The Reveal: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery (Book 6) (22 page)

“Yes, I did.”

“What did Jennifer say when you offered to set her
up someplace else?”

“She thanked me and said she would think about it,
but that she didn’t think that would be necessary.”

I was shocked, speechless.

I felt Ryan’s eyes fixed on me. He began to speak.
“Mr. Vines, Detective Seagate and I interviewed Ms. Taylor—”

I put my hand on Ryan’s arm. He stopped speaking.

“Let’s let Mr. Vines get back to work. He’s got a
tough day coming up.” I turned to Arthur Vines. “Sir, I’m sorry about my tone.
This has just been so upsetting for all of us, I’m sure. Please accept my
apologies.”

“Not at all, Detective. I’m sure we’ll all be able
to work together effectively to assist Ms. Taylor’s parents and solve this
horrible crime.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I appreciate you saying
that.” Ryan followed me out of Mr. Vines’ office. Mary Dawson followed us out.

When the three of us were out in the hall, I
turned to Mary Dawson. “We want to walk you back to your office.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I think I’ve
got it under control.”

“You don’t understand what I’m saying. We need to
talk to you. In your office. Right now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what you were
saying. Of course, let’s go.”

The three of us strode down the hall and went into
her office.

“Mary, when Mr. Vines contacted Abby and Jennifer
about getting them set up in new places, do you know if he did that in
writing?”

She looked puzzled. “I don’t know, but I doubt it.
It’s not the kind of thing where you want to leave a paper trail. I assume he
phoned them or visited them in person.”

“About the threats: the emails and texts. Have you
seen them?”

“Arthur summarized them to me and the president,
in a meeting.”

“Have you seen them?”

“No, Arthur has custody of them.” She paused.
“What are you getting at?”

I turned to Ryan. “Tell her what you started to
say.”

Ryan turned to Mary Dawson. “We interviewed
Jennifer Taylor.”

“Why? When?”

“We went to the apartment. We were looking for
Abby. It was Wednesday, around 4
pm
.
Jennifer told us that Abby said she would be gone for a few days.”

Mary Dawson closed her eyes and kept them closed
for a few seconds. “I’m sorry.” She looked at me. “I am so exhausted. What are
you saying?”

“Jennifer didn’t know why Abby moved out,” I said.
“She didn’t know Abby was the girl in the video. She didn’t mention Mr. Vines
getting in touch with her at all. Mary, I don’t think he told Jennifer that
Abby was in that video. I don’t think he told her about the threats. I don’t
think Mr. Vines talked to Jennifer at all.”

“Are you saying Mr. Vines … just lied to us?” She
looked at me, then at Ryan.

“Either he was lying just now, or Jennifer lied to
us Wednesday afternoon.”

Chapter 25

Ryan said, “Do you think we
should repeat our offer to look out for Abby Demarest?” We were sitting in the
Charger in the parking lot at the Administration Building.

“I don’t think there’s any point in that.” I shook
my head. “Vines wouldn’t let us, even if he wanted to be done with the
responsibility of babysitting her.”

“Because he’d see it as criticism of his custody
of Jennifer?”

“Yeah, he has to stick with the story that nobody
knows why the arsonist chose that apartment. He lets us take over, that’s
admitting he screwed up and got Jennifer killed. No, it would be premature—is
that the word he used?—to change the plan now.”

“When you asked Mary Dawson if she has copies of
the threats Abby received, or even seen them,” Ryan said, “you were suggesting
that Vines might have doctored them, right?”

“Well, he did say he was here all night—since ten
pm
. If he’s gonna double down on the
story that he offered both girls new accommodations, he’s also gonna go all the
way with the part that there were no arson threats. So if he saw any arson
threats, yeah, I think he’d destroy them.” I paused. “I mean, if he’s the total
scumbag I think he is.”

“So you don’t see any point in asking Larry
whether we can force him to hand over the threats, or at least let us see
them.”

“No, Vines is not stupid. If his priority is
protecting his job and his reputation, he’s thought this through. I bet there’s
no evidence that he
didn’t
offer the
two girls new accommodations. And no evidence that there were any arson
threats. With Jennifer dead, who’s gonna say he’s lying to cover his own ass?
Nobody. It’s really a pretty good plan. He’s absolutely correct in saying
there’s no legal finding linking the arson to any threats against Abby. And
since we know Abby gave Vines the authority to look at all her stuff—her email
account, text messages, whatever—he can stall us for weeks, by which time the
trail to whoever killed Virginia is cold. No, there’s no sense involving Larry.
All that would do is tell Vines we know he’s lying, and we’ll lose the element
of surprise. That is, if there’s any way we can surprise him.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Ryan said.

“Haven’t figured that out yet. But I do know it
doesn’t go through Arthur Vines. It goes around him.”

“Mary Dawson?”

“That’s right. She’s the key. We need to figure
out how to use Mary to get at what really happened. She’s the one who gives a
shit about the students. Arthur Vines gives a shit about Arthur Vines.”

“Okay, I understand. But what do you want to
do—right here, right now?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind if you’d get off your ass
and come up with a plan. I’ve done the hard part: telling you the lawyer is the
scumbag.”

Ryan smiled. “You always tell me the lawyer’s the
scumbag. I don’t think you deserve credit each time.”

“I deserve credit every damn time I’m right about
lawyers. And I’m right about lawyers every damn time.”

“The obvious suspect for the arson is Richard
Albright. We could interview him again, see if he’s got an alibi for last
night. But the chief was really clear about how he doesn’t want us stepping on
the fire marshal’s toes.”

I was silent a moment. “Any way we can spin this
so that it’s about the Virginia Rinaldi case?”

“Robin told us it’s not his tissue under
Virginia’s fingernails.”

“Doesn’t matter. He could’ve had one of his
buddies kill her.”

“I almost forgot.” Ryan snapped his fingers. “I
did a little digging about the guy who threw the bottle that hit Richard
Albright.” He pulled his notebook out of his jacket pocket and thumbed through
it. “His name is Justin Carney. Turns out he’s a member of Students for Decency
and Morality. He co-signed a letter to the editor that Albright sent to the
school newspaper.”

“Albright wrote it as president of that group?”

“That’s right. It was protesting the university
discriminating against them because they wouldn’t let non-Christians into the
group. About a dozen members signed it, including Justin Carney.”

I looked at him. “He threw the bottle at his own
guy? Now, why the hell would he do that?”

He smiled. “That’s what we can ask him about. If
the conversation drifts toward the arson, we can’t control that.”

I nodded and reached into the back seat to
retrieve my cell phone from my bag. I handed Ryan the phone. “Dial Mr. Albright
for me.”

He found the number in his notebook and punched it
in, then handed me the phone.

“Mr. Albright, Detective Seagate. We need to talk
to you a couple minutes.”

“It wasn’t me did the arson.”

“Didn’t say it was. We need to talk about
something else.”

“Yeah, what?”

“In person. Tell me where you are, we’ll come to
you.”

“I’m at On Target.”

“The shooting range?”

“That’s right. I should be done in ten minutes.”

“Then that’s where we’ll be in ten minutes. Don’t stand
me up, okay?”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Detective.”

We headed out Veteran’s Parkway, just outside the
city limits, home to lots of low-overhead businesses: high-mileage used-car
dealers, RV storage lots, body shops, exterminators, and low-end consignment
stores. That’s where On Target Shooting Range was, and had been for about fifty
years.

We pulled into the unpaved parking lot, which
served both the shooting range and the windowless Harry’s Hideaway, where the
sign out front said “Hot Wings” and “Topless Tuesdays.”

“That’s so unclear,” I said. “Can you get wings
any night?”

“Not sure. I only come on Tuesdays.”

We walked into the lobby of On Target. A stocky
guy with glasses on a chain around his neck was studying his old computer
screen. A lit cigarette next to the keyboard was polluting the unventilated
room. When he saw my detective’s shield, he slid down off his stool to show me
the proper respect.

“Like I told the other police officers, I’m
working on it.”

“Good morning,” I said to him. “And what are you
talking about?” A muffled popping sound drifted in from the range on the other
side of the wall behind him.

“The lanes inside. I
gotta
make one of them ADA compliant. I know that. I’m working on it.”

“You think that’s why we stopped by? To check to
see that you got an ADA-compliant lane?”

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

“No, we’re here to check a report that someone’s
been smoking in the office.”

Before the guy could respond, Ryan said, “We’re
here to talk to a man named Richard Albright.” Ryan gestured toward the range.
“He inside?”

“He’s in there.” The guy looked relieved. “Go on
in. You need earmuffs or safety glasses?”

Ryan thanked him and we walked through the door to
the range. It had six lanes, lit bright by fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling.
The floor was littered with shell casings.

Richard Albright was the only person shooting.
With his earmuffs on, he didn’t hear us come in, and he squeezed off another
round. His target, a paper thug with a hoodie and a goatee, was about twenty
yards away. He had already taken four rounds in his chest and one in an arm. He
took another one, this one to his windpipe.

I slapped the divider between Albright’s lane and
the next one. Albright looked at me, nodded, and took off his earmuffs. He laid
his .45 pistol down. The cut on his cheek was coming along nicely, with most of
the scabbing gone, leaving a raised pink scar.

“Planning on doing some shooting, Mr. Albright?”

“I hunt.”

“With a pistol?”

“I’ve gotten some threats.”

“Tell us about those.”

“After that rally, a few days ago. Some people
were upset with my position on Virginia Rinaldi.”

“People like Justin Carney?”

He paused. “Who?”

“The guy who gave you that cut. Remember, the
bottle?”

“Oh.” He made a show of putting it together. “That
his name?”

“You change your mind about pressing charges?”

Richard Albright shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure? We have his address. No trouble to pick
him up.”

“How can I help you, Detective?”

“We could charge him with assault with shitty
aim.”

A small smile crept onto his face. “Ah.”

“What did you tell him, aim for your chest?”

“That took you a while.”

“Is that what Jesus would’ve done?”

“The university, which I support as a taxpayer,
withdrew its support for Students for Decency and Morality because we’re a
Christian organization. We followed proper procedures in applying for a permit
to hold that rally.”

“In that application, did you say that one of your
stooges was gonna throw a bottle at you?”

“Let me ask you a question, Detective. I realize
we’re going a little off the topic of law enforcement, since we’ve already
agreed that I’m not going to press charges against Justin. But tell me this:
Was Jesus shy about spreading his message?”

“Well,” I said. “You’ve certainly given me
something to think about. But let’s get back to law enforcement, like you said.
How did you learn about the porn video, the one with the student in it? Did you
just stumble across it, late one evening, during alone time?”

He smiled. “It’s all over campus. Everyone’s
talking about it.”

“I mean, how did you get the address for it?”

“Maybe somebody wrote it down for me.”

“Anybody in particular?”

He shook his head, sad that he couldn’t help me.
“Sorry.”

“The fire marshal’s going over the bottle
fragments right now. If your prints are on it, that’s manslaughter.”

“What bottle?”

I just looked at him.

“Was there a bottle found at the arson site?”

I held my gaze. “The dead girl—you know she had
nothing to do with Abby Demarest or Virginia Rinaldi, right?”

“The fire marshal won’t find my prints on the
bottle fragments.”

“You wore gloves?”

“I had nothing to do with the arson. I had no
desire to kill her, just as I had no desire to kill Virginia Rinaldi. Think it
over, Detective. I’m sure you’ve read my sheet. If I wanted to kill that girl,
do you think I’d announce it and threaten her? I’d simply do it—and you’d never
find the body. But you know I’m clean. I’m a different person. Christ lives in
me now.”

“You found out she wasn’t living at her apartment,
so you thought it would be a good idea to scare the shit out of her by torching
the place—that would get her out of Rawlings.”

“No, I’d do what I do: I say what I want to say—in
public, for everyone to hear. I’d get the weight of public opinion on my side.
I’d come right out and say what I think and take the consequences.”

“Or maybe you’d come right out and say what you
think—then torch her place. That way, you’d be the thug you are and get your
way, but the public would think you’re the voice of righteousness and peace,
stepping in where others have failed to enforce the rules of … what?”

“Decency and morality?”

“Do you have an alibi?”

“For last night?”

“Yeah, last night. Around nine.”

“I was in a meeting with my group. We were at the
Pizza Hut, off University. We broke up around ten-thirty. You might stop by.
The waitress was a girl named Candy. She had ink on her right arm.” He slid his
finger down his forearm to show me. “Chinese characters. She might remember us.
The bill was over a hundred bucks. I gave her a twenty for the tip.”

“You can give me a list of who your buddies were.
And I imagine they’ll all swear you were there the whole time.”

“You asked me if I had an alibi. Not if you would
believe it. Listen, we could debate this all day long, but until you find some
evidence that links me to any harassment or the arson, I’m going to leave,
okay? You stay in touch.” He started to pack his pistol into a case. “There’s
one more thing you need to know about me. I’m not an arsonist.” He tapped the
pistol case with his finger. “More of a marksman.”