Ready, Aim, Under Fire (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 10)

by Camilla Chafer

  Solomon was studying me. “Do you want a dog?”

  “I’m a PI. Shouldn’t I get a cat?”

  “No, you’re not single.”

  “Good point.” I slipped my hand into his and we took the steps up. Solomon let us into the house. After sliding off my shoes, I followed him into the kitchen, hoisting myself onto a tall kitchen stool. He reached inside one of the sleek cabinets and extracted two wine glasses. The refrigerator, hidden behind another faceless panel, contained a bottle of white wine. Solomon extracted the cork and poured us both a glass. I clinked mine against his in a quiet toast and swallowed. “This is nice.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you want to talk about work?” I asked, my mind flitting back to Fiona and Debby.

  “Nope. I think we should take our minds off work.”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  Solomon smiled. “Why don’t I show you?” Then he did exactly that.

  ~

  The next morning found me sitting outside the morgue, my absolutely least favorite place, but it was necessary. Garrett called me first thing with information about the autopsy and ballistics reports. I was eager to know more so long as it didn’t include any show-and-tell with the body. Fortunately, he told me to wait in the lobby.

  “Hey, you’re here already,” said Garrett. I stood up from the plastic chair and smiled although I was sure it didn’t reach my eyes. Garrett looked exhausted, even minus the black-ringed eyes, and I wondered if he worked through the night. I’d had a much more comfortable night in bed with a very warm Solomon but didn’t get a lot a lot sleep for all the wrong reasons. The image of Fiona, her gunshot wound glaringly obvious, kept appearing behind my eyelids.

  “Bright and perky,” I replied, plastering on a sunny countenance for cover.

  “I hate you.”

  That confirmed it; Garrett did work all night. The fresh shirt and tie probably came from his locker, where he kept his spare clothing. “I brought you a bacon roll,” I told him, holding up the paper bag that was warming my hands.

  “I love you,” he said as he grabbed it, tearing into the roll. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite sibling?”

  “Probably, but you can say it again.”

  “You’re my favorite.”

  “Say it in front of Serena!”

  Garrett paused in the middle of his chewing. “No. I’m grateful, not suicidal.”

  “Okay, sure, but we all know it’s true and that’s what counts.”

  Garrett snorted but didn’t correct me. Instead, he said, “The preliminary report on Fiona Queller is in,” flapping the file in his hand pointlessly. I’d already noticed it the moment he walked in and was waiting for him to mention it. He tossed the paper bag into the trashcan and dropped into the plastic chair adjacent to mine before opening the folder and flipping through the photos quickly. I sat next to him, trying to peek. “There isn’t much to add yet beyond what I surmised yesterday. Fiona was shot in the head and died instantly. The bullet is a 9mm. Very common, unfortunately. On the brighter side, we found the bullet at the scene and there’s a mark that makes it very easy to match the gun when we eventually find it.”

  “When? Not if?”

  “A professional hit man would never have left a casing so I’m ruling that out. A smart killer, even if he were just an opportunist, would get rid of this gun pretty damn quickly, especially if they know about the unique striations on the bullet. I expect it will turn up during the search of the immediate area.”

  “I don’t suppose fingerprints are too much to ask for?”

  “Let’s not hold our breaths.” Garrett turned the page, running his finger down it. “We’ll check the bullet of course, just in case the perp didn’t wear gloves when he loaded the gun but it’s a longshot. Says here, there were no defensive wounds and no DNA under the victim’s fingernails so she didn’t fight him off before he shot her. That’s not corroborated with the scene at the victim’s house. Lamps were smashed, pictures were torn off the wall and they all indicate a fight could have taken place.”

  “The staged robbery could have been done afterwards,” I said.

  “True. Or the victim could have been incapacitated in some way—” Garrett broke off as he continued to read ahead. “No, scrap that. There’s no evidence she was restrained or drugged; plus, we can be reasonably sure she hadn’t been home long. A neighbor was walking their dog and saw her park on the driveway around thirty minutes before we got the call.”

  “Did the neighbor hear anything?”

  “I sent a uniform to knock on all the doors and so far, no one heard a thing until the gunshot was called in.”

  “What about entry? Was it forced?” Nothing suggested that on the front of the house, but someone could have jimmied the back door or a window at the rear of the property without being noticed. They could have been waiting in the house for Fiona to return.

  “Nothing. We think she probably let her killer in.”

  “So she opened the door to someone she knew or trusted. That keeps Debby Patterson on the suspect list. She knew her but I doubt she trusted her, not after what she said to me.”

  “Did she say anything to you about why she suspected Debby?”

  I shook my head. “No, just that she was sure it wasn’t her and she thought it might be a scam of some sort. She couldn’t say much because Mrs. Patterson was waiting for her and I doubt she wanted to upset her. Is Debby a suspect?”

  “She’s not a suspect until there’s reason to believe she is. She would need a motive.”

  “Fiona didn’t think she was Debby and she knew it. She told her at the Pattersons’ welcome home party. That’s plenty of motive.”

  “It’s a pretty big leap and we both know it.”

  “Got anything better than a leap?”

  Garrett shook his head. “Nope.”

  “What else is in the report?” I asked. Garrett and I could talk on end about Debby but there wouldn’t be much to say until one of us knew more. For the time being, we had to focus on the information we had.

  “Not much. Victim appeared to have showered recently—”

  “She was playing tennis with Mrs. Patterson shortly before. I’m sure you can verify that.”

  “Thanks, I spoke to a manager at her club and he confirmed she had a game with Mrs. Patterson. Stomach contents consisted of peanuts and a small amount of alcohol. A glass of champagne. Both were consumed an hour before death. No issues with the time of death, thanks to the 911 call and the dog-walking neighbor.”

  “The champagne and peanuts sound like club snacks to me. Perhaps Mrs. Patterson and Fiona stopped at the bar before going home?”

  “I’m lucky if I can get a fresh donut,” grumbled Garrett.

  “I brought you a bacon roll!”

  “So you did.” He hesitated and I saw the suggestion in his eyes before he could verbalize it. “Yes, I will bring you a donut too, next time,” I told him before moving on to my subsequent question. “Did Fiona have any enemies?”

  “Not from our initial interview with the husband but he was too cut up to talk properly yesterday. I’ll know more when we expand the investigation. Listen, Lexi, if I hadn’t handed you the Patterson file yesterday, and you hadn’t met Fiona, I wouldn’t have thought this was anything more than a bungled burglary. Now? I don’t know what to think of it. Have I got a pre-meditated murder or just a home invasion gone wrong?”

  I didn’t get the impression he wanted to hear an answer. “I’ll leave it to you to work that out.”

  “Really?” Garrett regarded me with visible suspicion. “You’re not going to butt into my murder investigation?”

  “No!” I smiled as an idea flashed in my head. I knew exactly how I could get close to Debby and conduct my investigation without raising her alarm. “I’m going to use it to get to Debby Patterson.”

  Chapter Five

  I found Debby at her hotel. The Montgomery Hotel and Conference Center was a
mid-priced resort, better than a cheap motel but not as fancy as The Belmont. I’d gone undercover at this hotel once. Either there was a complete staff turnover since then or I arrived during the wrong shift to put any faces to the names. I didn’t recognize anyone when I took a seat at the bar and that was probably a good thing since I was aiming for anonymity.

  Without any prior surveillance to work from, I didn’t know Debby’s routine. I figured if she only recently returned to town, she probably didn’t have a job yet so she didn’t have any fixed hours to keep. I also assumed that no one liked to stay in a hotel room all day. Just as soon as she appeared, I planned to make my move.

  “What can I get you?” asked the bartender.

  “Coffee, thanks,” I told him. With a brief nod, he moved to the other end of the bar and the large coffee machine. I watched him for a moment as he reached for a cup from the stack, then glanced toward the lobby. My position at the bar gave me a good view of the lobby but I still had to be careful not to miss Debby. She could easily slip out in a crowd although something told me she probably wouldn’t. Garrett assured me no one from MPD had approached her. She had no reason to be on alert.

  When Garrett gave me the case, I wasn’t sure how to approach Debby in order to ascertain the truth about her identity, but now I had the perfect ruse. Regardless of what Fiona Queller said to her that night, social etiquette required that Debby not refuse to answer a few questions about her parents’ close friend, especially given her violent death.

  I didn’t have to wait long. I’d already relocated from the bar to one of the small tables where I sat in a chair directly facing the lobby. Debby appeared as soon as I finished my first cup of coffee. She stepped out of the elevator and crossed over to the reception desk. With a quick glance at the description supplied by Garrett, I confirmed it was she. The pale brown hair was shorter and the cut much nicer, and the high school-era sweatshirt was replaced with a smart sweater in the palest blue and a pair of skinny jeans tucked into long, leather boots. Her slim trench coat ended mid-thigh and the tan leather purse looked well-made but inexpensive. She had a polished, stylish look of which I approved. She said something to the concierge and waited for a reply before nodding and heading toward the entrance doors. I grabbed my purse and followed her out to the parking lot. When she took her keys out of her pocket, I saw my chance.

  “Excuse me,” I said, jogging after her, not too steadily in my heels but fast enough to catch her own quick pace. “Excuse me? Debby? Debby Patterson?”

  She turned, stopping onto the sidewalk, smiling broadly and expectantly. “Yes? Do I know you?” She peered at me, her eyebrows pinching together as if trying to place me somewhere and failing.

  “I’m Lexi.” I stuck out my hand and she shook it politely. That was mostly, I thought, because she didn’t have the option to do anything else without seeming rude. “I’m looking into Fiona Queller’s homicide case.”

  “Fiona?” Her eyebrows knitted more tightly together.

  “You heard about what happened last night?”

  “Yes, yes, I did.” She nodded and gulped. “My parents called and told me. I didn’t know Fiona very well but my mom is devastated. You said you’re looking into it? Are you a detective?” Her eyes lowered, taking in my clothes and I regretted passing up the opportunity to throw on something a little plainer and more professional than my cream floral blouse and baby-blue jeans. At least, I wore a jacket since it was a cool day. I’d gotten used to, and was very happy with, my daily perk of wearing joyous colors and prints rather than the drab, corporate colors of my former temping career. My dress sense, according to Solomon, was one of the reasons why no one ever suspected me of being an investigator. I wasn’t entirely sure if that meant no one took me seriously, or they just never suspected me. I was determined I would never resemble a single one of my hard male colleagues.

  Opting to be straight with Debby since the murder was my cover story to get close to her, I took her assertion that she wasn’t close to Fiona as a blessing. It made it easier for me. If she thought I was investigating one thing, she wouldn’t look too closely at the questions that might expose her. “Not exactly. I’m a PI. I’m assisting MPD with the case.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Their resources are stretched,” I said with a shrug as if it were a common occurrence and I didn’t care if she believed me or not. However, since I didn’t want her calling MPD or risking the chance of her speaking to someone who would blow my cover, I added, “Actually, I’m working on behalf of Fiona’s family. They want to be sure to get all the information.”

  “Oh. They must be… I can’t imagine, actually. It’s so awful for them. I don’t know how I can help you.”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions; that is, if you’re not in a hurry?”

  Debby moved the keys in her fingers. “I have to see an apartment but I can give you ten minutes. I can’t be late because they’re going to show it to some other people.”

  “That would be great. Can I get you a coffee?” I waved a hand towards the hotel from which we just exited.

  “No, thanks. What did you want to ask me? Like I said, I didn’t know Fiona very well.”

  “We’re talking to everyone even remotely connected to her. When did you last see Fiona?”

  “About six days ago. She came to a dinner party my parents were having. We didn’t talk much.”

  “Was that your welcome home dinner?”

  Debby blinked in surprise but recovered quickly. “Yes. I’ve been living abroad. I recently came home and my parents threw a surprise dinner party for me to welcome me back.”

  “How sweet!”

  “Mmm,” said Debby but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Fiona and I exchanged a few polite remarks but I don’t remember saying much else.”

  “She’s been friends with your mom for a long time?” I prompted.

  “Oh, wow. Yes! Years. Since I was a teenager.”

  “So you probably knew her better than you think?”

  Debby pulled a face. “Not really. She is, she was, my mom’s friend, not mine, although I’ve seen her plenty of times. I wouldn’t say we shared any heart-to-hearts. I couldn’t tell you her favorite color but I can tell you she and my mom liked to go to the theater together and they’ve been playing tennis for years.”

  “Would you know if anyone threatened her?”

  “Maybe. My mom would have told me if there was something she was worried about, but she hasn’t said anything like that. Do you think someone hurt Fiona deliberately?”

  I resisted asking the question of what she thought a bullet hole in the head meant. Instead I said, “We’re trying to cover all the bases.”

  “I thought there was a burglary? Mom said Fiona’s house was torn apart.”

  “Yes, that’s our most plausible theory.”

  “It’s so terrible,” she said with a shake of her head that sent her hair flying around her shoulders. “I was so shocked when Mom told me. I could never imagine something like that happening to Fiona. She was always so nice and to think she died so horribly—” Debby broke down, sniffling. She grabbed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. “I’ve traveled all over the world and I always thought Montgomery was the most boring, but safe place.”

  I once thought the same thing, but recent years revealed that Montgomery might look nice on the surface — and a lot of Montgomery really was — but it had an underbelly that contaminated it. I’d had my fair share of tackling criminals who wanted to drag my city down, or simply didn’t care about my hometown. I couldn’t describe it as boring anymore, nor could I describe it as safe. But I also had to concede I was no longer an average citizen. I didn’t stand in the path of crime; no, I fell headfirst into uncovering it. Sometimes, it seemed to follow me around.

  “Can you tell me where you were yesterday between seven and eight PM?” I asked, whipping out my notepad and pen, ready to take
notes.

  “Is that when she died? Why are you asking me?” Debby’s voice rose suspiciously.

  “It’s purely to ensure everyone I speak to is eliminated from further inquiries as fast as possible,” I assured her. “Don’t think anything of it.”

  “Okay, I, um, I picked up takeout from Dan’s Deli at six-thirty and ate it in the park because it was a nice day. I left around seven and drove back here to the hotel. I think I returned here around seven-fifteen.”

  “Were you with anyone?”

  “No, but I spoke to the server at the the deli and I called my dad from the park. I think I said hi to the concierge when I got back here. Oh, I came downstairs to get some more coffee for the room but I don’t remember what time that was. Maybe seven-thirty?”

  “That’s great, thank you.” I noted her answer and looked up. “So… traveling sounds amazing. Where did you go?” I adopted a more conversational tone designed to put Debby at ease as well as distracting her from the alibi she’d just given me. It wouldn’t be too hard to corroborate her story and I planned to do just that later.

  “First, I went to Canada. From there, I flew to Australia. I stayed there for six months, mostly in Sydney and then went to Hong Kong, Dubai, and from there, Europe. I took the train all over Europe. Portugal, Spain, France, England, France again, then Belgium, Germany, the Netherlands, Denmark. I visited Russia too. Eventually, I went to Italy, and finally Greece.”

  I was thunderstruck for a moment, thinking of all the places I had never seen except in books or on TV. “Did you work?”