by Vicki Hinze
“No, actually it doesn’t,” Gabby insisted. “He dodges responsibility. He takes credit for successes, but not fault for screwups. You’ve seen that.”
Max thought it through and frowned. “He lacks the leadership abilities, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” Gabby’s neck felt stiff. She rubbed at it. “I’m not sure why, but I feel certain the mayor didn’t order or commit the murders. He respected Judges Powell and Abernathy. He really did. I don’t think he had the guts to order either of them killed.”
“But Blake wants us to believe he did.”
“Maybe. But, you know, he was funny about things. I think if he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t have wanted us to know anything. And I’m not at all sure he’d leave incriminating notes like this.”
Gabby slid back her chair. Its legs scraped on the floor, and she reached for the telephone and dialed. Moments later, she spoke. “Candace. Hey. Listen, tell me how you came to buy Logan Industries.”
“Mayor Faulkner gave me the initial heads-up on it being vulnerable. I followed up on the lead, decided it was a great investment, checked with Keith for objections on the due diligence, and then bought it.”
“Otherwise you’d have had no idea it was vulnerable?”
“No. Last reports out on it, it looked financially stable. I met with the owner, had my compliance auditor take a look at the books, and made an offer. He was happy, I was happy, and Faulkner was happy. Faulkner was worried about the loss of jobs if poor management let L.I. go under. If he hadn’t contacted me, I wouldn’t have known L.I. was ripe for a hostile takeover.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Gabby, how much trouble am I in?”
“I’m not sure yet. Try not to worry. We’ll make it right.” She hung up the phone and turned to Max.
“Faulkner,” he said, beating her to the disclosure.
“Yes.”
“It’s not looking good for him, Gabby.”
“That’s the problem.” She put on a fresh pot of coffee and waited at the counter for a cup’s worth to filter through and fill the pot. “He’s such a politician, Max—always mindful of reelection. He wouldn’t tarnish his image or risk turning voters against him. Faulkner is a pain in the ass, but he is extremely protective of Carnel Cove and Covers. His great-grandfather founded the town, so he feels strong ties to the place. He wouldn’t ordinarily pass on a hot tip on a specific local business. They’re all special to him. At worst, he’d have someone else do it—like Carl Blake. Being the bank president, it would be more natural for him to know about this. But Candace says Faulkner gave her the lead himself.”
“Maybe he didn’t want the business to go down the tubes. That costs the Cove revenue, jobs, stability, and he would want to protect against all that. I don’t see the conflict here.”
“You’re missing my point,” Gabby said. “Faulkner would see to it that Candace got the lead, but he wouldn’t give it to her himself. He’d be afraid that the other businesses would feel slighted. More likely, he’d have Carl Blake tell her—especially if Faulkner was manipulating events for the Consortium. He’d never risk that direct tie to himself. It could compromise him.”
“Yet he did tell her himself. So your theory is that since he did, he can’t be the director of the Consortium?”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Faulkner could be faking it, but he genuinely doesn’t seem to know the truth about the lab incident, which is amazing in itself since he typically knows everything that goes on in Carnel Cove. If he were the director, it stands to reason that Dr. Swift would have told him. If he brought Dr. Swift onboard at L.I. he would answer to Faulkner.”
Max mulled it all over in his mind. “He grilled me, looking for answers. He doesn’t know the truth; I’d bet on it. As the director, Faulkner just doesn’t work.”
Gabby reached over and flipped a strand of hair away from Max’s eyes. “You know what does work?”
“What?” He cupped her hand, twined their fingers.
“The director issuing Faulkner an order he couldn’t refuse.” Gabby slid off her chair and nudged Max’s side until he slid his chair back from the table. Then she eased onto his lap and rested her chin at the crook in his neck. “What if Carl Blake was the director?” Max’s arms closed around her and his heart beat hard and fast against her side. “What if Blake arranged for the Warrior to attack me? Forced Cabot to infect the vineyards and Faulkner to give Candace the Logan Industries stock lead? I could see him squelching likely CEO applicants so Candace had no choice but to hire Dr. Swift.”
“Swift probably was already in the Consortium’s pocket.”
“Yes.”
Max sighed and rested his cheek against her head. “I’m not connecting all the dots, honey. Why would Blake kill Judge Powell? Judge Abernathy?”
“Because Judge Powell was in New York—according to Blake’s journal—to report Judge Abernathy to the Justice Department for judicial corruption.”
“The suspension of the three Global Warrior cases.”
She nodded. Rubbed small circles on his shoulder. “When the fourth Warrior case came up and Faulkner told Abernathy to handle it, I had already been inserted here as a judge. Abernathy sensed I was more than a judge. He balked about hearing the case. Faulkner insisted, so Abernathy retired from the bench to avoid having to hear the case.”
“That put the case in Judge Powell’s lap,” Max surmised.
“According to Blake’s book, Faulkner approached Judge Powell, looking for a suspended sentence. Powell agreed to think it over.”
Max’s eyes gleamed, linking the connection. “But then Powell went to New York to meet with the Justice Department, so the Consortium got the Global Warriors to arrange the elevator incident to stop Powell from making the meeting.”
“It worked, too. Powell recognized that incident as an attack meant for him, and he returned home without going to the meeting. He went up to the cabin to talk with Judge Abernathy. To confront him with his suspicions.”
“Faulkner was there, of course.”
“So says Carl Blake. It’s hard to make him a scapegoat if he’s not around. But I say Faulkner wasn’t there. Carl was, and he killed Judge Powell. Carl released the Z-4027-infected mosquitoes in the lab and he killed Abernathy—to frame Faulkner as the Consortium director.”
“But you had done the testing on Powell and thrown a wrench into the works.”
“I think so. That’s why he sent the Global Warriors to murder me. I was a risk too high to him to take.”
“Only instead of dying like a nice little judge, you killed his Warrior.”
“And his second Warrior missed me and winged you. The only thing he’s murdered is the Jeep’s tires and maybe Candace’s car—provided the people in that housing unit live.” She sat up, looked at Max. “The final nail for Carl was when his journal went missing.”
“That’s why he killed himself. He feared exposure through it.”
Gabby studied the matter long and hard. Carl Blake thought he was brilliant. He was clever, but only clever. His biggest challenge was appearances and ego. “No, Max. That’s why he didn’t kill himself,” she said. “Don’t you see? Carl Blake thought he could conquer the world and everything in it. He was domineering, master of his world. He wouldn’t leave it voluntarily. There’s no way he would have killed himself, Max. No way.”
“So this too was murder?”
“It has to be,” Gabby said. “Nothing else makes sense.” She scooted off his lap and raided the fridge, which had been miraculously restocked—she assumed by Max. Hauling out smoked turkey breast, baby Swiss cheese, mayo, pickles, and mustard, she glanced back at Max. “Grab the lettuce and tomatoes, will you?”
“Sure.” He went to the fridge, grabbed the items, and then joined her at the sink, where they worked side by side to prepare sandwiches.
Gabby loved working in the kitchen with Max. It felt cozy, comfortable.
“You know, in light of everything w
e’ve learned, it makes sense that Dr. Swift substituted the black-banded canister in the lab.” Max snitched a slice of pickle off a plate holding them, slivers of onion, and wedges of tomatoes.
Gabby withdrew two plates from the cabinet and then closed the door. “How’s that?”
“Swift had Erickson’s vaccine, right? He didn’t need him anymore.”
“Right.” She pulled out knives and forks and set the plate of cold cuts on the table.
Max carried over the rest. “What didn’t Swift have, then? What couldn’t he get?”
Gabby slathered mayo on a slice of bread. Bit into a piece of onion and pondered. Max’s point hit her like a hammer strike, and excitement bubbled in her stomach. “Trial studies.”
“Yeah.” Max took a bite of sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “He had already gone through the allotted funding for them. So he couldn’t get more money off the DOD contract. He also couldn’t finish the contract without the studies. He was screwed.”
“Then when Hurricane Darla hit, and the mosquito population increased as it always does after a hurricane, he saw an opportunity to get his trial studies and to get FEMA to pay for them.” The excitement got buried under the heartless act of a man willing to kill innocents for his own purposes. “God, Max. He’s a monster.”
“Spraying Z-4027 on the public for money qualifies in my book.”
“David Erickson would know it, too. So Swift had to shut down his program for the vaccine and get him out of Logan Industries. Swift had to discredit David to get rid of him to get the vaccine patent, and to have authorities blow off anything David might report to them as sour grapes. That’s why Swift set it up to look like David’s lab had the security breaches and David, not Swift, didn’t report them.”
“That’s my take on it.” Max got up, fixed them glasses of iced tea, and then returned to his seat and shoved a little white bowl of lemon wedges toward Gabby.
For a man who wasn’t married to her, he knew a lot of her habits. She squeezed two wedges into her glass. “But Swift screwed up on the timing.”
“He did.” Max wiped at his mouth with the edge of his napkin. “When he claimed David was switching the canisters, he was here, with you and me and Elizabeth. Naturally, when all hell broke loose at the lab, Carl Blake realized his pesticide-spraying trucks had sprayed the superbug and not pesticide. Forty-two people in the hospital, no cure … maybe the reality of killing people, doing trial studies on the public and getting caught at it, were more than Carl could handle, and so he killed himself. It’s possible.”
“It’s not possible.” Candace came in from the living room and snagged a plate from the cabinet. She sat down across from Gabby. “Pass the bread.”
“How long have you been here?” Gabby passed over the loaf of bread.
“Long enough to know you’re going down the wrong road.” She made herself a sandwich, took a bite, and then got herself a glass of tea. “I’m not buying it—Faulkner, that is. He doesn’t have what it takes. Carl does. He hired the Global Warriors to kill people—including you.” She paused and slid Gabby a glare. “I’m totally pissed about my Porsche.”
“Be glad you’re alive.”
“Tomorrow.” Candace spread a napkin in her lap. “Today, I want revenge.”
“Which is why you’re here?” Max asked.
“If Carl Blake killed William Powell and Judge Abernathy personally—which I believe he did—then forty-two strangers dying meant nothing to him. I’m betting he didn’t kill himself. I’m betting someone else killed him.” She looked knowingly at Gabby.
“Who?” Max asked, not following.
Gabby sucked in a sharp breath. “Someone who wanted the truth to remain buried even more than Carl wanted it to remain buried.”
Candace nodded.
“Faulkner is the obvious choice.”
“True,” Gabby agreed. “But that’s exactly why he wouldn’t do it.”
“Then who are you two talking about? Obviously, you’ve got a grip on who did this.”
“Yes, I do,” Candace said.
“For all the reasons Faulkner wouldn’t do it, Sissy Blake would—and why she would create the incident at the lab.”
Max swallowed a bite. “Share your insights. I’m not making the leap.”
Gabby touched a hand to his forearm. “Sissy knew Carl was the Consortium director—in the same way Elizabeth knew William was SDU—”
Candace frowned. “What’s SDU?”
“Never mind,” Gabby said quickly. “The point is, Sissy knew and she hated it. Likely, she hated him for it.”
“She is extremely into appearances, Max,” Candace explained. “If Carl were exposed doing something illegal or embarrassing, the humiliation would be worse than death to Sissy. She honestly couldn’t take it.”
Gabby went on. “Sissy knew about it all, and she wanted it to stop. She wanted the ugliness to just go away. She killed Judge Powell to keep the truth about Carl buried. She rewrote Carl’s notebook, framing Mayor Faulkner—simple handwriting tests will prove it—and she gave it to me so I would bring Faulkner to justice. Then Hurricane Darla gave Sissy exactly what she needed to force Carl to cease and desist on all Consortium activities.”
“What did she need?” Candace asked. “Now, I’m lost.”
“Outside authorities,” Max said, clearly putting the pieces into place.
Candace’s eyes stretched wide. “So she created the lab incident to get outside authorities involved.” Candace grimaced. “God, that woman is twisted.”
“Desperate, Candace,” Gabby said. “Carl was respected. As his wife, Sissy was respected. If he died, then his sins died with him, and she became his respected widow.”
Max interceded. “If his sins were exposed, then she lost her husband, her family and home, and her respect in the community. Everything that mattered to her would be gone. That’s why she killed Carl. She wanted to retain her respect more than she wanted to keep her husband, marriage, and family intact.”
“Sparing herself and the kids.” Candace nodded, thoughtful. “She’d think Jackson would go easy on her—they had a thing years ago. Yes, it all fits.”
“Just get your butt in gear and you can help us prove it to Sheriff Coulter and then the FBI.” Gabby stood up and took her plate to the sink. “But why would she assume that ‘thing’ years ago would make a difference to Jackson now?”
“First loves are never forgotten, Gabby.” Candace looked at Max. “What your wife doesn’t know about relationships is amazing. Educate her, will you?”
Gabby snorted, grabbed Max’s sleeve, and ushered him to the door. She tossed Candace a cool glare and a sniff. “Max and I are doing just fine, thank you very much.
Right, Max?”
Hey, it didn’t take a real husband to see the danger in disagreeing on that one. “Absolutely, honey.”
Candace giggled, low and throaty, but turned her head to keep Gabby from hearing it. Max decided then and there he really liked her. Unfortunately, he also discovered he didn’t just like Gabby; he loved her.
Even more unfortunate was that loving her left him parked firmly between the rock and the hard place.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Gabby, I’ve done everything I know to do, okay?” Jackson Coulter’s face reddened like a three-hour overdone sunburn and he plopped down onto his chair behind his desk. “Sissy won’t move off the dime.”
“She’s guilty, Jackson.” Gabby stood in front of him, her arms folded over her chest. “Let me talk with her.”
“I can’t do that, any more than I can arrest her. She’s just here for questioning. Besides, you’re a judge, not her lawyer.”
“Has she asked for a lawyer?”
“Not yet.”
Gabby hiked her brows. Sissy wanted to talk; Gabby had sensed it at her house, and she would have done it then if her son hadn’t arrived home from college. She had no intention of not talking. She was the victim here. Her husband’s victim …
maybe. Or maybe not. “Ask her if she’ll talk with me on tape. If she agrees, then you’re in the clear.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know that she will.” Gabby elevated her voice. “Jackson, would you just ask her?”
“Getting loud, honey,” Max said from behind her, the cell phone at his ear.
She paused to roll her gaze heavenward so he wouldn’t miss it, and then looked back at Jackson. “Will you just ask the woman? Please.”
“All right. All right.” He left the office and entered the interrogation room down the hall where Sissy had been sitting for over five hours.
Any moment, Gabby feared, the woman would ask for an attorney, or insist she be charged or released. Gabby had to talk with her first, or Sissy Blake would never admit the truth.
“Okay, Stan.” Max turned to look at Gabby, pacing a short path from Jackson’s desk to the office door. “Have HazMat verify the tanks test clean before you resume normal spraying. Verify the chemicals, too.” Max paused, running a mental checklist to make sure he’d covered all hazardous material procedural requirements and then added, “No, you can’t trust the bands. I don’t care where the pesticide comes from, you run it personally and check the tanks before any truck is loaded and dispatched.”
He hung up the phone. “Gabby, you’re going to wear a path in the carpet.”
“Is Stan up to speed on things now?”
“Yes, he is.” Max tucked the phone back into his pocket. “The commander, too. He’s still searching for his second team.”
Darlene piped up from Christie’s desk. “They’re in the cells.”
Gabby looked at Max and then they both turned to Darlene. “Show us,” Gabby said, wondering how this had happened. Conlee would have a fit.
Jackson walked her and Max back to the cells and Gabby nearly lost her lunch. “Jackson, what are you doing?”
“Holding bank robbers and jewel thieves.”
Gabby shouted, “You’re holding Justice Department investigators! Turn them loose.”
“I can’t just turn them loose, Gabby. I caught them with the jewels and the money.”
