The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer (15 page)

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Jaycee Fallon,” Phyllis said. “Loomis's mistress. She must
have had a good reason for breaking up with him after she'd ruined his marriage.”

“A good enough reason for her to want him dead?”

“It's possible.”

“That makes five, if I'm countin' right. With that many folks mad at him, I'm sort of surprised ol' Clay's lasted this long.”

As Sam drove away from the place, Phyllis thought about the way the woman had assumed the two of them were married. She supposed they came across that way. They were certainly comfortable enough with each other to be an old married couple, and she knew that both of them had thought about it . . .

Her cell phone's ring tone interrupted those musings. She took it out, looked at the caller's number, and told Sam, “It's Mr. D'Angelo.”

“I won't hold my breath waitin' for good news,” Sam muttered.

Neither would Phyllis. She answered the call and heard the lawyer say, “Mrs. Newsom, I'm headed for the jail. The police have just arrested Nate Hollingsworth.”

D
'Angelo wanted them to meet him at his office. Since they didn't know how long it would be before they got home, Sam asked Phyllis to call Carolyn and ask her to go ahead and bring Buck in. The Dalmatian had a bed in the utility room where he liked to curl up, and he was generally well-behaved when he was inside.

When Phyllis had done that, Sam asked her, “What else did D'Angelo have to say?”

“Just that he didn't really know much yet. Evidently the police showed up at Nate's office with a search warrant, along with a warrant for his arrest on murder charges.”

“Don't they usually carry out their searches first, before they actually arrest somebody?”

“Usually,” Phyllis said, “unless they consider the suspect a flight risk. Then they'd want to go ahead and place him in custody.”

Sam snorted and said, “Nate's not a flight risk. And he's sure as heck no murderer.”

“When they took him to jail,” Phyllis went on, “he called Allyson, and she's the one who called Mr. D'Angelo. He told her not to worry, that he'd see about arranging bail and would get Nate out of there as soon as possible.”

“I didn't really expect 'em to move quite this quick.”

“Neither did I.” Phyllis's expression was grim as she added, “They must have some evidence we don't know about.”

When they reached the lawyer's office, the receptionist told them, “Mr. D'Angelo isn't back yet. He wanted me to ask you to wait in the conference room. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Phyllis said. A part of her wanted to go to the jail, but she knew they couldn't really do any good there, and they might just be in the way.

“Can I get you something to drink? There are soft drinks and coffee.”

“Some coffee would be good,” Sam said. Phyllis nodded in agreement.

A few minutes later, they were settled in the comfortable chairs in the conference room with mugs of excellent coffee on the inlaid table in front of them.

“I hate to think about Nate bein' locked up,” Sam muttered. “I reckon he can take care of himself, though.”

“He probably won't be in there for long,” Phyllis said. She was trying to be encouraging. But at the same time, she knew the police could hold Nate for a while before charging him, and there were other ways to drag the process out even more when they wanted to keep a suspect behind bars longer.

When Jimmy D'Angelo came into the conference room
twenty minutes later, he was alone. Phyllis's heart sank a little when she saw that. She had hoped that Nate would be with D'Angelo.

As Phyllis and Sam stood up, the lawyer set his briefcase on the table and heaved a sigh.

“More bad news,” he told them as he waved them back into their chairs. “Nate's bail hearing won't be held until tomorrow morning. I won't be able to get him out today.”

“Dadgummit!” Sam exclaimed. “I was afraid of that.”

“Why did they take him into custody?” Phyllis asked. “Did the search warrant turn up anything?”

“Warrants, plural,” D'Angelo said. “They served the first one at the house where Nate and Allyson live. They were looking for Nate's rifle. I was pretty sure they'd get around to that sooner rather than later.”

“But they didn't find it,” Phyllis guessed.

D'Angelo shook his head and said, “No, so then they went to his office, and they took an arrest warrant with them because they were afraid Allyson would warn Nate they'd been at the house, and he would run. They had a warrant for the whole Cranmoor Building, in case Nate hid the rifle in one of the maintenance areas or even in another office.”

“Did they find it?” Sam asked.

“No. It's still missing. And Nate followed my advice. He wouldn't tell them anything, including where the gun is.”

“But he told you,” Phyllis said.

D'Angelo grimaced.

“He claims he doesn't know where it is. He says it should have been at the house. The only thing he can come up with is
that somebody must have broken in and stolen it without him or Allyson being aware of it.”

Sam frowned and said, “That's a mighty weak story. I might not be able to swallow it, and I
want
the kid to be innocent.”

“Yeah. A jury won't buy it, that's for sure. They never reported a burglary or anything like that. The prosecutor will make it look like Nate got rid of the rifle somehow, because he knew it would incriminate him, and without knowing what happened to it, we won't be able to prove otherwise.”

Phyllis said, “Is that all they have—the fact that the rifle is missing?”

“I gather they've talked to several of the hands who work out at the McCrory ranch,” D'Angelo said, “not just the two who were there the day before yesterday. Evidently this whole conflict between Nate and his father-in-law over the gas wells went back further, and was worse than Nate made it sound. There were a lot of shouting matches over it. They almost came to blows a few times, is what I'm hearing.”

Sam shook his head and said, “I don't believe that. Barney could get pretty hot under the collar, sure, but Nate was always too levelheaded to let his temper get the best of him.”

“I'm sure he was when you knew him,” Phyllis said. “But you have to remember, Sam, that was ten years ago. People can change. Goodness, I was a much different person ten years ago than I am now.”

That is true in some ways, she thought. Her husband, Kenny, had still been alive then. Mike had been a young sheriff's deputy, dating Sarah but not married to her yet, and of course there was no Bobby. She and Carolyn had been friendly
acquaintances, but she barely knew Eve at that time. And she was still years away from meeting Sam.

Yes, a lot had changed . . . but was
she
really all that different? It was hard to say. Back then, she never would have set out to solve a murder, no matter what the circumstances. At least she didn't think so . . .

D'Angelo said, “They've got testimony about a bunch of arguments. That gives Nate a motive, and he can't establish exactly where he was when the shot was fired. And along with the missing rifle, the cops think that's enough. To be honest, I think it's probably enough for the grand jury to indict him, too. Whether a trial jury would convict him right now, I couldn't say.” D'Angelo's heavy shoulders rose and fell. “But I think we'd better start trying to come up with as much evidence as we can to create reasonable doubt.”

Phyllis leaned forward and said, “That's what we've been working on.”

For the next few minutes, she and Sam went over what they had learned about Gene Coyle and about Clay Loomis's business. While they talked, D'Angelo took a legal pad from his briefcase and scrawled notes on it.

“You're right,” he said when they were finished. “This guy Loomis practically has a target painted on him. I can get a ballistics expert to testify as to what tiny degree of difference it would take for the bullet to hit McCrory instead of Loomis. We've got Coyle's own admission that he's a good enough marksman to attempt a shot like that. We've got a scorned wife, and they're always good for reasonable doubt. We need to find out more about the girlfriend and about Loomis's
business partners. If any of them had access to a rifle of the right caliber, we can throw suspicion on them, too.”

Phyllis frowned and said, “Of course, even if one of those five turns out to be the killer, that means the other four are innocent. We'll be tarring them all with the same brush.”

D'Angelo spread his hands and said, “That's the way it works. I don't like casting a shadow over people who haven't done anything wrong, but, in the end, all that matters is convincing those jury members that the prosecution didn't make its case.”

That is the difference between being a lawyer and being a detective, Phyllis thought. D'Angelo would be satisfied with an acquittal.

But Phyllis wanted the truth.

“What about the ballistics report on the bullet that killed Barney?” Sam asked. “I reckon the police know what caliber it was by now?”

“They must,” D'Angelo said. “And it must match the caliber of the rifle that's registered to Nate—otherwise they wouldn't be looking so hard for it.”

“There could be a bunch of rifles like that.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you want us to do?” Phyllis asked.

“I was hoping you'd talk to Allyson,” D'Angelo said. “She's supposed to be on her way here. You're an old friend of the family, Sam. Maybe she'll be more comfortable talking to you.”

“You don't believe what she's told you so far?” Sam said.

“I just want her to open up more about how things really were between Nate and her father. They downplayed the
whole gas-well thing before. We need to know how bad it really was.”

Sam nodded slowly and sighed.

“I'll talk to her,” he said. “I don't know if she'll tell me any more than she already has, though. I don't know if there's anything more to tell.”

D'Angelo put the legal pad back in the briefcase and said, “If there is, we need to get ready to deal with it. I'll have her brought in when she gets here, if that's all right.”

Sam nodded again. D'Angelo stood up and bustled out of the conference room.

Phyllis reached over and rested her left hand on Sam's right.

“Just remember you're trying to help Nate,” she told him, “even though it may not always seem like it.”

“I know. I just hate to think of the boy bein' behind bars.”

It was another fifteen minutes before the receptionist led Allyson into the conference room. The young woman's eyes were red from crying, but she seemed fairly composed at the moment. She was even able to summon a faint smile as she said, “Hello, Coach.”

Sam was on his feet. He put a hand on Allyson's arm and steered her into one of the chairs. The receptionist asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

Hesitantly, Allyson said, “I . . . maybe a Dr Pepper?”

The receptionist smiled and said, “You got it. I'll be right back.”

Sam sat down again and said, “I know this is a mighty bad time for you, Ally—”

“Yes. My father is dead and my husband's in jail. It's a really bad time.”

“But we'd like to help if we can,” Phyllis finished. “That's why we're here.”

“I know that, Mrs. Newsom, and I appreciate it—I really do. It's just that my life has been turned upside down. I . . . I don't even know what to hope for anymore.”

“Hope that we get Nate home to you safe and sound before too long,” Sam told her.

“And that we find out who's really responsible for what happened to your father,” Phyllis added.

Allyson was able to nod. She said, “All right. What . . . what can I do to help?”

“Tell us about the trouble between Nate and your father over the gas wells,” Phyllis said.

Allyson frowned and said, “I already told you. Nate told you. It didn't really amount to that much—”

“That's not what the fellas who work on your dad's ranch say, Ally,” Sam broke in. Phyllis could tell by the look in his eyes that he hated doing it. “They say Nate and Barney were fightin' about it hammer and tongs for a long time. They even came close to goin' to Fist City over it.”

Allyson sat back in her chair. Her eyes widened as she shook her head.

“No, I don't believe that! Nate and my dad loved each
other. Nate was like a son to him. They might have argued, but they wouldn't have fought.”

“Some of the worst brawls I've ever seen have been between brother and brother, and father and son,” Sam said. “I reckon a father-in-law and son-in-law is close enough to count.”

“Sometimes when you love someone, you get even angrier
because
you care about them so much,” Phyllis put in.

Stubbornly, Allyson shook her head again.

“No, Nate and Dad wouldn't have done that.”

Phyllis said, “You weren't with them most of the time when they were talking about the gas lease, were you?”

“No, just . . . just the one time. Day before yesterday. Actually, they got along so well when it came to running the ranch that I didn't want to get involved. I was afraid I would mess things up.”

The receptionist came in then with a can of Dr Pepper for Allyson. She asked Phyllis and Sam, “Can I get you some more coffee?”

“I'm all right, thanks,” Phyllis told her, and Sam said, “Same here.”

When the three of them were alone again, Allyson took a sip of the soft drink. Her hand trembled as she lifted the can to her mouth.

“Where's Mr. D'Angelo?” she asked. “He's Nate's lawyer. Shouldn't I be talking to him?”

“He's working on some other aspects of the case,” Phyllis said. “He hoped you wouldn't mind talking to us.”