Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) Read online

  What the hell was she afraid of?

  He touched her knee, and she flinched.

  “Umm, it’s impossible to say.” Zoe brushed a hand across her eyes. “You wouldn’t think he’d have much of a chance considering the blood loss. But the cold temperatures could’ve worked to his advantage.”

  A pair of techs, pushing a portable x-ray machine, bustled into room eleven. The nurse who had passed Pete carrying the blood, another tech, and a solemn young man in a blood-spattered lab coat scurried out, talking in hushed tones as they went.

  Pete stared at the doorway. He knew Zoe didn’t want to discuss any of this. But he had too many questions, and not much time before Baronick and his posse showed up and booted him back to Vance Township.

  “We need to talk,” Pete said.

  “I know.”

  Earl rounded the corner. He froze mid-stride when he saw Pete and Zoe. He appeared about to ask a question. But he reconsidered and quietly reversed direction.

  “Marcy came to see me earlier.”

  Zoe met his gaze without saying a word. God, she looked exhausted.

  “She said she and Ted were not having an affair.”

  Her eyebrows raised for a moment, then settled. She shifted her gaze to her hands, and a distant smile flickered across her lips.

  “She said Ted was helping her get a divorce attorney.”

  “So it was Jerry who gave her the black eye.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “The black eye? Yeah. She wore sunglasses into the funeral home. I saw her take them off for a moment.”

  Pete remembered Zoe had mentioned seeing Marcy at the viewing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  “I don’t know. I started to, but…” She shook her head.

  The X-ray techs rolled their machine out of the room. Within seconds, a man and a woman in scrubs rushed back in.

  “According to Marcy, she was afraid of McBirney and didn’t want him to know she planned to leave him. He found out she was meeting with Ted and assumed they were having an affair.”

  Zoe’s face softened, and she nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “So do you want to tell me what you’ve been hiding from me?”

  She stiffened. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  A piercing electronic squeal emanated from room eleven, producing a flurry of activity as a team of four charged down the hall and into the glass-fronted cubicle.

  “He’s arresting again,” Zoe said. “They had him back for a while.”

  Pete watched and listened, expecting someone to come out and pronounce the patient had died. But nothing happened other than one tech leaving and another taking his place.

  “They won’t call it until after they warm him up,” Zoe said.

  “Huh?”

  “You aren’t officially dead until you’re warm and dead.”

  “Oh.” His mind snapped back to the myriad questions plaguing him. And to something Marcy had said. “What did McBirney do to you?”

  Zoe’s face went stark white. “What?”

  “Marcy told me Ted asked her how things were with her husband, because he knew what McBirney had done to you. What,” he asked as he watched her face go from white to almost green, “did McBirney do to you?”

  A woman and a man, both in print scrubs, rushed into room eleven. Raised voices drifted out to them.

  Zoe pressed both hands against her face and drew in a deep, ragged breath. As she exhaled, her hands dropped to her lap. The fear Pete had read in her face had been replaced with resignation.

  “When I was twenty-three, Jerry McBirney tried to rape me.”

  The story she poured out stunned Pete. From McBirney’s manipulative endeavors to charm and seduce a young girl, to the drunken attempted rape, to the vindictive poisoning of her horse. He’d known McBirney was a bastard, but he’d had no inkling of the depths to his evil.

  “Why didn’t you report it?” Pete asked when Zoe finally grew silent.

  Her laugh reeked of desperation. “I was a kid. I’d—been with more than my share of boys all through high school. Part of me—a big part of me—thought I deserved it. Had asked for it somehow.”

  “No one asks for—”

  “I know that. Now. Then? I was confused. Lost. Honestly, I was more upset about him killing my mare than the other stuff. And I didn’t think the police would do anything about a dead horse. Besides, I couldn’t prove anything. Couldn’t prove it then. Can’t prove it now.”

  Some days, Pete hated the way his mind worked. Too many years as a cop made him see things, think things that he wouldn’t had he been a civilian. For instance, this whole sad tale should have stirred nothing but sympathy in his heart. Instead…

  He knew full well Zoe hadn’t stabbed McBirney. There was also the matter of evidence—or lack thereof. But others—Baronick for one—would pounce on her story with nothing short of bloodlust.

  “I saw him today,” Zoe said, shattering his reverie.

  “What? Who?”

  “Jerry McBirney. He came to the barn when I was getting ready to go riding. He wanted to convince me he hadn’t killed Ted.”

  The skin on the back of Pete’s neck prickled. “What happened?”

  She frowned. “We kind of got into it.”

  Damn it. “What do you mean, you got into it?”

  “I told him to leave. He wouldn’t. He tried his charming, innocent act on me. It didn’t work. I reminded him of what he’d done to me. He laughed it off. Said it was my word against his. ‘Water under the bridge,’ I think he said. He denied having anything to do with my horse.” She paused and took a deep breath as if fighting off tears. “Then he threatened to take Windstar away from me.”

  Windstar?

  She must have noticed his confusion. “The horse I have now. His mother was my mare that died.” Zoe sniffed. “McBirney claimed Windy really belonged to him. I know he probably couldn’t make a claim like that stick in court, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Pete closed his eyes. Why the hell hadn’t he left it alone? She hadn’t wanted to tell him. He should have respected her wishes.

  “I kind of—attacked him.”

  Pete’s eyes flew open. “You what?”

  “Well…I offered to pay him off…just to get him to leave me—leave Windy—alone. He claimed I could…” She rubbed a spot on her head and winced. “He suggested a way I could pay that didn’t involve money.”

  “That son of a—” Pete contemplated marching into room eleven and ripping the plugs to every life support gadget out of the walls.

  “So I hit him.”

  Hit him? Pete looked at her slender hands. No bruises. No scrapes. “With what?”

  “The only thing I could grab. Windstar’s bridle. Well, technically the bit. Then I sprayed him in the face with fly repellent.”

  Stunned, Pete ran the scene through his mind. The mental image of Zoe going on the offensive with fly spray made him laugh, but he camouflaged it as a cough. He wanted to hug this woman. He wanted to take her out to dinner and then bring her home to his bed. He did not want to make her mad.

  And he sure didn’t want to see her arrested for murder.

  The cliché about confession being good for your soul might be true, but Zoe wasn’t convinced. Pete wanted answers. She hadn’t been willing to give up Logan or their investigation into Ted’s murder. So when Pete had asked about her more distant past and transgressions, the story had tumbled out. The freshness of the newly re-opened wound made it simpler.

  But no less painful.

  Nearby, someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me.”

  Zoe looked up to find an apologetic-looking Earl standing at the corner.

 
“Sorry to interrupt, but we really need to get back in service.” He pointed to his wristwatch.

  Zoe climbed to her feet and dusted off the seat of her pants.

  Pete stood at the same time. “Mind dropping me off at my car?”

  She pictured his SUV parked behind Rodeo’s. Would McBirney’s car still be there? Probably. With that county detective and his men crawling all over it. Or maybe they’d have towed it away by now.

  As if she’d conjured him up by merely thinking of him, Wayne Baronick appeared behind Earl. “Ah. I see the rescue squad is still here. Any news on our victim?”

  Victim. Patient. Bastard. Zoe mused on their different perspectives.

  “They’re still working on him,” Pete said.

  “Is he gonna make it?”

  “It’s too soon to tell,” Zoe said.

  “Doesn’t look good, though,” Earl added.

  Baronick pursed his lips in what must have been an effort to appear concerned. “Well, I drove his wife here. She’s out in the waiting room.” He turned to Pete. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  Pete gave him a wide-eyed innocent look and a shrug. “Why should I? I have nothing to do with this case. She’s all yours, Wayne.” He clapped him on the shoulder and then turned to face Zoe and then Earl. “Shall we go?”

  Relieved to get the hell out of there, Zoe scooped up her hat and grabbed the gurney’s framework. Earl stepped up to push from the other end. They steered it past room eleven and had almost reached the exit to the ambulance bay when Baronick called out for them to hold up.

  Zoe, Pete, and Earl all turned to see the detective and a doctor, who had been in and out of McBirney’s room, heading their way.

  “Tell them, Doc,” Baronick said.

  The grave-faced young man in the blood-splotched lab coat clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m afraid there wasn’t anything we could do. Mr. McBirney did not survive his injuries.”

  NINETEEN

  Zoe let the men sit in the front of the ambulance for the drive to Vance Township. Riding in the back, staring at the empty cot, was the closest she could get to being alone. And being alone was what she needed right now.

  Jerry McBirney was dead.

  She should feel something. Joy. Relief. Vindication.

  Grief?

  Instead, she felt apprehensive. The man she’d loathed and feared for over a decade was gone. In theory, he couldn’t hurt her anymore. So why was she about to burst into a cold sweat at any moment? Why did she sense McBirney’s circle of influence over her life was about to tighten into a noose?

  Zoe shivered and leaned over to flip the heater on. There was no happy medium where the ambulance’s patient compartment furnace was concerned. You either roasted or froze.

  “Are you all right?” Pete called from the front.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  Closing her eyes, Zoe spent the rest of the trip oblivious to the conversation in the cab, muffled by the roar of the heater and the clang of the valve wrench against the oxygen tank.

  The ambulance jolted to a stop and jarred Zoe from a near-sleep state.

  Pete opened the side door, allowing a blast of bitter cold into the patient compartment. He gave her an inquisitive stare. “You sure you’re all right?”

  Zoe clicked off the heater and stepped out into night air sharp enough to slice through her coat and gloves. “I’m terrific.”

  “Like hell you are.” He took her by the arm and led her away from the ambulance before leaning in close to her ear. “Baronick is going to want to question you. Don’t say anything to him. You hear me?”

  Baronick? The detective? “Why would he want to talk to me?”

  Pete lowered his face to her level so she had no choice but to meet his unyielding gaze.

  Zoe tried to swallow, but it stuck in her throat. The conversation she’d had with Pete earlier came rushing back. Her history with McBirney. His threats. Her attack on him. She was going to be a suspect in his murder. Because she’d confided in Pete. Not Pete her friend. Pete the cop.

  “You’re going to tell Baronick what I told you?”

  “Not if I don’t have to. And neither are you.”

  She stared into his face wanting to believe he wouldn’t betray her trust.

  “I didn’t kill Jerry McBirney. You know that, don’t you?” she whispered.

  Pete touched a gloved thumb to Zoe’s lips and cupped her face in his hand. His expression softened. “Yeah. I know that.” For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he turned and strode to his SUV, parked where he’d left it behind Rodeo’s.

  Zoe headed back to Medic Three and climbed into the passenger seat Pete had vacated. She leaned forward a bit for a better view of what was now a crime scene. Yellow police tape marked the area. A Monongahela County police vehicle kept vigil. But McBirney’s car was gone.

  She sat back and closed her eyes.

  Earl rested a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Not now.” Zoe drew a deep breath and picked up the mic. “Control this is Medic Three. We’re in service, returning to the station.”

  After two hours of restless sleep, Pete rolled out of bed. He showered, shaved, and dressed, all the while replaying yesterday’s events in his mind.

  Marcy fingered her husband for Ted Bassi’s murder. Yet instead of being the break in the case Pete had longed for, it only created countless new headaches. McBirney hadn’t had a chance to refute his wife’s accusations. How convenient.

  For Marcy.

  Zoe’s tale only reinforced what a monster McBirney was. Motive wasn’t the issue. Hell, it amazed Pete that someone hadn’t offed the man years ago.

  No. The issue wasn’t why. It was who.

  Pete unlocked the police station’s front door and disengaged the alarm. He checked the clock. Seven-fifteen. Forty-five minutes before he was officially on duty.

  He turned up the thermostat, flipped on the light to his office, and glared at the empty coffee pot. Damn, he missed Sylvia. No matter how early he arrived at the department, she’d already be there with a fresh pot brewing.

  Maybe with McBirney gone, Pete could get the remaining supervisors to give Sylvia her job back. If she’d take it. Pete would have to work on her.

  He popped the lid on the Maxwell House can and peered inside. Empty.

  Son of a bitch.

  Pete flung the container into the trash can and opened the storage cabinet door. Nothing.

  The one and only grocery in Dillard had closed five years ago. He could venture back out into the frigid cold and drive to Phillipsburg. Or…

  He stomped into the front office—Sylvia’s office—and picked up the mic.

  “Thirty-one, this is Vance base.”

  “This is thirty-one,” crackled Kevin’s response.

  “What’s your twenty?”

  “I’m on Covered Bridge Lane approaching Route 15.”

  Damn. That was clear on the other side of the township from Phillipsburg. “Before you come back to the station, swing by the Food Mart and pick up a can of coffee.”

  “Copy that, Chief,” Kevin said, but the jingling bells indicating someone had entered through the front door partially drowned him out.

  Pete turned to find Wayne Baronick grinning at him, his hands behind his back. “Out of coffee, Chief? That’s a fate worse than death.” The detective revealed what he’d been hiding—two cups of Starbucks.

  On another day, Pete might have thrown the brew in Baronick’s face. Especially considering how pleased the sanctimonious county detective had been last night as he claimed jurisdiction over Pete’s crime scene. But Pete needed caffeine. Now. He snatched one of the cups and took a
whiff of the aromatic steam.

  “You’re welcome,” Baronick said. “Now, can we talk?”

  “About what?” Pete headed for his office, gulping the coffee.

  Baronick followed. “Jerry McBirney’s homicide.”

  Pete shook his head. “I’m not on that case. ‘Vance Township doesn’t have the means to properly handle a homicide investigation.’ Isn’t that what you said last night?”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t want your assistance. Besides, I thought you’d be interested in hearing what my guys learned while interviewing the bartender at Rodeo’s last night.”

  Pete settled into his chair and motioned to one across the desk from him.

  Baronick made a show of flipping through his notepad. “McBirney arrived sometime after two in the afternoon, not in a very talkative mood. He started with beer. About an hour, hour and a half later, he made a phone call on his cell. The bartender didn’t hear the conversation, but said McBirney seemed pleased with himself afterwards and ordered another beer.”

  “He made a call on his cell? Did you find the phone?”

  “No. It wasn’t on McBirney, and it wasn’t anywhere in the car. I’m working on a subpoena for the records.”

  “So was McBirney there the whole evening?”

  Baronick shook his head. “The bartender said he received a call a little before four. Apparently McBirney didn’t like what the caller told him because he switched from beer to whiskey. After a couple of shots, he made another call. The bartender said the joint was getting busy with folks getting off work so he didn’t notice how long he was on the phone, but didn’t think it was long. After a couple more shots, McBirney paid up and left around four-thirty.”

  Pete sipped his coffee. Had McBirney met up with his attacker in the parking lot on his way out? Or was that what the killer wanted them to believe?

  “We should have some answers as soon as I get my hands on those phone records.”

  “That’s not likely to happen until early next week,” Pete said. “If you’re lucky.”