Deception (A Miranda Murphy Thriller) (3 page)

Let’s hold this thought.

Moving further. If Flynn had knocked Hackett out, then chances were Hackett had nothing to do with his murder.

Wait a minute... Assuming that was the case, one could venture the following guess: what if Flynn had been killed by mistake? What if the killer was actually after Hackett, but because of a certain facial similarity between the two men had mistaken Flynn for Hackett.

“Looks like you just had a eureka moment, Detective Murphy,” Webb said.

With half-smile, Miranda silently nodded.

Someone wanted to take Hackett out. Well, Detective Murphy, congratulations on the new working theory!

What had happened after Flynn had arrived at Hackett’s house? Where had the killer been waiting for Flynn, in the house or outside? Most likely, outside. This conclusion was based on the fact that there were no signs of breaking in and the door locks, according to crime scene investigators, hadn’t been picked. Could the killer have made a copy of the house keys? Miranda didn’t think so; the perp obviously didn’t know Hackett very well—otherwise he wouldn’t have confused Flynn with Hackett—and therefore the chances of him having gotten hold of the keys were slim.  

Apparently, the killer saw a man walking up to the porch and figured it was Jeff, which was an easy mistake to make in light of the resemblance between Flynn and Hackett. When Flynn opened the front door, any remaining doubts about the man’s identity must have evaporated: the guy looked like Jeff and had the keys to Jeff’s place, ergo he had to be Jeff. Just to be sure, the killer probably asked Flynn if he was Jeff Hackett.

“Yes, it’s me,” Flynn must have replied, which was a sensible answer in this situation.

What happened next? The killer could have shoved Flynn into the house, threatening him with a gun, or they could have entered inside in an amicable manner, while making small talk.

A new question arose: who was after Hackett?

Who could fit this role?

Gabi Mornell? Not likely. If she was involved in the plot to murder her boyfriend, Hackett would be dead. Why? Think about it. There were two possibilities: she had either pulled the trigger herself or hired a hitman. In the first case, she would have never mistaken Flynn for Hackett; in the second, she would have provided the killer with plenty of detailed pictures of Jeff and might have even arranged for him to see Hackett in person. This theory could be wrong, of course; no amount of preparation would prevent an inept hitman from screwing up.

Harris could be excluded from the suspect list on the same grounds. In general, the killer (or the hitman’s client) appeared to be outside of Jeff Hackett’s inner circle, which certainly complicated the matters.

4.

On Monday morning, she met Gabi Mornell.

“Has Jeff contacted you since we talked?” she asked her.

Gabi shook her head.

“You have a very good reason to tell me the truth,” Miranda continued. “First, Jeff is no longer a suspect in this case. Second, I believe someone wants to kill your boyfriend. Things have gotten serious, Gabi. If you want to help Jeff, you’ll tell me everything you know.”  

“Thank God. I told you Jeff is not a murderer.”

“So let me ask you again: have you talked to him since we met?”

“No, we haven’t. I’m telling you the truth, Miranda.”

“What about his friends? Has he contacted them?”

“I don't know.”

“If you hear from Jeff, please let me know immediately. Try to get him to meet me as soon as he can. Tell Jeff his life’s in danger.”

“Very well, I’ll do it.”

An hour later, Miranda spoke to Dean Harris. Just like Gabi, Harris had had no contact with Hackett since his last meeting with Murphy.

“And none of our mutual friends have heard from him either,” Dean said.

Miranda gave him the same instructions as she had Gabi Mornell.

5.

At a quarter past four in the afternoon, Miranda arrived at Hackett’s house, hoping to come across a piece of evidence or a clue they might have missed. When you were out of ideas, even tea-leaf reading began to seem like a reasonable option. As she climbed the porch steps, she heard a movement behind her back and quickly turned around. She saw a dark-haired man, who appeared to be in his early thirties and wore a slightly crumpled suit, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The man stopped a few feet from the porch and said, “Hello, I’d like to see Jeff. Is he home?” 

Miranda shook her head. “No, he’s out.”

It appeared that the man had not noticed the yellow police line tape which ran across the front door. Or maybe he didn’t understand what it meant.

“When did he leave?”

“A few days ago. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Where did he go?”

“I don't know.” Miranda shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. And you are?”

“Me?” The man frowned. It was obvious that the news of Jeff Hackett’s long absence was terribly upsetting to him. “Who are you?”

There was a tinge of impudence in his voice. The guy was a little too sure of himself.

“I’m his cousin,” Miranda replied. “Why did you want to see Jeff?”

“His cousin?” The man glanced at his watch, then looked past Miranda at the front door. “My name’s Simon.” He shook the detective’s hand. “Jeff and I agreed to meet today, so here I am.”

“Do you work with Jeff?”

“Yes, I work with him. Where do you think he is now?”

Could this guy be another business partner of Hackett’s?

“I honestly have no idea.”

“So you’re his cousin?” He took out his cellphone and touched the screen a few times. “And he’s been gone for several days now. Interesting.”

“I’m looking for him myself. When was the last time you talked to him?”

Simon mumbled something unintelligible. “He was supposed to meet me,” he said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Five days ago.” Making stuff up on the go was easier than she thought.

“Did he ask you to tell me anything?” Simon gave Miranda a studying look. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Jane. No, Jeff didn’t ask me to tell you anything.”

“Here’s the thing, Jane. I shouldn't tell you that, but I guess I have to. I’m a Boston police detective. I’m working on a very complicated case, and your cousin is an important witness. In fact, he’s a key witness. Therefore, I need to meet him as soon as possible, okay? Here’s my badge.” He slipped his hand into his inner jacket pocket and produced the badge.

The badge appeared real, and, for a second, Miranda was willing to accept Simon’s claim that he worked for the Boston PD. After all, there were plenty of people in the Detective Bureau who had no idea of what had recently happened in Jeff Hackett’s house.  

With her right hand on the handle of her pistol, which sat in the shoulder holster, Miranda fished her badge out of her jeans pocket and showed it to Simon (if that was his real name). 

“What a coincidence,” she said. “I’m a detective, too.” She pulled out her gun and lowered it, its muzzle pointed at the ground. “Want to go to my office and have a chat?” She stepped down the porch.

As soon as Simon realized who he was dealing with, the smug expression on his face rapidly transformed into sulkiness. Miranda could barely suppress her laughter.

“I’m a little busy,” Simon said in a monotonous voice. “Maybe some other time, okay? I’ll get going.” He began to turn around, but Miranda grabbed him by the forearm, preventing him from completing the movement, and said, “Let’s do it now.” She aimed the pistol at the man.

“What the hell are you doing?” Simon snarled. “I told you, I’m a cop.”

Staring into his eyes, Miranda gave him a quick pat down with her left hand. She found no weapon.  

“Your boss will hear from me, I promise,” Simon said. “You’re in a big trouble, honey.”

“Just don’t try to run, okay? Don’t run, stand still. It will be over soon.” Miranda plucked the badge from Simon’s hand and read the credential inside the wallet. “Simon Rooney,” she said aloud. “I guess you won’t mind if I call the Bureau.” She slid the man’s badge into her pocket and dialed the Detective Bureau.

Just as she suspected, there was no Detective Simon Rooney in the Boston Police Department. When she hung up, she was dying to slap Simon for being so stubborn and not confessing sooner. As she placed the handcuffs on the man’s wrists, she said, “Good thing you didn’t run. I wouldn’t have a problem shooting you. I’m not afraid of paperwork, you know.”

Then she called the police dispatcher and requested a police patrol car to pick up the self-proclaimed detective.

6.

“You want to know who you dragged in?” Detective Eddie Carr said when Miranda entered the interrogation room. “He’s one of Jake Hester’s guys. You’ve heard of that scumbag, haven’t you?”

Miranda nodded. Jake Hester was a top tier organized crime leader, whose gang had been causing trouble in Boston for eight years now. Though he was no Al Capone, Hester had spilled plenty of blood and was well known among the police community.

“What’s his name?” Miranda fixed her eyes on the fake detective, who was sitting on the other side of the table, his arms folded on his chest, his face emotionless.

“Leo Ferguson. Twenty nine years old, did a few years for assault here in Massachusetts.”

“I thought your name was Simon,” Miranda addressed Ferguson. “You’ve been a bad boy, Leo. It’s very impolite to lie to a police officer, did your mom tell you that?”

Without saying a word, Ferguson raised his right hand, made a fist, and then extended the middle finger.

“What were you doing there, Mister Ferguson?” Carr asked. “How do you know Jeff Hackett?”

Ferguson took a deep breath and exhaled, still keeping silent. When his lawyer arrived half an hour later, Carr started over.

“Why did you want to see Jeff Hackett?”

“I’m looking for a job. I thought he had something for me.”

“What about the police badge? It is a crime to pose as a police officer.”

“I found it in the street.”

“Why did you put your picture in it?”

“For fun. I’m a funny person, what can I do?”

“Why did you call yourself a police detective when you spoke to Detective Murphy?”

“First, I didn’t know she was a cop. Second, it was just a joke, okay? A little prank, that’s all.”

“Are you associated with Jake Hester?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Is Jake Hester’s organization extorting money from Jeff Hackett?”

“I have no idea. No idea. None whatsoever.”

They wrapped up the interrogation when it became clear that Ferguson had no intention to cooperate. Since they had no major bargain chips—one year of prison was the worst penalty one could get for impersonating a police officer— Leo’s demeanor was not going to change no matter how long they grilled him. However, Miranda felt happy about the encounter with Ferguson. A new clue had surfaced—Jeff Hackett was being extorted by Jake Hester’s gang. Miranda was pretty sure the focal point of the extortion was Hackett’s restaurant, which meant that Dean Harris hadn’t been completely truthful with her.   

Were Hester’s boys involved in Flynn's murder and Hackett’s disappearance? Miranda was not sure about the former, but as for the latter—if Hester’s gang had put cement shoes on Hackett, they wouldn’t have sent Ferguson to ask questions about him. Miranda was willing to bet the mobsters knew as little about Hackett’s whereabouts as the police did.

7.

An hour after talking to Ferguson, Miranda went to Magnolia to meet Dean Harris.

“Do you know who Jake Hester is?” Miranda asked Harris.   

“Is he famous?”

“He’s one of Boston crime bosses. He’s fairly notorious.”

“Yes, I think I heard his name.”

“Do you remember me asking you if anyone has offered you protection in exchange for a fee?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember your answer?”

“I said it had never happened.”

“That's right. And now I’d like to know if told me the truth back then.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“I could name a few reasons, but I won't do it. Instead, I’ll tell you that one of Jake Hester’s guys dropped by Jeff’s house yesterday.” After a pause Miranda added, “Do you want to adjust your previous statement?”

Harris heaved a sigh and said, “Okay, you win. Yes, these morons approached Jeff and me about a month ago.”

“Have you already paid them anything?”

Harris shook his head. “I don't think they killed that guy. There’s no reason for them to do it.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

Chapter 3.

1.

Okay, let’s take a closer look at Hackett’s study.

The first drawer Miranda had rummaged through contained nothing interesting. In the second, she found a small contact book that had approximately fifty names. Miranda suspected that most of these people barely kept in touch with Hackett and could contribute little to the investigation. There were no special marks or notes in the book. Did Hackett keep a diary? It would be nice to find it. 

Detective Eddie Carr had been sifting through the desk drawers and so far had had no luck finding anything resembling a clue.

The phone rang. Wondering who could be calling, Miranda turned her face to the phone and asked herself if she should answer. Eddie took his eyes off the document he was holding and exchanged glances with Miranda.

“Should we answer?” he asked.

They probably should have tapped Hackett’s landline, Miranda thought as she walked to the desk. Without further hesitation, she nodded in response to Eddie’s question. “You talk.” She pressed the speaker button.

‘It must be impolite to answer other people’s phones’ was Miranda’s last thought before Eddie spoke.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.” It was a deep robotic voice. The caller was using a voice modulator or had an artificial larynx in his trachea.   

“I’m listening.”

Miranda was willing to bet the guy was calling from a payphone. It was obvious that he wanted to avoid being identified. By the way, the caller could be a woman, too. Those voice gadgets were pretty effective.