Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery)

by Dashofy, Annette

“Close enough. I could just shoot Matt.” She crossed her arms in front of her and cocked one hip. “I’m quitting the board.”

  “You were just appointed.”

  “I don’t care. Mine will be the shortest political career in the history of mankind.”

  “I think you should stay.” Pete caught her scowl. “You know the old saying. Keep your friends close…”

  “…Keep your enemies closer.”

  “Think of it as being a spy. You’ll have the inside track on what Howard and Matt are scheming.”

  A spark lit her blue eyes, and one corner of her mouth tipped upward. “Spy? Well, when you put it like that…”

  Pete took her hand. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”

  Her fingers tensed. “What about?”

  “Logan. And your computer.”

  If Pete had dropped a hundred-pound anvil on Zoe’s chest, she’d have been able to breathe easier than hearing the words “Logan” and “computer” coming from the chief’s lips. He knew. She wasn’t sure how much he knew, but he’d put enough of it together to making lying about it pointless.

  Township residents filtered out of the VFW, buzzing about the meeting. A few called to Pete, expressing outrage and concern. He waved at them.

  “Walk me to my truck,” Zoe said.

  “How did you get the stolen computer?” Pete asked as they strolled through the sloppy parking lot.

  “Logan brought it to me.”

  “Logan broke into the police station?”

  “What? No. Just the hard drive. He removed it before you guys confiscated the computer from Sylvia’s house. He installed it in my computer, and we’ve been trying to find whatever must be on it to compel McBirney to kill Ted.”

  “But what about the break in at the station?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. Neither did Logan. He had no reason.”

  Pete stopped and glared at her. “You mean to tell me the computer we had in evidence—the one that was stolen—”

  “Was basically a hollow shell.” Zoe finished the sentence for him. “Yep. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  His frown melted into a smile. “So whoever broke into my station got absolutely nothing for his troubles.”

  “That about covers it. However, he figured it out. And he figured out where the hard drive was.”

  The smile vanished. “What happened?”

  “That night you came to my house.” Zoe’s throat tightened. She wasn’t sure if the sensation arose due to the memory of the invasion or the memory of his kiss. “The night you noticed my office door was closed…It was closed because McBirney had broken in and opened up the computer. I must have interrupted him before he had time to remove the hard drive. He ran out the front door and down the hill to the road.”

  “You’re sure it was McBirney?”

  “Who else would it have been?”

  “Did you see him?”

  Zoe thought back. “No. I just heard him rummaging around and then footsteps running away. It was dark. But I’d spotted a car parked along the road when I was coming home. I thought at the time someone had gotten stuck in the snow and abandoned the vehicle. But when McBirney ran off, I heard the car start up.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “Dark sedan. Nondescript.”

  “License number?”

  Crap. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? “I’m sorry.”

  Pete moved toward her truck, tugging her along with him. “That’s all right. You said he broke in? How? I don’t recall the lock being damaged.”

  “It wasn’t. In fact, when I first realized someone was inside, I thought it was Logan. He knows where I hide the key.”

  Pete jerked her to a stop again. “He knows where you hide your key?” He released her hand and gave her shoulders a shake. “You hide a key? Zoe. Have I taught you nothing?”

  She preferred Pete’s concern to his contempt and grinned. “Sorry.”

  “As soon as you get home, you’re going to call someone to get the locks changed and you’re not going to hide a key anywhere. Do I make myself clear?”

  “But McBirney’s dead. He’s not coming back.”

  Pete’s eyes narrowed at her. “Zoe.”

  “All right already. I’ll change the locks.”

  “Good girl.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and continued the final few yards to her truck. “How did McBirney know where to look for your key?”

  Her mind spun. How did McBirney know about her key? “I…don’t know. I guess someone must have told him. Or he snooped around and found it.” Pete was right. Hiding a key was a stupid idea.

  “Who would have told him about it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He gave her that look. Scowling eyes, pinched mouth. A wordless tongue-lashing. Then he made a sound deep within his chest that was half exasperated sigh, half growl. “Okay. What did you and Logan find on the hard drive?”

  The anvil fell on her chest again.

  “Zoe?”

  “I wish I knew. Logan came over Thursday after the funeral. He was working on the computer when I was in the barn with McBirney. When I got back to the house, Logan seemed—I don’t know—strange. He insisted he hadn’t found anything. But I had a feeling…He said he had to go meet a friend. That’s the last time I saw him.” Hearing the words out loud made it all too real. Was Logan capable of murder?

  They reached the truck and the driver’s side door. Pete squinted into the distance, his jaw clenched.

  “I know I should have told you. But I didn’t want to get Logan into trouble with the law on top of everything with his dad. I honestly thought we’d find something on McBirney and turn it in to you then.”

  “You shouldn’t have taken it on yourself.”

  “At least you can’t arrest me now that you’ve been fired.” Zoe nudged him, hoping to make him smile again.

  “I’m only suspended. I can still arrest you.”

  A vision of handcuffs and jail cells crushed any remaining breath from her body. She searched Pete’s face for any sign that he was joking. Damn his dry wit. Damn his poker face.

  “But I’m not going to,” he said after a lengthy silence.

  Zoe’s knees threatened to dump her onto the slush-covered gravel, and the air she’d been lacking rushed into her lungs.

  Sylvia trudged up to them. “I’m glad to see you two are still speaking. Pete, I don’t know what those idiots are thinking.”

  His face held its scowl. “Don’t worry about it. Zoe, have you been able to find anything on that computer? Any clue what Logan might have found?”

  “What?” Sylvia asked.

  “No. Nothing. But I’m kind of technologically challenged.”

  “That’s what I thought. We need someone who knows their way around those things to help us out.”

  Us?

  “What are you two talking about?” Sylvia demanded. “What about Logan?”

  From across the parking lot, someone called Pete’s name. Zoe spotted Baronick waving frantically with one hand, holding a cell phone to his ear with the other.

  Pete sighed. “I’d better go find out what he wants.” He squeezed Zoe’s shoulder. “There’s only one person who knows that computer.” He shot a glance at Sylvia, and then turned back to Zoe. “Tell her what you told me. Everything. When I get back from talking to Baronick, the three of us are taking a ride to your house.”

  “What’s going on?” Sylvia said as Pete walked away.

  “Do you want to sit inside my truck? It’s a long story.”

  “No, I don’t want to sit down. Just start talking, missy.”

  By the time Zoe had made it half way through the tale, Sylvia changed h
er mind and accepted the offered seat. By the end of the recounting, she’d deflated. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of more despair than any one person should ever have to endure.

  “Logan didn’t kill that bastard,” Sylvia said, but without the old steely conviction.

  “I hope not,” Zoe said.

  A sharp rap on her window made her flinch. She turned to see Pete. From his grim expression, she knew neither she nor Sylvia wanted to hear what he had to say. Zoe opened the door and swung around to face him.

  “Baronick just got a call. They found Logan’s car.”

  “Where?” Sylvia’s voice carried both hope and terror.

  “In the parking garage at Brunswick Hospital.”

  So it had been Logan outside the elevator last night.

  “The hospital?” Sylvia said. “Is he all right?”

  Pete shook his head. “They haven’t located the boy yet. Just the car. There’s no record of treatment. The police are searching the hospital property.”

  “Well, that’s something. Thank God.” Sylvia reached over and patted Zoe’s knee. “You need someone to search that old hard drive. I’m your woman. Let’s go. I need to find something to prove my grandson didn’t have anything to do with McBirney’s murder.” She sat back and buckled her seatbelt.

  “You two go on. I’ll follow you in my car in a few minutes.” Pete stepped back, but held Zoe’s gaze.

  There was more. Something Pete wasn’t saying in front of Sylvia. And whatever it was, Zoe knew it was devastating.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Damn that Baronick. The son-of-a-bitch nixed Pete’s demands to drive to the hospital and view the Bassi kid’s car. Worse still, the detective was right. Pete was under suspension for a reason. There had to be no suggestion of impropriety. No hinting by a skilled defense attorney that someone on the case may have reason to tamper with evidence. At least Baronick was keeping Pete in the information loop.

  And the information sucked.

  Pete parked next to Zoe’s truck and picked his way through the slick, melting snow to the farmhouse’s back door. A mound of the mushy white stuff slid from the porch roof to the ground with a splat. He took a cautious glance up to make sure he wouldn’t be buried under a mini avalanche before stepping onto the enclosed porch.

  Zoe answered the door before he had a chance to knock. “You didn’t try to call me, did you?”

  “No. Why?”

  She shook her head. “My phone’s still dead, thanks to Matt’s little fender-bender last night. So, what’s going on? I could tell there was more to it than you said back there.”

  “Where’s Sylvia?”

  “She’s on her cell phone with Rose. Seems Allison has gotten worse, and Rose is taking her—where else? The Urgent Care Center at Brunswick Hospital.”

  Damn it. Well, hopefully the place was big enough that Rose wouldn’t bump into the county investigators. “I need you to show me where you keep this hidden key.” In truth, he needed Zoe out of the house, away from Sylvia.

  Zoe frowned, but closed the door behind her as she stepped onto the porch. “It’s right here.” She reached up to the top of the doorframe and felt around. Biting her lip, she admitted, “It’s gone. I guess McBirney kept it.”

  Pete pulled out his pad and made a note. Ask Baronick to check McBirney’s personal effects. “Change the locks.”

  “I already told you I will. Now what is it? Did they find Logan?”

  “No.” Pete drew a breath. “But they found bloody clothes in the backseat. They match what Rose told me he was wearing when he left the house on Thursday.” Another thought occurred to Pete. The break-in at the Helping Hands Store. He made another note to follow up with Mrs. Zellars about her inventory. He suspected the only things missing were a pair of pants, a shirt, and a coat.

  “Whose blood?” Zoe said. “On the clothes. Logan’s?”

  Pete doubted it. “Don’t know yet. Everything is on its way to the county crime lab.”

  Zoe sank back against the door.

  “It would be best to not mention this to Sylvia,” he said.

  Zoe gave a nod and turned to let them both inside.

  Sylvia sat in Zoe’s office at the computer. She looked up when they entered. “I wondered what you two were doing.”

  “Anything new on Allison?” Zoe said.

  “Just what you already know. Rose’ll call me as soon as she knows anything.”

  Pete stripped off his coat and hat, dropping them on the sofa in the living room as he passed by. “Have you found anything yet?”

  Sylvia shook her head. “Just a lot of stuff that should have been deleted and written over long ago. I hate to say it, but McBirney’s complaints had some validity. Township residents’ tax records. Social Security numbers. I should have been more careful.”

  “But being proven right isn’t a reason for Jerry McBirney to kill Ted.” Zoe leaned over her shoulder and studied the screen.

  “No, it isn’t,” Sylvia said. “I’m still looking.”

  Pete’s cell phone rang.

  “You owe me that steak dinner at Galligher’s,” said the raspy voice on the other end of the line.

  Pete left Zoe hovering over Sylvia’s shoulder and slipped into the living room. “Grace. What have you got for me?” he asked the lab tech.

  “Actually, I think you owe me dancing after dinner, too. Baronick would can me if he knew I was calling you with this before contacting him.”

  “Just tell me what you found.”

  “That blue fiber? It matches the material in Ted Bassi’s jacket.”

  “That places Bassi in McBirney’s garage.”

  “Not so fast. This is a good news, bad news sort of thing. It’s also a match to the jacket Baronick brought in this morning from the Bassi kid’s car, although there aren’t any holes in that one. The point is the fabric is from any one of thousands of Phillipsburg Blue Demons high school jackets floating around. Or more precisely, any one that has a rip in it. I can’t definitively match it to the tears in Ted Bassi’s coat, but I can’t rule it out either. The evidence isn’t conclusive.”

  “Terrific,” Pete muttered. “Anything on the blood-stained clothes?”

  There was silence on the line for a moment. “Are we on for dinner and dancing?”

  “Grace, you know I don’t dance. What about the blood?”

  “You don’t play fair, Pete Adams. It’ll take weeks to get the DNA results, but I can tell you the blood type on the clothes and on the screwdriver match the victim, Jerry McBirney. And we lifted several smudges and one lovely useable print from the screwdriver handle.” There was a pause. “It’s a match to Logan Bassi.”

  Pete closed his eyes. Damn it. “Any matches to the prints from McBirney’s cars?”

  “Not yet. Sorry.”

  “How about the evidence from Ted Bassi’s pickup?”

  “Good God, man. You ask for the moon. I haven’t gotten to the trace evidence yet. So far the prints all match family members. But I’m still working on it.”

  “Steak and a beer,” Pete said. “No dancing.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” The lab tech clicked off in his ear.

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and swore under his breath. Logan’s print was on what might prove to be the murder weapon. Baronick would love that. But something felt off about it.

  When Pete returned to Zoe’s office, Sylvia was leaning toward the computer monitor as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Zoe looked up with a glint in her eyes. “Was that anything important?”

  “No.” Burdening them with the latest news wouldn’t help at this point. “Did you find something?”

  “Maybe.” The tension in Sylvia’s body reminded him of a cat, ready to pounce on a sparrow
.

  “Well?”

  “Gimme a minute,” she snapped.

  He looked at Zoe who shrugged.

  Sylvia clicked the mouse, studied the monitor, clicked again, and spent a moment reading what appeared on the screen. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Zoe leaned over her shoulder and Pete edged closer, squinting over Sylvia’s head.

  “Crap.” Zoe’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

  “What?” Pete demanded, fumbling for his glasses.

  “I was looking through the local income tax records and noticed that seven or eight years ago, Jerry McBirney’s business was doing a slow nosedive. Then suddenly, everything turned around. As though it had gotten a shot in the arm. I didn’t know what to make of it. Then I started snooping through some of the old e-mails in here.” Sylvia looked up at Zoe, but dodged Pete’s eye.

  “And?” he prompted.

  “You’re not going to like this,” Sylvia said.

  He realized his glasses were in his coat pocket in the other room. “Damn it. Just tell me what the hell you found.”

  “Remember the ten thousand dollars that went missing six years ago?”

  Of course he remembered. Up until the break in at the station, it had been the single most embarrassing moment of his career. Tax season and the township deposit had vanished. One of his officers had been assigned to take the money to the bank, but no one admitted to seeing it. Or taking it. Pete had interrogated everyone with access to the station. He’d come up empty, but the resulting internal tension led to his two top men, Fanase and Petrucci, leaving the township.

  Sylvia drummed her fingers on the mouse pad. “There are a series of e-mails here over a period of a month or so. They’re between Jerry McBirney and…”

  “And?”

  “Marcy.”

  Six years ago. Marcy had still been Pete’s wife. And she’d been assistant police secretary. Sylvia was right. He wasn’t going to like it.

  “McBirney complains about his finances and how he needs an influx of capital to get his business back on its feet. Marcy mentions the daily deposit and how it just sits on her desk until an officer picks it up and runs it to the bank.” Sylvia clicked the mouse and read another e-mail. “It’s all here. McBirney put her up to it, but Marcy’s the one who took the money.”