Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery)

by Dashofy, Annette

  “I don’t suppose you have any idea where he might be?” Pete said.

  “No.”

  He gave her a look that suggested he didn’t believe her.

  “Honestly. I don’t. I’ve been trying to find him all day, too. Rose is pissed at me, and I figure finding Logan might be the only way to get back into her good graces.”

  He sipped his coffee as they headed for the door. “Why is Rose mad at you?”

  Zoe froze. She was verbally painting herself into a corner with Pete again. But if Logan was guilty, did keeping their secret matter anymore?

  Then she remembered something else. Not only was Rose mad at her. Zoe was mad at Pete.

  She opened her mouth to give him hell, but nothing came out. Where to start? Should she accuse him? Or ask him why he betrayed her trust to that detective? He was just being a cop, after all. The person she should be angry at was herself for opening up to him. She clamped her jaw shut and plunged past him, into the hallway.

  “Hey,” Pete called after her. With his long legs, he’d caught her in three strides. “What’s going on?”

  She stopped again, this time spinning to face him. “Baronick questioned me this morning. He wanted to know about the night McBirney tried to rape me.”

  Pete’s jaw tightened.

  “You told him about what I said to you last night. How could you? I thought you were being a friend, but instead you were just being a cop.” The pain of betrayal poured from her. Afraid she’d burst into tears if she said any more, she stumbled away, heading back to the elevators.

  Pete caught her again. “I didn’t tell Baronick anything. Whatever information he has, he didn’t get it from me.”

  Zoe eyed him. Maybe she was once again being a sucker. But she needed to trust someone. And Pete had always been the most trustworthy man she knew. “Who then? Rose and Sylvia wouldn’t have said anything. Ted and McBirney are both dead. No one else knew about it.”

  “What about Doaks?”

  “I never told him. He knows I despised McBirney, but he doesn’t know why.”

  They reached the elevators. Thankfully, no one else was there.

  “Maybe McBirney told Doaks?” Pete pressed the down button.

  Zoe laughed. “McBirney claims—claimed—he did nothing wrong, but I still doubt he told anyone about that night.” If for no other reason than no man would admit to another that he couldn’t complete “the act.”

  The steel doors slid open with the chime of a bell.

  “Someone else knew.” Storm clouds brewed in Pete’s eyes. “Marcy knew.”

  They stepped into the elevator.

  In the chaos surrounding McBirney’s emergency department cubicle last night, Zoe hadn’t processed everything Pete had told her. Now, she struggled to recall. Marcy and Ted weren’t having an affair. Ted was helping her because he knew what McBirney had done to Zoe. Ted must have told Marcy about it.

  With Zoe’s head spinning, the reedy young man who passed in front of the elevator doors as they slid shut nearly escaped her notice. It took a second, then two, then three, before it registered. Even then, she doubted her own eyes.

  Logan?

  She dove for the open button , but with a cup of hot coffee in each hand, she was limited to jabbing at it with her elbow.

  “What are you doing?” Pete said.

  On a third attempt, she hit the right button and the doors slid open. She charged through them. Looked left, then right. Caught a glimpse of someone rounding the corner, heading away from her. “Logan,” she called.

  Whoever it was didn’t reappear. Clutching the coffees, Zoe galloped after him, ignoring Pete’s shouts from the elevator. Brew slopped, burning her hand, but she barely noticed.

  She skid around the corner to find a pair of nurses, heads bent over a clipboard one of them was holding. Startled, they looked up at her. “Did you just see a boy run past here?” Zoe asked.

  They exchanged glances, shrugged, and shook their heads.

  Between the nurses and Zoe were two patient rooms. She set both cups of coffee on the floor next to the wall and entered one of them to find only a frail, elderly gentleman sleeping, his mouth open, his dinner tray untouched. She turned and crossed the hall to the other room. Two white-haired women occupied it. One was watching television. The other had company—a younger couple with a pair of kids. Everyone gave Zoe questioning looks. She apologized, excused herself, and backed out.

  “Zoe?”

  She wheeled, coming face to face with Pete.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I—” She swallowed. “I thought I saw Logan. I guess my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

  Pete shot a questioning look toward the nurses, but they again shook their heads. “Looks that way. Come on. Let’s go back.”

  Zoe collected her coffee and followed him back to the elevator. Clearly her imagination had conjured up the very person she so badly wanted to find. She took a deep breath to clear her brain. What had they been talking about? Oh. Yeah. “So you didn’t say anything to Baronick?”

  The doors opened onto the hospital’s lower level.

  “About you and McBirney? Not a word,” Pete said. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  Zoe jerked her head up to find a grin tugging the corners of his mouth. “No. I didn’t kill him. I did assault him with a bit and bridle. And fly spray. But that’s the extent of it.”

  “All right then,” he said and turned left off the elevator.

  She paused a moment before following. Her mind wandered up three floors to that young man who looked so much like Logan. Once again, she dismissed it as tricks of a stressed mind. What the hell would Logan be doing at the Brunswick Hospital anyway?

  Pete rolled out of bed and checked the clock. Not yet six a.m. He had Saturdays off. No reason to rise so early. But as usual, he hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours. Might as well be up and productive rather than lying around staring at the ceiling.

  The mall idea had been a bust. Thanks to the snowstorm, the stores had closed early. The hallways were deserted. Metal gates barred most of the storefronts. He made a loop around the parking lot, checking on the few stranded cars, but nothing matched Bassi’s Taurus. He followed a PennDOT salt truck home along Route 15. The going was slow, but safer than passing it and battling the snow and ice.

  The drive gave him time to ponder these two damned murder cases. And the one common thread that connected them.

  Marcy.

  Married to an abusive, manipulative bastard with a long history of violence, she definitely had a motive for McBirney’s death. Ted Bassi’s? She claimed they weren’t having an affair. She claimed they were friends, and he was helping her plan her escape from her husband.

  But did Pete believe her? That question had nagged him long after he returned home and well into his sleepless night.

  He shuffled into the bathroom and stepped into the shower letting the stream of hot water pelt his face, hoping it would wash his ex out of his brain. Mineral deposits coated the showerhead, and stray jets sprayed in various directions. Maybe he could spend his day off fixing it. He made a mental list that included a trip into Phillipsburg to the hardware store for plumbing supplies.

  That plan had faded by the time he finished brushing his teeth and made his way to the kitchen. Sunshine flooded through the blinds, all that much brighter from reflecting off a good two feet of snow.

  His phone rang when he was halfway through his second cup of coffee. The home phone, not his cell phone, which told him it wasn’t the officer on duty.

  “Good morning, Chief. This is Matt Doaks.”

  “How’s the leg?” Pete asked.

  “If it weren’t for the pain killers, I imagine it’d be sore as hell. Hey, I wanted to thank you for he
lping me out last night. I really appreciate it.”

  The standard reply, “Just doing my job,” rolled off his tongue without effort.

  “The other reason I’m calling is to let you know we’re having an emergency supervisors’ meeting this afternoon. Two o’clock at the VFW. I thought you’d probably want to be there.”

  “This afternoon? Are you up to it?”

  “I’m not saying I won’t be under the influence. I’m not driving, by the way.” Doaks chuckled. He sounded very under the influence at the moment. “But the fact is we need to make some hard decisions now that Jerry McBirney’s gone. We don’t want the township left swinging in the breeze. Can I count on you to be there?”

  Pete agreed, and Doaks hung up with a too-cheery farewell.

  After draining the coffee pot, Pete collected his quilted Carhartt coveralls from a peg by the backdoor and pulled on an old pair of boots. He stepped outside, grabbed the snow shovel from the porch, and inhaled the crisp, clear morning air.

  The road in front of his house had been cleared by a township snowplow, leaving the end of his driveway packed with an extra foot of heavy, gray muck. He started in front of the garage door and dug his way out.

  The work felt good. Hard on the back, but the perspiration and the labor cleared his mind.

  He wanted to take Marcy at her word, but couldn’t. There were too many lies in their past. She’d told him that Ted’s wife knew about their meetings. So he would make a point to stop in and talk to Rose. He’d inquire about Logan, too. Had she heard anything from him? Remembered some detail that might help locate him?

  And what was going on between Rose and Zoe? Those two were tighter than sisters, yet Zoe mentioned a rift.

  Pete finished clearing his short driveway and started on the sidewalk. Sweat trickled down his back under his t-shirt.

  A car made the turn onto his street and approached at a crawl. He recognized Baronick’s unmarked black sedan. The detective pulled up in front of him and cut the engine.

  “Morning, Chief,” Baronick said as he climbed out. “I hear you had a little excitement last night.”

  Pete leaned on the shovel. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I should invite you in on that case, too.”

  Baronick grinned as he slogged through the mound of snowy muck. “No. Feel free to handle all the traffic accidents you like.” His face grew serious. “I’ve just come from talking to Fratini.”

  “What does our illustrious district attorney have to say?”

  “He agrees with me that you need to stay clear of this investigation.”

  “Which one? The Bassi murder? Or the McBirney murder? And let’s not forget the break-in at my police station.”

  “All of it. You and I both know there’s a connection. Might even be the same person responsible for all three. But you’re too close to it to be effective.”

  “Too close? It’s a small township. If I’m not permitted to investigate any crime in which I know the suspect or the victim, I might as well tender my resignation right now.”

  Baronick waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “That’s not it, and you know it. This is for your own good and for the case’s.” The detective moved closer and lowered his voice. “Your ex-wife is high on the suspect list. So is Zoe Chambers, and word has it you’re friendly with her.”

  The way Baronick said “friendly” made it sound sordid. Pete expected him to wink. If he did, Pete would lay the sanctimonious jerk out cold.

  Baronick might have guessed as much. He didn’t wink. “Anything you uncover involving either woman is going to put you in a real bind. And if you don’t find anything, it looks suspicious, too. Like maybe you didn’t try hard enough.”

  The urge to belt the guy intensified.

  “And I’m not even touching on your own motive to kill McBirney. I know you didn’t do it. But the DA doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

  “I’m sure you did your best to plead my case.”

  “I’m not here to arrest you, am I?”

  “I don’t know, Wayne. Are you?”

  Baronick stepped back and shook his head. “Of course not. But stay away from this case. If you happen to hear anything, don’t act on it. Call me. Let me handle the investigation. For your own sake. When we make an arrest, we don’t want the case tainted by insinuations of misconduct. Have I made myself understood?”

  Pete still longed to sucker punch the bastard, but he had to admit he might not be the best person to deal with Marcy. “Understood.”

  “Good.” Baronick headed back to his car, then paused before getting behind the wheel. “And off the record, I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Baronick drove off, made the turn, and headed up the hill to Main Street. Pete picked up shoveling where he’d left off, noting the detective had neglected to specifically order him off the missing Bassi boy case. Perhaps the omission had been a mere oversight. If so, Pete knew he’d better meet with Rose sooner rather than later.

  Before Baronick realized his mistake and added that one to the keep-away list, too.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Sylvia answered the door at Rose’s house. “Pete. It’s good to see you,” she said, closing it behind him. “I’d ask if you’ve heard anything about Logan, but I can tell by your expression that you haven’t.”

  Pete removed his hat and tugged off his gloves. “You can read my face now, can you?”

  Sylvia’s laugh was more of a huff. Her skin had faded to shades of white and gray with dark bags under her bloodshot eyes. “I should warn you, Rose is in bad shape. Allison’s sick as a dog. Can’t keep any food down. With Logan missing and Ted…It’s more than a body should have to deal with.” Her voice cracked.

  “I’ll keep it brief.”

  He followed her into the living room. The drawn curtains blocked out the bright sunshine, leaving the room in twilight darkness even though it wasn’t yet noon.

  Rose appeared in the hallway. She stiffened when she spotted Pete. “What’s he doing here?” Then she softened for a moment, her shoulders wilting. “Oh, my God. Have you found Logan?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I don’t have any news on him.”

  She bristled again and crossed her arms in front of her. “Then I want you to leave.”

  “Rose,” Sylvia chided. “It’s Pete.”

  “I don’t care. He’s a cop. No better than that detective who was here yesterday. They all think Logan’s involved in McBirney’s murder.” Her eyes glistened, and her lip trembled. “Even Zoe thinks so.”

  Ah. That explained the rift between Zoe and Rose. But why would Zoe think the kid was guilty?

  Sylvia slipped an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “Now, now. You don’t really believe that.”

  “She said as much.” Tears streamed down Rose’s face. “My best friend. After all the time she’s spent with my kids over the years. How could she think such a thing? Logan adores her. He spent hours over at her place trying to fix her damned computer this week.” Rose crumbled against Sylvia.

  Pete leapt toward them, catching Rose and helping Sylvia ease her into a chair in the living room where she doubled over and sobbed. He knelt at her feet. The last thing he wanted to do was intrude on her grief more than he already had. But he had to find out about Marcy. “I need to ask you something.”

  Rose sniffled and looked up. “Will the answer find my boy? Or clear his name?”

  Pete drew a breath. Not exactly. As much as he hoped to find proof that Logan was innocent, his questions for Rose only served to clear another suspect of the crime.

  She must have read the answer in his face. “No. I’m done answering questions. I’ll tell you the same thing I told that detective. You want any more answers from me, you haul me down to the station and let m
e call my attorney. Otherwise, we’re done.” She pushed him away and climbed to her feet. Swaying for a moment, she held up a hand when he reached to steady her. “Sylvia, show Chief Adams the way out. I have to check on my daughter.”

  Rose disappeared down the darkened hallway.

  “I’m sorry, Pete,” Sylvia said. “I told you. She’s a mess.”

  “Are you staying with her?”

  “I’m taking turns with her mother. But Bert’s still not feeling all that great either. Damned flu.”

  Pete started for the door. Marcy had said only Rose knew, but maybe…“Sylvia, do you know anything about Ted and Marcy?”

  “Ted and Marcy? What do you mean?”

  “Did they know each other? Socialize? Did Ted talk about her?”

  “You make it sound like—Pete, if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I’m going to be as angry with you as Rose is.”

  He placed a hand on each of her rounded shoulders. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking. And from your response, I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

  “Ted was a good boy.” Tears welled in Sylvia’s eyes.

  Pete decided he’d better get the hell out of there before he made yet another woman cry. He leaned down and planted a kiss on Sylvia’s cheek. “Yes. He was.”

  He pulled on his hat as he headed for his car. Rose hadn’t given him the answer he was looking for. But she did give him something else without realizing it—more questions for Zoe. Like what was wrong with her computer that required Logan’s assistance right after his father had been killed?

  Pete suspected he knew the answer. And he didn’t like it much.

  Zoe parked in the freshly plowed VFW parking lot, away from the other vehicles arriving for the meeting. She turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat.

  Last night, she’d taken three more runs into Brunswick Hospital. Each time, she’d made an excuse to escape the Emergency Department and prowl the hallways in search of that young man who resembled Logan. She needed to prove to herself it wasn’t him. But the look-alike remained as elusive as the real missing boy.