Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (17 page)

“I thought I’d find you here,” Mac greeted David who was engaged in a conversation with Hector. Before David could respond, Mac thrust the cell phone, still coated in dog droll into the police chief’s face. “I think I found Rachel Breckenridge. She’s alive and well and on her way to the Cayman Islands.”

“Where did you get this?” David took the cell phone from him.

Shooting a sideways glance at where Gnarly was sitting by his side, Mac’s tone oozed with innocence. “We found it.”

Wiping the dog drool from his hand on the thigh of his slacks, David said, “We need to find out where that flight is leaving from and pick up Rachel before she gets on that plane.” He took his radio out of its case.

“Whose cell phone is that?” Hector asked Mac when David stepped away to issue a BOLO on Rachel Breckenridge to be picked up before she left the country.

“Dr. Elizabeth Breckenridge,” Mac said.

“Are you kidding me?” Hector’s voice went up two octaves. “Isn’t she the one who reported her missing? We’ve been tearing this resort apart looking for Rachel. My staff has been scouring the security videos and here her mother knew all along—”

“We don’t know that,” Mac interjected.

“Yes, we do,” David turned around to tell them. He was thumbing through the text messages on the phone. “Last night, Dr. Breckenridge texted her daughter, ‘Where are you?’ Some time later, Rachel replied, ‘Got to leave. In trouble. Will call later to explain.’ Dr. Breckenridge then replies telling her that Lindsey is dead. Rachel replied that that was why she had to get away. Then, a second text message thread starts this morning from a different number asking Dr. Breckenridge for advice about what country to escape to.”

“A burner phone,” Mac said.

“Point is,” David said, “Dr. Breckenridge knew her daughter was safe and didn’t tell us to call in the hounds. That’s filing a false police report—”

“Unless she didn’t know where Rachel was at the time she told us she was missing,” Mac said. “Rachel was reported missing before Lindsey died. So this exchange appears to be after Dr. Breckenridge told us that she had disappeared and continued after Lindsey’s murder and on through to this morning.”

“Rachel’s a doctor,” David said. “It would have been a cinch for her to poison Lindsey and then get out of Dodge before it took effect.”

Mac asked, “Do you want my suggestion?”

“No, but I’m going to get it anyway,” David replied.

“True,” Mac said. “Let’s slip the cell phone back into Dr. Breckenridge’s bag and say nothing to her. Have the police pick up Rachel and then build our case against the doc from there. If Rachel’s mother even suspects we know where Rachel is, she’ll give her a heads up and be out of the country so fast that we’ll be lucky if we can ever lay our hands on her again. ”

“Mac’s got a point,” Hector said.

“He always does.” David handed the phone to the security chief. “Take this phone to the front desk. Let them notify Dr. Breckenridge that someone had found it.”

“How do we explain the teeth marks?” Hector showed Gnarly’s bite marks in the corner of the phone to the police chief.

“We don’t,” David said. “We never saw it.”

“Works for me.” In response to a call on his security radio, Hector tapped the button on his ear piece. “Langford here.” Dismay crossed his face. “Seriously?”

Not liking Hector’s expression, Mac and David exchanged glances.

“I’m with O’Callaghan and Faraday now,” Hector said. “Don’t touch anything. We’re coming right up.” He tapped the radio button to disconnect the call.

“What is it?” Mac asked.

“Jasmine Simpson,” Hector reported. “She’s dead.”

Chapter Sixteen

Smart phones have made it possible to communicate while on the run. By the time Mac, David, and Hector boarded the elevator to go up to Rock Sinclair’s suite, the police chief had his desk sergeant on the line.

Exasperated, David was asking, “When did she leave?” He turned to Mac. “Eleven o’clock
last night
?”

“Last night?” Mac told David, “Riva Sinclair had been arrested for assault and vandalism.”

Hector interrupted to add, “Plus, her bail would have been revoked for the charge of carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.”

“It’s Sunday,” Mac said, “Bail would not have been set until Monday morning when she was arraigned—” He stopped speaking in response to David holding up his hand while turning away so that he could listen to his desk sergeant.

“And no one thought to check with me?” David’s voice went up a full octave in his attempt to not yell.

Gritting his teeth, Mac turned to Hector, who grumbled, “We are so screwed.”

The elevator doors opened. David disconnected the call and thrust out his hand to hold the door open for Mac and Hector to step off. “Tonya says the night shift desk sergeant got a call from the Spencer Inn saying that Jeff told him to call and tell them that they didn’t want to press charges against Riva Sinclair—at the request of Rock Sinclair, who said that his lawyer had advised him to drop the whole thing and to pay the hotel for the damages. Because California is a community property state, his lawyer said that Riva might be more amicable in the divorce if Rock turned the other cheek about this incident.”

“I don’t believe any of that,” Mac said.

They came to a halt in the corridor, outside the hotel suite.

“Neither do I,” David said.

“Someone wanted Riva Sinclair released,” Mac said in response to the stern expression on David’s face.

Hector extracted his master key card from his breast pocket. “While you two are cleaning up this mess, I’ll go check on the status of our number one suspect, Riva Sinclair. If we’re lucky, we’ll find her in her room.”

“And not halfway back to Hollywood,” David said.

“I’ve already got my people pulling the security recordings from last night,” Hector said. “We’ll concentrate on the elevator and this floor. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Mac laid his hand on the security manager’s elbow before he turned to leave. “Are you sure Gnarly is going to be okay down in your office? He’s been on a thieving spree lately.”

“Mac,” Hector chuckled, “everyone on my staff is a highly trained security specialist. They’ll be able to keep that kleptomaniac in line. They may even rehabilitate him by the time you’re through here.”

The security manager trotted back down the corridor to the elevator. When the doors opened, he held the doors open for Bogie and Jeff Ingles to step off before getting on and pressing the button to descend to the floor where Riva Sinclair’s room was located.

“Do you know what the media is going to do to us when they get hold of this?” David whispered to Mac.

“The media is more focused on Lindsey York dying during the Diablo Ball at the Spencer Inn than they are on you,” Mac said. “We’ll just keep it that way until we get this sorted out.”

“Do you believe this?” Bogie asked them when they approached from the elevators.

“As you can imagine,” Jeff said, “Mr. Sinclair is insisting on speaking to you two ASAP.”

“I can imagine.” David went into the suite.

“Jeff,” Mac asked as casually as possible, “did you call the police department to tell them that you weren’t pressing charges against Mrs. Sinclair?”

A glare came to the hotel manager’s eyes at the very suggestion. “Mac, do you know how much that china costs? It’s special order.” His face growing red, the veins on his neck popped. “Yes, we have insurance, but no way would I even entertain the thought of letting these bunch of gutter snipes leave this mountaintop without someone handing over a credit card—”

David laid a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “Take a breath, Jeff. Mac was just asking.”

Taking several deep breaths, Jeff took a moist handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the beads of sweat from his brow.

Glancing in David’s direction, Mac saw that the police chief was having the same thought. Someone
had
arranged for Riva Sinclair’s release. The question remained, was Riva Sinclair in on it or not?

In the sitting room, Rock Sinclair was on his cell phone when David entered the suite. Upon seeing them, he said into the phone, “The police chief is here now. I’ll call you back.” After tossing the phone onto the coffee table, he stood up to his full height. “That was Jasmine’s mother. Just so you know, my attorneys are already filing papers to sue not only the Spencer Inn but the police department for letting this happen.”

“Then I guess we have nothing further to discuss,” Mac said before David could respond. “Jeff, call security to remove Mr. Sinclair and his crew from the Inn. I want all of his people off the premises within the next thirty minutes.” With an eye on Rock Sinclair, he added, “But we’ll be keeping any footage they’ve shot here at the hotel, because I don’t recall signing any release giving them permission to film on the premises, do you, Jeff?”

“No, sir.” Jeff gulped. “We did not.”

“You can leave all copies of your recordings with Chief O’Callaghan on your way out,” Mac told Rock. “My lawyers will file an injunction preventing you from using any footage filmed on the premises, including interviews shot in the suites. As the producer, how much lost time and money do you think you’ll lose on your investigative report when that happens?”

Rock was sputtering at the unexpected reaction. Fighting to regroup, he said, “My attorneys—”

“In light of our current circumstances,” Mac stepped into the producer’s face, “I’m not warning you, I’m promising you—” He lowered his voice. “I hate lawyers. I hate people who use them like pitt bulls to intimidate people into allowing them free rein under the threat of lawsuit. No one bullies me. You want to break out measuring sticks to see who’s got the biggest lawyers? Bring it on. In the meantime, you and your crew are permanently banned from the Spencer Inn. My staff will have you and your crew out on the curb within the hour; at which time, no hotel on Deep Creek Lake will take you because I will text each manager that you are a litigious so-called documentary producer living off lawsuits. How long is your crew going to stick with you living in the back of a van? How is your production going to look with no place to film your interviews?”

“A.J. Wagner and Corey Haim’s lawyer already called saying that they want out of their contract after Lindsey York’s murder,” Samuel Nash announced from behind them.

The color drained from Rock’s face. Backing away from Mac, he glanced around the room at Mac, Bogie, and David. Jeff was holding his breath. “You have to understand, finding Jasmine that way …”

“Chief O’Callaghan …” A member of the hotel security staff came out of the bathroom. “Mr. Faraday. You’ll want to see this. She’s in here.”

While David stepped into the bathroom, Mac kept his eyes on Rock Sinclair, who swallowed.

“Mac,” Jeff asked in a quiet voice, “do you want me to call security to remove Mr. Sinclair and his crew?”

“That depends on Mr. Sinclair.”

With a growl, Rock said, “Just find Jasmine’s killer.” Even though he was relenting, it sounded like a threat.

Tearing his glare from Rock Sinclair’s face, Mac went into the bathroom adjoining the suite’s master bedroom. David and Bogie were examining Jasmine Simpson’s naked body laying in a sunken tub filled with cold water. Except for her bathrobe draped across a chair and her cosmetics and toiletries on the counter, the bathroom showed little evidence of being occupied or used.

Bogie had sent the security officer into the corridor to lead in the crime scene investigators and medical examiner.

Not wanting to see the dead guest himself, Jeff waited in the bathroom’s doorway. “Mr. Sinclair said he found her when he got up this morning. It could be an accident, right?”

“Depends on how much fun she had last night,” Bogie replied. “I don’t see any recreational party favors in here, do you, Chief?”

At the counter, David was reading the labels on the two prescription pill bottles. “Standard antibiotics and a migraine medicine.”

Kneeling next to the whirlpool tub, Mac peered at the dead woman while struggling to pull an evidence glove onto his injured right hand. Jasmine’s once pink flesh was now bluish, though he noticed welts and dark blue bruises on her shoulders and across her neck. “I have a feeling that if she was partying last night, she was not alone.”

David joined him at the edge of the tub to observe the marks on her body. “Doesn’t look like an accidental drowning to me.”

“Nope.” Mac noted that the bathwater had a reddish hue. “It looks like she was bleeding from some place.” After asking David for the flashlight he wore on his utility belt, he leaned over the edge of the tub while shining the beam into the water.

Bogie extracted his flashlight to shine into the water until Mac’s beam reflected off a shard of glass sticking out of Jasmine’s naked thigh, near her rump.

“I see it.” Not wanting to disturb possible evidence, David leaned further over the tub to peer through the pink water to examine her wound and the object that had punctured her leg. It was round and possibly as thick as his little finger. He could see sharp jagged breaks on the end which was visible.

“It’s a piece of broken glass.” Mac cocked his head while trying to distinguish where the glass had come from.

“Broken glass?” Glancing around the bathroom, David said, “I don’t see anything broken in here.”

Mac sat back on his haunches. “I think it’s a stem broken off of a wine glass.”

David picked up the trash can and peered inside. “No glass or wine bottle.”

“Someone cleaned up and I don’t think it was housekeeping.” His knees cracking, Mac rose to his feet.

Doc Washington and the forensics crew were entering the bathroom while David and Mac were going out to question Rock Sinclair, who was sitting at the kitchenette counter with his director, Samuel.

After stepping out of the bathroom, David turned around to tell Mac, “I’ll question Sinclair. Considering that he’s anxious to sue you, he might be more cooperative with me.”

“Hey,” Mac said, “when I was working homicide in D.C., I was threatened with being sued on a daily basis. I was also threatened with getting fired, not to mention being killed.”

“I never noticed that about you before,” the police chief said. “You don’t play well with others, do you, Mac?”

“You’re just now finding that out? I thought you were more perceptive than that.”

With Mac chuckling behind his back, David went over to the counter where Samuel was in the midst of telling the producer, “We’ve gone too far into this project to stop now, Rock. Jasmine would want us to find Ashton’s killer … and hers.”

The producer was nodding his head. “Now, this isn’t a simple film project, now it’s personal—my own personal quest to uncover the identity of who took away the woman I loved.” He tapped Samuel on the arm. “Get marketing working on a press release.”

“Great idea.”

With his good hand, Mac caught Samuel by the arm to stop him when he slipped off the bar stool. “No one is going to be writing any press releases yet.”

“What do you mean?” Samuel asked.

While Mac went about explaining the need to keep information close to the vest during a police investigation, David led Rock Sinclair to the other side of the living room, out of ear shot. “Mr. Sinclair, when did you last see Jasmine alive?”

“Last night,” Rock said. “You must have figured out that we were lovers. She was staying here … in this suite … with me. We came upstairs after that fiasco downstairs with Riva. We were having a production meeting with Samuel when you and your people arrived with the news about Lindsey York.”

“I remember that,” David said. “Samuel Nash was still here when I left shortly before ten.”

“He left not long after you did,” Rock said.

“No one else was here after ten o’clock?” David asked.

“It was only Jasmine and me.”

“Do you know what time Jasmine went in to take her bath?”

Rock chewed on his bottom lip before answering. “No. She must have gotten in the tub after I had fallen asleep.”

“You didn’t notice her get out of bed?” David was doubtful. “You didn’t hear the water running?”

Rock grumbled a curse before saying, “I’m a very sound sleeper. I sleep like a log. The whole place could go up and I wouldn’t hear it.”

David eyed him. A long stretch of silence filled the space around them, during which Rock tried to avoid the police chief’s gaze.

Rock wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I snore—horribly. So, Jasmine insists that I sleep in the other bedroom, okay?” With a firm set of his jaw, he added, “We made love in her bed,” he gestured at the master bedroom, “and then I went to bed in the other bedroom.”

“What time did you leave her bedroom?”

“A little after midnight.”

Doc Washington stepped into the doorway leading to the bathroom and gestured for David and Mac that she was ready with a preliminary report of her findings.

Before excusing himself, David told Rock, “We’re going to need a sample of your DNA to eliminate you as a suspect.”

“Of course,” Rock Sinclair agreed surprisingly easily.

When David joined Mac across the room, Samuel was telling him, “I know she was really scared about Riva tracking her and Rock down the way she did. You saw her last night. That bitch is crazy.”

“You seemed pretty amused by the whole scene.” Mac turned to David. “If I recall, you said something about what goes around … What did you mean by that?”

A wide smirk crossed Samuel’s face. With his dark hair and goatee, he resembled a cartoon villain. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mac replied.

“I guess I might as well tell you before someone else does.”

“That would look better for you,” David said.

“Jasmine and I used to date,” Samuel said.