Hidden Vices (20 page)

Thirty-Nine

It was another cold
morning, and Megan woke with her head facing toward her parents photograph. The dream lingered. She felt so alone and abandoned. Hell, most women her age were on their second or third child, with a stable marriage. Megan made fun of “stable” marriages—she could just picture two horses side by side, eating the same oats and the same hay day in, day out. It was her jaded, cynical side, or perhaps it was her nature. She kept telling herself she didn't much care. Her father brought up Megan and her brother with certain traditions: every birthday, make a list of what you want to achieve in the next year; Thanksgiving was the day to make the list of everything and everyone wonderful in your life, the people who have not just touched you but changed you to make you better; Christmas was the day to spend time with those people and tell them you loved them.

Megan sat up in bed, the sheets and blankets never enough to warm what she was missing. She still tried, then Clyde moaned.

He gave her a nod as if to say,
Not my fault.

She wondered if there would ever be a time when she said that to herself:
not my fault.
It was a phrase that was hard for her to even utter. She didn't believe it.

Megan went down into the lower level to feed Clyde. As usual she checked that the double doors were locked and she performed a casual glance outside. Empty. Or so she hoped. She opened one of the cabinets for any more doggie goodies and found a red dog vest typically worn by service animals. She said to herself, “It's Christmas Eve, what the fuck.”

She looked out the window and saw Arnold parked out front with a note on the window. Megan put on her winter coat over her pajamas and approached the Range Rover, hoping it wouldn't explode when she opened the door. The keys were perched on the visor. The note read:
No charge. Insurance will get this one. Drive safely. D.B.

Megan huffed out an uncertain laugh.
Comforting.

Megan drove over to Krogh's to pick up three turkey dinners. Much to her surprise, Vivian was working, but she was also pleased to see her busy and not alone on the holiday. They signed hello, and Megan was actually surprised to see exactly how busy the restaurant was.

I guess I don't get out much unless it's to funerals or crime scenes.

Megan was sure to place the dinners closer to her than to Clyde in the truck as she drove to the hospital to visit Billie. She dressed Clyde in the service dog vest from the Macks' previous dog, who was, according to the papers Megan stuffed in her coat pocket, an
active canine companion
.

“Clyde, you be good. No pulling on patients' tubes or peeing in the hallways or whatever your imagination could come up with. We're here to see Billie.”

Megan walked through the front door with an overly friendly smile and issued the conditional happy holiday gestures, hoping nobody would question Clyde's presence. Not one staff member prevented Megan from walking into the elevator. Clyde was on his best behavior until they entered Billie's room. The television was on mute. Billie stared out the window and was stunned at Megan's arrival.

“Hey, kiddo. Merry almost Christmas.” Megan placed the food on her hospital tray.

Billie lit up when she saw Clyde. “Oh my God! You brought Clyde!”

He jumped on the bed and snuggled right next to Billie.

“He's a service dog?”

Megan had a sheepish grin, not wanting many of the staff to overhear their conversation. “He's on a day-pass,” she whispered. “And look what I have here—three full dinners, compliments of Callie.”

“Your
friend
,” Billie smiled.

“Whatever! One for you, one for your aunt, and one for the staff. You always need to take care of the people who are taking care of you.”

Billie dug into the tray of stuffing first. “But who takes care of you?”

Megan dropped her usual banter. “See that furry guy who's trying to eat your stuffing? He does a pretty good job.”

“Why does he have so many bandages?”

“Porcupine. Dumb luck.”

Billie rubbed Clyde's head. “Isn't all bad luck pretty much dumb?”

“Eat your Christmas lunch. Or dinner, whatever it is, wiseass.”

Billie looked better than she had the last time Megan visited her. Her color was back to normal and the bruises were fading. They sat petting Clyde while holiday-themed shows ran on the small hospital television.

Megan placed a small piece of turkey on the plates Callie provided. “How are you feeling? Give me an update.”

“Well, the leg is sore, but my chest actually only hurts at night or when I try to move. So I guess you could say that kinda sucks.”

“You'll be home soon. I mean, with your aunt.”

She had a small pout. “Yeah, not with my mom. Ya know, the whole twenty-eight-days thing.” Billie was speaking of her mother in rehab.

“Have you heard from her?”

Billie proceeded to feed Clyde from her tray, and he was quite grateful for the indulgence. “No. My aunt said she wouldn't get phone privileges until she's out of detox.”

Megan stared at Billie without the acknowledgement that she knew exactly what she was going through. She didn't much want to share the open wound of her youth. “You're prettier without all that crap makeup you wear.”

“You really rock at giving out compliments,” Billie said, laughing. “So where's your guy?”

“He's not my guy.” Megan waited for another smart-ass comment and sure enough she got it.

“He's hot. You better make him your guy before someone else does.” She raised her eyebrows. “Get what I mean?”

Megan shook her head. “Just eat and turn the channel, I can't stand cozy, dippy movies.”

Billie started channel surfing, but all the local channels seemed to be showing the same newscast.

“Stop,” Megan ordered.

Billie turned up the volume. It was a break in regular programming showing Duane Baker being hauled out of his garage in handcuffs. The reporter stood outside in a parka saying Duane Baker was being arrested for the murder of Mount Arlington's mayor, which was determined
not
to be a suicide. There was undisclosed evidence that showed Duane was responsible for the killing.

Megan and Billie said in unison, “Shit.”

Billie added, “I've known Duane practically my whole life. Why would he want to kill the mayor? I don't get it.”

I do
, thought Megan. “Billie, I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to go.”

“Are you going to check this out?”

Smart fucking kid.
“No, I'm going to go see a man about a dog.” Pat McGinn would always say that to Megan while she was growing up to sidetrack her when he was called to a case. Except this wasn't Megan's case and she wasn't about to share the sordid details with a teenage girl who recently survived a pummeling from her alcoholic mother's boyfriend.

“Come on, Clyde.” Megan yanked his leash. He was still too interested in the turkey dinners on the hospital tray. “Text me when you get out, okay?”

Billie had a tense look of concern on her face. “I will as long as you'll be okay.”

“I'm always okay.”

They both knew Megan was lying.

Megan pointed at Billie's leg in the soft cast. “Take care of that, and rest. That's an order.”

After Megan walked out with Clyde, Billie whispered, “You take care. That's an order.”

Forty

Megan took Clyde home
so she could watch the full news story. Callie had left three messages on her cell, but her phone's battery had died and she needed to charge it before returning the call. She thought about the newscast and began to doubt its truth, though she wasn't sure why. Duane Baker certainly had a long enough list of priors, certainly had hate inside him, and most likely enough tragedy. Worse, he was victim of the most horrible crime of all: sexual assault.

Megan settled Clyde, then hopped in Arnold and drove over to Norden's Marina. The brakes worked perfectly.
Well, Duane, you may be a scumbag, but you are a good mechanic.
There were no cars in the driveway. No lights on. Megan walked around the outside of the house. It was eerily silent, only a light wind and fog hovering over the frozen water. She walked to the end of the marina dock to find the broken edge where she'd crashed the snowmobile. Megan knelt down to look when she sensed a presence behind her, and she knew. There was no crystal ball needed. She turned and there he stood, his blackened helmet blocking the only exit off the dock. For as hot-headed as Megan could be, her calm resolve was immense when needed, especially when her life was possibly in danger. She stared at the man, knowing she could not positively identify him until he removed his helmet.

“Ms. McGinn. Is there something I can help you with?” Jake Norden asked.

Megan presumably scratched her back while taking the safety off the gun situated in the back of her jeans. “I wanted to see the damage that my ill-skilled snowmobile technique caused so I could reimburse you.” Both Jake and Megan were exceptionally unflappable. They stared at each other. “I thought it would be neighborly to make up for it.”

He stared at the dock. “It's nothing. Callie said he'd take care of it. Come spring it will be fixed properly. It's nothing for you to worry about. Something tells me you came for another reason.”

Megan shook her head. “Not really. I did see your friend on the news. Duane Baker. Sorry about that.”

Jake looked down, as if he felt a sense of repentance. That didn't last long, and arrogance quickly showed in his face. “Well, he has a few demons. I'm sure they'll find him innocent eventually.”

Megan found that to be an odd statement. Her years of interviewing perps made her keen on body language, and Jake Norden was ice cold, to the point where he could freeze the lake ten times over. “Why do you think that?”

He took another step toward Megan, at which point she teetered on the edge of the dock. “I'm just saying. Innocent until proven guilty, right?”

Megan sidestepped him to move from his path and she was halfway down the dock when he shouted out. “Megan? Or Ms.
McGinn?”

Megan turned to see him kneeling by the dock using a knife—a knife she knew all too well—to cut rope from one of the pilings. “Happy Holidays.”

She stared at him. More fog rolled in now, masking his countenance. She wasn't sure if it was a grin or a glare emanating from his face, but she knew she didn't like it.

“Sure.”

Someone should carve that motherfucker like a turkey
, she thought.

As Megan returned to her truck and turned on the lights, she stared into the opened garage and could see four burlap sacks on a bench. She locked the doors immediately, then retreated from what she could only think of as another close call with the icy waters of Lake Hopatcong.

Megan was on her way home when she drove near Duane Baker's garage. The
closed
sign was facing the road, but she saw his mother sitting in the office. She pulled in. Megan knocked on the front door. Lynn didn't respond. Megan knocked again and walked in. “Lynn, it's Megan McGinn. Do you mind if I come in?”

Lynn sat at her desk with a bottle of whiskey, staring at a picture of her son. She shrugged her shoulders. “Don't matter much to me.” She took a swig from the dirty glass.

“I, um.” Megan sighed. “I saw what happened to Duane, and I wanted to tell you that—”

Lynn interrupted. “Tell me my delinquent son is a murderer? I've gotten enough phone calls and hang-ups today from people who feel that way. Apparently, Christmas Eve is also a day to spread hate in this town.”

Megan shook her head. “No, Lynn. That's not why I'm here.”

Another shot of whiskey. “My son is no angel. I've known that for a long time. Something turned him when he was a young boy. Not sure what. Maybe when his father ditched us. Who knows what can kill a soul.”

Megan was not about to tell Lynn what she'd uncovered. “Lynn.” Megan paused. “You and everyone else know I'm a detective. They don't say much on the news about why he was arrested. Maybe I can help.”

“You're gonna help me take a second mortgage out on my business to come up with bail money? Or are you gonna make the fact they found Duane's prints on the gun go away?” Lynn finally looked Megan in the eye. “My boy was there that day. The mayor wanted Duane to give him an estimate on one of his cars, thought Duane might be interested.”

Megan's first thought, especially with Duane's past was,
He's screwed
. “Are you sure they found prints?”

She nodded. “That's what got him arrested.”

Megan sat down. “Lynn, you're his mother. You know if he did it or not.”

“Like I said, Duane is a lot of things, but he's no murderer. He's troubled on many levels, but he wouldn't kill anyone. Nope.”

Megan chose her next words very carefully. “Did you see him when he came home that day? When he was done working on the mayor's car?”

Lynn threw back another shot. “Sure. He had three other cars to work on. And you saw him too. Ten minutes after he got back, you rolled in with that monster truck. When the light was goin' off.”

Megan remembered it clearly. “He was wearing the same clothes he wore when he left for the mayor's house?”

“Yeah. Go figure, his tuxedo was at the cleaners.”

Megan knew from dealing with Forensics on her murder cases that shooting someone at close range caused enormous blood splatter. Putting a gun in someone's mouth and blowing their brains out? Duane would have been covered in blood, as well as other bodily matter.

“You know what I've noticed about you, girl?” The whiskey was about to speak. “Nothin' been good since you came to town. The judge is murdered. That poor girl”—she was now waving her very full glass in the air—“that girl down your street is pummeled and in the hospital. Christ, I even heard your damn dog was shot. It sure seems to me that you've got a black cloud over you.” Another sip. “And I know what happened to your momma.” She nodded. “Yeah, I do read the papers. The first day I put eyes on you I thought to myself,
now there's trouble. Manhattan trouble comin' to our small lake town.
Evil follows you wherever you go. You ever feel cursed? Because it sure seems to me that you are.”

Megan allowed the rant. Lynn was hurting and Megan could tell by the bleak, drunk look in her eyes that she probably had been for a long time. No one gets by in this life without pain, but some unfortunate souls carry more of the burden. Megan could tell Lynn was one of them.

It was time to leave Lynn to her bottle and her sadness. Megan looked at her face. Her eyes were filled with so much pain. Megan didn't want to add to it. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Lynn returned to her glass full of misery and stared out the window.