Nantucket Sawbuck (17 page)

Part Two: Post Mortem

Chapter Twenty-two

Suspects

The Nantucket police station was occupied and under siege at the same time. Inside, every jail cell and office, as well as all the common rooms were filled with witnesses and suspects. The C-pac team from off-island had commandeered the upstairs conference room and filled it with high-tech computers and low-tech chalk boards, boxes of files and half a dozen serious technicians who were working everything from background checks to forensics.

Haden Krakauer was interviewing one of the girls from Fiona's maid service in the second floor interrogation room when I arrived.

Outside, gathered in the big parking lot off Fairgrounds Road, the press was turning my domain into a familiar off-island circus of vans with gaudy logos and microwave antennas, lights and microphones, snaking cables and of course the jostling crowds of reporters. The Boston newspeople were the most visible and self-important, but there were network correspondents and cable news stringers, too, just as Lonnie Fraker had predicted.

A busty, Botoxed blonde was clutching a microphone as she finished her report, staring down the red light above camera lens. “…and so, with no clues, leads, or suspects in custody, the local police remain baffled at this hour by the death of one of this tiny, privileged island's most prominent citizens. All we know for sure, this cold December morning: a powerful man lies brutally murdered, and his killers are still on the loose.”

“And the press will milk the story until they've made every last possible cheesy dime out of it,” I muttered under my breath as the reporter identified herself and wrapped up her story. “Or until something sleazier comes along to distract people from all the unpleasant
actual news
going on in the world.”

“Or you solve it, Chief. That would really spoil everything.” I turned. David Trezize was standing next to me, squinting into the crowd. “Hey—they're still cashing in on those JonBenet Ramsey stories. Everyone loves a mystery.”

I had parked my cruiser in the rear security lot and normally I would have walked in through the garage entrance, but I was curious this morning. I was wearing my uniform, I looked like one more cop. David was the only reporter who recognized me. I headed back around the corner. I didn't want this pack chasing me, not at eight o'clock on a Monday morning.

“Come on inside with me,” I said to David. “I need to talk to you.”

I was already walking. Trezize hurried to catch up. “Am I getting an exclusive? It better be for this week's edition because I might not have a newspaper next week.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, David.”

“Care to take out an ad? I could use the revenue.”

We pushed through the throng into the main lobby. For the moment I was alone with the pudgy reporter.

“I need to talk to you about last night,” I said. “And we should do it with a lawyer present.”

“What, I'm a suspect?”

“You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to waive that right anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to legal representation. If you can't afford a lawyer—”

“Chief—”

“Let me finish, David. This is serious. If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you by the court. Do you understand these rights as I've explained them to you?”

“Of course I do, but—”

“Then you might not want to talk to me right now.”

“You can't seriously believe I could have done this.”

“I believe anyone could do anything, under the right circumstances.”

“I was trying to take a splinter out of my son's hand last week and my fingers went limp. I couldn't do it. Does that sound like a murderer?”

I sighed. “That's not the right question, David. The right question is, where were you between the hours of eleven and midnight last night?”

“I was—I don't know, let me think for second.”

“This is exactly what I'm saying. That's an answer you need to get right the first time.”

“I was—I was driving around.”

“Just driving? At midnight?”

“I—it's embarrassing. I drove over to, to talk to my wife, my ex-wife. About the kids, there's been a problem and I thought if we just sat down and discussed it we could clear things up. We used to be able to talk.”

“How did it go?”

“That's my point, she wasn't there. Midnight on a school night. The sitter's car was in the driveway. She drives a used Volvo. I can tell you this much, Chief—if I had left the kids with a sitter on a school night and I was still out that late, Patty would have crucified me. Normally, I would have gone in and checked with the girl, found out where Patty was. But I knew. She was with Grady Malone. Grady's ex-wife has the kids on Sunday, so where else would they go?”

“David—”

“I drove to Grady's house. Her car was sitting there, you could see it from the road. She didn't even bother to park in the back.”

“So what did you do?”

“I just sat there.”

“You didn't go in?”

“And do what? Start a fight? I couldn't even snoop at the windows. They would have seen my tracks in the snow. He shoveled the driveway but that's it. So, yeah, I just sat there. I saw a shadow move across the blinds occasionally. Then the lights went out.”

“What time was that?”

“One in the morning, 1:30, I don't know. Late.”

“Did anyone see you there?”

“I don't think so.”

“Did anyone drive by while you were parked? Anyone you know?”

“No, nobody.”

“So no one can verify your whereabouts for the hours in question.”

“No, but—who'd make up a story like that?”

“A writer?”

“Chief—”

“Let's finish this with your lawyer in the room, David. I think we'd both be more comfortable.”

“Listen, I just—”

“This afternoon if possible. Tomorrow at the latest.”

I badged myself into the operations room before Trezize could answer. The noise level jumped as I opened the door. Central dispatch was crowded with people waiting to be interviewed. I saw one of the girls on Fiona's cleaning crew with Haden Krakauer and thought, Fiona. I have to deal with Fiona.

Upstairs in the conference room, Lonnie Fraker introduced me to Ken Carmichael from the Mass D.A.'s office. Carmichael was tall and scholarly-looking, with glasses and a worn tweed jacket. His jutting nose and bald head gave him a raw, scoured look, like someone who'd just stepped out of a windstorm. But he had a good smile and a firm handshake.

He introduced himself and said, “I'm running theC-Pac team for the D.A., which is basically by the book for any ‘unattended death.' That's how the statute's written.”

“I don't think witnesses are the issue here. With a guy like Lomax, you'd be on the case if they'd whacked him in the Fleet Center during a Celtics game.”

“Point taken. So you'll appreciate—this is the top priority team. We have two detectives and a detective lieutenant along with the forensic unit and as many warm bodies as we can scare up to do the footwork. But don't get me wrong. We're not here to push anybody around. I mean that. We just want to help.”

I nodded. “Great, we can use it. Any word on those DNA samples?”

“Nothing yet. All the labwork should be back by tonight, though. How about you? Anything?”

“We're just running down names. Business associates, friends, family. The wife, kids. People at the party, people who worked on the house. A lot of people.”

We were all silent for a few seconds. The room bustled around us. Someone elbowed past us with a pile of faxes. Someone else was bringing coffee upstairs. Cell phones were ringing with a uniquely modern electronic discord: the Nokia default tones clashing with “Mission Impossible
,
”
rap downloads and “The Blue Danube
.
”

Carmichael grabbed a cup of takeout coffee, pulled off the plastic lid, and took a gulp. “You want hot coffee, you gotta make it yourself. I'm getting a pot up here.” He set the coffee down on top of a file cabinet and glanced around the room. “I hate this part, you know? When everything's out and nothing's coming back in. It's all questions and loose ends and unchecked alibis and pissed-off people and nosy reporters—”

“The reporters are his problem, boss,” Lonnie Fraker grinned. “He only sneaked in here today because they didn't recognize him. But after the first press conference he's going to be famous. You're going to be a star, Kennis. You're gonna be getting some serious fan mail now. Just be sure you share it around if the girls enclose pictures. Sharing information is vital on a case like this.”

“Very funny, Fraker,” said Carmichael. “Didn't you have some depositions to transcribe?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fraker disappeared.

“Nice trick,” I said. “I have to learn how to do that.”

“Perk of the job,” Carmichael said, “Anyway. You know what I'm saying. This is the messy part.”

I saw Haden Krakauer coming up the stairs. “It's like cleaning a kid's room, Ken. You make it look worse first, so you can get all the junk organized.”

“You got kids?”

“A boy and a girl.”

“Jesus. What do you tell them about this stuff?”

“Nothing. They're too young, they couldn't care less. My daughter hates the uniform. My son thinks the flasher bar is cool. That's about it.”

Haden walked up to us. “Sorry…Chief? You should take a look at this Irish girl's interview tape. Molly Flanagan her name is. Something's bugging me but I don't know what. And Nathan Parrish is downstairs demanding to talk to you.”

“Demanding?”

“Have fun, Chief,” Carmichael said. His cell phone was ringing: The worst one yet. A robotic female voice kept repeating “You have an incoming call. You have an incoming call.” He slid his finger across the bottom of the screen. “This is Carmichael,” he said as I headed for the stairs. Haden followed me.

“Any thoughts?” I asked.

“Couple. First off, no tradesman did this. The screwdriver thing is cute, but it doesn't fool me for a second. Scattering a little dog hair around would have been better. None of these guys go anywhere without a dog in the truck. And they wouldn't leave that kind of money behind, no matter what. They might have thought about it, maybe had a laugh about it later. But no contractor I ever met is gonna leave close to a grand stuffed down some dead guy's throat. No way.”

“Unless that's what he wants us to think,” I said. “It actually sounds fairly cost-effective to me.”

“Yeah. I guess. Another thing. There was a benefit party the night of the murder, fifty bucks a head. Some plasterer with MS, family's trying to raise money for the hospital bills.”

“He wasn't insured?

“I guess he never got on board with the personal mandate.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah, well. We get our hands on the guest list, that'll clear some alibis.”

“Good idea.”

Fiona was at that party, I remembered now. She had invited me, but I'd had the kids that night. The knowledge gave me an almost physical relief, the way touching your toes could ease a stitch in your side. A clear alibi would save both of us a lot of questions and malicious gossip, a lot of accusations about conflict of interest and impartiality. Investigating my girlfriend was a nightmare I was grateful to avoid.

Upstairs, Nathan Parrish was pacing the corridor outside my office.

“Chief Kennis!” he called out. “Chief Kennis!”

Haden shook his head with his mouth turned down contemptuously: This was the real reason he had never wanted to be chief. He headed downstairs and left me alone to deal with the burly real estate mogul.

“Mr. Parrish.” We were blocking the corridor. I led him into my office and gestured to the chair facing the desk. I leaned against the edge, the heels of my palms braced against the flat surface. The office was big and lavish, like a corporate executive suite. It still embarrassed me a little. The big windows showed snowy trees across Fairgrounds Road. Parrish took out a cigarette, caught my look and slipped it back into his pocket.

“What can we do for you, Nathan?”

Parrish stared at me as he no doubt stared at his own employees when they said something unusually dense. “What can you do for me? You can find out who committed this atrocious crime and bring them to justice! That's what you can do for me.”

“Well, we're working on it.”

“You're ‘working on it'? That's not good enough.”

I shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

“Look—sorry. I'm not here to tell you how to do your job. I'm not a policeman. But I want to help. I can contribute if you need to hire temporary personnel, if you need new equipment…just let me know. Preston Lomax was more than a business associate, Chief. He was a friend. Whatever the gossip sheets might say about him and despite his occasional high-handed attitude—I know he could be abrupt sometimes when the world didn't move as fast as he did, you had to run to keep up with him and he didn't have much patience for laggards. But Preston Lomax was one of the good guys. As everyone seems to know by now, I was about to close a major deal with Preston's company. That deal may still be salvageable, I don't know. Frankly, no one even wants to think about it at the moment. But this isn't about the money or the opportunity I may have lost. It's about a man who didn't deserve to die. And it's about justice. I don't want to live in a world where people can commit a crime like this and get away with it.”

“Then you're living in the wrong world, Mr. Parrish. In this one, more than half of all homicides are never solved.”

“How do you live with that?”