Chapter Twenty-Three

Chief MacDonald pulled up in front of the beach bungalow and parked his car. He sat there a moment and looked around. All was quiet. He hadn’t been back to the modest beach house since that day in the fall, when he had brought Danielle there to meet Will Wayne and confront the secret of the Gusarov family.

MacDonald knew Wayne had petition the court to become Karen’s legal guardian and had won. The chief wasn’t surprised. There was no other family member left to oversee Wayne’s ex-wife’s care, and while there was a considerable fortune attached to the trust fund paying for her expenses, Wayne had his own fortune and took legal measures to prove his motives were not monetarily motivated.

Fifteen minutes later, MacDonald sat in the bungalow’s kitchen. It was not quite 9:00 a.m. on Valentine’s Day.

“Karen is still sleeping,” Will explained as he handed a mug of steaming coffee to the chief. “She had a rough night. Actually, the last few nights have been rough.” Will took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Is it just you taking care of her?”

“Goodness, no. There’re several excellent nurses and caregivers on staff; they rotate shifts. To be honest, I’m just here to oversee her care, make sure she gets what she needs.” He picked up the cane leaning against the table and briefly tapped his leg. “I’m afraid I don’t get around too well myself. I’ve discovered the dampness up here is not the best thing for my leg. I’ve been thinking about going back to Arizona.”

“What about Karen?”

“I’m working on that. I’d like to take her with me, if I can work everything out—legally. I’ll set her up somewhere. Someplace close to wherever I land.”

“You won’t stay under the same roof with her anymore?”

Will shook his head. “No. When I first got here, she’d have occasional moments when she’d remember Bobby—that boy I used to be. Of course, she had no idea I was Bobby. But now, she’s drifted off completely to another place. I realize I’m not getting any younger, and as long as I make sure she’s properly cared for, and I regularly check on her, then I think it may be time I move on.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” MacDonald sipped his coffee.

“So tell me Chief, why are you here?”

“Did you hear the news?”

“You mean about Peter Morris’ murder?”

MacDonald studied Will. “I take that as a yes.”

“I heard it on the radio yesterday. Almost called Danielle, but figured she was probably overwhelmed. Feel awful for her, having something like that happen right under her roof. Any leads on who killed him? According to the news, you hadn’t arrested anyone yet.”

“That’s why I’m here.” MacDonald set his mug on the tabletop.

Will let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have to assume Danielle told you how I hired a private investigator after receiving several anonymous calls, telling me Morris was responsible for Isabella’s death. I’m sure that would put me on top of the suspect list. But if Morris was murdered early Friday morning, as the radio said, I have an alibi. I was here all night with Isabella and two nurses. Didn’t get much sleep. Like I said, the last few nights have been rough.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about the private investigator you hired?”

Will picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee before answering. “Logan Mitcham, what about him?”

“Did he find out anything about Morris, in relationship to your daughter’s death?”

Absently licking his lips, Will set his cup on the table and looked up into the chief’s eyes. “He claimed to have evidence Morris had her killed.”

“What evidence?”

Will shrugged. “I haven’t seen the evidence yet. Not sure if I will.”

MacDonald frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“I suppose I would have come to you eventually. But I wasn’t quite sure what to do next,” Will explained.

“I don’t understand.”

“After Mitcham told me he had evidence Morris killed my daughter, I asked to see it. But he told me I’d never get any satisfaction going through the legal channels, because Morris was so well connected. He suggested I have Morris killed. Said if Isabella was his daughter, that’s what he’d do.”

“He told you to kill Morris?”

“He didn’t suggest I do it myself, told me he knew someone who could get the job done, but that it would cost me. I told him I wasn’t interested in killing anyone, I just wanted to know the truth. He told me to think about it.”

“What was the evidence?” MacDonald asked.

Will shook his head. “I don’t know. He never gave me anything. This was on Tuesday. I considered hiring another private detective. I figured if Mitcham was right, and Morris had Isabella killed, then someone in the coroner’s office had to be involved. But I didn’t want to call Mitcham back—even to ask him to turn over what he claimed to have so far. I felt very uncomfortable calling him, because of his offer to find someone to kill Morris.”

“But someone did kill Morris.”

“Yes. But I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You said you were going to come to me?”

“Danielle urged me to talk to you, after I told her about the phone calls I’d received. She said you had no love for Morris and would happily put him away.”

“But you didn’t come to me, even after Mitcham offered to have Morris killed.”

“His offer to hook me up with a hit man threw me. But it’s not like he offered to kill Morris himself. And this all happened just the other day. To be honest, I found myself more angered at the idea that someone in the coroner’s office would take a payoff to cover up a murder. I kept asking myself, should I call another private investigator to look deeper into it, call Mitcham back and insist he turn over what he had, or call you.”

“What did you decide?”

“I didn’t decide anything. Karen’s gotten her nights and days confused, and we’ve been trying to get her to sleep at night, but she’s been keeping us up, and then during the day I’m wiped out. Which, to be honest, is one reason I’ve realized it might be time to get my own place again and let the professionals handle Karen at night. I really don’t have the stamina.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Mitcham?”

“That would have been on Tuesday, when he offered to find me a hit man.”

“You haven’t talked to him again?”

Will shook his head. “No.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I would assume you could find him at his office in Portland, or his home. I can give you his office address and phone number, but I have no idea where he lives. If you ask him about his offer to find me a hit man, I’m sure he’ll deny it.”

“How did you happen to hire Mitcham?”

“One of Karen’s nurses recommended him.”

After leaving the beach bungalow, MacDonald drove to the police station. On his way there, he called Brian, updating him on his interview with Will Wayne. When he arrived at the station, he found Brian and Joe sorting through the file boxes confiscated from Logan Mitcham’s home and office. The private detective still had not been located.

“You told us to focus on any files on Will Wayne’s case,” Brian told the chief. “But there’s really not much.”

“What do you mean?” the chief sat down at the table with his men.

“Wayne was obviously one of Mitcham’s clients,” Joe explained. “But aside from a few notes explaining what Wayne wanted him to investigate, there’s nothing about the actual investigation.”

“Not nothing, exactly,” Brian reminded. “There’s a copy of an invoice in the file, which Wayne apparently paid. But aside from that, nothing on what Mitcham found regarding Isabella’s death.”

“According to Will, Mitcham found evidence Morris had Isabella killed—but he never turned that information over to Will. Maybe he didn’t keep case notes in paper files. Perhaps we’ll find something on his computer,” MacDonald suggested.

“That might be the case,” Joe said. “But I glanced through his other files, and they all include detailed reports on the various cases he’s worked on—notes on surveillances, photographs, all kinds of information. But there is absolutely nothing in Wayne’s file.”

“Maybe he has it with him,” MacDonald suggested.

“Or perhaps he destroyed it,” Brian said. “Maybe Wayne accepted Mitcham’s offer to find a hit man.”

“He didn’t have to look very far,” Joe said dryly.

“You’re suggesting Wayne is covering for himself, throwing out the story of a hit man since I asked him about Mitcham?” the chief asked.

“If you hire a contract killer, and then the cops mention that man by name when discussing the murder, and you realize you’ve a motive and a connection to the hit man, then yes. It might be wise to toss something out there,” Brian said.

“True, but as far as Wayne knows, the only reason I asked him about Mitcham was because he told Danielle about hiring him, and she told me after Morris was murdered and we started looking into people with motives to want the man dead.”

“I doubt Mitcham realizes he left behind his fingerprint,” Joe said.

The chief stood up. “Keep going through the files. Hopefully you’ll find something that’ll help us locate Mitcham.”

The room’s landline telephone began to ring. Brian answered it. When he got off the phone, he looked at Joe and the chief. “They found Mitcham’s car.”

“Just his car? Not him?” Joe asked.

Before Brian had a chance to answer, the chief asked, “Where?”

“Parked a couple blocks from Marlow House. In an alleyway behind a vacant house.”

“How long has it been there?” MacDonald asked.

Brian shook his head. “None of the neighbors remember seeing it parked there yesterday.”

MacDonald headed for the door. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Just as MacDonald was about to walk out of the room, Joe said, “Well, this is interesting.” The chief paused at the doorway and turned to face Joe, who held an open file in his hand.

“What is it?” MacDonald asked.

“Seems Will Wayne is not the only person we know who hired Logan Mitcham,” Joe said.

The chief stepped back into the office. “Who else?”

“According to this file, Heather Donovan is one of Logan Mitcham’s clients.”