What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  McCabe recalled what Luanne had said after Kevin Novak’s funeral, that Paige had done something to annoy Olive. Great-niece was trying to work her way back into great-aunt’s good graces. That was why Paige had been designated to drive Olive home after Kevin’s funeral.

  Obviously, Paige was not an early riser. Velma’s smile as she said good-bye made McCabe wonder what Velma was planning to serve for breakfast.

  McCabe shared that thought with Baxter as they were walking to their vehicle.

  Baxter grinned. “Yeah, I got the feeling Velma doesn’t intend to serve all Paige’s favorite seven A.M. breakfast foods. Want to keep Velma, the devoted housekeeper, on the list for Luanne’s chocolate pecan pie?”

  “Let’s hope Luanne hadn’t done anything to upset Olive and make Velma consider her persona non grata.” McCabe sighed. “But, yeah, let’s keep Velma on our list.”

  33

  By the time they’d gotten their orders and found a table, they were both hungry enough to spend the next five minutes focusing on their very late lunch.

  Then McCabe’s ORB buzzed. She wiped the mayo from her turkey sandwich off her fingers and reached for it. “Delgardo,” she told Baxter.

  He nodded and took another bite of his pastrami sandwich.

  “Ray,” McCabe said when Delgardo appeared on the monitor. “Does the fact you’re calling mean you have something?”

  “We have the results on the pie,” he said. “Someone added arsenic to the recipe.”

  “Arsenic?” McCabe said. “Is it possible to determine the source?”

  “Possible, but it could take a few days. We should be able to get back to you before that on the other items.”

  “Could you have a look at the cardboard box first?”

  “I already have someone working on it.”

  “Thanks, Ray. I need to call the hospital.”

  “Tell them to contact FIU if they want us to send over our analysis.”

  The doctor who had been on duty was still there when McCabe asked for him. When he appeared on the monitor, he looked like he was ready to call it a day. “Doctor, I’m sorry to catch you right at the end of your shift. But we have some information about the pie we found in Ms. Woodward’s refrigerator. According to our forensics unit, the pie contains arsenic.”

  “Then that means someone did try to kill her. Is this person likely to try it again?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t know the answer to that question. But we’ll alert your hospital security. In the meantime, please issue an order restricting access to her room.”

  The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Could we get a copy of the lab report?”

  McCabe gave him Delgardo’s code. “He’s ready to send it right over. Do you think Ms. Woodward will be all right now that you know what you’re dealing with?”

  “I think the best answer I can give to that, Detective, is that she’s made it this far. Once we confirm that she did consume arsenic, then we start treatment to get it out of her system.”

  McCabe’s next tag was to Lt. Dole. She told him about the arsenic and asked about alerting hospital security. “I’ll take care of that,” he said. “You and Baxter focus on coming up with a viable suspect.”

  “Yes, sir, we’re on it.”

  Dole ended the transmission, and McCabe looked across the table at her partner. “Operating on the assumption that arsenic in the pie means Luanne was poisoned, we have several people who were there in the dining room when Luanne came out of the kitchen with the slice of pie that Velma gave her. Even though we’re keeping Velma on our list, we should consider other suspects.”

  “So you think that seeing Luanne eating a slice of pie might have given one of the others an idea about how to get to her?”

  “But the big question is why anyone would want to get to her. Is this related to Kevin Novak’s murder?”

  “Be a real coincidence if it isn’t,” Baxter said.

  “Yes, it would,” McCabe agreed. “But we’ve already been there with Ashby and his tag to Kevin Novak.”

  “The timing of that was a coincidence,” Baxter said. “But I admit we did find a connection—Olive Cooper—the connection between our victim and Ted Thornton.”

  “And now Olive is the connection between Kevin Novak, our murder victim, and Luanne Woodward, our attempted murder victim.” McCabe picked up a sweet potato fry. “Since we can’t talk to Luanne right now, I think we should have a chat with the people who were in Olive’s dining room.”

  “That would be Bob Reeves’s French wife, Francesca; Jonathan Burdett, the church counselor; and Sarah Novak, the grieving widow. And the two kids, Scott and Megan.”

  “Of course, the question is why anyone at the séance would want Luanne dead.”

  “Maybe she and Olive accomplished what they were trying to do. Maybe the séance rattled someone’s cage.”

  “And someone struck out at Luanne to make sure she wouldn’t do another séance?” McCabe squeezed another slice of lemon into her tea. “Did anyone at the séance—except maybe Megan—really believe Luanne had contacted the spirit world?”

  “If this person wasn’t convinced by the séance, then why bother to try to kill the medium?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the séance. Maybe Luanne knew—knows—something else.”

  “But Luanne hasn’t been in Albany that long. She only met our vic once. What could she know?”

  McCabe reached for her ORB. “No idea, Michael. But we’re not accomplishing anything sitting here theorizing. I say we start spreading the word that Luanne is in the hospital.”

  “As opposed to dead?”

  “Lieutenant Dole is contacting hospital security. Whoever tried to kill her must be waiting to hear that she’s dead. We let everyone know that she isn’t.”

  “Let’s start with the doc. We haven’t chatted with him in a while.”

  * * *

  Jonathan Burdett lived in a brownstone on a street on the perimeter of Washington Park. Burdett’s office was in his home. When McCabe tagged him, he said he would be free shortly. He was about to begin his session with his last patient of the day. Rather than go back to the station house when it was so close to the end of their shift, McCabe and Baxter decided to go to Burdett’s office and wait.

  “I’ve been thinking about our first interview with Burdett,” McCabe said as Baxter was parking the car. “Remember the tag he showed us that Kevin sent him?”

  “Sure. Kevin told him Olive had suggested he drop Burdett and see her medium.”

  “And Burdett claimed he had been amused, not threatened,” McCabe said. “He was sure that Kevin would stay with him. He also said he was sure that, although some church members might have some interest in consulting a medium, it would be only a passing fad.”

  “So you think he was lying, and he tried to kill Luanne to eliminate potential competition,” Baxter said. “Maybe he was afraid if word got around that something happened at Olive’s séance, all those curious church members would be flocking to her.”

  “I’m not suggesting he was trying to eliminate the competition,” McCabe said as they crossed from Washington Park to the sidewalk on Willett Street. “I’m just pondering his attitude toward Luanne.”

  Burdett’s receptionist looked up from her desk in the foyer of the two-story house. “Are you Detectives McCabe and Baxter?” she asked.

  “Yes, we are,” McCabe replied.

  “I’m so sorry, but Dr. Burdett had to leave. He asked me to give you this.”

  She held out an envelope. “Thank you,” McCabe said.

  She opened the sealed envelope and found a single sheet of monogrammed stationery. With what seemed to be a fountain pen—something she hadn’t seen since she was a child when she used to play with the one her father kept on his desk—Burdett had written: En route to Novak home. Sarah called. Emergency situation with Scott.

  McCabe said, “I’m sorry that we missed Dr. Burdett.”

  The
receptionist smiled and nodded. “I’ll tell him you were here.”

  Out on the sidewalk, Baxter said, “What was that about?”

  McCabe passed him the note. “I suppose there was a good reason why he took the time to write a note instead of sending a tag.”

  “Leaving a note did slow us down,” Baxter said.

  “Yes, but he told us where he was going.”

  “Maybe he wants us to come and lend a hand with the emergency.”

  “Whether that was what he intended or not, he shouldn’t be too surprised when we show up.”

  “I wonder what’s wrong with the kid.”

  “Maybe he broke down. He was trying to step into the role of man of the house. That kind of pressure’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old to handle.”

  * * *

  They heard the chaos inside when they reached the front door of the Novak house: voices raised, words indistinguishable, but the distress and anger clear.

  McCabe rang the bell. The voices rose higher. A woman’s voice. Male voices.

  McCabe rang the bell again and pounded on the door.

  A moment later, the door was flung open. Megan, tears streaming down her face, said, “Scott! Something’s really wrong with Scott!”

  The shouting inside the house had stopped. Silence.

  McCabe looked at Baxter. He shook his head, indicating he couldn’t hear anything either.

  “Megan,” McCabe said, voice pitched low. “Where is Scott? Where’s your mother?”

  “They’re out in the kitchen. Mommy and Scott and Dr. Burdett.”

  “What were they doing when you came to open the door?”

  Megan blinked, her eyes wide. “Scott shoved Dr. Burdett and ran into the kitchen. And he grabbed a knife and told Mommy and Dr. Burdett to stay back.”

  “Megan, I want you to do something for us. Our car’s right there. Go sit in the backseat.”

  “But, Mommy and Scott—”

  “I know. We’ll go see what’s happening. But we need you out of the house. Will you do that for us?”

  The girl nodded. She reached for her coat on the hook by the door.

  “Megan,” McCabe said. The girl stopped, staring up at her. “Can we get into the house through the back door? Is it unlocked?”

  In the light from the foyer, McCabe saw her frown. “It might be. Mommy always forgets to lock it when she comes in from her workshop. Daddy always locked up at night.”

  McCabe touched her shoulder. “Stay in the car, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  McCabe turned back to Baxter. He said, “Give me an extra couple of minutes to get over the fence.”

  McCabe watched him disappear around the corner. Then she went in through the front door, closing it behind her.

  She drew her weapon, setting it on stun.

  “Mrs. Novak,” she called out. “Sarah? It’s Hannah McCabe. Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” Sarah Novak called back, strain evident even in that monosyllable. “Scott’s a little upset. But everything … everything’s all right.”

  Stopping when she reached the closed kitchen door, McCabe called, “Dr. Burdett, how goes it?”

  “We’re all unharmed,” he said, his voice calm. “However, Scott is holding a butcher knife. He wants us to let him think.”

  McCabe said, “Scott, I’m going to come in, okay? I know you want to think, but I just need to come in and see how everyone’s doing.”

  Silence. McCabe pushed the door inward an inch. “Scott? I’m going to come in.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” he said in a croaking voice.

  “You don’t have to talk,” McCabe said, stepping into the kitchen, weapon held in the hand behind her back.

  Scott was standing by the kitchen sink, facing his mother and Jonathan Burdett. He was holding the butcher knife out in front of him, keeping them at bay.

  And the back door was in his direct line of vision. Damn, McCabe thought.

  Scott’s blue shirt was plastered to his chest with perspiration. He was breathing heavily. Pupils dilated. She looked at Jonathan Burdett. He said, “Scott took some pills a friend gave him. He is having an adverse reaction.”

  “Don’t talk about me like that,” Scott said. “I’m here.”

  “Scott,” Sarah Novak held out her hand. “Sweetheart, we know you’re here. Everything’s all right. Just put down the knife.”

  McCabe said, “Scott, your mother’s right. Just put the knife down on the floor and kick it toward me.”

  He looked at the knife in his hand. He was breathing harder now.

  Burdett said, “Scott, I know you aren’t feeling very well. You would feel better if you could lie down.”

  Scott gazed at him. “I’m feeling dizzy.”

  “Then let us help you to bed,” Sarah Novak said. “You’ll feel much better after a nap.”

  “I can’t do this,” Scott said.

  “You can’t do what?” McCabe asked.

  “I can’t do this.”

  Scott raised the hand holding the butcher knife. McCabe’s fingers tightened on her weapon.

  “Scott,” she said. “Just put the knife down. Put it down on the counter beside you.”

  “I can’t do this,” he said again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “What can’t you do?” McCabe asked.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry … I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Scott—,” Sarah Novak said, holding her hand out to him.

  McCabe fired her weapon at the same moment Scott slashed toward his throat. His hand jerked. He dropped the knife, staggered, fell to the floor.

  Sarah Novak screamed. She rushed over to her son.

  Dr. Burdett grabbed the crisply pressed, bright orange napkins from the three place settings on the kitchen table. Kneeling beside Scott, he pressed the napkins to his shoulder.

  McCabe glanced over at the back door. Baxter had come in. He was on his ORB.

  McCabe took a deep breath and another.

  “You all right?” Baxter asked.

  She nodded and slid her weapon back into its holster. That had been a little too much like when she’d shot Lisa Nichols.

  “Is he okay?” she asked Burdett.

  “The wound from the knife isn’t deep,” Burdett said. “But we need to get him to the hospital.”

  Sarah Novak stroked her son’s hair.

  “Megan’s outside in our car,” McCabe told her.

  “Thank you,” Novak said. She began to hum a song to her son. It sounded like a nursery song.

  * * *

  “Do you know what drug he took?” McCabe asked Burdett. They moved away from the emergency room cubicle where Scott was being treated, finding a corner near a storage area where they could talk.

  “His reaction was extreme,” Burdett said. “Almost a psychotic episode. It might have been what young people refer to as ‘rocket fuel.’ Popular years ago. Now making a comeback.”

  Baxter said, “Is drug counseling part of your work at the church?”

  “Indirectly. I facilitate bringing in the experts who can speak knowledgably on the subject.”

  “I guess Scott wasn’t paying attention to what your experts had to say.”

  “I don’t think Scott has used drugs before,” Burdett said. “Kevin was as concerned as I am about drug use among the young people in our church. I’m sure he talked to both Kevin and his sister about the dangers.”

  “If Scott had never used drugs before,” McCabe said, “how would you explain what happened tonight, Dr. Burdett?”

  “Grief. Stress. Anger. Kevin has been grieving for his father while trying to be strong for his mother and sister. He took the pills to relieve the pressure he was feeling. He had an adverse reaction.”

  “If he had succeeded in cutting his own throat, that would definitely have been adverse,” Baxter said.

  Burdett chose to ignore Baxter’s observation. “The emergency room physician has ordered full b
lood work on Scott. That will tell us what drugs he has in his system. In the meantime, he has exhausted himself and should sleep for a while.”

  “Then we’ll check back with Mrs. Novak tomorrow,” McCabe said. “We’ll need to speak to Scott when he wakes up.”

  “Is this a police matter?”

  “It’s a matter that requires a report,” McCabe said. “I was required to stun a seventeen-year-old who was high on drugs and tried to cut his own throat.” She paused. “There’s also the matter of what Scott said.”

  “What he said? What did he say?”

  “‘I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry … I didn’t mean to do it,’” McCabe quoted.

  “He was talking about taking drugs and getting high,” Burdett said. “He knew that his father would have been disappointed.”

  “That may have been what he meant. Please tell Mrs. Novak we’ll check back with her tomorrow.”

  They were halfway to their car when McCabe’s ORB buzzed.

  “Sorry, Mike, we’ve got to go back. Luanne is awake and she wants to talk to us.”

  34

  Luanne Woodward was sitting up in bed, but she looked pale and drained. “I come up here,” she said, “and someone tries to kill me. Can you believe that?”

  McCabe said, “Do you have any idea who might have wanted you dead?”

  “That’s some question, honey. It must have been someone who knows about my sweet tooth.”

  “Where did the pie come from?” Baxter asked. He was standing by the window. McCabe had sat down in the chair by the bed.

  Woodward said, “All I know is where I found it. I went to open my front door, and there it was on the stoop.”

  McCabe said, “Why did you open your front door? Did someone knock or ring the bell?”

  “Not that I heard. I was on my way out to take my walk before I started my Sunday dinner. I’m supposed to walk every day. But then I saw the box sitting there. And I forgot about taking a walk because I wanted to see what was inside.”

  “So when you opened the box and found the pie,” Baxter said. “Didn’t you wonder if you ought to eat a pie someone had left on your doorstep?”

  “When I saw the note, I thought Olive had sent it,” Woodward said.