Chapter 28
“So when do we go on a date to the casino?” Mal said with a smile.
Duncan frowned at this, but then said, “I suppose that makes sense. So far, the letter writer hasn’t objected to your presence, assuming Mack is being watched.”
Since this echoed my own feelings, I wasn’t about to object. But something else was bothering me. “Why is this letter writer so against you, Duncan?” I said. “I get why I’ve been singled out, but why you?”
Duncan shrugged. “I imagine it’s because you and I were connected in the press, and this letter writer wants to test your abilities without any police investigatory aids.”
“I’ve been out and about with other cops—Tyrese, mainly—while investigating the Capone Club’s cases, and so far the letter writer hasn’t called foul. It seems that you are as much of a target as I am.”
Mal looked over at Duncan. “She has a point, man,” he said. “Granted, I’m operating undercover, but Mack has spent a fair amount of public time with other cops, just not while she’s following up on the letter writer’s clues. If the motive behind these letters is to test Mack’s abilities and ensure she isn’t getting police help, how does the letter writer know Mack isn’t hitting Ty up for assistance? Who’s to say she hasn’t involved the whole police department and they’re not helping her on the sly?”
Duncan looked perplexed.
“Unless the letter writer somehow knows I haven’t,” I suggested, seeing an in for raising my concerns about Duncan’s partner, Jimmy. “What if it’s someone in the police department?”
Both men looked skeptical at this, and I felt my hopes sink.
“I think it’s more likely that it’s someone who is familiar with you and the bar, and possibly the Capone Club,” Duncan said.
“Perhaps, but at least consider the possibility,” I said. “Maybe you could look into who at the PD has connections to the university.”
Duncan nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’ll see what I can dig up without seeming too obvious, but I think it’s a long shot.”
“In the meantime,” Mal said, “when should we hit up the casino?”
“We have until Wednesday, and I’ve got some things I want to look into on the Middleton case,” I said. “How about tomorrow?”
“That works for me,” Mal said. “What time?”
“Around noon? That will give me time to get the bar open and running and check in with the lunchtime Capone Club group.”
“Sounds good. I think I’ll head out and give you guys some time alone.”
Duncan held up a hand and said, “I can’t stay. I’m on call this evening, and as soon as I dust this stuff for prints, I need to get back to the station. Maybe you can help Mack with whatever she has going on with the Middleton case.” He looked at me then. “Do you still think this Middleton guy might be innocent?”
“I do.” I then I told him about Carter’s and my rendezvous with John Harrington and what the man had confessed, along with the blood splatter evidence and other things we’d uncovered. “Without Harrington’s support, we won’t be able to prove anything yet, but I think we’ll get there.” Duncan looked doubtful and worried. “You don’t look very pleased about it,” I observed.
“I admit my feelings are mixed. I’m happy that you might be able to exonerate an innocent man, but if he’s innocent, it means there’s a killer still out there, a desperate one. You need to be careful, Mack.”
“I will be.”
Duncan switched his gaze to Mal. “Thank you for looking after her for me.”
“My pleasure,” Mal said, and I smiled at the irony.
An uncomfortable silence followed, and I had to admit I admired Duncan’s unwavering trust in Mal. He knew Mal had feelings for me, and yet he kept allowing the two of us to spend so much time together. It couldn’t be easy, and I marveled at the level of trust and friendship they shared. I hoped I wouldn’t be the cause of some future estrangement between them.
“One other thing,” Duncan said, shifting his attention back to me. “If you get to a point where you can prove Ben Middleton is innocent, we need to discuss a way to present the information so it doesn’t make the police department and the DA’s office look bad.”
“They arrested and prosecuted an innocent man,” I said. “They’re going to look bad no matter how the information is presented.”
“To a degree, yes,” Duncan said. “But that can be spun and mitigated. If you cooperate with them in that effort, it will smooth over a lot of things for you. Plus, given what this idiot is doing”—he pointed to the letter on the table—“I think the less publicity you get, the better it will be.”
I didn’t argue the point. I hated the publicity. I hated the letter writer, the danger it put me and my friends in, and the hoops I was being forced to jump through. But I also saw the wisdom in what Duncan had said. Handle things right, and theoretically everyone would end up happy.
“What or who are you following up on this evening?” Mal asked.
“I’d like to try to have a chat with Melanie Smithson, Tiffany’s closest friend, assuming I can track her down. I want to see if she knows anything about Tiffany having an affair and, if so, who it might have been with. If anyone would know about an affair Tiffany was having, it would be her. I also want to have a chat with Sam about Tiffany’s paintings. I feel like there’s a clue to her somewhere in them. And I learned that Colin Gallagher hired a PI to follow Ben at some point. I’d like to find him and see what, if anything, he might have to offer on Ben’s lifestyle and any secrets the guy might have been hiding. I’ve got Nick and Tyrese trying to track the PI down. Based on Ben Middleton’s description of the man, it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Sounds like a busy agenda,” Duncan said. “Wish I could help.” He glanced at this watch, reached into another pocket of his parka, and pulled out a couple of small jars and a cloth bag. Inside the bag were three brushes, each one with a slightly different type of bristle on the end. “In the meantime, I want to see if I can find a print on this anywhere.” He gestured toward the metal box, the envelope, and the letter. “Mack, any chance you have some clear packing tape up here anywhere?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” As I headed into my father’s office to grab the roll of tape, Duncan hollered after me.
“Grab a couple more sheets of paper, too, please.”
By the time I returned to the dining table, Duncan had opened up one of the small jars, which contained a fine black powder, and he was using a brush with very fine splayed bristles to dust the metal box. He held the brush a smidgen over the surface and twirled the brush between his fingers, flinging the powder onto the box, my table, and his gloved hand. After covering both the outside and the inside of the box, he frowned and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Maybe the envelope or letter will have something,” I said with halfhearted hope. No one agreed with me. We all knew the odds of that happening were miniscule.
“I’ll need to take the envelope and letter with me,” Duncan said. “Getting fingerprints off those requires a different process.”
I nodded, but I didn’t want to have the letter completely gone, in case I wanted to look at it again. “Let me take a picture of it first,” I said, and I snapped a photo of it with my phone. Then I watched as Duncan put both it and the envelope inside the plastic Baggies I’d fetched when Cora was here. Then he placed them back in the metal box and slipped that into the large shopping bag Mal had used. As he reached for his parka, his cell phone rang. Mal and I both stood by as he took the call.
“Hey. What have you got for me?” he said. Whatever the person on the other end said made him frown. Finally, he said, “Okay. Thanks,” and then he disconnected the call.
Duncan stared at the two of us with a curious thoughtful expression. “Was Gary Gunderson dating anyone around the time he was killed?”
I shrugged. “Not that I know of, but I don’t know if I would have been privy to that info if he was. Billy or Debra might know. Why?”
“Remember that swab I took from the armrest of Gary’s car?”
I nodded, sensing that he was about to reveal something big. My mouth was dry, and I licked my lips in anticipation of his answer.
“The techs found something on it,” he said. “A perfume. Specifically, Opium perfume by Yves Saint Laurent. So if Gary wasn’t dating anyone, then . . .”
He let us come to the conclusion on our own.