Open Season for Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 10) (20 page)

With David O’Callaghan leading the way, Mac and Hector followed him down the hotel hallway to the upper entrance into the ballroom. The doors were blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. Spencer Police Officer Fletcher greeted them before removing the tape on one side of the doorway to allow them into the ballroom, which was now an active crime scene.

Stepping to the railing over which Lindsey had plunged, they stopped upon seeing Rudy Crowe, the Inn’s public relations officer, at the bar down below. With his back to them, he was zipping up a camera case.

“Crowe!” Mac yelled down at him.

Rudy Crowe’s feet appeared to leave the floor when he jumped and turned around to look up at the police chief, head of hotel security, and the Inn’s owner. He clutched the camera he wore at the end of a neck strap looped around his neck.

Mac’s outburst brought Officer Fletcher running in. Upon seeing the intruder, he called out, “How did you get in here?”

Hector was already running down the stairs.

With wide eyes, Rudy resembled prey that was being pursued from all sides by predators. “I—”

Hector grabbed the camera, which was still attached to the neck strap. “You’re a leak. You were taking pictures of the crime scene to sell to the media, weren’t you?”

“How did you get in here?” David demanded to know.

“Through the loading dock,” Ruby said. “I showed my Spencer Inn ID to the sheriff’s deputy guarding the door and told him that I needed to pick up a couple of vases for the florist. He allowed me to come in.”

“Give me your ID,” Mac ordered.

Ruby stared at his outstretched hand.

“This is an active murder investigation,” Mac said. “You potentially contaminated the crime scene, and jeopardized our investigation all to make a few bucks sensationalizing a young woman’s tragedy.” He snatched the employee identification from where it hung on Rudy’s blazer. “You’re fired. Hector will take you to your desk to collect your stuff and security will escort you out of the hotel.”

Ruby picked up the camera case and tucked it under his arm. “Can I have my camera back?”

Hector ejected the memory card, which he handed to David. After grabbing the camera out of Hector’s hand, Rudy slung it over his shoulder by the strap. When Hector reached to take him by the arm, he jerked away and stepped up to Mac. “Do you really want to know what I think about you and this five-star dump, Mr. Faraday?”

“Not really.” Mac folded his arms across his chest. “Your opinion doesn’t matter to me, Mr. Crowe, but if you want to get something off your chest, go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

“People think that just because you come from a middle class background that you’re like the rest of us, but you’re not. You’re just as hypocritical, two-faced, and fickled as—”

“That’s enough, Crowe!” Grabbing Rudy by the arm, Hector pulled him toward the stairs. Clutching the camera case tighter under his arm, Rudy jogged up to the steps where Officer Fletcher ushered him and Hector out of the ballroom.

“That young man has a big chip on his shoulder,” David said.

“That he does,” Mac said.

The door at the top of the stairs flew open again. Jeff practically went over the railing before yelling down to Mac, “What’s going on? I just saw Hector escorting Rudy Crowe out.”

“We caught him red handed taking pictures of the crime scene to leak to the media.” David patted the memory card he had slipped into his breast pocket.

“The fool!” Jeff said. “Something about him hasn’t seemed quite right ever since Rock Sinclair and Jasmine Simpson came breezing into town. I suspected he was sucking up to them for a job.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet you that was who he was trying to get pictures for.”

“That certainly sounds like Rock Sinclair,” David said. “Think about it. Lindsey York’s murder, during the course of his investigation into Ashton Piedmont’s murder, will certainly up the publicity of his film project.”

“If he was involved in Lindsey’s murder, he’d be looking for an inside source to get information about the progress of our investigation,” Mac said. “And who better than an ambitious young man who had access to practically every place in this hotel to spy for him?”

“We only assumed Rudy was looking for information to slip to the media.” David tapped the button on his radio. “I’ll contact Bogie to keep a man on Rudy to see who he contacts as soon as he’s out of here.”

“Not only that,” Mac said, “but with his job in public relations, Rudy also had access to the invitation list and the invitations for the Diablo Ball. If he was sucking up to Sinclair and Simpson, he very easily could have gotten copies of the invitations for them.” Delighted with himself for solving that part of the mystery, Mac bumped fists with David. “Can’t wait to tell Archie that we solved that piece of the puzzle for her.”

While David was on the radio with Bogie, Mac saw that Jeff was examining the damage to the white grand piano that had broken Lindsey fall—as if there was hope in restoring it. With the broken legs, top, and keyboard, the consensus was that it was a loss to be submitted to the hotel’s insurance company.

“Jeff,” Mac interrupted his assessment, “about Brian Gallagher—”

“Mac,” the hotel manager said, “I told you before, Brian Gallagher has nothing to do with any of this.” He gestured at the demolished piano.

In spite of the manager’s assurance, Mac asked, “Could Brian have thought he was in danger of being fired? If so, that may have given him cause to do something to her.”

Jeff answered, “Brian would never have thought that. He knew he was safe.”

Mac sucked in a breath. He wondered what the Inn’s manager had meant by use of the word “safe.” He recalled a police lieutenant named Harris who had been promoted to head of the burglary division when Mac was a detective in Washington. During Mac’s police career, he saw Harris moved from one department to another, always in a supervisory position, in spite of his reputation as a screw up.

Before Mac had been assigned to the homicide division, Harris’ department was dealing with a string of robberies in a particular neighborhood. The media was making his unit look like a bunch of bumbling fools. One day, Harris asked Mac if he could join him for lunch in the cafeteria and asked for the young detective’s opinion about how to solve the crimes. Later, after the gang was captured, Mac was surprised to discover that the case was solved in exactly the way he had suggested to Harris, who took full credit for the bust.

Mac never trusted him again.

Mac and other detectives marveled at how Harris was transferred time and again, but never reprimanded for his ineffectiveness or even fired. Eventually, Mac learned that it was because a close friend with political clout in the upper echelons within the department protected him.

“Who’s protecting Gallagher?” Mac asked Jeff Ingle.

“Someone with a lot more influence than Lindsey York had.”

Before Mac could ask further questions about Brian Gallagher’s protector, David O’Callaghan turned away from the police radio to the Inn’s manager. “Our crime scene investigators are on their way back to pick up all of the glasses and utensils to process them to look for the poison that killed Lindsey York.”

“Good luck with that,” Jeff said. “I know for a fact that Lindsey was all over this hotel. Right out in the lobby, I saw her grab a glass off a passing serving tray that was meant for someone else. The server had to go back to the bar to get another drink for the guest who had ordered the drink.”

“That was in the recording.” Mac let out a small gasp. “I also saw her do that shortly after she arrived. A server brought over a red velvet champagne cocktail for Carlisle Green. The server said the drink was sent to her from a young man, but when they turned to look for him, he was gone. Carlisle turned down the drink and before the server could take the drink back to the bar, Lindsey swept in and took it.”

“What time was that?” David asked.

“It was before seven o’clock,” Mac said, “and Lindsey took the swan dive before nine o’clock. Time wise it would work.”

“Then the poison could have been meant for Carlisle Green,” David said.

“Or someone else,” Mac said. “We now know for a fact that Lindsey stole two drinks. The poison could have been in another drink.” Slipping an arm across the police chief’s shoulders, he explained in a low voice, “Think about it, David. Carlisle Green was there the night Ashton Piedmont was murdered. Yes, she blacked out and has no memory of what happened, but she
is
a witness. Now that Ashton’s body has been found and everyone knows she was murdered—”

“And the whole case has been reopened,” David added.

“The killer could be very afraid that Carlisle will remember something,” Mac said. “He or she may not want to take that risk.”

“She’s a liability.” David grasped his radio. “I need to get people over to her place to protect her.”

“Mr. Faraday!”

Mac turned around to find one of the Inn’s chef’s leading Gnarly by the collar in from the patio. Hitting the palm of his hand against his forehead, he swore. “Gnarly! You’re what I was forgetting!” He growled at the dog, “You were supposed to be in Hector’s office getting rehabilitated.”

“Rehabilitated? I’ll give you some rehabilitation! Do you know what this thieving canine did?”

His ears laid back flat on top of his head, the German shepherd slinked behind Mac’s legs to hide and lick his snout.

“I can only imagine,” Mac replied.

“The Red Hatters’ lunch! Twelve plates! Each one filled with lemon tarragon salmon with Greek salad! Beautifully set up on the deck overlooking Deep Creek Lake! And this—this—demon dog! He ate it all! Twelve salmon filets, salad and all! Plus every slice of bread in the three bread baskets, including the whipped butter!”

“Oh, dear,” Jeff uttered.

“Mr. Faraday!” the chef continued to rant. “What do you have to say about this mess?”

Mac looked down at Gnarly. Sensing his trouble, the German shepherd laid down and buried his snout under his front paws. He gazed up at his master with his big brown eyes.

“I guess it’s a good thing you hadn’t put out the yellow bird cocktails yet,” Mac finally said.

Chapter Nineteen

Outdoor water sports came to an abrupt halt when an afternoon downpour drove Deep Creek Lake residents indoors. Some chose to amuse themselves with electronic games. Others sought companionship at the local watering holes.

David and Mac took the opportunity to question Rachel Breckenridge who had been returned to Spencer by the Maryland state police.

First, they allowed her time in the interrogation room to think about her situation while they kept an eye on her from the observation room. Mac watched her confidence evaporate through the two way mirror. The longer she sat alone, the more rapid her manicured fingertips tapped the tabletop. She chewed her bottom lip like it was chewing gum.

David was finishing up a phone call to Bogie when he joined Mac. “Let me know if she thinks of something. Mac and I will come over as soon as we’re done with Rachel Breckenridge.” He hung up the phone. “Carlisle is wracking her brain trying to think if she can remember seeing anyone last night who jogged her memory about the night Ashton was killed. She’s coming up with nothing.”

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope for that,” Mac said. “If she hasn’t remembered anything yet …”

The phone on David’s hip vibrated.

“I feel like I got more done before we got cell phones,” Mac said.

Checking the caller ID, David said, “It’s Doc. Back in the old days, you would have had to wait until you got back to your desk to find a message that she called and then call her and hope she is near a phone …” With a wink, David pressed the button to put the phone on speaker. “Tell me you have good news, Doc.”

“We got DNA from under Ashton Piedmont’s fingernails,” she replied. “Not just from one contributor, but from two. A woman and a man. How’s that for good news?”

“That’s great news,” Mac said. “Did you run it through the database?”

“Yes, but so far no hits.”

“Then what good are you?” Mac joked.

“Hey,” Doc shot back, “I just collect the minute pieces of the puzzle. It’s your job to put them together to make sense of them. You find me someone to compare with the DNA I found and then I can tell you if that someone got scratched by our victim.”

“That sounds fair enough, Doc,” David disconnected the call before saying, “Ashton scratched both a man and a woman. It could have been a couple. It’s not Carlisle. We’ve been over the report taken at the time of the disappearance. Carlisle had bruises on her knees and hands, but no fingernail scratches.”

“I’m thinking Elizabeth Breckenridge.” Mac gestured at the dark haired young woman fidgeting at the table in the interview room. “Does she know we picked up her daughter yet?”

“I told the state police to confiscate her cell phone,” David said. “But I guarantee you that she’ll be screaming for a lawyer as soon as we go in there.”

“Corey Haim told me that Rachel can’t stand her mother,” Mac said. “If that’s true, we can use that to our advantage.”

Squinting at him, David cocked his head. “Are you thinking of making Rachel roll over on her mother to implicate her in Ashton’s murder?”

“Carlisle does remember hearing two women screaming at each other the night Ashton disappeared. One had a deep voice.”

“Rachel’s mother has a low voice,” David said. “She almost sounds like a man.”

“A.J. says Ashton was the one who left that note that sent Lindsey over the edge at the ball five years ago. The one saying that she knew her secret. A.J. swore Ashton said she did find proof that Breckenridge stole Dr. Piedmont’s research, and that proof disappeared when she did. Elizabeth Breckenridge had a whole lot to lose if Ashton had made that proof public.”

“Motive,” David said. “But is that enough to get a warrant for her DNA? Dr. Breckenridge will not give it up freely.”

“Did anyone question them about where they were at the time of Ashton’s disappearance?” Mac asked him.

“It was treated as an accidental drowning,” David said. “No one was interviewed as a suspect except Carlisle. Since Ashton’s body was found, I’ve had Tonya running background checks on everyone involved. So far, nothing has popped.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed to blue slits. “Do you remember when we first talked to Dr. Breckenridge. She said something about Carlisle being so drunk on her knees that she couldn’t get up to help Ashton while she was being killed. You just said Carlisle’s knees were bruised.”

David’s eyes lit up. “Why didn’t I catch that?”

“Maybe because we talked to Breckenridge before you had a chance to go over the evidence again.”

“Carlisle’s bruises were never released to the media,” David said. “It wasn’t necessary at the time because everyone thought it was just an accident.”

“How would Elizabeth Breckenridge know about Carlisle being too drunk to get up off her knees unless she was there when Ashton was killed?” Mac tapped David on the chest. “We’ve got her.” He went to the door and laid his hand on the knob. “Follow my lead.”