Zoe watched Rose for any reaction. The last person before Marcy moved on to hug Sylvia. Rose took Marcy into her arms and both women wept. Zoe inched closer until she could hear them over the soft rumble of conversation.
“I’m so sorry,” Marcy repeated over and over.
Rose thanked her and patted her on her back.
“Ted was a good man.” Marcy whimpered as she eased back from the embrace.
“Yes, he was.”
“He’ll be missed.”
“He already is.”
Marcy nodded. “If there’s anything I can do. I feel I owe…” The rest was spoken into the handkerchief, and Zoe missed it.
What did she owe? And why?
Marcy moved on to dampen Sylvia’s shoulder. If Ted’s mother suspected anything was going on, she gave no indication. And Zoe suspected Sylvia would not be able to hide something like that. Nor would she want to.
If there truly had been an affair, Zoe felt confident that neither Rose nor Sylvia knew of it. Relieved, she decided to track down Matt and tell him to keep his lies to himself. Before she had a chance to move, she noticed Marcy give Rose’s mother a quick hug and then turn away from the group at the casket. Marcy dabbed her nose and bumped the sunglasses. Wincing, she removed them.
Zoe gasped. Marcy’s left eye was purple and swollen. As she touched the handkerchief to it, her gaze met Zoe’s and her good eye widened. Marcy rammed the sunglasses back on her face, lowered her head, and disappeared into the crowd.
As Zoe sunk into the nearest chair, memories she’d tried to shove into some dark recess of her subconscious bubbled to the surface. Seeing Marcy’s battered face brought back that night so many years ago. A flash of Jerry McBirney—enraged—teeth barred like a rabid dog, eyes bulging, skin red from the booze and the fury. And the huge fist. The impact didn’t even hurt. Or she didn’t recall that it had. At least not until later when the bruising and swelling set in.
She closed her eyes and lightly touched where her cheekbone had been broken. The physical pain had been nothing compared to the heartbreak that came a few days later.
The volume of the soft murmurs around her notched up, punctuated with some startled exclamations and a wail that sounded faintly like a cat. Stowing that long-ago night to its rightful darkened corner of her mind, Zoe opened her eyes. Rose was wrapped up in a group embrace with a trio of women from the fire auxiliary. But most of the mourners were looking toward the source of the keening at the back of the room. Paramedic instincts kicked in. Zoe bounded from the chair and threaded her way through the mingling crowd. She made it to the hallway in time to spot Allison, still in her pink jacket, breaking free from a grandfatherly gentlemen and running out into the snow. The girl was in hysterics. The older man looked after her, open mouthed.
“That poor child,” he said when Zoe approached. “She’s just lost her dad. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Zoe told him. “Thanks.”
The line to enter the funeral home stretched out the front door and down the steps. Allison ran as if someone were chasing her.
“Allison!” Zoe shouted after her.
If the girl heard, she didn’t respond.
By the time Zoe reached the sidewalk, Allison had turned the corner. Where on earth did she think she was going? And should Zoe go back in and tell Rose?
No. Rose had more than enough to deal with. There was no way Zoe was going to catch Allison on foot. The January wind bit through Zoe’s black sweater and twill pants, but she had no time to go back for her coat. She jogged across the street to the parking lot and her truck.
“What do we know about Ted Bassi’s murder?” Pete asked his officers.
He paced the conference room. Seth sat on one side of the long table. Kevin, appearing only slightly less feverish than yesterday, sat on the other.
“Besides the fact that County has taken over the case?” Seth asked.
Pete narrowed his eyes at his young officer. “Nobody likes a smartass.”
Seth bit back a grin and cleared his throat. “No, sir. I spoke with Ted’s neighbors.” He flipped open his notepad. “Mostly, no one remembers anything out of the ordinary. But Mrs. Wallace from next door says she saw Ted’s truck pull in a little before 8:30 PM. Then she says it left again about twenty minutes later.”
“Did she see Ted driving it? Was he alone?”
“Couldn’t tell. It was dark. She just noticed the headlights passing her house and thought it odd that he was going out again in the snow. She said he drove pretty fast for conditions, too.”
“What else?”
“That was it. None of the other neighbors noticed anything at all. I also spoke with Rose’s mother’s neighbors. Both Mrs. Paxton and old Mr. Modic confirm that Rose arrived there sometime between 8:15 and 8:30. Mr. Modic was sitting by the front window and insists he’d have seen anyone leaving the house, but no one did. He gave me a pretty good log of the comings and goings of the rest of the neighbors, though.”
Nothing much got past Henry Modic, Pete mused. He thumbed through his own notes. Joe Mendez, who had called in the abandoned car report, swore there wasn’t anything there at ten. He’d looked out his window before his favorite TV show came on and there was nothing. He got up to use the bathroom during a commercial break at 10:50 and spotted the car pulled off the edge of the game lands road. When he was getting ready for bed at 11:15, he looked again and it was still there. That’s when he called it in. He insisted he didn’t see anyone moving around and didn’t notice any other vehicles.
“So other than confirming Rose Bassi’s alibi, we don’t have anything.” Pete wished like hell they could locate Ted’s missing truck. It might point them in the direction of where the murder had occurred. Which reminded him of the alleged affair. If McBirney had walked in on his wife and Ted…
“Check the parking lot of the Vance Motel for Ted’s pickup. And talk to the owners,” he ordered. It was a dump, but it was close. “Ask about Monday night.”
“What about Monday night?” Kevin said.
Pete hesitated and then shared the rumor of the affair between his ex-wife and the victim.
Kevin managed a whistle. “That provides an interesting motive.”
“But not evidence. We need evidence. Blood. Indications of a fight. If you don’t find anything at the Vance Motel, call around other area hotels and motels. I want to know if the housekeeping staff had any extra work Monday night or Tuesday morning.”
Both Seth and Kevin murmured acknowledgment.
“Next order of business.” Pete rapped the tabletop with his knuckles. “Let’s go over what we know about this break-in.”
With the Chevy’s heater on high, Zoe cruised the residential streets of Phillipsburg. Old but neat homes with crumbling sidewalks populated the neighborhood around the funeral home. The snow plows had been out in force and homeowners had swept or shoveled their walks, so getting around was not an issue.
Where the hell had Allison gone? Did she have a friend nearby? A teacher? Zoe should’ve gone back inside and talked to Rose. And while she was there, she should have grabbed her coat.
She drove around one block and then another. No sign of the teen in the bright pink jacket. A stop sign loomed ahead. Zoe coasted to the intersection, taking her hands off the wheel to rub some warmth into her arms. She glanced up and down the streets to each side and spotted the girl halfway down the street on the right. Zoe gunned the truck.
Allison leaned against a huge tree trunk, hugging herself. Her face was lowered. If she’d been a turtle, she’d have been tucked deep within her shell.
Zoe pulled to the curb and lowered the passenger-side window. “Hey, kiddo. Need a ride?”
Allison glared at her askance. Mascara-blackened tears streaked her face. “Leave me alone.
” Her girlish voice failed to carry the anger that her eyes did.
“I can’t leave you out here. Come on. Get in. If you don’t want to go back to the funeral home right away, we’ll drive around a little.”
“No.” Her voice cracked. She pushed away from the tree and started walking away from the truck.
Crap. It was too cold to chase her on foot without a coat. But Zoe couldn’t let her get away either. She slammed the truck into park and cut the engine.
She jumped out and dug behind the seat. Jumper cables, a tool box, a portable tire pump… Under a length of towrope, she found an old musty horse blanket. Not a heavy wool one, but it was better than nothing. She slung it around her shoulders like an oversized shawl and hurried after the girl. Belly straps and buckles swung around her legs, but she ignored them.
Allison made no effort to outrun Zoe, for which she was immensely grateful. She caught the girl a half a block away from the truck and grabbed her arm.
“Will you stop a minute?”
“Why should I?”
Zoe sighed, and a cloud of fog appeared and dissipated between them. “Because I know what you’re going through.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do. My dad died, too, remember?”
Allison wrenched free of Zoe’s grasp, but didn’t run away. She jammed her hands into her pockets, her shoulders hunched around her ears. “It’s not the same.”
Of course it wasn’t. Your own pain was always worse than someone else’s. But arguing the point wasn’t going to help the situation. “Okay. Then talk to me. We’ll compare notes.”
Allison scrutinized Zoe’s odd attire with disdain. “You are so clueless. Everyone is. Nobody knows how I feel. Mom, Grandma, Logan, you…you all treat me like I’m some little kid. I’m not, you know.”
Zoe studied her. Black hair and dark eye makeup made her pale skin appear even whiter. Zoe longed to hold her, to cradle her, to tell her to stop trying to grow up so fast. But Allison would never permit it. “I know you’re not. And your age is tough enough without something like this happening.”
“You don’t know what happened. No one does.” Allison paused, shivering. Her eyes narrowed. “Except that McBirney guy. He didn’t like my dad so he killed him. Everyone says so. That’s it. No big deal.”
“But it is a big deal. And you’re allowed to cry. It doesn’t mean you’re a baby.”
Allison glared at Zoe, her eyes filled with contempt.
The glimpse of anger seething within the teen shook Zoe. What had happened to the sweet girl she’d known all these years? And how could she reach beyond the rage to find her again?
“Please,” Zoe said. “Let me help.”
Allison stepped back. She unfolded her arms from around herself, her fists clenched. “You just don’t get it. I don’t want you to help me. I don’t need anyone’s help. I just want you all to leave me alone. I’d be fine if you’d mind your own damned business.” She spun away and stalked off down the sidewalk.
Numb from the cold stinging her legs through her dress slacks and seeping through the horse blanket, Zoe watched her go. At least she headed back in the direction of the funeral home.
What the hell was happening? The girl, so determined to reject the support offered to her, appeared on the verge of a complete meltdown. Allison had been right about one thing: Zoe didn’t really know how she felt. The difference between the ages of eight and fifteen was tremendous. At eight, when Zoe lost her dad, she’d been innocent, unaware of the scope of her loss. But at fifteen, Allison was already wracked with angst simply from being on the cusp of womanhood. She’d still been Daddy’s Little Girl, her last strong tie to childhood. And now that was ripped from her.
Zoe began to doubt whether family and friends would be enough to see Allison through this heartbreak.
“There was no sign of tampering with the exterior doors and locks,” Seth said. “It appears the actor entered through the front using a key and knew the code to disarm the alarm.”
“But he didn’t have the key to the evidence room,” Keith said, his voice deep and raspy.
Pete drummed the table with his pen. “Who knows our alarm code?”
“The three of us and the four part-time weekend guys,” Seth said.
“Sylvia Bassi,” Kevin added.
Pete couldn’t imagine any logical explanation for Sylvia’s involvement. “Did either of you mention the code to someone else?”
Both responded in unison, “No.”
“Okay. Who else? Think.”
Silence settled over the room. Finally, Kevin offered, “How about the supervisors?”
“No.” But Pete had started to consider another possibility. One that seemed more and more likely. He kept hoping his officers would suggest some other suspect.
“Someone over on the township offices side?” This came from Seth, referring to the portion of the building used by the zoning officer and the tax collector.
“No,” Pete said. They had their own separate entrance and alarm system.
“What about the officers who used to work for the township?” Kevin asked. “The one guy’s name was Walter Fanase. The other one left before I was hired.”
“Anthony Petrucci,” Pete said. “He moved to Colorado two years ago. But it wouldn’t hurt to look him up. See if he shared our codes with anyone else. And Walter is with the State Police now. Seth, make some phone calls. Check with Fanase and Petrucci and the weekend guys.”
“You think they might be involved somehow?” Kevin said.
“No, I don’t. But we need to clear them so we can look elsewhere. Anyone else?”
“What other officers worked here before them?” Seth asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kevin said around a cough. “We were in the old station before that. Different locks.”
Pete needed to face facts. There was one other person. Seth and Kevin wouldn’t think of her because she had left her job at the department before either of them was hired. Back when both Fanase and Petrucci worked in Vance Township. In this building. Sylvia’s former assistant.
Marcy Adams McBirney.
TWELVE
Being Chief of Police came with certain unwritten, but understood perks. Pete took advantage of one now and parked too near the intersection where the curb bore a worn coat of yellow paint. Both sides of the narrow streets around the funeral home were lined with vehicles, including a pair of Vance Township fire engines.
He leaned back in his seat and watched the procession of mourners extend out the front door and down the steps. Would Ted Bassi’s killer be brazen enough to put in an appearance?
Only one way to find out.
A blast of biting cold air hit him as he opened the car door. Pulling the collar of his wool coat tighter around his neck, he picked his way across the icy patches on the uneven cobblestones.
Inside the crowded funeral home, strain showed on many faces. A few folks laughed quietly at conversation meant to distract. Several women appeared on the verge of tears. A few men did, too.
A sign at one doorway listed Ted’s name. Beneath the sign, a lighted stand held a guest book. Pete picked up the pen and quietly leafed through the pages, checking signatures. The thing read like the county tax register, but there were only a few names that interested him. Matt Doaks, for one. Marcy McBirney for another. Not Mr. and Mrs. McBirney. Just Marcy. Interesting.
Pete scrawled his name on an available line and then made his way through the throng of mourners into the next room. He searched the sea of faces for Zoe.
Ted and Rose’s boy stood off to one side, surrounded by other young men. Buddies from school or sports or both. Their Goth daughter with her inky black hair huddled in a chair, shoulders hunched and arms crossed in front of her. Those who sat on either side fac
ed away from her, talking to others.
A half a dozen stoic firefighters, wearing their dress uniforms with black bands around their badges, sat together near the back.
Rose and her mother stood near the coffin, greeting the steady stream of friends, family, and acquaintances offering their condolences. Sylvia had claimed a chair near them. The dark circles under her eyes stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin.
Someone touched his arm. “I wondered if you would make it,” Zoe said.
“I was working this afternoon.” He cringed as he said it. True or not, it sounded like a lame excuse.
“Anything new with the break-in?”
“Not really. How are Rose and Sylvia holding up?”
Zoe sighed. “Rose is playing the tough guy routine. Sylvia’s exhausted.” She checked her watch. “I’ll be glad when she can get out of here and get some rest.”
“You look good.” He stumbled over the words. Damn. He was plenty old enough to come up with something better than that.
Zoe blushed. She was damned sexy when she blushed. Maybe that simple compliment wasn’t so bad after all. She lowered her gaze and cleared her throat. “Marcy was here this afternoon.”
He didn’t mention that he already knew. “Was her husband with her?”
“No. Thank God. Hopefully he has the good sense to stay away. He’s already given this family enough grief.”
“And Sylvia’s already given him a black eye.” Pete fought the urge to smile. He wished he’d been there to see that.
Zoe scowled, and her lips parted as if to say something. Pete waited, but she must have reconsidered and closed her mouth.
“How did Rose react to Marcy?” he asked.
“No different than with everyone else. If there was anything going on between Ted and Marcy, Rose doesn’t know about it.”
In his experience, the wife almost always knew when her husband was fooling around. She may not want to admit it, but the darned thing about women—most knew when something was off. Men tended to be clueless. He sure had been.
Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) Page 12
