Old Loves Die Hard (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (8 page)

“That doesn’t mean he was here on business,” Natasha laughed. “Stephen never paid for anything with his own money unless he had to. That’s one of the reasons I kicked him out. Most likely his visit was enjoyment.”

“He was seen out here with a woman,” Garrison said.

“And Christine tried to punch her lights out. She also announced to everyone within hearing distance that she was going to kill him dead hours before he got his,” Natasha reminded them. “I did hear about Stephen having a new woman. I never saw her. Personally, I didn’t care to see her. I couldn’t care less about what he was up to.”

“Unless he pawned your father’s watch,” Mac said.

*   *   *   *

Until Mac was officially cleared of suspicion, David wouldn’t let him in on any details in his murder investigation. Unable to stand not knowing what the police had uncovered, Mac met his only source into the goings on: Hector Langford, the Spencer Inn’s chief of security.

A lean, gray-haired Australian, Hector had been with the Inn for over twenty-five years, which was longer than Jeff Ingle had worked there. Hector knew the resort inside and out. When they’d first met, he took great delight in informing Mac that Robin Spencer had often asked for his help in planning her murders for her books.

With it being mid-week, the Inn’s restaurant was quiet for their nine o’clock meeting. Mac wondered if the murders could be the reason for the solitude. Jeff had been predicting guest registrations would plummet as a result of the press about the owner’s ex-wife and her lover getting slaughtered in his private suite. So far though, there’d been no cancellations.

After placing their breakfast order, Mac asked Hector, “What can you tell me?”

“The maid did it.”

“Which maid?” Mac turned to scrutinize a woman in the cleaning staff uniform washing the windows.

Every Spencer Inn employee wore a uniform. Office and desk clerks were distinguished by their black suits with white shirts. The restaurant staff wore white long-sleeved shirts over black slacks with a black apron that hung down to their knees. A similar uniform with black smock or apron was reserved for the cleaning staff.

No matter what type of uniform the employee wore, it displayed the resort’s insignia, which consisted of the Spencer family crest, stenciled on the blazer’s breast pocket or on the top portion of the apron.

“The maid did it?” Mac asked Hector to elaborate on what sounded like something out of a B-movie. It sounded as bad as saying that the butler did it.

 Both men sat back and fell silent while the server returned to the table with the bread basket and fresh coffee.

“The name she gave was Nita,” Hector told him in a low voice.

“The name she gave?” Mac repeated. “Don’t you know? If she’s an employee—”

“That’s the problem,” the security chief said. “No one knows her except for a few service people who never saw her until a few days before the murders and never since. The chief of housekeeping has no idea who this Nita is. It’s very embarrassing. I’m surprised Jeff said nothing to you.”

When their food arrived, they fell silent while the server placed their plates in front of them. Mac had ordered French toast and sausage while Hector had ordered a fruit and yogurt plate.

“Tell me about this Nita.” Mac poured the syrup over his French toast.

“According to everyone who spoke to her, she barely knew English, if any,” Hector reported. “We got her on the security video. Unfortunately, we don’t have a good enough picture to show anyone. The service staff gave us a description though.”

“Why would she kill them?” Mac took a bite from his French toast. He chewed while waiting for the security chief to answer his question.

Hector stared at his plate.

Mac asked, “Does anyone have any idea who she is?”

“All we know is that she had long thick black hair and wore black glasses. She was seen wearing a cleaning uniform mixing in with the help.”

“What about the key card that all the employees get?” Mac pointed at the identification card that Hector kept in his breast pocket.

For security, all employees had identification cards that contained encrypted codes which allowed them access into areas where they needed to work. Key cards wouldn’t grant access for areas where the employee had no reason to enter. For example, a bartender’s key card wouldn’t allow him into the accounting office. Since access cards were needed to get into several areas of the resort, most employees wore them attached to lanyard cords around their necks. Other employees would clip them onto their belts.

There were very few security key cards that granted access into all areas of the Spencer Inn resort. Mac possessed one. As the Inn’s manager, Jeff Ingle also had one, as did Hector Langford and his deputy chief.

The security chief told Mac, “The employees I inter-viewed said she wore a lanyard cord around her neck and they saw what looked like a security pass in her breast pocket. But when I pressed them, they realized they never saw her use it.”

“It was for show.”

“She could’ve used any card or had her picture taped to a white blank one.” Hector laughed. “It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. A guy hangs out in front of an apartment building that has a security lock. When someone else goes in, the guy follows him inside. Happens all the time.”

“But who…”

Hector took a sip of his coffee before saying, “The police found a black wig and black glasses and the smock from the Spencer Inn cleaning uniform in Christine’s suitcase. Nita was first seen here at the Inn on Thursday. That’s the same day Stephen Maguire checked in. No one has seen her since the murders.” His tone softened. “I’m sorry to say this, Mac, but I think she was stalking Maguire. I’m pretty certain the police agree.”

“What does David O’Callaghan say?”

“He’s not talking to anyone.” His displeasure about not being on the inside of David O’Callaghan’s investigation was evident.

Jeff Ingle appeared at Mac’s elbow. “How are you and your family holding up?”

“We’ll be okay.” Mac thought, What’s the alternative?

Jeff slid into the seat next to him. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m worried about something.”

“You’re always worried about something.” Mac finished off the last of his French toast. “That’s what I pay you for.”

Seeming to miss the humor behind Mac’s comment, the manager plunged on. “Stephen Maguire was killed three days ago. The media has covered it. I’ve seen it on the news. They say the Maguire family has refused comment and to date, no one from the Maguire family has contacted me. You’d think Ed would have at least gotten a call from their lawyer.”

“Isn’t no call from them a good thing?” Mac asked. “Do you want them to call to accuse us of wrongdoing?”

Jeff mopped his brow with the napkin from the place setting he was sitting at. “No, I don’t want the Maguire family demanding to know what we did wrong. But no call at all from them? No family representative telling the media that they intend to get to the bottom of this? That doesn’t happen.”

“I haven’t released any statements about Christine’s death,” Mac pointed out.

“You aren’t Broderick Maguire.” Jeff leaned in to whisper, “It makes me wonder if they aren’t saying anything because they’re preparing to slap us with a humungous multi-million dollar wrongful death lawsuit.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” Hector pounded the table top with his fist. “Whoever killed those people are the ones who did something wrong.”

“But the hole in our security is what allowed it to happen,” Jeff said.

“Now you sound like you’re talking for their side,” the security chief objected.

Mac was grateful for the vibration on his hip signaling the call on his phone. It gave him an excuse to end the conversation. “Quiet, men.” He checked the text on his phone.

Jeff looked as if he feared that his wish to hear something from the Maguire family had been answered. “What is it?”

Mac smiled. “Spencer’s police chief is now ready to talk.”

Chapter Five

The Spencer police department resembled a mountain sports club. The offices were housed in a three-story log building on the lake with a boat launch and dock. The cruisers were all-wheel drive SUVs in order to make their way up and down the mountain, both on and off the road. The department also had four speed boats and a fleet of jet skis for patrolling the lake.

A fire was roaring in the stone fireplace in the reception area when Mac arrived for his meeting with David.

The desk clerk, Tonya, had lived on the lake her whole life. Many suspected the long hours she put in at the station were an excuse to not go home, to which two of her three grown children had returned with their offspring after a short time spent in the outside world.

Tonya greeted Mac with her usual toothy grin and asked about life at the manor, Archie, and Gnarly. Sometimes, Mac felt like she was simply going through the paces while making small talk until they arrived upon the topic of Gnarly and his latest escapades. She had three dogs of her own that she clearly loved more than her kids. The dogs were more self-sufficient and independent.

On this visit, Tonya was unable to resist asking for the low-down on Gnarly’s bone theft. “When are you going to bring Gnarly in for his mug shots?” she asked with a laugh.

“Depending on what progress David is making on his investigation, maybe Gnarly and I can both get fingerprinted and photographed at the same time,” Mac replied. “Do you think they’ll let us share a cell?”

 When he stepped to the back of the reception area to go upstairs to David’s corner office, she stopped him. “The chief wants you to meet him in the conference room.”

Mac cringed. He winced a second time when she asked if he would mind turning in the semi-automatic he wore concealed under his shirt. In all the times that he had visited David at the station, he had never been asked to check his weapon.

While he wasn’t completely up to speed on how the Spencer police did things, Mac was familiar enough with procedure to know that interrogations took place in the conference room where they could be recorded. He half-wished that he didn’t know as much as he did about the workings behind the scenes of a murder investigation.

Tonya escorted him to the room he had suspected he would be interrogated in. It had a two-way mirror, and a hidden camera built into the intercom.

“Would you like a soda?” she asked before leaving to return to the front desk. The mention of the soft drink made him realize how thirsty he was. At the same time, he was too offended to appreciate her offer.

This meeting wasn’t going to be a friendly little sit-down.

It couldn’t be.

The media was all over Deep Creek Lake covering the murders in the penthouse belonging to Robin Spencer’s son. The story was too juicy not to cover. Even though his statement had been taken and evidence collected, journalists were still asking, “Has Mac Faraday been questioned yet? Is he a suspect?”

If David didn’t formally question the media’s prime suspect, then when the real killer was found, the defense attorney would quickly lay the groundwork for an acquittal with insinuations of police cover-up. The fact that Mac was the direct descendent of the town’s founders was enough. If it became public knowledge that the police chief was his half brother, then the media would have the town council screaming for David’s badge. Even with no cover-up, the appearance of an impropriety would be enough grounds to fire him.

David had to question Mac, and he had no choice but to do it by the book.

Still, Mac couldn’t help feeling insulted.

His first instinct was to sit at the table with his back to the camera. Reminding himself of why this interview had to take place, he took the chair of honor facing the camera and two-way mirror.

Looking at his reflection, Mac wondered if Ben Fleming, the prosecuting attorney, was waiting in the room next door to observe the interrogation. So far, all he had heard from Ben was a phone call urging Mac to let him know if he needed anything. Mac wondered if the Maguire family had been talking to the county prosecutor instead of Jeff.

Mac wished he was on the other side of the mirror looking in. Now he was going to find out what it felt like to sit on this side of the table. So far, he didn’t like it.

“Hey, Mac,” David called out when he came in. In one hand he carried a coffee mug. In the other, he had the root beer Mac had requested from Tonya. A bag of donuts hung from the fingertips of the hand grasping the soft drink. “Have you had breakfast yet?

Having eaten Archie’s croissants and the French toast, Mac clutched his stomach. “Sorry. I’m stuffed.”

David held a brown accordion folder so thick that it threatened to drop out from where he had it pressed against his ribs with an elbow. After tossing the folder onto the table, David set the root beer in front of Mac before placing a donut from the bag in front of his place. He then went back out into the hallway and called out, “Anybody want some donuts? We have plenty.”

Alone with the accordion folder that obviously contained files, Mac’s curiosity took hold. He wondered what the collection of files had to do with Christine’s and Maguire’s murders. He saw that there was a yellow notepad under the brown folder.

“This case has had me running around all over town,” David announced when he came back into the interrogation room. “I’ve been living on fast food.”

“Murder cases are like that,” Mac said. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I eat while we do this.” The police chief took a bite out of his donut and chewed before washing it down with a gulp of his coffee.

Both grateful and suspicious about his pleasant nature, Mac eyed the thick folder that David had shoved to the side. “What’s that?”

“Just some case files.”

After taking a big bite from the donut, he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, opened his leather-bound note-pad, and took out his pen. “Unfortunately, the DNA from the skin under Christine’s fingernails wasn’t viable. There was bleach all over that room and the medical examiner thinks her hands were soaked or wiped down with it. Forensics didn’t get any usable DNA.”