by T. L. Haddix
Stacy swore. The man was the mayor of Leroy. “Well, this just complicates things beyond the pale.”
Bert cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I fast forward?”
“Go ahead.”
It didn’t take long. The tape was time-stamped, and as the mayor got dressed, Bert slowed the tape down. The couple was having a conversation, but the camera’s speaker wasn’t of good enough quality to let Stacy and Bert hear it clearly. They watched just long enough to see the timestamp change, and a second man come into view.
“You can stop it.” Stacy rubbed her neck, feeling the tension start creeping up into her scalp.
“Thank you.”
“Wyatt’s going to be pissed.”
Bert agreed. “Yeah. I’d say so.”
“This just became a volatile and politically sensitive crime scene, and until we go through these journals and tapes, the fewer people who have access to it, the better. I think the sheriff needs to look at this before we touch anything else.”
They walked onto the deck outside the front door. Neither spoke. Stacy looked across the parking lot to where it dropped down, the curve of Highway 7 creating a berm. A brown and tan SUV pulled in and parked, and Wyatt Dixon, Sheriff of Olman County, got out.
“For an elected official, he hates politics with a passion. No offense, Stacy, but I’m glad you get to tell him about that mess inside instead of me.”
She sighed. “That makes one of us.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan’s cell phone rang just as he was getting in the shower. Checking the screen, he saw Stacy’s name and groaned. It was nearly noon and he had slept late after being out on a call until six that morning. He hated to answer; he really wasn’t human until after he showered.
“What do you want, trouble?”
She snorted. “Gee, thanks. Nice to talk to you, too. I’ve got a homicide, and it ties into your vandalism case.” She told him what she knew.
“Have you called Wyatt?”
“Yeah. He’s here now. How soon can you come?”
“Thirty minutes, forty-five outside. Is that fast enough?”
“It’ll have to be. I know you were up late last night. Sorry, Ethan.”
“No, it’s okay. I just got up. I’m not awake yet. I’ll be there soon.”
Ending the call, he sighed heavily and rested his head against the bathroom wall. He restarted the shower and got in without waiting for it to get hot. His skin turned to gooseflesh as the cold spikes of water hit and he cursed roundly. He wondered what had happened to the peaceful little burg he had lived in just last week. First the vandalism, now this murder. He was afraid to ask what would happen next.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the time Ethan reached the gallery, most of the lookie-loos who had gathered at various places around the building were gone. The perimeter was marked with crime scene tape, and a sign on the door told customers the gallery would be closed until further notice. He went around to the back entrance. Signing in on the clipboard that was used to record all visitors to the scene, he greeted the deputy standing guard. Heston was a new recruit, fresh out of the academy and only a few months back from a two-year stint in the Army.
“It’s pretty bad in there, sir.”
Ethan acknowledged the warning with a nod. “Where is it?”
“It’s upstairs, sir, in the victim’s apartment.”
“Thanks.” He returned the clipboard to the young deputy and reached for a pair of booties. “Oh, and Heston? Stop calling me ‘sir.’ It makes me feel old.”
“Yes, sir.”
Walking up the stairs, he observed that there didn’t seem to be any blood or debris present. Approaching the landing, he could hear voices coming from inside. The stench of old blood reached him before he entered the apartment, along with the tang of vomit. He noticed that someone had thrown up in the corner of the wide deck at the top of the stairs, and wasn’t surprised once he saw the apartment.
The brutality of the scene stopped him at the door. He took it all in—the blood, the broken glass. The sheer volume of blood was overwhelming, and the stench was enough to make him gag. Breathing through his mouth, he made his way over to Stacy and Wyatt, who had gone silent at his entrance.
“Ethan.” The sheriff’s face was grim. “We’ve got a mess and a half here.”
“I can see that. Are we sure about the ID of the victim?”
Stacy shook her head. “Not positively. There was so much damage to her face that it made visual identification impossible. We’ll probably have to wait for dental records. However, the physical description matched Charity Vaughn, as far as we could tell, and her gallery assistant seemed to believe it was her.”
Wyatt blew out a hard breath. “Did you know her, Ethan?”
“Not really. I’ve been in the gallery a time or two, ran into her around town, that sort of thing, but that’s pretty much it.”
“Did she ever hit on you?”
Eyebrows raised, he shrugged. “Yeah, a time or two when she first moved to town. She seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t interested. Why?”
Stacy answered. “Frankly speaking, it looks like Charity Vaughn had sexual relationships with a lot of men. I just wanted to know if you were one of them.”
He was a little taken aback. “Uh, no. But even if I were, why is that important?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Wyatt said. “She asked me the same thing.”
“Follow me.”
When she opened the door and showed them what was inside, Ethan was astonished. So was the sheriff. “You don’t mean to say she recorded all her encounters?”
She grimaced. “Actually, we’re pretty sure that’s exactly what she did.”
He glanced around the compartment, noting the journals and tapes. “How many tapes are there.”
“So far we’ve cataloged sixty-five,” Stacy told him. “Including the one that was in the camera, which I’m hoping will show us her killer. I want to get it over to Maria before we try to watch it, just in case. We can’t afford to lose possible evidence.”
“What do the numbers and letters mean?” Ethan asked.
“Those apparently correlate to entries in her journals.” She pointed to the notebooks lining the shelves on one end of the compartment.
Ethan was stunned. “Holy hell, that’s a lot of sex partners. Is that all that’s in the journals?”
Wyatt, having picked up one of the books, answered. “No, looks like it’s a mix of both encounters and regular journal entries.” He thumbed through the volume. “How many of these, Stacy?”
“We did a preliminary count, and so far we’re up to about one-fifty, with a couple or three boxes left to count. It looks like she journaled very regularly. She probably has well over ten years’ worth here, assuming she used two to four pages per day like she does in the ones I saw, and the journals have a hundred pages in them.”
Ethan corrected her math. “I’d say closer to fifteen years, then. Damn, that’s going to be a lot of reading.”
Stacy looked overwhelmed. “Reading? Who’s going to watch all those tapes? That’s a lot of someone else’s sex life to have to observe. We can probably fast forward through most of it, but it’s still going to be a pretty unpleasant task.” She moved back into the bathroom. The men followed, and she turned to look at them, arms crossed over her chest. She pointed to the closet.
“That? That’s not the worst part. From what I’ve been able to tell, she kept a video file and journal entry of most of the men she’d been with the last few years. I glanced through those journals, and some of the men mentioned? The scandal will tear this county apart. It reads like a who’s who list—including the mayor and several prominent citizens, attorneys and the like.”
Wyatt cursed. “Son of a bitch. The mayor?” He rubbed the back of his neck. She nodded.
Ethan’s stomach sank. “There’s no way to keep this under wraps, is there? If it were one or two—heck, even
ten men—but this many? It’s going to be a publicity nightmare.”
Wyatt held his hand up, and they stopped. He was quiet for a minute and then he spoke. “Here’s how I think we need to handle it. I want you two on this case, and pull in a couple of deputies you think can keep their mouths shut. Jason Hudson is one, and Maria Pace is probably another, even though she’s not technically a deputy. They both have good heads on their shoulders.”
“Are we going to pull the city in on this?” Stacy asked.
“No. There are some good cops in that department, but there are also some cops who serve the mayor first. We can’t take the risk of letting one of his men in on the investigation. Box all this up, get Jason and Maria, and the four of you review every tape and journal. Make it your number one priority.”
Stacy winced. “What about Bert, from CSU? He’s been in here and has seen the tapes and journals.”
“The fewer people the better, but Bert’s a pretty good guy. Get him to help box this up, and then the four of you handle it from there.” He sighed. “At least I know I won’t be on those tapes, and hopefully, no one else from the department will, either.”
He walked back into the bedroom and stood quietly, looking over the apartment. He turned back to his detectives. “Anything else?”
Stacy hesitated for a moment, a grim expression on her face.
“Just show me and get it over with, Stacy.”
“This way, then. This is where the murder ties in to Ethan’s case. Bert found footprints here, coming in from outside.” She pointed to the smudge on the floor. “He thinks it’s tar.”
Ethan turned away and swore ripely.
“Well, that just makes this SNAFU even better.” Wyatt cursed, his choice of words revealing how upset he was. “What’s the connection between the two?”
“As far as I know, Charity Vaughn and Lauren Grant are just casual acquaintances. Maybe they were targeted because they’re female?” Stacy ventured to guess.
Ethan considered the theory. “Could be. The attack on the Brown Bag seemed awfully personal, though, and God knows, this was.” He looked at the spot where the body had lain. “We’ve actually got a pretty good suspect for the vandalism, so we might get lucky. I was supposed to go talk to him today, but after that call last night, I had to reschedule for tomorrow.”
“It’s probably best to wait, see what’s on that hot tape,” Wyatt advised. “Is there anything else, Stacy? Please say no.”
“That’s everything I know right now. Oh, except that Chase Hudson was apparently her attorney. I’ll be talking to him this afternoon to see if he can point us to her next of kin.”
“All right, then. Let’s get to it. The two of you finish up in here, and then head back to the courthouse. Go ahead and call the others in, like we’d discussed, and let me know if anything else comes up.” He headed for the door. “Did you send Bert back to the department, Stacy?”
“No, I just sent him out to grab a bite to eat. I’ll give him a call right now, let him know we’re ready for him.”
“Good deal. Holler if you need me.” With a small wave, he headed outside.
Stacy looked at Ethan. “Do you want to go along to talk to Chase?” Chase was Beth and Jason’s older brother, and he and Ethan were close friends.
“Sure.” As they went out on the deck for some fresh air while waiting for Bert, he looked at her. “The mayor? Really?”
She shot him a long-suffering look. “Oh, yeah. And I just can’t wait to see who else is on those tapes. I already feel like I need a shower.”
“I have the feeling we all will, before this is over.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stacy’s appointment to meet with Chase Hudson was at four o’clock. He’d been shocked when she’d explained the need.
“Charity’s dead? Are you sure?”
“Not one hundred percent, but it doesn’t look good. We found a woman’s body in her apartment, and the victim roughly matches her description,” she told him.
Now, she and Ethan were sitting in his office, discussing the murder. She watched as Chase’s face reflected the disbelief he’d expressed when they arrived.
“And Raven found her? Poor kid.” Chase couldn’t hide his distress. “Damn.”
“How well did you know her?” Ethan asked.
The young attorney shook his head. “Not horribly well. We’d met a few times to discuss business, had lunch to do the same, but we weren’t what I’d call friends.”
“So you weren’t involved with her romantically?”
Chase shot his friend a dark look. “I don’t sleep with clients. You know better than that.”
Ethan raised his hands. “I had to ask.”
Stacy interrupted before they could start bickering. “How long have you been her attorney?”
“Since she moved here, about three, three and a half years ago. Do you have any idea who killed her?”
“We might. We’re working on bringing in a person of interest soon. You said you’ve been her attorney for three years or so. Did you know her before that?”
“No,” Chase said. “She came up here from Florida. I’d never met her before.”
“Did you handle all her legal affairs?” Ethan asked.
“No, only her business affairs. She had a different attorney for her personal affairs. Sam Davis, over in New Salem.” He woke his computer up and copied the other attorney’s address and phone number down. Tearing the paper off, he handed it to Stacy. “I’ve never talked to him, but from the way Charity spoke of him, she thought highly of the man.”
Stacy glanced at the information he’d written down. “Was that unusual, her having separate attorneys for her professional and private concerns?”
Chase waggled his hand in a ‘more or less’ motion. “Maybe a little. She was a unique client in a lot of ways. I’d like to say that I’m surprised about her death, but I’m not really. I mean, there’s the shock of hearing someone you know has been murdered, but the way she set up her estate, it was almost like she expected this someday.”
Ethan leaned forward, looking intrigued. “How do you mean?”
“Well, she left written instructions from day one that if anything ever happened to her, whether it be death from natural causes or otherwise, if the police asked about her estate, then she wanted me to answer any and all questions. So, following those instructions, what all do you want to know?”
Stacy tapped her pen on her leg. “How about what specifically you handled for her? Let’s start there.” As he went over the details of his business with Charity, Stacy and Ethan asked follow-up questions. For several minutes they discussed her various financial interests. When she felt all their concerns had been addressed, she stood.
“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”
Chase waved the words away. “I’m sorry we had to meet to discuss this. Charity was a nice person. She was down-to-earth, for all her polish.” He escorted them to the door, and they said their goodbyes. As they crossed the street to the courthouse, Stacy’s stomach grumbled.
“You never did eat anything,” Ethan scolded.
She looked at him. “Uh, neither did you. Do you want to order something in for us while I try to get hold of this attorney in New Salem?”
“Sure. Sandwiches okay?” When her stomach gurgled again, he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. You aren’t going to try to drive over to New Salem tonight, are you?”
They were buzzed into the sheriff’s department and she held the door for him. “No, we need to get started on the tapes and journals. I’ll try to get in with him tomorrow.” Once they’d reached the bullpen, she moved to her desk and sat, pulling the paper Chase had written the numbers on out of her notebook.
“I’ll check on Jason, see if he’s hungry before I order. Then I guess we’ll see you in the conference room.”
When he left, she crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head down, closing her eyes. Her head was pounding, the k
ind of headache she got from being hungry. After a very short rest, she sat up and pulled her desk phone close. Glancing at the numbers, she decided to try the office number first, even though it was closing in on five o’clock.
While the phone rang on the other end, she opened a desk drawer, rummaging for something to eat that would tide her over. She came up with a very battered candy bar. Shrugging, she peeled the wrapper away from the half-melted chocolate as she listened to the voice mail recording. When it beeped, she left a message and hung up. She dialed the second number, and was beginning to think she had struck out again when a man answered.
“Mr. Sam Davis?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling.” Speaking quickly to stop him from hanging up, she rushed to explain the purpose of her call.
“I’m not a telemarketer, Mr. Davis. My name is Stacy Kirchner, and I’m a detective with the Olman County Sheriff’s Department. I’m calling regarding a client of yours, Charity Vaughn?”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the line. “Charity? What’s wrong? Is she in trouble?”
She closed her eyes. Death notifications were her least favorite part of the job. She’d rather dig trenches than be the bearer of bad news. “Mr. Davis, I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but we believe Ms. Vaughn is deceased.”
For a long moment, there was no sound on the other end. “I see,” he finally responded, his voice heavy. “I’m afraid you’ve surprised me, Detective. I need a moment.”
The sounds coming through the phone grew muffled, and she waited while the man dealt with his emotions.
He came back on the line. “Could you tell me what happened? Was she in an accident?”
“I’m afraid not. Apparently, she was the victim of a homicide.”
“I see,” he repeated. “Oh, Lord. She knew this would happen. I saw her just yesterday. I can’t believe she’s gone.” He paused, the empty sound full of emotion. “What do you need from me, Detective? Just tell me what I can do to help.”
