He thought for a second or two and then shook his head. “It hasn’t come up. Why?”
“Because there are footprints, fresh ones, going from here to the bookcase.”
Mal stared at the floor, narrowing his eyes. Then he squatted and stared some more. “I’m not seeing any footprints,” he said.
“Well, I can see them, and I can smell them.”
Mal shot me a look and cocked his head. “Okay.”
I turned and hollered at Duncan. “We can’t go this way, either,” I said, “because our crime scene extends into here and beyond.”
Duncan and the rest of the entourage came over to where I stood, gathering behind me.
“Look at the floor,” I said to Duncan. “Do you see those spots? I’m pretty sure they’re footprints.”
Duncan and the others did what Mal had done a moment earlier, and like Mal, none of them could see the footprints.
“Well, they’re there,” I said when Duncan claimed he had no idea what I was talking about. “I can see and smell them.”
“If you say they’re there, then I believe you,” Duncan said. The others in the group looked skeptical as they continued to stare at the floor, turning their heads first one way, then another. “So you think whoever pushed Suzanne down the stairs made their escape through the tunnel?”
“It makes sense,” I said. “Everyone who comes here regularly knows about the tunnel. Hell, even people who have never been here before know about it because it was on the news back when Ginny was murdered. And think about it. If the person who pushed Suzanne wanted to make sure she was dead, they would have come down the stairs to check. And if they went back up the same way, they’d have to reenter the bar from the new area, and someone might see them. But by going through the basement tunnel, they could have come up the stairs on the main bar side and come out through the hall where the bathrooms are.”
“That makes sense,” Tyrese said.
“It does,” Duncan agreed.
“The basement access on the bar side has been unlocked all night,” I pointed out. “So whoever did this could have come over here from that direction as well.”
“Is there anyway to know that?” Tyrese asked.
Duncan thought about it and then shrugged.
I said, “There might be. But I’d have to go through there to know.”
Duncan considered this and then nodded. “We need to be careful not to damage any evidence,” he said. “But let’s give it a try. Mack, since you can see the footprints in here, steer us a path around them.” He turned and looked at Tyrese, Dr. T, and Mal. “The fewer of us that traipse through here, the better. You guys stay here and keep an eye on Suzanne’s body.”
The three of them backed away from the door, and Duncan looked over at me. “Lead the way, Mack.”
Chapter 26
I made a wide circuit of the room and led us over to the bookcase. Once there, I hesitated. “There might be fingerprints on this thing. It’s on casters, and it rolls sideways, but whoever moved it would have had to grab it.”
“We’ll make a cop out of you yet,” Duncan said. He looked around for something to use to cover his hand with, but there was nothing in the room.
“I have an idea,” I said, and then I offered up one of my crutches.
“Brilliant!” Duncan said with a smile. He took the crutch, positioned the foot end of it inside the bookcase, and then used it to push the thing aside. It took some effort to get it started, but once it got going, it rolled easily. The opening behind it was revealed. The tunnel beyond was dark, but there was a light switch built into the wall. I was about to warn Duncan not to touch this, either, but he came up with an alternative solution. After handing me back my crutch, he reached into his pants pocket and removed his key ring. Attached to it was a small LED light. He clicked it on and shone it into the tunnel. Once we were sure it was empty and there were no obstacles in our way, he reached over and used the little flashlight to flip up the switch.
“Don’t go in there yet,” I said. “Let me look at it first.”
Duncan stepped off to one side so I could center myself in the opening. Then I opened up all my senses.
“Smell that?” I said after a moment.
Duncan gave me a quizzical look.
“It’s ginger ale. And something else.” I sniffed the air with my eyes closed, and then opened them and looked at the floor in the tunnel. “Damp cement,” I said. “There are footprints in here, too. Wet ones. Or at least they were wet. Much of it has dried, but there’s some lingering dampness I can smell. And I think I know what caused it.”
I headed into the tunnel, hugging the wall so as to not mess up the trail the damp footprints had left behind. “The footprints are full,” I said to Duncan over my shoulder.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that they weren’t made by anyone wearing heels. They were made by a flat shoe.”
“That rules out most of the women on our list,” he said. “Whitney and Courtney are both wearing high heels.”
“But Linda isn’t,” I pointed out. “She’s wearing her regular, flat-soled work shoes.”
We had reached the opposite end of the tunnel. The door on this end was the back side of a worktable that had been my father’s. It too was on casters, and when I handed Duncan a crutch again, he easily pushed it open.
I stepped out into the basement and pointed to my right. The drink canisters and gas tanks were located there, with hoses that led up through the floor and to the drink spigots in the bar that dispensed the sodas and draft beer.
“There’s the ginger ale,” I said, pointing to a puddle on the floor. “I sent Missy down here earlier to change out the canister, telling her it was empty. But it wasn’t. I just said that to give her an excuse to leave Nick, because he had her cornered at the bar. Because it wasn’t empty, some of the syrup spilled out of the hose when she unhooked it. And whoever came through here walked through it.”
“That’s all very interesting,” Duncan said. “But how does it help us?”
“It helps us a lot,” I said, excitedly. “Because now I know how to identify the person who was working with Suzanne.”
I told him what I had in mind, and when I was done, I grabbed a rag from the top of the worktable and ran it through the puddle of ginger ale syrup on the floor. Then we headed back to the other end of the basement, closing the tunnel doors behind us. Once we reached the others, Duncan told them that it appeared the killer had entered and exited this room from the other side of the basement.
“Mack has an idea on how we can identify the killer,” he concluded. “I need all of you to head back upstairs and wait for us.”
Once everyone was gone, I took the rag I had used to mop up the ginger ale and swiped it along a section of the floor over by where the wall had been torn down. Once that was done, I held the rag beneath my nose and inhaled deeply. I experienced a sound I’d never heard before, a sort of tinkling, crunching noise, as if someone were walking over a pile of broken glass.
I looked at Duncan and said, “Let’s do this.”
We could hear the clamor of voices in the bar as we climbed the stairs, but as soon as we entered the main bar area, everyone grew quiet.
Duncan went over and stood at the middle of the bar. As I passed the table where Cora was sitting with Joe, Frank, the O’Reillys, and Tiny, I leaned over and whispered something into her ear. Then I followed Duncan and stood at his side.
Duncan took the lead. “As most of you know, Mack here has been getting taunting letters for several weeks from a person or persons who we believe are responsible for the deaths of at least two people.” He paused, waiting to see if anyone would say anything, and then continued. “We had good reason to believe that the main person behind those letters was Suzanne Collier.”
This solicited a low murmur of comments.
“But we don’t think Suzanne was working alone. And now we have good reason to believe that the person who was working with her, the per
son responsible for at least one of those deaths I mentioned, is in this room.”
“It’s Tad, of course,” Whitney spat out. “Everyone knows he only married Suzanne for her money, and by killing her, he now inherits it all.”
Tad, who was sitting at the bar with a drink in front of him, forehead resting in one hand, said, “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t kill her. We went upstairs so I could show her the Capone Club room, and when we were up there she continued to turn up her nose at the whole idea of the club and my participation in it. We had an argument, and she left. I stayed in the Capone Club room for a while to gather my wits, and then I went to the bathroom up there. I was in there for awhile. I have irritable bowel syndrome and stress tends to make me, well, loose.”
There were some sniggers in the room.
Duncan said, “Who found Suzanne?”
“I did,” Whitney said. “She and Tad had been gone for a long time, so I went to check on them to see if she needed rescuing. I didn’t see anyone in the other room or upstairs, so I started to come back out here when I saw that open door to the basement. I walked over there and looked and . . . well, you know the rest.”
“So the scream we heard, that was you?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, looking at me like I was an imbecile. “It’s not every day I run across a dead body, especially of someone I know.”
Duncan looked at Arty, who had also removed all of his fake facial hair, revealing his bald head, which I could see still had traces of whatever glue Isabel had used to secure his wig. “It’s likely Suzanne was pushed down those stairs anywhere from five to fifteen minutes before Whitney found her,” Duncan said to Arty. “Have you figured out who was where in the time before she was found?”
Arty shook his head. “I haven’t asked anyone anything specific. I’ve just been keeping track of everyone and listening in on their conversations. But your friends over there said no one went into that other section of the bar except for the victim and her husband until that lady went in and found the victim.” He pointed toward Cora and the others at her table; they were seated closest to the new addition.
“That’s because the killer didn’t go through there,” Duncan said. “He, or she, went through the basement from this side of the bar.”
I was watching the faces of the people who were still active suspects—Nick, Sam, Stephen, Jimmy, and Linda—looking for reactions. But the most I saw was mild interest. Nick and Jimmy were the ones who had the most in the way of motive and a reason for wanting Duncan out of my life. And with his known connection to Suzanne, Jimmy was still at the top of my list. Part of me was disappointed that I’d ruled out both Courtney and Whitney. I disliked both women immensely.
I was tired of speculation; it was time for action. I nudged Duncan with my arm, and he said, “Go ahead.”
I approached Jimmy first. He was sitting at a table with Clay Sanders, and I walked up to him and said, “Can you please take off your shoes and give them to me?”
Jimmy gave me a look that suggested he thought I’d lost my mind.
“Do it, Jimmy,” Duncan said, his tone brooking no objections.
Clearly irritated, Jimmy bent over and removed his shoes, which he then handed to me. One at a time, I raised them to my face and sniffed. I gave myself a moment to process the smell and then sniffed again to be sure.
I turned and looked at Duncan. “It’s not him,” I said, the disappointment I felt audible in my voice. I handed Jimmy back his shoes and moved on to Nick. He was standing at the end of the bar near the kitchen.
“Nick, your shoes, please.”
He rolled his eyes and gave me an irritated look. But he voiced no objection. He settled onto a nearby barstool, removed his shoes, and handed them to me. I repeated the same actions I had carried out with Jimmy’s shoes.
Once again, I turned to Duncan and shook my head. “He’s clear.”
I turned back to look at the room. Everyone’s eyes were on me. The TV had been turned off at some point, and the room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I considered the people I had left: Stephen, Linda, and Sam.
First, I went to Stephen, who was standing over near the door. “Stephen, please remove your shoes.” He took a nearby seat, doffed his shoes, and handed them to me without hesitation. I sniffed and handed them back, shaking my head at Duncan.
I moved in on Linda, who was sitting at a table with some of my other staff: Debra, Pete, Jon, and Missy.
“Linda?” I said, looking down at her. “You’re next.”
Linda’s reaction was a shrug. She took off her shoes and handed them to me. I sniffed them three times, unwilling to accept what I was finding. With a heavy sadness in my heart, I handed them back to her, looked at Duncan, and again shook my head.
Carter and Sam were sitting at a table with Holly and Alicia. As I approached them, my legs felt more leaden than usual, the crutches more cumbersome. I stopped between the two men, looked at Sam and did a gimme gesture.
“I don’t know what this is about, Mack,” Sam said, bending over to remove his shoes. As he took his shoes off, he stared back at me, and there was something in his expression, in the darkness of his eyes, that gave him away. We held our gaze for what seemed like an eternity, and I saw small beads of sweat break out on his forehead.
“Here you go,” Sam said, handing me his shoes.
I sniffed them without taking my eyes off him.
“Why, Sam?” I asked, feeling the sting of betrayal as a sharp pain between my shoulder blades. It was as if he had figuratively and literally stabbed me in the back.
I don’t know what response I expected from him, but it wasn’t the one I got. In the blink of an eye, he bolted up from his chair, ramming into me, and knocking me to the ground. Then he took off running.
The fall stymied me momentarily. I was aware of gasps, grunts, and shrieks from around the room. I saw Duncan and Arty both take off after Sam as he ran down the hallway that led to my apartment door, the basement door, and the alley door. Seconds later, I heard the alarm on the alley door go off and shouts that emanated from down the hallway.
Hands gripped me under my arms and pulled me up. A chair was shoved beneath my butt, and I sank into it. Then I heard Carter’s voice say, “Are you okay, Mack?”
I nodded. And then everyone’s attention shifted to the near end of the hallway, where Duncan and Arty were dragging Sam Warner back into the room. Sam was handcuffed, and the two cops shoved him into a chair, and then stood on either side of him.
Carter walked over to them, his face a mask of hurt and incredulity. He stopped in front of Sam and looked down at him. “Sam, did you really do this?”
Sam glared up at him and said nothing.
“I’ve known you since we were kids,” Carter said. “I thought we were friends. You’re like a brother to me. How could you do something like this?”
“I never wanted to be your brother,” Sam said, tight-lipped. “And I did it for you. Don’t you see? Mack is one of a kind, a crime-solving machine. I’ve given you the story of a lifetime, that big break you’ve been waiting for all your life. I did it for you, Carter. All for you.”
Carter gaped at him, shaking his head. “Why?”
“Because I love you, man. Are you really that blind? I’ve loved you since I’ve known you. I just needed to show you how much. And after that time at the shore when we went to that party, I knew you loved me, too.”
Carter took a step back, a hand clamped over his mouth. His face flushed red, and he looked around the room with an embarrassed expression.
“Get him out of here,” I said to Duncan. “I can’t stand to look at him anymore.”
Duncan and Arty hoisted Sam out of his chair and steered him toward the front door. Carter collapsed onto a barstool, his eyes closed, tears rolling down his cheeks. After rounding up a coat to throw over Sam’s shoulders, Duncan and Arty escorted him out of the bar.
I turned to look at the rest o
f the crowd. They were all dumbstruck. I looked over at Cora. “Did you get it?” I asked her.
“Every move and every word,” she said, turning her laptop around so it was facing her. When I had whispered to her after coming back into the bar from the basement, I had asked her to record what was about to happen. Fortunately, she had obliged.
I looked at Tyrese. “Can you see to it that Suzanne’s body is taken care of?”
He nodded and took out his cell phone.
To the rest of the group, I said, “Happy New Year, everyone. Mack’s Bar is now closed.”
Chapter 27
The bar remained closed the following day, while cops and technicians came in and out throughout the day, searching for evidence, shooting pictures, and questioning me. Somewhere around nine in the evening, they finally all left. I sat at my bar alone, listening to the silence, ruminating over everything that had happened, sipping on a drink I called a Bittersweet. It seemed appropriate.
My cell phone rang, and I saw it was Duncan. I almost didn’t answer it, not wanting any intrusions. But in the end I took his call.
“Hey, Duncan.”
“Hey, Mack. I’m out front. Can I come in?”
I debated my answer for a few seconds, but in the end my curiosity won out over my desire for seclusion. “Be right there.”
I disconnected the call and crutched over to the front door, unlocking it. Duncan stepped inside, and I closed and locked the door behind him. When I turned around, Duncan pulled me into his arms and held me in a tight bear hug. We stayed that way for a good minute or more. When he finally released me, he held me by my shoulders and looked down at me.
“Are you doing okay?”
“As well as can be expected,” I said. “I’m still struggling over how someone so close to me could betray me that way, and wondering how it was that I couldn’t see it. He totally fooled me.”
“He fooled everyone,” Duncan said.
“Have you talked to Carter today?”
Duncan nodded. “He’s having a rough time of it. Given that he and Sam were childhood friends, you can imagine how betrayed he feels.”
A Toast to Murder Page 27
