They took seats. “There’s coffee on the counter there. And a bottle of whiskey,” he told them.
“Thanks,” Voorhaven said. “I’ll have some coffee. Anyone else?”
Aidan looked over at him and nodded. “Thanks. Coffee would be good.” The newbie detective was making himself comfortable and therefore making Taylor Branch comfortable. Which was smart.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Aidan said. “When did you leave New York?”
“Let’s see...we left the city at around five in the morning yesterday. We checked in here. They were ready for our early arrival. Everyone loved Richard, even when they opposed him politically. Well, almost everyone,” he added glumly. “When I heard he’d been found—and how...”
His voice trailed off.
“So, you checked in here around seven or eight?” Aidan asked.
“I guess it was around nine when we got into our rooms.” Branch cleared his throat. “Richard was next door to me. His things are still there. Connecting door between these suites,” he noted, pointing.
“We’ll take a look before we leave,” Aidan assured him. “You have a key to the hallway door?”
“Ah, yeah. On the wet bar,” Branch said.
Van Camp procured the key.
“Go on, please,” Aidan encouraged Branch.
“You know, I’ve gone through all this so many times.”
“Yes, and I’m grateful you’re going through it again for me,” Aidan said.
Branch took a deep breath and then resumed. “We’d stopped for coffee. That always makes me nervous, but we were traveling with private security. Richard hired a team himself. He said too many people use public money for things like that. And, of course, he isn’t official yet, so...”
“So you stopped for coffee. How many in the security detail?” Aidan asked.
“Three men. The company is called Shields,” Branch told him. “And, of course, the men are still here. Richard called them Muscles, Mischief and Magic. Muscles is Cory Stile and you’ll see why they call him that. Mischief is the youngest of the guys and a flirt—real name Rob Little. And Magic is Ben Wilkes. He’s a retired SEAL. Knows his stuff and can get you in and out of anywhere in the blink of an eye. They’re good. They’ve been with us about a year—ever since the polls started saying Richard would win the mayoral race.”
“They’re in the hotel?” Aidan asked.
“Across the hall,” Branch replied.
“So, you left this hotel when?” Aidan nodded a thanks to Voorhaven as he handed him a cup of coffee. It was hot and black, and not bad for hotel-room coffee.
But then, in this kind of suite, Aidan figured it was probably gourmet coffee.
“We had lunch at a restaurant in Tarrytown. Richard was wonderful, as usual, meeting people, speaking with them, shaking hands. Then we went on to the center. Cops were already there. The place had been thoroughly searched and everything seemed fine. We met with the audio-visual people, then headed back to the greenroom so Richard could get in some downtime before speaking. He and I were in there, and Jilli had just left. She works on schedules and that kind of thing.
“A center employee, Bari Macaby, the manager I mentioned earlier, came to ask if we wanted anything. She went to order Richard’s snacks, and I went out to speak with Muscles, Mischief and Magic as well as the local cops. We were checking the metal detectors. When I came back in...Richard was gone. I hunted down Jilli first. She was onstage working with the AV people. She hadn’t seen Richard. I found Bari Macaby in the auditorium, where she’d been watching Jilli doing a sound check for the night. I panicked. I let everyone know I couldn’t find Richard. Then we tore the place apart.”
“You called his cell first thing, I assume?” Voorhaven asked.
“Of course. He didn’t answer.”
“Did the cell phone show up?” Aidan asked next.
“Not that I know of,” Branch replied. He looked at Van Camp, who shook his head.
“We’re going to need your help. We’ll need you to hang around for a few days,” Aidan told him.
Branch smiled grimly. “I wasn’t going anywhere. Helping Richard was my life. I swear, he was the best thing since Lincoln, to me, anyway. He had integrity and vision—he was an independent who was going to make it.” He sighed. “I’ll be here. I have to decide what to do with my life now. I figure I’m a suspect. But I was at the center when he disappeared. You can ask the security guys, Jilli, Bari... I didn’t leave until this morning, when I heard that Richard had been found.”
He sounded sincere. But Aidan had known some good actors in his day.
“What about Mr. Highsmith’s enemies? Anyone in the political arena—or any other—stand out for you? You’re his campaign manager, his chief aide, right? So, you’d be the man who’d know,” Aidan said.
Branch thought. “Every politician has enemies. Mark Jacobs from the far left, and Harvey Applebaum from the right. Lots of people just couldn’t believe that a moderate who looked logically at all the issues could actually get in! But Jacobs was speaking in Central Park at the time, and Applebaum’s wife is in the hospital with a heart condition. He was with her all day yesterday.”
“What about strip clubs?” Aidan asked. “Did Richard ever visit one?”
“What?” Branch was incredulous. “Richard didn’t have time for a strip club—or any other kind of club.”
“Come on, the guy was unmarried and you told us this morning that he wasn’t with anyone,” Voorhaven put in.
“I didn’t say he’d never dated or had a relationship!” Branch protested.
“What about a jilted lover?” Van Camp asked.
“His last long relationship was with Julia Underwood. They split up last year. She’s a kindergarten teacher and the political scene was too much for her. It was an amicable breakup,” Branch said. He opened his hands, staring down at them. “I’d give you a name if I had one, trust me on that.” He shook his head. “I can’t see anyone doing something like this! Not to Richard.”
“No. But they might pay other people to do it,” Aidan said quietly.
Branch shook his head again. He didn’t want to believe it. No one did.
“Did he have a close friend named Elizabeth or Lizzie?” Aidan asked. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
“There are a lot of Elizabeths out there,” Branch said. “No one who was special in Richard’s life, that I was aware of, anyway. He was an open man, but I didn’t pry. I admired him. He was my friend. That doesn’t mean I knew everything about his life.”
Aidan rose, setting down his cup on the table beside his chair. “Thank you. We may need to ask you more questions later.”
“Like I said, I’ll be here,” Branch told them, rising, as well. “I’m about to hit the whiskey—and try to sleep.”
At the door, Aidan paused. “Where will we find the security guys, Bari Macaby and Jilli—”
“Jillian Durfey. Jillian is down the hall on the other side of Richard’s room. The security men are across from us,” Branch said, pointing at the doors. “Muscles, Magic, Mischief. Did you want to go through Richard’s room? It’s locked because of the investigation, of course, but...”
“We’ll have a chat with one or two of the others first, Mr. Branch,” Aidan said.
“Sure. Whenever you need me, I’m available.”
“Oh, by the way, you know a woman was murdered, too?” Aidan asked.
Branch nodded dully.
“Any idea who she might have been? Was Richard seeing someone recently? Even casually? Did any aides or groupies or anyone like that disappear?”
“No. Richard was a straight shooter. He wasn’t seeing anyone right now. He was focused on the campaign. We traveled here with just the security men, Jilli, me and Richard. We’re n
ot that far from the city, you know. This should have been a speech and some hand-shaking. But...”
His voice faded, but then he suddenly stared at Aidan, eyes narrowing. “Aidan Mahoney.”
“Yes.”
“Your name was on one of his lists. You were going to be invited to a dinner. You...knew Richard?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aidan said. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
Taylor Branch closed the door.
Aiden turned to see Lee Van Camp studying him. “You knew Richard well, didn’t you?” he asked.
Aidan nodded. “I hadn’t seen him in a while. I watched his career, though, with pleasure. He was always a good kid. A good guy.”
He waited for one of them to ask if he should be on the case.
Neither did.
“Let’s start our interviews with Jilli,” Aidan said.
They walked down the hall to her room and tapped on the door. It opened almost immediately.
Jilli was definitely affected by what had happened. Like Branch, it looked as though she’d taken a shower. Aidan wondered if it was a subliminal way to attempt to wash away the shock and horror of Richard’s death.
“You’re back,” she said, looking at Van Camp. “Do you know anything? Have you found out who did this? My God, I still can’t believe it!”
She had a glass in her hand, half full of some amber liquid—Scotch, he figured, or bourbon. Aidan had a feeling she’d already knocked back a few. Her eyes were red and swollen. She’d obviously been crying and crying hard for a long time. Even as she looked at them, a trickle of tears started down her cheeks.
Van Camp introduced Aidan. “So we’ve got locals and Feds,” she murmured. “Well, we may need magic police in on this one, because it was, like, poof! Richard just...disappeared.”
“Tell me about your day—and the last time you saw Richard,” Aidan said.
She didn’t offer them anything to drink and didn’t suggest they sit. Her room wasn’t small, although it was a junior suite. Nothing like Branch’s. But she had a desk, sofa, coffee table and small kitchenette.
Voorhaven leaned against the wall. Van Camp didn’t wait for an invitation; he walked across the room and took a seat on the sofa.
Jilli turned, her fingers curled around her drink, and sat on the bed.
“It was a good day. A good travel day that became a good campaign day,” Jilli said.
“Why was he campaigning up here?” Voorhaven asked. “He was a mayoral candidate in the city.”
Jilli smiled. “This is the Hudson Valley! It’s beautiful and it’s about two hours out of the city. People come here for respite. New York City residents buy property up here—time-shares, little cottages, condos—you name it. It’s an escape zone. Richard was from this area and he loved it.”
Yes, he had. He’d loved roaming the forests. His parents might have moved to Florida, but he still felt a strong connection to the place. He’d loved a campfire at night and all the haunted happenings that went on around Halloween. He’d loved Washington Irving and tales of the Revolution and the hardy Dutch settlers who had first farmed the land.
“Okay, so you arrived here with your security detail.”
She nodded, studying her glass. “Richard was good about his security, knew he needed it for practical reasons. But he truly loved people. It wasn’t fake or part of the game with him. He’d shake hands or talk with anyone who wanted a word with him. So, we’d seen people at lunch, and when we came here we were high on the enthusiasm he received. We were in the convention center. There were cops everywhere, plus the center itself had its own security, and we had Muscles, Mischief and Magic. They were just checking the scanners—metal scanners, you know—when Richard disappeared. At first, we thought he’d wandered somewhere to practice his speech. Or gone outside for a breath of fresh air. But...I’m telling you, it was as if he disappeared into thin air.”
“You were testing the audio when that happened?”
“Yes. If they get a level with one person, then they just have to tweak it when Richard comes out,” she said. “That was the idea.”
“But you and Taylor Branch and the convention manager—Bari Macaby—were the last people to see him, correct?” Van Camp said.
Jilli nodded.
“Did Richard ever say anything to you about a strip club?” Aidan asked.
There was shock in her eyes. “A strip club?”
Aidan smiled. “Most men I know—and women, too, for that matter—have been in one at some point. Bachelorette parties, bachelor parties, birthdays.”
“Yeah, but Richard? In the middle of a campaign?”
“Did he have a friend named Lizzie? Or Elizabeth?” Aidan asked.
She shrugged. “He might have. I didn’t know all his friends. Lizzie...or Elizabeth. Not an unusual name. I know several.”
“Thank you,” Aidan said. “I hope you get some sleep.”
She still looked confused by the strip club question. She hadn’t moved when they reached the door. “Come and lock this,” Aidan told her gently.
She rose like a sleepwalker. When they were out in the hallway, Aidan heard the bolt slide home.
“Muscles, Mischief and Magic next?” Van Camp asked.
“No, let’s do Richard’s room,” Aidan said.
Van Camp opened the door to the suite.
It was larger than Branch’s with a huge living area, a conference table that would seat twelve, a good-size kitchenette and a bedroom. Richard had been almost OCD neat; the outer rooms could be described as Spartan. Aidan headed into the bedroom. “See what you find out here,” Aidan told Van Camp and Voorhaven.
Richard’s clothing had been neatly hung and his shoes were lined up in the closet. His computer was gone. Aidan knew it was at the police lab so they could search for anything that might give them a clue.
There was a notepad by the phone. It was blank.
But Aidan picked it up and held it to the light. He could see where a pen had pressed into the paper.
He didn’t have a pencil to run over the slight indentations on the page. But he studied it for a minute, trying to make out the words.
They said Lizzie grave.
Aidan had the strange feeling that Richard had idly written the same words over and over again.
Because they were always at the back of his mind?
CHAPTER 4
Mo was curled on the sofa with Rollo’s massive body taking up the second half, and Grace was in the rocker. They were just reaching the end of Elf when Mo’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
It was Tommy Jensen.
“They’ve finished up here,” he said. “They’ve let me open!” he told her. “My God, Mo, you should’ve seen it. They went through the parking lot inch by inch. They collected more garbage than I ever knew existed. My headless horseman is gone, of course—I almost feel I should change the name of the place. Then, after they were finished with the outside, they came in. They sprayed stuff all over—fingerprint stuff. Jeez! There were hundreds of people here last night. But I guess the cops are dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s. Anyway, they’re letting me open. Will you come out to the bar tonight? Please?”
It occurred to her that the police had warned people about going out. But she wasn’t alone; she was with Grace. And she had Rollo. She looked at her wolfhound, who was watching her as if trying to discern her conversation.
“Grace is here. I’m sure she’ll want to come, too.”
Grace nodded enthusiastically.
“Have you heard anything else?” Tommy asked.
“Only what they’re saying on TV.”
“They closed down all the headless horseman attractions today. It’s going to be a killer for the merchan
ts. Oh, bad wording!” Tommy said.
“That’s why Grace is here. They closed the Mausoleum tonight.”
“Yes, of course. Well, come out here and commiserate with me. My staff’s heading in. I’ll miss the dinner hour...but maybe if people see your car, they’ll come.”
“I can bring Rollo?”
“Sure, but you know the law—put on his service-dog jacket.”
“Yeah.”
When she hung up, Grace was ecstatic. “Yes! We’re out of here.”
“Hey, you didn’t have to be here.”
“What? You think I wanted to be at my house? Uh-uh! But I’m ready for a bunch of people, society...and good food. Tommy has the best cheese steaks around.”
“Want me to drive?” Mo asked.
“I guess we should take both cars. I can just go home from there.”
Mo agreed, and they were ready to leave within minutes. Darkness had fallen, and she paused after opening her car door. The breeze moving through the trees created a distinct rustling sound that was almost like a strange whisper. She could see movement in the shadows cast by foliage in the moonlight. The air was crisp and cool, and the night seemed to have its own sense of expectation.
Of waiting.
Then the late train went chugging by; it screamed of the everyday and the mundane, and the odd spell that had taken hold was lifted.
As it turned out, Tommy had been wrong to worry about business. While traveling to his restaurant had seemed like a voyage through a land that was asleep, his parking lot was so crowded that Grace called her cell and suggested they park on the street by the Old Dutch Church.
They did. Mo wasn’t afraid. Rollo was with her and wagging his tail.
But she found herself pausing again. Seeing the old graves up the hill at the Old Dutch Church and then beyond at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, she felt there was no place where the past seemed more alive. She could hear the water trickling under the new bridge, and she could easily imagine Irving’s Ichabod Crane as he rode home on a broken-down nag through the trees, their skeletal branches dipping and swaying in the moonlight.
Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4 Page 66
