by Lauren Carr
Elliott said, “You just told us that Patricia Baker had confessed to killing George.”
“Why did she kill him?” Doris asked.
“They were having an affair.” Chris brought the beer to his lips. “She found out Mercedes was leaving and assumed that meant she and George would be together. She lost it when he wanted to stop Mercedes and hit him in the back of the head with a champagne—” He stopped. Slowly, he lowered the bottle.
“Christopher, what’s wrong?” Doris asked.
“She didn’t kill him.”
“But she confessed,” Elliott said.
“If Patricia Baker didn’t kill George,” Doris asked, “then who did?”
“The third man.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The next morning, Chris bided his time with his farm chores and breakfast while waiting for an appropriate time to call Lucille Del Vecchio. By the eighth chime from the grandfather clock in the foyer, he finished dialing Lucille’s phone number.
Her tone turned cool after he introduced himself as the detective who had interviewed her days earlier. “Now what do you want to ask me about?”
“I’d like for you to clarify something.” Chris braced the phone on his shoulder while he made a second fresh pot of coffee. “You said George Livingston’s suite was closed up by the police before the banquet was over. Was that an exaggeration?”
“I don’t exaggerate.”
“Does that mean you personally saw the door to George’s suite sealed with crime scene tape?”
“Yes, there was yellow tape on the door. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Then, you’re telling me that the police had closed off George’s suit before he was officially reported missing,” Chris said.
“Yes.” Lucille bit off her words. “How many times do I have to say it? By the end of the main course at the banquet, no one had seen George and I realized that I would have to step up to bat and give the speech. But the presentation’s slides were in George’s room. I went to get them and there was yellow tape across the door. When I tried to go inside, that idiot agent stopped me and said that it was a crime scene. When I tried to go inside, he threatened to shoot me. Finally, he went and got the slides for me.”
“What time was that?” Chris smiled at his mother who, looking fresh in a rosy nightgown and silky robe with matching slippers, descended the back stairs.
“The presentation started at eight-thirty,” Lucille said. “This had to be shortly after eight. Any other questions?”
“No, you’ve been very helpful.”
Lucille was still grumbling under her breath when he disconnected the call.
Pouring her first mug of coffee, Doris cocked her head at Chris. “Why do you look so happy?”
“I’ve got a break in the case.”
“Do you know who the third man is?”
With a nod of his head, Chris scrolled through the case file on his laptop. “But I need to talk to one more witness before we can prove it.”
“What witness is that?”
“The one nobody questioned.”
Balancing himself at the very top of the ladder, Chris reached up into the ceiling to plug in the last cord connecting the computer network to the last stall’s gate. With a sigh, he grasped the top rung and leaned back to survey his work.
Ray and Elliott had offered to help him, but they weren’t able to do so until that weekend. Once Chris got an idea in his head, he couldn’t shake it. He opted for watching how-to videos and setting the network up himself.
From his perch, he called out, “Buddy! Code Red! Fire!”
“Code Red Fire,” the intelligent assistant announced from its base in the tack room.
Swoosh!
The noise of the mechanisms activating echoed throughout the barn. Every stall door swung open. Both barn doors, the one to the fields and the one to the barnyard, opened.
Chris’s cell phone buzzed on his hip to signal that the fire alarm had been set off in the barn.
“Do you want me to notify emergency services?” Buddy asked.
“No.”
The pounding of hooves announced the horses galloping in from where they had been grazing in the pasture. Like the famous Pavlov dog experiment, the open barn doors signaled that it was feeding time. Never mind that they had eaten their breakfast only two hours earlier.
Praying that they didn’t knock over the ladder and trample him, Chris clung to the top rung while they trotted into their stalls. Not having the heart to send them back out to the pasture without something for their trouble, Chris descended the ladder, pressed the button he had installed on the wall to close the doors, and gave them a small feeding. He even tossed Sterling a fresh chew toy.
The sound of a vehicle’s engine prompted him to look out the window to see Kevin Crane’s luxury SUV making its way up the lane. He rolled to a stop in front of the barn door, climbed out, and meandered into the barn.
“As much time as you seem to spend in this barn, I’m surprised you even bother with investigating cold cases.” Kevin looked around the common area at the horses filling each stall. He reached out to pet Sterling, who dodged his touch and moved closer to Chris while placing himself between his master and the visitor.
“I’m a man of many interests.” Chris scratched Sterling’s ear.
“Did you make any headway on the Livingston case?” Kevin asked while peering into a stall that contained a big black Thoroughbred.
“We found Patricia Baker.”
Kevin spun around to face him. “You found—she’s alive?”
“She was,” Chris said. “I guess that rapist confessed to killing the wrong victim.”
Kevin scratched his ear. “He was strung out on drugs.”
“Or maybe someone anxious to close the case coerced him into confessing,” Chris said.
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Kevin said. “What matters is you found our prime suspect. Where is she?”
“In a morgue in Pittsburgh. She killed herself rather than come back to face you.”
“Well, before offing herself, did she admit to killing George Livingston?”
“Yes, she did,” Chris said.
“I guess the case is solved.” Kevin patted him on the arm. “Well done. I never would have thought that you could’ve solved this forty-year-old cold case. I gotta hand it to you.” He made his way to the door. “If you ever want a job working for KC Investigations, all you have to do is give me a call, son.”
“Baker didn’t kill him.”
Kevin Crane stopped at the door. He turned to Chris. “You said she’d confessed.”
“Because she thought she did it. She’d overheard her lover’s wife making plans to run away. Delighted with this news, she had champagne and raw oysters delivered to his suite. They made mad passionate love. To her shock, when she’d told him that Mercedes was leaving—he wasn’t at all happy. He insisted on stopping Mercedes, and Patricia went mad.”
“And bashed his skull in with a champagne bottle,” Kevin said.
“She thought she’d killed him and went to get help.” Chris held up his finger. “That was where things went sideways.”
“You’re talking about Gavin Fallon and Kyle Billingsley,” Kevin said with a nod of his head. “I’ve always suspected them of being involved. Unfortunately, our information was incomplete. We didn’t know Mercedes had run away and wasn’t the one behind the wheel of her rental car. If we knew then—”
“Kyle Billingsley wasn’t involved,” Chris said. “Your own case file shows that no one placed him at the Bavarian before the ransom demand.”
“He was the one who delivered the ransom,” Kevin said. “He was the only one who had access to the money.”
Chris shook his head. “There was one other person who had access to the money.�
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“Who?”
Chris pointed a finger at him.
Kevin laughed.
“I promised that I’d let you be in on my conclusion of the case.” Chris shot him a crooked grin. “Here it is.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
Kevin’s eyes narrowed.
“You were the lead investigator,” Chris said. “That means you directed everything. Who, what, and where the investigation went. It was all under your control. That’s how you got away with it.”
One corner of Kevin’s lip curled up into a snarl to reveal a slip in his pleasant demeanor. “That’s the way it is with any investigation.”
“Kyle told us that you and your partner had already counted out the money and were packing it into the bag when he arrived by helicopter from the airport. He got there just in time for you to lead him to a car and told him where to go to make contact with the kidnappers. He clearly remembers you carrying the ransom from the hotel room and placing it in the passenger seat of the car.”
“Keep going.” Kevin’s tone was low.
“You had two identical bags,” Chris said. “All you had to do was switch the tracker from the bag with the money to the bag with the newspaper. Since you were leading the investigation, no one thought to notice you switching the bags on the way from the hotel room to the parking lot. Since you were busy leading the investigation, you had Patricia Baker make the ransom demand and direct Kyle all over the tri-state area until he ended up at the final drop. You ordered agents to tail Baker and Fallon after Lucille Del Vecchio had suggested they were involved, but they were watching for them to leave the Bavarian to go collect the ransom. They didn’t have to leave the hotel to pick up the ransom. The money never left the hotel.”
“My career took a hit because of that case!”
“One hit in an otherwise illustrious career.” Chris shrugged his shoulders. “For a half-mil nestegg, I’m sure you thought it was worth it.”
“This is all speculation on your part, Matheson. You can’t prove any of it.”
“You were okay with me looking at the case until I told you that I was going to look at George’s actions earlier in the day and check out other suspects. That’s why you took a shot at who you thought was me the other day.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid? You weren’t even here.” Kevin waved his arm. “Remember our meeting at the police barracks? You told me that you and Helen were going to Deep Creek—”
“For a day trip,” Chris reminded him. “We told you specifically that we were going for the day and would be back that evening. That’s why you assumed it was me outside the barn when you took that shot. Since starting your own agency, you’ve been out of the field. After years of running things from behind the desk, you tend to forget tiny little details—like making sure you’re shooting at the right target. Thankfully your aim was off, and you didn’t kill Matthew or our dog.”
“It wasn’t me. I had no reason to take a shot at you or that Doberman.”
“If it wasn’t you, how do you know that it was a Doberman who got shot?”
The color drained from Kevin’s face.
Chris gestured at the tack room where his security system was housed. “Whoever fired that shot was familiar enough with security and my set-up to cut the wires to a couple of my surveillance cameras. In your line of work, you could have learned all you had to know in a matter of minutes when you were here the other day.”
Kevin’s mouth worked into a tight line.
Chris took the leather glove, still in its plastic bag, from his pocket. “Look familiar?” He held out the glove to him. “Do you think we’ll find its mate inside your vehicle?”
Kevin refused to touch it. “If that was my glove, I’d be stupid to keep its mate, wouldn’t I?”
Chris folded the glove. “At your direction, the FBI followed Kyle Billingsley for years to find proof of him taking the ransom money. It was never found. You knew it wouldn’t be. It was all part of your game of misdirection. But when we took a look at your financial background—” He pocketed the glove with a grin. “When you retired, Crane, you had a whole lot of money to start your own agency—we’re talking top of the line. Interest accumulated over a decade or so from a half million dollars—that makes a huge nestegg.”
“I came into an inheritance.”
“From an uncle that none of your ex-wives ever knew about,” Chris said.
“I also did security consulting work on the side. I’ve proven to be very savvy about investing my money.”
“I spoke to Peggy this morning,” Chris said.
“Peggy?”
“Wife number two—the one who you had attended the conference in Shepherdstown with. You never should have cheated on her.” Chris chuckled. “Our conversation reminded me of something someone recently told me. Once a cheat. Always a cheat.” His eyes met Kevin’s. “You’re a cheat, Crane. Not only are you a cheat, but you’re a very good cheat. No one has ever had a clue until now.”
“Peggy is a bitter woman,” Kevin said.
“She remembers exactly when Gavin Fallon asked for your assistance,” Chris said. “You told me that you became involved in the case after George missed his speaking engagement at the banquet. Yet, Peggy clearly remembers Gavin asking for your help hours before that. It was after the last panel ended at four o’clock—over one full hour before cocktail hour was to begin.”
“She’s lying.”
“One might assume that,” Chris said. “Unfortunately for you, Peggy’s statement is corroborated by another witness. Do you remember Lucille Del Vecchio?”
“Yes,” Kevin said with a sigh. “She’s not exactly credible.”
“She told me just yesterday that George’s suite was sealed off with crime scene tape when she went to get the slides needed to do his presentation—before dinner was over. That’s several hours before anyone knew a crime had even been committed. She’s ready to testify that you were there in George Livingston’s suite and you refused to let her inside.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“No, I’m sure it was you,” Chris said. “My father recorded it all in the local police report. The state police answered a missing persons call at Hill House at ten o’clock after Mercedes Livingston’s agent noticed she was gone. When he found out George Livingston was also missing, he went to the Bavarian Inn, where he found the suite sealed as a crime scene. It wasn’t even midnight. My father wrote in his notes that he was puzzled over why George Livingston’s suite was sealed as a crime scene hours before anyone even knew a crime had been committed.”
“How many times do I have to say it?” Kevin said. “I happened to be at the conference. If anything, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I believe you about that.”
“Maybe you do have some sense,” Kevin said with a scoff.
“I don’t think you went to Shepherdstown planning for any of this to happen,” Chris said. “The other day, you said Gavin brought you in because you were there—part of their inner circle—someone they could trust. It was only after you realized I was going to dive deeper into the case, that you went to great lengths to present yourself as the outsider. You did that to distance yourself from being implicated in George’s murder and extorting money from Horace Billingsley.”
“I was the outsider.”
“Patricia told us when we confronted her that things got messed up after she’d told the truth about what had happened,” Chris said. “She went to get help after she thought she had killed George. Who would she go to? Her partner and friend Gavin Fallon. The next question is who would Gavin go to for damage control.” He pointed at Kevin. “Worst thing they could have done.”
A low growl formed deep in Kevin’s chest.
“Patricia Baker said the truth had made her a prisoner of our authoritaria
n do-do system. Now, I really had to think about that. ‘Do-Do’ is slang for police. It’s a reference to donuts that police are associated with eating. Who was the authoritarian do-do that had taken her prisoner?” He spread out his hands. “After what you did, no wonder she stepped in front of a bus rather than come back here.”
“Sounds like Patricia Baker should have gotten help a long time ago,” Kevin said with a shake of his head. “That’s probably why she killed George.”
“Gavin thought he could trust you when his ex-wife got into trouble. That ended up being a huge mistake for both him and Patricia Baker. He’d asked you, FBI agent and boarding school bud, to cover up George’s death. You’d sealed up the room to clean up the crime scene and disposed of all the evidence.”
Kevin threw up his hands. “Very good, Matheson. Lucky for me, the statute of limitations for accessory after the fact and tampering with a crime scene has long since passed.”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“Patricia Baker confessed to killing him. It was an accident. She was young and passionate, and her ex-husband was an old friend. I did damage control. That’s all.”
“She thought she’d killed him,” Chris said. “The autopsy report on his remains proved that she hadn’t. George Livingston did have a fractured skull. It’s right there in the case file that you’d sent to me. The medical examiner said he would have lived if he had gotten medical help. Unfortunately, instead of getting help, someone decided to finish the job by strangling him.”
“Fallon must have done that,” Kevin said. “Too bad he’s dead so we can’t question him.”
“You’re a clever man, Crane,” Chris said. “You didn’t get where you are by not thinking fast on your feet. As soon as Patricia told you her story, about her affair with George and his famous author wife’s plans to run away, you instantly concocted a plan to get rid of Livingston’s body by making it look like both him and his wife had been abducted. Not only would the three of you cover up George’s death, but you’d collect a big ransom to boot. Not a bad reward for helping an old friend. I can only imagine what went through your mind when you went into that suite to discover that George wasn’t dead. He was alive. Did you see a huge pay day flying out the window? He was unconscious and losing blood. It wasn’t that hard to finish the deed. All you had to do was wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. Patricia Baker and Gavin Fallon never knew she didn’t kill him. That’s why they joined in your conspiracy to extort a half mil from Horace Billingsley. They had no choice. If they didn’t, you were in the perfect position to nail them for murder.”
