What the Fly Saw
Page 31
But there was the other matter that had not been resolved, the one that McCabe had told no one about. Baxter, and what he had picked up from the floor in Jonathan Burdett’s bedroom.
She could always ask. She could say, “What’s going on, Mike?”
“Detective McCabe?”
McCabe swung around. Ted Thornton was strolling toward her.
“I thought that was you,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your … contemplation of the lake.”
“It is rather a surprise seeing you here, Mr. Thornton,” McCabe said, hoping she didn’t look as startled as she felt.
“Didn’t you think I went for walks in the park? And would it do any good to ask you again to call me Ted?”
McCabe opened her mouth. Decided not to restate what she had told him the first time they met about her preference as a police officer for observing the formalities. Instead, she pretended not to hear the question. “Well, it makes sense that you might take an occasional walk in the park. This park is across from Willett Street. I did hear you once thought of buying up all the houses along that street.”
“I don’t know how that rumor got started,” Thornton said. “I was only going to buy one house. Maybe two.” He gestured toward the free end of the bench. “Mind if I sit down? I’ve been walking for a while.”
“Then, please sit,” McCabe said.
Thornton gestured at the dog. “Unusual-looking animal,” he said. “‘Behold, Mighty Ajax.’”
McCabe’s head came up. “What did you say?”
“I was quoting a line from one of your mother’s poems.”
“Yes, I recognized … but I think that line was intended to be ironic.”
“That was my impression, too. But your dog does have the look of a mighty hero, doesn’t he?”
McCabe looked at the dog. “Ajax?” She shook her head. “That’s not right.”
The dog was watching her, tongue lolling. “Jax?” she said. He barked his approval.
“Did I miss something?” Thornton asked.
“Unless my father or brother can come up with something better, we just named my family’s dog.”
“Jax,” Thornton said. “It suits him.”
“I’m glad to have that settled,” McCabe said. “You don’t know how long this dog has been without a name. Other than some really awful options.”
“Maybe your mother wanted to get her vote in,” Thornton said.
McCabe laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
* * *
Stretched out on the sofa in his condo, Baxter watched the feed from the surveillance camera that was displayed on his wall. He froze the image and turned back to his ORB. “Guess they both felt like a walk in the park,” he said to the man who had sent him the feed. “It’s a nice day for a walk. A little chilly, according to the weather report, but lots of sunshine.”
The man, whose name was Gage, was not amused. “We warned you about keeping your partner away from Ted Thornton, Detective Baxter.”
“You warned me?” Baxter said. “Doing that would have been a hell of a lot easier if you had managed to keep Lisa Nichols alive. First, you let one of Miller’s operatives pass Nichols a note telling her to trust Burdett. Then, you let Burdett get to Nichols with the pills and whatever story he told her to get her to take them.”
Gage’s mouth tightened. “The nurse who passed Nichols the note had worked at the facility for twelve years. She passed the note because of the money she was paid to do it. As for Burdett, we had no reason to be interested in him until you told us about his involvement in the sex club. There was no reason to suspect that a psychiatrist with privileges at the facility would be vulnerable to blackmail.”
“But you knew Howard Miller would want to make sure Lisa Nichols never made it into the courtroom,” Baxter said.
Gage stared back at him. “If Lisa Nichols had cooperated with us, we would have been able to keep her safe.”
“She was one of Miller’s true believers,” Baxter said. “What’d you expect? That she’d be good and cooperate because a couple of G-men told her that Miller would find a way to eliminate her because she’d gone a little crazy and killed three people and he couldn’t trust her to keep her mouth shut about her assignment to become Mrs. Ted Thornton with access to all his corporate—”
“This conversation is not about Lisa Nichols,” Gage said, allowing his irritation to show. “We’re discussing your partner. She has become a problem. We expect you to—”
“I know what you expect,” Baxter said. “Burdett’s file. What did you find on it?”
“We’re still analyzing the contents. We’ll get back to you if there’s anything you need to know. Meanwhile, Detective Baxter, deal with your partner.”
He ended the transmission before Baxter could respond.
Slouched against the piled pillows on his sofa, head throbbing from his recent concussion, Baxter stared at the freeze frame of McCabe and Ted Thornton sitting together on a bench in Washington Park.
“This is all my fault, right, partner?” Baxter said to McCabe’s image. “All I had to do was tell you that I’m working undercover for the feds. Tell you that my godfather, the assistant chief, and my second cousin Tommy, who’s hated you since you were at the academy together, are big fans of Howard Miller, and they’re members of this exclusive little group of rogue cops. If I’d told you that, undoubtedly you would have said, ‘Oh, okay, I’ll stay out of it.’ And this afternoon you would have gone to see some old movie or to get your nails done. This afternoon, you would not be sharing a park bench with Ted Thornton because you would have known that would be a really stupid thing to do. Right?
“Dammit, Hannah!” Fists raised, head thrown back, Baxter let out a roar of rage and frustration worthy of one of the superheroes he had loved when he was a kid reading his dad’s old comic books. A full-throated “Arrgh!”
All that did was send a stab of pain through his head. When he opened his eyes again, McCabe was still sitting on that bench with Ted Thornton, cozy as could be.
Author’s Note
In The Red Queen Dies, the first book in this series, and in this book, I draw on the fascinating history of the real city of Albany, New York. Many people have visited Albany. These visitors include Harry Houdini, the great magician, who suffered an injury while in Albany that may have indirectly contributed to his death. On October 11, 1926, Houdini was performing at the Capitol Theater. During his “Water Torture Cell” trick, a piece of equipment came loose and struck his foot. A doctor in the audience came to his aid. Later, his foot was x-rayed at a hospital and put in a brace. Houdini insisted on continuing his tour. He went on to Schenectady, near Albany, and then to Montreal. Before leaving Montreal for Detroit, Houdini, who was still hobbled by his injured foot, was caught by surprise when an overly enthusiastic student struck him twice in the stomach to test his famous abs. On October 31, 1926, Houdini died in a hospital in Detroit. His cause of death was peritonitis following surgery for appendicitis. Neither his accident in Albany, nor the blows to the stomach he received in Montreal had done the magician any good. Houdini’s erstwhile friend Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes and a believer in spiritualism, fared better during his two visits to the Capital Region. In 1894, Doyle spoke at the First Reformed Church in Schenectady during a cross-country lecture tour. On June 2, 1914, Doyle and his wife stopped briefly in Albany while en route to a vacation in Lake George. When they arrived in Albany at Union Station, they were traveling by private car attached to a fast mail train.
Edgar Allan Poe’s visit to Saratoga Springs that McCabe mentions to Baxter is more mysterious and less well-documented. Suffice it to say that according to several sources, including secondhand accounts, Poe visited Saratoga and spent time at a tavern on the grounds of what is now Yadoo, the artists’ community. It would have been appropriate if he had composed “The Raven” there. As for Albany, as McCabe tells her partner, there is also an unsubst
antiated story told by an enemy that Poe came to the city in pursuit of a woman he was courting after his wife’s death.
We do know that the Fox sisters, nineteenth-century celebrities in the Spiritualist movement, came to Albany while on tour. The Fox sisters, Maggie and Kate, became famous as young girls when they began to receive messages from those who had passed over (died). The messages were conveyed through a series of raps. Their older sister, Leah, stepped in to manage their successful careers as mediums. But after their personal lives went into decline, Maggie confessed that the rappings had been a hoax. She later recanted her confession, but the sisters had lost their credibility. The Spiritualist movement proved strong enough to survive this blow.
I should note here that the opinions about movements and institutions expressed by my characters are their own. This applies to Spiritualism. It also applies to religion and megachurches. And to the media—Hannah McCabe’s strong reaction to the media is shaped both by her great respect for her own father’s journalistic ethics and the unpleasant experience she had when she was nine years old and thrust into the media spotlight when she shot and killed a burglar. Her profession also comes into play. As a group, police officers tend to be as wary of the media as they are of politicians. A word about people—the police department in my series is fictional. Any corruption found in my fictional police department is not to be taken as a reflection of occurrences I am aware of in the real-life Albany PD. My detectives, uniformed police officers, and members of the forensic unit are not inspired by cops I know. The female mayor of Albany in my series was not inspired by the first real-life woman to hold that office. I was unaware that a woman would be elected mayor of Albany when I began to write the series. I chose not to change the sex of my mayor because my Albany in the near future is separate and apart from the politics of the real Albany.
My fictional Albany exists in a parallel universe. But many of the social issues that we are dealing with now in our world and will be dealing with in the future are common to both universes. For example, extreme weather conditions are causing problems for people, infrastructure, and the expensive surveillance system in which my fictional city of Albany has invested. However, it is possible to engage in ongoing surveillance of subjects with the use of cameras in public places. This is happening now in cities across the globe. This technology is a fact of modern life and will continue to be employed. Its use raises some fascinating issues about crime control.
Regarding technology, I should respond to a question that I have been asked several times since The Red Queen Dies was published: What does the acronym ORB stand for? ORB is an acronym for “Our Reach Beyond,” a phrase used by the scientist who developed the communication system. In a lecture, he spoke of “extending our reach beyond time and space.” ORB also refers to the web of the orb weaver spider, the inspiration for the system. Hence, ORB, WEB, and the people who post on the WEB are “threaders” not bloggers.
For the readers who missed The Red Queen Dies, the UFO mentioned in the first chapter of this book appeared in 2012 over the Mojave Desert. NORAD jets scrambled, but the UFO disappeared in a flash of light and has not been seen again. The people in my world are dealing with the long-term anxiety of the uncertainty caused by such an event. Teenage “space zombies” have dropped out. Adult survivalists have built mountain bunkers and armed themselves for the space armada they are sure will appear some-day. Other people, like my detectives, just go on with their lives as best they can.
About the Author
Frankie Y. Bailey is a professor in the School of Criminal Justice, University at Albany/SUNY. She is the author of mysteries as well as nonfiction titles that explore the intersections of crime, history, and popular culture. A Macavity Award winner who has been nominated for Edgar, Anthony, and Agatha awards, Ms. Bailey is active in several writers organizations and has served as executive vice president of Mystery Writers of America and as president of Sisters in Crime. Sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY FRANKIE Y. BAILEY
The Red Queen Dies
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
A Note to the Reader
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Frankie Y. Bailey
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
WHAT THE FLY SAW. Copyright © 2015 by Frankie Y. Bailey. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Bailey, Frankie Y.
What the fly saw: a mystery / Frankie Y. Bailey. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne Book.”
ISBN 978-1-250-04830-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-4910-5 (e-book)
I. Title.
PS3552.A368W48 2015
813'.54—dc23
2014040206
e-ISBN 9781466849105
First Edition: March 2015