It's Murder, My Son (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (16 page)

Yvonne answered in a firm tone. “Of course she did. She used to tease me after he left the shop about my screw-ups in front of him. Katrina loved nothing more than something that belonged to someone else.” 

“So,” he concluded, “you had a crush on David and Katrina basically stole him from you. Then, you ended up with the rich playboy in the hot car.” He chuckled. “Have you interviewed your former boyfriend since he hit the big time?”

“I interview Travis on our show every time he comes back to the area. We always joke about the irony of it all,” she said. “Back in high school, I wrote his term papers. Who would have thought? Now, he’s a Pulitzer Prize–winning author. Last summer, when he came on the show to promote his latest bestseller—I forget the name of it. He’s been churning out one a year. He brought some pictures from when we were in school to show the audience. We had a good laugh.” Her mirth took on an irritated note. “He also brought Sophia Hainsworth. Gorgeous, but touched.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I made the mistake of kissing Travis hello on the cheek and she about scratched my eyes out. She told me to keep my claws off him. He was hers. She can keep him.” She cocked her head at him. “I thought you wanted to talk about Katrina.”

Reminded of his reason for seeing her, Mac started.  “According to my mother’s journal, she saw Katrina on your show after her first husband’s death.”

“I remember that interview,” she said. “It was your average plea-for-justice type report. Katrina told about how she and Niles went up to Abigail’s Rock—”

“I know the story,” he interrupted her. “Can I see that interview by any chance?”

After some time rummaging in a portable pod filled with shelving that served as the news station’s archives, Yvonne took Mac to her office where she loaded a DVD into a player for them to view. She perched on the corner of her desk with her legs crossed. He was so interested in the news report that he didn’t notice her bare knees inches from his shoulder.

For the first time, Mac saw Katrina in life. He could see what attracted David to her. She wore her black flowing hair loose. Her flawless sun-kissed skin with an olive tint added an exotic touch to her beauty. For her television appearance, the new widow displayed her slender figure in a black sleeveless dress with a plunging neckline.

Katrina reminded Mac of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on whom.

“What are you looking for?” Yvonne whispered.

“Something Robin saw and thought was important enough to make her climb up the face of Abigail’s Rock.”

“What was that?”

“She didn’t say.”

He turned up the volume.

“It was our last week at Deep Creek,” Katrina told Yvonne and the audience in a soft voice. “I remember as a child, climbing up to Abigail’s Rock with my friends. Once—it was such a happy memory—a former boyfriend and I climbed up there to watch the sunrise. It was the most beautiful and romantic thing that ever happened to me.”

On the screen, Mac saw Yvonne flinch at the reminder of Katrina’s relationship with David. He wondered if the dig had been intentional.

“It was my idea that we go up to the rock to see the sunrise before going back to the city. But when we got up there—” Katrina choked. “It happened so fast.”

The reporter patted her hand. “That’s okay.”

“No, I want to go on…He blindsided me. We came out into the clearing at the rock. It happened so fast. Suddenly, I was on the ground with blood on my face. Niles was screaming and—” Uttering a sobbing noise, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “He was gone!”

After a moment, Yvonne announced, “The man originally suspected of attacking you and killing Niles has been eliminated as a suspect.”

“He’s been threatening me. But I have to admit I never saw my husband’s killer. I didn’t really see anything.”

Mac squinted.

Seeing his questioning look, Yvonne asked, “What is it?”

“She didn’t see anything,” he replied.

On the television, Yvonne asked, “Did he say anything to you? Do you know why he killed your husband?”

“No, he didn’t say anything.”

Mac turned off the television.

“Did you see what Robin saw?”

“Yep.” He handed her the remote. “Thank you very much.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope.”

Chapter Eight

After seeing Yvonne Harding, Mac rushed back to the manor, grabbed the next Robin Spencer book on his reading list, and lay out on the deck next to the shore to enjoy the sunny day. Gnarly’s moan when he stretched out in a sunray next to the chaise reflected his master’s joy.

Mac recalled numerous beautiful days that he had spent in stuffy rooms with self-serving supervisors or murder suspects. With a sigh, he leaned his head back, embraced the touch of the sun on his face, and opened Robin Spencer’s seventh book. He noted the copyright date on the first page: the same year he had started school.

He had read less than one page when Archie jogged up the path from the gazebo. She wore a long powder blue skirt and blousy top. Her earrings and bracelets around her bare ankles matched the shade of blue in her clothes. “Hey, Mac, have you seen my phone?”

“No,” he replied. “Have you seen my Blackberry?”

“I guess the petty thief snagged them both.”

“The cell service claims no one has used my Blackberry since it disappeared.” He marked the last word he read with his finger. “Why would someone steal a Blackberry if they didn’t intend to use it?”

“The same reason someone took my cordless phone. It doesn’t work if you’re out of range.”

“When did you last see it?”

“Last night, down at the gazebo. One of my writers had called for a progress report. I suspect she really wanted therapy. She’s quite neurotic. After we hung up, I tossed the phone onto the bench and got into the hot tub.”

“Did you look there?”

“That’s where I just came from.” She groaned. “I hope it didn’t fall into the lake.”

“Either that or the Point’s klepto got it.” Mac returned to his book.

She stood over him. “What are you going to do about David?”

“I’m going to find out who really killed Katrina.”

“I was thinking…” She went on to suggest that they visit the local power brokers on their turf: the Spencer Inn.

“Why?” Using his index finger for a bookmark, Mac closed the book.

“You can help David by exercising some of your inherited influence in the political arena here in Spencer.”

Sucking in his breath, he disagreed. “I’m not cut out for politics. Ask my old bosses if you don’t believe me.”

Archie sat at the foot of the chaise, which forced him to bend his legs to prevent her from sitting on his feet. “Robin used to tell me when I was struggling to get someone to even read my stuff, that it isn’t what you know, but who you know.” Threatening to press her breasts against his knees, she leaned toward him. “David needs help and you’re the only one with the influence to give it to him.”

“The root of David’s problem is that he had sex with a woman he wasn’t supposed to be having sex with.”

“The way I see it, that’s the only ammunition Phillips has in his conspiracy to get rid of him. Phillips has been out to get him ever since he came to Spencer, because David’s twice the investigator, and man, he is.”

“No matter who you know,” Mac said, “sleeping with a victim or witness is always an issue.”

“Now that Dorcas’s death has been ruled a murder, what is the first thing Phillips needs to do to railroad David into jail?”

“Find evidence against him. That is, after his case against David is blown out of the water when they compare his DNA to the DNA that they collected off Gnarly and see that it’s not a match.”

“Mac,” Archie asked, “who collected that DNA from Gnarly?”

He sucked in a deep breath while she pointed out that in addition to David being the first officer on the scene after Katrina’s murder, he was also the one who insisted on forensics collecting the blood and tissue samples from Gnarly’s fur for evidence.

“It’s like one of Robin’s plotlines,” Archie said. “The victim’s killer just so happens to be a cop. He makes sure he’s the first one on the scene and plants someone else’s DNA on her dog to throw suspicion somewhere else.”

Mac chuckled. “Now you sound like one of those slimy defense attorneys that used to get my collars off by throwing unbelievable scenarios out for the jury to chew on.”

“Is it really that unbelievable?” she asked. “In your whole career, you never saw or heard of a cop planting evidence in order to frame someone or maybe seal a case against a suspect?”

The smile dropped from Mac’s face.

“Phillips is going to do all he can to make a circumstantial case against David. As soon as he can do that, then he’s going to the county prosecutor to get an indictment.” So far, Archie hadn’t said anything that Mac didn’t already know. “We need to get someone bigger than Phillips on our side who can keep David out of jail until you prove he didn’t do this. Now, who is bigger than Chief Roy Phillips?”

“County Prosecutor Ben Fleming.”

*   *   *   *

When Violet’s nurse offered to take the elderly woman to the beauty salon and lunch in McHenry, David grabbed the opportunity for a nap. His mother’s frail health made occasions of being alone in his own home a rare and treasured occurrence.

The room was dark. Naked, David gazed out across the lake from the bedroom window. The wind roared in his ears. Born and raised on the water, he wasn’t frightened by storms, but this one scared him.

“Darling, come to bed.” Her voice was pleading.

David turned from the window.

Katrina lay beneath the sheet that outlined her naked body. Her black hair glistened in the soft candlelight. Candles covered every surface. “Hold me.” She reached out to him. “I need you to make me feel safe.”

He took her into his arms. Overcome with desire, she pushed him down onto the bed. The wind roared in his ears while she made love to him.

Someone was watching them. He could feel their eyes on them.

“No! Stop!” He shoved her away.

“I want you.”

“Stop!” Pushing her away, he sat up.

In the darkness, David made out the silhouette of the intruder.

“Oh, no!” She screamed while pointing. “It’s alive!”

David saw the gun aimed at her.

With one blast Katrina was dead at his side.

Too late, David dove for his gun.

“You’re a dead man, O’Callaghan!”

The gun went off again.

With a shriek, David bolted up out of his bed. He gasped out a sigh of relief when he realized the shooting was only in his dream—until he heard it again. He dove from the bed to the floor.

Searching for the gunshot’s mark, he removed his personal gun, a nine millimeter Berretta, from its case in the closet and loaded it. His heart pounded in his chest while he tried to determine from where the shots were fired: the front of the house, or the back. Conscious of the dozens of windows that afforded a view of the lake, David made his way through the house looking for what the shooter could have hit. The shots sounded so close. He went outside to examine the exterior of the house.