by Lauren Carr
“He knows exactly what he’s doing,” Philip said. “He’s sneaking around behind our backs to ruin our whole lives because of one stupid mistake we made on one stinking night, that’s what.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing,” Virgil said. “I’m making things right—once and for all.”
“Why?” Philip Lipton squawked.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Virgil said. “Do you have any idea how many lives we’ve ruined? Ava. Toby.”
“We didn’t ruin anyone’s lives,” Philip said. “They did. They made their decisions on their own for how they wanted to live—or not live—their lives.” He added forcibly, “It’s not our fault.”
“Like we made our decision to not take responsibility for the mistake we made,” Virgil said.
Philip made a noise, but was cut off by Russell. “You want to talk about ruined lives. Then here’s a count of how many lives you’ll ruin if you go upstairs. Yours. Mine. Philip’s. How about Dad’s life when his two sons go to jail? And then, what about Suzie? She and I were planning to get married in three months. Think about that.”
There was silence on the tape before Virgil said in a low voice, “It was an accident. We know that. We need to tell everyone the truth about what happened. Otherwise, Toby’s death will be for nothing.”
There was the sound of movement, followed by the sound of a punch and a yelp.
“Stop it, Phil!” Russell yelled. “Let him go!”
The sound of a struggle stopped.
Philip Lipton’s voice was low and threatening. “If you go up those stairs with her, I swear you’ll be dead before morning. I’m not going to let you rip everything I’ve built out of my life because of one stupid night a decade ago! Do you hear me, Null! You tell her what we did, and you’re a dead man!”
Joshua hit the stop button. “And he was dead before morning.”
“Ava was Ava Tucker,” Curt Sawyer said. “Who is this Toby guy?”
“Someone whose life Russell and Philip ruined because of one night of stupidity,” Joshua said.
“Both Toby and Ava made a choice that ruined their lives because of something they did.” Cameron fingered the bruise that was still tender on her forehead. “I heard a Toby somewhere in this case. Where do I know a Toby from?”
“Toby Winter.” Joshua sat up straight in his chair. “Toby was tight with Virgil Null—and Toby hung himself out at Raccoon Creek.”
“Which is where Douglas O’Reilly was killed in nineteen sixty-six,” Cameron said. “That’s a decade before the night of this recording.”
“How does Doug O’Reilly figure into all this?” Curt asked. “His name isn’t mentioned in either of these recordings.”
“What about this?” Cameron jumped to her feet. “Douglas O’Reilly got a flat tire while on his way out to see Ava Tucker, who was pregnant. He’s changing the flat tire. It’s late and dark. Philip, Russell, and I guess Virgil and Toby had to be with them—probably drunk, doing whatever it is teenagers do on a weekend night, and then they hit Douglas with the car and killed him. They panic. They’re young. They have their whole lives ahead of them. So drunk and stupid—”
“One night of stupidity,” Joshua quoted.
“—they dump the car and body in Raccoon Creek, intending for it to look like an accident—like he drove into the lake,” Cameron said. “However, as circumstances would have it, everyone assumed that Douglas O’Reilly killed himself because of his pregnant girlfriend. Out of guilt, Ava turns to prostitution.”
“And Toby hangs himself,” Joshua concluded.
“Out at Raccoon Creek where his life went to hell,” Cameron said.
“After his best friend’s suicide,” Joshua said, “Virgil decided to make things right and went to tell Ava the truth. Douglas did not commit suicide because she had gotten pregnant—he was killed.”
“I think Virgil was trying to make things right before that,” Cameron said. “The O’Reilly’s were receiving cash payments for years after Douglas’ death. They needed the money, so they said nothing. The money stopped coming the same time that Ava and Virgil were murdered. I think it was Virgil who was sending the money to try to make up for his role in taking their son away.”
“Good story,” Curt said. “But we can’t prove any of it. All we have is this tape with an argument that’s pretty vague.” He referred to the written transcript. “Douglas O’Reilly’s name isn’t mentioned at all on this recording.”
“I think we have enough to shake things up,” Joshua said. “This tape proves Philip Lipton and Russell Null were on the scene the same night that Virgil and Ava were killed. This argument, plus Lipton’s threats, prove motive.”
“Not to mention the blackmail that they have been paying Dolly to keep their secret quiet,” Cameron turned to Joshua. “You know Russell Null. I assume you know Philip Lipton, too, since he’s the head of the crime lab in Weirton. Were you aware that they were friends?”
“No,” Joshua said with a shake of his head.
“That’s the advantage in cold cases,” she said with a low laugh. “Loyalties shift. Maybe Russell Null ended their friendship after his brother got killed. Maybe he even suspects Philip Lipton carried out his threat.”
“And is willing to talk about it now?” Curt asked. “Now that would be an ideal interview.”
Joshua agreed. “Let’s bring them in for questioning about Virgil’s and Ava’s murders and see what they have to say.”
“Let’s not forget about Dolly’s murder,” Cameron said. “They all have reason to see her dead, and three out of the four of them were at Cricksters on the same day she was killed.”
“Don’t worry, Cam,” Curt said, “I haven’t forgotten about that for even a second. Who’s going after the congresswoman?” The sheriff looked directly at Joshua.
“Does the congresswoman scare you?” Cameron asked the sheriff with a wicked grin.
“I’m not proud. She scares the dickens out of me.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” Joshua said. “I’d go up against her any day.”
“Just don’t plan to go up in a plane with her and her toy boy around,” Cameron warned.
Chapter Twenty
Joshua was still out on the front porch with the sheriff going over their plans for interrogating Philip Lipton and Russell Null when Cameron, on a whim, brought up the website for Null Landscaping on her laptop.
A family-owned business for over fifty years, she was certain that they had a theme color, like green—the same color found in the paint transfer on Douglas O’Reilly’s car.
When Joshua had walked out of the study with Sheriff Sawyer, Irving scurried in and jumped up onto the desk to rub the side of his head against the corner of the laptop monitor while she typed “Null Landscaping” into the search engine.
“Scare anyone today, Irv?” She scratched him behind one of his ears while scanning the listings that came up in her search.
After climbing up onto a stack of case files, Irving lay down with his front paws tucked under him. He was so large that he spilled over all four edges of the stack of folders.
Cameron clicked on the website for Null Landscaping. A home page came up with a picture of Russell Null posing in front of a big green four-wheel-drive truck with a magnetic sign on the door that read, “Null Landscaping, local family-owned business, celebrating 80-plus years in business.”
Green.
The grin of satisfaction was still stretched across her face when Joshua came back into the study. “What do you think are the chances that an insurance company would keep accident claim records going back to nineteen sixty-six?” she asked.
“Slim to none,” Joshua replied with a smirk. “But it’s worth a shot.” He went around the desk to see the homepage she had displayed on the computer screen. “Green truck. O’Reilly was hit by a green truck.”
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“A decade before the time of the recording would be nineteen sixty-six,” Cameron said. “If they smashed into Douglas and his car, then there had to have been damage to the truck. Wouldn’t they put in a claim with the insurance company? If I can get a copy of that claim—”
“Call Dirk Reed,” Joshua interrupted her to say. “He was the main insurance guy in these parts back then. He knows everyone and everything—”
“More than Tad?”
Joshua chuckled. “Dirk has a memory like a bank vault. He never forgets anything. If Null Landscaping put in a claim for one of their trucks about that time, Dirk will remember it.”
Her brow furrowed with doubt. “We’re talking nineteen sixty-six, Josh. How old is this guy?”
“He’s got to be in his nineties.”
“Where will I find him? Fox’s Nursing Home?”
“What’s today?” He checked the calendar for the answer to his question. “Wednesday. You’ll find him at the bowling alley.”
Tri-State Lanes was located in East Liverpool, Ohio. Even though she was on medical leave, Cameron clipped on her badge and strapped on her gun to go looking for Dirk Reed, the source for everything pertaining to insurance in the Ohio Valley, according to Joshua. She expected the ninety-plus-year-old man to be sitting passively next to a lane with a hearing aid, and maybe, if he was perky enough, a beer next to his elbow.
Since Joshua had said that everyone knew Dirk Reed and he was a regular at the bowling alley, she went up to the front desk to ask where to find him.
The pretty young woman in tight faded jeans and big blonde hair smiled broadly. “Oh, yeah, everyone knows Slim. He’s on lane seven.” She pointed into the alley. “He’s up now.”
Cameron turned to see an extremely tall and very thin man running up to the lane and letting loose with a bowling ball that went flying down the alley to knock over all the pins, at which point he threw both fists up into the air while those on his team cheered loudly.
“Tur-KEY!” Slim Reed cheered before tucking his thumbs under his armpits and dancing a jig back up the alley while gobbling like a turkey.
“Turkey?” Cameron muttered.
Hearing her, the clerk behind the desk explained, “That’s his third bowling strike in a row. It’s nothing new for Slim, but he still cheers like a little kid when he gets one.”
The group of elderly men and women on his team were still bumping fists and giving high fives when Cameron approached them. Spotting her badge and gun, they let out a mocking “ooh” and made jokes at Slim’s expense when she asked for him.
“Looks like they finally caught up with you, Slim,” said a man with a handlebar mustache and suspenders over his plaid shirt.
“My momma always said it will all catch up with you eventually,” Slim said.
“Are you allowed to question Slim here when you’re from Pennsylvania?” a woman with dark hair and a suspicious expression asked Cameron.
“I only have a few questions,” Cameron replied. “Slim isn’t in any trouble.”
“Rats!” Slim slapped his thigh. “And here I was hoping that you would take me for a ride and spank me for whatever it was I did.”
There was a round of naughty laughter among the oldsters while Cameron ushered Slim to a table in the dining area off the lanes.
Once they were out of earshot, Slim said, “I hope I didn’t offend you with that shot about spanking.” The naughty-little-boy sparkle in his eyes was replaced with a sincere gentlemanly tone. “I have a tendency to get carried away when I’m with the gang.”
“I can understand that,” she replied before adding in a whisper, “I’m the same way.”
“Good.” He sat up in his seat. A business-like expression came across his face. “What do you need, Detective?”
“Null Landscaping.”
“My insurance company handled all of their business for half a century,” Slim said. “My grandson is still handling their accounts.”
“Nineteen sixty-six—”
“Baltimore Orioles swept the World Series over the Los Angeles Dodgers with four games,” Slim interjected. “France withdrew from NATO. Lyndon Johnson was the president. Hubert Humphrey was the vice president. The United State Supreme Court decided on the Miranda rights in Miranda versus Arizona, and Brandon Null filed one damage claim in that whole year—his sons had taken one of his company trucks out on a joy ride and hit a deer before slamming it into a tree.” With a roll of his eyes, he chuckled.
“You don’t believe that that’s what happened?”
“Not unless that tree was painted red. There was red paint and what looked like blood on the grill and fender of the truck,” Slim said.
Cameron felt her heart beat faster. Red. The same color as Douglas O’Reilly’s car. She had to swallow before she could get out her next question. “Did you pay the claim?”
“Brandon Null was a good customer, just like Russell is,” Slim said. “He paid his policy on time and in full and rarely put in a claim. The story the kids told was that they had hit a deer and then lost control of the truck and slammed into a tree. I figured it wasn’t a tree, but another car, and Brandon paid for the guy’s repairs off the record. But then since so much work had to be done to the truck, they put in a claim.” He shrugged his shoulders. “No one ever put in a claim for damage to the other car, so who was I to quibble?”
“I don’t suppose you remember when they hit this deer?” Even though Slim’s memory was exceptional, like Joshua had told her it was, she assumed it was too much to ask. But it was worth a shot.
“First Tuesday in September,” Slim said. “I don’t remember the exact date. My old memory isn’t what it used to be. But it will be in my records.”
Cameron blinked. “Records?”
“Of course,” Slim said. “What kind of businessman doesn’t keep good records? It will all be in there, along with my pictures of the truck and the damage.”
“You have pictures?” Cameron’s voice went up an octave.
“Sure.” His eyes disappeared into a face filled with wrinkles when he flashed her a broad smile. “Do you want to see them?”
In a small county like Hancock where everyone knew everyone, it took less than five phone calls for Joshua to uncover that Henry MacRae was staying in a VIP suite at the Mountaineer Resort. The hotel manager confirmed that Congresswoman Rachel Hilliard had also been staying there in a separate suite but had left that morning for a flight back to Washington.
“By the way,” the hotel manager said as an aside before Joshua hung up the phone, “MacRae and the congresswoman had a big fight in the lounge last night before she left suddenly this morning.”
“Would you by any chance know what it was about?” Joshua asked him.
“Nope,” he said. “They tried real hard to keep it under control, but the congresswoman had the same expression she got on her face when the head of that ethics committee was questioning her last year about that little fiasco with some of her campaign funding being traced back to a union with mob ties.”
“You mean that expression she had right before she blurted out, ‘Who the hell cares!’”
“Yeah,” the hotel manager chuckled. “That interview video went viral.”
Joshua stopped laughing when he recalled that the senator who had been head of that ethics committee died less than two weeks later of a sudden heart attack.
After confirming that Rachel Hilliard was gone and MacRae was alone, Joshua strolled into the lounge and took a seat at the table next to his. After ordering a cognac, he cocked his head at the police superintendent. “Hank?”
Colonel MacRae jerked his head from where he was watching the horse races on the closed circuit television. He slowly shook his head until recognition crossed his face.
“Joshua Thornton.” Joshua rose and shook his hand. “Hancock County Prose
cuting Attorney.”
“We met at the governor’s inaugural dinner a couple of years ago,” he said. “Surprised to see you here. From what I’ve seen on the news, crime has been hopping in Hancock County. The body of a deputy turning up after being missing twenty years.—”
“And now my neighbor got murdered two days ago,” Joshua said. “I’m sure you heard about that.”
“No,” MacRae said quickly, “I don’t believe I did. I’ve been focused on the deputy. We don’t want it to look like law enforcement in West Virginia will roll over and play dead—especially when the victim is one of our own.”
“I’m glad to see you and I agree on that.” Joshua mouthed a thank you to the server who delivered his drink.
“Of course we do,” MacRae said while Joshua took the first sip of his drink. “Neither of us would be in this business if it wasn’t for the love of justice. We certainly aren’t in it for the fame and riches,” he added with a chuckle.
“Well, some of us may be in it for other, more sordid reasons,” Joshua said over his glass.
MacRae hesitated to study Joshua, who stared directly into his eyes. “Are you talking about power?”
“Maybe,” Joshua said. “I haven’t decided if it was that, or maybe love, or maybe an even mixture of the two.”
“What are you talking about, Thornton?”
“I told you that my neighbor was murdered the other night,” Joshua said. “You didn’t ask me who she was.”
“Is it someone I know?”
“Dolly Houseman.”
Colonel MacRae’s face turned white when the color drained from it. He swallowed.
“She used to be the madam at Dolly’s, which was located right out here.” Joshua jerked his thumb in the direction of the long country road down from the resort. “But I believe you know that already.”
Eying each other, the two men drank in silence. MacRae almost drained his drink in one gulp before ordering another. Joshua still watched him.
MacRae rubbed his face with his hands. “You didn’t just drop in here by coincidence.”
