“The good news is that, based on the coroner’s assessment of the time of death, you have an iron clad alibi,” he said. “The bad news is, I’m the alibi. So, Detective Griffin is joining us and will be taking the lead on this investigation.”
Griffin, James’s sometimes partner, bore no liking for Bree, and had considered her the prime suspect when her boss was killed months earlier. Since Bree consulted with the Plainville PD, Griffin had thawed, now considering her a mere interference in the department’s investigations, rather than a criminal to be apprehended.
“I understand,” she assured James, taking a seat across from him. “But if any of my skills could be useful to you—”
“Not now.” He cut her off with a firm shake of the head as Detective Griffin entered the room.
“Let’s get this over with.” Griffin sat heavily on a chair and raked his hands through his thick grizzled hair. The unfocused quality of his deep-set eyes pointed at a man who’d been woken from a much-needed sleep.
“O’Neil, here, informs me that you and your partner,” the word came out as a sneer, “have a legitimate reason for being at Trader Jack’s. Not at this time of night, mind you. And not pulling a dead man from a car.” He glared at her. “But—again based on O’Neil’s testimony—you, at least, were not around at the time of death.”
“Do we know—”
“We know things. You don’t. This is a police department matter.” Griffin glared at her. “And you’re not a consultant today. Thank God.” The last words were muttered under his breath. “So, what do you know about this Billy Bandergas fellow?”
“I’ve only worked at Jack’s for a couple of days, but I can tell you that Billy rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. He was abrasive and belittling.”
“A lot of people,” repeated Griffin. “Name them.”
“As I said, I don’t know specifics.” Bree itched to get her hands on a crime notebook so she could search her memory for likely suspects and record her observations, but that would have to wait. Instead, she named off the employees she’d met during her work at the emporium.
“Any reason to suspect them of foul play?” probed Griffin.
“Billy was publicly rude to Margie and Liza,” she said. “And earlier today, it sounded as if he got into a fight with his son.”
“Yelled at the boy, did he?”
“At least. I think they got physical too.” Bree told him about the fight on the other side of the garage wall and the cut on Billy’s arm.
“So, you heard raised voices. And felt a thud against the wall. Those are the facts. That may or may not have been a fight. How did you feel about Billy Bandergas?”
“I thought we’d established that I was not responsible for his death.”
“And I’m asking how you felt about him. Not every killer does the deed himself. Or herself.”
“Enough.” James kept his voice controlled as he stepped into the fray and addressed the older man. “Don’t make the investigation personal.”
The detective threw James an astonished look. “Not the time for you to be lecturing me on keeping investigations impersonal. You’re compromised and you know it, or you wouldn’t have called me in on the inquiry.”
James’s lips flattened and his eyes narrowed. But his words remained controlled. “For the record, Abraham, I called you to avoid even the appearance of favoritism. Don’t make me regret not requesting a different detective.”
Griffin grumbled but stood down. “Fine. Any other information you can think of that is relevant to the investigation, Ms. Watson?”
“It’s Dr. Mayfield-Watson. And no, nothing at the moment.” A vision of empty liquor bottles and scattered candy flashed through her mind. “Wait. There is one thing. Last night when I came in to look over some paperwork for Jack Trayder, I found Billy here in the kitchen, an empty bottle of whiskey nearby.” She looked around the space.
“We found and bagged the remains of a partial bottle tonight,” James said. “Bagged a bunch of candy, too, for what it’s worth.”
“When I looked into the kitchen tonight, it looked exactly the same as last night. Except Scarlett was missing.”
“Scarlett?” Abe Griffin’s sharp gaze zeroed in on her. He consulted his notes. “You never mentioned any Scarlett before. Who is she?”
“She’s a parrot. Trader Jack’s mascot.”
“Good God in heaven. The man wasn’t killed by a bird!” He shook his head. “Just stay in town. And stay out of trouble. We’ll call you if we need you.” With that he waved her away, muttering to James about interfering females derailing investigations.
Matthew caught up with her as she exited the kitchenette. “This way,” he motioned away from the garage and the remaining investigators.
Together they traveled in the direction of Jack’s private office. Jack waited, door ajar, talking quietly to Scarlett.
“Billy?” She cocked her head when Bree and Matthew entered.
“No,” replied Jack, stroking the feathers under her beak. “Billy is gone.”
“Badass. Green money,” said the parrot mournfully.
Jack looked up from comforting the bird. “I found her in the kitchen when I first came in. The young detective let me take her after they asked me a few questions. She’s been a mess ever since.”
Bree fished in a pocket of her vest and pulled out a packet of peanuts from her last flight. She opened it and offered Scarlett one.
“Pretty lady,” said the bird, taking the peanut. “More?” Bree laughed and fed her a few more tidbits.
“I often leave her at the store,” Jack said, “but tonight I prefer to take her home.” He looked at Bree and Matthew. “Is it too much to ask for you to stay on and…” He waved a hand aimlessly as his voice trailed off.
“We’re not leaving,” replied Matthew. “We’ll keep doing the job you hired us for. I should warn you, though, whatever initial business concerns you had could be a factor in who killed Billy. And why.”
Jack’s face paled and he sank into a chair, resting his head in his hands. “You don’t think it could have been an accident? He could have been working on the car and fallen and… No, of course not. He hardly locked himself in the trunk. But surely no one did this deliberately.”
“We’ll do what we can to find out.” Bree squatted in front of Jack, bringing herself to a bit below his eye level. “I sometimes consult with the police. They’re a good team. But our team is good too. We’ll investigate alongside the police to do everything we can for you.”
They spent a few more minutes with Jack then headed to Matthew’s car. Matthew settled Bree in the passenger seat, rounded the car and popped the trunk. Seconds later, it slammed shut. Bree held her curiosity until they pulled away from the emporium.
“I launched a bumblebee drone,” he said before she could ask. “Once we are sure the site is deserted, I suggest we double back and examine the crime scene more closely.”
“Agreed.” She trained her gaze on the car’s mirrors, occasionally swiveling in the passenger seat to glance out the rear window. “It doesn’t look like we’re being followed.”
“Maybe not but turn the GPS signal on your phone off for a bit.” He flicked his eyes in her direction. “We don’t want a worried boyfriend tracking your movements.”
“James wouldn’t—never mind.” She knew James, unlike Matthew, wouldn’t breach her privacy. Still, she disabled the GPS signal.
Matthew took a turn, heading west, away from both corporate headquarters and Bree’s condo. “Tech Ops mobile lab?” she queried.
He nodded. “Did you manage to keep the samples we took?”
“Right here.” Bree patted the hidden pocket in her vest, both pleased and unnerved that she’d managed to remove evidence from the crime scene without the police knowing about it.
A niggling thought hummed in her brain, like the remnant of an old song you can’t forget. You’re lying to James. She shifted in he
r seat and shoved the thought aside. “Should we call Nate to meet us at the RV? Or let him sleep until morning?”
“I’ll route a call through the Sci-PHi phone system and ask him to report to me for a special projects assignment. He’ll either call me back or report to the Tech Ops center where Grant can relay a message for him.”
“Meanwhile…”
“Meanwhile, we start our investigation.”
Chapter 11
Matthew checked the rearview mirror, but a glance convinced him they were not followed. He adjusted the mirror’s angle, frowning at the pale, tense cast to Bree’s face. Maybe it was the black ensemble that washed out her normal vibrancy. Or lack of sleep. Or…
Him. An unexpected lump of disappointment lodged in his throat. He swallowed it, wishing he could wash it down with a slug of Billy’s whiskey. She’d chosen James over him. Rightly so. James could offer Bree what Matthew could not. A good man would be happy for her.
He was miserable for himself; for the quick end to his dream of coming in from the cold. No matter. He and Bree were still partners. Friends, even. And friends didn’t badger one another about their dating preferences.
He pulled into a parking spot near the RV. The campground, far from city lights, blazed with stars. The other scattered vehicles appeared dark. Why shouldn’t they be at two in the morning? Bree exited the car before he could come around to open her door. Again, no matter. They were just friends.
Once inside the RV, Matthew pulled the light shielding curtains tight and flicked a switch. Thank God he’d cleaned up before meeting Bree. She didn’t need to know he’d been sleeping on a cot in the tiny storage area tucked behind the custom mobile lab they’d built into the main bedroom. He crossed to the table where Bree lined up the sample packets from her pockets. “What do we have to go on?”
“Swab of the mouth. Debris from under the fingernails. Fibers from the Mustang’s carpet. Billy’s hair.” She shuddered but composed herself quickly. “Vomit sample. Blood sample.”
“And this.” Matthew drew a few mangled gummy bears from his pocket.
“Three lint covered gummy candies. Check.” Bree rolled her eyes at him. “Why and how?”
“Why…because they seemed out of place. How…I stumbled and palmed them before the cleanup crew started processing that section of the kitchen. James reamed me for my carelessness.”
Bree gave him a look that might have been approval. She nodded. “That must have been before I accessed your watch camera.”
He chuckled and wrapped her in a bear hug. Of course, Bree would have tried to track him via his hidden tech. “Have I told you lately what an asset you are? Great instincts.”
“You constantly tell me how ordinary I look as if that is an asset,” she mumbled.
His hold tightened and he wished he could make her see exactly how valuable she was. To him. Not the organization. But she stiffened in his arms, reminding him she’d made her choice—and it wasn’t him. “It is more of an asset than you know.” You’re more of an asset than you’ll ever know.
She wiggled free of his embrace, a grimace on her face. “As gratifying as that is, what I need now is a notebook. I have to organize my thoughts.”
He smiled at her obsession with the notebook. The scientist in her couldn’t resist logging and analyzing every observation she made. The practice had helped them both catch several killers. Matthew reached above her head into a cabinet near the ceiling and pulled out a bound composition book, wondering if her cop also kept a stash of supplies ready to meet her every need. “Will this do?”
“Perfect.” She settled into the banquette and scribbled in a notebook, one of many he stocked everywhere just for her use.
As Bree worked, Matthew opened a laptop and downloaded feeds from her necklace camera, his watch camera, and the bumblebee drone. Drone video showed police still lingered at the emporium, so he moved to analyzing her camera feeds.
“Too bad we couldn’t move Billy to get a better look,” Matthew mused. “I would love to know if he’d had a blow to the head.”
“I’d love to know why he was so protective of that Mustang. What was he hiding?”
“We aren’t going to find out.” Matthew pointed to the drone video which showed the car being loaded onto a flatbed trailer. “Looks like the PD impounded it.”
“Damn. We were so close.” Bree nibbled on the end of her pen, brows bowed in thought. “Grant jokingly said the car’s incident reporter had been so modified that it could record conversations. Do you think—”
Matthew dialed Grant’s number before Bree could finish the thought. If there were information to be had, Grant would get it for them. After dealing with his sleepy tech wizard, and leaving a message for the analyst Nate, Matthew turned to Bree. “What have you got so far?”
She ran her finger along a table she’d created spanning two pages of the notebook. Across the top, Matthew made out the words who, why, alibi, motivate, opportunity, and gut feel. “What’s this,” he asked pointing to the last column.
“You can read upside-down writing?”
“Obviously. What is gut feel?”
“Something my mother the psychologist taught me. She believes instincts are humans’ way of tapping into information we process subconsciously. It’s worthless on its own—in my opinion—but coupled with other factors, it can be meaningful.”
Matthew nodded. “Got it. So, talk me through what you have so far.”
“Mrs. Telligio, office manager. From the certificates hanging on her wall, I can tell she’s been with the company since before Jack took over from his dad. She’s known Billy as long—or longer—than Jack. I don’t know of a reason why she’d want Billy out of the picture.”
She pointed to the next entry. “Liza, sales floor supervisor. Billy publicly humiliated her. She claims she tries not to dwell on him, but her embarrassment and attempt to avoid the topic indicates another story.
“Margie Lewis, customer service agent. Margie may have been the source of the Bag-O-Gas nickname…”
Matthew burst out laughing. “Billy Bag-O-Gas? That’s rich.”
“Yeah, well, he preferred Billy Badass. But very few others agreed with him. To continue, Margie had no patience with Billy. She thought he was a liability to Jack Trayder and the business. That’s motivation, in my opinion.”
“So, Liza and Margie thus far.”
Bree nodded and returned to her notes. “Bill Jr. is at the top of my list. He and his father were fighting over something to do with the Mustang. There appears to be little familial affection.
“Plus, the other garage employees, Magnus and Juan need to be investigated. I can’t imagine Billy spared them embarrassment.”
“Who else?”
“Gordon Reed works with him at the garage. He’s a nervous type who seems more into avoiding unpleasantness than killing someone to remove it.
“And last,” she paused, and Matthew knew what was coming next. “Jack Trayder, himself. He arrived quickly after we alerted him. Almost before the police arrived.” She frowned.
“I hate to think of him as the killer too,” Matthew admitted. “Usually people involved in crimes don’t invite investigators into their operation, but we can’t leave him out of consideration. What about the other employees?”
Bree shook her head. “I wasn’t around long enough to meet them all, let alone get a feel for their interactions with one another. That’s something I have to work on.” She yawned. “Speaking of work, if I’m going to be at all functional, I need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” Matthew agreed. “Since we can’t get to the Mustang, there’s no point in going back to the emporium. I’ll drop you off at your car. Call in sick to the office tomorrow and just focus on Trader Jack’s. In fact, we’ll forge a doctor’s excuse to get you off for a week or two.”
Bree looked ready to disagree, but then she shrugged her shoulders and relented. “Done. Let’s hea
d out.”
In silence, they drove toward the Tech Ops center where Bree’s car was parked, Bree dozing in the passenger seat. Halfway there, she jerked awake. “We need to go back to the emporium.”
“Why?” Matthew asked as he adjusted their route. “What’s on your mind?”
“We can’t get to the Mustang, but we can take a peek at the Crown Victoria.” She quickly told him about an interaction with Billy that had been bothering her.
“He was extremely protective of the upholstery in the trunk of the car. But it pulled up easily as if it had never been fastened properly.”
“Or if it had been deliberately rigged to lift.”
Bree nodded. “Which is why I want to get samples of whatever is under that upholstery. I can take anything we find to Rookie to analyze for drugs.”
For the third—or was it the fourth—time since they’d discovered the body, Matthew burst out laughing. He kept it up for the next two stoplights until Bree poked him in the ribs and ordered him to stop.
“I can’t help it. An agent is trained to use anything and everything available to ferret out information, but you are the only one I know who has a drug-sniffing beagle in her back pocket.”
“Rookie is more of a pet these days, but he was once a bona fide drug dog. The Clark’s took him in after he lost his job.”
“That’s not a recommendation for his nose, if you ask me.” Matthew tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe the smile from his face.
“He lost his job because he can’t not smell marijuana. And since it’s legal in the jurisdiction where he worked, his nose became more of a nuisance than an asset.”
“And your friends at The Barkery adopted him?” He speared her with a glance. “Didn’t they have an off-the-wall idea about retraining him to sniff out roofies or something like that?”
She nodded. “It didn’t work out, hence the reason he was relegated to being a pet. But he did a good job for us in the past.”
“And since he only charges a couple of milk bones, we can definitely afford him.”
“Milk bones, indeed. I’d spring for a couple of Wendy Clark’s pupsicles as a reward.”
Studying Scarlett the Grey Page 7
