The Lady Who Cried Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (7 page)

“He’s a rapist.”

“I know that,” Mac said. “I’ve known it for years, but his friends and the media, who agree with his politics, have protected him all this time.”

“Are you thinking he had Khloe killed? She was his daughter.”

“I’ve met Senator Harry Palazzi,” Mac said. “Nothing means anything to him except his own personal gain.”

“This means both Senator Palazzi and his son could be suspects in murdering Khloe to keep her quiet about the rape and being his illegitimate daughter.”

“The house was searched,” Mac said. “I wonder if whoever killed her got the copy she had found of the recording. We still have the copy Ed has.”

“I hope it’s in a safe place,” Archie said.

“So do I,” Mac said. “Palazzi’s people will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” He glanced around the house. A wicked grin crossed his face before he squeezed her shoulders to bring her in closer. “Guess what I just realized.”

“What?” She set her laptop aside.

“We’re all alone.”

“Date night!” She grabbed him by the front of the shirt and dropped back to pull him on top of her.

Giggling like teenagers with the house alone, they groped at each other and kissed long and hard in anticipation of a lust-filled evening—until the deck door in the dining room flew open.

Lying across the sofa, they were unable to see who came in.

“Gnarly ate my shrimp cocktail!” they heard David yell.

The door slammed shut.

Before Mac could recover, Gnarly jumped over the back of the sofa to land on top of them. The three of them fell to the floor in a mangled pile of arms, legs, fur, and paws.

“So much for our evening alone,” Mac grumbled.

Chapter Six

The height of ski season was the busiest time at the Spencer Inn—especially on the weekends. The inn was packed with guests. Some would be into the skiing. Some would take advantage of the spa’s amenities—have a massage or go in the hot tub—and others would simply camp out in front of one of a dozen roaring fires while enjoying the view of the skiers and snowboarders outside. Everyone, it would seem, was enjoying the food and drink in the restaurant and lounge.

Sometimes the inn would be so packed that Mac avoided it. It was simply too hard to elbow his way through the mob to get where he wanted to go.

But he had a murder to solve, and this was an opportunity to question a suspect who would otherwise not be available.

Senator Harry Palazzi was guest of honor at a fundraising event being held in the Spencer ballroom. Ben Fleming’s wife, Catherine, was a power broker in the senator’s party. Being a multi-millionaire, Mac’s pockets were deep enough to earn him an invitation.

Archie had taken a break from editing to be Mac’s date. She even consented to putting on shoes. After a quick tour of the room in which she was introduced to most of Garrett County’s political movers and shakers, Archie welcomed the opportunity to sit down with the prosecutor’s wife to enjoy a glass of champagne.

A stunning blonde, Catherine Fleming was an honest-to-goodness debutante, which many people believed were extinct. Having grown up in prestigious private schools, with summers spent overseas, she came from old money on both sides of her family and married an impressive lineage in Ben Fleming, whose ancestors had been friends with the Spencers, the town’s founders. Catherine had more social and political power in her little pinky than any of the women in Deep Creek Lake. While you could see it in her dress and regal bearing, you would never know it in her girlish laughter when she got together with her favorite gal pal, Archie Monday.

Ironically, Catherine Davenport Fleming had married into the opposing political party. As much power as her family held, Ben Fleming’s family was equally powerful on “the other side of the aisle.” Catherine had confided to Archie that all her husband had to do was give the word, and his party would clamor to appoint him to run for Maryland governor—and, as the proud and supportive wife, she would throw her full support behind him.

Luckily for Garrett County, their prosecutor preferred Deep Creek Lake to Annapolis.

“Why did you decide not to go to the Governor’s Ball?” Archie asked Catherine after they had completed their first round of champagne.

“Same reason you decided to close up your laptop for the evening and put on shoes,” Catherine said. “What fun is a fiasco when you aren’t there to witness it first hand?”

“Mac has come a long way since he first moved to Deep Creek Lake,” Archie said.

“I’m not talking about Mac,” she said. “I’m talking about Palazzi. It isn’t every day he has to face someone who knows exactly what he is and has the guts to tell him to his face.”

“Is he really that arrogant?” Archie asked.

“He’s the worst.” Catherine craned her neck to see around a group who had gotten between them and the bar where Mac and Ben were waiting to ambush the senator. “He was tough on crime and had an impressive record as sheriff. That got him elected to the senate. When his wife disappeared, that got him the sympathy vote that seems to have held him in office ever since. Anytime anyone questions his ethics, he trots out his dead wife and sobs about how much he has sacrificed for his fellow Americans.”

A wave of sympathy swept over Archie. “What exactly happened to his wife?”

“It was during his first term as senator.” Catherine shrugged. “I don’t know how old Bevis was—maybe he was a teenager. Barbara and her best friend were kidnapped from the Palazzi home. The place was wrecked. Police narrowed it down to a guy who the senator had put away for robbing a convenience store back when he was sheriff. The guy had been released only the month before.” Her disgust gave way to pity. “They never did find their bodies. The friend was married and had a daughter. Last I heard, her husband drank himself to death.”

“Garnished Palazzi a lot of sympathy, huh?” Archie said.

“’I was quite young when all that happened,” Catherine said. “And one would assume that all that tragedy contributed to Palazzi’s and his son’s character, but I was raised to believe that there is no excuse for being rude. Of course, some would say that’s old fashioned.”

“Of course.”

Catherine’s mouth turned downward into a frown. “I used to be really excited about my folks’ role in politics. I even had aspirations of running for political office—back when I was young and idealistic.”

“What changed your mind?”

“It’s nothing like it used to be,” Catherine said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Priorities have changed. No longer is it, ‘what’s best for the county?’ Now it’s ‘what’s best for the party?’” She gestured at the well-to-do guests filling the room. “Everyone here knows that Harry Palazzi is an arrogant, lying SOB, whose number one question about any political issue is ‘what’s in it for me?’ Those who offer him the most political favors, win his vote. Yet, would any of them think of making moves to run someone else for the senate seat in the next term? No.” She shook her head. “Not as long as he can get enough votes to keep the other party from winning his seat. He can sell our country to China for all we care—just don’t let the other guy win.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Archie said. “Don’t tell me that if Mac had proof that he was a rapist and a mur—”

“You mean admit that we had made a mistake by backing him in the first place?” Catherine laughed. “That would mean taking responsibility.” A flash of anger crossed her face. She tapped one of her manicured fingernails on the tabletop. “Somewhere along the line, we’ve turned into a couple of street gangs in designer suits. All anyone—in both parties—cares about is winning that next rumble against the folks on the other side of aisle. If the conclusion turns out great for the country, so much the better. If not—well, it’s not our fault. It’s the fault of the other gang. Unfortunately, our country is falling apart while we’re behaving like upper-class street thugs.”

“Divide and conquer,” Archie said.

“Exactly,” Catherine said. “Who divided us, I don’t know or care. The fact is that it’s happened, and every time someone stands up to say enough is enough, the media hunts down his Achilles’ heel and rips him apart while the people watch and do nothing.” She sighed. “It’s sad.” The corners of her lips curled when she caught sight of Archie looking at her out of the corner of her eye. With a smile, she took a sip of her champagne. “That’s the end of my speech.”

Archie didn’t return her grin. “Do something about it.”

Catherine laughed. “Like what?”

Archie smiled. “Catherine Davenport Fleming, this is your party. You can changed the playlist to set the theme for whatever you want it to be. How about setting it to the tune of common sense and mutual respect for your fellow countrymen ... or women?”

In silence, Catherine gazed at Archie while trying to determine if she was serious or not. “Do you really think I could do that? I’m only one person.”

“Why not?” Archie said. “It took only one person to get prayer yanked out of our schools. Why can’t one person do something right to turn our country around?”

“You do have a point, Archie Monday.” Seeing some action across the room, Catherine let out a laugh filled with glee. “The show is about to begin.”

“Did you bring your gun?” Ben asked Mac while signaling the bartender for another round of drinks.

“I’m never without my gun.” Mac was still nursing his first drink. He declined Ben’s offer for another. He wanted to be sober when he faced Harry Palazzi.

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“Don’t worry, Ben.” Mac flashed him a grin. “I haven’t shot anyone so far this week.”

They watched the guests swarm toward the entrance. The guest of honor was arriving. Men dressed in black and wearing security earpieces pushed back the guests to make way for the senator.

Worry creased Ben’s brow for the second time that week.

Mac eyed the heavy-set man with a square jaw taking the position of honor among the sea of bodyguards coming toward them. He was next to a tall, reed-thin man. “Of course, the week is still young.”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Ben said.

“I’ve come a long way since I first moved to Spencer.”

Ben looked Mac up and down. Gone was the faded navy-blue t-shirt with “POLICE” emblazoned across the back and faded jeans and flip-flops. He was dressed in a tailored blacksuit with a blue shirt and a matching blue tie. “Yeah, Mac, you have come a long way.”

“Good evening to you, Ben!” The senator broke from the crowd and took the prosecutor’s hand in a firm handshake. “Great to see you again. It’s been a while. When was the last time? We knocked back a couple of drinks at that lounge in DC after that reception for—”

“It’s been at least two years,” Ben said.

When the slender man stepped up to take his hand, Mac recognized him as the same lawyer the senator had represent him when he had been interrogated about Dee Blakeley’s rape and subsequent murder. Samuel Brooks had the reputation of representing the slimiest of the scum. It was no surprise to Mac that he had conversations with Khloe shortly before her murder. With their hands in a firm grasp, Samuel Brooks’ eyes locked on Mac’s. It took only seconds for recognition to set in.

“Harry, I want you to meet a friend of mine.” The sound of Ben’s voice coming closer jolted Mac out of his glare with Brooks. “Mac Faraday.”

Mac turned to face the senator, who backed up a full step upon hearing Mac’s name. He froze when he saw the former homicide detective. “Mac—” he stuttered out.

“Faraday.” Mac offered him his hand, which the senator refused to touch.

“Is this some sort of joke, Ben?” the senator accused the county prosecutor. “Of course! You would invite this man to our fundraiser where I am the guest of honor. I’m going to have a word with your father-in-law about you inviting this—this—”

“I think the word you’re looking for is homicide detective,” Mac said.

“Bastard is a better word for it.”

“If you’ve lured the senator here to trap him in some sort of interrogation about some incident in which you have no jurisdiction…” Samuel Brooks was in legal mode.

“What incident would that be?” Mac asked. “Are we talking about Florence Everest, who you raped while you were sheriff, or Dee Blakeley, who you raped after you became senator? Or maybe the murder of your daughter, Khloe Everest? That we do have jurisdiction over.”

“Who let him in here?” The senator turned to the political party’s event coordinator. “I want this man removed from this hotel. Call security!”

The pretty young woman who didn’t look old enough to drink stammered without uttering any intelligible words.

“Don’t just stand there, you morons!” The senator raged to his security personnel. “Call the manager. Call hotel security! They’re supposed to be sure riffraff like these people don’t get in! I’m a senator, for God’s sake. Has anybody checked to make sure this man isn’t armed?”

One of the senator’s bodyguards stepped forward to take Mac by the arm. Another approached from his other side. Mac turned sideways to throw a kick into the gut of the one guard, which made him double over and drop to his knees. Simultaneously, Mac grabbed the hand of bodyguard who dared to grab his arm and twisted it around. Digging his thumb into the pressure point of the guard’s palm, Mac brought him down onto his knees.

While holding the guard down with one hand, Mac drew his gun out from where he had it concealed behind his back and aimed it at Senator Palazzi’s face. “Order them to back off or you’re going to get what you should have gotten twelve years ago!”

With an arrogant grin, Senator Palazzi took on a calmer tone. “Hold on, men! Let’s just wait. Hotel security and the police will be here any minute, and Detective Faraday will be escorted out.” Smoothing his hair, he turned to the cameras of the news stations following the fund-raising event. “I learned long ago, back when I was sheriff, that sadly, sometimes members of our law enforcement go over the edge. It’s brought on by the stress of the job. You have to be understanding and sympathetic to them. I’m sure that, after some in-depth counseling, Detective Faraday will become emotionally well again. Hopefully, even find a job in a less stressful field.”

Squaring his shoulders, the senator added, “Right now, my concern is for the safety of the hotel’s guests. But I am sure the management here at the Spencer Inn will be able to peacefully remove this sick man without incident.”

Ben covered his mouth with his hand to conceal his smirk.

Releasing the guard, who scurried away while massaging his aching arm, Mac laid his gun down on the bar. “While we’re waiting for security to come throw me out, Mr. Brooks, can you tell me about the numerous conversations you had with Khloe Everest on the days leading up to her murder?”

“Have you ever heard of client-lawyer privilege?”

“So she was your client?” Ben asked. “Now she’s a dead client.”

“Did those conversations have anything to do with a recording her mother had left her in which your client, Senator Harry Palazzi, confessed to raping her mother and getting her pregnant?” Mac asked. “I take it you couldn’t reach an agreement for her silence, which is why right after your last conversation, she texted the news to Senator Palazzi’s son, Bevis.”

“Who happens to be planning a bid to run for governor,” Ben interjected.

“Khloe then proceeded to contact various media outlets to break the story and play the tape,” Mac said.

“He’s lying!” Samuel Brooks yelled before telling Mac, “You’re opening yourself up for a defamation of character suit, Mr. Faraday!”

“Do you have that tape now?” the senator asked.

“We do,” Ben said. “We’ve heard it. We also know that you were paying ten thousand dollars a month to Florence Everest for child support and her silence.”

“That was a retainer for her services as a decorator,” the senator said.