What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  Baxter said, “Odd she did that when you had only met Kevin Novak that one time at her party.”

  “Her celebration of life, you mean. And you see that was the point. That I did meet poor Kevin just before he died and he wouldn’t stay to talk to me. And Olive and I were talking about whether I might have been able to help him if he had.”

  “But,” McCabe said, “even if you had been able to talk to him … he was murdered.”

  Woodward’s round face was somber under the wide-brimmed hat. “But if I had been able to speak with him, to relieve his mind a bit, maybe he would have stayed at home with his family that night instead of going to the funeral home. If he hadn’t been there, maybe he’d still be alive.”

  “That’s possible,” McCabe said. “But Mr. Novak was conscientious. He would probably have gone to the funeral home to check on the bodies no matter what his state of mind.”

  “There’s no way for us to know. And that’s what’s bothering me. Maybe that’s why I was sent here to Albany … to help Kevin. And if that was the reason, I failed him.”

  McCabe nodded. “So that was what drew you to the funeral.”

  “And I’m glad I came to pay my respects. But I’d better be leaving before Reverend Wyatt sees me and gets his nose out of joint.”

  “Aren’t you going to wait and give Olive a lift?” Baxter asked.

  “No, she told me not to worry myself about that. She said her great-niece Paige would pick her up.” Luanne smiled. “She said she’s letting her earn her way back into her will. Child must have gotten on Olive’s bad side.”

  “It sounds like it,” McCabe said. “Well, we won’t keep you if you need to go.”

  Woodward smiled. “We’ll be speaking again real soon.”

  The elevator came back for the third time, and Woodward waved as she edged her way in with the next group.

  “I wonder why she was so sure she’d see us again,” Baxter said.

  “Psychic,” McCabe said.

  “But she told us she was a medium, not a psychic.”

  “I’m not sure what she is. But I have a feeling she might turn out to be useful. Let’s have a look at the surveillance cam for the garage before we go.”

  “I’m sorry the Widow Sarah’s opting for a family-only interment,” Baxter said. “I always like those movie cemetery scenes where the detectives are standing on the edge of the crowd watching.”

  26

  McCabe checked the readout on the police frequency of her ORB. “Wayne Jacoby,” she told Baxter, who was driving. “Must be important, he’s on private comm.”

  “You got something for us, Jacoby?” she asked when the PIO came into view. “Something happening with the media?”

  “All hell’s breaking loose with the media, McCabe. What I want to know is why you didn’t give me a heads-up.”

  “A heads-up about what? We’re on our way back from Kevin Novak’s funeral, but nothing happened there.”

  “I’m talking about your brother.”

  “My brother?”

  “Dr. Adam McCabe. Recently stranded with other tourists on a resort island.”

  “I told Lt. Dole about that in case I had to leave for some kind of emergency.”

  “Howard Miller has been objecting to the use of government military resources to carry out the rescue.”

  “I know that. He said the tourists on the island should pay for their own rescue.”

  “Apparently, he had a closer look at the list of people rescued from the island. And he saw the name ‘McCabe’ and remembered that the lead detective in the Lisa Nichols murder case also had been named McCabe.”

  “Oh hell!”

  “And in his own inimical way, Miller managed to tie your brother’s presence among the well-heeled tourists President Kirkland was spending money to rescue from their resort island to the murder case in Albany involving the former fiancée of billionaire Ted Thornton.”

  “Wayne, I’ll talk to you about this later. I have to try to reach Adam and warn him that the media—”

  “Your brother already knows. The press was there when the rescued tourists got off the ship half an hour ago. They had no trouble recognizing your brother coming off in his wheelchair. They got some really prime footage of his glares and ‘no comments’ and then an especially nice sound bite when he told a reporter to shove it.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “That happened when the reporter asked him about being shot and paralyzed by a burglar, who his sister, even though she was only nine years old, had no hesitation about shooting and killing.”

  McCabe cursed—a fluent, extended curse.

  Jacoby chuckled. “Language seems to run in your family.”

  “I didn’t learn that in my family. I learned it from the cop who was my field training officer. He advised me to save it for occasions that merited such self-expression. And this isn’t even slightly humorous, Jacoby. Right now, aside from my brother being harassed because of me, probably everyone from the mayor on down—”

  “It isn’t that bad, McCabe. But it would have been nice if I had known we might get caught up in this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I should have realized that if Howard Miller was complaining about the rescue, he would seize on anything that he could find to make it look even worse.”

  “Well, at least, no one in the department—including you—did anything wrong. Now that I know what we’re dealing with, I can come up with a statement,” Jacoby said. “But you may have to tiptoe through this one with the commander. The mayor called him in after she saw Miller’s press conference. He called in Lieutenant Dole. And both of them are likely to be waiting for you when you get back to the station house.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Jacoby.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t sweat it. It’s not like you could control where your brother went on vacation or that he isn’t crazy about reporters.”

  “I think,” McCabe said, “that after being stuck for a week on an island that had been hit by an earthquake, my brother might be excused for not being terribly patient when he was bombarded with questions by idiot reporters.”

  Laughing, Jacoby held up his hands. “Don’t get your Irish up again, McCabe. I agree. That’s what I’m going to say … leaving out the ‘idiot.’ No one would ever guess that you’re related to a former newspaper editor.”

  “My father was a real journalist, not a bloodsucking parasite.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Point made. And I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I really am sorry, Jacoby. Next time, I’ll remember you need to be kept in the loop. Although I hope there won’t be a next time.”

  “Just remember not to curse like your brother if you find yourself ambushed by a reporter.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Do that.”

  McCabe turned to meet Baxter’s glance. “If you’d ever like to request a change of partners—”

  “Wouldn’t think of it. Hanging out with you is fascinating. Never know what’s going to happen next.”

  “It makes me sick to my stomach to think Howard Miller knows my name and he and his people are discussing me and my family.”

  “Don’t let it worry you, partner. Sooner or later, old Howard will get his comeuppance.”

  “Will he?” McCabe said. “I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe only a handful of people are even considering voting for him for president.”

  * * *

  “Saw your brother on the news stream,” Angie Hogancamp, the second-watch desk sergeant, remarked as McCabe and Baxter came in.

  “I didn’t see him, but heard about it,” McCabe said.

  “That reporter was up in his face,” Hogancamp said.

  And Adam, McCabe thought, was not inclined to allow people to get up in his face.

  McCabe knocked on Lt. Dole’s office door. “Sir, you probably want to see me, right?”

  Dole waved her in. “Come in and sit down.”

&
nbsp; McCabe slid into one of the chairs opposite his desk. “About what happened with my brother, sir—”

  “The commander and I had a discussion about that. He said to tell you to avoid conversations with the press and to ask your brother and father to do the same. He’d appreciate it if you would ask your father not to take this opportunity to write an editorial about Howard Miller.”

  “My father is retired, sir.”

  “But he still has access if he wants to write an editorial. Having Miller go after you and your brother might make him want to do that.”

  “I’ll ask my father to restrain himself, sir. But I can’t control his actions.”

  “We understand that. Just suggest to him it might be better to let this one go.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll pass on that suggestion. I’ll remind my father that he has never approved of journalists who use their positions to even personal scores. Is there anything else?”

  “Do your best to get the Novak murder solved. As in, having this become a cold case is highly undesirable. Do you need more support with this one?”

  “Thank you, sir, but I’m not sure having more people working on it would help. It’s not like the serial killer case when we were worried about more women being killed and needed as many people working on it as we could get.” McCabe paused. “The truth is, sir, this case is just weird. It doesn’t seem to be a crime committed by a stranger, but so far we haven’t found anyone among Kevin Novak’s friends and acquaintances who seem to have a motive.”

  “I take it nothing happened at the funeral.”

  “Only Luanne Woodward, the medium, showing up. She came with Olive Cooper.”

  McCabe told him what Woodward had said about why she was there.

  “Her reason for coming to Albany still sounds fishy to me,” Dole said.

  “Yes, sir, but I guess if you’re into the paranormal, listening to your inner voice is what you do. And unless she’s able to be in two places at once, she’s not a suspect in Novak’s murder. We’ve checked her alibi, and she was in Boston.”

  “That doesn’t mean she isn’t planning some kind of con.”

  “No, sir, it doesn’t. Baxter and I will have another look at her to see if we might have missed something. In fact, it’s probably time we looked again at everything we have to see if we’ve missed anything.”

  “Good idea. You on tomorrow?”

  “No, sir. It’s my weekend off. If my brother and his girlfriend make it home by then, we’ll probably do a family dinner.”

  27

  Saturday, January 25, 2020

  10:41 A.M.

  In the farmer’s market, McCabe waved her ORB over the display of speckled yellow eggplant. The nutritional content and a suggested recipe came up. She added two of the eggplants to her shopping basket. Her next stop was the bakery. She was debating whether she should splurge on the pricey organic coconut cake when her ORB buzzed.

  McCabe stepped away from the counter, out of the way of a mother with two small children who were demanding gingerbread cookies.

  Walter Yin came into view on her monitor. “Hannah, sorry to bother you on what’s supposed to be your day off.”

  “That’s okay. What’s up?”

  “A woman named Olive Cooper’s trying to reach you. She says it’s urgent she speak to you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll get back to her now.”

  McCabe walked over to a bench by one of the warehouse windows and put down her shopping basket. She pulled up Cooper’s ORB code.

  When Cooper answered, she was holding a sleek black cat with emerald-green eyes. White hair loose and flowing to her shoulders, Olive looked as if she might have cast a few spells in her day.

  McCabe couldn’t resist asking, “Does your cat know Ted Thornton’s cat, Horatio?”

  “They’ve met. They didn’t care for each other. Esme found Horatio presumptuous.”

  “You wanted to speak to me.”

  “I’m having a séance tonight. I want you and your partner, young Baxter, to attend.”

  “A séance? With Luanne Woodward?”

  “I’m busy now rounding up the people who ought to be here.”

  “Who ought to be there? Who would those people be, exactly? Is Luanne planning to try to … Is this about Kevin Novak?”

  “Would I be making a point of inviting you and your partner if it wasn’t?” Cooper said, her tone brisk. “Sarah has already agreed to come.”

  “She has?” McCabe said, feeling as if she were one step behind in this conversation. “She’s agreed to come to a séance the day after her husband’s funeral?”

  “Exactly what she said—she was offended and outraged I could ‘even suggest’ such a thing.”

  “But then she changed her mind and agreed to come?”

  “She didn’t have much choice in the matter. Megan overheard our conversation. When her mother said no, Megan said she wanted to have a séance. She wanted to see if we could reach her father. Sarah tried to argue with her, but Megan was getting upset.”

  “And so Sarah agreed to come to your séance and bring her daughter.”

  “I would have thought you’d be pleased to hear I’ve taken on the task of putting this together. Luanne told me when she offered to do a séance, you thanked her and said you’d give it some thought.”

  And she had been thinking about it, McCabe admitted to herself. A quirky, back of the mind, last-ditch effort idea. But only to be invoked if they had reason to think Kevin Novak’s murderer might be among the people he had known well. And she hadn’t gotten as far as figuring out how they would get sensible people to agree to participate in an effort to contact a dead man.

  “Has anyone else but Sarah Novak agreed to attend this séance you’re planning?”

  “I waited until I knew it was going to fly before I bothered to contact you. Jonathan Burdett will be here. Said he was sure it would be interesting as a psychological experiment. I expect Daniel to come, too.”

  “You do? Reverend Wyatt has agreed to take part?”

  “I told him about it, and he expressed his disapproval. First, he’ll do his best to talk the others out of coming. When he can’t do that, I expect he’ll come to try to stop it.”

  “Why are you sure he won’t be able to change their minds?”

  “Because they’re all curious—even Sarah. They want to know if it can be done.”

  McCabe suspected there might be more than that behind Olive Cooper’s confidence, but she let that go for the moment. “Who else is coming?”

  “Bob’s fancy French wife, Francesca. She was the only one who seemed pleased to be invited. She said she’d been questioned by you and your partner.”

  And she had asked Reeves not to get involved, McCabe thought. But apparently an invitation to a séance had been too much to resist.

  “Ted Thornton and his assistant, Bruce Ashby, will give us ten,” Olive Cooper said. “Eleven if we can get Daniel to join us. But I’m not counting on that.”

  “Why did you invite … why do you want Ted Thornton and his aide to take part in your séance?”

  Cooper’s gaze narrowed. “I thought you might want them to be here. Ted told me about the visit you and your partner paid him. He said you were interested in how Ashby came to choose Kevin to contact about burying Ted’s ‘killer blonde.’”

  McCabe said, “I don’t suppose you call her that when you’re talking to him.”

  “I’m not that heartless,” Cooper said. “I was being sarcastic. The woman was crazy as a loon. Her hair color had nothing to do with it, unless the dye had affected her brain.”

  “I take it you had met her.”

  “A couple of times. She didn’t impress me either time. But men like Ted have a way of falling hard when they fall. Doesn’t make a bit of difference if they’re smart, hard-driving businessmen. A woman comes along and gives them the right smile, and they’re goners.”

  “Did Mr. Thornton express any reluctance about coming to a séan
ce so soon after his ex-fiancée’s death?”

  “He didn’t seem bothered by that. He did say he isn’t convinced there’s an afterlife. I said, in that case, it would do him no harm to come and indulge an old woman—who happens to be a prominent member of one of his boards.”

  “Anyone else going to be there that we should know about?”

  “That should be it. Ten at the table. Eleven if Daniel can overcome his objections and agrees to join us. But, as I said, that’s not likely. I’ll expect you and your partner at my house no later than eight P.M.”

  “I’m not sure about this, Ms. Cooper. It’s rather an unusual invitation. I need to speak to my supervisor, Lieutenant Dole. I’m also not sure my partner, Detective Baxter, is available. We’re both off this weekend, and—”

  “I’ll see you tonight. Don’t bother to eat first. Velma will have a spread laid out.”

  “Ms. Cooper, I’m really not—”

  She was talking to the air. Cooper and her cat were gone.

  It was, McCabe thought, unseemly and even offensive to have a séance on the day after a man’s funeral. Especially when the man’s young daughter had been used to coerce her mother into taking part. But the evening might prove illuminating. Unlikely that Kevin Novak would turn up during the séance. But the situation—with this group of people in the same room—might shake something loose and give them a lead.

  As she thought this, McCabe realized that she was much more inclined to believe Kevin Novak had been killed by someone he’d known than to accept the random-stranger-from-off-the-street theory. If no one at the séance had killed Novak, one or more of them might know why someone had wanted him dead.

  Like Dr. Burdett, for instance. Or, Reverend Wyatt, who was holding something back, something that he knew about Kevin. And then there was Francesca Reeves, who might know more about what was going on than she claimed. Even Sarah Novak might know more than she was telling them … or not be what she seemed.

  Gathering the suspects for a séance was not in the manual on homicide investigations. But if someone else proposed doing the gathering, there was no reason she and Baxter shouldn’t be there to see what happened.