Twelve to Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (5 page)

Chapter Four

The Blue Whale Pub, Deep Creek Lake

McHenry, Maryland

The Garrett County Sheriff Department and Maryland State Police had the bar surrounded and the lakeshore road blocked off from traffic and spectators by the time David pulled his cruiser up to the Blue Whale Pub. The police chief was directed to drive around the barricade.

The local bar was squeezed in between a ritzy restaurant and lounge and a canoe and kayak rental shop that hadn’t opened yet for the summer season. The sheriff’s deputies were evacuating the lounge of customers and employees.

Mac glanced into the cruiser’s back seat to see if the excitement outside had served to wake up Gnarly from his party weekend. The German shepherd lifted his head to look out the window. His ears stood up tall and he cocked his head as if to decipher the sounds. Then, with a sigh as if to say, “Wake me up when you need me,” he dropped back down onto the seat.

“Hound,” Mac said.

When David slid out of his cruiser, a sheriff’s deputy directed him and Mac to a black van parked across the road from the pub. From inside the van, the sheriff and his officers where surveying the scene via audio and video equipment that had been placed at strategic angles around the building where Lenny Frost had taken hostages.

A muscular middle-aged man with a military haircut, Sheriff Christopher Turow looked up from where he was conferring with one of his deputies who was monitoring the surveillance. A newly retired army officer, Turow had held the position for a total of three months.

“O’Callaghan…” The sheriff cast an annoyed glance at Mac. Assuming his slacks and sports coat were the uniform of a civilian, he responded with “Haven’t you media vultures done enough damage?”

“This is Mickey Forsythe,” David announced.

“Really?” the sheriff scoffed.

“Really?” Mac whispered to David.

“You’re the closest thing we’ve got.” David turned back to Sheriff Turow. “Mac Faraday is Robin Spencer’s son.”

“Mac Faraday.” Turow looked Mac up and down. “My deputies have told me about you.”

By the glare in the sheriff’s eyes, Mac was unsure if he had heard good or bad things about him.

“You said Lenny Frost was asking for Mickey Forsythe—” David reminded the sheriff.

“Who is a fictional movie action hero,” Sheriff Turow said. “He might as well be asking to talk to Iron Man.”

“Actually,” Mac said, “Mickey Forsythe is a literary character. He was a homicide detective until he came into a very large inheritance—”

“Like someone we know,” David interjected.

“Mickey’s hobby is solving murder cases,” Mac said. “He runs into action along the way, but he’s not really an action hero, which is what Iron Man is. So the comparison of Mickey Forsythe to Iron—”

  “There are a lot of similarities between Mac and Mickey,” David said. “It’s spooky considering that Robin Spencer had given Mac up for adoption at—”

“We don’t really have time for this,” Turow cut him off. “Frost says he will only talk to Mickey Forsythe. The guy is looney.”

“What about Diablo?” the deputy sitting at the console asked with a laugh.

“What’s a Diablo, Parker?” Turow asked.

“He’s sleeping off a wild night in the back of my cruiser,” David said.

“Are you talking about Gnarly?” Sheriff Turow asked.

Mac swore he saw a hint of congeniality cross the lawman’s face.
I guess Gnarly’s reputation isn’t all bad.

“The one and only,” David said.

“Leave him in the cruiser until we need the big guns.” The smile that had come to the corners of his lips disappeared. Sheriff Turow thrust a finger in the police chief’s direction as if to make his point. “You’ve screwed up things enough for one day, O’Callaghan.”

“How did I screw this up?” David asked.

“If you had kept a lid on your witness instead of letting him blab all over the media about Lenny Frost killing the Stillmans, then your suspect wouldn’t have been the wiser that we were looking for him and taken all those people hostage.”

“Okay,” David said, “I’ll take responsibility for my people not keeping a closer eye on Stillman, but that’s all I’m taking responsibility for. Right now, we have a situation and I’m here to offer my help.”

“This isn’t Spencer,” Turow said. “You’re out of your jurisdiction.”

“That man is a suspect in the murder of two people in Spencer,” David said. “That means we have a stake in the outcome here. This is your baby, but if you think we’re going to walk away and wait for you to call us when it’s over, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Exactly what is the situation?” Mac interrupted to ask. “Do you know how this happened?”

“From what little we know,” Turow said, “Lenny Frost went into the pub shortly after it opened at eleven thirty. The television was on. Lenny, along with everyone else in the bar, saw a newscast about him being a prime suspect in the murder of his agent and her husband. The bartender recognized Frost and reached for the phone, but Lenny was too fast for him. There was a fight during which the bartender went for the gun behind the bar. Lenny disarmed him and now he has the gun and is holding everyone hostage. The cook in the back got a call into nine one one before he caught her and called her into the bar area with the rest of the hostages. He took the cook’s phone and told the emergency operator that he wants to talk to Mickey Forsythe.”

“Do you know how many hostages he has?” David asked.

“One is a kid,” Turow said. “Bartender’s wife and little boy came in for lunch with Daddy.”

“Great,” David said with sarcasm.

“The operator said the cook was able to list the owner, two regular customers, and a woman who came in alone.”

Mac counted off on his fingers. “So we have the bartender and his family, the bar owner, the cook, and three customers. Eight hostages.”

“Have you ever met Lenny Frost?” the sheriff asked Mac. “Is that why he wants to talk to you?”

Mac shook his head. “Never met him. I saw him perform at his comedy club, but that was years ago—back when I was a detective. My ex-wife was a fan of his back when she was a teenager. If my talking to him can help…”

When Turow looked dubious, David said, “Mac was a detective in DC for over twenty years. He’s trained and licensed in the state of Maryland. We’re not talking about some civilian from off the street. Let him try.”

Turow waved Mac over to the phone. “We got a direct line into the pub just before you got here.”

Deputy Parker stood up to offer Mac his seat. The sheriff picked up the receiver and handed it to Mac. When Mac reached for it, the sheriff pulled it back. “Just talk to him and find out exactly what he wants. Try to get a sense of his state of mind—besides looney.”

“I know what to do.” Mac took the phone.

The sheriff pressed the button. Everyone in the van grew quiet and crowded in closer to listen and observe. The phone at the other end of the line was picked up on the fourth ring.

“Blue Whale Pub and Grill. We’re closed for a police stand-off right now,” the deep baritone voice answered.

Sheriff Turow rolled his eyes in David’s direction. “Told you,” he mouthed. He moved his finger in a circled at his temple.

“Lenny?” Mac asked. “This is Mickey Forsythe, Lenny. I understand you wanted to talk to me.

“Mickey?” The voice’s octave rose with excitement. “Is this really you, Mickey?”

“Yes it is, Lenny,” Mac said. “I want to help you.”

“Hey, man, I really need your help, Mickey. Remember when you told me that if I never needed your help, no matter what, that you’d be there for me. Did you mean it, Mickey?”

“Of course I meant it, Lenny.”

“I really need you now, man.” His voice shot up into a squeak.

“And I’m here to help, Lenny,” Mac said. “Tell me what you need for me to do.”

“Someone is trying to frame me for murder, Mickey,” he said. “They killed Janice and Austin, just to frame me. I need you to prove that I didn’t do it, man. Will you help me, Mickey? Can you do that for me…your old buddy and pal?”

“Of course, I can, Lenny,” Mac said in a smooth tone before plunging on. “But first, I need for you to do something for me. I need you to release the bartender and his family. If you let them go, I’ll come in and talk to you about what’s going on and we’ll get everything straightened out. Can you do that for me, Lenny?”

There was a moment of silence, while Sheriff Turow’s face turned red. Mac was surprised to see David’s eyes narrow and his face twist into a grimace.

“Okay,” Lenny said. “You come in so I can tell you my side of the story and I’ll let the bartender, his wife, and the little boy go. I’ll meet you at the front door in five minutes.”

Click!

“What did you just do?” Sheriff Turow asked.

Mac hung up the phone. “I got him to agree to let the bartender and his family out. We’re going from eight hostages down to five.”

“Six counting you,” the sheriff said. “Do you honestly think he’s going to let you go once you go in? Now he’s got the great Mac Faraday in there.”

“Yes, I’ll be in there,” Mac said. “I’ll know what to do to keep Lenny calm and the hostages safe.” Seeing David shaking his head, he added, “I know what I’m doing.”

“No you don’t,” David said.

“This was your idea.” The sheriff poked the police chief in the chest. “You said he could help.”

David told Mac, “You didn’t see Lenny’s rap sheet.”

“DUIs and assaults,” Mac said.

“After the kidnapping, after Lenny sobered up the first time, he started training in martial arts,” David explained. “He’s got a black belt in karate and a very high degree of training in kickboxing, jujitsu, and a couple of other fighting sports. Not only is he completely unhinged, but he’s a trained, highly skilled fighter.”

“Which makes him extremely dangerous even if you are able to disarm him,” the sheriff agreed.

“He broke a man’s arm in two places during a bar fight,” David said, “He plead out and got community service and agreed to go into rehab…again. He was in this bar—”

“And already downed two beers since taking everyone hostage,” the sheriff said.

“That means he’s off the wagon again.”

“So he’s under the influence, a highly trained fighting machine, and completely off his rocker,” Mac said with a shrug. “Sounds like another day of fighting crime in the big city.”

“Fact is,” David said, “this bad guy can kill you with his bare hands.”

“Then I guess my best weapon of defense against Lenny Frost is my quick wit,” Mac said while taking his gun out of his holster.

“I’d take Gnarly in there with you if I were you,” Sheriff Turow said.

They had five minutes to get Mac suited up to go inside the bar. It went without saying that he was not going inside without protection, even if he was unarmed. Bogie retrieved a ballistics vest from the back of his cruiser while David gathered other equipment for Mac to take inside.

Seeing Mac getting suited up, Gnarly abruptly woke up and jumped to his feet. Yelping, he scratched at the back door of the cruiser.

“I guess you’ve finally recovered from the afterglow,” David said while studying the screen of his computer tablet. Satisfied, he slipped out of the cruiser and opened the back door to let Gnarly outside.

The German shepherd galloped over to where Mac was taking instructions from the sheriff. As soon as he laid his eyes on the sheriff, Gnarly stopped.

Sheriff Turow stopped in mid-sentence to look at the German shepherd who cocked his head at the lawman. Then, with his tail wagging, he ran up to the sheriff. Jumping up, Gnarly planted his front paws on the sheriff’s shoulders and licked his face.

“Gnarly, mind your manners.” Mac grabbed the dog by the collar and lowered his feet to the ground. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t do that to people he’s never met.” When Gnarly made another attempt to greet the lawman, Mac pulled him back.

Sheriff Turow wiped the dog drool from his lips with the back of his hand. “That’s okay. I like dogs. He must have sensed that.” Once again, his tough exterior melted to reveal a smile. “He’s a beautiful dog, and smart, too…based on what I’ve heard from my deputies.”

“Smartest dog I’ve ever seen.” David handed a tiny round instrument to Mac. “He used to be in the army. Wonder why they kicked him out?”

Gnarly sat down in front of the sheriff. The two of them locked eyes.

“Maybe because he was smarter than his CO,” Sheriff Turow muttered in a low voice. He flashed Gnarly a quick smile.

Suddenly, the German shepherd went around to Mac’s side where he brushed his snout against his master’s thigh.

Spotting Mac attaching something to the top of his shirt above the ballistic vest, Turow asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s a button cam.” David held out the tablet for the sheriff to see. “We’ll be able to see, hear, and record everything that goes on inside the pub.” The device that Mac pinned to the top of his shirt was identical to a button.

“You have a button cam? Our department doesn’t have a button cam.”

“I
have a button cam,” Mac said. “It was a gift from my daughter. She’s a senior studying forensic psychology at William and Mary in Williamsburg.”

David handed Mac another small device. “This is a bug. Just in case you need to leave and Frost allows you to come out, then we can still keep tabs of what is going on inside. When you get a chance, attach it to something in the center of the pub, like the underside of a table.”

Mac turned to the sheriff. “Any toys you want me to take in for you?”

“All I have is this.” Sheriff Turow gave him a hand-held radio. “Channel nine. Before you do anything for Frost, get the names of each of the hostages and make sure they’re all okay. Call it in here so that we can check them out in case friends or family are looking for them. We need a signal from you that you want us to move in—that you’re in trouble. A code word. Pick a word that isn’t likely to slip out in normal conversation but easy to remember.”

Mac glanced down at where Gnarly was gnawing at the toe of his shoe like it was a chew toy. “Beast.”

“Beast it is.” Turow nodded to Deputy Parker to take note of the code word.

“Are we ready?” Mac asked David who was checking the reception on the tablet.

David gave him a thumbs up sign.

Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, Mac made his way around the barricade to cross the parking lot toward the small bar perched along the shore of Deep Creek Lake. The expansive, glitzy restaurant and lounge located on the other side of their parking lot made the pub look even drearier.  

Why did Lenny Frost stop here? If he had committed two murders, he should have been getting out of town. He had over twelve hours to escape. He could have been in two other states within less than an hour. Why did he stick around? Why did he come to this dive?

The cold wet touch on his hand made Mac aware that he was not alone. Abruptly, he realized Gnarly was keeping in step with him and by his side. Mac stopped and pointed back to where David and the sheriff were watching from the other side of the barricade.  “Gnarly, go back.”

“Gnarly, come!” David called to him.

His ears standing at attention, Gnarly turned to Mac and sat down.

Mac pointed across the parking lot to where a line of officers, with their weapons aimed at the pub, were waiting. “Go!”

His eyes not leaving Mac’s face, Gnarly stared up at him.

“You’re not going in there.” Mac reached for his collar to lead him back, but Gnarly dodged his hand and ran for the front door of the pub.

Aware of laughter behind him, Mac raced up behind Gnarly. As soon as they got to the door, it opened. Gnarly slipped inside so quickly that Lenny Frost, focused on Mac, didn’t notice. His hands up, Mac stopped. With both hands on the grip, Lenny was aiming a 45-caliber Ruger semi-automatic in his face.

“Lenny,” Mac gasped out. “It’s me…Mickey…Mickey Forsythe…” He tried to sound upbeat in spite of the gun inches from the space between his eyes. “It’s been a long time, buddy.”

“I know,” Lenny said. “Turn around.”

Praying that Lenny didn’t intend to shoot the impostor in the back, Mac slowly turned his back on the man with the gun.

“Good,” Lenny said. “I see you’re unarmed. I guess they didn’t get to you. Turn back around and come on in.” He explained while Mac stepped inside, “Can’t be too careful. They’ve gotten to everyone I’ve ever trusted. You’re the last friend I have.”

The door opened to the bar that was small, musty, and dark. There were only twelve tables in the room with doors on the other side that opened up to the outdoor bar and dock where boaters could come in from the lake for a drink.

On the television over the bar, the news was on with the latest update about a BOLO being out for Lenny Frost, former child star and teen idol.

I hope David gets those news stations to cut off soon. We can’t have Lenny knowing what we’re doing out there. The news reports will take away any element of surprise.

The hostages were lined up in chairs against the wall with the photo gallery of the bar’s history and dartboard. At the end of the row of hostages, a young man who looked barely old enough to be drinking was prying a small boy from Gnarly, who the boy had in a bear hug. The large dog’s ears were folded back and his eyes wide at the unexpected and enthusiastic display of affection. “Doggie!” the boy squealed with delight into Gnarly’s ears.

“Let go!” the father ordered and pleaded at the same time.

“He loves dogs,” the bartender’s young wife said in a nervous and tearful voice.

“I love him!” the preschooler shrieked while clinging tightly to Gnarly.

“I see Diablo still has fans wherever he goes,” Lenny said to Mac.

“Oh yeah.” Mac reminded him, “We agreed. The bartender and his family get to leave. You need to let them go.”

Lenny waved his gun at the family. “Okay! Out of here. Bartender, wife, and kid. Leave! Now!”

In the melee over Gnarly, the wife was the only one who noticed that they were free to go. Slapping her husband’s back to get his attention, she yelled, “We can go, honey. Grab Timmy and let’s get out of here.”

“Come along, Timmy!” With his arms around the child’s waist, the bartender stood up.

“I don’t want to go!” Timmy objected.

When the father lifted the boy, who still had his arms and legs wrapped around Gnarly’s mid-section, he lifted the dog up, too. Gnarly’s weight took them all back down onto the floor.

“I said to go,” Lenny said.

“We’re trying!” the wife sobbed.

“Timmy!” the father ordered.

“I want to stay!” Timmy cried out. “I love him!”

“I’ll buy you your own puppy!” the father offered in desperation.

“No!” the wife yelled in horror.

“Today?” the boy squealed. “Promise?”

“Promise!” the bartender said in desperation. “Now! Let’s go!”

“Okay!” Timmy released Gnarly and ran screaming with delight past Mac and Lenny and out the door. “Puppy! I’m getting a puppy!”

The bartender turned to the wife, whose face was filled with fury.  “A puppy!” she yelled. “You promised him a puppy?”

“I had to,” he responded with a shrug.

She turned to Lenny. “Shoot me now and put me out of my misery.”

Mac grabbed the hand with the gun. “Don’t.” He gestured to the couple. “Get out now while the getting is good.”

The bartender grabbed his wife by the arm and dragged her out the door. Enraged about the promise of a puppy, she cursed the whole way.

Gnarly shook to smooth his fur back into place and took a position in front of the remaining hostages who sat along the wall.

While Lenny studied him, Mac took the opportunity to size up the man with the gun as well. He didn’t miss the smell of cigarettes and booze on him.

For an alcoholic, Lenny Frost was surprisingly fit and much taller than Mac expected. His table was in the back when he had seen him perform years before at the comedy club, so he had not noticed how much larger he was than he had appeared to be years before as a teenager on television. While Lenny’s body was firm and muscular, his face resembled a tattered roadmap with lines formed from a hard life of drinking and emotional hardship. His hair, which had once been brilliant red, was now the color of rust mixed with gray.

Mac reminded himself that Lenny was the same age as David, who, Mac knew, had no gray. Even if he did, it would be hard to spot with his fair features. David had done two tours with the Marine Special Forces in both Iraq and Afghanistan and he had seen a lot of death and inhumanity. Still, he did not have the hardened, war-torn appearance that Lenny Frost had.

“Man, you haven’t aged a bit, Mickey,” Lenny said with a laugh.

“I guess I’m living right.” Thinking that Lenny was somehow trapped in the time of making the Mickey Forsythe movie that had won him an Oscar, the golden achievement in his young life, Mac said, “You’ve certainly grown up, Lenny.”

“Oh, yeah! And it’s been quite a ride.”

“I need to check on the hostages.” Without waiting for Lenny’s consent, Mac went over to the group lined up against the wall in hard-backed chairs. He had to step around Gnarly, who had taken a position between the hostages and the man with the gun.

The cook and bar owner were easy to pick out. They were an older man and a middle-aged, skinny woman with straight brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore small round, wire-framed glasses and had a pointy nose. The woman’s faded white apron was covered with a large grease stain in the front. She was still wearing the plastic gloves worn for sanitary reasons while handling food. Wearing a clean white apron, the bar owner was a pot-bellied man with a sour expression on his face.

Of the three hostages left, two were elderly men dressed in old sweaters over baggy blue jeans. They both clutched ball caps in their laps. One was for the Pittsburgh Pirates. The other was for the Baltimore Orioles.

The last hostage, a slender redhead with long wavy hair that fell down past her shoulders, was even more out of place than Lenny Frost. Her face and figure were flawless. She wore a spring sweater that hugged every curve in her body and tight jeans with high heel shoes.

The thought that she was a prostitute crossed Mac’s mind, but when he got closer, he observed that she didn’t have the used-up look that comes with a hooker who has been working for any length of time.

“Is anyone hurt?” Mac asked the group. “Are you all okay?”

“Of course we’re not okay,” the bar owner blurted. “That lunatic is holding a gun on us. That’s not okay!” Shaking his head, he cursed. “Idiot!”