Shots in the Dark (28 page)

“Didn't the trial files say that they were able to determine a blood type from the semen? Isn't that how they knew it wasn't Ben who'd had sex with Tiffany?”

Clay nodded, looking thoughtful. He got up from the couch and said, “Give me until tomorrow and let me see if I can come up with something. And let's keep this between us for now.”

I nodded, and as I watched him leave my office with his shoulders slumped, his step almost dragging, I knew that if what we suspected was true, it was going to devastate a lot of lives.

After Clay left, I came out of the office and saw Mal sitting at the bar.

“How did your shopping go?”

“Well enough. I bought, wrapped, and shipped all my gifts back home. They'll be late, but then my family expects that of me.” He winked. “What were you and Clay talking about in there?”

“I was updating him on my call to Melanie Smithson,” I said. And I left it at that.

There was a lot of cleanup to do, so I busied myself helping Missy and Billy get things tidied up and chatted with Mal as I worked. Everyone was tired but in a good mood. I knew my staff would be eager to head home for the Christmas holiday, so I let them all go when I closed up at two. Mal hung for a few minutes and offered to help me finish the cleanup, but I told him to go home. I wanted some time to think through things without any other distractions.

I still hadn't heard from Duncan and figured that meant his work stuff had kept him longer than expected and I wouldn't be seeing him tonight. I took my time with the rest of the cleanup and closing duties, toddling along as best I could with my crutches, my mind thinking about Tiffany, Ben, and the Gallagher family. At around two thirty in the morning my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mack. It's Duncan. Wasn't sure if you'd still be up.”

“I am and will be for a bit. We had a very busy day, and Pete had to go home sick. One of my other waitresses called in, too, so I've got a bit of cleanup to do yet.”

“Want some help?”

I smiled at the unexpected surprise. “I'd love some.”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes. The usual knock.”

“Got it.”

I disconnected the call and headed for my office to disable the door alarm. But I'd gone only a few steps when I heard someone knocking at the front door. I switched directions, and when I got to the front door and looked out, I saw Clay Sanders standing outside. Beside him was Aidan Gallagher. I hesitated, wondering why Clay was here with Aidan. Sensing my reluctance, Clay hollered through the door.

“Mack, can you let us in? We need to talk. I tried to call you, but I forgot about your phone problem.”

I cursed, remembering that I hadn't given Clay the new number. I unlocked and opened the door.

Clay rushed in, Aidan on his heels. “I got the evidence we need,” Clay said.

I shut the door and turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn't get anyone to tap into medical records for me, so I thought about it and decided to give Aidan a call. We've been talking, and while it took some convincing, I've managed to sway him to our line of thinking. He just came back from his house, where he went through Rory's wallet. Rory donates blood, and he carries a card in his wallet with his blood type on it. The blood type of the semen found in Tiffany was A-positive, and Ben is O-negative. That's how they knew he couldn't have been the donor. Want to guess what type Rory is?”

“A-positive?”

“You got it. What's more, Aidan said Rory had some kind of surgical procedure done after his first summer home from college. It was all very hush-hush. Aidan doesn't know what was done, and he said his mother doesn't know, either. But after I shared our theory with him, he had a guess.”

“A vasectomy,” I said, feeling my excitement grow.

Aidan shook his head sadly, looking abashed. “I knew my brother had issues, but I never would have guessed he was this messed up.”

Clay, looking excited, said, “Aidan is willing to go with us to the DA's office to see if we can compel them to look into the case again.”

I looked at Aidan, surprised. “Are you sure?” I asked him. “This is bound to destroy your family.”

“My family is already destroyed,” he said, looking morose. “It's the right thing to do.”

“Okay. How—” My bar phone rang then, and my first impulse was to ignore it. But then I thought it might be Duncan. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need to get that.” I crutched around behind the bar and grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

“Is this Mackenzie Dalton?” a female voice asked.

I recognized who it was right away: Melanie Smithson. “It is.”

“I tried to call you earlier on your cell phone, but no one answered.”

“I'm sorry about that,” I said. “I dropped it in . . . in some water, and it's not working at the moment. I tried to call you to let you know, but it said the number was no longer in service.”

There was a pause, and when I looked over at Clay and Aidan, Clay mimed the pouring of a drink and gave me a questioning look. I nodded, waved a hand at the bottles behind me, and then moved from behind the bar. Aidan walked up and settled on a stool, while Clay came around behind the bar and started mixing drinks for the two of them.

“I thought long and hard about whether or not I should call you,” Melanie said. “You have to promise me that you won't tell anyone. He's threatened me several times. He said he would kill me if I ever said anything.”

I looked over at Clay as he set a drink down in front of Aidan and gave him a thumbs-up, getting a curious look in return. I mouthed the name Melanie Smithson to him and pointed at the phone. I started to tell Melanie that it was okay, that we already knew Rory was the culprit, but she went on in a rapid-fire, panicked voice before I could get a word out.

“He is . . . was,” Melanie went on, correcting herself in a sad tone, “infatuated with her, you know. And he's not right in the head. He raped her when we were in high school, and he kept after her all those years, showing up at unexpected times, strong-arming her into having sex with him, threatening to kill her if she didn't, and later threatening to kill Ben. He tried his damnedest to break those two up, and when he couldn't, it made him furious. Tiffany told me she was afraid he would go through with it and kill Ben.” She paused, sucked in a quivering breath, and then said, “I think he finally did, or at least he tried.” She sucked in a quick, ragged breath and rambled on. “You can't tell anyone. And you have to find a way to get him put away. If he finds out I told you about him, he'll kill me. I know he will.” The fear was evident in her voice, and I could tell she was one heartbeat away from having a full-blown panic attack.

“It's okay,” I said. “We already figured it out on our own. In fact, we're putting together a plan right now to go to the DA and ask them to look into the murder again.”

“That won't happen,” she said. “That family has too much money, too much influence. They'll buy their way out of it somehow.” She hiccuped back a sob. “Oh, God, I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Maybe you need to say more,” I said. “Would you be willing to talk to the DA if I go with you?”

“Are you crazy?” she screeched. “The minute I set foot back in Milwaukee, that family will have some hired killer do away with me.”

Aidan and Clay were both watching me closely, hanging on my every word. I felt bad for Aidan, and a little awkward, given that I was trying to convince someone to help me crucify his brother. His sad, hangdog expression tore at me. I hobbled around on my crutches, angling myself away from the men's stares.

“I know a lot of cops,” I told Melanie in a low voice. “I can see to it that you're safe if you come back.”

“Sorry, but I can't do it,” she sobbed.

“The only way we'll ever be able to put Rory away is if we gather enough evidence so that the DA can't ignore it. With your help—”

“Rory?” she said, her voice shrill. “Not Rory, lady. It's Aidan.”

“What?” I shot back. My voice reverberated in the phone like a gunshot. I felt my blood run cold. Literally. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my body began to tremble. My ears suddenly became hypersensitive, and I heard noises, sounds coming from behind me. And another noise, more distant. And then I felt the cold, hard steel at my neck.

“Hang up the phone, Ms. Dalton,” Aidan said in a cold, dead voice. I knew he was right behind me, not only because of how close his voice was, but because I could feel the warmth of his breath on the back of my neck mingling with the coldness of what I knew from the smell was a gun.

“Aidan, what the hell?” Clay said.

“Hang up the phone
now
,” Aidan said, jabbing the gun into my neck.

“I have to go,” I said to Melanie. “Thanks for calling.” As I took the phone from my ear and went to press the disconnect button, I heard her gasp.

“Turn around,” Aidan said. “Slowly.”

I didn't have much choice other than to do it slowly, thanks to my crutches. Carefully, I twisted around until I was facing him. I glanced over at Clay, who was standing behind the bar, looking confused and bewildered.

“It was you,” I said to Aidan. “You were the one who raped Tiffany. You were the one who tried to kill Ben.” I looked over at Clay. “It makes sense,” I said to him. “Aidan and Rory look alike, have the same eyes, nose, and hair. If we had put Aidan's lower facial features on that drawing instead of Rory's . . .” I left the rest for him to glean, knowing he'd figure it out.

He did, and when he shifted his gaze to Aidan, there was no doubt he understood, based on the expression of betrayal I saw on his face. Despite that, he said, “She's wrong about you, Aidan, isn't she?”

“Shut up, Clay,” Aidan snapped. His voice was loud enough that it made me jump, but not so loud that I couldn't hear something else. “Go sit down,” Aidan said to me, gesturing toward one of the barstools. “I need to think.”

I started for the stool he'd indicated, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to keep him talking. But Clay beat me to it.

“Damn it, Aidan,” he said, running a hand over his head. “You did this, didn't you?”

Aidan didn't answer. He was watching me sidle up onto the barstool.

“This has to end now,” Clay said. He set his drink glass on the bar and started walking toward us.

Aidan moved so fast, I barely had time to register what was happening. A deafening sound exploded near my head, and my ears started to ring. The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils. A second later the faint smell of blood followed. A host of synesthetic reactions came, too, triggered not only by all the sensory input, but also by the hopelessness and fear I felt. I heard Clay groan behind me and then slump heavily to the floor. I wanted to look, to go to him and try to help him, but I stayed frozen, afraid to move so much as a hair, lest I be the next victim. Even so, part of me knew that my bullet was likely only seconds away, anyway. Now that Aidan had shot Clay, he was committed to seeing it through. There would be no turning back.

I hung onto the phone, hoping that the sounds I'd heard meant what I thought they did. I hadn't disconnected the call when Aidan told me to. Instead of hitting the hang-up button, I'd hit one of the number buttons. I was pretty sure Melanie had heard Aidan's voice in the background—that was why she had gasped—and I prayed she was still on the line, listening. At least that way my death wouldn't go unsolved and, hopefully, unpunished.

In the periphery of my vision I saw Aidan swing his gun arm back my way, and I closed my eyes, bracing for the bullet. I heard a faint click, and my heart skipped a beat. I prayed it would be swift and painless, a head shot, so I wouldn't have to hear it, wouldn't feel the pain. Instantaneous death.

But I did hear the shot, loud and clear. It was painfully loud, and immediately afterward I felt a warmth spreading over my face. The smell of blood was powerful and overwhelming, and I felt the heat of it marking a path as it trickled down my cheeks. I waited for the pain—the real pain—to register. But it never came.

“Jesus, Mack, are you okay?”

It sounded like Duncan's voice, but it seemed to be coming from far away. I opened my eyes, convinced that I'd see nothing but darkness or maybe an approaching light, but instead I saw a red haze. And then I felt a hand grasp my arm.

I heard other sounds then: sirens, someone yelling for an ambulance, feet scuffling, a moan. Something soft swiped at my face, over my eyes, and when it was gone, so was the red haze. Instead, I saw Duncan, his face in front of mine, his expression one of panic and worry.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

I took a quick self-inventory. Nothing hurt. Over Duncan's shoulder I could see the front door of my bar and the cops who were streaming through it. I lifted up my hand, saw the phone still in it, and put it to my ear.

“Melanie? Are you still there?”

“Oh, thank God you're okay!” I heard her say through the phone.

And with that, I set the phone on the bar and began to sob.

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny. The city was blanketed in six inches of fresh snow. The downtown streets were quiet and empty, for the most part, as families gathered together to celebrate within the confines of their homes. Most of my customers would be doing the same, including the bulk of the Capone Club, though I suspected most of them would find their way to the bar later in the day, once I opened. We had more than just the holiday to celebrate.

I awoke a little after nine, relishing the fact that I didn't have to get up right away. I rolled over in bed, smiled at the sleeping man beside me, and curled up to spoon his back. I stayed that way for a while, flitting in and out of sleep, trying to embrace the moment.

I knew the peace and serenity couldn't last. My sword of Damocles was still hanging over my head.

Eventually, I sensed something different in Duncan and knew he was awake. “Coffee?” I whispered.

“Of course, but let me make it.” He rolled over, kissed me on my nose, and got out of bed. He pulled on his boxers and jeans, said, “Merry Christmas!” and then shuffled out to the kitchen.

I stayed in bed, lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. My mind was whirring a hundred miles an hour, flipping back and forth between the events of the past few days and the last letter writer clue, which we had yet to figure out. When Duncan returned to the bedroom with two steaming mugs of coffee on a tray and some coffee cake I'd made the day before, I sat up and leaned my back against the headboard.

He joined me in the bed, and the two of us sat there sipping and eating for several minutes, not a word spoken between us. It was a comfortable silence, despite the discomfort I felt inside. We had yet to talk about what had happened with Aidan, though I'd gone over it several times with other cops. I decided now was the time.

“Thanks again for your excellent timing the other night,” I said to him after we'd finished eating our cake. “I honestly thought I was done for.”

“You very nearly were,” he said. “I knocked on the back door three times, and when I got no answer, I knew something was off. I went around to the front of the bar and looked through the window. I saw Aidan standing there, holding a gun on you as you were getting onto the stool. I called right then for backup.” He paused and gave me a sheepish smile. “I was trying to figure out how I was going to get inside when it occurred to me to check and see if the door was locked. I can't tell you how relieved I was when I pushed down on the thumb latch and felt it click.”

“I shut it after I let Clay and Aidan in, but I was so distracted by what Clay was telling me that I forgot to lock it.”

“Good thing. I wasn't sure what was going on, just that Aidan Gallagher was aiming a gun at you. I didn't know if Clay was with him and in on it or a victim like you. When I saw Clay start to come from behind the bar, I was about to burst through the door, thinking he was going after you. Then Aidan shot him, and I switched my focus.”

“I never saw you come into the bar, because Aidan was blocking my view.” I took in a deep breath, trying to settle myself, as the memory of that night jangled my nerves. “Hitting him in the shoulder the way you did was smart. It disabled his gun arm. But when the blood splatter from his shoulder hit me in the face, I thought it was my own blood. I thought he'd shot me and I was dead.” I looked at him and shuddered. “In another few seconds I would have been if you hadn't shot him when you did. Thank goodness your aim is good.”

Duncan draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me to him, hugging me tight. It felt safe, warm, reassuring. He held me like that for several seconds and then said, “I was aiming for his head.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did, I started to laugh. I pushed away from him and looked him straight in the eye, still sniggering. “You're making that up,” I said.

“Sorry, lass, but I'm not.”

“Oh, my.” My laughter crescendoed until it bordered on something close to hysterical as the realization of how close I'd come to death washed over me like ice-cold water.

“Mack,” Duncan said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “You're okay. It's over.” He leaned in close to my face and looked me straight in the eye. “Take a deep breath.”

I did, then exhaled it with another shudder. Finally sobering, I said, “Well, whatever you were aiming at, you saved my life. Thank you.”

He leaned back against the headboard and eyed me with a serious expression. “I'm so sorry for all the darkness I've brought into your life, Mack. I can't help but feel that none of this would have happened to you if it wasn't for me. Promise me you won't let any of this erase the goodness and happiness inside you.”

I cocked my head to the side and gave him a feeble smile. “I promise I'll try,” I said, “but I'm getting very pissed off about this letter writer. And scared. Cora hasn't found anything on Twitter, and I have no idea what the beer means. We have only today and tomorrow to figure it out. What if we don't?”

I expected him to feed me some platitude about not worrying or a reassurance that we'd get there, but instead he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and said, “I don't know.”

On that somber note, I pushed my worries down deep and locked them away for later. Today I wanted to escape from all the death and cruelty and darkness in the world, if only for a little while.

A short time later we got up and went downstairs to make ready for the group of “family” that would be joining us for the afternoon. I was planning a holiday meal with all the trimmings: roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, an assortment of veggies, and a variety of pies for dessert. While I busied myself getting the turkey in the oven and peeling potatoes, Duncan worked alongside me, whipping up a traditional Scottish Christmas pudding, a fruit-filled concoction with rum sauce as the topping. He also made up a batch of his grandmother's hot buttered rum, a hot, sweet, creamy drink that seemed perfect on a cold winter's day.

I had told our guests they should plan on eating around two, but that they were welcome to come earlier if they liked, any time after eleven. Joe and Frank Signoriello arrived first, coming at their traditional time of a few minutes past eleven. They settled in at a table, and I served them each a bottled beer at their request. For this occasion, all drinks were on the house.

Mal arrived a few minutes after that, and Cora showed up twenty minutes later with Tiny in tow. She assured me that Tiny understood the need to keep Duncan's presence a secret, and despite the fact that Tiny's loose lips were a big reason all the press headaches had descended upon me in the first place, I felt he could be trusted at this point. His original slip had been made out of ignorance, and at this point he was so grateful to us for solving the murder of his sister, I knew he would never do anything to hurt me or the group.

Since Tiny hadn't been around much lately, much of our conversation revolved around what the Capone Club had been up to and the evolution of the Middleton case. Everyone had brought small gifts, which we would exchange at some point, but the biggest gift any of us would give this season was the one we got for Ben Middleton. He was still in prison—the wheels of justice turn painfully slow, particularly when the players are forced to backpedal—but his innocence was now obvious.

Not only had Melanie Smithson stayed on the line during my phone conversation with her the other night, but she'd also recorded the entire thing. She'd brought a small handheld recorder with her when she'd gone on the run, and any phone calls she got from an unknown number were put on speaker and recorded. Her motivation for this was her fear of the Gallaghers and what they might do to try to find her and silence her. She had decided to record her phone call to me, as well, and when she heard Aidan Gallagher's voice in the background, she'd had the wits to keep the line open and the recorder running.

Duncan told us that once Melanie knew the Gallagher family secret had been exposed, she had expressed a willingness to return home and testify against Aidan. Her testimony and the recording of what had happened in my bar the other night would likely be more than enough to put Aidan away. But we had plenty more. It had turned out that Aidan's blood type was the same as Rory's.

Once the truth about Aidan and Tiffany was known, secrets started spilling out of the Gallagher family like blood from a deep wound. And it turned out the Gallaghers had a lot of wounds, some of them festering. Several stunning revelations had come to light over the past day and a half, not the least of which was the real reason behind Colin Gallagher's dislike of his son Rory. Not only was Aidan the golden child in Colin's eyes—the firstborn, as well as the more handsome, successful, and charismatic son—but he was also the only son Colin actually had. Kelly revealed that she'd had an affair years ago, during which she found out she was pregnant. She'd had no way of knowing if the child was Colin's or her lover's, so she had hidden the truth from Colin and broken off the affair, intending to pass the child off as Colin's no matter what. Since both of the boys favored their mother, and Rory bore enough of a resemblance to Aidan to quell any suspicions Colin might have had, the patriarch had been none the wiser, though in retrospect I couldn't help but wonder if he'd sensed all along that something was off.

And speaking of off, Colin had eventually figured out that his eldest son had some sexual proclivities that were outside the norm. He caught Aidan and Tiffany together during the family gathering Ben had mentioned, the one that had gotten Tiffany so upset. When Colin later confronted Tiffany, she admitted to her father that Aidan had been sexually assaulting her for years and that he was the one who had gotten her pregnant the summer before her senior year in high school. By this time, Colin was grooming Aidan to take over the family business, and he'd already bought the silence of two girls Aidan had raped while he was in college, one of whom had ended up pregnant and subsequently had an abortion. So Colin hauled Aidan off to a counselor in New York City, hiding the sessions under the guise of business trips. The counseling didn't work, and during one of these “business trips,” Colin forced his son to have a vasectomy, before his activities resulted in a passel of kids with a future claim on the family fortunes. It wasn't Rory who had had some secret procedure done, as Aidan had said. It was Aidan himself.

Aidan's fixation on his sister never subsided. If anything, it grew stronger. The dog bite incident happened during one of Aidan's attacks on Tiffany while the two of them were home alone. Tiffany had tried to fend Aidan off that time, and during the struggle Rory came home unexpectedly. He heard the sounds of a struggle coming from his sister's bedroom and opened the door to her room. When he saw Aidan slap Tiffany, he ran into the room, grabbed his brother's arm, and yanked him back. The two boys started grappling, and Tiffany got knocked down at one point when Aidan shoved Rory and he fell into her. The dog had entered the room by then, and when Tiffany went down, the dog rose to her defense, biting Rory in the process. It was enough to stop the fight, but the dog ended up paying the ultimate price for his devotion to his mistress.

Rory never knew what the fight between Tiffany and Aidan had been about, but he began to suspect that his brother wasn't right. That suspicion grew stronger when Ben came into the picture. Rory could tell Aidan hated the guy, though he couldn't figure out why. And when Tiffany became engaged to Ben, Aidan's fixation on the two of them intensified. He was constantly tailing his sister, wanting to know where she was and what she was doing. He tried several times to drive a wedge between the couple by telling lies about Ben to both Tiffany and his father, prompting Colin to hire the PI. When those efforts failed to break the couple up, Aidan grew desperate.

It was Aidan who had bought the gun from Harrington, but when it came time to actually kill Ben, he hired someone else to do the job. He knew Tiffany and Ben were heading for the house in Door County and where the house was located, because the couple had shared the information with Kelly, who had written it down and left it hanging on the fridge. Aidan hired an old down-on-his-luck college buddy named Jack Cartwright to rent a house two miles away and buy both a four-wheel-drive vehicle and a snowmobile. Aidan paid for the items, though he told Cartwright he would be allowed to keep them as part of his payment. Aidan and Cartwright then went to the rented house the day after Ben and Tiffany left, and Aidan spied on the couple numerous times during their stay, walking to their rental house before the heavy snowfalls came, then using the snowmobile.

On the day of Tiffany's death, Aidan watched as Ben headed into town for supplies. Then he paid a visit to Tiffany, forcing himself on her yet again and threatening to kill Ben if she ever told anyone. After leaving the house, he hung around outside long enough to see Ben return. He listened outside a window, heard Tiffany insist that they head home before the storm, and then saw Ben start packing up the car. At that point he hurried back to Cartwright and put his murder plan into action. The two men snowmobiled to a point several miles down from the house where Ben and Tiffany were staying, and got ready. Aidan stayed off in the woods with the snowmobile, while Cartwright went out to the road to wait for Ben and Tiffany's car.

Aidan was so angry that Tiffany had been killed and Ben hadn't that he killed Cartwright. Though Duncan said Aidan denied it, there was a commonly held belief that killing Cartwright had been part of Aidan's plan all along. Cartwright's body had not been found, and if what Aidan had told the cops was true, it never would be. Aidan said he had disposed of it in the wood chipper that came with the house they were staying in.