Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (13 page)

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was, Gallagher?” Hector was chastising Brian Gallagher in a low voice when Mac went back into the kitchen to check the status of the crime scene investigation. As the shooter, he was certain the state police would have questions for him.

“Even if he believed you,” the security chief was telling the intern, “you would have been dead the second he found out the truth.”

Savannah’s mother, Betty Cosgrove, had been called down from where she was managing the registration desk. Twenty-one years old, Savannah had only been working for the Inn for six months. Her divorced mother Betty had been with the Spencer Inn for more than twenty-five years—working her way up from housekeeping to managing the registration desk after getting her bachelor in business management. She did it all while raising her daughter alone.

A single mother, Savannah had a two year old little girl. Mac had been told that the child’s father had abandoned Savannah in the same manner as her father.

Blinking away tears of relief along with the other employees, Jeff ordered the two women to go home. Police Chief David O’Callaghan consented to getting any statements they needed in the morning.

Before leaving, Savannah wrapped her arms around Brian’s shoulders and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, Brian,” she said in a whisper that Mac heard.

“I didn’t do anything,” Brian said.

“You offered to take my place,” she said. “You lied to make him take you. Mr. Langford is right. He would have killed you when he found out that you’d lied about being rich.”

“But you would have been safe,” Brian said. “That’s what was important. You being safe.”

The puzzlement in Savannah’s eyes struck Mac. It was plain to him that never had she heard those words from a man before. Maybe she had, but if so, they had been lying, and she had been made a fool afterwards when the man abandoned her the same way her father had deserted her mother. But here was Brian Gallagher who had put his life where his mouth was by offering up his life in exchange for hers.

Savannah was still staring with awe at Brian when her mother ushered her, with one of the Spencer police officers, out through the loading dock doors to go home.

Hector Langford waited until they were gone before having another go at Brian. “She’s right, you know.”

“Let him go, Hector,” Mac said in a firm tone. “Everything is fine. We have our man.”

“But the banquet is a disaster,” Jeff said.

“No,” Mac said, “Archie and Catherine are predicting that this is a record breaking year for Robin’s Pets. The guests are throwing money at them faster than they can keep count.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Hector quipped, miming a gun with his hand and holding it straight up in the air.

“Right now, I care more about getting my hands on Lindsey York,” David said. “I want to know what she knew about this monster and why she brought him here. I know she did it for a reason and I want to know what that is.” He turned to Hector. “Have any of your people located her yet?”

“I have all of my people looking for her,” Hector said. “She hasn’t been in her room and Jasmine Simpson and Rock Sinclair claim that they never saw Raul before tonight.”

Bogie came in from the ballroom. His stern expression and posture was enough to make everyone pause in what they were doing. “We have another problem.”

“
Another
problem?” David asked. “As if we don’t have enough.”

“Rachel Breckenridge appears to be missing,” Bogie said. “Her mother says she hasn’t seen her for hours.”

“A.J. Wagner is her date,” David said. “What does he say?”

“He says he was talking to her a couple of hours ago, she excused herself to go to the ladies room and he hasn’t seen her since.”

“Hector,” Mac said with a sigh.

“I’ve got my people on it.” While pressing the button on his radio, Hector whirled around on his heels and hurried out of the kitchen.

David’s eyes met Mac’s. There was a long moment of silence between the two men while officers and security personnel rushed about to make sense of the chaos. Finally, David stated, “I hate your party.”

“Not as much as I do.”

Stepping in close, David whispered, “What was Carlisle telling Chelsea about me?”

Mac gazed long and hard into David’s eyes. “Huh?” he asked.

“You said Carlisle and Chelsea were talking about me earlier.”

“Carlisle noticed Chelsea’s engagement ring and was admiring it,” Mac said. “Chelsea told her that you two were engaged and Carlisle congratulated her. That’s all.” The thought struck his brain like lightning. “Did you sleep with Carlisle Green?” The question came out as a hissed accusation.

“No,” David answered in a harsh whisper. “Why would you even accuse me of that?”

“Because you have a very bad habit.”

“I do not.”

Narrowing his eyes, Mac peered at him. “Do you want to rethink your response to that accusation?”

“Okay, it’s a long list but …” David grit his teeth. “I did not sleep with Carlisle Green.” Brushing past Mac, he said, “I need to go check in with Brewster and Zigler about our witness statements.”

Seeing David heading for the door leading into the ballroom, Mac said, “Chelsea’s out there.”

Spinning on his heels, David turned to the stairs leading to the main floor.

“Carlisle’s upstairs in the lobby.”

“Don’t make me shoot you, Mac,” David said before pushing through the doors leading out to the loading dock.

Chuckling at David’s dilemma, Mac went back out into the banquet room to collect his wife and go home to have a long soak in his hot tub.

He found Archie, Catherine, and Chelsea huddled together at a table. Cash, credit card receipts, and checks were organized into several neat piles in front of Catherine. Archie had a calculator in front of her and a ledger sheet to keep track of the accounting for their records while Chelsea was keeping a list of names and contact information for sending out thank you notes and receipts for tax purposes.

Lying together next to the table, Gnarly was licking Molly’s ears for all they were worth while the white German shepherd appeared to be making a grand effort to ignore him.

Ben Fleming was sitting back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. A bottle of very expensive cognac rested on the table in front of him. Seeing Mac, Ben sat up and poured the cognac into an empty snifter he had waiting for their host. While holding up the glass in an offer of a drink, he gestured at the ice pack wrapped around Mac’s wrist. “Some old-fashion medication to ease the pain.”

After taking the drink, Mac gestured at Gnarly. “He doesn’t even look guilty.”

With a sigh, Gnarly rested his head across Molly’s back. When the white German shepherd rolled over to press against him, Gnarly resumed licking her ears.

“He did help capture Raul Zernbog,” Ben said, “and, while I hate it when a suspect forces the police into a shootout that ends up with someone dead, I can’t deny that I do love it when you guys make it easy for me by eliminating the bad guy before he can get his day in court.”

“Still creates a ton of paperwork,” Chelsea said.

“And anymore it doesn’t make for good public relations,” Catherine pointed out.

“Raul left us no choice.” Mac took a sip of the cognac and uttered a sigh of both exhaustion over the night and pleasure over the smooth taste of the liquor. “He was going to shoot Brian Gallagher in front of more than a dozen people, including a uniformed deputy police chief.”

“Because Brian offered himself as a hostage,” Archie said. “Talk about gallant.”

“He almost got himself killed,” Mac said.

“To save Savannah.” Archie told Catherine in a low voice. “I think he has a crush on her. Have you seen the way he looks at her?”

“Sounds like suicide by cop,” Chelsea said without looking up from where she was writing out an address. “I feel sorry for the officers who get put in that position. David always has trouble sleeping when someone forces him to shoot him. I don’t imagine you ever get used to it, do you, Mac?”

“No,” Mac replied before taking another sip of his drink.

“Usually those hard core types would rather go out in a blaze of glory than be snuffed out in prison by a rival gang or one of their own for being a suspected snitch,” Ben said.

“Why would someone like that come here?” Mac asked. “He had to know that with all the A-listers coming to this thing that the police would be out in force to protect them. Everyone knows I’m a retired cop.” He gestured at Catherine. “A United States Senator was one of the hosts. Wouldn’t he assume the Secret Service would be here? What was he thinking?”

“I don’t have a Secret Service detail,” Catherine told them what they already knew. “I turned it down. The last thing I want is a dozen men following me into the ladies room.”

“But the average drug dealer doesn’t know that,” Ben said. “Mac has a point. What was Zernbog doing here?”

“Besides a dead drug dealer,” Mac said, “we also have two missing women. Rachel Breckenridge—”

“We know about that,” Archie said.

“We’re also looking for Lindsey York, who brought the now dead drug dealer,” Mac said.

“You’ll find her in her room,” Ben said, “sleeping it off.”

“Hector checked already,” Mac said. “She’s not there.”

“Then check all of the other beds here at the inn,” Chelsea said. “It’s common knowledge that she doesn’t like to sleep alone.”

Mac brought the cognac to his lips. He was about to take another sip when a scream echoed in his ears. He looked up and saw Archie covering her mouth with one hand while pointing across the room and up.

From the top of the grand staircase, Lindsey York tumbled over the railing and plummeted down through the air—like a duck shot out of the sky—to crash into George Gershwin’s white grand piano below.

While everyone stared at the body of the young debutante sprawled out across the musical instrument below, Mac followed her flight path backwards to where Brian Gallagher was peering at her lifeless body from over the railing.

Chapter Thirteen

With wide eyes, Brian Gallagher stared down over the banister at Lindsey York’s body sprawled among the ruins of the once impressive white grand piano.

Mac and Ben Fleming were the first ones to come out of their shock and react to the catastrophe. While Ben rushed to help his wife and Chelsea shovel the donation funds into a money bag, Mac stepped into the remains of the piano to check for any signs of life in Lindsey York. Grabbing Gnarly’s leash, Archie urged both German shepherds to their feet and ushered them out of the banquet room so that they could not be accused of contaminating a potential crime scene. As soon as the bag was sealed shut, Chelsea followed her service dog, Molly.

“Oh, man! Did that really just happen?” Mac heard from up above him. One of the camera operators he had seen flitting about the Inn while filming Kassandra and Lindsey had his mouth hanging open. “Is she—”

Wordlessly, Mac shook his head in response to everyone’s question about if Lindsey was still alive.

David pushed the growing crowd pouring in from the kitchen out of the way to join him. “What happened?”

Mac noted foam around Lindsey’s lips. “Could be a heroin overdose.”

While David took control of the scene, Mac galloped up the stairs to where Brian Gallagher was staring down at the fallen body. He clutched the banister in a white knuckled grip. “Brian, what happened?”

Mac saw that the young man was breathing hard.

“She came out of the bathroom and went bonkers,” the camera operator said. “Foaming at the mouth. It was like she had rabies or something.”

“Brian …” Mac touched his arm. “Did you see what happened?”

Slowly, Brian nodded his head. “I didn’t want …” he whispered.

“You didn’t want what, Brian?”

“She didn’t deserve …”

Mac’s brow furrowed. “Did you know Lindsey York, Brian?”

The young man started. He turned to Mac and seemed to finally notice that he was there. “I need to go make a phone call.”

“You need to talk to the police.” With a toss of his head, Mac gestured at David trotting up the stairs toward them.

Brian Gallagher was taking his cell phone out of his pocket. “Sure, but I need to call someone first.”

Inn manager Jeff Ingles didn’t need to be told to have his staff seal off the entrances and exits to keep any possible suspects from slipping out. While Police Chief David O’Callaghan was taking charge of the scene, Mac zeroed in on the camera operator who had been tailing Lindsey the whole evening.

Mac managed to scurry him away before his boss, Vincent Van Dyke, got word of the possible goodies he had on his camera and could confiscate the possible evidence—or destroy it if it was in his interest.

Clutching the arms of his chair in the lounge, the camera operator, who went by Gopher, looked like he was going to faint while recalling the events leading up to Lindsey’s dive over the banister. Overcome with shock, he let the camera drop to his feet and covered his face with his hands. “I thought it was all part of the show,” he muttered.

The name Gopher was fitting for the young man who was short, tubby, and had bucked teeth. Mac could see that he was not much older than his own son, who was a third year undergraduate studying natural science at George Washington University. He had chosen not to follow in his father’s footsteps, which was fine with Mac.

“Part of the show?” Mac pretended to be skeptical, though he had his suspicions. “I thought none of this was planned.”

Under Mac’s gaze, the kid shook his head like the weak link in a childish conspiracy to pull a prank on the teacher. “That’s what they want the viewers to think. Everything is planned. I mean, it’s not scripted like they have lines to memorize and stuff is rehearsed, but we do have an idea of what will happen. Both girls had a cameraman assigned to her. I was assigned to Lindsey and was to follow her everywhere, except when she went to the bathroom. I think she got sick in the bathroom before this happened.” He gestured at the body across the hotel lobby and out of sight, now being examined by the medical examiner.

“You just said you didn’t go into the bathroom with her,” Mac said.

Gopher shook his head so hard that his plump cheeks jiggled like gelatin. “No, but she was staggering all over the place and suddenly she took off running.” He explained, “Lindsey was the party girl. That’s why I asked for her. She was the one who would stir things up. You know, getting drunk and making passes at other women’s men. Kassandra Van Dyke is gorgeous, but … really, she’s as dumb as a stick. Always wants to be nice to everyone and doesn’t like to make waves. That’s what makes them a good pair. Kassandra is the dumb blonde and Lindsey is a bitch.”

“Just because someone is nice doesn’t make them dumb,” Mac said.

“Maybe not in Deep Creek Lake,” Gopher said.

Mac asked, “How did Kassandra feel about working with Lindsey?”

“I don’t think she’s smart enough to care,” Gopher said. “But Vincent Van Dyke is another story. He had hired us to make this pilot for the show to revolve around Kassandra and him—a father-daughter show. Lindsey was only going to be in the first or second episode because Kassandra was coming to the ball and Rock Sinclair was shooting his investigative report. But then, the director showed the footage that we had shot so far to Sinclair and he said he would buy the show but only if Lindsey was in it—shared billing with Kassandra.”

“Was Van Dyke’s name being scratched off the billing?” Casually, Mac picked up the camera the operator had used to record his part of the show. It recorded onto a memory card. “I’ll bet he wasn’t happy about that at all.”

“Not in the least. But it’s the only offer on the table.” Gopher nodded his head. “I grew up in Hollywood. It’s a buyers’ market. Everyone has a project that they’re promoting. If Van Dyke turned down Sinclair’s offer, he may not get another.”

“But if he took it,” Mac said, “It’s a given that Lindsey would have squeezed him out and his chance of a comeback as a reality star would be gone.” He gestured at the camera operator’s earpiece he wore in his right ear. “Who gives you your direction?”

He fingered the earpiece. “The director.”

“What’s his name?”

“Samuel Nash.” Gopher paused to swallow.

“Isn’t he the same director working on Rock Sinclair’s investigative report?”

“Yep.”

“Where is he?”

“In the control room.” Gopher gestured up the staircase and down the hallway. “They booked one of the suites. That’s where the crew works.”

Mac noticed that he was still fingering the earpiece. “Were you following Lindsey all evening?”

“All day.”

“Which means you recorded everything—”

“Her getting ready for this evening.” His naughty grin reminded Mac of his son. “Even her bubble bath. She met with Kassandra and Vincent for drinks her in the lounge before going to the banquet.” Gopher nervously wiped his face. “Was she murdered?”

Mac searched the camera for the compartment that housed the disk. “We won’t know that until the autopsy.”

“Is that where they cut them open?” Gopher’s face turned green.

“Y-incision from both shoulders, through her ribcage, then a straight line down to her crotch.”

As Mac had expected, Gopher’s face turned greener.

“Did Lindsey take any drugs? Cocaine? Heroin? Pills?” Mac opened the compartment and found the memory disk. “You don’t have to answer. We’ll find that out ourselves when the ME cuts open her stomach and dumps it. After they sort through the bile they’ll find out what she ingested. Do you know what bile straight out of the stomach looks like?” He screwed up his nose. “Nastiest thing you ever want to smell—especially when a body has been sitting out in the open for a couple of days.”

Gopher covered his mouth and turned away to hold back his dinner, during which time Mac slipped the disk into his jacket pocket and slapped the camera door shut.

After handing the camera back to Gopher, who seemed to not have the strength to hold it up, Mac went in search of Brian Gallagher, whom he assumed had finished talking to David and Bogie.

“Gopher, there you are!” Vincent Van Dyke rushed into the lounge to nab the camera operator. “Tell me you got Lindsey’s somersault over the railing.”

“Yes, sir! I got it all.” He held up the camera which Van Dyke snatched out of his hands.

Clutching the disk in his pocket, Mac dove into the guests, out of the lounge, across the lobby, under the crime scene tape stretched across the entrance to the ballroom, and down the stairs to where Doc Washington was showing the foam on Lindsey’s lips to David and Bogie.

“Drugs,” David said. “Knowing Lindsey, it was an accidental drug overdose or poison.”

Mac grabbed David’s arm and whispered into his ear. “I have something for you, but you need to take it now.”

Annoyed by the interruption, David glanced at Mac over his shoulder. Mac directed him to look at the object he slipped out of his pocket only enough for him to see. “It’s the recording of what the camera operator following Lindsey shot this evening. I stole it from his camera.”

“That’s theft.”

“What do you intend to do about it?” Mac asked. “Arrest me and take this into evidence?”

“I should.” A grin came to David’s lips.

“Chief O’Callaghan!” Vincent Van Dyke bellowed from the barricade David’s officers had set up. “I need to talk to you! Now! I think you have something that belongs to me!”

Slowly, David turned around to face the former star shouting at him from the top of the stairs. “What did you just say, Mr. Van Dyke?”

“You heard me!”

In the other direction, Mac slipped under the barricade into the kitchen and up the back stairs until he came out into the lobby where he found Archie and Gnarly with Ben, Catherine, and Chelsea.

Mac grasped Archie by the arm. “I need your help.” He glanced over her shoulder to see the county prosecutor shadowing them.

Vincent Van Dyke’s voice rose above the crowd when the police chief led him away from the crime scene into the lobby. “Someone stole one of our disks for the show from my camera and if I don’t get it back right now, I’m suing your police department, Chief O’Callaghan!”

“I don’t want to know about this.” Ben Fleming slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “Catherine, we’re leaving. Now! Chelsea, we’ll give you a ride home.” They trotted out the door. Without waiting for a valet, they hurried in the direction of the parking garage.

Mac slipped the memory card into Archie’s palm. “I need you to copy this disk ASAP.”

Archie whirled around on her heels. “Give me five minutes.”

“My lawyer is on his way!” Vincent Van Dyke announced.

“You have two!” Mac hissed while she and Gnarly hurried across the lobby in the direction of Hector’s security office to find a computer with a drive from which to copy the disk. “Now!”