Shots in the Dark (10 page)

With that, I got up and commandeered my crutches to leave the room. Mal followed behind me. So did Clay Sanders.

“Mack,” Clay said in the hallway outside the room. “Any chance I can come with you when you go to Waupun?”

I frowned at this, uncomfortable with his request. I came up with the first excuse I could think of. “The fewer distractions I have, the easier it is for me to assess someone I'm talking to.”

“I promise to sit on the sidelines and stay quiet. I won't say a thing.”

Mal stood off to one side, behind Clay. He caught my eye and shook his head.

“Even so, Clay,” I went on, “you'll be a distraction for me, and that may interfere with things.” I didn't think this was true—at least from my end—but it was the only excuse I could come up with on the fly. “Besides, Middleton might not be comfortable speaking to me if he knows there is a reporter in the room.”

“You don't have to tell him I'm a reporter. And I'll keep the whole thing strictly off the record. I promise.” Clay was nothing if not persistent, a trait I figured was useful for an investigative reporter but was irritating for me. “I just want to see you do this thing you do with someone other than me.”

I looked at him, weighing both his words and his conviction. He seemed sincere, both in his statement of why he wanted to come along and his promise to keep it off the record. I felt myself caving but then thought of one last possible escape, something to at least buy me a little time to think about the potential consequences. “I need to run it by Tyrese,” I told him. “He has to be comfortable with it.”

Clay nodded. “Fair enough. And in exchange, I can help you get a chat with the Gallagher family, if you want.”

“That would be helpful,” I admitted.

“Let me know?”

“I will.”

“I'll be with the group,” Clay said, gesturing toward the Capone Club room. Then with an intrigued smile, he added, “They're quite fascinating.”

By the time we got back to my office, I was exhausted from negotiating with my crutches both the stairs and the tortuous path between tables on the crowded floor. I fell onto my couch, took a moment to catch my breath, and looked at Mal.

“What's your take on Sanders?” I asked him.

“He's definitely a valuable asset,” he said. “But I'm going to hold out on any final judgment until we've spent more time with him. I'm hoping he'll be trustworthy, but some of these reporter types have no ethics or morals when it comes to getting a scoop. Time will tell, I suppose.”

I nodded, agreeing with his assessment. “I'm not sure why I don't want him along for the trip to Waupun, but I don't.”

“Too much too soon,” Mal said. “I get it. Sanders needs to prove himself a little more before you give him access to the inner circle. I'm sure Tyrese will happily put the kibosh on him coming along if you want him to.”

“Except Clay's offer of an in with the Gallagher family might be useful. And something tells me he won't expedite that unless I let him come along. He strikes me as a tit-for-tat kind of guy.”

“Don't let him coerce you,” Mal cautioned.

I gave it a moment's thought. “I think it's a risk we'll have to take. I'll set some ground rules and see if Clay obeys them. We can consider it a trial run.”

Mal shrugged his acquiescence, but he didn't look happy.

I took out my cell phone and dialed Tyrese's number. He answered after four rings, sounding groggy.

“Tyrese, it's Mack. Did I wake you?”

“You did,” he said. To anyone else, he might have been less blunt, or he might have tried to make the caller feel better by lying, but he knew it was a wasted effort with me.

“I'm sorry. Should I call back later?”

“No. I was planning on getting up in half an hour, anyway. Nick and I have been pulling night shifts all week. Our last one is tonight.” Nick was Nicodemus Kavinsky, Tyrese's partner on the police force and someone else who participated in the Capone Club when he had the time.

“Oh. I don't suppose you'd be willing or able to arrange another trip to Waupun for me tomorrow, then,” I said, my hopeful tone belying my words.

“Why? Does the group have another case?”

“We do. It's the Benjamin Middleton case.”

Tyrese let out a low whistle. “How did that one end up on your radar?”

“His sister came to see the group today,” I explained, and then I summarized her claims for him. “Before we get too involved in the case, I'd like to have a chat with Mr. Middleton to get a feel for whether or not he's telling the truth.”

“Understood,” Tyrese said. “Let me make some phone calls, and I'll see what I can do. I have the next three days off after tonight, so I should be fine to take you up there tomorrow.”

“There's something else you should know,” I told him. Then I filled him in on my invitation to Clay Sanders, his participation in the group, and his request to go along to Waupun with me. I decided to wait for Tyrese to comment and express his own feelings on the matter before I gave him mine.

“Inviting Sanders to join the group is a bold move,” he said. “What if he learns more about you and your ability?”

“He already has. I told him myself. I even gave him a little demonstration.”

“Is that wise, Mack?”

“I don't know if it's wise, but I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of keeping secrets.”

Tyrese sighed and said nothing for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, I sensed some lingering reservation in his voice. “If you want him to come along for the ride, that's okay with me, but if you need a no man, I'm your guy.”

It was an easy out, and I was tempted to take it. But my gut kept telling me to give Clay a chance. “Sanders did offer up something in exchange,” I said. “Apparently, he's friends with one of the Gallagher sons, and he offered to get me an intro to the family so I can talk to them. I'm thinking we might need that. They're a rich family and very protective of their privacy. I'm not sure they'd talk to me otherwise, particularly if they know I'm looking into exonerating their son-in-law.”

“That's assuming you decide to pursue the case,” Tyrese said.

“True. But I like to keep my options open.”

“I'll leave the decision up to you, Mack. But feel free to make me out as the bad guy if you want to tell him no. I'll call you later and let you know if I can get us up to Waupun tomorrow. Give me some time to get fully awake and have a little coffee.”

“Take all the time you need. It's not like we're on any sort of tight timeline here. If we can't get there tomorrow, set it up for whenever.”

“Will do.”

I disconnected the call and looked up at Mal, who was leaning against the wall beside my office door. “I'm in hold-and-wait mode,” I said. “Any ideas?”

“You look tired.”

“I am,” I admitted. “I haven't slept well since the accident. This thing”—I gestured toward my cast—“interferes with me on several different levels. It's hard to move around in bed, it makes me itch, and it smells funny. And all those sensations trigger a bunch of others. Then there's all the mental and emotional baggage associated with Gary's death and this damned letter writer. I keep looking at all the happy, celebratory people milling about, getting ready for the Christmas holiday, and I feel like it's all a facade, an elaborate display or act being put on for my benefit.” I paused and sighed. “I'm having a hard time with Christmas this year. It's the first one I'll be spending alone, without my dad.”

“I noticed you hadn't done any decorating upstairs, but I wasn't sure if that was a change from your normal routine or the way you always do it.”

“My dad always went all out for Christmas,” I told him. “There are tons of decorations upstairs, in the attic space, but I haven't had the heart to do any of it this year. I miss him so much already. Getting those decorations out will only make it worse.”

“You know you don't need to spend the holiday alone, right? What's Duncan doing?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. We haven't planned that far ahead. We schedule things on a day-to-day basis these days.”

“I assume the bar will be closed for Christmas Day?”

I shook my head. “I'll open later in the day, at five, like I do on Sundays.”

“Well, as luck would have it, I'm totally free for the day. I decided not to travel for the holiday, and since all my family members are back in Washington, I'm kind of on my own, too. So if you and Duncan don't have anything planned, I'd be happy to spend the day with you.”

I realized how selfish I was being by mourning my possible alone status for the holiday when there were plenty of other people in the same boat. “If you're alone for the holiday, then you are definitely spending it with me regardless of what Duncan and I end up doing.”

“I don't want to be a fifth wheel.”

“You are not a fifth wheel, Mal. And of all the people I know who I might spend the holiday with, you're at the top of my list.”

Mal arched a brow at me. “Isn't Duncan at the top of your list?”

“At the moment, the two of you are both up there, vying for first place.”

Mal looked at me, his expression questioning, curious, intrigued. I held his gaze, saying nothing more, and the moment sizzled.

“I'm sorry, Mal,” I said, breaking the tension between us. “I shouldn't have said that. I don't want to mislead you. My focus for now is on my relationship with Duncan, but I like you a lot. I hope you'll always be a part of my life in some way.”

“I hope so, too,” he said, and while his tone sounded chipper, his face showed a hint of disappointment. “And since we are supposed to be dating, we should do something together. How about dinner? My treat.”

“Do we need to keep up the facade now that Clay Sanders is in on things?”

“He doesn't know that you and I are faking it. At least he didn't let on that he knows. Nor does he seem to know that Duncan isn't really on the outs. And there are lots of other reporters out there. So yes, I think we need to keep up the facade.”

He winked at me, and I wondered if he was simply arguing the point so he could continue to see me, or if he really felt it was important to continue our game play. After thinking about it for a few seconds, I realized I didn't care what his motivations were. I enjoyed his company just as he enjoyed mine, so for the time being, we might as well keep the status quo.

My cell phone rang, and I thought it might be Tyrese already, but then I saw it was Duncan instead. It was as if the guy had some special ESP or something. Every time Mal and I had one of these discussions, Duncan managed to put in an appearance somehow.

“Hey, Duncan,” I answered, and I saw Mal's shoulders sag ever so slightly. “What's up?”

“I've been thinking about this latest letter, and I still think this Apostle Mike guy might be behind it. I want to take another run at him and wanted to know if you would like to observe again.”

Apostle Mike, aka Michael Treat, was the leader of a semireligious extremist group that targeted non-Christians with rhetoric, philosophizing, and possibly violence. The cops hadn't been able to pin anything on him as of yet, but there had been several crimes that they felt might be connected to him. Unfortunately, Apostle Mike had enough minions blindly following him and willing to do his bidding that even if he was behind the crimes, it was likely he had someone else do his dirty work for him. That made it doubly hard to pin anything on him. He had targeted me with his rhetoric, sending me a letter in which he called me an abomination against God and hinted that I was evil. Duncan had zeroed in on it when he read through all the fan mail I had received, letters, notes, and cards that started coming shortly after the first news reports about my involvement with the police. Many of these missives had been kind, encouraging, and supportive. But a few, like Apostle Mike's, had been just the opposite.

Duncan had arranged for me to observe an interview with Apostle Mike once before. The guy was smug, condescending, and arrogant, but during that brief interview, I hadn't been able to detect any lies coming from him. Still, he wasn't questioned about me directly, because the letter writer had made it clear that I wasn't to involve Duncan at all. So the pretext used to get the man down to the police station for an interview was regarding another matter. If Apostle Mike was the letter writer, questioning him about me might have triggered another killing. In the end, though, our worries had been pointless, because someone ended up dead, anyway.

“I don't know how much good it will do,” I said. “We can't ask him outright if he's the letter writer and risk his wrath if he is.”

“We won't ask him about the letters directly,” Duncan said. “But we
are
going to ask him about Gary's murder. It's common knowledge that Gary's murder is being investigated by the police, so it shouldn't tip him off if I'm not the one doing the questioning. We can do it like we did before, have some other guys do the actual interview, while you and I listen in from the observation room.”

“But don't you need a reason to question him about Gary's murder? What connection does Gary's death have to Apostle Mike other than me?”

“None, but Treat doesn't have to know that. I can make something up . . . tell him that we discovered Gary participated in a Wiccan ceremony or something like that. Given his outspoken feelings regarding the Wiccans, it would seem logical to question him as a suspect if that was true.”

“I suppose,” I said. I still wasn't convinced it was a good idea, but I was out of objections. “When are you thinking of doing it?”

“Tonight. Treat is a hard guy to find at times, but we know where he is this evening. He is holding one of his
gatherings
, as he calls them, at the home of one of his followers tonight, at seven. We intend to drop in and invite him down to the station instead.”

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly six already, and that didn't leave me much time to get to the station. And the last time I'd gone there, I'd been in disguise, just in case the letter writer happened to be watching me. Duncan had arranged for a family friend of his who was a makeup artist to come by and do me over. That makeover had taken a lot of time, more time than I had tonight.

As if he was reading my mind, Duncan said, “If you're worrying about how to get here and what to do for a disguise, I have a different idea. I'm going to send a couple of detectives to your bar and have them escort you to the station, with the explanation that I want you to observe a suspect to see if you recognize him as someone who has been in the bar before or had any sort of altercation with Gary. It makes sense that you'd be asked to do that, given your relationship with Gary. I'll make it clear to the other detectives that you don't want the guy to know you're here watching him. They'll escort you in through a back entrance, and I'll take it from there.”

“I suppose that's as good a plan as any,” I said finally. “Even with a disguise, this cast and these crutches are a dead giveaway. But won't the other detectives know that bringing Treat in for questioning is a ruse?”

“No. I plan to use the same guys who questioned him last time. They're aware of Treat's leanings, and if I tell them I learned about a connection between Gary and the Wiccans, they'll buy into it.”

“Okay,” I said, surrendering.