“Probably hot-wired it. Isn’t that what car thieves do?”
“Sometimes.” Except Pete already knew the ignition hadn’t been tampered with. “Where are the keys?”
McBirney reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring with at least a dozen keys on it. He fingered them and held up one. “Here.”
“Do you keep a spare?”
“I do.” McBirney pocketed the keys and stepped to the workbench. He removed one glove and slipped his hand under the bench. “I keep an extra hidden right—” He frowned. “It’s missing.”
How convenient.
“Oh, wait. Here it is. I was feeling in the wrong spot.” McBirney extracted his hand. A key on a ring dangled from his finger.
Of course it was. Pete looked at the key, wondering if it had really been an accidental find or just a sleight of hand to keep him from knowing McBirney had had it on his person all along.
“Do you mind?” Not that it mattered whether he minded or not. Pete speared the ring with his pen, while digging a paper bag from his coat pocket that he kept for just-in-case moments when he needed to hold onto evidence. He deposited the key into the bag and labeled the evidence. He doubted he’d be able to lift a usable print from it, but he’d try. “Who else knows where you hide this?”
“No one who would use it to steal the damned car. Shouldn’t you get on your radio and put out a BOLO on it?” McBirney demanded.
Pete didn’t need to be on the lookout for the Buick. He knew exactly where it was. He just wasn’t quite ready to play that card yet.
The wind and snow had obliterated any signs of tire tracks. However, there was a trail of the white stuff leading into the bay as if someone had tracked it in. Pete knelt to study it. No discernible boot prints, only clumps. Traces of snow grew fainter toward the rear of the shed.
“Did you have the car pulled in headfirst or backed in?”
“Huh?” McBirney scowled. “Backed in. What the hell difference does that make?”
“Probably none.” Pete stood up and strolled around the shed, taking in every detail. Nothing seemed out of place. The man was anal regarding his tools.
A small flash of blue caught his eye. Squinting, he moved toward one of the nails hammered into the wall. No tool hung on it. But a miniscule scrap of blue fabric with frayed edges clung to it.
“Do not move,” he ordered and headed back to his SUV.
Marcy and McBirney appeared baffled by his actions. “What’s going on?” Marcy called after him.
Pete hoisted a black nylon bag containing his evidence collecting gear from the back of the Explorer and trudged back to the shed. After digging his camera from the kit, he snapped a series of photos to show the location and size of the fabric and noted a description of each shot in his notebook. Then he pulled out another paper bag and a pair of tweezers, which he used to carefully remove the shred of blue. He dropped it into the bag and labeled it. “What the hell are you doing?” McBirney’s expression had shifted from perplexed to annoyed to outraged in a matter of seconds. “My car was stolen. Plain and simple. Get on the horn and report it, damn it.”
Pete tucked his camera and the evidence back into the kit. “No need. Your car is back at the township garage.”
McBirney’s mouth hung open, his brows furrowed into a sharp V with matching creases across his forehead.
Marcy put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Pete, stop with the games. Just tell us what’s going on.”
“Fine. Your car was found last night in the game lands.”
“Great.” McBirney rubbed his hands together. “When I can pick it up?”
“You can’t. It’s being held as evidence in a murder.”
The color drained from Marcy’s face.
“Murder?” McBirney grunted. “Whose murder?”
“Ted Bassi’s. He was found dead behind the wheel of your Buick.”
Marcy doubled over. Pete expected McBirney to reach for her, but instead he shot a look at her that Pete couldn’t quite interpret. Shock? Anger, perhaps? Whatever it was, it sure wasn’t loving concern for his wife.
SIX
Sitting in the McBirneys’ kitchen felt like a bad episode of The Twilight Zone. Pete recognized many of Marcy’s touches from his own kitchen and made a mental note to have his house redecorated. At the very least, he intended to toss the vintage advertisements for Coca-Cola and Campbell’s Soup. Similar tin signs hung on the backsplash in this kitchen as well. Funny. He thought he had been the one to pick those out.
At least Marcy had finally left for that appointment of hers.
“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this.” McBirney’s words cut through Pete’s reverie.
“Why wouldn’t I? You and Bassi weren’t exactly friends.”
McBirney leaned back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. He opened his mouth, but reconsidered whatever retort he had been about to make and closed it again.
“You say you were here all last night?”
“After the meeting, yeah.”
“Alone?”
“No, of course not. Marcy was with me.”
Pete jotted a note to verify that with her later. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Ted Bassi dead?”
“Bassi was an asshole.”
Sylvia would have snapped McBirney’s head off for that one. “Just because he didn’t appreciate you having his mother arrested?”
McBirney raised a finger. “Speaking of that—”
“No, we’re not,” Pete interrupted. “We’re speaking of Ted and your car and murder.”
McBirney clamped his mouth shut so hard his lips turned white. He lowered his hand. “There are a lot of people out there who would want Bassi dead. He was a hothead.”
“Care to name names?”
“No.”
No? Something wasn’t right with this picture. “You sure? Because as far as I’m aware, you’re the only one who had a shouting match with the victim just hours before he turned up dead. In your car. I don’t suppose you have any thoughts on how else Ted got there if not for you.”
McBirney’s face reddened. “Look, Chief, I have an alibi. Finding out who killed that SOB is your job, not mine. And I think it’s time for you to go serve that arrest warrant on our computer thief. If you want to talk to me anymore, you’ll have to do it through my attorney.” He stepped to the door and opened it, letting a rush of frigid air into the house. “Good day, Chief Adams.”
Pete smelled guilt in this room the way a wolf smelled blood from wounded prey. But he knew he’d gotten all he was going to for now. He rose, picked up his hat, and tucked his notebook into his pocket. As he passed McBirney in the doorway, he paused to stare into his eyes—eyes that shifted ever-so-slightly under the scrutiny. Pete smiled and headed out into the bitter cold.
The snow crunched beneath his boots and his mind gnawed through McBirney’s responses as Pete headed for his car. McBirney was hiding something. If he hadn’t killed Ted—and Pete wasn’t convinced he hadn’t—then he knew damned well who had.
Pete slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. He started out the lane, casting another long look at the empty spot in the shed.
Zoe passed a Channel 11 News truck parked at the end of the street as she approached Ted and Rose’s house. Make that Rose’s house. The combination—Ted and Rose—had always flowed off her tongue with such ease. As if they were one entity. TedandRose.
But no more.
Zoe recognized Sylvia’s white Ford Escort in the driveway, but not the black Lincoln.
When Sylvia greeted her at the door she swept her into an embrace. “Zoe, dear, thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve asked my attorney to meet me here instead of my house so I can help Rose with the kids. You’ll be a
good distraction for her.”
“Your attorney?” That explained the Lincoln.
“Yes. I’m going to turn myself in to the magistrate.”
“Oh.” Zoe motioned toward the street. “What’s with the news truck?”
Sylvia blew a disgusted puff of air. “Damned vultures. They’re interviewing our neighbors. Can you imagine? They knocked on the door here about an hour ago, but we didn’t answer. As if Rose and the kids haven’t been through enough without the media asking stupid questions.” She shook her head. “Why, if my husband were still alive...”
A tall, rotund, silver-haired man in a pinstriped suit stood in the middle of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand. A briefcase sat open on the table with a legal pad covered in scrawls next to it. Sylvia introduced him as Anthony Imperatore, attorney-at-law. They exchanged polite greetings before he went back to frowning at his notes.
Zoe and Sylvia found Rose in the living room with the blinds drawn. She sat on the couch, her telephone in her lap, her head in her hands. Zoe eased down beside her.
Rose sat upright, as if awakened from a sound sleep. “Zoe,” she whispered. And then she burst into tears. Zoe pulled her against her shoulder and held her while she wept.
Sylvia blinked away tears of her own. “I’ll get you girls some coffee. Or would you prefer tea?”
“Whatever Rose is having is fine,” Zoe said.
Once Sylvia had left the room, Rose sniffed and disengaged herself from Zoe’s arms. “I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not.”
She huffed a short laugh. “No. I’m not. What am I going to do? I haven’t been a single mom since the kids were little. I don’t remember how to do things on my own. Ted promised he’d never leave us. Hell, the kids don’t even remember a life before Ted became their dad.” And with that, she leaned toward Zoe and again dissolved into tears.
Zoe held her close, fighting her own tears, while flashing back fourteen years to a time when she and Ted had been dating. She and Rose were best friends all through high school and had been known as party girls. Zoe was lucky and never had to pay the price of stupidity and backseat rendezvous.
Rose, on the other hand, became pregnant for the first time before she turned eighteen and again two years later. Rose’s mother and Zoe stuck by her and the babies, helping the young mother who was little more than a baby herself.
Ted was a rebound romance for Zoe. They hung out together and went to the occasional movie. But he never set off fireworks for her the way her first real love had. So when Ted fell hard for her best friend, Zoe stepped aside and watched their love and passion grow. Within six months, they married and Ted adopted Logan and Allison as soon as the legal system allowed.
It was a love story that wasn’t supposed to end. Especially not like this.
Rose drew a deep trembling breath. “I really need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything. You know that.”
“Can you take the kids? I’m trying to make arrangements. Arrangements. What a crappy word. Arrange my husband’s funeral. Arrange my life without him.”
Zoe took her hand and squeezed it.
“Anyhow, Logan is like a raw nerve. And Allison has withdrawn worse than I’ve ever seen her. They need to get away from here. I hate to ask. I know you…well, you had a rough night last night, too.”
Zoe didn’t mention the phone call from Logan. Whatever the boy had gotten himself into, his mother had enough to deal with. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be happy to take them. Maybe getting Allison out at the farm and around the horses will get her mind off…things.”
Rose managed a weepy smile. “I was thinking that, too. Thank you.” She flung her arms around Zoe.
Without waiting for the tea or coffee that Sylvia had been preparing, Zoe loaded the teens and their overstuffed backpacks into the old Chevy and rode to the farm in silence. Allison, in the middle, stared at her hands clenched in her lap while Logan gazed out the passenger-side window.
The truck jounced up the farm lane, which circled around to the rear of the house. No one ever came or went through the front door. Zoe parked in her usual spot, and they poured out of the truck, shuffling down the gentle slope of the backyard to the screened-in porch. From there three doors accessed the house—one to the Krolls’ side, one to the center hallway that split the house, and the one for the half Zoe called home. The kids stood waiting as she fumbled with the keys. When the door clicked open, two orange tabbies greeted them.
Logan stooped to stroke the back of the larger cat. “Hey, Jade.”
Jade meowed a response.
Crossing the room, Logan flopped onto the overstuffed sofa and started digging into his backpack.
Allison scooped the smaller cat into her arms and buried her face into Merlin’s thick fur. Zoe smiled. Feline therapy. Maybe that was just what the girl needed.
Cradling the cat, Allison dumped her backpack by the door. “It’s cold in here. Do you have any hot chocolate?”
Those were the first words Zoe had heard out of the girl since this nightmare began.
“Of course.” Zoe tossed the keys onto a small table next to the door. “You know where the pantry is. Help yourself.”
Allison blew out an irritated breath, but with Merlin snuggled in her arms, she trudged to the swinging door, bumped it with her hip, and disappeared into the kitchen. Jade trotted after her.
Zoe tugged off her boots. “Okay, Logan, what was that phone call about? All you said was that you’d done something that was going to get you into big trouble. But if you want my help, you’re going to have to spill it.”
He paused in his rummaging and sighed. His expression was a mix of sheepish and determined. “You know about Gram and the computer, right?”
Visions of Jerry McBirney ranting at last night’s meeting flashed through her mind followed by Ted raging over the accusations against his mother. Had it just been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago.
Ted’s lifetime.
“Some of it,” Zoe said. “It was an old one that the township had replaced, and your grandma took it home for you guys to use.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Gram meant well, but jeez. The thing is a dinosaur. Anyway,” Logan went on, “so, yeah, this old computer’s been sitting over at Gram’s house for a couple months now. Then that dude last night—”
“Jerry McBirney,” Zoe offered.
“Yeah. He starts screaming about it and making threats to have Gram arrested.”
“I know all this. What I want to know is what did you do?”
Logan nodded, keeping one hand in his backpack.
“I got to thinking…I mean, what’s going on? What’s got this dude all bent out of shape? So I start…you know…messing around on it. Like, maybe there’s something on there that McBirney guy doesn’t want anyone to know about.”
Zoe’s chest tightened. Of course. That had to be it. “Did you find anything?”
“I didn’t get a chance. I mean, Dad got—you know—last night.” He took a deep, ragged breath and stared down at his backpack. “Are they still going to arrest Gram?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“That’s what I figured, too. And they’re going to take the computer, and I won’t get a chance to find out what’s on it. What that McBirney guy wants to keep secret.”
A secret he might have killed to keep. Zoe found it hard to breathe.
“So, I called you. I need your computer.”
“Huh? What?”
Logan pulled a small, black metal box from his backpack and held it up. “I stole the hard drive from that computer Gram took. I need to install it in your computer so I can keep trying to find out what’s on it.”
Zoe’s knees buckled, and she sank down onto the couch next to
him. She stared at the innocuous little box. Could this hold the answer to Ted’s death?
“I know you and Chief Adams are good friends.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “I’m kind of putting you in a weird spot. I mean, you’re not going to turn me in, are you?”
Sylvia being guilty of “stealing” the computer was highly questionable. However, knowing the situation, taking the hard drive and keeping its location a secret…there was no question about it. She and Logan would both be in deep shit if they were caught. Pete would have no choice except to arrest both of them.
She’d never kept a secret from Pete before, with the exception of what cards she held in her hand when they played poker together on the odd Saturday night. And the fact that she occasionally entertained fantasies which involved him. Still, this might be her best chance to find out why Ted had been killed.
And to get something on Jerry McBirney.
Jerry McBirney. Okay, so she had kept secrets from Pete.
“No, I’m not going to turn you in.”
Logan released a huge sigh.
“I do have one question,” she said.
“What?”
“When you put this thing in my computer, is it going to keep me from checking my e-mail?”
Logan laughed. “No. I’ll set it as a slave drive. Your old hard drive will still be the master. You’ll be able to use your computer same as always. In fact, unless you let someone else play around on it, no one will ever know this extra hard drive is in there.”
Good enough. “Well, what are you just sitting there for? You know where my computer is. Go do whatever it is you have to do.”
A half hour later, and revived by a hot shower, Zoe went downstairs to find her living room empty except for Merlin snoozing on one of the chairs. Zoe scuffed across the hardwood floor in her stocking feet to peer into the front room, which served as her office and reading nook. Mismatched bookshelves overflowing with tomes she hoped to get to someday lined most of two walls. Her favorite recliner, backlit by one of the three nine-over-nine windows, perched next to an ancient fireplace.
Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) Page 6
