A Toast to Murder Page 7

  Mal settled into the empty chair, eyeing Clay cautiously. “That sounds a little ominous,” he said.

  “In a way, it is,” I told him. “Clay knows a lot more than we realized about what’s going on. He knows that Duncan and I have continued to see one another on the sly, he knows that you and I are a front, and he suspects that your presence is so you can provide some degree of protection for me. He wants to know the whole story, and if I don’t share, he’s threatening to dig around and find it, and then do whatever he wants with the information.”

  Mal frowned at Clay. “Not cool, man,” he said. “I appreciate the fact that you haven’t blown my cover, and up until now you’ve been playing like one of the team. Mack and the others have treated you well. Now you’re going to turn on them?”

  Clay squirmed in his seat, though I wasn’t sure if it was discomfort over what Mal had said or discomfort from his stomach wound. “Look,” he said, “I have no desire to hurt Mack or any of the others.”

  “Why were Chief Holland and Tony Dixon here?” Mal asked. “Are you trying to shut Mack down?”

  “Quite the opposite,” Clay said. “I convinced the two of them that she is the real deal, and I talked them into taking her on as a consultant.”

  Mal looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. “Did you agree to it?” he asked.

  “More or less. I didn’t tell them no. I told them I wanted some time to think about it. It has its pros and cons. I need to weigh it all out, particularly with regard to the Capone Club.” I summarized the discussion that had taken place. “Assuming we work that piece out, I don’t see a huge downside,” I concluded. “They’re going to pay me, and the extra income would be nice. Plus, it will let me continue doing what I’m doing without fear of repercussions and without having to sneak around.”

  There was the tiniest flinch of muscle on Mal’s face, and I sensed it was because he realized that the end to sneaking around meant the end of our time together.

  “My only big concern at this point,” I went on, “is the other thing.” I didn’t need to elaborate. Mal knew I was referring to the letter writer.

  “I’m on your side, Mack, I swear,” Clay said. “But I need to know everything that’s going on. I can help.”

  He had helped with our last case, so much so in fact that he was probably the key person who led me to the truth. And he had gotten shot for his efforts. That did show a certain degree of dedication, I supposed. Plus, he already knew too much. I had no doubt the man would manage to get to the whole truth soon enough on his own.

  “You might as well tell him everything,” Mal said, no doubt following the same train of thought I’d followed. “He already knows enough to hurt us, and I suspect it won’t take him long to dig up the rest, even in his present condition.”

  Clay breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “It has something to do with Gary Gunderson’s murder, doesn’t it?” he said. I nodded. “And is the death of that male nurse a few weeks ago related, too?”

  My heart skipped a beat. The fact that Clay had made that connection was scary. “It is,” I said. “That male nurse, as you called him, was named Lewis Carmichael, and he was a patron of my bar as well as a member of the Capone Club. How did you make the connection?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” Clay said. “And you’ve had too many deaths associated with your bar lately. The death of your father and the woman he was dating were explained once the culprit was caught. What are the chances that two additional people with relatively close ties to your bar just happened to be murdered within a short time for some random reason and by some random killers? I’m not a gambling man, but I’m betting those odds are long ones. And why are you and Mal here scurrying about town getting mysterious packages from people?”

  “Oh my God,” I said, my irritation surging again, “you have been following and spying on me.”

  “Sorry,” Clay said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I sensed early on that something was afoot here, something more than what appeared on the surface. So I’ve been watching you to see what I could figure out. I confess, I haven’t come up with an answer yet, but I get the sense that it’s something very serious.”

  “Yes, I’d say multiple murders are very serious,” I snapped.

  “So what is it?” Clay asked. “Is there some nutcase out there who wants to challenge you and your crime-solving abilities by killing people and seeing if you can catch him?”

  This was so close to the mark that I knew there was little sense in trying to keep it from him any longer. I slumped in my chair in defeat, sighed, and said, “Okay, Clay. You win. Here’s what’s going on.”

  Chapter 7

  Over the next hour or so, Mal and I filled Clay in on the history of the letter writer, beginning with the very first letter and taking him through each of the clues and subsequent letters.

  We explained to him how I deciphered the various clues and told him how Cora had discovered a commonality among the recipients of the packages I’d received: their connection to the university. After a second or two of hesitation, I went ahead and told him about our suspicions regarding who the culprit might be—at least the primary culprit—and all the connections we had made between her, the letters, the clue locations, and the people who delivered the clues. I considered keeping this information to myself, but given how much Clay had already figured out on his own, I knew it would only be a matter of time before he figured this part out, too. And I didn’t want him to think I was still trying to keep him out of the loop by holding anything back.

  We also told him our theory that Suzanne Collier wasn’t working alone, and that we had no idea who the other person might be but suspected it might be someone in the Capone Club or an employee of the bar.

  When all was said and done, Clay had three questions for us. One was who else besides us and Duncan knew about the letter writer. I told him that Cora, the Signoriello brothers, and Tiny knew. Clay’s second question was whether or not we thought Tad was Suzanne’s partner in crime.

  “I don’t know,” I told him honestly. “But my gut says no. I think Suzanne’s motivation for doing this is to make me and the Capone Club look bad, to give us a black mark so Tad won’t be so drawn to us. I’m not sure if she suspects Tad of having an affair with me or someone else in the group, but I do know that she phones him constantly asking where he is and what he’s doing, and Tad has said she’s had him tailed.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much of a motive,” Clay said.

  “I know,” I agreed. “But Suzanne Collier is a very wealthy and powerful woman who is used to getting what she wants and having things done her way. Tad is a big part of that and of her image overall. But we know he didn’t kill Lewis Carmichael because he was in the bar with some of the other club members at the time of that murder. We suspect Suzanne might have killed Gary herself because of some evidence we found in Gary’s car.”

  I explained about the perfume, traces of Opium we found in Gary’s vehicle and the discovery that it was the only perfume Suzanne Collier wore. “But we know she didn’t kill Lewis, either,” I went on. “She had an ironclad alibi, complete with pictures in the paper. So even if Tad knows and is involved somehow, someone else killed Lewis.”

  Clay frowned, shook his head, and shifted his position on the couch with a grimace. “Jealousy?” he said, his frown deepening. “You really think that’s behind Suzanne Collier’s motive for this?”

  “I know it seems like a stretch,” I admitted. “But Tad is a very handsome man who is eleven years younger than Suzanne—a trophy husband, if you will. She expects him to be at her beck and call, and I know he’s been pushing back on that a lot lately, partly because of the time he’s been putting in at the bar with the Capone Club, but also because I think he’s simply growing tired of being her lackey. His resistance is bound to irritate her. She doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who takes rebellion lightly.”

  “Still,” Clay said with a dubious lo
ok, “murder? She’d have to be crazy.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We have reason to think she may have some serious mental health issues.” I didn’t elaborate, and to my surprise, Clay didn’t ask me to.

  A pregnant pause followed as Clay digested what we had told him so far, his brow furrowed in thought. I expected him to tell us we were overreaching and to summarily dismiss Suzanne as a suspect. But instead he said, “She won’t be easy to take down. She has a lot of money, power, and connections.”

  Mal and I both nodded.

  “You said these letters forbade you from getting help from the cops and specifically mentioned Duncan,” Clay said.

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  “What reason would Suzanne have for that? I would think she’d encourage your relationship with him if she’s jealous of you and afraid you’ll steal Tad from her.”

  I shrugged. “She’d have no reason as far as we can figure. That’s another reason I’m convinced there is a second party involved.”

  “Then that’s where we need to focus,” Clay said. “Because knowing why Detective Albright was singled out might lead you to your second killer. I agree that there doesn’t seem to be any reason for Suzanne Collier to care if Albright is involved, so the reason for mentioning him specifically must point to the second person’s motivation.”

  Mal and I both nodded. We’d been down this trail of thought before. Then Clay hit me with his third question.

  “Why haven’t you told the others about these letters?”

  This question was a tough one for me to answer. “I’ve considered doing so several times,” I told him. “But in the end I felt like they would be safer not knowing. If they were aware of what was going on, they’d all be up in arms and working to investigate it, trying to figure things out. And I’m afraid doing that might rile the letter writer. Besides, the cops have been pretty adamant, warning them to stay out of the cases involving Gary and Lewis’s deaths because they don’t want anything to interfere with any evidence that might be uncovered.”

  “They already suspect something is going on with you, Mack,” Clay said.

  “I know,” I said with a sigh. “It’s come up in conversation already that the deaths of Gary and Lewis might be connected to me somehow. I used that talk as an opportunity to suggest to the group that perhaps they should back away from it all if they felt they were in jeopardy. Of course, no one did.”

  “They don’t think they’re in jeopardy,” Clay said. “I’ve overheard some of the talk. They think you’re the one in jeopardy.”

  “She is,” Mal said. “Everyone is until we can put a stop to this craziness.”

  Clay cocked his head to the side and smiled at me. “You don’t think the members of the Capone Club deserve to know they’ve been targeted?”

  I shot Clay an irritated look. “Yes, and no.” I let out a frustrated growl. “Believe me, Clay, I’ve been agonizing over this thing from day one. Am I making the right choice by not telling them? I have no idea. All I know is that I have to keep solving these damned riddles until we can put Suzanne and whoever she’s working with behind bars.”

  “If Duncan is processing items for evidence unofficially, it’s not going to help speed things up. You need legal, concrete evidence against Suzanne.”

  “That’s the problem,” Mal said. “So far there hasn’t been any. There’s been a dearth of viable evidence with these letters . . . no fingerprints, no usable DNA, no usable trace evidence other than things that have been intentionally included as part of the puzzles Mack has had to solve.”

  “There was one piece of evidence from the Public Market that may or may not have been accidental,” I explained. “But other than that . . .” I shrugged and shook my head.

  Mal added, “While the circumstantial evidence points to Suzanne Collier, we aren’t one hundred percent sure it’s her. And since she has a rock-solid alibi for at least one of the murders, if we can’t find out who her partner is, there’s no chance of pinning any of this on her.”

  I scoffed. “And there’s the possibility that whoever is helping Suzanne is a member of the Capone Club,” I said. “That’s another reason I haven’t been willing to tip my hand.”

  “I think you have to tip it,” Clay said. “You’re letting this person, or these people, manipulate you. You’re letting them call the shots. You need to switch things up, change it around, take charge. Force whoever it is to show their hand.”

  “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

  “I think you need to have your own version of the OK Corral. Gather all the parties together and have a showdown.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” I said.

  “No doubt it will be,” Clay said. “But you have plenty of cops you can involve to provide protection. You’ve got Mal here, and if you’re going for a showdown, there’s no reason why you can’t bring Duncan in. Plus, you’ve got a couple of cops who participate in the Capone Club: Tyrese and Nick.”

  I nodded slowly, giving thought to what he was saying, and debating whether or not I should tell him and Mal about my own suspicions when it came to cops, specifically Jimmy Patterson, Duncan’s partner. After a moment of mental debate, I decided there was so much out on the table already that there was no need to hold back. “The problem with including any cops in this is that I fear one of them might be the person who is helping Suzanne.”

  Mal shot me a look of surprise, Clay merely looked intrigued.

  “Who?” both men said at the same time. They looked at one another and then back at me.

  “And why?” Mal asked. “Tell us what evidence you have that points to a cop, any cop, being involved in this.”

  “I have no evidence,” I admitted. “All I have is a gut feeling, a concern.”

  Mal acceded my concern with a grudging nod. “I’ll admit, your gut reactions are a hell of a lot stronger and more reliable than most people’s. But I still want to know what’s behind this particular gut feeling.”

  “I want to know who you’re referring to,” Clay said impatiently. He shifted his position on the couch, leaning forward and toward me, wincing in the process.

  “It’s Jimmy Patterson, Duncan’s partner,” I told them. “He’s had it out for me from the first time I met him, and he told Duncan dozens of times that working with me was a big mistake. He thinks I’m a fraud or some type of charlatan, and he’s questioned my abilities all along, just like the letter writer has. He has knowledge of police procedures, evidence collection and processing, and access to the cases. If Duncan did anything official, Jimmy would know. He also knows the people involved in the Capone Club. And his anger over Duncan working with me would explain why Duncan is mentioned specifically in the letters.”

  “That’s about as circumstantial as you can get,” Mal said with a frown, and Clay nodded his agreement.

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t behind it,” I countered.

  “Okay, okay,” Mal said, pulling at this chin. “He has a motive, he has the means, but has he had the opportunity?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “Since we know Suzanne isn’t responsible for Lewis Carmichael’s murder, that’s the window of time we need to check. Is there any way to find out if Jimmy has an alibi for that period of time? I can’t very well ask Duncan to look into it.”

  I looked at Mal, waiting for his answer. Clay looked at him too, his expression expectant.

  “I suppose I could try to do some sniffing around,” Mal said. “But I don’t work in this precinct, so I don’t have an easy way to get the information.”

  “We need to make a list of suspects,” Clay said. “And that means anyone who is an employee of the bar, or a member of the Capone Club, or connected to you and the Capone Club in some way. Then we need to focus on the ones who don’t have an alibi for Lewis Carmichael’s murder.”

  I thought back to what Duncan had said about Lewis’s time of death and shared what he had told me. “The first lette
r I received was postmarked three days before I opened it. I’m not sure exactly when it arrived, because I was avoiding opening my mail back then. There were too many weird letters and reactions to all the publicity. Based on that, one could assume that Lewis was killed on the day the letter was postmarked, or before. However, the exact time of his death became apparent because he was wearing a watch, one that displayed the date on it. It was broken in the scuffle that took place—Lewis was beaten around the head and face pretty badly in addition to being stabbed—so we know he died on the day the letter was postmarked at eleven thirty-two in the evening. The one thing we aren’t sure of is when his body was dumped onto the frozen riverbed beneath the Fonz statue, but given that the letter could have reached me and been read the very next day, it seems logical to assume that it happened sometime that same night.”

  “Meaning his body was there for three days?” Clay said.

  I nodded. “Based on the time of death, we know certain people in the Capone Club couldn’t have killed Lewis because they were in the bar at the time of death. That includes Cora and the Signoriello brothers, though I don’t need their presence to know none of them could have done it. I trust those three with my life. Holly and Alicia were both there too, as was Tad. And Missy, Billy, Rich, and Debra were all working, so they couldn’t have done it either.”

  “Who wasn’t there, Mack?” Clay asked.

  “Sam and Carter weren’t there. They had been in earlier but had left by then. Dr. T wasn’t there, and the two cops who participate the most, Nick and Tyrese, weren’t either. Kevin Baldwin wasn’t there, but Duncan said something about him having a solid alibi because he was on duty in the garbage truck, running his route, at the time of the murder. They were doing extra shifts on the garbage pickup because the snowstorm had kept them from doing their usual routes on time. Tiny—he’s Cora’s current boyfriend,” I added for Clay’s benefit since I didn’t know if he knew Tiny, “also wasn’t there. And of course, none of the newer members were present because they hadn’t joined the club yet. That list includes Greg Nash, the Realtor, Stephen McGregor, the high school physics teacher, and Sonja West, the salon owner.” I paused and arched my brows at Clay. “And then there’s you, of course,” I said with a sly smile.