“What brings you out here tonight?” Marcy asked. “If you’re here to ask me about Jerry’s death, I’m afraid you’ll need to contact my attorney.”
“No. I need to ask you some questions, but not about your husband’s murder.”
The microwave beeped, and Marcy removed the steaming mug, placing it in front of Pete. Then she settled into the chair across from him and folded her hands on the table. He studied her face. The swelling had shifted downward, making her jaw line puffy, and the bruising had turned more yellowish green than black and blue.
“Your face looks better.”
Her good eye twitched, but she said nothing.
He sipped his coffee. “At what point in our marriage did you start sleeping with McBirney?”
She blanched. “What?”
It was Pete’s turn to say nothing. Instead, he watched her expressions run the gamut.
“Why would you want to know that?” she said.
He shrugged, wanting to appear nonchalant. Don’t accuse her too early. Make this seem like a normal conversation. “Curious. With everything that’s happened in the last week, lots of old memories have surfaced. I quit my job with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police to move here because you wanted a quieter life.” He managed a short laugh.
Marcy leaned back in her chair, resting her hands in her lap. “You think we’d have ended up differently if we’d stayed in the city?”
It was a question Pete had considered innumerable times over the years. “Maybe. What do you think?”
She pressed her lips together and stared over his shoulder a moment before letting her gaze come back to his. “I never liked the city. You knew that. I wanted space and fresh air to raise kids—” Her voice broke.
He resisted the urge to reach across the table to her. Their shared memory of two miscarriages wasn’t the direction he’d intended this discussion to take. Get back on track. “So you weren’t happy in Pittsburgh. You obviously weren’t happy here either. Not with me.”
Marcy squirmed in the chair. “Why are we talking about this now?”
“Because we were never able to talk about it before.”
She took a noticeably deep breath and exhaled. “Okay. I don’t think it was so much that I was unhappy with you. After we lost the two babies, I wasn’t happy with myself. When we didn’t get pregnant again, I thought getting that horse would fill a void. I’d always wanted a horse. Ever since I was a little girl. It was just happenstance that I stumbled across Jerry’s ad for stall space in the paper. It wasn’t like I planned to find a kindred spirit when I decided to board Comanche here.”
Pete clenched his fists. “Kindred spirit? At least you aren’t calling McBirney your soul mate.”
“I thought he was. At first. Jerry and I both loved long rides in the woods. You were too busy with work to spend time at the barn. Or with me anywhere for that matter.”
“So that’s when you started sleeping with him?”
Marcy stood and crossed to the sink, where she grabbed a towel and began drying the few dishes parked in the drainer. “Not right away. But, yeah, over time.”
“Were you sleeping with him when he went through his financial problems?”
A glass clattered into the sink and shattered. She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.
Pete stood and moved next to her, where he could see her face and the tortured series of expressions that danced across it. “Or did the affair start after he managed to bail himself out?”
She stiffened, her jaw set. “If you’re insinuating that I only agreed to sleep with Jerry after he came into some cash—”
Her feigned indignity disrupted his attempt at indifference. “No, not at all. I’m just wondering whether you started fucking Jerry McBirney before or after you stole the township’s receipts to fund his bad financial choices.”
Marcy spun to face him. Even her bad eye had widened, showing white all around. “How did you—”
Pete’s cell phone rang. Hoping this was finally Zoe returning his calls, he dug the phone from his pocket. The number on the screen wasn’t Zoe’s, though.
“It may be nothing, but I thought you’d like to know,” said the gravelly voiced lab tech, when he answered.
“What’ve you got, Grace?”
“It’s still too soon to have DNA on the hairs recovered in the vehicles, but I’ve looked at them under the microscope.”
“And?”
“There were several long dark hairs found in Ted Bassi’s pickup that were dyed.”
Goth girl Allison. No big surprise there. “That’s it?”
“Would I be calling you if that were all?” Grace gave a snort over the phone. “There were also long dark hairs found in the Buick. The ones from the passenger side headrest were from a natural brunette.”
That would be Marcy.
“But,” Grace continued, “there were also long, dark hairs found in the trunk. Dyed ones. They match the ones in the pickup.”
“Thanks, Grace.” Pete snapped the phone. What the hell were Allison’s hairs doing in Jerry McBirney’s trunk? Before he had a chance to make sense of it, his phone rang again. “Yeah, Nate?” he answered.
“I’m at the end of McBirney’s lane. What do you want me to do?”
Pete eyed his ex-wife, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, pressing a dish towel to her face. He realized this was the first time in all the years he’d known Marcy that her tears hadn’t cut into his heart. Instead, his gut told him trouble lurked elsewhere. “Have you had any word from county about Doaks or Zoe?”
“Nothing on either of them. You think something’s happened to Zoe?”
“I hope not. Come on down to the house. I need you to take Mrs. McBirney in for questioning.”
Marcy staggered to a chair and dropped into it, weeping into the towel she held to her mouth.
Pete snapped the phone closed.
“How did you find out after all these years?” Marcy whispered.
“That computer that your husband made such a fuss over. Your e-mail exchanges are still on it.”
She swore and put her head down on the table.
Pete crossed to the door and watched the headlights from the township’s second cruiser sweep down the lane toward the house.
“What’s going on with Matt and Zoe?” Marcy said.
He turned to find her sitting up, wringing the towel in her hands, a look of total defeat on her battered face. “Huh?”
“I heard you on the phone asking about them. Has something happened?”
“I don’t know. The county police have some questions to ask Matt.”
“What kind of questions?”
What the hell difference did it make to Marcy? “I think you have enough problems of your own to deal with right now. You don’t need to worry about Matt Doaks.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded like a child’s. “It’s just that Matt and Jerry are—were good friends. He had dinner here quite a bit.”
Something whispered in the back of Pete’s brain. The jumble of puzzle pieces struggled to click into place.
Keys.
Doaks knew where Zoe hid her house key.
Hidden keys.
One of the things that never made sense to Pete was the lack of a car key in the Buick. He’d assumed McBirney had driven the car out into the game lands that night and left it and Ted’s body, but brought the car keys home with him. It had never felt right.
A knock at the door indicated Williamson had arrived.
“You say Matt and Jerry were good friends,” Pete said.
“Yes,” Marcy said.
“Did Jerry ever loan the Buick to Matt?”
“Yeah. Matt’s old car kept breaking down las
t summer. Jerry let him use the Buick whenever he wanted.”
Williamson knocked again. Pete parted the curtain and held up a finger. In the porch light, he made out the officer’s nod.
“Marcy, did Matt know about Jerry’s spare key?”
“Spare key?”
“The one he kept on a nail in the garage. He showed it to me that morning I came here to question him about Ted’s death. Jerry couldn’t locate it at first.”
“Oh. Yes. Jerry showed it to him so he didn’t have to bother one of us every time he needed to borrow the car.”
Damn it.
Pete yanked the door open so fast that Williamson flinched. “Chief?”
“Take Mrs. McBirney into custody. Charge her with theft of township property.”
“Like Sylvia Bassi?”
Not quite. “Just do it.” Pete broke into a sprint toward his car.
“What’s up?” Williamson called after him. “What’s wrong?”
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. “I’ll call if I need you.” Pete pressed Zoe’s cell number into his phone as he leapt behind the wheel of his vehicle.
“Come on, Zoe. Pick up.”
He turned the key and the engine roared to life.
Zoe’s voicemail greeting played in his ear. Pete snapped the phone shut and rammed it in his pocket. Shifting into gear, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator.
Damn it. The phone lines were still down to Zoe’s house. That’s why he’d been getting a busy signal there. He should have gone to her place first. If anything happened to her…
THIRTY
Matt Doaks made a ridiculous sight, propped up by crutches, his right leg and foot encased in that Frankenstein boot. Zoe might have found his appearance nonthreatening—bordering on humorous—except for those pictures on the computer, that empty pill bottle, and what Allison had just told her about his involvement in Ted’s death.
A gust of wind drove icy pellets of snow into Zoe’s face. She blinked and squinted, keeping an eye on her cell phone, cradled in Matt’s gloved left hand. “Give me the phone,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm.
“This?” Matt held it up. “What do you need it for?”
Her mouth had gone dry. Should she tell him the truth? That Allison lay inside, slowly going into shock from slicing her wrists? Not to mention possibly overdosing on his drugs? Did he harbor any real feelings for the girl? Or was what Allison claimed he said the truth? That her death would solve all his problems.
Zoe couldn’t take the chance. Best to pretend she didn’t know anything about any of it. “Just give me the damned phone.” She made a grab for it, trying to appear more playful than desperate.
As she expected, he held it out of her reach and grinned. That’s it. Let him think this was a simple game of keep-away. She jumped, making the attempt appear half-hearted. Let him believe the scramble was all in fun, keep him off-guard, and then kick that bad leg out from under the bastard.
At least that was her plan.
He laughed at her ineffective jump and twisted slightly to the right.
Now.
She shifted her weight to one foot and started to swing the other back. But before she could sweep it forward again, he twisted his body hard to the left, bringing his arm and fist around.
The blow sent Zoe sprawling. The impact of the frozen ground hurt worse than Matt’s punch.
“You bastard,” she sputtered, rubbing her jaw.
As she watched, Matt dropped her cell phone to the ground and mashed it with the tip of one of the crutches.
“There are cops crawling all over my house,” he hissed. “Why do I think I have you to thank for that?”
She worked her way up to her knees. He thought he had her to thank. He didn’t know. Play dumb, Zoe. Find out what he does know. “Cops? Why the hell would there be cops at your place?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” Now he was the one playing dumb. “Maybe because some lying little brat decided to run to her Auntie Zoe and tell tall tales.”
So that was how it was going to be. His word against Allison’s. Zoe sat on her knees, touching her cheek with her fingertips. Her mind was too busy to register pain. How did he know Allison had come running to her? “I have no idea what you’re rambling on about. What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“You’ve seen the pictures,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “I knew that punk Logan couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Logan didn’t tell me anything. I found them myself. You really are a sick bastard.” She shifted off her knees, into a squat, keeping her eyes on those crutches. If she sprung at him, he might club her with one of them, but she should be able to tackle him and gain some control over the situation.
Matt’s laugh sounded like a cough. “Are you kidding me? You’ve seen how that girl dresses and struts her stuff. She came on to me, I’ll have you know. I was working on the addition to the high school, and she kept hanging around me, wearing those tight shirts that showed off her chest. And those tight jeans with that sweet ass.” He gave an orgasmic moan.
Sickened, she braced to push off.
But before she could spring, Matt reached into his coat pocket and brought out a revolver. “Don’t do it, Zoe.” He placed the tip of one crutch against her shoulder and shoved.
She toppled sideways, but caught herself before she hit the ground a second time. “Why don’t you just get the hell out of here, you son of a bitch?”
He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Oh, but I can’t. Don’t you see? You’ve discovered my secret. I can’t—I won’t go to jail for sex crimes. You know what they do to guys branded as sex perverts in prison? Now get up. I’m freezing my ass off. Let’s go in the barn.”
Zoe obliged. Slowly. Her eyes were no longer glued to the crutches, but to the black handgun, barely visible in the darkness, except for the reflection from the light high on the outside of the barn. “Matt, you don’t need that thing.” She forced her voice back to its low, calming tones. Like she’d use on a scared colt. Or a psych patient.
“Shut up and move.” He motioned toward the barn door.
She took small steps. Time. She needed time to think. Allison was inside. Obviously, Matt held no affection for the girl. How would he react when he saw her? Could Zoe afford to risk finding out? What could she do to stop it?
She should have taken him out when she had the chance.
At the door, Zoe stopped. She turned to face Matt. And the barrel of the gun. For a moment her breath caught in her throat.
“Inside,” he said. “I’m freezing out here.”
She forced her gaze from the revolver’s muzzle to Matt’s eyes. Had they always been that crazed? She swallowed against a hard, dry lump in her throat. “Look, Matt. I don’t want to get you into trouble. No one else has seen the stuff on the computer. Let’s you and me go back to the house. I’ll give you the hard drive, and you can do whatever you want with it. That was you—breaking into my house that night—wasn’t it?”
He huffed. “Yeah. But you came home too early. I figured you’d be at the funeral home until they closed up. Then when I tried again, your nosy neighbor lady caught me on the porch. And I was going to give it one more try while you were on duty Friday night, but then…” He motioned to his leg.
“You were on your way here to break in when you wrecked?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “And you came to my rescue. You and Pete Adams. Ironic, huh?”
That would be one word for it. “Okay. So let’s do it now. I’ll let you in, and you can take the damned thing. It’s been nothing but trouble this whole week.”
He appeared to be considering it. Once she had him away from the barn and Allison, she could figure a way out of this.
“And you’d keep quiet?” he said.
“Absolutely. I mean, you’re right about Allison. Rose was telling me about finding some jock in her room and taking the door off the hinges. You can’t be blamed for being drawn to a sexy young thing like that. Especially when she’s throwing herself at you.” Gag. Zoe wanted to go home and wash her mouth out with Clorox.
Did he buy it? Maybe, maybe not. But the enticement of getting his hands on that hard drive might be enough to move this party away from the barn. And Allison.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Zoe fought to keep the relieved sigh from being too obvious. She moved away from the doorway.
“Except…” The chill in Matt’s voice made the bitter January temperatures feel balmy. “I want to know what you’ve got in that barn that you don’t want me to see.”
Zoe’s breath caught deep in her chest. “Nothing.” She feared she’d said it too quickly. “Come on, Matt. That hard drive is the only real evidence against you. Who’s going to believe a whacked-out Goth girl’s word against yours? You’re a respected businessman. A township supervisor.”
“But you know.”
“I know nothing,” she cried. “A lawyer would call it hearsay. Take the damned hard drive, and get the hell out of my life.”
Long seconds passed with only the sounds of the wind moaning and dead tree branches rattling. Zoe fought the urge to glance at the gun. Hold his gaze. Look sincere. She didn’t even blink at the burst of wind-driven snow crystals that pelted her in the face.
His expression wavered. Softened. For a moment, Zoe clutched at the hope that she’d reached him. But then he gestured at the barn with the gun. “Inside.”
A sob threatened to break free from Zoe’s chest. Defeat weighed heavy on her sagging shoulders as she turned. Matt propped both crutches under one armpit to keep the gun leveled at her.
As the barn door creaked open, Allison’s plaintive voice called out, “Aunt Zoe?”
Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) Page 30
