It's Murder, My Son (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (24 page)

“Small world,” Mac replied. “Peter called his wife’s death an accident. When I revisited the case a couple of years later, I found physical evidence with technology we didn’t have before that proved she was murdered. But when I went looking for him, Peter Marlstone was gone. Right now, there’s an outstanding warrant for his arrest.”

“I can do you one better on that.” Sam grinned. “Information from the feds says that Hector Sanchez put out a contract on Peter Marlstone. The Sanchezes and Marlstones are no longer partners. They’re enemies, thanks to Peter, who disappeared after embezzling millions of dollars from the Sanchez family. If he isn’t dead, he’s hiding deep in the underground.”

“And what a better place to lay low than on a lake in a small town in the woods,” Mac said.

David said to Mac, “You can’t be talking about Pete Mason.”

“Cosmetic surgery. Cheek implants. Nose job. He must have lost about thirty pounds and pumped himself up. I knew I’d seen him before, but couldn’t place him.” Mac asked David, “When did he show up in Deep Creek Lake?”

“Maybe five years ago.” David corrected himself. “He’s been mayor for four years and lived in Deep Creek a couple of years before that. More like six.”

Sam said, “Marlstone calls in his old gang.”

“If Peter ordered the Tarantulas to kill us, then that means he still has connections to the family business,” Mac said.

Realizing that he was right, Sam sat back in his chair. “He’s working behind the scenes. Easy to do nowadays between computers, blackberries, and the Internet.”

“Is there anybody else on that contract Sanchez put out on Marlstone?” asked Mac.

Sam squinted at him. “Who do you have in mind?”

“Pete Mason brought in a friend that he made police chief in Spencer.” Mac laughed. “How better to run an illegal business than to have a good buddy be the chief of police? Any thoughts on who he might be?”

Sam chuckled. “Tall skinny guy? Real nervous type?”

David and Mac nodded their heads.

“Marlstone had help stealing that money from the Sanchez family. Their accountant, Roy Herman. One night, Herman had taken one too many Valium with one too many drinks and got behind the wheel. He killed a couple of teenage girls. Marlstone bailed him out. Forty-eight hours after that, they were gone with fifteen million dollars of Sanchez’s money.”

“So they are wanted by both the police and the mob.” David sucked in a deep breath. “And Spencer has been depending on a pencil-pushing mob accountant for our safety and security. No wonder Katrina got killed.”

Mac asked Sam, “Did the Holts have any connection to the Marlstone or Sanchez family?”

“I’ll put in a call to our connection with the feds to find out. Marlstone probably ordered the hit because you recognized him.”

“Someone killed both Niles Holt and his wife,” Mac said. “Peter Marlstone is a killer. He’s worth taking a closer look at.”

The door to the interrogation room opened so abruptly that all three men instinctively reached for their guns.

The slender man in the doorway wore a gray suit that had seen better days. He would have appeared much taller if he didn’t slouch.

Mac felt his stomach tighten at the sight of his former boss, Lieutenant Harold Fitzwater.

Sam pursed his lips to conceal a chuckle—in anticipation of what, Mac was not sure. The detective’s thick mustache wiggled up and down and side to side in a comical fashion while its owner directed his attention to a report in a folder.

“Faraday,” Lieutenant Fitzwater snapped. “I want to talk to you.” Leaving the door open for Mac to follow, he disappeared down the hallway. His demeanor made Mac wonder if he had forgotten that the retired detective no longer worked for him.

Sam and David mentally waged a bet. Would Mac follow or would he not?

As if the lieutenant’s order had never happened Mac asked Sam, “What does the DA in Arlington say about the shootings last night?”

Fitzwater stepped back into the room. “If you have a minute?” A note of courtesy found its way into his tone.

His face void of emotion, Mac looked up at him.

“Please.”

“I guess I can give you one minute.” Mac strolled out into the corridor.

The chief of homicide’s office consisted of a cubicle in the corner of the squad room. Its thin walls contained windows that looked out over his domain.

Once inside, Harold slammed the door so hard that his office walls shook. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Did you make a visit to Internal Affairs on your way out of here?”

Mac chuckled when he answered, “No.”

“You’re lying, Faraday!” The lieutenant slapped his inbox from the corner of the desk to the floor. Mac sensed that he wanted to hit him instead of the papers.

“I don’t lie, even when my career is being threatened, as you surely know.” Mac fought the urge to smile. “What happened, Harold? Internal Affairs catch up with you and Steve about the Gibbons case?”

“You did rat me out!”

“As much as I wanted to, I kept my mouth shut and trusted that they would get wind of you and a certain assistant district attorney helping a serial rapist escape prosecution.” He laughed. “They’re not stupid. Everyone knew that something dirty happened. It wasn’t a coincidence that the Gibbons kid got on that plane when he did. They caught up with you, didn’t they? What are they going to do?”

“The DA is prosecuting me for accepting a bribe.” He added in a low, threatening tone, “When I find out who ratted me out…”

Mac looked out into the squad room. He had been tempted to go to Internal Affairs. He spent months putting the Gibbons case together. He wondered at the time why the lieutenant kept urging him to look for the Rock Creek Park serial rapist somewhere other than where the evidence led him. Until Archie connected the dots between Steve Maguire, Harold Fitzwater, and Gibbons’s father, it never occurred to him that his boss was dirty. He had been too close to see it.

Mac watched through the window as Sam and David returned to the detective’s desk in the squad room.

Mac said, “Don’t you remember? Even the media speculated that someone on the inside must have given Gibbons the heads up.”

While the other detectives glanced curiously at the closed office door, Sam didn’t look up once. Mac recalled that Sam had transferred to homicide from uptown less than a month after Freddie Gibbons Jr. got away.

“You’re a dirty cop, Harold.”

“I’m not dirty.” The lieutenant said, “I was simply playing the game—the same game everyone else plays.”

“Bull! Haven’t you figured it out yet? Your political game-playing with Steve put a bullet in your career. Even if you manage to get out of this, none of them—” Mac gestured at the detectives on the other side of the office walls, “are ever going to trust you again. They aren’t going to be watching your back because you didn’t watch mine.” He grinned. “I wonder what Freddie Gibbons is doing right now. How many European girls has he raped since you let him go?”

“You son of a bitch,” Harold hissed, “standing there in your five thousand dollar suit. You brought me down for what? Revenge?”

“I didn’t bring you down, Harold. You brought yourself down when you cut the deal.” Mac opened the door. “By the way, this isn’t a five thousand dollar suit. It’s a fifteen thousand dollar suit. I paid more for this jacket than your car is worth.”

David stood up when he saw Mac leave his former boss’s office. “Ready to go?”

“I am if you are.” Mac offered Sam his hand. “Thank you for all your help.” Gripping his hand, he whispered into the detective’s ear. “You’re IA, aren’t you?”

Sam answered with nothing more than a grin.

*   *   *   *

“Okay, Bogie,” David said into his cell phone. “Let us know if they do anything suspicious. And be sure to tell the guys not to do anything to let Herman and Marlstone know that we’re onto them.” He flipped the phone shut and turned to Mac.

They were waiting for Ron Goldstein, Katrina’s estate lawyer, at an outdoor café nestled between two high-rise office buildings on a corner of M Street.

By Saturday afternoon, patrons would crowd the downtown eateries to fill each other in on the week while planning for the weekend ahead. There was so much to do, and so little time to do it.

Two tables away, a party of young women drank Bloody Marys while gaily recounting the events of happy hour the night before. One with short dark hair and huge eyes laughed with delight when David accepted a Bloody Mary that she had sent to him.

After snagging a table at the eatery, David called Bogie with the news about their mayor and police chief. Detective Groom and Mac had warned that they couldn’t arrest the fugitives until the police were positive that Mayor Mason was indeed Peter Marlstone and Roy Phillips was Roy Herman. Pete Mason didn’t resemble Peter Marlstone enough for Mac to make a positive identification. While waiting to get the proof they needed, David enlisted his friends on the Spencer police force to keep an eye on both of them to ensure they didn’t escape.

When he turned to report on his conversation with Bogie, David found Mac staring into space. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

Blinking, Mac’s thoughts snapped back long enough to answer him. “Everything.” 

Their server refilled Mac’s coffee while David paused to sip his Bloody Mary.

“Who’s Pay Back? Why did he pretend to be Lee Dorcas? Did Dorcas play any role in this other than patsy?” He seemed to be muttering more to himself than David. “Niles’s murder. That wasn’t a professional hit. Pros don’t leave witnesses. If Peter Marlstone was behind Niles’s murder, Katrina would have been tossed off Abigail’s Rock along with him.”

He sat up straight when he spotted a man with thick curly hair craning his neck to search the faces of the customers. His clothes were so wrinkled, he looked as if he had worn them to bed. Seeing Mac, he scurried toward their table.

“Here’s Ron Goldstein to give us the goods on Katrina and Chad.” Mac stood to shake the lawyer’s hand and introduce themselves.

“Nice to meet you,” the attorney said. “I’m glad you called.” He sat across from them while straightening his clothes. “These last few weeks have not been easy ones.” He tucked his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

Mac asked, “Were you close friends with Katrina?”

“Lawyers don’t have friends. They have connections.” Ron caught the server’s attention and pointed at Mac’s cup to signal an order for coffee. “I was Katrina’s connection until she married Holt’s millions.”

The server had finished filling the lawyer’s cup, which he snatched to gulp. After letting out a sigh, Ron said, “I guess you came to the right place if you’re looking for someone who knew her. I knew both her and Chad before, during, and after they scored their respective fortunes.”

“Then let’s start with the obvious,” Mac said. “Who had the most to gain by Katrina’s death?”

Ron replied, “That’s easy. Chad. He charmed Katrina into changing her will to make him her beneficiary before the ink dried on their marriage certificate.”

“I assume they had a pre-nup,” Mac said.

“That, too. In the case of divorce, Chad would have gotten one hundred thousand dollars for every year they were married.”

David said, “But Katrina had an appointment scheduled with you to change her will and file for divorce.”

“Katrina wasn’t as stupid as Chad liked to think,” Ron said. “Everyone knew about Rachel. They’ve been together since forever.”

“If she knew about Rachel, why did Katrina marry him?” Mac wanted to know.