe Everest’s murder.”
“Don’t just stand there, you moron!” Bevis said to his friend, the councilman. “Call my father!”
“I’m confused.” Mac closed in on Nick, who was then dressed in baggy, low-cut jeans and handcuffed to a chair in his formal dining room.
After getting Nick dressed and downstairs, Mac finally got a look around the house that their suspect called home. The décor did not fit with its occupant—at least not with Nick Fields. The dining room furniture was cherry. Except for dirty dishes in the sink that they assumed belonged to Nick, the counters were spotless. Teddy bear-shaped canisters were lined up along the counter. Homey pictures of fruit hung on the wall. Any minute, Mac expected to see his mother, wearing an apron and high-heels, walk in with an armload of groceries.
David opened up a folder and laid out crime scene pictures of each of the women. Closing his eyes, Nick turned his head. His prominent cheekbones looked like they had been chiseled onto his face.
“Three woman,” Mac said, “who you associated with, are now all dead, all stabbed to death and dismembered. Now, explain to me how that happens?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” Nick giggled.
Cameron grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and whipped him around to make him look at the images of the butchered women. “Look at them, Nick! Not only were these women stabbed to death, but someone also slit their bellies open and gutted them like cattle. The only thing they all have in common is that they knew you. Now, are you going to lie to us and tell us you didn’t do this?”
Nick shook his head.
“I know how it can be sometimes, Nick.” David straddled the chair across from him. “Sometimes, stuff happens. There can be a series of events that, to those on the outside looking in, point to one thing, when really it’s something else. I know that. I’ve seen it happen. So, it may just look to us like you, being the only common denominator, killed these women for whatever reason. But really, maybe that’s not what happened. That’s why we’re here. We want you to help us by telling us what you know about them that can lead us to their killer.”
They sat in silence. Nick stared across at David, who appeared to be his only friend. David abruptly reached inside his coat. “Oh, and to help you to prove your innocence, you can give us a sample of your DNA to prove you weren’t there when these women were killed.”
Any appearance of cooperation dissipated. Nick shook his head. “No way.”
“Yes, way,” David slapped a warrant down on the table. “We have a warrant. Open your mouth.”
Mac’s phone vibrated on his hip. When he read on his caller ID that it was Archie, he stepped into the kitchen to take the call. Knowing that he was out collecting a suspect, she wouldn’t have called if it hadn’t been important.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“He’s not admitting to anything,” Mac said. “What’s up?”
“Cameron called Bogie to ask him to check on something, but he’s a little tied up right now, so I checked for him. She wanted to know who owns the house Nick Fields is living in.”
“Did she tell you why?” While normally Mac would have been offended about being left out of the loop on something involving a case, he sensed that Cameron knew better than to interrupt the interrogation for something that might not lead anywhere.
“She asked Bogie, not me,” she replied. “But I think she’s on to something. That house is owned by a Sheila McGrath. She lives at one-zero-seven-one-eight Potomac Tennis Lane in Potomac, Maryland. Not only does she own that house, but for close to two years, Nick Fields has been receiving an allowance of several thousand dollars a month from a trust she had set up for him.”
“Interesting timing,” Mac noted. “That’s about how long ago Khloe’s show was cancelled. I wonder if after Nick lost out on that one gig, he decided to take this one.” The wheels in his head were turning. “Could this Sheila have had something to do with outing him and making him lose that gig?”
“What are you talking about?” Archie asked. “Outing him? He was already out of the closet.”
“We’re talking about a different closet,” Mac said. “Nick was up for an acting gig in Hollywood, but—talk about twisted—his image was that of a gay man, which he isn’t. Somehow, word got out that he was really heterosexual and having an affair with a woman—Tiffany Blanchard, who was one of the three woman killed. After losing out on that gig, it looks like Nick happened into this set up.”
“Which is one sweet set up,” Cameron said from where she had been listening in from the kitchen doorway. She jerked her head in the direction of the house next door. “House. Sports car. Generous allowance. The lady next door said that there’s a woman who lives here on the weekends and visits a couple of nights a week. She claims to be his wife. But his background check doesn’t show him as having ever been married.”
“Nick has a sugar momma,” Mac said. “But he’s also got a problem. He can’t keep his zipper shut. When a girlfriend threatens to blow the whistle on him, he does what he has to do to keep her quiet.”
“We just found his motive,” Cameron said.
“We’re taking him back with us to lock him up.” With a quick good-bye to Archie, Mac disconnected their call.
Cameron stopped him on his way out of the kitchen. “Remember, Pennsylvania gets him first.”
In the dining room, Mac shoved a chair aside, causing a loud scraping noise across the hardwood floor. “Get up, Fields! You’re going for a ride. We’re taking you in for questioning.”
Nick grabbed his cell phone. “I’m not going anywhere before I call my lawyer.”
“He does have a temper,” Archie whispered to Ben Fleming as if Bevis Palazzi could hear her talking from where he sat in the interrogation room. The prosecutor had rushed over as soon as he heard that Bevis insisted on having his father called. It went without saying that his father would call in his lawyer, none other than Samuel Brooks.
“I know that,” Ben said. “Catherine can’t stand to be in the same room as Bevis. Brooks is having a busy day today. This morning he was at Grant’s arraignment.”
“He’s defending the cat burglar?” One of Archie’s eyebrows was arched. “Interesting.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s interesting,” Ben said. “Bevis is junior partner at a large legal firm in Rockville, Maryland, with an excellent reputation for criminal defense. So why call in his dadd
y’s lawyer and not one of his own?”
“Double interesting.” Seeing Bevis pick up his cell phone to answer a call, Archie nudged Ben with her elbow. “I guess that’s Brooks telling Bevis that he’s going to be late.”
“What the hell have you done?” Bevis cursed.
“Bevis isn’t happy,” she smirked over at Ben.
“Bevis is never happy about anything,” Ben said with a sigh.
“No,” Bevis ordered. “I can’t come right now. I’ll send someone. Don’t say anything to anyone.” He disconnected the call and then pressed another button. Seemingly aware of the mirror, he turned his back to them and lowered his voice.
“What’s that all about?” Ben asked.
“You’ve got me,” she replied.
“Why would a straight guy pretend to be a homosexual in a reality show?” David asked Mac loud enough for Nick to hear him in the back seat of the cruiser where he was riding with Cameron. “I mean, wouldn’t all of his friends then think that he was gay?”
“You don’t know how many women love the idea of straightening out a homo,” Nick called up to the front seat before Mac could respond.
“So you lied,” Cameron said.
“How do you know I lied?”
“We saw you with a woman with our own eyes,” Cameron said. “We know about you and Tiffany Blanchard spending time at the resort in Malibu. You didn’t want anyone to know about it because you didn’t want anyone to know you were straight.”
“Since when is being straight something you want to hide?” David asked.
“Since gay is in right now,” Nick said. “It’s all the rage in Hollywood—especially on these reality shows—which is my market. If they knew I was straight, I’d be back working the strip clubs in hick towns in Pennsylvania.”
“Isn’t that what happened?” Mac asked. “Didn’t word get out about you being straight? Maybe you thought Tiffany had forced you out of the closet, and that’s why you killed her.”
“That isn’t what happened,” Nick said.
