“So far, the case is all circumstantial, but juries have convicted on less. We'll get through this. In my career, I haven't let an innocent man be convicted. You aren't going to be my first.”
“While you're getting the statement from the guys at the range, talk to Mrs. Curry.” I reinforced my request to have her deposed.
“I will, but she didn't see anything.”
“She heard the killer's voice. Might be able to tell you it wasn't Whip if she hears his.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“One more thing. Whip couldn't get to Merry's apartment from his office on I-95 if he killed her at nine-fifteen.”
“Huh?”
“Alex checked the Department of Transportation Web site for that night. Only one lane westbound was open. Tie-ups were over an hour.”
“That's good. Now, think of what else we're missing. You've got a lot of time on your hands, Whip, so get busy.” Vince packed his legal pad and folders, shook our hands, and knocked at the door.
“Yeah, like I'm going anywhere soon.” Whip's being the target of a power-hungry district attorney didn't go down well.
“We need your help, too, Whip.” I told him about our small army of four.
“Four? Who's the fourth?”
“Johnny.”
“Don't tell me you're dating my best friend.” Whip tried and failed to look scandalized.
“Okay, I won't. Back to business. If we want to prove Hunter killed Merry, we can't do it alone. Think about what we should look for.”
“What's Hunter doing now? Is he still around? Is anyone watching him?”
“I'll find out.” I made a note in the small notebook I kept with me at all times. I wasn't about to tell Whip Alex was still monitoring his cell and Emilie was “feeling” what Hunter was doing.
“You guys gotta get me outta here.”
“We're trying everything we can think of. Help us. Tell us what we're missing.”
“Don't want to go through life with everyone looking at me like I'm a killer.”
“That's part of the problem. If we don't pin this on Hunter, it could be your reality.”
“I know. I'm scared shitless, Max.” Whip walked to the grubby window and stared through countless fingerprints. “People have been convicted on less.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Just don't bring your private detective back. Wouldn't do me much good if he got caught tailing Hunter.”
“Tony Ferraiolli's boys don't get caught. Still, I see what you're saying. We'll do a lot of sleuthing ourselves. If I think we need him, I'll get him back. You won't have a say in it.”
“Just be safe. Hunter's a loose cannon. I don't want him to kill any witnesses.”
I kissed Whip on the cheek. I hated the forlorn look on his face. He could be in jail for months.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I stared at Alex's questions stuck on the refrigerator. So many unknowns.
The police remained uncooperative. When Vince asked about the missing items, he got stonewalled. The party line was, “Pugh's guilty. Your questions are noise in the system, so forget about it.”
I blew on my coffee. The surface rippled. I took a sip and still burned the tip of my tongue. Shoot, that'd blister. I stared again at the list.
“MM? MM? Where are you?” Alex shouted.
“MM?”
Alex thundered down the stairs, his oversized sneakers not sneaky.
I looked up. “Who's MM?”
“You. Oh, sorry. When Em and I text each other, we call you MM.”
“Why?”
“Shorter than Mad Max.”
“Gotcha.”
“And it's better than Grandma,” Alex sassed.
“You got that right.” Then what Alex said hit home. “Hey, wait a minute. Do you and Em text each other when you're both in the house?”
“Sure.”
“Your bedrooms are on the same hall, separated by your bathroom.” I set my cup on the kitchen table.
“So?”
“So, no more. Get up and walk over. No texting within the house.”
“Ah, come on, Mad Max.”
“No. Your butts are glued to your chairs too damned much as it is.”
“Okay.”
“Now, what's up?”
Alex held a fistful of crumpled papers. He threw himself into a kitchen chair. Emilie strolled in a few seconds later and went to the fridge for sodas. After they opened Diet Cokes, Alex spread out his smooshed papers.
Could he have found something?
“This is, like, totally surreal,” Alex started.
“Alex's been looking for Dracula.” Emilie watched her brother stare at the printouts.
“Have you found him?”
I was determined to play the game. Humor him. Keep him focused. Deep inside, though, I doubted he'd come up with anything substantial.
“That's the problem. I found a bunch of Draculas. I don't know which one's him.”
“What do you mean, a bunch?” I wanted to snatch the printouts, but I held back. “Alex Time” was slower than mine.
“I Googled him, but Andrew Hunter's too common. I got tons of junk. I found several Andrew Hunters who are doctors.”
“How many are plastic surgeons?”
“At least five.”
“Five?”
No wonder Alex was confused.
“Well, five with a name that's a variation of Dracula's. See.”
My grandson pushed the papers across the breakfast table. I saw his problem: Dr. Andrew R. Hunter. Dr. R. Andrew Hunter. Dr. A. Randall Hunter. Dr. Randall A. Hunter. Dr. Randall Andrew Hunter.
“I see. How do you suggest we narrow it down?”
Emilie stared at the table, her eyes unfocused. She sat motionless for several long seconds. “We don't.”
“We don't?” Now I was confused. I reached for my coffee cup.
“We don't narrow it at all. They're all him.”
“That doesn't make sense. Look.” I pointed to one of the printouts. “Here's a news story about a Randall A. Hunter who graduated from UVA Medical School. Another about an A. Randall Hunter who graduated from USC Medical School. A third about an Andrew R. Hunter who graduated from St. George's University Medical School in Grenada.”
“Where's Grenada?” Alex belched and earned a frown for his exuberant efforts.
“It's a small island in the Caribbean with a medical school. Americans go there when they can't get into a school in the States.”
“Is that legal?” Emilie whispered a small burp.
“Sure. To practice medicine, you have to pass state medical board exams. Dracula must have passed at least one.” I picked up two of the printouts and laid them side by side.
“These dates are off.” I pointed at the stories. “Dracula couldn't have graduated from UVA and USC two years apart.”
“Then he's lying.”
Alex got up and returned with the cookie jar.
“Yes, but where? And why?”
“Or how many times? About what? I bet we find out he's a serial liar.” Emilie helped herself to a peanut butter cookie.
“Or a serial killer.” Finding and stopping a serial killer would be right up Alex's fantasy-sleuth alley.
“So, this guy has several aliases. What does that tell us?” Emilie sipped more cola.
“He's got something to hide,” Alex suggested. “I'll Google him again. Oh, guys, I found a way cool site called ‘rottendoctor.’ It lists doctors who've lost their licenses or who are under investigation for all sorts of stuff. You can also post stuff.”
“Your dad sent letters to the state medical board and the hospital several weeks ago. He told them one of their doctors was having an affair with a patient. That's so against the rules.” Why I hadn't thought to tell the kids earlier, I didn't know. Now they deserved to know everything I did.
“I'll post a question. Maybe there's
other stuff about Dracula.” Alex grabbed his papers and thundered back up the stairs. “Could be he's been sued for malpractice.”
“I wonder if there are other sites like that. I'll look.” Emilie took her soda and another cookie and walked out of the room. She threw a question over her shoulder. “Have you found Mom's cell phone yet?”
“No,” I called toward the retreating back.
“Did you call the number?” Emilie's voice drifted from midway up the stairs.
I picked up my phone and speed dialed Merry's number. It rang half a dozen times before it was answered. I steeled myself to listen to her recorded voice. What I heard was someone's raspy breathing. I hung up and stared out into the backyard. I called back and it went right to voicemail. The someone who answered had turned the cell off.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Time for my daily report to Whip. Once the police let him read the newspapers, he suffered mixed emotions when Merry's murder returned to the front page following his arraignment. The media continued to brand him a cold-blooded wife killer, guilty as charged. One opinion columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch wrote he should plead out, save the county the cost of a useless trial, and take his punishment like a man. The columnist had spoken to a cop but wouldn't identify his source. He hadn't questioned Vince. He hadn't tried to interview Whip, and he sure as heck hadn't reached out to me. I was pissed off about Whip being tried and convicted in absentia by some newspaper hack doing a shoddy job.
Whip was in one of his nastiest moods when I showed up with the news about Hunter's multiple personae.
“So, he uses aliases. Big fuckin’ deal. Does the medical board know?”
“I have a call in to them.”
“Wonder what else he's hiding.”
“No idea, but there's more. I think he has Merry's cell. When I called, I could hear raspy breathing.”
“Sure it was Hunter? Not someone who may have found the phone?”
“My gut says he kept it. When I called right back, I got voicemail. It was creepy.”
Did Hunter keep trophies of all of his victims? Sick, but so was creating his brand of perfection only to destroy it.
“Get a printout of her last calls. You'll know if someone's been using it. Don't forget her text messages.”
“Already done.” Or I could just ask Alex.
“Wonder where Hunter was before Chaminade. Told me when we met he was here on a one-year teaching fellowship. Probably why Merry thought they'd move.”
“Alex's working on Hunter's history. He's found contradictory stories about where he went to medical school. He found where Hunter worked, though. He's tracking leads in three states.”
Even though I knew Alex was hacking into Hunter's accounts, I couldn't encourage my grandson to break the law. We had a long talk when I let him know in no uncertain terms we were living in extraordinary times. I'd only tolerate him hacking into Hunter's cell or computer to help his father. Alex promised, but he might have had his fingers crossed behind his back.
Whip was in enough trouble for all of us. I didn't want Alex or Emilie, or for that matter, Johnny, doing anything illegal, but I'd overlook a little social engineering. If it helped the cause. After all, I'd pulled off a bank heist. Sort of. Right now, I could rationalize anything short of murder. Maybe even that if it got Whip out of jail.
“Em hasn't said much, but she took Merry's PC from the kitchen desk to her room. I'm sure she's reading every e-mail.”
“Has she found anything?”
“Other than lots of proof Merry was having an affair with Hunter, no. They sent lots of raunchy e-mails and text messages back and forth. We already knew about the text messages. Now, we know what they said in e-mail too.”
“Hunter texting anyone else?”
“Not that we know of. Alex figured out his computer password, so we can read his e-mails too.”
My turn to cross my fingers behind my back.
I didn't want Whip asking too many questions, so I plunged ahead. “At any rate, we're trying to get answers to our ‘fridge list.’”
“‘Fridge list’?”
I handed Whip the list of questions. He laughed at our level of organization and the assignments.
“Johnny's helping? Tops okay with this?”
“He sure is. We can have Johnny any time we need him.”
“Have you found Merry's purse?”
“No. The police don't have it.”
“Wonder if Hunter took it with the cell.”
“I'm betting on it. The purse is most likely long gone in a dumpster somewhere. The police said it wasn't in her apartment.”
“Merry kept all her passwords written on a card in a side pocket. Never could remember the alarm settings for the house.”
“Phooey. The security system. Hunter could get in. I'll call as soon as I get home. Have the company reset the codes.”
“Good idea.”
“Why won't the police give us more information? They're no help at all.”
“They don't have to help. They have their killer behind bars.”
More bitterness. I hated the police department's myopia and narrow-mindedness as much as Whip hated putting his family through this mess.
“Johnny's checking on her jewelry?”
“He's looking at pawn shops in a twenty-mile radius around Richmond.” I winked. “He didn't want me going into such notorious establishments.”
“Hell, like you're afraid of anything. You little witch. Let him feel big and brave and strong, didja? He-man protecting the shrinking violet from seedy places?”
Whip laughed for the first time in days. A belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't stop, especially when I did my best Scarlett O'Hara-eyelashes bat.
“Why, Rhett, how can you even think such a thing about little ol’ me?” I waved an imaginary fan to cool my flushed face.
When Whip had caught his breath, he told me he just realized the importance of two truisms: The truth will set you free, and laughter really is the best medicine.
“Corny and unoriginal, but I don't give a damn. Feel more like myself for the first time since Merry's murder.”
“Murder sure has a way of sapping energy.” I turned serious again. “Put those gray cells to work. I can't do this alone.”
“You guys are doing fine.”
Rare praise, huh? Time for a come-to-Jesus moment.
“I'm making this up as I go along.”
“No guidebooks on how to solve a murder, huh?”
“None that work. I've never felt so helpless, so out of control.”
“Know what you mean.”
“Not only don't I have all the answers. I don't have all the questions. I don't know what I don't know. I need you to add to the list, give us suggestions. Help in any way you can. It's your freedom.”
I left a copy of the list with Whip. My time was up, and Pete would soon shut us down.
“I have to run. I'm meeting Johnny for lunch. He has a lead on my mother's watch, the one I gave Merry. I may get to visit a pawn shop this afternoon.”
I winked as Pete opened the door and blew Whip a kiss as I left.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“Hello, pretty lady,” Johnny rose and kissed me on the cheek. I was late getting to Applebee's.
“Sorry, traffic was wicked. I forgot they're setting up the Celtic Festival at the high school.”
“No problem. I just got here too. What have you been up to?”
I told Johnny I'd just come from the jail.
“How's Whip holding up?”
“He's okay, but I told him he had to help. He can't sit around on his butt all day getting fat on all that gourmet jailhouse food.”
Johnny laughed. We ordered and sipped iced tea while we waited for our salad and burger. Me, the spinach salad, of course; Johnny, the burger. That man could eat more food than even Alex. He never gained an ounce. His doctor was satisfied with his overall health. I waited for him to tell me w
hat he'd found. It took no more than two bites of burger and a few fries.
“I'm pretty sure I found your watch. I must've walked into every pawn shop in Richmond. It was closer to Chaminade than I thought it'd be.”
“I brought a picture of Hunter.”
“How'd you get that?”
“Alex found a news clip. It's grainy, but he's recognizable.”
“Terrific.”
“Let's see what the owner says when we tell him the watch was stolen.”
“It doesn't matter. If it's yours, we call the police. Let the insurance company settle it.”
“Right.”
We drove through Richmond as quickly as traffic allowed after lunch. I was impatient and nervous. What if it wasn't Merry's watch? What if it was? Either way, I'd learn something; I just didn't know what.
“I was here two days ago about a watch. I don't see it.” Johnny frowned.
“I put it in the safe. The guy who pawned it said he'd be back. I ain't seen him.”
I breathed as silent a sigh of relief as was humanly possible. I was keyed up to the point where I'd burst if I didn't see the watch right this second.
The pawnbroker returned from the back room, my grandmother's watch draped over his left fingers. Before I took it, I wanted the shop owner to look at the back.
“Do you have a jeweler's loop?”
“‘Course.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a small loop and clipped it over the right lens of his small gold-rimmed glasses. “What am I looking for?”
“On the back should be an inscription: ‘For Josie at sixteen.’ There was a date, but it's almost worn off.”
“Got it.”
“Josie was my grandmother.”
“So this is yours?” The pawnbroker dangled the watch over three long fingers.
“I gave it to my daughter on her sixteenth birthday, as my mother had to me. She had it with her when she was murdered.”
“Oh my God. Not the woman who got shot? I didn't have nothin’ to do with that.”
“We know you didn't. We just want to find the son of a bitch who killed her daughter.” Johnny's face showed less expression than a Mayan sculpture. “We'll need you to talk to the police. Okay if I give ‘em a call?”
Mad Max: Unintended Consequences Page 18
