Late Thursday Afternoon
Stone and Roberts arrived at the McCarthy home. A few minutes later, Rachel McCarthy greeted them.
Stone sat on the couch next to Roberts. “We have a few questions we would like to clear up.” Stone looked at Joseph and Rachael, took a drink of his coffee, and opened his notebook. “I am impressed by how well you made up your alibi, Joseph. Details planned out. You even got your wife to lie about your knowledge of Ryan having an affair with Rachael.” He watched as they exchanged glances.
“Rachael told me a couple of days ago. I was shocked at the time, but that’s water under the bridge now.” Joseph grabbed his coffee cup, perspiration appeared on his forehead.
“Mr. McCarthy, you look a bit distraught there.” Stone paused and looked at his notes. “Do you know the cause of death of Ryan Morgan?”
“Huh? I understand he was stabbed. I assumed so because you asked about my knives.” Joseph placed down his coffee cup.
“He was. In the back. Three times. Whoever stabbed him in the back left him to die.”
“That, that’s terrible.”
“Yeah, it was. Except here’s another detail.” Stone watched Joseph’s face. “Whoever stabbed him in the back didn’t kill him. Ryan Morgan was alive when you left him, Joseph. He was crawling to his desk when a second visitor arrived. Mr. McCarthy, you didn’t murder Ryan Morgan.” He watched as Joseph's jaw dropped and his shoulders sagged. “Do you want to confess to attempted murder now?”
Joseph shook his head. “I, I thought…”
Rachel grabbed his arm. “Don’t say anything.”
“He doesn’t have to. I can see the truth in his face. I may not prove he stabbed Ryan right now, but I know he did it.”
Joseph closed his eyes. “How did Ryan die?”
“That’s still on a need-to-know basis. I will tell you that if you had arrived ten minutes after you did, you may have been murdered as well. Something for you to think about. In the meantime, as the saying goes, don’t leave town. I still want to prove you attacked Ryan Morgan and attempted to murder him.” Stone stood. “I’ll leave you with an option. Confess you attacked him, and I’ll have the charge reduced from attempted murder to assault causing bodily harm.” He stared at the shaken man. “Let me know sooner than later.”
Stone left with Roberts. Before they reached his car, Roberts asked, “Do you think he’ll confess?”
“No, I don’t. But he now knows I know, and that should make him wonder if I can prove it. Maybe a few more restless nights’ sleep.”
“Fair enough. What do you want to do next?”
“Let’s return to the scene of the crime. We might find a few more clues to help us.”
* * *
“What do you hope to discover here? I thought you had checked out his office already.” Anya Roberts looked around Ryan Morgan’s office, pivoting around in a circle to face Stone.
“We had a murder. Here. The murderer, or perhaps murderers, was in this office. In quantum mechanics, any interference, even observation from the outside changes a closed system. I’m going to find what the murderers changed here. Maybe that will help reveal their identity.”
Stone moved around the office, wearing gloves. He examined the outline of Ryan’s body, opening and closing desk drawers, looked inside the empty safe, and checked the inside of the closet. He picked up a partial bottle of Tennessee whiskey from the top of a credenza. “This is the one thing in the office that does not belong here.”
“Do you think it belongs to the killer?” She studied the bottle. “Maybe it’s something our victim keeps in the office to have a drink now and then.”
“Ryan Morgan was a high-roller. I don’t believe this whiskey would be his style. Maybe eighteen-year-old Scotch Whisky, or Maker’s Mark Bourbon, but he wouldn’t have anything not on a top shelf in a liquor store for himself.”
“Yet we have this bottle.”
“Yeah, there is that. Perhaps someone else brought it here.” He left the inner office and walked into the main office, paused, and sat at Melisa Regan’s desk. Stone opened and closed the drawers, not finding anything interesting. He stood and went to the rear of the office, where the coffee machine sat on a counter. He briefly looked at the selection of the capsules in a metal stand and checked the underneath the counter. Stone frowned at the napkins, supplies of sugar and powdered milk substitute.
A small fridge underneath the counter didn’t provide any more information for him, and he opened a dishwasher.
“Hmm.” He slid out the top drawer, revealing coffee cups and three tumblers. He picked each one in turn and sniffed the cup. “Jack Daniels. Two with lipstick smudges on them.”
“So Ryan had a small party here with two women? Maybe one of them was Melisa Regan.” Roberts stood at the doorway to the coffee room.
“No, Melisa, the office manager, told us she drinks only wine. I suspect the two women were Jill and her girlfriend. Ryan likely took the photos here.”
“From my experience, men rarely put anything in the dishwasher. I’ll bet Melisa was the one putting the glasses away the following morning.”
“If that’s the case, she wouldn’t be too pleased with Ryan for having a party without her. He was cheating on his wife to hang around with her, and maybe it didn’t go too well to learn he was also cheating on her.”
“Good grief. He was married, making out with Melisa, having an affair with Rachael McCarthy, and chasing after Jill. He’s a regular Don Juan. A sleezy Don Juan.”
“How did he find time for work and sleep?” Stone asked. He walked to Melisa’s desk and sat facing the computer monitor. He hit the enter key on the keyboard. In the centre of the screen, a password was requested. He stared at the screen.
“We can take the computer in and have one of our techs unlock the password.” Roberts stood behind his shoulder.
“Or, we can find it ourselves.” He flipped over the keyboard. On the base, a sticky note had the word ‘ParisInSpring’. He typed in the password, and the screen revealed various folders. He opened them, one by one, seeing the usual letters of correspondence, spreadsheets, invoices, and other documents. A spreadsheet listed the employees of Hi-Lite Bar, including phone numbers and addresses. “Nothing of much interest here.” Stone opened the internet browser, going to the settings and checking the history. “She sure checks her social media accounts a lot.”
“Some people do that. Nothing unusual there.” Roberts shrugged.
“Hey, maybe there’s something here.” He clicked on the icon of the recycle bin, listing the deleted files. He restored several documents, quickly scanning their contents. A Word document caused him to say, “Aha!”
“It seems she was offering a hefty monetary reward to Tyler for his help.” Roberts read the brief letter.
“Yeah, and for him to call her after 4:00 p.m. if he was interested. I would say that’s rather suspicious.” He checked the properties of the document. “She wrote it only a few days before Ryan Morgan’s death.” He swivelled in the chair to look up at Roberts.
“And now Tyler has gone missing from work. We have his home address. Shall we pay him a visit?”
“Let’s a get a search warrant first. I’m thinking there may be reason to have a good look around his place.”
* * *
Roberts and Stone arrived at the older stucco exterior four-plex. They parked at the front curb, looking at the patchy lawn trying to survive between two paved paths to the building. It appeared most people were content to take a short-cut across the grass rather than the sidewalk. A small wood sign proclaimed Harvest Apartments had no vacancy. In smaller lettering, it showed the building manager was in Unit B.
Stone led the way to the side of the building where Unit C was located. Past the detectives, an asphalt parking lot had two older vehicles parked, one looking like it hadn’t moved in months.
Stone pressed the doorbell, waited a few seconds and pressed it again.
Roberts stated the obvious, “No answer.”
“Not a surprise.” Stone walked back to the front of the building. “Let’s try the manager.”
The pressing of the doorbell of Unit B resulted in the appearance of a pleasant looking woman of middle age. “How can I help you?”
Stone showed his identification. “We need to get inside Unit C. We do have a search warrant.”
“Sure. I’ll get you the key.” A minute later, she returned with a brass key on a long chain. “I hope he’s okay. He keeps to himself, pretty quiet renter.”
Stone thanked her, returned to Unit B, and opened the door. A musty smell enveloped them.
“Kinda dark in here.” Roberts flipped on the switch, revealing a small kitchen. Two empty pizza boxes sat on a sad looking table.
Stone entered the living room. A switch turned on a pole lamp. In the gloom, he saw a figure lying on a couch. On the floor was a syringe. He rushed over, checking for vital signs. “Call 9-1-1!” Stone looked at Roberts. “He’s still breathing.”
Roberts quickly gave the information to the operator. “An ambulance will be here soon.”
Stone nodded. “Damn.” He looked at the prone man. “I had a buddy die of an overdose. What a fucked-up way to go.”
“Nothing we can do right now.” She placed a hand on his arm, remembering dark stories he told her over the years about his earlier life. His parents had died in a car accident when he was twenty. Later, he implied the accident occurred when both parents were either high or drunk. His older sister died from cancer. It left Stone troubled, often pushing the boundaries of what was safe. “I’ll wait with him. Why don’t you look around the kitchen and the rest of the house?”
He nodded and left the living room. He flipped on light switches, checking out the bedrooms, bathroom, and closets. There was little in the way of furniture or clothes. He looked under the bed, lifting the mattress to look underneath. He found a long-sleeved shirt lying in the bathroom. One end of a sleeve showed what appeared to dried blood splatters. He pushed the shirt into an evidence bag.
Stone used his flashlight in the closets, deciding nothing was hiding. An oversized closet with folding doors hid a washer and dryer. On top of the washer, a Phillips screwdriver rested.
“Firetruck is here.”
Stone returned to the living room after hearing Roberts call out. The paramedic in a dark uniform informed them they would take over.
Roberts passed over her card. “It’s important you let us know where you take him and if he regains consciousness.”
“Will do.”
Stone and Roberts watched them do their work, transfer the man to a stretcher and take him away.
“You okay?” Roberts asked Stone.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He stared at the empty couch. “I’ve found nothing of hidden money so far, but I do have a shirt with what appears to be blood. Something for the lab. Let’s go to the basement.”
Roberts followed him and the flashlight beam down the stairs. The cool cement floor had only a few items. A bike, a few cardboard boxes, a bed frame and an open green toolbox.
Roberts and Stone found a string to pull that turned on a naked lightbulb. They examined the boxes, finding little of value. The toolboxes had an assortment of hand tools.
“No money hidden here,” Stone remarked.
“There’s still the kitchen.” Roberts turned toward the stairs.
Stone pulled the string to turn off the light and met her in the kitchen. The cupboards contained various cans, boxes of cereal, pasta and seasonings, leaving half of the space empty. Stone opened the fridge, finding more beer than edible food. A pizza box with two slices took up one shelf. “A bachelor’s diet.”
Roberts opened the oven door. “Pretty clean in there. I suspect he’s not much of a cook.” She closed the door and opened the bottom drawer. A single baking sheet rested inside.
Stone looked around the countertops, seeing a couple of coffee cups, beer cans, and an empty plastic flask of vodka.
“I don’t see anything,” Roberts reported.
“Yeah, but…”
“What?” Roberts followed Stone as he returned to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He stopped in front of the washer and dryer.
“What’s this screwdriver doing here?”
“He was fixing something?” Roberts looked at the driver he was holding in his hand.
“But what? Nothing here but a washer and dryer. You can’t fix one of those with only a screwdriver. He tugged out the dryer.
Roberts helped him position the dryer into the hallway. She unplugged the appliance. “Don’t get yourself hurt.”
“Ah, you do care about me.” He removed the screws holding the rear plate of the dryer.
“No. It’s just that I would have to explain to Cindy how you damaged yourself during an investigation. For reasons unknown, she cares about you.”
“It’s my charming personality.” He removed the metal cover. “Bingo.”
Roberts watched the money tumble to the floor. “Good guess on where the money was hidden.”
“Good guess? Detective work in action.”
“If you say so.” She looked at the smug look on his face. “Alright, well done, Mr. Detective.”
After taking several photographs, they placed the money, still wrapped in elastic bands, into evidence bags.
Roberts received a phone call from a paramedic, thanked him, and relayed the information to Stone. “Tyler Harris is recovering at the Royal Alec Hospital. He’s still in rough shape, but will survive.”
“Good, can you arrange to have the police guard him? We don’t want him to disappear.”
“Sure.” She repeated his instructions on the phone. After she disconnected the call, she remarked, “You know, Moss, you can make these calls too. The only time I saw you use your phone was to order pickup for lunch.”
“I’m conserving the phone battery.”
“Hogwash. What’s next? Paying Melisa Regan a visit?”
“You read my mind.”
“That’s a dangerous place to go.”
* * *
Melisa Regan glared at the detectives when they stood at her door. “I’m tiring of your harassment. I’ve told you all I know, and I don’t appreciate your interruptions of my time.”
“Mind if we come in? If you want, we can wait until the search warrant arrives.”
“Whatever.” She stepped away from the door. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Stone and Roberts entered the apartment.
Stone heard Melisa talk on her phone, replying yes and okay several times.
“My lawyer will be here soon. She told me not to answer any questions, and since you don’t have a search warrant yet, you can’t look around.”
“Fair enough.” Stone sat on the couch. “Tell me, are you dating Tyler Harris?”
“Who?”
“Come on, he has your cell number. You have his home address. That sounds like a personal connection to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Tyler Harris is under arrest. Do want him to confess first and throw you under the bus? Or do you want to get the jump on him and tell us what happened? Whoever talks first will probably get a favourable response from the prosecution.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“No? We can prove you know him. We can prove you were with him on the night of the murder. We can prove you had means, motive, and opportunity to murder Ryan Morgan. And if you don’t think Tyler Harris won’t confirm what happened on that Friday night, then you’re in for a big shock.”
“I think you should leave until my lawyer gets here.”
“Ms. Regan, when we leave here, you’ll be in cuffs.”
“Fuck you.” She sat in a chair and scowled at him.
A half hour passed slowly before the lawyer arrived. A tall woman with dark hair and a slim body stood in the centre of the room. “Helen Shaye. I’m Ms. Regan’s attorney. Exactly what are the charges against my client?”
Stone stood. “Murder in the first degree.”
“Impossible. Ms. Regan would never hurt anyone. She is often the victim of aggressive behaviour from men. If anything happened between her and a male client, it would have been in self-defence.”
Stone looked at Roberts and back at the lawyer. “I don’t know what you were told, but Melisa Regan conspired with a Tyler Harris to murder Ryan Morgan and steal monies in his safe. We have Tyler Harris in custody. We have his share of the stolen money. I don’t care if Harris or your client confesses first. But both are going to prison. How long she spends behind bars depends on a lot if she stays silent or tells us exactly what happened. Your move.”
“I want to talk privately with Melisa.” Shaye went with her to a bedroom.
Roberts looked at Stone. “Think she’ll confess?”
“I think she’ll put the blame on Harris, and that she was only there when it happened.”
“She’s one wicked woman.”
“I tend to agree.”
Helen Shaye returned. “We would like to make a statement. Ryan Morgan was known for his wealth and womanizing. Melisa was having an affair with him when she discovered he was having a second affair. She broke up with him, and enlisted an acquaintance of hers, Tyler Harris, to accompany her. My client was concerned about Ryan Morgan’s temper and feared for her safety when he was told of her decision to break it off with him.
“When they arrived at his office, Ryan Morgan was dying from stab wounds. Melisa wanted to call for help, but Harris became aggressive and used a knife to slice his throat. He then took monies from an open safe. Tyler Harris threatened Melisa if she said anything, he would kill her as well.
“My client has nothing to do with the murder of Ryan Morgan, and in fact, wanted to save his life. Ms. Regan is a victim in this terrible episode as well.”
Stone shook his head. “Wow. That is quite the fanciful tale. I rather doubt Tyle Harris will say that’s what happened.”
“What do you expect? Tyler Harris is a murderer. You can’t believe anything he says.”
“And I’m supposed to believe what she says? Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. But, by her own admission, she was present during the murder of Ryan Morgan. Therefore, I’m charging your client as an accomplice to murder.” He held up a pair of handcuffs. “I told you, you’ll be leaving in cuffs.”
* * *
Stone and Roberts took Melisa Regan to the street level, where a waiting police car took her away. They returned to her apartment, where the lawyer was still waiting.
“You have a warrant to a search here?”
“Yup. Please don’t get in our way.” Stone handed her a folded document.
“You won’t find anything.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“I know Melisa Regan.” She frowned.
Stone raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure if that’s really an endorsement.” He looked at Roberts. “Why don’t you look in the bedrooms? I’ll investigate the kitchen and bar.”
Stone went into the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, the refrigerator, and the oven. He moved the neighbouring bar, checking the various spirits and the inside of the wine fridge.
“You see, nothing.” Helen Shaye spoke.
Stone ignored her. He looked around the living room, lifting chair cushions, moving tables and tapping walls for signs of a hidden access. He stopped in the centre of the room, looking at the paintings on the walls. He smiled.
Roberts entered the living room. “No hidden money or knives. But I found this in one of the drawers.” She held up paper with numbers and letters typed across.
“Interesting. Perhaps an offshore banking account or a password to digital currency.”
“What did you find?” Roberts asked.
Stone looked at Shaye and back to Roberts. “I believe I figured how she converted her cash to a commodity.” He went over to a wall and lifted a painting off the hanger. “I saw photos of Melisa earlier on the computer. What she had on the walls were prints. These are originals.” He turned the painting around to look at the back and peeled off an envelope taped to underside. “A certificate of authenticity.” He spoke to Roberts. “I’ll bet she purchased this painting recently with cash. There’s another painting on the opposite wall.” He looked at the lawyer. “I guess we found something.”
“I’ll converse with you later on this.” Shaye hurried out of the room.
Stone looked at Roberts. “It looks like we struck a nerve.”