Lie Catchers (22 page)

“Not so easy to do with the Halley woman.”

“Jesus, wasn’t Susanna born devoid of empathy? I pity Bob Halley, but at the same time, I wonder about his motive. He hated Ev.” When he heard footsteps on the staircase, Parker raised his finger to his mouth to end their conversation about business. “We’ll review details at the meeting.”

Mallen stepped into the kitchen, a bright yellow apron tied loosely around her waist. “Should I make another batch of coffee?”

“No. Gotta go.” Parker was about to stand when Jenny entered, her frown surprising Parker. “What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“This can’t go on,” she said, her voice wobbling while the hand resting on a dining room chair shook with tension. “If only...” Mallen rushed to her grandmother’s side and helped her into the chair. Waving a hand at Parker and Chet, Mallen said, hurriedly, “She had a bad night. Having you all staying here makes Tilly’s death feel too real. She thinks the town is at fault somehow, that she should be doing more to help.”

Parker stood. “If you think of anything, by all means, let us know.” He turned to his father. “Let’s get to work, Dad.”

“But…” Jenny held up her hand, limply.

Kneeling at her side, Parker took Jenny’s hand. “We’ve got a new lead, Jenny. On Ev’s death.”

“Oh, that’s good.” A smile deepened the wrinkles on her face but she squeezed her handkerchief when she said, “Unless it came from Liv.” She pulled Parker toward her and spoke quietly. “This town won’t like hearing what she knows.”

Parker patted her hand. “Exactly my thinking. Do you think we can keep her quiet?”

“Her life depends on it,” she whispered in Parker’s ear.

As soon as Liv put a period at the end of the Sing Lee article, her phone vibrated, flashing “Renee.”

“Liv, my precious one, how are you?”

“Dammit, the features didn’t sell, did they?’”

Renee sighed heavily. “So sorry. Comedy Central’s cutting back like everyone else. They’d like to return to us in a year and make an offer for at least the first dozen. Really, Liv, they love your work, it’s just the money.”

“Did we ask for too much; could we have negotiated down?”

“Nope. We asked the going rate.”

“Oh, God, now what?”

“You keep on writing, girl. You’ll entice them with a glorious backlist of features next year. They’ll be impressed at how prolific you are.”

Liv bounced her head on the back of her chair, feeling trapped.

“How’s the new one going, Liv?”

“I’m about done with the next ‘Never Get Serious’ installment. Little sport in lambasting an engineer. Hard to steer clear of clichés.”

Renee chuckled. “Speaking of…I’ve been reading your Sing Lee series on line. Gus is adorable and I’m rooting for his getting together with Greta. Are they real people?”

“I’ve taken some liberties…”

“Well, I like what you’ve done. I think we should cobble the articles together and submit the thing to a couple magazines I have in mind. There’s one called Unsolvables, about cold cases. Want me to go ahead?”

Liv felt a ray of hope. “Bless you.”

“Serious, now. Also read about Petersburg’s second mysterious death, Liv. You knew her?”

“Yeah. Another classmate. Should have given you a heads up, but there’s so much going on and I…”

“Need me to come out there?”

“You hate the rain.”

“I could ignore it.”

“I’m visualizing a golf umbrella and light depravation equipment.”

“I’ve got enough miles to go first class; they won’t charge me for extra baggage.”

Liv laughed. “I could use you here as emotional crutch. My idiot date thing’s making its way up the flag pole for all the town to gawk at.”

Renee was quiet.

Sighing, Liv said, “You guessed.”

“I’ve learned never to question your ability to recall. The couple of times you caught me made an impression. Thus my use of an attorney on the papers we sign together and my recent habit to note everything I do with you on a calendar as big as my desk.”

Liv didn’t have the energy to explain the jewelry fetish that accompanied her date-mongering. “Special Agent Parker is the first person I’ve told about my freakish brain. He’s so worried about the facts I’m storing in my head he’s got me petrified.”

“If he thinks you’re in danger, maybe you should get on a plane and come here. After all, you’re my cash cow; I’ve got to keep you safe.”

Liv laughed. “You always cheer me up.”

“But you won’t leave, will you?”

“No. I owe Tilly and I owe myself. None of us can live in this town comfortably until we’ve found the killer. Killers.”

“Be careful, Liv. Seriously.”

Sighing, Liv said, “I have two guns and I know how to use them.”

“Whoa! Okay, the only way I can feel comfortable about this conversation is if you, one, promise to stay safe and two, write all this down.”

“Huh?”

“This is grist for a novel, Liv. I’m hearing one of the big six publishing houses pounding on our door for the story.”

Liv made a noise in her throat. “You are such an opportunist.”

“Just stay safe so we can make more money!”

An image of Tilly’s lifeless body slammed into her consciousness and her mood darkened. Could someone have forced Tilly to take the pills that killed her? “I’ll try, Renee,” she said, the energy draining from her so quickly she felt lightheaded. “I’ll try.”

****

Color had come into the gray cavernous workroom of the Municipal Building, but not the soothing kind. The once bare wall opposite the window bristled with suspect photos and case notes, the papers slashed and circled with red, black and green permanent marker.

Across the top of an eight foot blackboard, Nilson and Parker had taped a series of pictures: Everett Olson, Tuck Barber, Tilly Grant, Susanna Halley, Bob Halley, Josh Cameron, Liv Hanson, Harriet Hanson, Mallen, and Jenny Skogland. A gap between Susanna’s picture and her father’s was filled by a vertical time line of significant dates and events: Ev and Tilly’s death, the fishball dinner, the shooting in Sing Lee Alley.

Under each picture, in chalk, was a four-point bio, followed by a series of questions, some with answers, about the suspect’s culpability. A line of clipboards rested in the chalk holder, containing transcriptions of every interview conducted with the suspect.

To the left of the blackboard, in bold black letters on poster board: Fuck Protocol!

To the right of the blackboard, Liv’s six pages of dates and detail, stapled to the wall in chronological order.

Parker and Nilson invited Ivor and Chet into the room, and with coffees in hand, they stepped back to view the collage. “This represents a lot of investigative hours,” Parker said.

Nodding, Nilson walked to the clipboard under Tuck Barber’s picture. “I’ve done four interviews; you’ve conducted one. Any more and he’ll call us on harassment. Unless we can get stronger evidence on Barber, we have to back off.”

“But he’s my pick for both deaths,” Ivor said.

“We can’t prove foul play in either case.” Parker toyed with a marker pen as he gazed at the time chart.

Ivor went on. “Susanna’s statements were our first break in the case. My gut tells me Everett, Tilly, and Tuck put money in the tropics, but Everett was going to take it all for himself, supposedly sharing some of it with Susanna.”

Nilson shrugged, sat down, and stared at Susanna’s picture. “She lies like a rug, but she’s not smart enough to sort out fact from fiction.”

“Everything she says is self-serving,” Chet observed.

Ivor shrugged. “But she didn’t kill Ev or Tilly. Her alibis check out.”

Nilson walked over to Liv’s picture. “Why did you say she was next; I mean, if we surmise Tilly was drugged to death, why is Liv the next person in danger?”

“I’m wrong about Liv’s importance.” Parker waved a hand at her chart. “Even if one or two of those dates were true, the jewelry fetish will ruin her credibility on the stand.”

Nilson bit his lower lip, eyes on the list. “When we checked with Barber about his whereabouts yesterday night and morning, he said he was sleeping in his own bed. Liv contradicts him, convinced she saw him return to his place around 5:30 a.m.”

“It’s all we have on Barber, and Liv’s assertion may not be believed by a jury.”

“Barber is usually a late sleeper because he works at Lito’s until two in the morning. Liv can attest to that.”

Parker slapped the marking pen in the chalk tray. “Look, on that rare morning, she got up early. Normally she doesn’t start writing until 6:30 a.m. How many times could Barber have come home earlier than 6:30 when she was still sleeping? It won’t wash, Nilson, and you know it.”

“Shit. Then we’ve returned to square one.”

“I’m going back to Halley with Tilly’s ledger to figure out some skimming scenarios,” Parker said.

Nilson stood. “I’ll work with the office on getting information about the money in the Grand Caymans. Want me to go back to question Barber?”

“No. Let him stew about our next move. No mention of Liv’s dates, either. We don’t want him going after her about the contradiction. Let’s let him think he’s off the hook with Tilly. See what he does.”

“Can’t help you guys,” Ivor said, heading for the door. “I’m backed up on thefts and assaults, but call me when new shit hits the fan.”

“I’m off to my clerking job,” Chet said with a wave. “Good display, that.” He pointed to the collage. “Hope you find a devil in those details.”

Nilson hunched a shoulder. “We could use some luck, I’ll tell you. We’re waiting for a tox report on Tilly and begging for favoritism from the fucking Caribbean government while the case freezes up. God, I hate this job.”

****

“We’re going fishing,” Chet said at store closing time.

Liv frowned. “At five o’clock at night? We’re going fishing?”

“Damn right; it’s not slack, but we’ve got a half moon so tides are small,” he said. “Everything’s set. Put on your rubber boots and grab a crappy raincoat. Matt’s warming the boat up as we speak.”

“But I…”

Chet squinted at her. “Bodyguarding is cutting into my fishing time. You owe me.”

“Guilty as charged,” Liv said as she scrambled upstairs, changed quickly and came flying down to the store. “Fishing gear?”

“On the boat. Let’s go.”

Chet waited while she locked up the store. He grabbed her elbow and literally pulled her the two blocks to the marina. Since it was dinnertime, the streets were almost empty of people. “It will be dark soon.” She glanced at the marina office. “Candy’s gone home.”

“We’ve got a couple hours. That’s all we need.”

They approached the top of the gangway, steeply angled for a low tide. Liv saw smoke drifting from the motor of a fishing boat, relieved to see it was Matt’s large Grady-White with a closed-in cabin to shelter them from the rain. A hooded figure, back turned, was zipped in at the helm.

They walked single-file with Chet in front, both of them stepping carefully on the gritty shingles instead of on the slippery planks. Chet helped her into the boat, but by the time she was able to move away from the gunnel so he would have room to step down next to her, he’d thrown the line into her hands and pushed the boat away from the dock.

“What?”

“You need a break. Have fun.” Chet yelled, “Lines off.”

“Aren’t you—?”

Chet pointed to the driver. “He’ll watch over you. Tell him ‘Happy Birthday.’”

Rattled, Liv pulled in a breath. She wound the line, stowed it and pulled up the fender. In moments the boat reached Wrangell Narrows and she unzipped the entrance to step into the cabin.

Parker cast a quick glance her direction, then mouth open, he stared. “Liv?”

“Parker! What in the world?”

He chuckled and pushed back his hood. “Damn him.”

“Chet said ‘Happy Birthday.’ Is it?”

“Yeah.” Parker gave a no-big-deal shrug. Hand on the power stick, he said, “Might as well make use of this gift. Can you think of a place we could put down anchor for awhile without anyone spying on us?”

“Sure,” Liv said, covering a mixture of uncertainty and excitement about being alone with Parker. She glanced at him, wondering what he was feeling about Chet’s surprise. His wide grin answered her question. He was a guy ready to goose a speedboat over the water as fast as it could go.

Hands on the power bar he said, “Help me spot bergie bits and debris and let’s see what this baby can do.”

She settled into the chair to his left and pointed toward Frederick Sound. They rose out of the water and flew north on Wrangell Narrows.

****

Liv picked a spot off the Sukoi Islets, about four miles northeast of the Narrows. Parker threw out the anchor, reversed the motor to grab a solid bite, and shut off the engine. Rain fell steadily, but they were cocooned inside, dry and safe from prying eyes, a wall of evergreens semi-circling their cove. Parker removed his rain gear while Liv watched silently. “Want to take off your coat?” he asked.

Liv shivered from her raised co-pilot seat only four feet from Parker’s chair. “I’m not ready, yet. Still in shock.”

“My dad knows I’ve been dying to get out on the water. I should have guessed he’d concoct something like this.”

“With me?”

“Even better.”

He put his hands to the side of her hood. When she shivered again, he asked, “Could we take this off?”

The hood moved in his fingers from her nod so he pushed it back. Shining blonde hair framed a face far too delicate for this rough setting. A slim, fragile nose, and blue eyes, precious gems. Arching brows and curving cheekbones. The work of an artist, who’d built a visage of rare beauty, too easily bruised or broken. Carefully he helped her free her injured arm from the coat.
She might have been killed because of me.

Her lips quivered.

“Are you cold, Liv?”

Reddening, she shook her head.

His pulse quickened with the realization she was as aroused by the intimate setting as he was. While condensation crept up the plastic windows with their sped-up breathing, Parker said, “Let’s do this,” and slowly unzipped her slicker. As he opened the coat he brushed soft, unencumbered breasts, and he gave her a half smile. “Oh.”