What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  Burdett stepped back. “Come in. If you’ll forgive the informality, why don’t we go out to the kitchen and have some coffee while we talk.”

  “Thanks,” Baxter said. “I could use another cup. Early start this morning.”

  Burdett’s kitchen reminded McCabe of Chelsea and Stan’s kitchen at home, everything a chef needed to put together a gourmet meal. Not to mention whipping up a chocolate pecan pie.

  It was lucky Olive Cooper’s housekeeper, Velma, was an early riser. She had taken it in stride when McCabe called her at 7:00 A.M. to ask about the recipe for her chocolate pecan pie. Had anyone ever asked her for the recipe? Lots of people, Velma said. Not that she had given it to all of them. She had given it to Francesca Reeves on the night of the séance. Dr. Burdett? Yes, last year, after he’d bought one of her pies at a church bake sale.

  “Thank you,” McCabe said as Burdett set a cup of black coffee in front of her.

  “Cream?” he asked.

  “Please,” McCabe said, and considered the wisdom of drinking the coffee.

  Baxter had no such hesitation. “Good coffee,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Burdett said. He sat down across from them at the kitchen table. “Tell me what I can do to help Scott. You said you want to understand the family dynamics, Detective McCabe.”

  “There is another twist to this story that Reverend Wyatt might have told you about. Luanne Woodward claims to be Kevin Novak’s half sister.”

  “Daniel told me about that when we spoke about Scott. It strikes me as a bit too much of a coincidence that this woman should turn up now.”

  “Not a coincidence,” McCabe said. “You see, Luanne had located her half brother on a Web discussion node for folklorists and others interested in death and dying rituals. Of course, Kevin was unaware of their relationship, but Luanne felt she was getting to know him. He disappeared from the node for a while, around the time his friend Bob Reeves died. Luanne didn’t know what had happened, but when he came back to the group, she did notice he wasn’t his usual self. She was concerned something was wrong, and she had the idea of coming up to Albany to meet him and make sure everything was okay with him.”

  “She came up here,” Burdett said. “But she didn’t tell Kevin that she was his half sister. That strikes me as odd.”

  “She only met him once, briefly, at Olive Cooper’s celebration of life. You remember that meeting. Kevin sent you a tag about it.”

  “As I recall from that tag, he wasn’t terribly impressed with her.”

  Baxter said, “You did let us read that tag, Doc. He made a joke about how Olive Cooper wanted him to drop you and start consulting her medium.”

  McCabe said, “But, of course, you weren’t concerned Kevin would do that.”

  “No, it wasn’t one of the things I was concerned about. I wish we had known about this woman’s relationship to Kevin. It might have been a real breakthrough in his therapy. He had long-term issues related to his mother’s death and the time he spent in an orphanage.”

  “Did he?” McCabe said. “Thank you for sharing that with us. Understanding Kevin may help us to understand Scott and how he felt when he learned his father was cheating on his mother.”

  “How could Scott have known that?” Burdett asked.

  “Kev got careless,” Baxter said. “He left the door of his office ajar. Scott was out in the hall and heard him setting up a meeting with Fran—” Baxter broke off, looking abashed.

  “With who?” Burdett asked.

  “Uhh, with the woman behind the biker girl avatar.”

  “You started to say ‘Francesca,’” Burdett said. “Are you telling me Francesca Reeves was a member of the cybersex club that Bob—to which Bob belonged?”

  “No, he’s not saying that, Dr. Burdett,” McCabe said. “To the best of our knowledge, Francesca Reeves has no involvement at all in the club.”

  “Your partner said—”

  “Just a slip of the tongue, Doc. My brain’s still half asleep.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” McCabe said. “Until he’s had his second or third cup of coffee, Detective Baxter’s brain doesn’t shift into gear.”

  “Mind if I pour myself another cup?” Baxter asked.

  “Certainly. Help yourself.”

  “And, of course,” McCabe said, “if Francesca Reeves were a member of the sex club, you would think Kevin would have recognized her, wouldn’t you?”

  “How would he recognize her?” Burdett said. “The members of this club have avatars.”

  McCabe nodded. “But I have a friend who is in another club. Not a sex club, a time travel club. And he named his avatar after someone he really admires. And I’ll bet if I joined his club and I knew he might be there, I could pick out his avatar. I mean, even though his avatar looks nothing like him, there would be personality traits I would recognize. Wouldn’t there?”

  “You misunderstand the reason for having an avatar, Detective McCabe. An avatar not only gives its owner a presence in virtual space, it offers the freedom of trying out behaviors—and personality traits—that are different from those one possesses in the real world.”

  “Yes, but over time, wouldn’t one fall into some of one’s habits from real life? I mean, wouldn’t bits and pieces of one’s personality gradually be transferred to the avatar? But I suppose it could go in the other direction, too, couldn’t it? The personality that one assumes in virtual space might start to seep into one’s real-world existence. I suppose that would be when it could start to become dangerous.”

  “Of course,” Burdett agreed. “That’s always been a concern about immersive, interactive media. The wall of separation between virtual worlds and the real one.” Burdett reached for his coffee. “This is a fascinating conversation, but getting back to the subject of Scott…”

  “Which brings us back to Luanne Woodward,” McCabe said. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Burdett. We’ve had so many conversations with different people that I’ve lost track. You do know that someone tried to poison Luanne?”

  “Yes, I know—but you can’t believe Scott was responsible for that.”

  “No, actually, Doc,” Baxter said, “we think you were.”

  Burdett stared at him. “What did you say?”

  “Dr. Burdett,” McCabe said, “we think you tried to kill Luanne Woodward.”

  “What possible motive could I have for trying to kill a woman I barely know?”

  “It was more a matter of what you were afraid she might know,” McCabe said.

  Burdett laughed. “Are you suggesting, Detective McCabe, that I had something to hide and that I really believed the woman was psychic?”

  “No, I’m not suggesting that. Luanne doesn’t claim to be a psychic. She’s a medium. But it was what she said to you before the séance that might have worried you.”

  “What she said to me? How do you know what she said to me?”

  McCabe raised her cup, then set it back down again. “No psychic powers on my part. I remembered seeing you and Luanne standing together when Detective Baxter and I arrived. I called her this morning and asked if she could recall what you’d talked about.”

  “And what was it she claimed to have said that made me decide to do her in?”

  “Actually, she didn’t realize what she’d said. If she had, she might have been more careful when the pie you made arrived on her doorstep.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Detective, getting to the point—if there is one.”

  “Before the séance, Luanne saw you standing alone. She went over to join you. She was feeling ‘devilish,’ as she put it. She knew you and Reverend Wyatt didn’t approve of her, and so she wanted to make you a little uneasy. She gave you her ‘see right into your head’ look—the kind that psychics use—and then she said, ‘Your secret’s safe with me, honey.’”

  Burdett laughed. “This is ridiculous. You think I tried to kill Luanne Woodward because she said—”

  “You said, ‘What sec
ret?’ And she said, ‘We all have to have our secret lives, honey. A place where we can go and be who we really are. It’s all right. I won’t tell.’ She said you looked startled.”

  “I suspect I looked amused by her performance.”

  “Her performance during the séance was fascinating, too. Of course, she denies that the bell ringing and the door slamming open were hoaxes.”

  “You know, I really am finding this conversation tedious. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for the arrival of my first patient.”

  “We can’t place you at Kevin Novak’s funeral home on the night he died because the storm had knocked out our surveillance system. But we were able to find an image of your deliveryman.”

  “Of my what?” Burdett said.

  “The kid in the park,” Baxter said.

  “Remember him?” McCabe said. “You came out of your house carrying a paper bag. You walked across the street into Washington Park. You sat down on a bench beside a trash bin. You put the bag on the ground beside the trash bin. Beside. Not in. You walked away, and a young man came over and picked your bag up. And then he scooted off in his old heap of a car.”

  Burdett stood up. “This is ridiculous. I won’t—”

  “What happened with Kev, Doc?” Baxter asked. “Was he on to you? Did he know that you were a member of the cybersex club?”

  McCabe said, “That would have been a problem, wouldn’t it? If Kevin decided to tell what he knew? If he was so guilt-stricken because he had betrayed his wife and his family that he refused to listen when you tried to get him to keep quiet.” McCabe fixed her gaze on Burdett. “I may not be a psychic, but I can imagine what happened. You saw Scott leaving the funeral home. You went in and down to the basement. You found something you would never have expected. Kevin had an arrow in his chest, but he was still alive. And you saw your opportunity. You told him you’d get him help and keep quiet about Scott being there if he agreed to forget about the cybersex club. But he said no. He wouldn’t play along. He intended to reveal your involvement in the club. So you picked up his ORB—maybe you grabbed it from his hand—and you walked out of that basement, leaving him to die. And then you had to live with that, didn’t you?”

  Burdett stared back at her. “Yes, I had to live with it. If he had been willing to listen to reason … I did try to reason with him. I tried to explain that he would destroy his marriage and my career.…” Burdett shook his head. “I begged him to let it go. We would both leave the club, and forget what we knew.”

  “How did he figure it out?” Baxter asked. “How did he identify your avatar?”

  Burdett smiled. “Ironically, the credit for that goes to young Megan.”

  “Megan?” McCabe said.

  “Unfortunately, she is an intelligent and curious child. Last month, when the teen book discussion group read a novel set in fourteenth-century France, she decided to do background research. During our discussion, she shared some information that she had found about the bubonic plague … including illustrations of the bird-beaked masks that physicians wore to protect themselves. Her parents were in attendance during our discussion.”

  “And you loaned her a book,” McCabe said. “She was holding it in her lap when Detective Baxter and I went to the house to interview her and her brother. She said she was trying to finish it because she needed to return it to you.”

  Baxter said, “But how did that tip Kevin off? Were you a big bird in the sex club?”

  “My avatar is—was—Edward, a wealthy art collector. A couple of weeks ago, Edward shared some images of beautiful, jewel-encrusted masks with several young women. And Kevin, posing as his friend Bob’s avatar, overheard the conversation. As he told me later, he was reminded of a discussion about a different kind of mask during the teen book group meeting. That was enough. He started to watch and listen.”

  “But if you knew he was there posing as Bob’s avatar,” McCabe said, “wasn’t it a bit reckless to bring up a topic that might remind him of something linked to you?”

  Burdett smiled. “Recklessness tends to feed on itself, Detective McCabe. Knowing that he was there and that I was there—in plain sight, but undetected—added a certain thrill. And, to be frank, I underestimated him.”

  “So that evening at the funeral home, you decided to let him die.”

  “Yes, I made that decision. But, of course, I should have known that I was only postponing the inevitable. ‘Murder will out.’” Burdett glanced down at his robe and pajamas. “I’d rather not go to the police station dressed like this. May I go upstairs and change?”

  “Sure, Doc,” Baxter said. “You won’t mind if I come along and keep you company?”

  “I don’t think I’m in a position to object.”

  McCabe watched them go. She sat there for a moment thinking about Kevin Novak and his family. And then she reached for her ORB. When Lt. Dole came on, she said, “Sir, it worked. We’re bringing Dr. Burdett in.”

  “Good job. Be sure you—”

  The gunshot was muffled. But the sound vibrated through the house.

  “Shot fired, sir,” McCabe said. “Baxter went upstairs with Burdett.”

  “Backup’s on the way,” Lt. Dole responded.

  McCabe shoved her ORB into her jacket pocket. Drawing her weapon, she stepped into the foyer, clinging to the wall. “Baxter?” she called out.

  She started up the stairs. “Baxter?”

  As she reached the landing, Baxter staggered out into the hallway holding a bloody hand towel to his head.

  McCabe ran to him, catching him and lowering him to the floor. “What happened?”

  “Burdett … We walked into his bedroom. He picked up a lamp … bashed me over the head with it.”

  “The gunshot?” McCabe said. “What?”

  “He took a gun out of the nightstand … and put it to his head. He’s dead.”

  McCabe glanced toward the door of the bedroom. “I have to go make sure of that.”

  “He’s dead. Believe me.”

  Burdett was on the floor inside his bedroom. McCabe stooped down beside him, feeling for a pulse. Baxter was right. He was dead. He’d managed to blow away a piece of his skull.

  She holstered her weapon and turned. Baxter had come into the room behind her. He was bending down. He straightened, slightly off balance, as she turned.

  “Dropped my towel … don’t want to bleed all over Delgardo’s crime scene.”

  * * *

  At the hospital, McCabe waited outside the room where Baxter was being examined. Finally, the doctor came out and said she could go in.

  Baxter was lying back against the pillows with a bandage around his head.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Got a hell of headache,” he said. “But that’s not my only problem. The suspect I was supposed to be guarding gets a gun and shoots himself.”

  “Lt. Dole said to tell you that he’ll be here as soon as they’re done at the scene. Jacoby’s dealing with the media. He’s going to do a press conference later. And, of course, we’re both going to have to give a statement to the guys from Internal Affairs.”

  “Can’t wait,” Baxter said.

  “That’s good. Because I don’t think they’re going to wait until you get over your concussion.”

  * * *

  McCabe woke up in the dark and sat up in bed. She waved her hand in front of the lamp on her nightstand.

  She had been dreaming of that moment when she had turned from Burdett’s body and seen Baxter bending down to pick up the hand towel on the floor.

  There had been something in the towel when he picked it up. Something small that he had been palming.

  McCabe leaned back against her headboard. Then sat forward, sniffing the air.

  There it was again. That whiff of scent she had caught during the séance and when she was talking to Sarah Novak.…

  She and Pop had brought in the pots of lavender from her mother’s garden and stored them on the p
orch for the winter. Even if the bushes had been in flower, the scent would never have reached her closed bedroom window on the second floor.

  The Novak case had obviously been triggering a scent memory of her mother’s favorite fragrance. Maybe it was seeing a family torn apart by violence. A mother trying to cope.

  McCabe waved her hand to turn off the lamp and stretched out again.

  What had Baxter picked up in the towel?

  43

  Sunday, February 2, 2020

  3:11 P.M.

  McCabe sat down on the bench and looked out across the lake. The dog nudged at her leg. Then, accepting that they were going to take a break in their jaunt through the park, he sat down beside her. He leaned his head against her hand. McCabe obliged by rubbing his favorite spot behind each ear.

  McCabe was thinking about the girl in the red scarf, whose name had turned out to be Elizabeth. Her parents had seen the news stream and contacted the police. Elizabeth had left home after an argument. She was nineteen, not a child. Her parents had thought she would come back home when she was ready.

  McCabe shut off the mental image of Elizabeth’s mother speaking to reporters about their loss. No tears visible, only a trembling mouth and ravaged face.

  There were other things she should be thinking about, McCabe reminded herself. On the lighter side, Luanne, perhaps because of her own near-death experience, had admitted she rigged the bell to ring during the séance. She’d thought if Olive was as surprised as everyone else, the stunt would be more convincing. But she hadn’t, Luanne insisted, rigged the door and the falling vase. Olive had also denied responsibility. Maybe it had been the wind. Mystery unsolved, and not that important.

  The good news was that the DNA test had supported Luanne’s claim that she was Kevin Novak’s half sister. And Research had found nothing to suggest Luanne had any ulterior motive for seeking Kevin out. Seeing that she was needed, Luanne had swooped in to provide hot meals and moral support for her sibling’s family. Scott was still facing charges related to his father’s death, but Dr. Burdett’s actions ensured Scott wouldn’t be charged with murder. There would be a plea deal. And with Luanne’s help, the family might well get through what had happened.