Teacher's Pet

by Larsen, Patti

  “You knew what I was investigating,” Kara said without a shred of guilt this time. “You yourself told me you’d never seen him write.”

  Varley’s fight went out of her, draining away as she sagged. “We were going to get married,” she whispered. “I loved Malcolm. Now I feel like I didn’t really know him at all.”

  Kinsey eyerolled as though unable to help herself. Gerri could guess why. The fraud issue was the least of her problems if Varley Porter thought a marriage certificate would mean a thing to MacIntosh.

  “What proof do you have Malcolm wasn’t the writer?” Kinsey seemed less surprised than she should be, so Gerri let her take point.

  “You’ve heard the rumors, I’m sure.” Kara leaned in to the anthropologist who shrugged. “It’s all over the internet and has been for ages. The suspicion Malcolm MacIntosh used a ghostwriter.”

  This news could be a game changer. “Who’s the real author, then?” Because that person could be Gerri’s killer.

  “No one knows.” Kara sat back, eye snapping anger. “I’ve heard everyone from his sister to his assistant.” Zed Bettle? Gerri’s gut sighed, turned over, wondered. He’d been hiding something from her. But this? She wasn’t sure she believed it. And rumors weren’t proof. “This manuscript might lead me to the real writer.”

  “How, if it’s the same voice as the rest of the books he’s written?” Kinsey’s hands settled over it, almost protectively.

  Kara’s smirk widened and did nothing to make her more attractive. “I received a sample of some pages he sent his publisher,” she said. “The real work of Malcolm MacIntosh. A simple comparison should give me what I need to break the story.”

  “To start a witch hunt based on nothing, you mean.” Kinsey’s frown even made Gerri feel small and it wasn’t aimed at her. So much innocence in her blonde friend. And Gerri liked it that way.

  “Get over yourself,” Kara snapped. “He was a liar and a cheat. And someone was writing those books for him.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And don’t think the powers that be had no idea this was going on.”

  Kinsey’s frown tightened. “President Mickerel?” Her interest perked Gerri’s as well. How wide was this conspiracy net?

  “I don’t know,” Varley pouted. “He’s very careful to make sure Malcolm is happy, though.”

  That didn’t mean anything except the college president understood the value of a cash cow. Gerri turned to Kara who glared at her. “Sorry to ruin your story,” she said, making sure the reporter knew from the tone of her voice and tight grin she didn’t mean a fucking word of it. “But I need to know where you were last night at 10PM.”

  “You don’t think I had anything to do with it.” Her flare of outrage turned to irritation. “I was on a story, all right? You can call my cameraman.” She offered a card. “He was with me until after midnight.”

  Not that Gerri really believed Kara Tremaine had motive. But it would have been nice to have cause to drag her ass down to the precinct.

  One of these days.

  “I need that book.” Kara held her hand out to Kinsey who snorted at her arrogance.

  “Like hell.” The anthropologist handed it to Gerri. “Evidence.”

  Varley snuffled again, looking back and forth between Gerri and Kinsey. “Am I under arrest?”

  The detective stood, kicking her chair out of the way, not caring the table next to her really hated her by now. “I’ll think about it.” She saluted the two women with Malcolm’s book. “Don’t leave town.”

  Kara gave her the finger before crossing her arms over her chest in a huff. Kinsey followed Gerri as she strode off, whistling. That was fun.

  “We should talk to Mickerel,” the blonde said as they returned to the Charger.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Gerri said, gunning the engine.

  Kinsey did a quick read of the first few pages on the way to the college. “Seems like the same voice as his other books,” she said. “If this isn’t Malcolm, it has to be his ghostwriter.” She set the book in her lap. “And I think Kara’s guess about Zed was right.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. Unlike the Channel 8 reporter, Gerri needed proof. And there was none to be had yet. Yet.

  Not until her phone rang and Jackson, gruff and assholish as ever, informed her Zed Bettle had been sprung from the precinct by a lawyer. Courtesy of Silver City College.

  Good enough for Gerri.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE – AFTERNOON

  Mickerel was in his office when the pair arrived, and despite his receptionist’s insistence he couldn’t see them, Gerri kept on moving through the waiting room and through his well-marked office door. Kinsey’s barely concealed grin vanished just in time. About the same moment Gerri slammed her way through. She took that to mean she was about to piss him off.

  Awesome.

  President Mickerel stood from behind his desk, outrage on his face, caterpillar brows crawling together as he stared down Gerri and Kinsey.

  “What is the meaning of this?” He circled his desk in a rush, setting down the receiver of his phone in response to the sudden interruption. “Dr. DanAllart, I demand to know what the hell it is you think you’re doing.”

  How funny he wasn’t alone. In fact she wasn’t surprised to find Zed Bettle and an unknown but lawyerly man standing in the far corner. Malcolm’s assistant looked like this was the last place he wanted to be and the lawyer seemed about as thrilled.

  “Investigating the murder of Malcolm MacIntosh,” Kinsey said, bright as you please. “Just like you told me to, sir.”

  Kapow. Gerri didn’t hold back her grin for Zed. “Nice to see you’re out and about,” she said. “But I have a few more questions.” Her green gaze lit on the president. “And for you, Dr. Mickerel. I’m trying to figure out why you would send the college’s own lawyer to defend a mere prof’s assistant.”

  “Silver City College looks after its own.” Mickerel’s eyes darted to the lawyer, a faint hint of panic in his gaze. Gerri’s gut growled at him.

  The sullen, frustrated look on Zed’s face told another story. Gerri pointed to the book in Kinsey’s hands. “Look familiar?” The blonde crossed to him, handed him the thick stack of pages. MacIntosh’s assistant stared down at it, anger visibly growing.

  “Yes,” he blurted. “Because I wrote it.”

  While President Mickerel spluttered and gaped, Kinsey shot an I told you so look Gerri’s way. Like it was necessary. Her gut was practically leaping at the chance. Truth.

  “You what?” Mickerel finally managed to speak. Gerri’s disappointment knew no bounds when her unhappy instincts confirmed his shock was real. Damn it, she was hoping for at least a wrist slap.

  Zed tossed the manuscript to the table like it burned him, glaring at it with pure hatred. “I wrote it,” he said, voice stronger. “I wrote all of the Montrose Murders, created Silva Brom. And Malcolm took the credit.”

  “Why, Zed?” Kinsey’s gentleness would go farther than Gerri’s abrasive nature, so she stayed quiet and observed. The blonde set a soft hand on his arm. He reacted with a slow sagging of his shoulders.

  “I was just a freshman,” he said, voice cracking. “I adored Dr. MacIntosh. He was my mentor. When he found out I was a writer, he agreed to read some of my stuff.” Zed stared at the floor, jaw working in a grinding motion a moment. “He told me it was okay, but that no publisher would touch me, being a kid and all. That I’d be better off ghostwriting and letting him use his name and reputation to sell the books. He made it sound like a great idea, like I’d be getting all the benefits of being a published writer while he took on the hard parts.” He laughed, bitter, mocking. “I was an idiot.”

  “You could have told someone.” Kinsey’s words weren’t judging, just kind.

  “Who would believe me?” He didn’t pull away from her, but his hopelessness came through loud and clear. “By the time I realized I had the short end, I’d signed a contract with
him and that shark agent of his. Non-disclosure. They’d sue me until my grandkids owed their grandkids their first born.”

  Would have been worth it to Gerri.

  “So you wrote the books and Malcolm paid you a share of the royalties?” Kinsey’s gentle prodding kept Zed talking when he looked like he just wanted to sink into himself and disappear. But finally telling the truth seemed to open a gate to the flood of words he’d needed to say for a long time.

  “He said we’d split them 50/50.” Another laugh. “Turns out I was getting maybe 5%. When I questioned it, both Malcolm and Donald threatened me, so I shut up.” Zed shook his head, misery taking over. “I was trapped. For years.” He looked up at last, met Kinsey’s eyes. “I wrote books for them that made millions.” Tears trickled down his cheeks. “And no one knows my name.”

  Fucking tragic. Even Gerri felt sorry for him.

  “I decided I wasn’t going to do it anymore.” His face tightened up, hands wiping at his tears in angry swipes. “I told them I was done. That if they wanted another Silva Brom book, they had to either tell the world who the real writer was or give me a bigger cut. At the very least, claim me as co-writer.” He shrugged helplessly. “They freaked, but there was nothing they could do. Monica Donnelly at Chariot was on their backs.” He snorted a half laugh. “I hear Malcolm decided to try to write something and almost gave Donald a heart attack when he sent it in. Asshole actually thought he could write and was doing me a favor.” His face tightened. “A favor.” His hands wiped one last time at his face. “Malcolm threatened me, said he’d kill me if I didn’t finish the book. He was crazy when he was drinking. So I did finish. And I gave the manuscript to him yesterday morning. He acted like everything was cool, like nothing changed. I hated him so much, you have no idea.”

  Gerri inhaled, not sure he understood what came next. “Your realize,” she said, “This means you’re my number one suspect?” His head jerked around, eyes catching hers. “You just gave me motive for murder.”

  ***

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE – AFTERNOON

  Kinsey almost protested, but she knew Gerri was right. Though she didn’t believe Zed did it, felt his desperation, there was nothing murderous about him. Still, it was excellent reason to kill Malcolm, even better than infidelity.

  And though her mind told her he was innocent, she’d been fooled before, by her own assistant not so long ago. Turned out Mitchell was a murderer, a drug dealer and a gang member who stole someone’s identity and pretended to be someone he wasn’t.

  She had to accept she just wasn’t a great judge of character and leave things up to Gerri. But, the detective’s expression didn’t match her words, looking about as troubled as Kinsey felt.

  Did that mean her instincts—the whispering voice of the bheast—wasn’t sure either?

  “I take it you have proof you’re the author?” President Mickerel sounded sick, face pale, a sheen of sweat on his brow. Kinsey worried the older man might have a heart attack he looked so terrible.

  “I do,” Zed said. “I kept all the original files.”

  Smart. He might have been taken for a ride, but at least things might work out for him after all. Kinsey wasn’t sure what would happen, if Malcolm’s estate would fight the copyright issue, but she was sure from the way Zed’s face settled into a mask of determination he was going to do his best to make sure he got his property back.

  “I had no reason to kill Malcolm,” Zed said. “The book I gave him was my last. I already started a new series and was going to sell it on my own. I was done. Why would I risk it, and the battle to get my rights back? It’s going to be really public and really messy. I didn’t want either.”

  “Revenge isn’t always logical,” Gerri said. “And that kind of publicity can launch a career.”

  True. But this circle of thought led Kinsey to the other player in the mix. To Donald Ipps. The agent knew from the beginning.

  “This is terrible.” Mickerel sank into his chair, loosening his tie. “The college’s reputation is at stake.” He leaned forward, hands open, imploring. “Surely we can find a way to do this quietly?”

  Kinsey refrained from smacking her boss upside the head. Barely. “I think there’s much more at stake here than the college, President Mickerel.”

  He glared at her, thick index finger shaking in her direction. “If this goes wrong, I’m holding you personally responsible, Dr. DanAllart.”

  “If this goes wrong,” Gerri said, in that soft and threatening way only she had mastered, her bheast close enough to the surface even the thick and arrogant president of the college seemed to feel the pressure of her words physically, “you’ll have no one to blame but Malcolm MacIntosh.” Her green gaze settled on Kinsey, wolf behind her eyes. “And Donald Ipps.”

  Kinsey followed Gerri out of the office, looking over her shoulder at Zed who exited right behind them. He didn’t pause to talk, though Gerri called after him not to leave town.

  “He’s your prime suspect,” Kinsey said. “Shouldn’t you take him in for further questioning?”

  Gerri watched him go, green eyes narrowed. “Mills and Purcell are waiting by his car,” she said. “They’ll pick him up. And Pierce is still reviewing the tapes from last night to see if his alibi holds. Right now, I think we have Donald Ipps to confront about this whole mess.”

  Kinsey’s thoughts exactly.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY CRIME LAB – AFTERNOON

  CSI Catherine Chase sat back from the microscope she’d been hunched over for too long and rubbed her aching lower back. She’d volunteered for the night shift as well as the swing this morning, loving the thrill of a new case, the lure of evidence just dying for her to uncover its meaning.

  Cat had already wrapped the Malcolm MacIntosh investigation, sending her findings off to the 9th Precinct in record time. The bullet came back clean, the gun it came from free of priors. Without fingerprints or any kind of DNA on the body, she was forced to leave the rest to the detectives.

  That irked her, the fact she couldn’t sweep in and solve the case for them. Her favorite part was one-upping the arrogant and often slovenly investigations of most detectives. And Meyers’s attitude was often the worst. The next time she bossed Cat around at a crime scene—her crime scene—the detective was getting a firm lesson in just who ran things when a dead body was found.

  “Catherine.” The boss was here. She straightened a little further on her stool, offering a bright smile for CSI Tommy Binks. Her supervisor held a file in one hand, a faint frown on his face. Crap, what now? She crossed her t’s and dotted her i’s…

  “Boss.” She kept her positive attitude and waited him out.

  “Walk me through the MacIntosh case.” Binks leaned against the door jamb to the lab, pale hair falling over his equally pale face. The way his long nose twitched made her want to itch her own. She stifled a sigh, hating how anal he was. Her last job in LA, she had no one to pick her work apart. In fact, her supervisor there trusted her judgment. Binks, for some reason, had to know every damned detail of every damned case.

  He needed a hobby or something.

  Still, he was her boss. And if she wanted him to finally get off her back, she had to play by his rules.

  “Subject presented with a single gunshot wound to the forehead,” she said. “No sign of any other trauma according to the M.E.’s office, and no trace DNA.” She’d pushed that through herself. It helped knowing her way around all the equipment. No one ever accused her of being an underachiever. “No footprints or shell casing. And the bullet came back clean.”

  “You dug the slug out of the fountain in the courtyard?” Binks blinked behind his glasses at the file then looked up at her. “Is that correct?”

  She nodded. “It’s all there.”

  “But you found the body next to the fountain,” he said. “Not in front of it.”

  She stared at him blankly. What was his—
>
  Oh, shit.

  “How did the bullet end up in the fountain’s statue if he was standing parallel to it and not perpendicular?” Binks blinked again, face blank, not frowning, not judging. Just watching as all the blood drained from her face.

  Her mind went back to the scene, to the body, to the wet stones.

  The damp suit.

  Two hours passed between the finding of the body and the time she and her team were able to leave another scene and get there. Enough time for most of the water to evaporate from the vic’s suit in the sweltering California night.

  “Someone moved the body,” she whispered. “He died in the water.”

  Binks tossed the file to her. “And depending on how cold that water was?”

  She stared, panicked, at the manila folder in her hand. “It could change time of death.” Cat shed her lab coat in a rush, all of her own self-assurance draining out of her and leaving her with a rush of anxiety so powerful she lost a breath before catching it again. “I have to talk to the medical examiner.”

  She didn’t even notice if her boss was pissed at her. She was furious enough with herself it almost didn’t matter.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – EARLY EVENING

  Ray avoided Robert’s eyes, not wanting to have to explain where she’d been. That she’d rented a cheap hotel room on Cici’s request and met her lover there, the by-the-hour dive seeming to make the passionate woman even more driven to claim Ray for her own.