Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

Chapter 42

Odelia had figured she’d have a nice civilized chat with the person she most suspected of murdering Chris Ackerman. She had a hunch, and as every good reporter knows, not to mention any halfway decent amateur sleuth, you need to follow up a good hunch with some spadework before you get where you want to be.

So she’d decided to ignore her uncle’s creed and head down to the Hampton Cove Star that morning, bright and early, and personally ferret out the truth. When her uncle had messaged her, even as she breezed into the hotel, that blood had been found on the item they’d retrieved, she felt stiffened in her resolve to finally get to the bottom of this thing.

‘Check DNA,’ she texted back.

‘Already on it,’ Uncle Alec returned promptly. ‘Will keep you in the loop.’

He’d better keep her in the loop. She was the one who’d landed this piece of evidence in his lap. Or actually Max had landed it in her lap before she’d clued in her uncle.

Speaking of Max, she suddenly became aware of a large cat trailing her into the hotel. And when she looked down, she saw that it was none other than Big Mac, the cat who’d provided them with the initial breakthrough in the investigation. He glanced up at her, then gave her a fat wink. She smiled, wondering what he was doing here all by himself.

“Are you by any chance visiting the pigs?” asked Big Mac.

“Um… yes, as a matter of fact I think I am,” she said.

“Can I join you? I’ve never seen a pig before. At least not a live one. I’ve seen pigs as the finished product—also known as the McRib—but they tell me it’s not the same thing.”

“Sure. Just follow me.”

As they rode the elevator up in silence, she wondered what Chase would say about her habit of chatting with cats. He’d probably think she was crazy.

“The meat is really succulent,” Big Mac was saying. “Pork, I mean. I’m sorry if I’m babbling. It’s just—I like food. A lot. I guess I’m one of those whatchamacallits—a connoisseur?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “We all love food.”

“Yeah, but I love love food,” he stressed. “Like, food is my main passion.”

She smiled. Big Mac was a little weird but he was also adorable. “You look a lot like Max,” she said.

“Yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

As the elevator halted to a stop, the thought briefly occurred to Odelia that maybe—just maybe—she should have told Chase what she was up to, but then her phone chimed again and when she read the new series of messages, she smiled knowingly. Yesss!

She knocked on the door and patiently waited. When Angelique appeared, she smiled a pleasant smile and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you at this early hour, Mrs. Ackerman, but I wonder if I might ask you a few more questions. This time it’s for my article.”

“Oh, sure,” said Angelique. “Come on in.”

The excitement of the hunt had her fully in its grip now, so when she closed the door behind her she totally forgot about Big Mac, leaving him languishing in the corridor.

“Miss Poole!” said Trey Ackerman. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Only now did Odelia notice the paper-thin scar slicing the young man’s brow. It gave him a sinister aspect. “Just collecting some more background information for my piece.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re a reporter as well as a police consultant. Please take a seat.”

She did, seating herself in an overstuffed chair near the window, while Angelique took the second chair across from the small antique table and Trey remained standing.

Suddenly Odelia felt a little uncomfortable and crowded, but she bit back the sentiment. “We talked to your ex-husband’s publisher,” she began, “and he confirmed that he saw you leave as he arrived.”

“That’s great news,” said Angelique, glancing up at her son. “That means we’re finally off your radar, right?”

“Well…” She swallowed, then decided to take a different tack. “Malcolm Buckerfield also confirmed that he offered Mr. Ackerman a new contract, and that Chris was seriously considering his offer. So it looks like Mr. Buckerfield is off the hook as well.”

“But as I understand it you have other suspects, right?” said Trey. His mother had reached out a hand and he pressed it. “This, um, robber, and then there’s the crazy stalker and of course you have met the fellow who insists he’s my father’s son.”

“Which is nonsense, of course,” said Angelique. “If my husband had an affair with this woman he would have told me.”

“Yes,” said Odelia. “I suppose he would have. Only, it’s all about motive, isn’t it? That’s what it all comes down to, over and over again.”

“Motive and opportunity,” Trey agreed, nodding. “So these three men, they had both. And now the police has the unenviable task of figuring out which one of them is the real culprit.”

“I very much doubt whether Sasha Drood had sufficient motive,” said Odelia. “He’s a thief, not a murderer, and even though he’s been in jail plenty of times, he wouldn’t want to go to jail for murder. Not a man like him. Then there’s Aldo Wrenn, who claims Mr. Ackerman was his father. But why would he kill him? All he had to do was prove his claim and he would be set for life.”

“You’re forgetting that if he really is my father’s son he stands to inherit a part of the inheritance,” Trey pointed out.

“My uncle talked to Chris Ackerman’s attorney this morning, and according to the stipulations in his will your ex-husband left the bulk of his fortune to Stacey Kulcheski.”

This was clearly news to Angelique and her son. “What?!” cried the woman.

Odelia nodded. “I’m afraid so. And Aldo Wrenn knew about this. Chris’s lawyers told him as much. Aldo wouldn’t get a penny, even if he was his son. So Aldo knew he’d never benefit from his father’s death. Only in the event that Chris stayed alive could he hope to effect a reconciliation, get into his father’s good graces and possibly earn himself a place in his will. So there goes his motive as well.”

“He could have flown off the handle and committed murder out of spite,” said Trey.

“He’s not the type,” Odelia said.

“So what about this stalker? He’s obviously crazy and extremely dangerous.”

“We’ve just received confirmation that Darius Kassman is actually Stacey Kulcheski’s cousin. He developed an obsession with your ex-husband after being introduced to him by Stacey at her home. Darius may have been obsessed, but he isn’t dangerous. Stacey vouches for him. Said he would never hurt a fly, and most definitely not her future husband.”

“Nonsense,” Angelique exclaimed sharply. “Of course she would say that. You want to know what I think? Stacey put him up to this. This Darius Kassman is a vulnerable young man and she manipulated him into murdering my ex-husband. Especially considering the information you just gave us concerning his will.”

She clearly wasn’t happy about this turn of events. Odelia leaned in. It was now or never. “Mrs. Ackerman—can I speak to you in private?”

Trey got the message. “I’ll be in the next room,” he said, swiftly removing himself.

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Angelique, a little stiffly.

“It’s about your son,” said Odelia. “We found a discarded pizza delivery outfit in a trash can near the library. We found blood on the shirt that we think matches your ex-husband’s blood type. A DNA test will be carried out, both on the blood and the shirt, which I believe will put Trey at the scene of the murder. Which means… he killed his father.”

“What are you talking about? What preposterous nonsense!”