“Drive, Andy, just drive,” the older man yelled as he gripped the dashboard. The kid, Andy, stomped his foot on the pedal and sped away, leaving Lacy standing in the middle of the road with her phone still pressed to her ear in shock.
Somehow, Lacy made it to the mayor’s office only a minute late. Perhaps she had sped. She didn’t remember. All she knew was that she had been in a stupor after Travis’s impossible announcement. How could the ballistics have been a match?
He couldn’t tell her, both because he didn’t know and because he wasn’t able to talk just then. They had disconnected and Lacy had gotten in her car to try and make her meeting.
Now she was in the mayor’s lobby, and some of the numbness was starting to wear away. Obviously there had been some sort of monumental error somewhere along the line. She would talk to Jason today and ask him how the mixup had occurred. Maybe ballistics tests weren’t as reliable as she thought. After all, lie detector tests had been repeatedly proved unreliable; maybe it was the same thing with ballistics.
Whatever the reason, she tried to force her mind to focus on what she needed to ask the mayor. When she was at last called into his inner sanctum, she realized he thought she was there to discuss the Stakely building.
“Well, Lacy, hello,” he said. He stood and leaned over his desk to shake her hand. “I had hoped you would come to your senses about that old monstrosity of a building. The good news is that the developers still want it, and they’re willing to pay exactly what you paid for it, so you won’t lose any money.”
Lacy blinked at him in confusion for a minute. He thought she was here to sell her building? “I’m not selling the Stakely building. I’m going to renovate.” She sank weakly into the proffered chair, and he did the same on the other side of the desk.
“Not selling? But I thought that was why you were here today.”
“No, I came to talk to you about something that happened in the Stakely building a long time ago.”
The mayor pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his upper lip. “I can’t imagine what you might be talking about.”
“The Susan Pendergast murder.”
“That’s an unpleasant topic I prefer not to revisit.” Dab, dab, dab.
“I realize it’s an unpleasant topic, and I am sorry to rehash it, but in light of current events, I really feel it’s important.”
“What current events?” He moved on to dabbing his forehead. If the conversation went on a long time, would he lift his elbow and dab at his armpits?
“Ed McNeil’s murder.”
“I don’t see how the two are connected,” the mayor said. He turned on a small fan and pointed it at his face. The humming noise was distracting, but Lacy was undeterred.
“I’m not sure I do, either, but there are too many coincidences to ignore. For instance, you.”
“Me?” the mayor said. He pointed at himself in case Lacy had made some mistake.
“You were a suspect in the original murder.”
“Now, see here, I was never a suspect. Susan and I were engaged, true, but things were going well.”
“Even though you cheated on her with her sister?” It was a shot in the dark, but apparently a correct one.
“Who told you about that? Did Sheila tell you that? Because she’s lying.” He gripped the edge of his desk and leaned forward, his face turning an ugly shade of puce.
“I really don’t care about that,” Lacy lied. In truth, she was deeply curious about it, but she had bigger fish to fry today. “My only interest here is in trying to figure out how these two cases are related and what they have to do with the Stakely building.”
“Nothing. There’s nothing suspicious about the Stakely building. Nothing at all.” Dab, dab, dab.
“Then why have I received two threatening messages? Why has a car been following me?”
“I really don’t know,” the mayor said. He picked up his phone and pressed a button. “Is my nine o’clock here yet?”
Lacy figured that was code for “Get me a nine o’clock, stat!” but still she persisted. “If you’ll just help me and answer a few of my questions, then I’ll go away.”
“I really don’t have time for this, Miss Steele,” he replied. He looked down and straightened some papers on his desk. Lacy noted that his hands were trembling. He cleared his throat and looked up, but his focus rested just slightly to the right of her eyes. “There’s no connection between Ed McNeil and Susan. The two cases are unrelated. There is no connection to the Stakely building.” His voice quavered and cracked on the word “Stakely,” and he cleared his throat. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have to get back to the business of running this town.”
“Fine,” Lacy said, standing. “But let me tell you that I own the Stakely building now with no intention of selling it. In fact, I plan to go over it with a fine-tooth comb until I figure out what is going on. I have the money and the time to do exactly as I’ve promised, and I have a connection to the paper that ensures that anything I find will come to light. If you think I’m going to give up and let this go, then you are sadly mistaken. Thank you for your time today.”
She turned to go, thinking the meeting was over, but the mayor called out to her. “Wait,” he choked. Lacy turned around in time to see him mop his entire face with the handkerchief. “I am telling you for your own good to let this go. Let the past stay buried, and move on with your future. The building is too much for a young girl like you, and you don’t want to get involved in the politics in this town. Believe me. Just let it go.”
Lacy tried to figure out if his concern was for her or for himself, but she couldn’t tell. “Maybe that would be possible if someone hadn’t involved my friends and family in this mess. Now it’s too late. I’m seeing this through until the end.”
“You’ve been warned,” the mayor said. Lacy watched as he swiped his face once more, and then she turned and let herself out.
Chapter 16
Keegan volunteered to go to the Joe Anton interview with Lacy.
“He’s a convicted criminal. I don’t feel comfortable about letting you talk to him alone,” was his reason. Lacy wondered if he was simply curious. She took her grandmother’s car back to her house where Keegan was waiting and they drove to the jail together.
Lacy expected to have to wait a long time for Mr. Anton to arrive, but Travis had worked his magic so that the man was actually waiting on them when they entered the visitation room.
He was as small and frail as Lacy remembered, with lanky white hair slicked back from his head. His pallor was a sickly white, his watery brown eyes not quite focused, and his face covered with a not-so-fine layer of stubble. One side of his lip drooped and drooled a constant stream of saliva. Lacy forced herself not to stare at it.
“Thank you for seeing us today, Mr. Anton,” Lacy said as they sat down. The man nodded, and she continued. “I’m sure you know why I’m here. I have some questions about the murder all those years ago.”
“I dunno what help I’ll be. I barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning.” His hands trembled as he placed them in his lap, but, unlike the mayor, Lacy didn’t think it was from nerves. His body seemed worn out by so much drug use.
“Is it all right if we go over the facts of the case?” she asked. Her tone was naturally gentle with him because, even though he was a convicted murderer, he seemed small and helpless somehow. He nodded, and she continued. “The article I read said that you had a drug supplier who worked in the area of the Stakely building. Is that true?”
He nodded again. She wasn’t going to get much from him if all he did was nod, but this time he added words. “Yeah, but I hung out there because I liked it, too. There were lots of people and pretty things. I liked to look at the artwork.”
“You argued with Susan Pendergast shortly before her murder.”
“I don’t know if I remember this part, or if people have just told me about it, but I seem to recall arguing with her. She was upset
‘cause I was high again. She saw me hanging around the parking lot, shooting up, and she told me to go away.” He frowned, squinting as he tried to see through the fog of his memory. “No, that’s not right—she told me to go and get help, but she said it angry-like. I think maybe she was a do-gooder, but she was a large, powerful woman and everyone assumed she was angry ‘cause she was loud.”
Having met Sheila and seen her forceful personality up close, Lacy thought he was probably correct.
“Had you ever talked to Susan before?”
He nodded again. “I wouldn’t say we were friends because, truth be told, I was kind of scared of her. She was like a teacher I had once—strict and intimidating. But she was nice underneath it all. Sometimes she nodded at me or let me sit in her store when I was too stoned to be out walking around.”
“Did you ever see her sister, Sheila Whitaker, or the mayor, Hal Watkins?”
When he shook his head, Lacy was disappointed, but then he spoke. “I don’t remember, but I must have because after the police questioned me the first time, I told my sister about a fight I saw between the three of them.”
“You saw Susan, Sheila, and the mayor fighting with each other?” Lacy repeated. “What were they fighting about?”
“I don’t remember, but, according to what I told my sister, it was pretty bad. Susan slapped Sheila and Sheila punched her in the face. The mayor tried to intervene, and they both turned on him. Apparently it was a real cat fight.” He smiled with the good side of his mouth. “I kind of wish I could remember it.”
“Why did this information never come to trial?” The article had only said that they argued and never that Susan had told him to get help. “Did you ever tell your lawyer?”
Mr. Anton nodded. “I told him a few times, and my sister volunteered to testify about what I’d told her, but Mr. McNeil said it wasn’t important.”
Lacy was quiet a few beats while she processed that, but Mr. Anton didn’t seem to notice. He turned to stare at the opposite wall, apparently lost in a daydream. If what he said was true, then Ed McNeil was either the world’s worst lawyer or purposely incompetent. The prosecution had alleged that Joe Anton’s motive for murder was revenge for their argument, but if Susan had simply been urging the man to get help, then there had been no argument and there was no motive. And if there had been a physical altercation involving Sheila and the mayor then that gave both of them motive. “Mr. Anton, are you sure that you told Ed McNeil what you just told me, that Susan wasn’t angry and was trying to urge you to get help? Are you sure you told him about the argument between Susan, Sheila, and Hal Watkins?”
Mr. Anton nodded vigorously as droplets of spittle flew off his chin. “I told him back then, and I told him this time, too. He said it wasn’t important.”
The information was monumental, but Lacy didn’t have time to dwell on it right now. “Your alibi was what eventually led to your arrest. When you were interviewed at the time of the murder, you said you were at the races all day at the track a couple of hours away. Why do you think the officers at the time believed you?”
“Because I gave them a copy of my ticket stub, or at least I thought I did. I meant to. Maybe I dreamed it because when they opened the file and looked again, it was gone. There was no copy of the ticket and no mention of me giving them a stub. I really thought I did that, but sometimes I dream things, and I think they’re real. Maybe I wasn’t even at the track that day. I don’t know. All I know is that I never killed anybody. I might be a user and a drunk, but I’ve never been a violent one.” He shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “I went to court-ordered drug counseling once, and the therapist said that I was non-violent on drugs that usually make people violent. She seemed to think that was a big deal, and wanted to test my brain to see if my chemicals were off.”
“There’s a record of a professional stating that you’re non-violent?” Lacy clarified.
Mr. Anton nodded.
“Did you tell this information to Mr. McNeil?”
The man nodded again. “At least I think I did. Sometimes I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. Like right now I might be dreaming. Pretty girls don’t ever come visit me. That seems like something I might make up.” He narrowed his eyes at Lacy and peered closer, touching his nose to the glass as he made his inspection.
“I’m real,” she told him.
“That’s what the dreams always say. It’s very confusing.”
“Real or dream, I’m trying to help you,” Lacy said. “Do you believe that?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Mr. McNeil said he was going to get me out this time, and look how that turned out.”
“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to frame you? Do you know anything that might have led to Susan’s death or Ed McNeil’s death?” Lacy pressed.
“No, and if I did, it’s long forgotten. But I don’t think I ever did. I’m not exactly the person people tell their secrets to. I know it wasn’t much, but I lived a quiet little life getting high, and that was all. Sometimes I stole things to get money, but I never hurt anyone. I’ve never even thrown a punch. I just wanted to be left alone to enjoy my drugs, and that’s all I want now.” He looked furtively around the room. “Not that I’m on drugs now, because I’m not.”
Lacy had her doubts about that; she knew it wasn’t unheard of for criminals to have access to drugs in prison. At the very least, they had access to prescription drugs. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Anton. I want you to know that I’m looking into your case, as well as the murder of Ed McNeil. In my opinion, two men stand accused of murders they didn’t commit, and if I’m correct, then I think the same person committed both murders.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you just said, but it sounds like you don’t think the cop killed my lawyer. Don’t believe it, though. All cops are crooked.”
“Just like all druggies are murderers,” she said.
He opened his mouth to reply and left it hanging. “You just blew my mind,” he said.
She couldn’t help but laugh at his earnest tone. “That’s only fair because you’ve blown my mind today, too. Thank you for your help and your time.”
“What else do I have to do with my time?” he said, but he was smiling as he stood and shuffled away.
Lacy turned to Keegan who had remained quiet and observant throughout the interview. “What do you think?” she asked. Were his impressions and conclusions as monumental as hers?
“Maybe I’m a bleeding heart, but I don’t think he did it. And it sounds like this Ed McNeil suppressed vital information that could have led to his acquittal.”
“That’s what I think, too. The question is why? Why would Ed McNeil take his case and do such a poor job with it, not just once, but twice? According to Sheila, he passionately believed Joe was innocent and wanted to get him out, but according to Joe, he put up a lackluster defense that was so full of holes it was no wonder the man was convicted. I just don’t get Ed McNeil’s angle. Was he trying to protect someone? Sheila, maybe, or possibly the mayor? Why did he contribute to the SAD and put a stop-work order on my place? Why was he playing both sides of the fence on so many issues? Sheila painted him as some selfless individual, and his secretary, Pearl, was wholly devoted, but I don’t think Ed McNeil ever did anything that wasn’t for his own personal gain. But what did he have to gain by all this? I feel like if we could figure that out, then we might understand why he was murdered and who did it.”
The heavy metal jail door clanged open, and Jason stepped through. “We’ll talk about it more later,” Keegan said. “I’ll leave you alone now.” He nodded at Jason as he made his way out of the visitation room.
Jason sat, looking tired and grumpy as he picked up the phone. “Looks like things are going well between you two. When’s the wedding?”
He was spoiling for an argument, but Lacy wasn’t about to give him one by rising to take the bait. “How are you?”
“I’m pretty sure you k
now the answer to that question, Red. My lawyer wants me to take a plea.”
Lacy sat forward so abruptly that her chair scooted back and she had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling off. “What?” She reached down and righted her chair with her free hand. “Jason, that’s crazy. You can’t plead for something you didn’t do.”
There was a pause before he spoke again. “You don’t think I did it?”
“Are you crazy? I know you didn’t do it. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But the ballistics…” he trailed off and turned to look at the wall. Lacy wondered if he was trying to compose himself.
“The ballistics are wrong. Or something else is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to figure it out.”
He looked back at her again, and he was frowning this time. “The ballistics are never wrong, Lacy. They’re like fingerprints. Each gun leaves its own striations on the bullet.”
“Who had access to your gun?”
“No one. It’s either on me or locked in my desk at home at all times. No one touched it, no one broke into my house. Nothing.” He shook his head and swiped his hand wearily over his face. “This is impossible.”
“I’m going to go to the capital and talk to the person who did the ballistics test and find out how this mistake happened. There has to be some reasonable explanation.”
“No,” Jason said, his tone vehement now. “Why won’t you listen to me when I tell you to stay out of it? It’s like beating my head against a brick. I don’t want you talking to anyone in forensics, I don’t want you talking to Joe Anton, I don’t want you sticking your nose into places that might get you killed. Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me to know you’re out there unprotected while I’m stuck in here?” He broke off and took a deep breath, swallowing hard as he gripped the phone tighter. “If you insist on pursuing this matter further, then don’t come back because I won’t see you.”
She stared at him, trying to gauge his motivation. She had no doubt that he was serious; if she kept investigating, he would refuse to see her when she tried to visit. What she couldn’t figure out was whether or not he was trying to protect her or himself. Was he trying to cut her off because he thought he was going to spend the rest of his life in jail and he didn’t want her hanging on?
Building Blocks of Murder Page 13
