Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery)

by Dashofy, Annette

  Logan sat on the floor by her long computer desk, a do-it-yourself deal from IKEA. It wasn’t fancy, but it had been within her price range. In other words, cheap.

  The boy had removed the front of her computer tower and was tinkering with the insides.

  “You okay?” Personally, Zoe’d rather deal with the blood and guts of her paramedic life than deal with the innards of a computer.

  “Yeah.” He looked up and flashed a smile. “I’m just finishing.”

  “Where’s Allison?”

  He glanced around and shrugged. “I haven’t seen her.” Then he went back to his work.

  Zoe left him to it and crossed the living room with its came-with-the-house used furniture and a small, round dining room table from another excursion to IKEA. She peeked into the kitchen. A century-old add-on to the original circa 1850 farmhouse, the room was long and narrow, but well lit. The refrigerator and stove still worked even though they might easily be considered antiques. An empty mug with chocolate stains on the rim sat on the counter.

  But no Allison.

  Noticing the kitchen door was unlatched, Zoe peered outside. Boot prints in the snow led away from the door toward the barn. Donning her Muck Boots and goose down barn jacket, she followed the tracks across the yard and down the footpath to the barn.

  The veterinarian’s truck sat backed into one of the big open doors. Zoe slipped between the truck and the doorframe. Inside, Dr. Benton crouched next to Jazzel, working on her foot, while his assistant, a young woman—probably a vet student, held the fidgety mare’s head. There was no sign of Allison.

  “Hey, Dr. Benton,” Zoe said.

  He returned her greeting.

  “Have you seen a teenage girl out here?”

  “In the feed room,” the assistant said.

  “How’s Jazzel?”

  Dr. Benton shook his head. “So far, I can give you a three-page list of what isn’t wrong with her. I figure we must be getting close.”

  Zoe left them with the mare and opened the feed room door. Allison sat on the floor with her back against the wall. Her gloves lay next to her as she tapped out a text message.

  “You could do that in the house, you know.” Zoe moved to her side and joined her on the dusty floor.

  Allison shoved the phone in her pocket. “I know.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  Allison shrugged.

  “You know if you need to talk—”

  “I don’t. I’m fine.”

  “Well, in case you change your mind, I’m here.”

  Allison jumped to her feet. “I said I’m fine. I just wish everyone would leave me alone.”

  Zoe’s climb to her feet was a little slower. She longed to scoop the girl up and hug her the way she’d done when Allison was younger. That hadn’t been all that long ago, had it? At what point had hormones transformed the sugar and spice into venom and ice?

  She decided to try a different tactic. “You remember Jazzel, don’t you? Dr. Benton is working on her. Wanna watch?” At one time Allison had wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up.

  Allison responded with another infamous teenage shrug of indifference. But her expression had softened.

  A crack in the tough veneer? Zoe jumped on it. “Come on. Let’s see what’s going on. Just for a minute, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  Zoe led the way across the riding arena to where Dr. Benton was now setting up a portable x-ray machine.

  “You guys need help?” Zoe asked.

  “Now that you mention it, yeah,” the assistant said. “One of you want to hold Jazzel while I help the doc?”

  Zoe looked at Allison. Jazzel could be a handful, but the teen had good hands and enough experience to control the mare’s antics. Besides, Allison’s dead eyes suddenly held a spark of interest.

  “Go ahead,” Zoe said.

  Allison didn’t quite smile, but her face brightened as she took the lead rope from the assistant’s hands.

  Zoe turned away to hide her pleasure from the girl. But her joy at seeing a tiny flicker of life in Allison faded as she remembered what Logan was working on back at the house. What secrets might he unlock from that innocent-looking little black box?

  Pete glared at the Buick, willing it to speak to him. But it stood before him in the Vance Township Police garage, a silent witness to the events of the previous night.

  He’d done a quick once-over on it in the game lands. Here, in the warmth and light, he’d completed a thorough inspection. The evidence he’d gleaned from the Buick’s interior had been bagged and labeled and waited in the box at his feet.

  “Were you planning on doing all my work for me?” came a voice from behind him.

  Pete turned. “Were you planning on waiting until spring thaw to process the vehicle?”

  Detective Wayne Baronick of the Monongahela County Police Department grinned from the doorway. Young, good-looking, and cocky, Baronick was a constant source of irritation to Pete. Most annoying was the fact that he reminded Pete of someone. Himself. “Relax, Chief. I come bearing gifts.” He held out a venti Starbucks. “I know you can’t get these out here in the boondocks, so I brought one from civilization.”

  Baronick had always been good at sucking up, even as an over-eager cadet at the Pittsburgh Police Academy when Pete had taught the crime scene processing module more than a decade ago. Now, as a county detective, he not only irritated Pete with his ability to charm, but by the fact he was a damned good—and extremely determined—investigator.

  Pete snatched the cup and took a long hit of the not-quite-hot-enough brew. What could he expect? The nearest Starbucks was fifteen miles away.

  “I was surprised you called us in.” Baronick stalked toward the Buick as if it were prey. “I know how much you hate admitting you need help.”

  The detective thrived on pushing Pete’s buttons. Ignoring the effort to rile him, Pete scooped up the box, which held the fruit of his morning’s work. “Did your boys find anything in the snow?”

  “Yeah. More snow. You had the only viable source of evidence towed here.” Baronick tipped his head toward the Buick. “What did you find?”

  “The usual. Hair. Fibers. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Prints?”

  Pete hesitated. Baronick had been right about him not wanting help. He coveted the idea of being the one to bust McBirney. But a small department on an even smaller budget didn’t have the kind of crime lab that Monongahela County possessed. “Nothing on the steering wheel.”

  “Nothing?” Baronick’s eyes sparked with interest. “The car was wiped clean?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What do you mean? Mostly? Come on, Chief. Don’t make me pull teeth. What’d you find?”

  “There was nothing on the steering wheel, the seat belts, or the door handle. But I lifted a partial from the rearview mirror.”

  Baronick chuckled. “I love it. Do you mind if I take a look?”

  The arrogant son-of-a-bitch thought he’d be able to find something Pete had missed. Damned kids. “Sure. Be my guest.”

  Toting the box of bagged evidence samples in one hand and Starbucks in the other, he left the county detective with the Buick and headed into the office. Instead of Sylvia manning the front desk, Seth Metzger sat there, scowling at the computer screen.

  “I thought you were off duty today,” Pete said.

  “I am. But these reports need to be filed and Sylvia…”

  “Is Kevin still sick?”

  “Yeah. I talked to him a while ago. He sounded bad. Real bad.”

  “Well, call next door and get one of the township secretaries over here to fill in for Sylvia. I need you out on the street. I want you to question Ted Bassi’s neighbors. Find out if th
ey heard or saw anything last night. Talk to his mother-in-law’s neighbors, too.” He’d have had Seth questioning Jerry McBirney’s neighbors, too, except McBirney didn’t have any.

  “Yes, sir.” Seth spun in the chair and reached for the phone.

  “And after that, make a new pot of coffee.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Seth punched in the number for the township offices, the other line rang. He jabbed at the blinking button and listened for a moment. “Right away, sir,” he said and hung up.

  “That was Judge Mitchell. He said you’d better get over there. Sylvia just turned herself in, and Jerry McBirney showed up. It sounds ugly.”

  SEVEN

  “Aunt Zoe. Wake up.”

  The words filtered into the middle of a horrendous nightmare in which Jerry McBirney loomed over Zoe. She tried in vain to scream for help. Fingers clutched her arm, and she jerked away.

  Bolting upright in her recliner chair, Zoe blinked and looked at the teenage girl. The slender fingers gripping her arm didn’t belong to McBirney. They belonged to Allison.

  Zoe forced her breath to slow as panic drained away. It had been a dream. Only a dream.

  “Aunt Zoe? Are you all right?” Allison asked.

  Zoe patted her hand. “I was having a nightmare. I’m fine.” She brought the chair back to a sitting position. She had only intended to close her eyes for a moment. What time was it? How long had she slept? Her mouth felt like parchment. Rancid parchment.

  Logan remained bent over her computer keyboard, right where he’d been before she’d dozed off.

  She climbed out of the recliner and moved to his side. “Find anything yet?”

  Allison dove into the deserted chair and started thumbing her cell phone’s keypad.

  Logan blew a puff of air from his lips. “Not yet. Someone reformatted the hard drive. Probably when they switched over to the new computers.”

  “So there’s nothing left on it?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder with a grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “Stuff is never really deleted from a hard drive. I’m downloading some software that will let me restore the old files.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yep,” Logan said. “It’d be easier if you had a faster Internet connection.”

  Zoe thumped him playfully on the head. “Beggars can’t be choosers, dude.”

  He snickered without looking up. “Hey, are you gonna feed us lunch or what?”

  “Yeah. I’m starved,” Allison piped up.

  “What time is it?” Zoe squinted at the clock on the bottom of the monitor screen. Jeez. Almost one o’clock. She really did pass out. “Okay. Let me see what I’ve got in the fridge.”

  “Can’t we just order pizza? I bet Mario’s would deliver out here,” Logan said.

  Allison made a face. “Mario’s isn’t open for lunch, moron.”

  “You’re the moron.”

  “Dweeb.”

  “Goth.”

  Zoe cleared her throat. “Enough already, you two. How do hot dogs sound?”

  “Woof, woof,” Logan said followed by a pretty good impersonation of a panting hound, complete with tongue lolling out of his mouth. Allison tried to hide a small smile.

  Zoe closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry I asked.” But she wasn’t. The kids were laughing. For a few brief minutes, they’d escaped the horror of reality.

  She was half way to the kitchen when Allison’s alarmed cry brought her back into the room.

  “What?” Logan demanded of his sister, who was staring at her phone.

  “It’s about Gram. She’s in jail.”

  “Are you sure?” Zoe suspected the girl had misunderstood whatever message she’d received. “I know she was going to turn herself in this morning. But I can’t believe Judge Mitchell would lock her up.”

  Allison had been texting nonstop and paused only to read the response. “It’s not about the computer thing. She attacked Mr. McBirney.”

  Against her better judgment, Zoe succumbed to Logan’s demand that she drive the kids to the Vance Township Police Station to find out what was going on with their grandmother.

  The parking lot was packed. Channel 11’s news truck had been joined by vans from the other two Pittsburgh stations. Zoe suspected several of the other cars belonged to print reporters. No way did she want to march Sylvia’s grandkids through a media gauntlet.

  She dug her cell phone out of her pocket, and within a few minutes of placing a call to Pete, she and the teens were escorted into the back entrance by Seth Metzger.

  “The Chief’s not too happy that you guys are here,” the young officer told Zoe as they made their way through the storage room. “We’re having a hard enough time keeping the lid on this powder keg.”

  “I’ll bet.” She caught Logan’s sleeve. “Did you hear that? Don’t make me regret bringing you here more than I already do.”

  He met her gaze, but said nothing.

  The door at the far end of the storage room opened into a narrow hallway with a low acoustical tile ceiling, dimly lit with fluorescent panels. They passed a couple of empty interrogation rooms before coming to a T-shaped intersection in the hall. Instead of turning left and heading toward the offices at the front of the station, Logan bolted straight toward the holding cell. And Sylvia.

  Seth muttered something under his breath as Zoe loped after the boy.

  She’d expected to find Sylvia cowering and weeping inside the sterile cage-like cell. Instead, the old woman appeared to have grown taller. Her jaw jutted and her eyes narrowed to match the determined crease in her forehead. She took her grandson’s hands through the bars and held them tight.

  “Don’t you worry about your old grandma,” Sylvia told him. “I’m fine. You need to take care of your mom and sister, you hear?”

  Where was Rose?

  Logan sniffed back tears and chewed on his lower lip, but nodded. “I will. But I’m going to make things right for you, too. Aunt Zoe’s helping me—”

  Zoe caught his elbow and squeezed. Hard. He winced, but shut up.

  From behind her a voice boomed, “Aunt Zoe’s helping you with what?”

  She wheeled around to face Pete. Gauging from the scowl on his face and the dark circles under his eyes, she could have guessed he’d had a rough, sleepless night even if she didn’t already know it for a fact. She hoped exhaustion dimmed his observational skills enough that he missed the panic on her face at nearly being busted.

  “I’m helping him watch his sister so Rose can take care of some things.”

  “Yeah,” Logan said. “We’re—ah—yeah. What she said.”

  Pete pinned her with a stare, and Zoe made a mental note to strangle the kid later.

  “Is that right?” Pete sounded skeptical.

  A door slammed. Footsteps and raised voices interrupted the conversation.

  She might have been grateful for the diversion, except she recognized one of the voices as belonging to Jerry McBirney.

  “Right this way, folks,” McBirney bellowed as he appeared around the corner, leading a small army consisting of Elizabeth Sunday and four reporters armed with notepads and cameras.

  Pete approached the group, his arms spread wide. “Metzger!” he shouted. Then to McBirney and his entourage, he commanded, “No.”

  The reporters froze, mid-stride. The attorney, in her high heels and tailored skirt and jacket, snapped to attention. Even McBirney hesitated in his advance.

  Zoe noticed the red swelling on the left side of McBirney’s face and the slight discoloration below his eye. What the hell had Sylvia done? Zoe eyed her and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. The older woman gave her a smug wink.

  “Step aside, Chief,” McBirney said. “These fine
reporters want photographs of the thief.”

  The reporters exchanged uncertain glances with each other.

  “What you mean,” Sylvia said, “is they want pictures of the little old lady who cleaned your clock, you son-of-a-bitch.”

  The rest of McBirney’s face reddened to match the welt.

  “Shut up, Sylvia,” Pete said through his clenched jaw.

  Seth Metzger appeared around the corner behind the reporters. The creases in his forehead indicated he knew he’d screwed up.

  “Metzger, get these people out of here,” Pete ordered.

  “Yes, sir, Chief. Folks, you’ll have to leave. Now.”

  “Hold on there.” McBirney held up an arm, as though stopping traffic. “I told them they could have pictures to go with the interview I just gave them. And I intend to see that they get their photo op.”

  Pete stepped closer to McBirney until their faces were mere inches apart. Zoe strained to hear Pete’s whisper. “And I’m telling you. Get the hell out of my police station before I decide to lock you in that cell with Sylvia and let her finish the job she started.”

  “You think I’m scared of an old lady?”

  “I think you ought to be.”

  McBirney glowered at him. Zoe wished she could see Pete’s face.

  Silence hung between them for several long moments. Two reporters scribbled madly on their notepads. A third raised his camera, and the flash lit the hallway.

  At that moment, Elizabeth Sunday stepped in and placed a hand on McBirney’s arm. “Jerry, I told you this was a bad idea. Let Chief Adams do his job. Mrs. Bassi is under arrest. That’s what you wanted. Leave it at that.”

  “What I want is to have the computer confiscated,” he snapped at her.

  Zoe looked at Logan who met her gaze with an expression that said I told you so.

  “Detective Baronick is with Rose over at Sylvia’s house right now picking it up,” Pete said.

  Logan stood outside Sylvia’s cell, still holding hands with his grandmother. But Allison was nowhere to be seen. Zoe looked around, but couldn’t find the dark-haired girl anywhere. When was the last time she’d seen the girl? They’d come into the station together. They’d all slipped through the door from the storage room into the hallway together. After that, she wasn’t so sure.