Nine Cocktails

by J. V. Speyer

  Abby put her hand on the glass, but didn’t lift it. Of course she didn’t. She was working, trying to solve a murder. Austin’s murder. God, what was wrong with Paige? “Do you think this might have been a hate crime?”

  Paige hesitated. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. Anything’s possible, but it’s not something that happens around here, you know? This is a safe area.”

  “Anyplace can seem safe, until it isn’t.” Now Abby did take a sip of her drink. “What do you call this?”

  “It’s a Vesper.” Paige glanced up as the crime scene team came in to do their thing. All of the patrons were gone now. “It’s wicked easy to make. Austin liked it. It was his favorite after-work drink.” A pit formed in her stomach. It shouldn’t be so easy to slip into talking about Austin in the past tense.

  “Huh.” Morgan sipped from it again. “A few people said he was nervous. He told D’Agostino he’d been followed today.”

  Paige swallowed hard. “He mentioned something about that. He didn’t know the person following him, though.” She scratched at her throat. “The thing is, um, he’d been getting some threatening messages. A couple of my regulars have.”

  Abby’s eyes lit up. It was like lighting up one of those crystal lamps the New Age types liked. “What kind of threatening messages? And which regulars, in particular?”

  Paige flinched. “They’re texts. They don’t mention me specifically. They just warn people away. They just say stay away from her, or stay away from the gin barrel. No caps, no punctuation. That’s all.”

  Abby put a hand on Paige’s when she flinched. She had a warm hand, calloused but comforting. “Hey. It’s okay. Unless you turn out to be the one sending the messages, or the killer, you’re not in trouble. And you’ve already got an alibi for the time he was killed, okay? You were in here serving up drinks to a full house.”

  Paige nodded. She couldn’t look up. She couldn’t speak. All she could do was look at Abby’s hand on hers and hope she never let go.

  Abby gave Paige a moment to collect herself. “Have any of the other bartenders or other staff members had the same problem?”

  Paige licked her lips. “Yeah. Every once in a while, a customer will get fixated, or one will get mad at the bar or a bartender and decide he’s on a crusade to shut the whole place down.” She rolled her eyes. “We had one about a year ago who decided to picket outside trying to convince everyone to Repent Their Wicked Ways—that’s what the sign said—because he saw two women holding hands at the bar.”

  “Christ.” Abby curled her lip. “I noticed he wasn’t here tonight.”

  “Someone puked on his shoe. It wasn’t one of our customers, it was someone from upstairs, but he decided he would rant and rail about the evils of homosexuality from behind the safety of his keyboard from then on.” Paige shrugged. “If he couldn’t handle a little puke, he probably wasn’t the one who did this.”

  “No.” Abby covered her mouth for a moment. Her eyes twinkled merrily, but she got herself under control quickly. “Paige, is there a stalker problem at this bar?”

  Paige took a step back. “There is not a stalker problem at this bar.” She slapped her hand down on the bar. “Mike is good enough to be willing to hire people who’ve been stalked, which is a very different thing.” A few of the crime scene techs turned to stare.

  Abby held her hands up, cheeks blazing. “I apologize. That is a very different thing, and thank you for clarifying. And I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. I’ve seen a lot of stalking cases, and obviously I’ve got concerns that Mr. Connolly’s case might be another one that’s gone bad. That’s the reason I asked. I know some of the questions I have to ask will strike you as insensitive or in poor taste, and I’m so sorry about that. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

  Paige bit down on the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to explode like that. Exploding at cops never went well, and she didn’t need to making them more suspicious of her than they already would be. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Abby took a sip of her drink. “It’s ridiculous to expect people to not have thoughts or feelings when you’re asking intrusive questions. Do you think a jealous former partner, or a partner’s ex, could have done this? Did he mention anyone in particular?”

  “No. He was always groaning on about being single. It couldn’t have been a partner. But it could…” Paige trailed off. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go around accusing people. And I know I’d be pissed if someone dragged my shit out for all the world to see, you know?”

  Abby nodded. It would be so easy to believe she really did care, that she truly understood and “got” what Paige was saying. She probably got hundreds, thousands of confessions that way. “The only thing is, people who kill like this, they’ll do it again. They do it because they can get away with it. It’s just a way to control their real target.” She fixed Paige with those pale eyes. “If this relates to stalking, we both know it wasn’t about Austin at all. So he’ll kill the next person his real target is friends with.”

  Paige closed her eyes. Abby didn’t have to tell her anything about controlling stalkers. She knew all there was to know about them. “Okay. Um, you already know I’ve been stalked. You might find an old police report about it. Then there’s Manda, and Kevin who works Fridays and Sundays. There are a few patrons with stalking backgrounds too, but they didn’t have much contact with Austin.”

  “Thank you, Paige.” Abby gave Paige’s hand a little squeeze, just as a beefy man in a cheap suit walked up behind her.

  “I think we’ve got about all we can get here, Abby.” He eyed Paige up and down. For once in this place, it didn’t feel creepy. It felt more like a dad, assessing her ability to take care of herself. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for your loss. I know you’re an adult, and you get yourself home by yourself every night, but for tonight I’d appreciate it if you let us drive.”

  Paige’s jaw dropped. None of the cops she’d dealt with about Jack’s stalking had behaved like this. “Um, yeah. Thanks. Let me get my things.”

  Abby joined her while she went back to collect her jacket and bag. “We’re pretty sure the building is secure,” she said, “but I don’t want to be the one who has to explain why ‘pretty sure’ was good enough for them, you know?”

  “I suppose I can appreciate that, even if it’s a little weird to be followed.”

  “Under the circumstances, I suppose it would be.” Abby finished her Vesper as they walked, dropping it into a tech’s waiting evidence bag as they left.

  Paige didn’t think she’d ever met someone quite like Abby Morgan before. Unfortunately, she knew Jack was watching.

  Chapter 2

  Abby found the autopsy report, along with preliminary reports from the crime scene team, in her inbox when she got to the office the next morning. For half a minute, she was impressed. The team wasn’t usually this quick to jump on things, and they’d have had to work well into the night to get it done. Of course, The Gin Barrel was perilously close to the tourist Mecca of the Freedom Trail and right on top of the famous Tea Party location. The city would want this cleaned up as soon as possible.

  Cleaned up. She couldn’t be sure which bothered her more, the fact that the city’s powers that be were thinking about investigating the murder of a human being as cleaning up a mess, or the fact that she’d let it seep even this far into her own thinking.

  She pushed the hesitation out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to sit around and mope about how the city thought about murder victims. They had a city to run, which relied on revenue. If they wanted to keep the lights on, they needed to keep those tourists coming in. Which meant people like Abby needed to make sure those tourists felt safe. Maybe it was ugly and unfair, but it was life.

  She was still scanning through the reports when Mark got there forty-five minutes later. “All those years of Catholic school and I thought hell was a literal lake of fire,” he groused. “Hell is day care.”


  “I thought day care was an essential tool for women’s liberation.” Abby raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh, it is. But they put the rooms for little ones—babies, you know—right at the entrance to the building. And they put the dirty diapers right by the door of the room. The whole place smells like a Diaper Genie. When I die, I’m going to face St. Peter. And he’s going to see every little thing I did wrong, every little free donut I got, and I’m going to wind up right back in that entryway getting that first hit of the nasty, forever.” He tossed her a quick grin and dropped his voice as he took his seat. “Speaking of free donuts, how about that drink you got from a freaking suspect last night?”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “She’s not a suspect, Mark. More than one person puts her at the bar, mixing drinks, at the time when Connolly was killed. Plus, Connolly was too tall for her to come up behind him and slash his throat like that. What’s more, I’m not sure she has the physical strength to hack through bone like that quickly enough to take Connolly out as quietly as our killer did.”

  “Bet you’d love to find out though.” He chuckled quietly and sipped from his travel mug. “No judging. She’s pretty. I get it.”

  Abby doubted that Mark got anything. Sure, Paige Lim was pretty. She also knew more than she was saying. “She’s not the only pretty staff member there. She’s grieving. Connolly didn’t have a lot of contacts in the area, and he was estranged from his family.”

  Mark tugged at his collar. “Yeah, I got a call from the Maine state police. They went up there to notify the parents. Their response was serves him right, and, what did he think was going to happen?” He curled his lip. “Charming people, really. I hope they get a flat tire on a busy highway and have to wait a really long time for help.”

  Abby ducked her head and smiled. Mark was a good guy. “Paige disclosed she had a history of being stalked. As did some of her other colleagues. Mr. Connolly was stalked just prior to his murder.”

  “Think there’s a connection?” Mark leaned back in his seat, knees spread. Mark took up a lot of space.

  “I’d be surprised if there weren’t. Connolly got texts telling him to stay away from her prior to his death. Evidence is working to trace those, but if they didn’t come from a burner phone, we’re dealing with a bigger moron than I would have thought possible.”

  “We never meet the smart criminals,” he reminded her, but he turned to his computer. “I’m only seeing police reports filed for two staff members related to stalking, and Paige Lim filed hers six years ago.” He blinked a few times, counting on his fingers. “That would be high school. There’s no way this is related.”

  “Is she really that young?” Abby hadn’t realized. All she’d had on her mind was trying to comfort the pretty bartender, and solve the murder of her friend. “Jeez. Just because they didn’t file reports doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Stalking laws are more or less unenforceable, and women know that. The only reason a lot of people file complaints in the first place is to leave a paper trail. We should talk to those employees.”

  “If they haven’t kept us updated on their stalking situation, or bothered to report it in the first place, we’re going to have a hell of a time proving motive.” Mark drummed his fingertips on the table. “Still, it’s the best lead we have right now. Let’s see where it takes us.” He sat up straighter and turned to his computer.

  Abby turned to hers. She had to agree with Mark about the challenge of proving stalking without a paper trail. People involved with the stalker, and often with the victim, always shrugged the behavior off. Oh, it’s harmless. He was heartbroken, don’t you know? If she had just accepted him, and given him what he wanted, none of this would have had to happen. It’s puppy love. He’ll grow out of it. Abby had heard it a hundred times, and she’d hear it a hundred more.

  She sighed and looked through the report on Paige Lim’s stalker. Jack Kavanaugh, age eighteen, had been charged with stalking Paige following a breakup. According to court records, Paige had broken up with Jack when she came out as a lesbian her senior year of high school. Jack had become obsessed, wanting to “prove” she was just trying to get away from him.

  That was a big red flag, as far as Abby was concerned.

  According to court records, Paige had continued to pursue complaints about Jack’s stalking until she turned eighteen. Police followed up on them, insofar as they were able. Jack was smart. He tested the boundaries of every restraining order she was granted and when he got caught, he played the wide-eyed innocent and swore he’d never do it again.

  His parents paid every fine, without complaint. And every judge said the same thing. It’s a shame you’re caught up in this, son.

  When she turned eighteen, Paige stopped pursuing the stalking charges. It could be that Jack had finally grown up and lost interest. Abby hadn’t ever seen that happen, but she guessed anything was possible.

  Kevin Reynolds, the bartender who worked part-time, also had a stalker. Like Jack Kavanaugh, Marcy Donovan was a would-be lover who couldn’t accept that the object of her desires would never be interested in someone of her gender. Kevin hadn’t pursued a stalking case except through his time at university, where he was pursuing a graduate degree in English. The university hadn’t been willing to take action against Marcy until she set fire to a professor’s office when she thought the professor in question was getting a little too close to Kevin. Then Marcy was expelled, and arrested.

  The case bore several striking similarities to the Connolly murder, and Abby knew this type of criminal had a tendency to escalate their crimes. She checked out Marcy Donovan’s current whereabouts, and found out she was doing fifteen to life for arson with intent to murder.

  She did a quick Internet search for Jack Kavanaugh. Jack certainly didn’t seem to be spending his life lurking in shadows. On the contrary, if Abby spent five minutes on the Boston art scene paying attention to what straight white men did, she’d have probably already heard of him. Jack was what the art bloggers called an up-and-comer from Allston-Brighton. He’d been making quite a name for himself over the past few years, and no one could accuse him of hiding. According to the biography on his website, he’d gone into the military after high school, done his two years, and come out.

  “‘I’ve served my country with my body, now I want to serve my country with my art.’” Abby turned away. “Have you ever heard such pseudo-patriotic nonsense in your life? At these prices the dude isn’t looking to serve his country. He’s looking to serve himself.” She rubbed her temples. “Ugh. I get they have to eat and pay rent and all that. I do. And I’m not a hundred percent sure why that mission statement rubs me so much the wrong way. But it does, so here we are.”

  Mark laughed and lifted his head from his computer. “I think it’s probably got something to do with his prior relationship to pretty miss Paige.” He wagged his eyebrows. “I dug into Manda’s stalker. She did not involve the police. She has four brothers, all of whom play hockey. They figured out what was going on and put the guy in the hospital. He had the gall to try to press charges while admitting he was trying to claim his ‘property.’ The DA, needless to say, was not amused.”

  Abby tried not to laugh. She was a cop. Vigilantism wasn’t supposed to be funny, not to her. And a case like this only came up because Abby and the system she supported didn’t do their jobs. At the same time, she had to laugh at the stupidity of a stalker who thought he could get away with it when the victim had an active, involved family armed with big clubs. “I can’t imagine she would have been.”

  “So it looks like we’re circling back to Paige.” Mark laced his fingers in front of him. “Not that she’s likely to have been able to do it. You’re right. I took a look through the autopsy report while you were digging into her ex. I don’t know a lot of people, of any gender, who would have the upper body strength to strike that kind of blow from that angle without some kind of struggle.”

  Abby nodded. “But our boy here, he was in
the army. Who knows what kind of training he got, and whether or not he keeps up with it?”

  “True. Some of these guys like the physique they came back with and work hard to keep it up.” He rubbed his belly. “Me, I’m not a fan of the six pack abs myself. I wanted to forget the army as soon as I got my discharge paperwork. But hey, more power to them. The thing is, going into the service should have helped him move on from Paige. That’s a huge hole in our theory right there.”

  “Not necessarily.” Abby tapped her jaw. “The guy’s obsessed. Stalkers are. It’s a sickness. Going off and getting a bad haircut isn’t going to help.”

  “Hey!”

  “Oh, don’t you forget, I was there too, buddy.” Abby laughed. “I know just how bad those haircuts are. At any rate, that’s up to the DA. We should dig into Jack a little farther. The murder was related to one of the women at The Gin Barrel, and right now he’s our best bet.”

  “Agreed. I’ll look into Private First Class Stalky McStalkerson. Why don’t you go pay Paige a visit and see what else she might have to say?”

  Abby’s cheeks burned. She cursed the pale skin that made her embarrassment so visible. “Are you just trying to give me a chance to go see her again?”

  “Maybe.” Mark raised his eyebrows. “I’d never suggest you go flirt with a witness or anything. But I do think you’ll have an easier time getting answers out of her than a man will.”

  Abby couldn’t be so sure about that one. She’d barely avoided shooting herself in the foot with questions about stalkers. She didn’t point that out, though. She didn’t want to make herself look any more incompetent than she was.

  And she couldn’t deny she wanted to see Paige again.

  * * * *

  Paige didn’t want to believe the crime scene clean-up people could get the place looking like new in such a short time, but when she showed up to start her shift the afternoon after Austin’s murder, the serving room looked like it had never seen a cop before. The alley outside still had crime scene tape around it, along with a uniformed officer pretending to be discrete about guarding it, but the bar’s interior looked like it did on any other day.