by Lauren Carr
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bogie said. “It’s Derringer, the head of Mac’s old homicide division. She was with the group that he was having drinks with last night.”
“If she’s the one I’m thinking of, she didn’t seem suicidal to me.” She opened the sedan’s trunk.
“Us either.” Bogie handed her a pair of evidence gloves and picked up her equipment case from the trunk. “David and Mac are searching her room on the fifth floor. Any news on Lou Gannon?”
“Died right before I got the call about this one.” Doc slipped the gloves onto her hands.
“Sorry to hear that. Did he say anything?”
With a shake of her head, she ducked under the tape and climbed the stepladder that the officers had set next to the cruiser.
Bogie held the ladder steady for her. “Did he ever regain consciousness?”
“The doctors had to put him in a drug induced coma. He had burns all over his face, neck, chest—” At the top of the ladder, she said, “She’s wearing a running suit, but obviously wasn’t running because she’s in her bare feet.”
“She couldn’t have run very far without shoes.”
“I’ve got the answer to the question about whether she’s a jumper or murder victim.”
“And the answer is?”
“It’s murder.” She peered down at him. “She’s got two gunshot wounds to the chest.”
“Hey, Bogie!” Officer Brewster pointed into the bushes trimming the edge of the hotel. “I’ve found a gun.”
“No sign of a forced entry,” Hector called to David and Mac after examining the door to Derringer’s room on the fifth floor. He read the data from the keycard lock. “The door was opened with a keycard twenty-six minutes ago.”
David and Mac peered over the railing down to where Bogie and two Spencer police officers were containing the crime scene. Doc Washington pulled up in her car.
“She was on her way out to go running when I got here before the meeting. She must’ve just gotten back because she’s still in her running suit.” Mac leaned over the railing and pointed to Derringer’s broken body. Seeing that her feet were bare, he said, “But she did have time to take off her shoes.”
“Are there two GSWs to her chest?” David asked while pointing at the body down below.
“Hey, David, someone’s here to see you,” Hector said.
Looking contrite, Hope waited for him on the other side of the threshold. Storm leaned her head against Hope’s thigh to enjoy an ear scratching.
“I’ve got this,” Mac told him in a low voice.
“I heard someone jumped,” Hope said as David led her down the hallway and away from the crime scene.
“Not exactly.” At the elevators, David knelt to pet Storm. “Where’s Gabriel?”
“Exploring. Thinking.” Tears in her eyes, she wrung her hands. “David, I’m so—”
“Don’t say it.” He took both of her hands into his. “I’m okay with this.”
“You don’t have to be involved,” she said. “The only reason I came was because I knew Gabriel would find you and I didn’t want you to be blindsided. He’s got a mind like a steel trap.”
“Sorry about that,” David said. “He gets it from my side of the family.” He winked at her.
She joined in his laughter.
David tightened his grip on her hands. “You have the prettiest smile.”
She blushed.
“I want you and Gabriel to check out of the hotel and stay at my place.”
“Because it’s too dangerous here?”
“That too,” he said. “Mainly, because my family stays with me when they’re in town.” He kissed her. “Do me a favor and take Storm with you. The three of you might as well get acquainted.” He nodded to Hector, who gestured to him from down the hallway.
“I’d like that,” she said with a coy grin. “I’ll go check out. Let me know when you’ll get home and I’ll have a nice family dinner waiting.”
“Watch out. I might get used to that.”
“I’m beginning to sense a theme,” Hector said when David returned to the room. “Aren’t you, Mac?”
Mac squatted in the center of the room to examine bits of paper and fuzz, which resembled brown snowflakes, scattered across the floor.
“Sixteen years ago,” Mac said, “two detectives were murdered in a five-star hotel filled with cops. Now, it happens again—this time the victims are two detectives who had access to information about the first case.”
“Dani Derringer didn’t just have information.” Hector joined them in the center of the room where Mac was examining the bits of fiber on the floor. “She was a suspect. She realized Lou Gannon was on to her for Pratt’s and Polk’s murder, so she took him out. We just went over this, Mac. Derringer was the only female suspect, and it’s a woman in the security video.”
“But the second witness to the Pratt’s and Polk’s murders saw and spoke to a man,” Mac said.
“What’s this?” David squatted next to him to peer closely at the fuzzy substance.
There were minute pieces of brown paper mixed among the fuzz. Mac’s mind swirled with the memory of the man wearing a hotel blazer in the lobby—the one carrying a thick padded envelope under his arm.
Excuse me, Mr. Faraday, I need to be more careful about watching where I’m going.
“He called me ‘Mr. Faraday,’” Mac muttered. “That’s what was wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” David asked.
“I saw him.” Mac rose to his feet. “I practically ran into him in the lobby. He was wearing a hotel clerk blazer and had a big padded envelope tucked under his arm. He called me ‘Mr. Faraday.’ Everyone here at the hotel calls me ‘Mac.’”
“You actually met and talked to him,” David said.
“Just like the witness at the hotel sixteen years ago,” Mac said. “She ended up getting hit by a bus.”
“At least you can give us a description,” David said while Mac shook his head.
“I know his hair was colored—or most likely a wig. He was carrying a big padded envelope.” Mac gestured at the material on the floor. “I think this is the padding from that envelope. He claimed to have a delivery to gain access to the room. She allowed him inside.”
“Hey, Bogie!” They heard Officer Brewster shout from down below. “We’ve found a gun.”
David pointed at the purse on the table next to the patio doors. “She went to get a tip for him.” He stepped onto the balcony to peer down to where Bogie was examining the weapon resting among the bushes.
“He had his weapon inside the envelope,” Mac said. “He simply reached inside and pulled the trigger. Two hits to the chest.”
“It’s a nine-millimeter Beretta,” Bogie yelled up to David.
Careful not to disturb any evidence, Mac peered into the purse on the table. “No gun in her purse. Like any career detective, Derringer was always armed.”
Hector gestured at an ankle holster containing a small semi-automatic, which was located on the dresser across the room.
“She’d just come back from running.” Reconstructing the scene, Mac crossed the room from the door to the bed where Derringer’s shoes and socks lay side by side next to the bedside table. “She took off her shoes and socks and was probably getting ready to take a shower.”
“She also took off the backup weapon she wore while running.” Hector tossed his head at the gun on the dresser.
“The killer knocks at the door and announces a delivery.” Mac crossed to the door and opened it.
Playing the role of the killer, Hector stood in the entryway. “She opens the door and lets him in.”
“Now, she has to get the clerk a tip.” Mac went to the table next to the balcony.
Hector pretended to reach into an envelope. �
�The killer steps into the middle of the room and reaches for his weapon in the envelope.”
“Derringer realizes it’s a set up and reaches for her weapon.” Mac pulled an imaginary gun from the purse and aimed it at the security chief.
“But he had the jump on her. Bang. Bang.”
Mac fell back against the railing. “Both she and the gun went over.”
“But why?” Hector asked as Mac stepped back into the room. “If she was the one who set the trap for Gannon—”
“Because Gannon realized who the killer was,” Mac said. “Based on what Underwood and Sanchez told us last night, Derringer was the only one who had access to the information about the second witness after Gannon got arrested. She swore she didn’t get that information, but she was the one who took over the division and had access to all of Gannon’s notes.”
“Was she lying or telling the truth?” David asked.
“She was lying,” Mac said, “and I knew it.”
“The security video from last night clearly showed a woman,” Hector said.
“Sixteen years ago, Brie and Trevor went to the honeymoon suite because Lou Gannon had spilt his drink on the groom,” Mac said. “They didn’t want the stain to appear in the wedding pictures—”
“Of course not,” Hector said.
“Gannon swore he had been pushed,” Mac said. “Still, last night, he swore someone had pushed him. No one believed that because he was a drunk and did things like that all the time. Suppose—”
“The murderer used that,” David said. “He or she shoved Gannon into the groom to make him spill his drink on him. That forced the victims to go up to the bridal suite to change his shirt and gave the killer the opportunity to get them alone to execute them.”
“Last night, right before he tossed that cigarette into the toilet, Gannon was about to tell me who’d pushed him. He said it was a man—not a woman—so it wasn’t Derringer.”
The three men looked at each other.
“Evidence is pointing to both a man and a woman,” Mac said. “It was a team.”
“All of these murders have the ear marks of professional hits,” David said.
“A man and woman hit team,” Mac said. “Now we’re back to the murders being professional assassinations.”
“Both Trevor and his partner had run-ins with the Yurievich family,” David said. “Did you explore that avenue at the time of the murders?”
“Of course, I did,” Mac said. “But the RICO division of the FBI were building a case against them and ordered me to back off.”
“But that was sixteen years ago,” David said.
“Mac, if our suspects were a team working together, male and female, that means one or more of your colleagues, detectives, are professional killers,” Hector said.
“If this team had a falling out, and the man killed his female partner, we’re now looking for the male half of the team.” David gestured at Derringer’s body on top of the police cruiser below. “Maybe now the FBI will be willing to talk to you, Mac. Do you know anyone you can talk to?”
With a sigh, Mac extracted his cell phone from the case. “I know a guy.” He searched through his contacts.
“You know a guy?” Hector asked.
“I know a guy.” Mac placed the phone to his ear. “Hey, Hitchcock, it’s me. … Listen, do you remember when your people were investigating the Yurievich family? … Yeah, I know it was a pretty big case—not easy to forget. The thing is, do you know someone close to the case that I can talk to?” He stepped over to the balcony door.
“I did not see this coming,” Hector said. “Derringer was our chief suspect for the fire bomb last night. We got her on security video, or rather, we think it was her.”
“If she’s the suspect, who would make her the victim?” David asked.
“Friend of one of the victims?” Hector said with a shrug. “But from what I’ve seen, Gannon had no friends.”
Mac disconnected his call. “Hitchcock is going to see if he can get in touch with someone on the inside of the Yurievich case. From what he says, this guy could tell us whether to pursue that angle or not.”
“While we’re waiting for word on that angle,” David said, “let’s go explore others.”
Chapter Ten
“I guess things are going well with you and Hope and—” Mac paused to suppress a snicker, “your son.”
“So far, so good.” David shot a grin at him.
They were hiking down the back side of Spencer Mountain to Robin’s, a lakeside pub that rested at the bottom of the ski slopes, where many of the wedding guests were hanging out.
During ski season, the Spencer Inn’s slopes provided excellent winter sports. During the other three seasons, guests used the paths that zig-zagged across the slopes for hiking, biking and other sports. It was not uncommon to see guests riding the ski lift, which operated year-round, to the mountain top with their bikes strapped into the seat next to them.
Named after Mac’s famous late mother, the pub had a stone fireplace, game room, and pool tables. It was a popular out of the way spot for guests who preferred the “put their feet up” atmosphere to the five-star opulence at the top of the mountain.
“That word sounds very strange when referring to you,” Mac said in reference to the words, “your son.”
“Sounds strange to me, too.” David stepped off the trail just in time to keep from being clipped by a bicyclist. He looked over his shoulder to make sure more bikes weren’t following it before stepping back onto the trail. “What’s up with Underwood? Rosa said he told his wife that he was hanging out with the bride’s grandfather. Why are two grown men hiding down here like little kids forbidden from playing together?”
“I have no idea. Sanchez and Underwood used to be the tightest partners you could imagine. Their families even went on vacations together.” Mac shot over his shoulder. “Kind of like you and me.”
“No one’s like you and me.”
“We are unique,” Mac said. “Joan and Sanchez’s first wife were best friends.”
“First wife?”
“Clarissa. She had died of anaphylactic shock. She had a severe peanut allergy. She and Joan had gone to the athletic club to work out and stopped for lunch afterwards. Clarissa suddenly had an allergic reaction. Some peanut bits must have gotten into her salad. She was dead within an hour. She was only in her late thirties. Left two little kids.”
“Didn’t she have an EpiPen?”
“Carried it with her always,” Mac said. “Joan took it out of her bag and used it as soon as she started to show a reaction, but it wasn’t enough. Sanchez sued the restaurant. Got a lot of money, but that didn’t make up for losing his wife. He was totally devastated.”
“I can imagine.”
“Now this is what I don’t understand,” Mac said. “This all was happening about the time that their department was breaking up because of Gannon’s betrayal. It was a rough time for everyone.”
“Plus, they’d lost a detective to an unsolved double murder.”
“What should have brought these two buds closer, didn’t. Three years later, Underwood was working with the Secret Service. What’s with that?”
“Maybe losing her friend was too painful for Joan,” David said. “Being around Sanchez reminded her of Clarissa.”
“Or, she didn’t trust Underwood to have a best friend who was single again.” Mac stepped onto the deck and boat dock. “I had a close friend whose wife ordered him to stop hanging out with me after Christine and I divorced. She was afraid I’d introduce him to women.”
“Do you get tempted to wander away from Archie when you’re with me?”
Mac laughed. “Seeing the chaos swarming around you makes me love Archie more than I did the day before.”
They found customers eating lunch outside on the docks. U
nlike Deep Creek Lake on the other side of the mountain, the small lake was only sufficient for fishing, paddleboats, and kayaking.
The pub was hopping with wedding guests. Rod, the grandfather of the bride, was enjoying a game of darts and a pitcher of beer with his future grandson-in-law and some of the groomsmen.
Loudly cracking jokes between the two of them, Troy Underwood and Rico Sanchez were playing pool in the billiard room.
“Keep it down, you two!” With a laugh, Mac entered the room with all the swagger of his wealth and position. “I’d hate to have to kick you out of my pub for disturbing the peace.”
While chalking his pool cue, Sanchez chuckled. “Told you money wouldn’t change Faraday. The guy’s a multi-millionaire, yet he hangs out with us low-lifes just like in the old days.”
“Only thing that’s changed about him is that he dresses better,” Underwood said while lining up his shot on the pool table.
“He’s changed wives.” Sanchez told Mac, “I always thought Christine was a looker, but I have to admit, Archie’s got her beat by a mile. Served her right—you inheriting a truck-load of money after she dumped you for another man.”
“Whatever happened to Christine?” Underwood took his shot.
“She died,” Mac said with a solemn tone.
Underwood and Sanchez laughed until they saw by his expression that he wasn’t joking.
David stuck out his hand to Underwood to break the awkward moment. “I’m Police Chief David O’Callaghan.”
As the detectives introduced themselves, Mac assembled the balls on the table next to theirs to set up a game.
“I assume you’re here to ask about what happened last night with Lou Gannon,” Underwood said. “Any word on how he is?”
“He died.” Mac examined the pool cues in the rack on the wall. “Have you heard about what happened to Derringer?”
“What happened to her?” Sanchez asked.
“She died this morning after breakfast.”
