A stop at the car rental proved a bit of a fiasco. Mary wanted to rent a Lexus, Belle a Dodge Challenger, and me anything small. These women didn’t understand that navigating the streets of Boston could be much like an obstacle course and parking a fight to the death. However, the gods of driving were not on my side. Belle gave me the slip as I made a restroom stop and got to the desk first. We left the airport in a cherry-red Mustang. Not only did we leave with a sports car I didn’t want, but we left with her driving.
We dropped our luggage at the hotel and verified via Facebook that Chuck Evans, the man Fiona had implicated in a college scandal, worked at Syntex Corporation. Another ordinary guy minding his own business who had the bad luck to cross paths with Ms. Fiona O’Dell. Had their paths crossed when she lived in her last foster home? Had he done something that caused her to carry a grudge? I suppose he could have, but nothing indicated this had occurred. We had to work with the premise Fiona had targeted him when they were both students. After verifying online court documents all we found were two traffic violations incurred in the last two years. Nothing indicated he was a man who looked for trouble or had trouble find him. To be thorough, we planned a stop at the precinct where the college was located to make sure we didn’t miss any other police reports.
After stopping for a quick lunch at an old-fashioned diner I swiped the keys from the table before Belle could claim the car again.
“I think I should take the lead on questioning Evans,” Annabelle said, putting on her seatbelt. Her authoritarian tone told me she’d made up her mind, and she thought I should fall into place. I should have known there’d be a catch to her forfeiting driving.
I’d known from the start it was a bad idea to bring Annabelle. What the hell was I thinking, letting her come along? Oh, right, Mary had convinced Jackson to give the okay.
“Not gonna happen, Annabelle. This guy has nothing to do with your homicide and everything to do with our case. You have no jurisdiction in Boston. The only reason you’re riding shotgun is to help us access any police reports that might be on file,” I said. To me, it was the end of the discussion.
Who was I kidding? Annabelle would only take the word “no” as a challenge, and then we’d work at cross-purposes.
“Hold on. Chuck Evans has nothing to do with your case. He’s just noise in the background that faded years ago. You have no reason to believe Fiona has contacted him recently. All you’re doing is spinning your wheels, getting background information about her previous victims. It’s unlikely he’ll tell you anything you don’t already know. But, if I interview him and find out something I can use in my case, I can add him as a witness.” Her voice took on a scolding tone.
I felt an argument brewing, so I found a place to park so we could discuss the issue. By discuss, I meant I was going to lay down the law.
“That’s ridiculous. A witness to what? The fact they had the bad fortune to come across Fiona? Detective, you are an invitee in my car and sitting here because I’m letting you. You don’t like the rules? You can leave right now.” I was tired of her bossy attitude.
Thank God Mary had stayed behind at the hotel to pore through some records Jax had sent over or I’d probably be dealing with her too.
“But here’s how this will go down. I’m the one who will contact him and get the information I need. If there’s anything I leave out you think will help you, then have at him.”
“You’re a real sweet talker, aren’t you? Bet you that attitude gets you laid every day of the week.” Annabelle twisted forward and readjusted her belt. “Just drive.”
Although we rode in silence, her body language showed she was gearing up for another argument. She certainly could dish it out.
Annabelle was the first to break the silence. “You realize you have no authority here, right?” she said, twirling her ponytail between her fingers. Was this a nervous habit?
“As far as I can tell, neither do you. I don’t recall you telling me that BPD has invited you in to talk about the Evans case. If you’re doing more than just liaising, it’s news to me.” I felt my lips tip into a smirk I should probably have controlled but didn’t want to.
We reverted to silence, giving her an opportunity to plan another run at me from a different angle.
“How did you go from a premier law enforcement agency to a private investigator?”
She had a tone of derision I was sick of hearing, so I let it lie.
“Was it booze? Or too many women?” she taunted.
OK, she wanted to poke the bear? Well, once he wakes up, she might not like it. I didn’t like this side of her.
“I gave up caring. If the gangs want to kill each other, why not let them? It will save us money for a trial, and after trial giving the little fuckers food and shelter. If the populace wants to promote making Chicago a sanctuary city, don’t expect law enforcement to explain why your loved one is dead because someone in the correction system had released a criminal five times. If women called time and time again about getting beaten but didn’t leave and wind up dead, what did they expect? When you try to find a way to justify beating a confession out of a suspect, that becomes problematic on so many levels. Or if you have no remorse about drawing your weapon even before you have all the facts, knowing you might kill someone, that should raise a concern. It didn’t make me concerned, not for a long time. Do you want me to go on?” I gripped the steering wheel; I knew she was studying me, and I didn’t care. She’d stirred up emotions I’d bottled away for years. How’d that happen?
My eyes lowered, in what I hoped reflected my disapproval as she laid her hand on my arm. The swirl that started in my stomach might be either the beginning of a sexual sensation or anger welling. It was a total crap-shoot. When I raised my eyes to her, she removed her hand.
Neither of us wanted to wade into that pile of emotional shit. So, we moved to a safer subject.
“I’ll keep this short. I want to find out why she chose him to target. In and out,” I said, moving my eyes from her to the road.
“So why do you care? What’s this got to do with locating your missing external drive? It’s not likely Fiona will reach out to him. He’s in her review mirror.”
“Why would Fiona return to Boston? What’s here for her? Why set up a meet from the sugar daddy site? None of it makes sense,” I said more to myself than her. “Why not get another job and not list these last six months on her resume?”
She had no answer, and neither did I.
“Are you going to meet with her foster parents? I mean I don’t get why you’re interviewing all these people that have a history with her and not those who are part of her present?” She stopped talking as she read a text and looked out the window.
“What?” I nodded toward her phone.
“Trace found long blonde hairs on Mahir’s jacket. It looks like someone ripped them from the scalp. It appears he put up a struggle—”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun again? People shed hair all the time; you don’t know when they landed on that jacket. You have no timeline.”
“Actually, we do. Mahir’s mother had picked up three jackets from dry cleaning the evening before, and that jacket was one of them,” she said as she texted back.
“Yeah, I’m not sure how reliable that evidence is; someone at the cleaners may have shed the hairs when putting the plastic over the jacket. It could have happened when Mahir went to work that morning. What if he took off his jacket to put on his lab coat and someone brushed against it? It’s your case to process, I’m just sayin’. I’d like to have more information about the stab wound or know if they recovered the knife,” I said. I could go on and on and make mental lists of alternative theories, which didn’t solve my case.
After a pause, she said, “Thanks for inviting me to dinner tonight with your family.” Her lips pressed together, like she had a secret.
I turned and studied her, deciding whether to throw her to the wolves that were my family and watch her squirm as
their inappropriate behavior unfolded, or to give her a heads-up so she could prepare herself for the chaos known as Stone. Just because I had issues with her professionally didn’t mean she should be traumatized for life after an encounter with my family. I’d throw a few crumbs her way, and if she were as bright as I thought, she’d put the pieces together and act accordingly. It wasn’t fair to throw anyone into the lion’s den. She had a right to prepare herself for what she was stepping into tonight. Although letting her go in unprepared might prove entertaining.
“So, just so you know, my family’s a motley crew. All of us wound up involved with law enforcement one way or the other. My sister and two brothers on the right side and my youngest brother on the wrong side.”
“What do you mean you have a brother ‘on the wrong side’?” she asked.
“Jake is doing a five-year stretch for involuntary manslaughter. Before you ask, it was a bar fight. No one could foresee the guy he beat up had a weak artery in his brain, but you take your chances in a fight. Anyway, he’s out in three months, so people might be talking about it at dinner.”
“Is it a sore subject with your family?”
What a ridiculous question.
“Well, as you can imagine, no one wants to accept that a family member took someone’s father and husband from their family. We’re supposed to be the protectors, not the destroyers.”
I saw her lips part to respond, but then close. Good. There was nothing to defend my brother’s actions. Everyone was drunk and tuned up for a fight, but his punch had killed the guy, and mutual combat and self-defense were not defenses a jury accepted.
The building where Chuck Evans worked came into view, and as we parked, we maintained a comfortable silence. I had to admit I liked working with someone I could bounce ideas off without having to file all types of police bureaucratic paperwork, and she was easy on the eyes. Too bad she ever had to open her mouth.
As Annabelle released her belt, she said, “Families are funny; they can make or break you. I’m an only child and grew up in New York. I spent twelve years in Catholic school and hated every minute. When I went to college, I did a bit of hell-raising, did some under-age drinking, but the minute I graduated I knew what I wanted, law enforcement.”
I nodded in understanding.
The doors whooshed open, and we passed through the large atrium. We approached the desk marked “information” and gave the attendant Chuck Evans’s name and ours. He started to say something but then directed us to the waiting area to wait for someone to speak with us.
A tall, older man dressed in casual attire approached us and asked us what our business was with Chuck. We gave him a carefully crafted version. He thought about it and asked to see Annabelle’s badge and my credentials. Once he was satisfied, he said something that shocked us.
“You’ll probably hear it on the news this morning. Last night someone stabbed Chuck and left him for dead. He’s in critical condition in the ICU at Mass General. That’s all we know right now.”
Our faces both must have registered shock.
“Chuck’s a well-liked guy and I can only hope this was a random occurrence. Because to think otherwise would be just too much for me to accept that someone targeted him.”
We tracked down the precinct that had jurisdiction of Evans’s case. Belle called the detective who’d been assigned the case and waited for a call back. After he verified her identity, he gave her limited information. What happened to Chuck was alarmingly similar to what had happened to Mahir. He also had been stabbed while in a seated position. Belle provided her partner’s contact information to the detective assigned to the case, so they could liaise and determine if the cases were linked.
I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but this was just too much to ignore. The modus operandi was similar; it involved a common thread, but what was the motive? Why now? People rarely start a killing spree without some trigger.
Also, I was worried this wrinkle could get complicated with Belle. I was sure she’d want access to Fiona. I couldn’t let that happen until I determined if she had the external drive, and if so, retrieved it. As much as I hated having a secretive plan, I had to maintain control, or our case could go sideways.
Annabelle
“Let’s meet in the hotel dining room in about forty minutes. I texted David, my partner, and he’ll call and get more information,” I told Lee.
“OK. It’s important we keep Mary focused,” Lee said. “We’re here to find out if Fiona has our client’s drive. We’re not here to investigate a homicide. So play this low-key, or she’ll weasel her way into your case.”
“How are you going to handle the meeting with Fiona? Do you have a place picked out? And do you have clothes that scream you’re wealthy and ready to spend some serious money on her?” I asked. “You could use a haircut. You know, so you fit the bill.”
“I’ll need to talk to Jackson about the details later today. He’s the one chatting with Fiona and setting up my identity and backstory. I also have to manage Mary’s expectations. My gut says Fiona has nothing to do with the murders or my client’s property,” I said, walking toward the hotel entrance.
“How do you explain that the two men she accused of assaulting her were stabbed in a forty-eight-hour window?” I asked. To me, it was more than a coincidence.
“I don’t have to; it’s not my problem.” He half shrugged. “But the question is, why now? What’s her motive? She’s a genius, and, I’d say, not a woman who’d do well in a women’s prison.”
It had become easier to talk to him. I’d begun to understand his triggers and my boundaries. I had to remember this was an NYPD case, and although I felt like I was working with another detective on this case, he was a civilian. I’d have to be careful not to let him step over that boundary.
After speaking to my partner, it was clear there was no news to share with Lee. The Evans case was still in its early stages. During the night, Chuck Evans had taken a turn for the worse, and had to have an emergency operation to repair a nicked liver. Everything that had happened to Chuck was another piece of the giant puzzle that was this case. As the newsfeeds reported, it appeared whoever had attacked him was sitting next to him, just like the person who had stabbed Mahir. This was too much of a coincidence to ignore. But, why would either of the victims have agreed to meet Fiona for any reason? Nothing on Evans’s social media indicated he was afraid of anyone or that anything was abnormal. A walk might clear my mind, so after I unpacked, I headed out to chase down a light lunch and a bottle of wine for dinner.
At 4:30 p.m. I heard a light rap at my door. Lee and Mary stood on the other side, and Lee had cleaned up good, real good.
The black Henley gave him a sexy bad boy look, and the well-worn jeans encased his muscular thighs. His hair, although a little on the wild side, set off the scruff on his face. I was seeing him in an altogether different light and liked what I saw. The man clearly knew his way around a gym, and as quickly as an inappropriate thought popped into my mind, I squashed it.
“So, you ready to meet the family Stone? It’s not too late to bail,” he said.
“Lee, behave. I’m looking forward to meeting your parents, and I’m sure Belle is too,” Mary said to him, then turned toward me. “Belle, you look lovely. That green dress brings out the green in your eyes. I thought your eyes had more of cerulean blue, but in that emerald-green dress, well, Belle, those eyes are definitely viridian green. Wouldn’t you agree, Lee?”
He shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “Mary, green is green unless you’re looking at a box of crayons. But yes, Belle, you look absolutely amazing. Now, I wouldn’t want our dog Raven to get at that dress when he greets us at the door. Dad tries to contain him, but it’s a losing battle. Between myself and my brother, we should keep him from knocking you over, but stay behind me as a human shield. Raven’s a black field lab. If he gets too excited, you may find his paws on your shoulders. If you don’t brace for it, the next thing you will f
eel is your ass hitting the floor. So, if you’re ready, let’s hit the road.”
Boston had such a different tempo than New York, and I liked it. As many years as I’ve lived in New York, I’ve never set foot in Boston.
“Sorry, Mary, I was lost in thought; what did you say?” I asked.
“I said my niece, Emma, and I used to come to Boston for the museums here when she lived in Maine. One time, Russians were hot on our trail—”
“Nope, not going down that trail, Mary,” Lee said. “Jackson already told me not to let you talk about anything other than the case.” Lee gave her the “zip it” sign.
“Well, I never. Jackson’s not the boss of me. Technically he is, but that’s open for debate—”
“Seriously it will be hard enough getting through a meal with my lunatic family. I don’t need you jumping in there and adding more to their special brand of crazy. So can we please agree that we’ll keep this on the level of just having a meal with people we need to tolerate and not stir anyone up? Because, I guarantee, you tell your stories, and my father will have to top you. Add in booze, and there’s a chance the cake might land on the floor. It’s happened.”
Since his eyebrows were about to his scalp, I had every reason to believe what he said.
The Stones’ home was at least seventy-five years old but well maintained. As we turned into the driveway, you could see people milling about in the house, and it appeared every light was on. Windows were open, and Lee’s father was the first to see us and yell a hello from the living room. Then several people rushed out onto the porch.
The Last Lie She Told Page 7
