Shots in the Dark

by Allyson K. Abbott

  Chapter 5

  I found Cora in my office, finishing up the copies of Sandra’s file. I closed the door behind me and locked it to keep out any unwanted, spontaneous intruders. I’d spied Clay Sanders, who was one of the more persistent reporters, seated at the bar. His omnipresence of late was annoying, but I’d been rethinking things recently.

  “Clay is here,” I said on the off chance Cora hadn’t noticed him or he hadn’t been there when she came through.

  “I saw him,” she said with a wan smile. “He seems very determined.”

  “That he is.”

  Cora shot me a look. “I know that tone of voice, Mack,” she said. “You’re plotting something.”

  “I’m just wondering if maybe we should abide by that rule to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  She looked at me, aghast. “You’re not seriously thinking of inviting Clay to the group, are you?”

  I shrugged.

  “These reporters have done nothing but poke fun at you, and Clay has been among the most persistent of them. I think it would be a big mistake.”

  “Let’s think about it for a minute, Cora. Clay is an investigative reporter, and as such, he has a lot of resources at hand, resources we could make good use of. What if we worked out a deal with him?”

  “It would be a deal with the devil.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But if we offer him something in return, something that would buy his loyalty, maybe we could turn him from the dark side.”

  “What have we got to offer him?” Her copies were finished, and she scooped them from the tray and tamped them into a pile. “And how do we know we can trust him?”

  “How do we know we can trust anyone in the group?”

  Cora contemplated this and acceded my point with an equivocal look and a shrug.

  “What is his primary motivation?” Before she could answer, I continued. “He wants a scoop. He wants to get to the meat of a good story before anyone else does. Doing that gives him prestige, maybe even a promotion. So what if we offered him limited access, asked him to help us with some of our research, and let him participate on a trial basis, with the promise of getting that scoop?”

  Cora frowned and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Mack. It seems risky to me. Have you run this idea by Duncan?”

  “I haven’t run it by anyone but you,” I admitted.

  “I’m flattered, but I think you should run it by Duncan first to see what he thinks. There are other things at stake here. What about Mal?”

  Malachi O’Reilly was a transplant to the Milwaukee area from the state of Washington, and he worked undercover. His current assignment was with a construction company whose boss and owner was suspected of fraud. Mal’s family ran a construction company back in Washington, so he had the necessary knowledge and skill set to pull off the job. He had managed to get hired by the suspect company and had been working with them for a while when he and I were set up as a blind date. We pretended he was a friend of Cora’s, and ever since a couple of trial “dates,” we’d been acting like a couple. Unfortunately, Duncan’s plan to use Mal as a form of incognito protection for me backfired. Mal and I shared a strong attraction to one another, and our deception had trickled over into reality. The fact that my relationship with Duncan was a bit up in the air at the time hadn’t helped the situation.

  “I’ll run it by Mal, too,” I told Cora. “I don’t see why he can’t continue to function in his undercover role even if Clay is involved. None of the other group members know the truth about him except for you, Joe, and Frank. We can dupe Clay just as easily.”

  Cora’s frown deepened, and I could tell she wasn’t convinced. “See what Duncan and Mal have to say on the matter,” she said. “I’ll keep an open mind in the meantime. Speaking of which, when are you supposed to see Duncan again?”

  This was a prickly question. “I’m not sure,” I said. “He called yesterday and said he’d be in touch sometime this weekend. Mal is coming by later today, and we’re supposed to go out to a movie and dinner. But now that we have this new case to look into, I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “Is that the only reason you don’t want to do it?” Cora asked cagily. “You two are hitting it off quite well, it seems. You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

  I sighed and sank down onto the couch in my office, propping my crutches alongside of me. “I like him a lot,” I admitted. “We get along well. I’m comfortable around him.”

  “And he’s pretty easy on the eyes,” Cora added with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Does Duncan know?”

  “He knows Mal has feelings for me, but I’m not sure if he realizes they’re reciprocated to some extent. We’ve circled around the topic a time or two, but Duncan has avoided coming out and asking directly, and I’ve avoided making any claims. My feelings for Duncan are strong, stronger than what I feel for Mal at this point, but I’m not sure our relationship is going anywhere. He’s not being very committal.”

  “You haven’t known either one of them for all that long,” Cora said. “Give yourself time with both of them. There’s no need to rush into anything.”

  “No, I suppose there isn’t.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “It’s just that ever since my dad died, I feel so alone and adrift. In the past I always had him here to share things with and to talk to about stuff. Now I don’t have that.”

  “You have me. Anytime you want to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

  I gave her a grateful smile. “I know that, and I appreciate it, Cora. Believe me, I do. But there are times, like late at night, after the bar closes down, or early in the morning, when I’m having my breakfast, when I feel the loss and the loneliness so strongly. Those are the times when I can put work and crimes and all this other crap behind me. Those were the times when my father and I would chew the fat and discuss news stories, our futures, current events, philosophical ideas . . . whatever struck our fancy. They were relaxing, normal moments in my life, and I miss them. I miss him,” I said, tears welling in my eyes.

  Cora walked over and sat down beside me. She took me in her arms and gave me a hug, rocking us both gently. When she finally let me go, she sandwiched my face between her hands and looked me in the eye. “It will come with time, Mack, I promise. Of course you miss your father. He was the primary influence in your life, the one constant that was always there. And he was your only family. Now you have a temporary, makeshift family, an eclectic group of crime-solving misfits who love what they do and love you. Use us as much as you need to until you figure out where your head is at and which direction you want to go in. Once you know that, you’ll be able to start your own family. Until then, I and the others are here for you.”

  My throat was tight with emotion, making me unable to speak. So I simply nodded instead.

  Cora leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. Then she released my face. I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and smiled at her.

  “You know,” she said, “I don’t have any family close by, either. I have a brother who lives out in California that I haven’t seen in eight years. I get one of those Christmas newsletter things every year to keep me up to date on how he and his family are doing, but otherwise I never hear from him. My father died fifteen years ago, and my mother remarried a few years later and moved to Florida. We talk on the phone from time to time, but when it comes to day-to-day stuff, I don’t have anyone. I’m forty-three years old, I’ve never married, never had any kids, and for the most part, my business has been my life. That’s probably why it’s been so successful. Aside from a dozen or so romantic entanglements, I’ve never had anything to distract my focus. All my time and energy have gone into my business.”

  “Do you ever regret not marrying and having a family of your own?”

  “At times,” she said. “But deep down inside I know I’d make a lousy mother or wife. I bore too easily, and I value my freedom too much. And over the years I�
��ve learned that the definition of family stretches a lot. Between my friends and my lovers, my emotional needs are met just fine.” She paused and smiled. “You’ve been a key part of that.”

  “Me? How?”

  “My brother and I never got along very well, even as kids. We were so different in every way, and the five years of age difference was just enough to keep us from ever bonding well. I used to wish I had a sister, and I did what I could to fill that need with female friends. But I never got that close to any of them. I’ve always related better to men than women, and not just on a sexual basis. My personality just tends to mesh better with men. But you’re different. With you, I feel like I’ve finally found the sister I never had.”

  “That feeling is mutual,” I said, flashing a grateful smile. We hugged again, and when we were done, I changed the subject. “I went down to the Public Market earlier today. I found the vendor who got that last letter from the letter writer.”

  Cora’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I thought Duncan had already talked to the vendors down there.”

  “He did, but he did it as part of the official investigation into Gary’s murder. Since Gary’s body was found in the Public Market parking lot, it allowed Duncan to talk to folks there without appearing to be involved with me or my interests in the place. He said he asked if anyone had received any unusual notes, mail, or packages, and everyone said no. But I think the fact that his inquiries were official and attached to a murder investigation made people afraid to fess up.”

  “Who was it? And are you going to tell the cops about it? Do you think you’ll get into trouble if they find out you went down there and questioned people on your own? The cops have been giving all of us the third degree regarding Gary’s murder, and it’s been made pretty clear to us that we aren’t supposed to try to investigate it on our own.”

  “It was a lady named Trudy who got the letter. She works at the spice shop. And she’s petrified of getting involved with the police and the case. I promised her I wouldn’t involve the authorities. As for me getting into trouble, I went to the Public Market before Gary was killed, and I’ll continue to go there. Who’s to say I’m not just shopping? I did buy some stuff while I was there.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing helpful,” I said with a frown. “She got the same nondescript package the others did, and she swears she didn’t open or read the contents of the inside envelope. She said she destroyed it by burning it in her fireplace.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I do.”

  “So we’re back to square one.”

  “It would seem so, yes.”

  “Are you still okay with your decision not to tell the others in the group about the letters?”

  “For now. I don’t want to make them paranoid. And I’ve got Mal and Duncan working on it with me. Hopefully, we’ll come up with some answers soon.”

  “Okay, but be careful, Mack. Whoever this letter writer is, they are clearly not in their right mind. You need to keep a watchful eye, in case he or she is stalking you.”

  “I might be being watched, but I don’t think I’m being stalked. I’m not sure what the endgame is, but I don’t get the sense that I’m in danger, at least not yet. I think it’s more about the game for now.”

  “You haven’t gotten any new letters?”

  “No, but today’s mail hasn’t arrived yet.”

  My cell phone rang then, and when I looked, I saw it was Duncan calling. “It’s Duncan,” I told Cora. “Hopefully, he’ll have some good news.”

  She nodded, picked up the stack of copies, took the originals from the copier, and said, “Let me know. I’m going to head upstairs and hand these out.” She dropped the originals on my desk and left the room.

  With a hope and a prayer, I answered Duncan’s call, eager for some good news.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, Duncan,” I said, trying to sound chipper, though I feared I fell short.

  “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up? Your message said you had some news for me.”

  “I do. Plus, I wanted to check in with you to see what’s going on at your end of the world. I went to the Public Market this morning, and I found the person who got that last letter.”

  “You did? Who was it?”

  “A lady named Trudy who runs the spice shop.”

  “I talked to her on Thursday. She told me she didn’t get anything.”

  “I think you scared her. You’re a cop, and you went there in an official capacity. That can be intimidating. I tried a friendlier approach. She lied to me at first, but eventually, she admitted to receiving it. She said she didn’t open the inside letter, and she swore she destroyed it the way the instructions told her to.”

  “Which was?”

  “She burned it in her fireplace.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I do. I could tell from her body language and her voice that she was lying to me about getting anything, but eventually, she came clean. I just wish she’d been more curious or more of a procrastinator.”

  “You feel certain she disposed of it? Normal human curiosity would make most people either sneak a peek or hang on to it for a while.”

  “She seemed sincere. But it got me to thinking about something. She said the envelope was delivered to her house and left on her front porch. That’s the second one that went to someone’s home, and the one at the Miller brewery was at the guy’s place of employment. How does the letter writer know where these people live and work? They must have something in common, some connection. Either that or the letter writer has access to such information. Couldn’t that be a clue?”

  “Good point,” Duncan said thoughtfully. “It’s something worth looking into. Any idea what the common factor might be?”

  “Not yet, but give me some time to ponder it. Have you guys found any evidence related to Gary’s murder that might be helpful?”

  “Not much. We know the type of gun used to kill him, but we haven’t been able to match the bullet to any specific weapon. The only prints we found in the car were Gary’s, and we haven’t come up with any other trace evidence. We looked around Gary’s apartment, but nothing turned up there, either. And we also talked to his parole officer, but he said he wasn’t aware of anything or anyone in Gary’s life that would have set him up for this. Gary did do time, so we have to look into his prison connections to see if anything develops there, but I doubt this had anything to do with Gary personally.”

  “It was very personal,” I said, squeezing my eyes closed. “Gary died because of me, because he knew me, because he worked for me, because he saved my life.”

  Duncan sighed, and the sound of his breath over the phone made me see a turbulent mix of red, orange, and yellow colors. “Mack, this is not your fault. You’ve got to stop thinking that any of this is your fault.”

  “Kind of hard to do when his death is clearly connected to this damned letter writer who’s been taunting me. Why else would the killer have stuffed one of my bar napkins in his mouth? That seems like a clear message to me.”

  “You and I know what that napkin likely meant, but so far the rest of the investigative team is leaning toward its presence being coincidental.”

  “If that’s true, then why were the detectives who were here asking my customers and employees if any of them had had an argument of any sort with Gary recently?”

  “It’s a standard line of questioning we’d do in any case like this, Mack. And so far they’ve come up with nothing. No one at the bar is under suspicion. The team’s working theory at this point is that Gary probably had the napkin in his car, and the killer grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth to shut him up. But they haven’t ruled out the idea that the killer was in your bar at some point and had the napkin on him. So they’re looking into the possibility of a revenge killing, a payback from someone who might have been reprimanded, tossed out, or turned away when Gary was functioning in his bouncer role. You and I know that
likely isn’t the case, but given the circumstances, I’m willing to let the rest of the team think that for now.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve come up with anything new on Lewis’s case?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Whoever is doing this knows how to cover their tracks well.”

  “Perhaps that’s a clue as to who it is,” I suggested. “Maybe it’s someone who works with evidence or in police work.” I had to tread carefully on this topic because I had my own suspicions about Duncan’s partner, Jimmy. The man didn’t like me, didn’t like what I did, and had made it clear he thought I was a charlatan leading Duncan astray. Plus, the letter writer’s insistence that I wasn’t to have any help from Duncan jibed with Jimmy’s general opinion of me. But Duncan clearly trusted the guy, so rather than suggest Jimmy as a suspect, I was hoping to ease Duncan down the same path my own thoughts had followed.

  “It doesn’t take anyone with any day-to-day knowledge of investigative techniques and forensics these days,” Duncan said. “All you need is someone who watches all the crime shows on TV. Much of the general public is as well educated, if not better educated, on this stuff as most of us cops are.”

  Not wanting to push the Jimmy idea too hard, I switched topics, though I feared my next one was just as likely to leave me discouraged. “When am I going to see you again?”

  “I can’t come by tonight, but tomorrow evening is looking good. Do you have any plans?”

  “I have plans during the day, but the evening should be open. The Capone Club has a new case we might be looking into.”

  I filled him in on Sandra’s visit with the group, and when I was done, he said, “I’m not very familiar with the case, though I do remember hearing about the trial on the news. The actual crime happened before I came to town. Do you have any reason to think the guy might be innocent?”

  “Nothing yet, other than his sister’s conviction that he didn’t do it. But I’m hoping that if I talk to Ben Middleton, it will give me a better sense.”