by Lauren Carr
Her attention now piqued, Cameron darted her eyes left to right and up and down. No longer focused on finding her boss, but the source of the blood splatter, what she had missed before now caught her notice. A cast off to the left led to the splatter on the ground and around the corner of a row of shelving, where it grew in volume in conjunction with the attack’s intensity. The blood splatter turned into a trail that ended in a pool where Sherry Bixby had collapsed face down with her head, neck, and shoulders bashed in.
Soaked in blood, the sledge hammer that had done the deed rested between her motionless feet.
“Oh geez!” Cameron lowered her gun.
Kenny choked down the lunchmeat that fought its way back up.
“She didn’t even pull her weapon.” Cameron noted the gun that was still in its holster on her thick waist. “She completely walked into this with no backup. Stupid self-serving bitch got herself killed.”
She pulled out her phone to make the call. While listening to the ring at the other end of the line, she turned to Harry, who was holstering his gun. “What interest do you guys have in Ilysa Ramsay’s murder?”
“We’re interested in what she was doing when she got killed.” Harry cocked his head at her. “What interest does a Pennsylvania State Police detective have in a Spencer, Maryland, murder? This isn’t your jurisdiction.”
“Huh?” Cameron replied. “We’re investigating the murder of Ilysa Ramsay that happened here.”
When emergency picked up, she turned away to report a police officer down.
Now it was the FBI’s turn to be confused. Harry found himself alone in his disbelief while Kenny went outside to lose his lunch.
Joshua said, “We need to have a meeting of everyone involved in all these murders to get everyone on the same sheet of paper.”
Chapter Seven
“There you are.” David O’Callaghan found Mac enjoying a before-dinner cocktail with Archie in the Spencer Inn’s lounge. In the corner booth reserved for the inn’s owner, they were sharing a cozy moment alone when the police chief slid into the seat across from them and cleared his throat. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Another part of Mac’s inheritance, the Inn rested at the top of Spencer Mountain, which was named after his ancestors, the town’s founders. The front of the stone and cedar main lodge offered a view of the lake below and the mountains off in the distance. While resting between boating, golf, skiing, mountain biking, hiking, or any of the other activities, guests could take in the view from the wrap-around porch. They could also partake of refreshments in the outdoor café on the multi-level deck, among the flora of an elaborate living maze; or, if the weather was too chilly, the lounge inside. For more formal eating, the Inn’s five-star restaurant offered legendary dining experiences.
More than a year after his inheritance, Mac was still trying to wrap his head around being able to enjoy all of the luxuries of one of the country’s finest resorts without ever receiving a bill.
“I returned the beach towel to its rightful owner,” he told the police chief.
David cocked his head at him. “What?”
Seeing that he wasn’t there about Gnarly, Mac backtracked. “Nothing.”
“We’ve got company on this case.”
“Who?” Mac hated it when others horned in on what he considered to be his cases. Usually, it would end up in a tug of war over who got credit for the collar. If the case went cold, then it would turn into a blame game. In either instance, it would not end up being a good thing, especially if it involved the feds.
“Pennsylvania state police and the FBI.”
“FBI?” Archie turned to Mac. “The FBI is big.”
“Real big.” Mac’s eyes were equally wide. “What interest does the FBI have in a Scottish artist?”
David gestured at a group coming into the lounge. Bogie was in the lead with two men in suits, who Mac guessed to be the FBI. A woman wearing a state police shield and gun, and man with silver hair, came in behind them. Mac tagged her as the Pennsylvania state police.
That leaves the dude with the silver hair. Where does he fit into all this? Another state police detective? Where’s his badge? Nah! He doesn’t look like a cop. He’s either military or a lawyer.
David told Mac, “Maybe it’s best if we all meet in one of your conference rooms. From what I understand, this is complicated.”
The second floor executive conference room provided a view of the ski runs. During the summer months, the ski slopes’ service road acted as a mountain bike trail.
After introductions were made, Joshua Thornton asked Mac, “How does a millionaire inn owner get involved in a murder investigation?”
“Very carefully,” he replied. “How does a small town lawyer get mixed up with the FBI?”
Joshua glanced over at Cameron, who was eying Archie with suspicion. “How else? I met a woman.”
Casting a look at Archie, who was equally curious about the female detective dressed in clothes covered with grass stains; Mac said, “I know the story well.”
David recounted for Joshua and Cameron about Mac receiving the painting from the art collector. “It was stolen the night Ilysa Ramsay was killed in her studio in September of 2004.”
Cameron disagreed. “According to the fingerprints lifted from a body found in Pittsburgh, Ilysa Ramsay was killed in June 2003.”
Mac said, “That’s not possible.”
Cameron bristled at the suggestion that they were wrong. “It’s not possible for your murder victim to be Ilysa Ramsay because AFIS says we’ve got her body.”
At the head of the table, Harry Bush, who had taken it upon himself to lead the meeting, held up both of his hands and called for an end to the debate. “Maybe it is possible.” He asked David, “Did you run the prints you took from your body through the database?”
David turned to Bogie, who shook his head while answering, “We had no need to. We had a positive ID that it was Ilysa Ramsay.”
“From her husband,” Cameron pointed out. “Have you considered the possibility that Neal Hathaway killed the real Ilysa Ramsay and dumped her body, and then got a duplicate to take her place? When he got tired of her, he murdered her. Since he was out of duplicates, he had no choice but to report the second murder. When my boss called him on it today, he killed her.”
“When and where was your boss killed?” Mac asked.
“Around one-thirty at the Beaver County Airport in Pennsylvania.”
Mac and Archie shook their heads. “Not possible,” she told her. “Neal Hathaway was with us at one o’clock.”
Cameron said, “He’s a very rich man. He could have hired someone to kill her while using you two for alibis.”
“I don’t think Neal Hathaway would do that.” Archie continued to shake her head. “I can’t believe he would have kill his wife.”
Cameron looked across the table at her. “And I find it hard to believe that he wouldn’t notice that his wife was suddenly a different person.”
“I can offer another possibility,” Harry said in a loud voice. “I don’t believe Neal Hathaway had any knowledge of this.”
David asked, “Tell us how Ilysa Ramsay was killed twice.”
“Ilysa Ramsay was two people.”
They all stared up the table at Harry, who chuckled back at their stunned expressions. He tucked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. “Ilysa Ramsay had an identical twin sister. They made a career, illegal as it was, out of being one and the same. They were both exceptional artists, and con women.”
Archie asked, “But Ilysa Ramsay … or her sister, was so talented. Her paintings—”
“They started stealing and conning people back before they—Ilysa—became famous. Her sister’s name was Fiona, by the way. Good luck in finding a paper trail of her. The two of them assumed one identity—Ilysa—and deleted Fiona’s identity. Whichever one’s fingerprints they used for the passport under Ilysa’s name was obviously the one whose body was
found in Pennsylvania.”
Joshua said, “Our Ilysa Ramsay had her appendix removed.”
“So did ours,” Bogie said.
The senior FBI agent laughed. “How’s that for being dedicated to the con? When one of them had to have hers removed, her twin had hers removed, too—all so that they could be as alike as possible.”
“Why?” Archie asked.
Harry explained, “When you’re an artist—especially a beautiful and charming artist—the rich and powerful flock to you and welcome you into their world. While Ilysa was still a starving artist, she decided to take advantage of it. While she would be charming them in the parlor, her identical twin sister would slip in and steal whatever she could from a safe or off a computer. If anyone saw her, Ilysa would have a roomful of guests to alibi her. They would then give the stolen goods totheir agent, who was really their fence, who would sell it to the highest bidder.”
“Victor Gruskonov,” Bogie said.
Harry nodded his head.
“Who happens to be dead.”
Harry blinked down the table at the police officer. “When?”
Bogie reported about the John Doe, who had died in a car accident the night of Ilysa’s murder.
Harry was still digesting this information when Cameron said, “The Ghost must have been the twin. When Ilysa’s picture was all over the news, Fiona started calling me to ask for information about the murder so that she could figure out who’d killed her sister.”
Joshua said, “She couldn’t go public about it because the FBI was after her.”
Harry said, “We could never get enough evidence to nail her. Since we didn’t know Ilysa was already dead, when Fiona was killed in 2004, we’ve been looking for the twin and Gruskonov. We learned in the underground that something big having to do with U.S. defense satellites was going down. We knew it had to be connected to Ramsay and Gruskonov. We almost had him in Germany, but he’d managed to slip away.”
David said, “That’s why he was using a stolen ID when he had his car accident. He had to in order to get into the United States to pick up...” his voice trailed off.
“Ilysa’s painting,” Bogie said, “which was stolen when she was killed. That’s why she was murdered. She was killed for whatever it was Gruskonov was supposed to pick up.”
Bogie’s bushy eyebrows met between his eyes and his mustache almost went up his nose when he turned to the special agent. “If you were on this case back in 2004, why didn’t you bring this information to us then? If we knew all this, we would have taken this investigation in a whole different direction.”
“We had our reasons,” Harry said.
Joshua’s tone was calm. “You didn’t want Hathaway to know that you were investigating his company.”
The special agent said nothing.
“Do you suspect Hathaway of being in on the theft?” Mac asked.
“Not him.”
“Who?” David asked.
When the FBI agent hesitated, Bogie demanded an answer. “It’s time we lay all of our cards on the table.”
“Peyton Kaplan has been hiding large sums of money in a secret account in the Cayman Islands for years,” Harry said. “The account was opened around the time Hathaway married Ilysa and we have no idea where the money is coming from. If Ilysa had help inside the company, Kaplan would’ve been the ideal accomplice.”
“We didn’t know that.” Bogie grinned. “Thank you for sharing.” His gratitude was mixed with sarcasm.
Harry held up his hands again to keep their attention. “But our sources say the deal never went down. We want to make sure we intercept that information before it gets out. Even after all these years, if what they stole got into the wrong hands—”
“Ilysa or Fiona weren’t killed for the stolen secrets,” Mac said. “If the transaction was never completed, then that can’t be the motive for the murders.”
Bogie asked, “Who was killed here in Spencer? Ilysa Ramsay or her sister Fiona?”
“Fiona,” Harry said. “I’m fifty percent sure.”
Joshua said, “Which will make it difficult to prosecute when we do catch the killer because we won’t have any positive ID on the victim.”
“Let’s worry about that when we catch our killer,” David turned to Cameron and Joshua. “Tell us about the murder committed today.”
“Lieutenant Sherry Bixby,” Cameron reported, “the chief of the homicide squad that I work with. She was bludgeoned to death with a sledge hammer at the airport hangar where Hathaway Industries keeps their corporate jets.”
Bogie said, “Same way Ilysa Ramsay the second was murdered. Bludgeoned to death with a hammer.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Joshua said. “Same MO for both Bixby and Ramsay the second. Points to the same killer.”
Cameron said, “But Ilysa Ramsay the first was garroted with something thin, possibly a piano wire.”
“With all due respect,” Mac asked, “could your boss have been trying to shake down Neal Hathaway? Offering to let the murder investigation of his wife go cold in exchange for …” He was startled by the lack of surprise, or offense, on her face.
She regarded him for an instant before replying, “Very possible.”
Mac told her, “Hathaway came to my home this afternoon to tell us that he’d gotten a call shortly after nine from a woman saying that she was investigating his wife’s murder—”
“I thought Hathaway didn’t know about his wife’s first murder—” She countered before correcting herself, “I never had a chance to meet with Sherry about what we’d uncovered. She didn’t know about the second murder.”
Joshua said, “So when Bixby told Neal Hathaway that she was investigating his wife’s murder, he would have assumed she was talking about the murder here in Spencer, because he never knew about the earlier murder.”
“Because his wife’s twin most likely took her place before he realized she had been killed,” Mac said.
Archie said, “When he came to see us, he thought the call came from the Spencer police. He had no idea that the call came from Pittsburgh, and your boss was talking about a murder that’d happened earlier.”
Cameron told them, “Sherry called Hathaway’s home in Mount Lebanon from a disposable cell phone that she’d acquired from vice. What we’ve uncovered so far, Hathaway’s calls there were automatically forwarded to his home here. I doubt if Sherry knew that. Like him, she thought he was in the local area.”
Joshua continued, “Sherry then got a call back from a disposable phone to arrange the meeting at the airport where she was killed. We got that from the call records on the cell we found on her body.”
“We saw a black Jag leaving the scene,” Cameron said. “Do any of your suspects drive a black Jag?”
David and Bogie shook their heads.
“We didn’t know about Ramsay’s murder in Pittsburgh, either,” Harry said, “Somehow, her twin realized she was missing and took her place before anyone knew.”
Cameron was still doubtful. “If an imposter took your wife’s place, wouldn’t you know she wasn’t the same woman?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to know,” David said. “I was there at the crime scene for Ilysa Ramsay the second. Neal Hathaway did not kill his wife—either of them.”
Harry cleared his throat. “One thing we can’t forget is that the Ramsay twins and Gruskonov stole and were selling sensitive information pertaining to government defense satellites. As far as we know, it’s hidden away someplace. If it gets into the wrong hands, there’s no telling what could happen.”
“What kind of secrets are we talking about?” Cameron asked.
“As Hathaway’s wife, Ilysa Ramsay or Fiona, had access to his office, computer, anything. Not only were they both talented artists, but they were also accomplished hackers. No matter which one it was, if she got access to any computer connected to Hathaway Industries, it would have been a piece of cake for her to break into his company’s files.”
“Basically, our satellites would become their satellites,” David said.
“Exactly,” Harry said.
“Is it possible that without her twin, Ilysa was never able to accomplish her mission?” Mac asked.
David recalled, “Neal Hathaway told us that Ilysa told him that this was her last painting, and then she was getting out of the business. She was turning this painting over to Gruskonov to sell and then she was retiring. Translation: This was her last big score.”
Mac said, “Gruskonov died before he made the pick-up.”
Bogie said, “But someone picked up that painting.”
Harry said, “Yet, the deal never went down.”
Archie said, “We can’t forget that Ilysa Ramsay was a famous painter, even if she was a thief. The painting could have been stolen because of its artistic value.”
“The codes are probably still with the painting,” Harry said. “Where is it?”
Mac answered, “My place.”
Spencer Inn manager, Jeff Ingles burst into the room. “Mac, there’s been an explosion at your house.”
Chapter Eight
“My boat!” At the sight of his new speed boat, still tethered to the dock next to the boat house, engulfed in flames; Mac held his hands to his head and screamed.
The cause of the inferno was made evident by the white panel van resting directly on top of the boat. They resembled two matchbox toys, one stacked on top of the other. The headlights from the emergency vehicles illuminated the path the van had taken, in reverse, through the floral gardens and down to the dock, where it appeared to have been launched to land on top of the speed boat. The surviving flowers now fell victim to the two fire trucks hosing down the double-decker.
The red, orange, and yellow flames created quite a show. The odd scene had attracted an audience, both on land and the lake.
“They only delivered it five days ago.” Mac shook off David, who attempted to hold him back from the scene. “I only had her out on the water one day. She still had three-quarters of a tank of gas.”
