by S F Bose
Newmont frowned. “Do you think the brother might be involved with the murder?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m almost positive neither one of them was involved. The sister said she’d been up north with family. The brother was with a girl who will vouch for him.”
Sam leaned forward and looked at Newmont. “We ended our contract with them when we learned that Meagher was dead. But we did stress that they needed to go to the station and talk to you.”
“That’s good. You can never tell where new leads will come from,” Newmont replied.
“There’s more,” I said. I related the story of the loss of Meagher’s first wife and two children on Lake Michigan. “This is a longshot, but you might want to check the wife’s family for alibis. They all hated Meagher.” I mentioned Harley Hill, Edith Hill, Sue Hill Barlow, and Leon Barlow. Newmont wrote all of the names down in his notebook.
“Thanks, I’ll check them out.”
“Back when we were deputy sheriffs, I remember Meagher having a bad temper and being hard to get along with. What do you remember?” Sam asked.
Newmont put the notebook and pen back in his pocket. “I never worked with him, but I remember him being an arrogant jerk at some of our group meetings. He always carried a lot of money with him, which led to speculation about gambling or being on the take.”
“I wonder how he lasted as a deputy so long?” Sam asked.
“Very good question,” Newmont agreed.
After that, we tabled shoptalk. We chatted about music, movies, and politics. Then we all enjoyed Italian ice for dessert. It was a fun evening.
Later, as we left Enzo’s, I felt a twinge of envy that Newmont would be working the Meagher murder case.
Chapter 11
I dragged into the office a little late on Monday. “It’s me,” I shouted as I pushed through the door.
“Morning,” Sam replied.
I walked into his office. Flip slept on the rug near the far wall.
“Sorry I’m late. How was your weekend?” I asked.
Sam smiled. “It was good. I drove down to Oak Lawn to surprise Mom for Mother’s Day. The whole family was there. How about you?” Most of Sam’s family lived in or near Oak Lawn, Illinois.
“It was good. I spent all day Saturday with Katie. We ran five miles and worked out at Spiro’s Fitness Club afterwards. I hate to say it but my baby sister is in better shape than I am. After that, we got sports massages at the New Day Spa. Then we drove over to Mom’s on Sunday for Mother’s Day. Everyone was there so she was happy. It was a good time.”
“Is your mom still with Ben Katz?”
“Yeah, they’re going strong. Opposites attract, I guess. Ben has a calming effect on Mom and she persuades him to try new things,” I replied.
After my parents divorced four years ago, Mom met Ben Katz, an inventor. Eventually, she moved in with him on his small farm in Cross Plains. After she took early retirement as a professor at the university, she morphed into Martha Stewart. Her life revolved around Ben, her children, grandchildren, cooking, traveling, and gardening.
Sam nodded. “It sounds like they’re happy.”
“They are,” I agreed.
After we chatted a little more, I went to my office. After dumping my jacket and bag on a chair, I hurried to the kitchenette. I needed a caffeine and sugar boost so I brewed a cup of dark roast coffee and added cream and sugar. After a few sips, I felt more alert.
I settled in at my desk and added some notes to the Goodman case file before closing it. Then I tackled two new background checks that Sam routed to me. At 11:00 a.m., my desk phone rang and I lifted the handset.
“Nolan Private Investigations. Liz Bean speaking.”
“You really screwed me over,” an angry male voice said in my ear.
“Who is this?” I demanded.
“Mac Goodman,” he snapped back.
I sighed. “What’s the problem, Mac?”
“Kerry and I talked to Chief Durand and Deputy Newmont this morning. They questioned us separately. Kerry is fine, but Durand seems to think I’m a great murder suspect.”
“What are you talking about? You said some girl would confirm you were with her on Wednesday.”
“That’s what I expected,” Mac replied. Some anger had left his voice.
“I don’t understand.”
“I met Mary at a bar on Tuesday. We hit it off and went to a house in the country somewhere. We were together from Tuesday night to Thursday morning. I drove home after breakfast on Thursday.”
“You got her name and number, right?”
His voice lowered. “Yes. She gave me her name and telephone number on a piece of paper. I told her my name and number and she wrote it down. We talked about hooking up again the following week. I felt she was really into me, you know?”
Good grief. “So what’s the problem?” I gulped more coffee.
“When the Chief and Newmont interviewed me, one of the first things they asked was where I was the day of the murder. I explained and gave them Mary’s name and telephone number. During a break, Newmont called the number. It was disconnected.”
“Disconnected? Her cell phone was disconnected?”
“No,” he said with a sigh. “I know she had a cell phone because she used it at the bar. I thought that was the number she gave me, but it looks like she gave me a bogus land line number instead.”
I took a deep breath. “So you didn’t try to call or text her over the weekend to alert her that the police might call her?”
“No! Mary said she’d contact me this week. I wanted to see her sooner, but she said I had to be patient. I didn’t want to push it by texting her anything. As far as the police, I wasn’t sure until this morning that I was going to follow through. When I decided to go in with Kerry, I figured I’d contact Mary afterwards. I didn’t realize they’d call her so quickly.”
“Okay, give me her full name and I’ll look up her number.”
There was a pause. “That’s the other problem,” Mac replied glumly. “She wrote ‘Mary’ clearly, but the last name is a scrawl. You can’t tell what the last name is. I’m guessing her first name isn’t even Mary.”
“You didn’t read her name when she gave you the paper?” I asked.
“No. She folded it and put it in my pocket. After I gave her my information, we…you know…kissed and stuff. Then I left. I didn’t look at the paper until I got home.”
She blew Mac off. “Could you find the house again?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“No. We drove in separate cars and I followed her out into the country. I didn’t pay attention to road signs.”
“Do you remember her license plate number?”
“You’re kidding right? All I remember is it was a red Honda Civic.”
A thought occurred to me. “Mac, she didn’t steal any money from you, did she?”
“No! She was nice.”
“Okay, why did you say the Chief looked at you as a suspect?”
“I guess because I was honest. I told him Meagher was evil and deserved to die. He’d tried to scare Kerry and had probably hurt other people.”
“Did you tell the Chief that Meagher stopped you and Kerry?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him about threatening to kill Meagher and getting punched?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Mac replied. He finally sounded deflated. “All the time we were talking at the station, I thought I had a solid alibi. So I didn’t hold back.” My heart dropped.
Terrific. I flipped open my notebook and started taking notes.
“What did Mary look like?”
“Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, nice smile,” Mac replied.
“Wearing?” I asked.
“Jeans, a gray tank top, black and white plaid jacket, short boots.”
“What bar?
“The Shrunken Head near campus,” he replied.
“You were there during the day or at night?”
“Night. I got there around 7:00 p.m.”
“Was Mary a student?”
“No, she said she graduated last year,” he replied.
“Okay, what do you remember about the house?” I asked.
“It was near Verona. Two-story brick house down a road. Lots of trees. There were other houses on the same road. Umm…four bedrooms. A garage.”
“Mary lived there by herself?” I asked.
“No. She said she had two roommates, but they finished their finals and left for home on Monday. We had the house to ourselves.”
“And there’s no way you could find the house again?” I pressed.
“No. I never got the address or the name of the road the house was on. Driving back, I took US-18 for a part of the way.”
Then I had a brainstorm. “Do you have any sort of GPS in your car or on your phone that stores your location?”
Mac’s voice was subdued. “No. I drive an old car that doesn’t have GPS. And I stripped my phone down to the bare essentials. I don’t have GPS there either. You can never tell who’s watching and tracking you.”
“Wonderful. Anything else?”
There was a lengthy pause. Finally, he replied, “Not about Mary or whatever her name is. But when I was at the police station, they fingerprinted me. Newmont said it was to eliminate my prints from any prints at the crime scene.”
“They told you where Meagher’s body was found?”
“Yeah, some cabin.”
“Mac, were you ever at Meagher’s cabin?” I asked.
“No. Never. I swear,” he replied.
“So you didn’t follow him to his cabin?”
Instead of yelling, Mac’s voice was quiet. “No, I didn’t. Period.”
“Well then they won’t find your prints at the cabin which is good,” I replied.
“So I’ll be in the clear?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“Not exactly. You could have worn gloves. That’s what they’d think.”
“Damn. What a mess,” he muttered.
“Okay, Mac, let’s do this. Take a selfie and email it to me. Make it a front view of your face from the neck up.” I gave him my email address.
“Why do you need a selfie?” he asked.
“So we can show it to the night bartender and corroborate your alibi. We might get lucky and they’ll remember you and the young woman,” I replied.
Mac grunted. “That makes sense. Wait a sec.” After a pause, he said, “You still there? I just emailed the selfie to you.”
“Okay good. Mac, did you tell the Chief and Newmont everything you told me in our meeting? Did you cover the tire slashing, going to St. Joe’s, and so on?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask you if you killed Meagher?”
“He did. I said I was happy Meagher was dead, but I didn’t kill him,” Mac replied.
“That’s the truth, right? You didn’t kill him?”
“No, I didn’t kill him!” he shouted.
I waited for a second. “Mac, did you at any point lose your temper when you were talking to the police?”
After a silence, he replied, “A couple of times.”
“That’s not good,” I said, more to myself.
Mac exploded and I held the handset away from my ear. “Look, you gave us bad advice. We should never have gone to the police. Neither one of us killed Meagher, but now I’m on their radar. I’m going to call my dad. He’s a lawyer. You can expect a call from him.” I heard clicks and then a dial tone.
Nice talking to you too, Mac,” I muttered.
I hung up the phone and checked my email. His selfie had arrived. I printed off two copies in color on photo stock.
Then I walked next door and updated Sam.
“Mac’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Sam commented, looking at one of the photos.
“Yeah, he’s lucky he didn’t get mugged or worse when he went to a house in the country with a total stranger,” I agreed. “The problem is sometimes Matt Durand jumps to conclusions about a suspect and holds on like a dog with a bone. I’d like to try to help Mac out here.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I understand what you mean about our police chief. Listen, I’ll drive in to the Shrunken Head and see if I can get a name for the woman.”
“Really? Thanks!”
“No problem. But that’s the extent of the digging we can do for him, unless he retains us,” said Sam.
“Sounds fair,” I agreed.
***
Mac’s father, Simon Goodman, called me later in the day. He was calm and well-spoken. His voice was deep.
“Ms. Bean, I’ve spoken to my son and daughter. They brought me up to speed about the situation with Steven Meagher. I made it clear to both of them that they handled things in an incredibly stupid way,” he said. “The only smart thing they did was to hire a professional PI.”
“Please call me Liz,” I replied. “I agree with you. Kerry and Mac didn’t understand the risks they were taking.”
“Very true. Now, I understand that the local police may consider Mac a suspect in Meagher’s murder. Is that true?”
“I haven’t spoken to Chief Durand, so I don’t know if he considers Mac a serious suspect. However, Mac told me he was candid about his anger with Meagher. He considered Meagher a threat to Kerry and that made him very angry. Mac told the Chief that he threatened Meagher’s life and got into a physical altercation with him. He also admitted to following Meagher and trying to investigate him. The other wrinkle is an alibi. Mac couldn’t provide the full name of the woman he said he was with from Tuesday to Thursday. So I would guess that the Chief considers him a person of interest.”
“Do you believe my son killed this man?” asked Simon Goodman.
“No sir, I don’t. I don’t think either of your children was involved with Meagher’s death. Your son does have anger management issues, but I believe him when he says he didn’t kill Meagher,” I replied. “One thing we planned to do is bring Mac’s photo to the bar he stopped at on Tuesday. If we can identify the young woman he met and she confirms his alibi, Mac will be in the clear.”
“Give me a minute,” Simon Goodman replied and he put me on hold.
I pressed the speakerphone button and sat back. Several minutes later, Simon Goodman returned to the phone.
“Ms. Bean? Liz?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m here.”
There was a pause. “Are we on speakerphone?”
“Yes, I switched over while I was on hold.”
“Please take us off speaker, please,” he said and I did. The father was a cautious man who didn’t want to be overheard.
“There we go,” I said.
“Liz, I want to retain you to find the person or persons who killed Steven Meagher.”
My mouth dropped open. “There’s an ongoing police investigation,” I said.
“I don’t trust the police. They don’t have my son’s interests at heart. I want to hire you,” he replied.
I rubbed my eyes with my free hand. “Mr. Goodman, if we can verify Mac’s alibi, he’s home free. It would be an easier and more economical alternative.”
“If you find the person who killed Meagher, it will also exonerate my son. Equally important, it will serve justice.”
“I need to talk to the agency owner first,” I said after a pause.
“That would be Sam Nolan? Is he there right now?”
“Yes, Sam owns the agency. He’s here today.”
“May I have his telephone number?” Goodman asked and I read it off to him. “If you’d please run this by him immediately, I’d appreciate it. I’ll call his number in fifteen minutes. Goodbye then.” He hung up. I stared at the handset and returned it to the cradle.
I walked down the hall to Sam’s office and knocked on the doorframe as I entered. Sam looked up from his laptop.
“What’s up?” Sam asked.
“We may have a new case,” I replied dropping into the nearest guest chair. Flip trotted
over and whined. I scratched his head.
“Really? Tell me about it,” he replied, reaching for his notebook.
“Remember I told you Mac threatened me with a call from his lawyer father? Well he called.”
“What did he say?”
I repeated the entire conversation I’d had with Simon Goodman. Sam sat back and stared at me.
“He doesn’t want us to just verify Mac’s alibi?”
I shook my head. “No, he wants us to investigate the murder and find the killer. He said that will prove Mac’s innocence and will serve justice.”
Sam steepled his fingers and stared at me. “Serve justice. He said that?”
“Yes. I’m sure he sees it as killing two birds with one stone,” I replied.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Sam. It would put us in competition with the police investigation.”
“We’ve been there before though and it worked out,” he replied.
“That’s true,” I agreed. “Also, the father doesn’t trust the police. So it’s really his decision to get help elsewhere.”
After a minute Sam asked, “What would be the biggest reason to take the case?”
“That’s easy. I’d guess Matt has already decided Mac is the killer. I have to admit that part of Mac’s story makes him a good suspect. However, my gut tells me he didn’t do it. I think we’d run a better investigation by looking at any or all suspects, including Mac,” I replied.
“But Newmont is in charge of the police investigation, right? He’d be fair,” Sam said.
I nodded. “Yes. However, I think Matt might try to focus Newmont on proving Mac’s guilt.”
“Newmont follows the evidence. He’d never cave to pressure,” Sam replied.
I thought about that for a minute. “You’re probably right. You know, the other advantage of taking the case is that we could share information back and forth with Newmont. Matt would never know and we’d solve the case faster.”
“Good point. So you want to take the case,” he asked.
I rolled my pen between my fingers and considered it. “I do,” I replied.
“Okay, we’ll talk to Simon Goodman and see what he says.”
