Shots in the Dark (19 page)

I shook my head. “Mal is a great guy, and I admit, I've grown quite fond of him. But the feelings I have for him are different from the feelings I have for you. I just don't know if the feelings I have for you are enough with all this other stuff that's going on.”

“Are they enough for you to hang in there until we can get to the bottom of this case? I know it's not easy, but I really care for you, Mack, and I want to see where we can go with this.” He waved a finger back and forth between me and him. “With us.”

“I can hang in for a while longer,” I said with a smile.

“I promise you it will get better,” he assured me. “I think our schedules will always be something of an obstacle, but once we catch this damned letter writer and we can stop all the sneaking around, I think it will make things a lot easier.”

“Assuming we do catch whoever's behind it.”

“We will. Have faith.”

Have faith.
There were those words again. Maybe it was a sign . . . the world or God or something telling me to be patient and trust that things would eventually work out.

“Okay. I'll try to be patient,” I said with a pout. “See you later?”

“With bells on.” His eyes lit up for a second, and he added, “You know, I could literally wear bells, or at least carry one.”

“I don't follow.”

“I think I have the perfect disguise. In fact, it's so good, you won't have to sneak me in the back door. But I might need a little help from Mal.”

He had me puzzled but intrigued as he stepped around behind my wheelchair and started pushing me toward the gate. “What do you have in mind?”

And then he told me.

When we got back to the car, he wheeled me up to the door and held the chair as I climbed inside. Then he and Mal went around to the back of the car to load up the wheelchair. I heard the trunk slam closed and expected Mal to get in on the driver's side, but he didn't. Curious, I craned my head around to look out the back window. Duncan had hauled Mal some distance back from the car, and the two of them were huddled together in the cold night air, conversing. I rolled my window down, hoping to eavesdrop, but their voices were low and I couldn't make out what they were saying.

After a few minutes, Mal finally returned to the car and got in behind the wheel. “Ready to spread a little holiday cheer?” he said as he started the engine.

Though it seemed disrespectful, considering what we had just done, I was. After all, trying to find justice for the dead didn't mean the living couldn't be happy and celebrate once in a while.

Just to be safe, Mal once again took a circuitous route back to the bar and looked for a tail. If there was one, he couldn't see it. As I went about removing the wig and makeup Isabel had applied, Mal and I discussed our trip to Forest Home Cemetery the next day.

“If anyone asks, we can say we're going to visit someone I know who's buried there,” Mal said. “What time do you want to do it?”

“Why don't we plan to go around noon? That way I can get the bar open and running before we leave.”

“Noon, it is.”

I realized then that I had left my own coat at Isabel's house and would have to wear the one she'd given me for now. I hoped no one would notice that it wasn't the same coat I'd left in, and when we arrived back at the bar, I headed straight for my office to take it off. With that out of the way, I headed back out front, happy to see that everything appeared to be running smoothly.

Teddy was behind the bar with Billy, and I made my way over to the two of them, with Mal on my heels.

“How is my new protégé doing?” I asked, smiling at Teddy.

“I'm getting the hang of it,” Teddy said.

“He's a natural,” Billy said. “We had a couple of guys get into a squabble over a girl a bit ago, and it looked like the two of them were going to go at it. But as soon as Teddy walked over and asked them to leave, they did. One look at him and they were shaking in their boots.”

“Solid work,” I said to Teddy.

He shrugged and smiled. “I didn't have to do much. My size was enough.”

Billy said, “The Capone Club members were asking when you were going to be back. They apparently have some news on this new case you're looking into.”

“Good. I have some news for them, too.”

“About that,” Teddy said. “I did some asking around on that matter you mentioned to me last night.”

I nodded, giving him an expectant look, and then he dashed my hopes.

“No one was aware of Tiffany Gallagher having any affairs of any sort after she and Ben started dating,” he said.

I frowned with disappointment. “She must have been very secretive and careful, then. Because she had sex with someone other than Ben not long before she was killed.”

“I did hear an interesting tidbit, though,” Teddy went on. “Some of the folks who knew Tiff in her younger days said she disappeared from school during her senior year. When she came back, she told everyone that she was sent to a boarding school overseas to complete her education. There was a rumor going around that she had gotten pregnant and had gone somewhere to have the kid in secret, but no one knew of anyone who Tiffany was dating at the time.”

“So there's no reason to believe the rumor,” I said, not surprised that such juicy gossip was still in the minds of those with nothing better to do.

“I suppose not,” Teddy said with a shrug, “but the rumor had more footing than some. It hung on for years. And Tiff's death resurrected it.”

I had every intention of keeping my promise to Kelly Gallagher, so I said, “It's an interesting bit of gossip, but given that it happened more than six years ago, I doubt it has any relevance to the current situation. I'll keep it in mind, though.” I gave Teddy a grateful smile. “Thanks for looking into it. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

I turned to Billy. “Is Teddy here competent to man the bar for a bit? I'd like to talk to you in private for a few minutes.”

“He's good to go,” Billy said.

I led the way to my office, with Billy and Mal following. Once inside I told Billy what I needed, and we spent a few minutes making up a list.

“Not a problem,” Billy said when we were done. “I'll get right on it. It's very sweet of you to do this.”

“It's the least I can do,” I said. “And one more thing.” I handed him a folder. “Have Teddy fill out the employment paperwork in here tonight. He can shove it under my office door once it's done.”

“Got it.” Billy took the folder and the list and left the office.

Mal and I left right behind him and headed upstairs to the Capone Club. The usual group was there: Cora, Frank, Joe, Carter, Sam, Tad, Holly, and Alicia. Tyrese was there, too, along with Nick, both of them looking tired and sipping on cups of coffee. Also present were Stephen McGregor, the high school physics teacher, and Sonja West, the salon owner. And to my surprise, Clay Sanders was there. I hadn't expected him back until tomorrow.

“Hey, M and M,” Carter greeted as we entered the room. M and M was the nickname Cora had given to Mal and me, and it had stuck with the group. “Where have you two been?”

“Out and about,” I said vaguely. Then, to get the spotlight off of us, I said, “I hear you guys have something regarding the Middleton case.”

“And we hear you have the same,” Sam said. “How did the interview with Ben Middleton go?”

“It went well,” I said, settling into an empty seat. Mal grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside me. “Ben Middleton seemed very sincere, and his story about what happened is believable.”

“Did you ask him if he killed his wife?” Carter said.

“I did,” I said with a nod. “He denied it, and he seemed to be telling the truth. He did lie to me once, about his and Tiffany's relationship, but he came clean as soon as I called him on it.”

“So, I take it we're a go with the case, then?” Holly said.

“I think so, assuming all of you agree.”

There was a series of nods around the room.

“Good. I have some other stuff to report, but first I want to hear what you guys have,” I said.

Joe was the first one to speak. “Our friend Clay here got us some pictures of the inside of the Middleton car.”

I blanched, wondering if the pictures included Tiffany's dead body, and remembering the horror of the car we'd just finished looking at. Cora must have read my mind.

“They show the blood evidence, but nothing else,” she said.

Clay said, “I also brought a copy of the autopsy report on Tiffany.”

“Anything of interest that we didn't know already?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Cora said. “Our new friend Mr. McGregor here may have discovered something.”

She slid some photos toward me, and I looked at them. They showed the front interior of a car, and there was a large bloodstain on the headrest on the passenger side, as well as a number of smaller spots that looked like blood scattered around the interior. These were circled in green, and the color made me think of the most recent letter.

Stephen McGregor explained. “If you look at the pattern of the blood in these photos, you can see an obvious void created by the victim's body. The void implies that she was sitting slightly sideways in the seat, with the right side of her back against the passenger door. The autopsy report says that the bullet entered the victim's head here.” He pointed to a spot above his right eye. “And it came to rest in the back of her skull, on the left, meaning it crossed the midline.”

I raised my hand, making him pause. “Ben said the gun fired twice. Where did the second bullet go?”

“It was embedded in the door on Tiffany's side of the car,” Clay answered.

I nodded and signaled for Stephen to continue, which he did.

“For the bullet to have traveled the way it did, the gun would have had to have been somewhere out in this area.” He held a hand out in front of his face, waving it around in a small area. “Now, let's assume for a moment that Ben Middleton was alone and he made up the story about the carjacker. Look at this newspaper photo of Middleton during the trial, sitting at the table, pencil in hand. There's a tablet of paper in front of him, so presumably he was taking notes. Based on this, I think it's safe to assume that Middleton is right handed.” Stephen got up from his chair and looked at Holly, who was seated nearby. “Holly, would you mind playing Tiffany this time?”

“Happy to,” she said with a smile.

She rose from her seat, took the chair Stephen had just vacated, and assumed the position he'd said Tiffany was in. Stephen took her empty chair and set it beside her on her left, about a foot away. He sat facing forward in this chair, while Holly sat in hers with her head and body turned toward him.

“Imagine that I'm Ben Middleton,” Stephen said. “I'm right handed, and I'm going to shoot my wife.” He formed his right hand into a mock gun shape and aimed it at Holly's head. “In order for me to shoot her and have the bullet track the way it did, I'd have to have my hand out in front of me and bent backward.” He demonstrated the position with his hand, which was obviously an awkward one, and then shifted his body. “As you can see, it doesn't work very well, even if I move in my seat and put my back against the driver's door.” He dropped his right hand and made the mock gun with his left. “If I was left handed, it would make much more sense,” he said, holding that hand out in front of him and aiming it toward Holly's head. “The angle might work then.”

He straightened in his seat. “Now let's imagine there was a carjacker, and Middleton was struggling with the man, trying to wrestle the gun from him.” He looked over at Carter. “Would you be our carjacker?”

Carter nodded, got up, and walked over to Stephen's left side, standing a foot or so away. Then he did the mock gun thing and thrust his hand toward Stephen's face.

“My first instinct,” Stephen said, “would be to push the hand holding the gun or the gunman's arm away from my face.” He did so, wrapping one hand around Carter's mock gun and grabbing Carter's wrist with the other. Then he pushed Carter's arm while Carter tried to bring the gun back toward Stephen's face. The two men struggled for several seconds, their arms waving about.

“As you can see,” Stephen said, “this places the gun in roughly the same area it would have been in had Middleton been left handed. The carjacker would have been trying to aim the gun toward the back of the car, hoping to hit Ben. From this position, it would be easy for a bullet to track the way it did. Even if we consider a scenario where Middleton got out of the car with the window down and then leaned in to shoot Tiffany, the angles don't make sense if he's right handed.”

Stephen relaxed his arms then and said thanks to Carter. Carter dropped his arms and went back to his seat. Stephen looked over at me with a smile. “So you see, the scenario that fits best with the evidence is exactly the one that Ben Middleton claimed.”

“Unless Ben Middleton is ambidextrous,” I said.

“Possible,” Sam said, “but unlikely. Only one in one hundred people is truly ambidextrous, and the majority of them favor one hand over the other. Most often that's the right hand, a product of living in a right-handed world. And as we saw in the picture, Middleton writes with his right hand.”

“So there
was
a third person there,” I said.

Stephen nodded. “The physics suggest so, yes.”

“Except there's a big fly in our ointment,” Sam said with an apologetic smile. “Just because Ben didn't fire the bullet that killed Tiffany, it doesn't mean he didn't hire someone else to do it. And if that was the case, he was essentially telling the truth when he said he didn't kill her.”

Mal leaned forward in his chair, frowning. “If he hired someone, there would be a money trail somewhere. Was there any mention during the trial of any unusual financial transactions?”

Clay shook his head. “They briefly covered the financials, because the prosecution was convinced money was behind Ben's motive. Tiffany had money in an account that Ben had no access to, and if there were any unusual transactions in that account, it wasn't mentioned. Ben's money all went into a joint account that both he and Tiffany were authorized to use. Occasionally, Tiffany would augment that account from her own funds, but everything that came out of that account was tracked and allocated to legitimate expenditures. The prosecution claimed that having his wife control the purse strings was what pushed Ben over the edge.”

“Did Tiffany have sole discretion over her personal account?” I asked.

Clay shrugged. “I don't know. Why?”

“Just wondering if her parents had any control over what she spent.”

Sam, not one to give in easily, said, “Just because there isn't any evidence that a shooter was paid doesn't mean one wasn't hired. Maybe Ben told whoever it was that they'd have to wait for the payment until things blew over and he got access to some of Tiff's money or the life insurance proceeds. Clearly, he wouldn't have been able to get at any of it, given how quickly he was arrested, but what's the shooter going to do? Complain that he wasn't paid for a murder? He wouldn't have much recourse.”

Much as I hated to admit it, Sam had a point. But as I tried to visualize how it might have happened this way, the image kept falling into pieces like in a jigsaw puzzle where none of the edges matched up. “There are too many things that don't make sense,” I said. “If Tiffany was the intended victim, why wouldn't the shooter go to her side of the car? Why risk reaching in and shooting her from the driver's side?”

“Maybe that's how Ben planned it, so that the carjacker story would hold up,” Sam suggested.

“But if he's that clever in his planning,” I said, “why would he be stupid enough to buy the gun himself?”

There were lots of frowns and quizzical expressions in the room as everyone contemplated this question. No one came up with an answer.

“And the other thing that bothers me about this,” I went on, “is why Tiffany didn't try to get out of the car and run. Why would she just sit there and not even shy away from it all? I asked Ben that question, and he said she had a history of panic attacks, but I would still think that having someone shove a gun in your face or your husband's face would make you want to get out of the way. And judging from the position she was in, in the car, she was shying away from something on the driver's side.”