Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) (22 page)

“Right now, nothing, I’ve got to put my notes together and start thinking straight.”

“Can I do that for you?” She offered as I opened the word processor. She sat down on the edge of the desk. Her short skirt and her tanned legs distracted me.

“Naw, but thanks,” I said. “I need to do it so I can remember what was said. It won’t take long.”

It took ninety minutes to type up my recollections on the vehicle arson scene and my meeting with Sharon Greer. If Ashton hadn’t been right at my elbow, I could have done it in a third the time. As I finished up on the notes about Greer, Ashton read over my shoulder.

“You think this one’s involved?” she asked.

“I’d bet on it,” I replied as I hit save and closed the word processor. “You know her?”

“Nope, I never met any of Stephanie’s friends,” she said.

I caught the lie before the sound of the words had faded.

“You done for the night?” she asked.

“One more thing,” I replied.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Kristin Wagner. I knew she’d be home. That’s where I was when I was suspended. I was sitting at home in the dark learning to drink in the middle of the day or the middle of the night. She answered in a drowsy sort of voice and I realized it was only ten o’clock.

“Kristin, this is Mac, Mac Everett. Did I wake you? I know it’s late,” I said.

“Yeah, but that’s alright. All I do is sleep. What’s up Everett?” she replied.

“Who are you calling,” Ashton asked. “We…”

I waved a hand at her to be quiet.

“Mind answering a few questions?” I asked.

I could hear her perk up. “Sure, what’s up?”

I gave her a quick rundown on the Luck Taylor murder, Greer’s disappearance, torched car, and the sad story of how I came to have a concussion.

“There’s a woman that lives in Heathrow, named Sharon Greer,” I said. “I think she’s involved, but can’t prove it, yet. The cops will be getting a warrant for her soon. When you staked out Stephanie Hunt’s place do you remember seeing the women who came to party with her?”

“I sure do,” Kristin replied. “I can identify them too. I took pictures. They’re still on my computer.”

“I hate to ask this,” I said. “Would you look to see if there is a woman with short red hair in those pictures?

“Sure, hold on. It won’t take me long. OK, I’m in. Let’s see. There are two women with reddish hair. These were taken at night.”

“The one I’m looking for is about 5’6” with big…. Ah.”

“I know the one. She’s got spiked hair and fake boobs,” she said.

“Yep that’s her.”

Ashton was at my elbow, listening.

“She’s in a lot of the pictures. She was with the group and sometimes by herself. She stayed the night when she went by herself. Hey, wait a minute,” she said,

“What?”

“Well, Cary’s sister is in a few of these. I’ve seen her picture in the paper recently. I didn’t know it was her.”

I looked at Ashton, but she hadn’t reacted. I wondered if she’d heard.

“You think you could turn those over to Stan Lee at the SO?

“Sure, why not, my job’s in the toilet anyway. What are they going to do, fire me twice?” she responded. The spark was coming back into her voice.

“I’ll have him come by in the morning. What’s your address?”

She gave it to me and I wrote it down.

“I’ll print them and put them on a disk for him. I’ll be ready in an hour or so.”

“Kristin, it doesn’t have to be tonight,” I insisted.

“That’s OK. What have I got to do?”

“Thanks very much,” I said.

“I’m the one who should thank you. At least I’m doing something. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“OK Good night,” I said.

“Who was that?” Ashton asked as I put the phone away.

“Just someone who needs to catch a break,” I replied.

“What’s she doing?”

“This woman has some photos of the comings and goings at your brother’s place,” I replied. “She’s a suspended detective. I’m not sure I should have asked her to help though.”

“Suspended, really? What’s that about,” she asked.

“She got herself into a little trouble.”

“Serious?”

“Serious enough, I guess. She could lose her job over it.”

“Hey, my specialty is employment law. Maybe I can help,” she said.

“You may not want to do that. She’s the woman who slept with your brother,” I replied. I was immediately sorry I’d said it.

Ashton bit her lower lip as she does when she’s thinking hard then said, “If Cary liked her I’m sure I will too. I bet I can help.”

“I just bet you could,” I chuckled. “It doesn’t feel right getting her involved though. It could go badly for her.”

“She sounded willing enough,” Ashton replied. “What is she doing for you?”

“She’s just printing out some pictures, but she’s already in hot water.”

“Why don’t I call her tomorrow and offer to represent her? I can do it pro bono.”

“How would your father feel about that when he finds out what she did?” I asked.

“I don’t think he’ll mind,” she replied.

She flashed some leg as she sat on the edge of my desk so I wouldn’t forget what she wanted, then, with a deft move she was in my lap kissing me, before I could object. Her legs dangled over the arm of the chair and she leaned into me as she crushed her lips to mine. A guy can hold out only so long. I took her by the hair and held her as I kissed her.

“Keep it PG-13, mister,” she said. “Your rules.”

“Yes, more, Mac, kiss me. Touch me everywhere. Squeeze, there."

She cried out in pain and pleasure as I squeezed her nipples. The more I did it the harder she ground her backside against me. I imagined peeling off her sweater. I dreamed of taking her. My mind wandered into a deep horny forest, with the question, ‘what are you waiting for’ echoing in the distance. Being so close to someone so desirable was joyous pain.

Finally, after what seemed days of the hottest make out session I’d ever had she broke her mouth away from mine and whispered in my ear. “Can I do myself, please? I want you to do it, but … oh please I have to cum.”

“Sure, baby,” I said. “Do it.”

Her hand disappeared under her skirt. Her breathe came in ragged snatches getting faster and faster until finally she screamed and her body shook. Her orgasm washed over her in lingering waves until finally she slumped, spent against my shoulder. She was still for the longest time. Her aroma drove me wild as I kissed her face.

She roused and turned to look up at me.

“Oh Mac, Mac, yes…thank you.”

“I was just a willing audience member, sweetie. The show was fantastic!”

“Next time I’ll let you drive,” she said with a naughty smile. “I want you soon,” she gasped. “Soon darling,” as her body shuddered one last time.

I was going to need some relief, too.

“I’ve never had a man say no to me, Mac. This morning I was mad, but now I think it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done to me. My entire body is on fire for you.”

I like taking credit, but I got the feeling most of it should have gone to Ashton. We sat curled up in my desk chair. Ashton dozed off and though my arm was going to sleep, I didn’t want to wake her. I woke with a start, alone in the chair.

Ashton was gone. I was disappointed she hadn’t awakened me and I had no idea how long she’d been gone or how the hell she got up without waking me. I flipped open my phone and saw I’d had a text from Kristin at three-forty-five that the pictures were ready. I was about to call her when the phone rang. It was Stan.

“Hey,” he said when I answered. “Do you know a Kristin Wagner?” he asked.

My heart sank. No please, don’t tell me.

“Yeah, why?”

“She’d dead Mac,” Stan said.

There is no magic formula or easy way to do deliver news like that. It just has to be said, and that’s what Stan had done. I felt my stomach cramp. It was my fault.

“Where,” I finally asked.

“They found her at her home up in Altamonte Springs. There was a report of shot fired. The detective on the scene found your number in her phone. This is getting to be a habit with you,” Stan said.

“How did she die? Could it have been suicide?” I asked.

“Gunshot to the head, but the weapon wasn’t found at the scene,” he replied.

“She was Cary Hunt’s mistress. She works for your department and was on suspension.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was doing me a favor,” I replied. “She had surveillance photos of the Hunt place from a few months ago. She was going to print them and burn a CD for you. Make sure they check her computer for those photos Stan.”

“When were you going to tell me that, ol’ buddy? Do you remember that obstruction charge? You’re about there. Look, I have to ask. Where were you last night?”

“You know where I was.”

“After I left, you know the drill.”

“I sat talking to Dave until he left then…”

“Then what Mac?”

“I was here and I wasn’t alone. I have to check with the person I was with before I give you a name,” I replied.

“I’ll accept that for now, but check with her right away,” Stan sighed. “You’re going to need an alibi. The guys on scene texted me, ‘Detective Wagner’s computer is missing.’

Chapter 9

I sat staring at the phone unable to believe what I’d just heard. I killed her, just as sure, as if I’d pulled the trigger and I knew who was responsible. I’d been getting my rocks off while poor Kristin was giving her life.
What a heel
, I thought. I dialed Ashton. I was about to hang up when she answered.

“Hey Ashton, did I wake you?”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she purred. “Nope, you didn’t wake me, but I slept like the dead. Thank you for last night. You could get to be a good habit for me, if I could get more of you.”

“Ashton, I’ve got some news and I need your help,” I said.

“What is it, darling? You sound so serious. What’s wrong?”

Somehow, her voice was different.

“Remember the woman I talked to last night?”

“The suspended detective, sure I remember,” she said.

“She’s dead.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible. What happened?”

“I shouldn’t have called her. It’s my…”

“It’s not your fault, Mac,” she said.

It was true. I didn’t force Kristin, but it didn’t help. I’d involved her and she was dead.

“There’s more I’m afraid. The cops investigating the case found my number in her phone. I need an alibi for last night and you’re it. I need to tell the police we were together. I’m sorry to put you in this position but…can I do that?” I asked.

I knew it was asking a lot of Ashton. We hadn’t known each other long, but we’d shared so much and were growing closer. I thought I knew what she’d say, but you can’t take anything for granted.

Finally, after a long silence she said, “Yeah, I guess you’ll have to tell them about us, won’t you? Hell of a payback for being a good scout.”

“I’m sorry Ashton, but I don’t have any choice here.” I muttered.

“I’m a big girl,” she said. “I’ll talk to the police and I’ll tell the truth. I have to go. I’m going to see my father. I need to tell him everything.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, but she was already gone.

The call to Ashton was hard. She agreed to admit we’d been together, but I didn’t know how it would affect our future or if we even had one. Stan arranged for me to meet with the Altamonte Springs detectives at one. I left a message for Charlie and told him I wasn’t going to wait for him. If he hadn’t heard from me by five o’clock, I asked he come looking for me. I knew he’d be pissed about me going in there without him. Roscoe dropped me off and I walked in to headquarters at twelve fifty-five and went straight to a frumpy receptionist behind bulletproof glass.

“I’m Mac Everett. I’m here to speak to Detective Ellery.”

“Yes, sir, have a seat and someone will be right up to get you,” the woman said.

I waited, and waited some more. I’d used this technique more than a few times. Let the subject stew. Let him wonder if there is a problem. Let him start to sweat. If he’s worried, you have your first indication something is wrong. Problem was I knew the trick. I’d taught it to others, hundreds of others. I could hear my daddy talking to me though. He’d say, ‘If you think you’re real clever you probably are, too clever for your own good. Keep your mouth shut.’

At two fifteen, a guy came through the door. “Mr. Everett. I’m so sorry we’ve kept you waiting. They didn’t let me know you were here. Thank you for coming. I’m Detective Queen,” he said offering his hand.

We shook hands as I rose. Detective Queen looked to be about thirty and was about my height with thinning sandy brown hair. He wore khaki pants, a blue pullover shirt with A. Queen on the right side of his chest and an embroidered badge on the left like all the cops wear nowadays. He had a semi auto, probably a Glock, in a black holster on his right hip and a Motorola portable stuffed in his left hip pocket.

“No problem detective,” I said. “I’m here to help you any way I can.”

“Good, good. Come on with me and we’ll get started.”

I followed him through the lobby door, down a corridor then up a flight of stairs. We entered the Detective Division offices and he led me right to an interview room.

Another detective was already sitting in the room. Queen took the seat closest to the door forcing me into the hard wooden seat intended for the perp-me.

“Mr. Everett I’m Detective Ellery,” the second detective began. “We’re here today to talk about your involvement in the murder of Detective Kristin Wagner. This interview is being recorded,” she pointed to a mic and recorder on the table. “Mr. Everett I must advise you of your constitutional rights.”

She took out a plastic wallet size card and started to read. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

“Yep, I understand.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to us?”

“Yep, you want me to sign a waiver?”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Detective, you should know your subject before you start an interview or interrogation.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” she sneered. Of all the attitudes I encounter I think I hate condescending most of all.

Detective Ellery was a big black woman. She wore black slacks and a purple scoop neck shell. She had wide hips, broad shoulders, big round eyes and a broad flat nose. Her features were strong, but squared off, almost masculine. She was taking the lead and my bet was she’d use the Reid Technique. It would be confrontational all the way.

“I’m a former Sheriff’s deputy, detective.” I signed a rights waiver form and pushed it back across the table to Ellery. “I know the drill.”

Ellery looked over the form without making eye contact with me and asked, “What was your relationship with Kristin Wagner?”

“Detective, I met Kristin Wagner once and spoke to her on the phone once, no that’s twice on the phone.”

“You can’t deny your involvement with the victim. The last call she got came from your number. Why did she text you early this morning? Why did you kill Detective Wagner, Everett? Why?”

I sat for a moment trying to decide how to respond. Yep, she was using the Reid Technique. This wasn’t going to go anywhere positive on this tack. I tried to remember my father’s warning about being too clever, but it didn’t work.

“Detective your confrontational style is making me uncomfortable. Can we leave the questioning to Detective Queen? He doesn’t seem as angry as you and besides he doesn’t appear to be a pissed off bull dyke.”

Queen stifled a laugh, but I thought Ellery was going to come unglued. She sucked in her breath and her eyes bugged out. She was pissed and as a result useless for the rest of the interview. She kept it in, kept her seat, and held her tongue though. I had to give her chops for that.

“Has any one every mentioned to the two of you that together your names make the name of a famous mystery writer?”

Queen chuckled again which further pissed off Ellery.
My work here is through
, I thought.

“Yeah we get that once in a while. Look Everett, we’re trying to work the homicide of a cop here.”

“I know and I have a lot to tell you, but I’m not going to be handled. You want to be punks with me, I can take it and I can give it right back. I interviewed thousands in Iraq, no lie. I’ve taught interview and interrogation techniques for the Army. Most importantly, I have people who will tell you where I was last night. So, you want to be bad asses we can play all afternoon. You won’t get anywhere, you will have no information, and you’ll be talking to my mouthpiece. You two get off your high horse and you will have my full cooperation. Let’s start over and let me tell you what I know.”

Ellery’s blood pressure was still falling when I began laying out what I knew about Kristin Wagner, which wasn’t much. I told them how I knew Kristin and about her involvement with Cary Hunt. I told them about the pictures too. I gave them a list of who I was with and when the previous night.

There was a connection between the deaths of Luck Taylor, Rad Wozninek, and Stephanie Hunt as well as Kristin Wagner. The cases crossed three jurisdictions making them a forensic and administrative nightmare. Now I had made friends in yet another Central Florida law enforcement agency.

When they let me go, I called Charlie. He gave an earful for not waiting for him, but he was relieved I was I OK. My next call was to Roscoe to ask for a ride. He wasn’t in a very good mood either.

“What do you want?” he said when he answered.

“I finished with the Altamonte detectives,” I said. “I think they believed my story.”

“I’m glad someone does. Look, I’ll be at your place later. I’ve gotta to see a man about a horse. Can you get a cab?”

I was pissed with Roscoe for leaving me stranded, but by the time I got home, I was over it. The only way to get my neck out of the noose was to figure what was going on. I drew out a link diagram showing the known connections between the various people on the big whiteboard hanging on my wall. Then I did a timeline beginning with General Hunt’s blackmail letters through Kristin Wagner’s murder.

I decided to call the golf pro, Jon Canning. He’d seemed to have his finger on the pulse of things when I’d spoken to him before. Maybe I’d catch him between lessons, but only if my luck changed. He answered on the third ring and I took it as a good sign.

“Mr. Canning, this is Mac Everett. We spoke last week?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to anybody about this crap. The cops have been crawling all over this place,” he stormed.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Things are moving fast and it’s a messy business. But please, I think you can help,” I pleaded.

“Whad'ya want?” he said warily.

“Greer has been trying to raise money for a while, right?”

“Yeah, about a year, maybe more,” he replied.

She’d been trying to get a bankroll since before she was fired.

“When did Stephanie Hunt start working with her?”

“It hasn’t been long. A couple months, maybe six weeks before she was killed, I guess. People were talking about it, but it built up sort of slow like.”

That fit. The blackmail letters showed up in June and July and Cary Hunt left town on August 5
th
.

“You heard anything around the clubhouse about the killings?”

“Heard anything, that’s all these MIRCs talk about.”

“MIRCs?”

“Sorry, Members of the Idle Rich Class. It was even money Hunt killed his wife, until Rad turned up dead, that is.”

“What are you hearing now?”

“Mrs. Hunt was mixed up with Sharon and Rad in some deal. Greer was trying to raise a lot of dough.”

“You know how much she was trying to come up with or why?”

“I heard 2 million.”

“Mind telling me who you heard it from?”

“Well in for a penny, Candi told me Sharon Greer asked her father for 2 million and he laughed in her face. She’s enjoyed telling me about it over and over,” he said. “I’ve no idea what it was for. It never came up.”

“What else did she say?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t remember,” he replied slowly. “She said something else. The little tramp is always running off at the mouth about something. It usually don’t make no sense.”

“Anyone else talking about the murders?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Who’s doing the most talking? It’s Candi isn’t it?”

“Now I don’t know, I shouldn’t be spreadin’ tales,” he said

“Do you know how I can get in touch with her or her father?” I asked.

I got Levin’s number and his daughter’s from Canning. When I reached Levin he was terse and gave a brief, “No comment,” before slamming the down the phone. I guess he thought I was a reporter. His daughter was another story, but I expected that.

“Sure I remember you,” she cooed when I got her on the phone. “You’re, like, the tall blond guy who was talking to Rad the day before he died. He was a good friend. Do you know who hurt him?”

It was tough to sound slutty on the phone, but even lamenting the passing of her tennis coach she sounded like a TV reality character, all gush and no decency or brains.

“Not yet, Candi. I think you might be able to help me with that. You mind answering a few questions?”

“Sure, I can meet you anywhere. Anywhere we can be alone, that is. Your place would be you know, like really cool. We could hang out, have a few drinks, maybe smoke a little pot and I can tell you everything,” she said. Her tone had turned to lascivious in 2.4 seconds. “We could get real comfortable together. You know, I’ve never done it with a private detective. It would be so bad.”

This kid had real problems. A slut is a girl who will sleep with anyone. A bitch is a girl who will sleep with anyone, but you. This girl was obviously the former.

“Candi, that’s a tempting offer,” I said. “Let’s get this out of the way now, o
n the phone
,” I insisted.