by Al Boudreau
“Better bring me another, too,” James said as he finished off his beer and handed the server his glass.
“I never had you pegged as a drinker,” Sarah said to James.
“I’m a cop. Need I say more?”
I laughed. “That’s true, unfortunately. How many do you put away in a week?”
James tossed his hands in the air. “Never thought to keep track,” he said with a chuckle. “Most nights I have a shot of bourbon after work. Sometimes I chase it with a beer. Sometimes two. Then there are nights where I don’t have anything at all. I hardly ever drink in public places like this, though.”
“Here you go, folks,” the server said as he came back with our beverages.
“Cheers,” James said as he raised his pint.
We all took a sip before I asked, “What did you learn from our material witnesses?”
“Who do you want me to start with?” James inquired.
“How about the contractor,” Sarah said. “We know nothing about him at all.”
“Good choice. Name’s Troy Webber. Lives up in Scarborough, Maine. Divorced. Got one kid, a 23 year old son who still lives with him. Seems like a real wild card. Shaved head. Hunter’s camouflage on some of his clothing. NRA stickers all over his pickup truck. Which is a real beater, by the way. Earned him several tickets. No inspection sticker. Two bald tires. Busted windshield.”
“Yikes,” Sarah said. “Any alibi?”
“Said he was with his son from 7:30 last night to 8:00 am this morning---just before he called in the discovery of Amanda Enright’s body inside McCue’s office condo. Problem is, when I pressed him for his son’s contact information to corroborate his story, he got all defensive and started making up excuses as to why his son couldn’t be reached.”
“Then he asked for a lawyer, right?” I asked.
James shook his head. “That’s the other thing. I told him a number of times that he could have a lawyer present, but he didn’t bite. Not even when I told him we were going to hold him for further questioning.”
“Sounds sketchy to me,” Sarah said.
“Scarborough Police are cooperating. Said they’d pick up Webber’s kid, and call us once they had him.”
“What about Meghan McCue?” I asked.
James laughed. “Lawyered-up as soon as I asked her to stick around. And refused to say another word until the lawyer showed up.”
“I’m surprised,” I said. “I spoke with Corey Anders this morning. He claims McCue is incapable of such a crime. Said she’s a healer, a gentle soul … all that stuff. Said he’d stake his life on her innocence.”
“Did McCue give you any reason to believe she might be guilty?” Sarah asked. “Other than the fact she asked for a lawyer right out of the gate.”
“Yes. First off, she has no alibi,” James said. “She’s in her early sixties, and lives alone. Another thing. Once her lawyer arrived, McCue wouldn’t speak to me directly. At all. It was a whisper-fest between her and the lawyer, the lawyer doing all the talking in response to every question. But the clincher for me was that this woman had no explanation as to why Amanda Enright would be at her new office. Supposedly, she’s not seeing clients there yet. And, by the looks of the place, I have to believe at least that much is true. It doesn’t have any furniture.”
“Were you able to confirm that she had a 9:00 am appointment scheduled with Enright?” I asked.
James shook his head. “That’s another detail that struck me as odd. Corey Anders told me Amanda was scheduled to meet with McCue this morning. But when I asked McCue, her lawyer claimed she knew nothing about it. McCue did admit to speaking with Corey over a week ago concerning Amanda, but the lawyer said the only session on McCue’s schedule for this morning was a 9:00 am appointment with Corey Anders.”
“What?” Sarah blurted out, nearly spilling her wine. “That makes no sense at all.”
“Why would Corey lie about that?” I asked.
James shook his head. “Now you know why I’m drinking.”
“Whoa,” Sarah said. “That’s weird. After those two stories I’m almost afraid to ask about Lee Sands.”
James rolled his eyes and took a long swig of beer. “You should be, because my time with him was the most frustrating of the bunch.”
I looked back and forth between James and Sarah. “Lawyer?” I asked.
“Yes, but not because Sands requested it. The lawyer that handles all of WTLK’s business was in Sands’s office when I went in to speak with him. Sands was all set to come to the station solo, but the lawyer hounded Sands until he agreed to have legal representation by his side.”
“Was the lawyer doing all the talking?” Sarah asked.
“No. He tried to talk Sands into measured responses concerning a couple questions I asked, but Sands just kept brushing the guy off.”
“What was so frustrating?” I asked.
“Simple. My head and my gut can’t seem to get together on what Sands’s deal is,” James said. “He wasn’t on my radar, initially. That said, I figured I’d spend ten or fifteen minutes with him---like I did with Corey Anders---then be able to cut him loose. But the more I talked to him, the more I wondered what was going on with him.”
“Can you give us an example?” Sarah asked. “Maybe we can help.”
“Yeah, OK. Here’s a perfect example of what I’m talking about. I asked Sands---straight up---if he got along with Amanda Enright. You know what he told me? Not particularly. So I asked him to elaborate. And he did. Described Enright as an egomaniac. Unstable. A drug user. And get this. He said that, despite the fact Enright made a great deal of money for him and WTLK, the world was a better place without people like her in it.”
Sarah gasped, while I stared at James as if he were pulling our legs. “What about his alibi?” I asked.
“That’s another story, all together. What alibi? He told me he’s married, has a couple high school-age kids. Yet, he couldn’t give me one name---not a single individual---who could vouch for his whereabouts from 10 pm to 2 am. Claims to have watched a couple shows with his family until around 9:30 pm. Then the wife and kids called it a night and went to bed. Sands said he then jumped in his vintage Mustang and took it for a drive. Where’d you go? I asked. Nowhere in particular. Just around, he said. Named off some of the towns he’d driven through in New Hampshire and Massachusetts while he was out, but gave me the impression he couldn’t care less about providing specifics.”
“He must have had to stop to fill up with gas at some point. Or maybe passed through one of the toll booths in the area,” I said.
“Which is what I said to him. Practically begged him to give me a reason to cross him off the list and cut him loose. Nothing. What’s worse? I took a break in the middle of our discussion. Went and called the guy’s wife. I didn’t mention a single detail to her of what he’d shared.” James shook his head. “She confirmed every single word Sands told me. Claims he has three collector cars. Takes one of them out almost every night. Same schedule and everything. She said that’s how he unwinds. He’s passionate about his cars, she said. And that there’s no way he had anything to do with Enright’s murder.”
“You must be able to confirm some of his movements with local traffic cam footage,” I said.
“Of course. And I have some of my men working on that very task. Thing is, if Sands is innocent, he’d better hope and pray we find him and his fancy car on enough footage---at the right time and the right place---to prove he was nowhere near Briarwood late last night, between 10:30 pm and 11:00 pm. He does have one thing going for him, though. The Mustang he said he was driving is bright orange. If he’s telling the truth, that car won’t be hard to single out on our video footage.”
“Unreal,” Sarah said. “What a crazy case this is turning out to be.”
“You’re telling me. This town’s getting too big,” James replied. “Used to be I’d investigate a few petty theft cases, a stolen car, maybe a domestic or two, all within
the course of a week. Those weeks were a really big deal. And it took some leg work to solve them. I remember feeling overworked and underpaid. But this? Now I find myself longing for the way it used to be.”
“Yep. Celebrity murders are usually reserved for places like LA,” I said. “Not Bridgeport.”
James nodded before burying his face in his hands. He shook his head the same way a dog shakes its jowls, then yawned. “On that note, I’m outta here,” he said, then unclipped his phone from his belt and placed a call. “Dugan. It’s James. Come down and grab me at The Bridgegate. I need a lift.”
“Why did you call someone else to give you a ride, silly?” Sarah asked once James was done. “We’re right here. We’d be happy to drop you off.”
“Simple,” I said, answering for James. “He’s a cop. And we’ve been drinking.”
“Oops. I never thought of that.”
“Stick with us, kid,” James said to Sarah as he threw an arm around my shoulder. “We’ll teach you the ropes.”
Sarah gave me a smirk then looked at James. “Go home, Detective.”
Chapter 16
“Poor James,” Sarah said as we drove home. “It’s only 5:30 pm and he’s already liquored up. Bet he’ll go home and have a few more.”
“Doubt it,” I said. “I’ve gotten to know him fairly well. He’s got three people detained, sitting inside Bridgeport PD, and less than 12 hours to figure out who to charge and who to cut loose. Not something he takes lightly. For him, having a few pops with us was like recess back when we were in grade school: a little screwing-off, then back to the books.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I can totally see him beating himself up over this one.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like any of our potential suspects are making it easy on themselves,” I said. “Or on us, for that matter. I’m just grateful I don’t have to make the judgement call he’ll be faced with tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah. Ditto. But who knows? Maybe we’ll catch a break in the case by then.”
“I like your optimism, but I’m having a tough time visualizing a scenario where this one gets easier any time soon. I’m even having second thoughts about Corey Anders’s innocence.”
“Really?” Sarah asked. “Not me.”
I gave Sarah a look as I rolled to a stop at the traffic light. “You mean to tell me it doesn’t bother you that Corey told us Amanda was all set to meet with Meghan McCue, yet McCue claims not to have any knowledge of the appointment, whatsoever?”
Sarah tipped her head and raised her eyebrows. “All right, it’s a bit bizarre that McCue claims she was scheduled to meet with Corey, and not Amanda. But, there could be a simple explanation for it. A miscommunication, for example. Happens all the time. Or she’s simply lying.”
“Careful. I like Corey, too, but don’t get lulled into thinking he’s all good just yet,” I said. “Sometimes, people who get ruled out early in an investigation are just the ones who merit a second look once the layers of the onion get peeled back. And you can’t ignore the fact he doesn’t have an alibi.”
“Why not?” Sarah asked. “It certainly doesn’t seem to be bothering James much.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “James may not be holding Corey at the moment, but he did tell him not to leave the area. Which means he’s keeping his options open. You can’t lock up every person you think might have been involved. That’s where reason and experience come into play.”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Care to make a little wager? I’m willing to bet he’s innocent?”
“Not really,” I said. “I’m not saying Corey’s guilty. I’m just not ready to say he’s not involved in any way.”
“Time will tell.”
I nodded. “I’m thinking the contractor is the most likely candidate. For actually committing the crime, I mean. More so than the other two. He checks a lot of boxes for me.”
“What about motive?” Sarah asked.
I pulled the car into our driveway and killed the engine. “Who knows? Sounds like he’s into hunting. Maybe he gets off on killing, in general.”
“Nah. Too obvious,” Sarah said.
“Well, you seem pretty confident about who’s innocent. But you haven’t commented on who you think is guilty.”
“I know Corey swears his psychotherapist could never commit such a crime, but Amanda was killed at McCue’s condo. And she had her lawyer do all the talking. Therefore, my money is on McCue at the moment.”
“Nah. Too obvious,” I said.
Earning me a shove.
“You set me up,” Sarah shouted, faking an angry face.
“Taste of your own medicine,” I replied.
Sarah opened the car door and swung her legs out. I was about to do the same when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number. I turned the speaker on and got out of the car. “This is Carter.”
“Hi, Carter. This is Kayla, the intern from WTLK?”
“Kayla. Hello. What can I do for you?”
“Well, um, I got a message from some detective,” she said. “Said he works for the Bridgeport Police Department.”
“Detective James. He told us he left you a message,” I said.
“Oh. So you know him, then?” Kayla asked.
“Yes. I know him well.”
“Okay. Uh … I tried calling him back, but he didn’t answer.”
“Did you leave him a message?” I asked.
“No. I was, like, a little concerned. I didn’t know if he was legit, so I decided to call you, instead.”
“I believe he called to set up a time to meet with you,” I said. “He needs to ask you a few questions then get a statement from you, concerning the investigation of Amanda’s death. You’re what’s considered a material witness in the case.”
She remained silent for a beat. “Am I in some kind of trouble?” she asked.
I looked at Sarah. “Uh, not that I know of, Kayla. It’s more of a formality. Are you in the area?”
“No, I’m back in Boston,” she said. “I had a paper due, so I didn’t want to miss this one class.”
“I see. Why don’t you go ahead and call Detective James’s number again. If he doesn’t answer, definitely leave him a message. Tell him we spoke. And maybe let him know when you can meet with him here in Bridgeport.”
“I will. Thank you,” she said and ended the call.
Sarah put her hand on my shoulder. “Aww. I feel bad for her. She’s so young. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a major role model like Amanda. Especially in light of how it happened. It’s just all so tragic.”
“True,” I said. “But the fact that she’s young will also help her get through it.”
“I guess. You were really good with her on the phone,” Sarah said, and kissed me on the cheek.
I turned my head. “One more for the other side.”
Sarah obliged. “Come on, Mr. Kissable. Let’s go in. It’s getting chilly out here.”
“I wonder how Kayla got this number,” I said as we walked.
“Well … Corey has it, right?”
I pulled out my work cell phone. “He has the number for this phone. She called my private number,” I said, holding the second device out for her to see.
“Maybe you gave Corey, or someone else involved in our case, the private number by mistake,” Sarah said.
“Doubt it. I only give this number to people I intend to have long-term contact with.”
“Is it really that important?” Sarah asked as I opened the door for her.
“I guess not. I just want to make sure I’m not getting senile.”
“It’s way too early to start thinking about that,” Sarah said. “But you just jogged my memory about a question I had while you were out this morning. Is there any value in putting James Coughlin, or any family members he might have, under the microscope?”
“Doubtful,” I said. “The guy’s dead, right?”
“No, he’s not dead,” Sarah said, shak
ing her head. “Pretty close, from what I read earlier. But no. He’s still kicking. And worth a boatload of money.”
The news hit me like a ton of bricks when I considered the timing. “If that’s true, then we’d better figure out who’s in line to inherit his estate when he goes. Because that would be one heck of a motive to get Enright out of the way.”
“Totally,” Sarah said.
“How old is Coughlin?”
“One article I read said he’ll be 85 next month. Guess he still lives in one of his mansions out in Utah. With around-the-clock medical staff on site, caring for him.”
“I’m surprised James wasn’t all over this information,” I said.
“Let’s not be too hard on him,” Sarah said as her cell phone rang. “This case isn’t even 24 hours old yet. James has his hands full.”
I nodded, busy firing up an online search engine to determine if Coughlin had kids, and if so, where they lived. I heard Sarah begin talking in her happy voice, so I assumed she was on the phone with her son, Brian.
I grabbed my tablet computer and headed toward the spare room I used as my informal office. Once seated behind my desk, I began scrolling through pages of results. Nothing.
I tried using different key words. Several results mentioned that Coughlin had never been married, but not one confirmed or denied the existence of any offspring.
“Where’d you go?” I heard Sarah call out, excitement in her voice.
“In my office,” I shouted.
“That was Brian,” I heard her say just before appearing in the doorway. “He called to tell me there was some major scene happening right next to his dorm down in Boston. So I turned on the TV. Guess who they showed in handcuffs, being stuffed into the back of a police cruiser?”
“Uh … the mayor?”
“No, silly. The newspaper executive from Amanda Enright’s show last night. Herod Erlichman.”
“What? Seriously?”
“I am not kidding,” Sarah said.
“Did they say why?” I asked.
“Crazy dispute between Erlichman and some twenty-something kid. The reporter, live on the scene, said the kid is somehow affiliated with the newspaper.”
