Improper Influence Read online

  Maisy widened her bright blue eyes and made a little moue of shock with her mouth. “How deliciously creepy.”

  Sasha fixed her with a look that said behave, already. “In fact, Bodhi was the forensic pathologist who handled three of the autopsies of the women who died from myocarditis.”

  Maisy’s Southern belle act vaporized at the hint of a juicy story.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And when he raised concerns that the deaths might be connected, he was suspended and ultimately fired. Since then, of course, there’ve been two more deaths.”

  “You mean one?”

  “No, two. Wow, that must have been some date. You missed the late news?”

  Maisy didn’t even acknowledge the ribbing. She had shifted into hard-charging journalist mode and was furiously scribbling notes in a small notebook.

  She focused on Bodhi. “And you want to go public with your suspicions?”

  He turned to face Sasha. “Uh, do I?”

  “I’m preparing a complaint alleging that he was terminated as part of an effort to cover-up the cause of the deaths. We believe someone in city government is being bought off by corporate interests and is using his or her position to influence the medical examiner’s office.”

  “And you’ll give me an exclusive?”

  “Of course.”

  “When will the complaint be done?”

  “In the morning.” Sasha ignored Bodhi’s stare. She’d pulled all-nighters for lesser causes. This would be a snap, provided she upgraded from the swill Maisy served to real coffee.

  “I’m going to have to approach the chief medical examiner for comment.”

  “Have at him. Just so you know; all press inquiries are being directed to the Mayor’s Office.”

  “Really?” Maisy’s tone said what she thought of that news.

  “Yep. And, Maisy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go big with this. Like CNN, Court TV, something beyond local news. I’m not positive the local media isn’t at least a little bit complicit. They certainly haven’t pushed the story.”

  “You let me worry about that. Dr. King, get ready to make a splash.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Sasha and Connelly walked hand-in-hand as they left the condo building. It was a clear night with a warm breeze. She tilted her head back to take in the few bright stars that fought their way through the city lights to shine in the sky.

  She’d never lived anywhere outside city limits. In fact, until she’d been stuck in rural Clear Brook County for a case, she’d never realized a night sky could hold so many points of light.

  “What are you thinking?” Connelly rubbed his thumb across the back of her palm.

  “I’ll be glad when this is over and Bodhi’s back safe at home. He’s the easiest house guest ever, but I miss having our space. And, truth be told, I’d much rather draft this complaint in my pajamas with Java on my lap than at the office.”

  Connelly’s eyes crinkled. “I know. But I thought maybe we could ... take advantage of the privacy your office affords?”

  She shook her head at the innuendo in his voice. “Connelly, I have to work. That’s the point. I’m going to be working on this brief most of the night and I don’t want to keep anyone awake. I don’t even know why you’re tagging along. You could be home in bed.”

  “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  She smiled at that.

  They crossed the quiet street. The only sounds were their shoes hitting the pavement and the occasional siren drifting down from Fifth Avenue on the wind. Sasha began to silently run through the arguments she planned to make in the complaint.

  They reached Shadyside’s business district, and the residential hush gave way to a babble of voices, car engines, doors slamming, and snippets of music, as bar goers and late-night diners emptied out onto the sidewalks.

  Sasha dropped Connelly’s hand to veer around a college-aged girl who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to paw through her spangled purse in search of something. A cell phone, car keys, or maybe a pen to scrawl her number on the hand of the tattooed boy holding her elbow.

  They swerved around the couple and came back to the center of the sidewalk together, Connelly’s leg bumping gently against hers.

  “What did Hank have to say?”

  He scanned their surroundings and shook his head. “We’ll talk inside.”

  Paranoid, she thought. No one was paying any attention to them. But she didn’t bother to argue. They were only a couple yards from the front door of the office building anyway. It could wait.

  They reached the building’s front door. She unlocked the door and started through it to flip on the interior hall lights. Connelly brushed past her and got there first.

  Once upon a time, she’d have been irritated by that move. But the truth was, she didn’t much care for entering the building in the dark, having been attacked there on more than one occasion. It suddenly occurred to her that Connelly might have intuited as much, which explained his desire to tag along better than his lame innuendo had.

  That thought was equal parts comforting and concerning, given Daniel’s warning that she was getting soft. She pushed it out of her mind. At the moment, she needed to focus on cranking out a complaint, and nothing else.

  She trailed Connelly through the hallway and up the stairs to her second floor offices.

  Inside, while her computer booted up and the printer and copier hummed to life, she organized the documents and notes she’d ultimately need to create the draft complaint.

  “So, Hank?” she prompted, as she rummaged through a drawer looking for a box of yellow highlighters. Yellow, as every trial attorney knew, was the one color of highlighting that didn’t show up on copies, making it inherently superior to every other color.

  “Okay, the short version is the borough police think the father’s good for Stone Fredericks’ death. He admits to being there the night Stone was killed and he has one heck of a motive.”

  “Motive being to stop Stone from digging into the connection between Champion Fuel and the myocarditis deaths?”

  “Right. Well, we think that’s his motive. I don’t think the Fox Chapel police have drilled down quite so far. They generally believe there was a difference of opinion about how to run the business. They’ve interviewed some employees who said father and son were known to bump heads from time to time. Sometimes there were fireworks.”

  “Okay. Motive and opportunity. Means?”

  Connelly gave her an amused look from the guest chair where he lounged, his long legs propped up on a side table.

  “Well, detective, that is a sticking point. Fred has a registered weapon, but he handed it over for a ballistics test and it wasn’t the gun used to kill Stone.”

  “So, now what?”

  “According to Hank, the lead investigators are trying to establish that Fred had access to another gun. But, Allegheny County is whispering in their ear to look at Stone’s widow.”

  Sasha tilted her head. “I assume you asked Hank what his take is?”

  He confirmed she was right with a quick head bob.

  “And?”

  “And he asked me to pay Fred another visit, try to suss out a sense of whether the old man is truly grieving or if he’s just playing a part. Apparently, though, Fred has kept the pressure on his political pals in D.C. to help him find his son’s killer.”

  “So, what do you think? Is Fred just playacting or does he want Washington to keep an eye on his cronies in Pittsburgh government because maybe he thinks they had something to do with Stone’s death?”

  He considered her for a moment. Then, “Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And your answer ...?”

  “I don’t know. He was an emotional mess when I saw him—understandable for a grieving father. Of course, if you murdered your son in a moment of rage, you might well be an emotional mess the next day.”

  “Your
gut, Connelly. What’s it telling you?”

  He rose and crossed the room to stand beside her. With two fingers, he tipped her chin up and back so she’d meet his eyes.

  “I don’t know, Sasha. I’ll go see him tomorrow. What I do know is somebody shot Stone Fredericks in the back. Somebody roughed up Bodhi. And when you and Bodhi go public tomorrow, you’re likely to draw that somebody’s ire. Is that your plan?”

  “No.”

  His gray eyes searched her face. He waited.

  “That’s not the plan. The plan is to force those scumbags in the Mayor’s Office, or the ME’s Office—whoever’s in charge—to do the right thing. To publicly say, you know, the city’s spent a whole lot of money on tax breaks and public relations for the makers of Champion Fuel. And Champion Fuel supports all our beloved sports teams. But in case you haven’t noticed, a lot of women are dying, and we think maybe, just maybe, they’re dying because of something in the drink. So until we can investigate it, stop drinking the stuff. Is that really so outrageous?”

  She realized she was shaking. Not from fear. From anger.

  He dropped his arms to her shoulders and pulled her into his arms.

  “No. That’s not outrageous.”

  She allowed herself to relax into his solid chest. He stroked her hair, and she listened to his heartbeat through his soft gray shirt.

  “Good.”

  “But it’s probably not going to work.”

  She pulled back and stared up at him, stung by the matter-of-fact way he’d dismissed it.

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Nope. I just want to be realistic. Unlike most of your eleventh-hour legal machinations, I don’t think this one’s likely to save the day.”

  You don’t know Maisy the way I do, she thought.

  “We’ll see. I have to try.”

  “I know. I just want you to understand that you’re painting a bull’s eye on your chest.”

  “I don’t think I am. Once Bodhi goes public, there’s no point in silencing him. It’ll be too late. He should actually be safer after the interview.”

  “That’s a gamble.”

  “Well, it’s one I’m willing to take.”

  He gave her a long-suffering look but nodded. “And Bodhi? You’re willing to let him gamble, too?”

  Bodhi was a problem, she had to admit. She’d talked to him after they’d left Maisy’s apartment and had satisfied herself that he understood the risk he was taking. But knowing that he wouldn’t defend himself if he was attacked kept her stomach roiling. He was a very soft target—the softest. And she didn’t know how to protect him.

  She waved a hand, dismissing the problem she couldn’t immediately solve to focus on the one she could.

  “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. I have a lot of work to do now.”

  He huffed out a breath but accepted defeat. He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked around the room.

  “Let me at least make myself useful. What can I do?”

  “You could go down to Jake’s and brew us a pot of coffee.” She shot him a hopeful smile.

  He started for the door, shaking his head at her caffeine habit as he went.

  “Make it strong,” she called after him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Mackenzie felt Saul’s cell phone vibrating from somewhere deep within the sea of sheets, breaking the early morning silence that filled the motel room. She glanced over at him, but he just lay there, gazing at the room’s popcorn ceiling with a stupefied, sated grin.

  “Saul—your phone.”

  No reaction.

  She gave him a jab with her elbow and was rewarded with a grunt.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Your phone is ringing. You should get it. In case it’s about your kids or something.” It wasn’t yet eight o’clock. Too early to be the office; it had to be his wife.

  He dropped his eyes from her face, as he always did when she mentioned his family. He patted the bed linens blindly, feeling around for the phone.

  She slid out of the bed, taking the top sheet with her. As she wrapped it around her body, the phone fell out of its folds and bounced to the floor.

  She handed it to him.

  “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  He took it with his face averted and pressed the button to answer the call.

  She swept into the bathroom with all the dignity she could muster, so she wouldn’t have to listen to him lie to Mona about where he was and what he was doing.

  She snapped the hotel-issued clear plastic bathing cap over her hair and showered quickly, running through her day’s to-do list as she lathered and rinsed. The most recent myocarditis death would occupy most of her energy, she knew.

  Barry was starting to crumble under the pressure. She could see it in the way he’d shrunk in on himself when she’d broken the news the night before. He felt trapped between the mounting death toll and the mountain of money pouring into the city’s accounts thanks to Better Life’s stellar sales.

  To be honest, she was starting to feel some uneasiness, too. One death, a random event. Two, a coincidence. But five?

  She resolved to add a meeting with Fred to her agenda. If nothing else, maybe the company could run some quiet internal tests to rule out any concerns.

  What if the tests reveal a connection?

  The thought fluttered, unbidden, to the top of her mind. She swatted it away like an insect. Negative thinking wouldn’t help. Just focus on what you can control, she reminded herself. Starting with the public perception of Better Life Beverages and Champion Fuel.

  She twisted the faucet to turn off the water and removed the shower cap.

  She was naked, shaking her hair out, when Saul charged through the door.

  She grabbed the cheap, scratchy scrap of terry that passed for a towel at this bargain motel and wrapped it around her midsection.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Something was very clearly wrong. He was shaking, and the pink flush of contentment that she’d left on his face after their lovemaking was gone—replaced by a gray pallor.

  He stammered, as though he couldn’t find the words for whatever he had to tell her.

  “Saul?” she prompted. A surge of concern pulsed through her. Her heart thudded in her still-damp chest.

  “You should call your office,” he managed.

  She snatched her cell phone from the vanity and activated the display. Six missed calls.

  “Another dead girl?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what?”

  “Apparently, Bodhi King hired a lawyer and plans to sue the city.”

  Her relief hit her like a wave. “So what? He has no case. You guys aren’t unionized. He’s an employee at will and can be fired for no reason.”

  “He’s alleging that he was fired as part of a plan to cover up a connection between the myocarditis deaths and Champion Fuel, Mackenzie. Whether that proves true or not, the allegation alone is gonna mean a scandal for my boss. And for yours.”

  Another wave. This one was adrenalized panic, and it nearly knocked her legs out from under her.

  “How do you know this? Did he call you to tell you his plans?”

  If the City Attorney had been served with a complaint, she would have known about it before Saul. Unless King had sent a draft to Sonny, maybe in an effort to force Sonny’s hand and get his job back?

  Saul coughed and tugged at the neck of his tee-shirt.

  “No, that was Wally calling. He, uh...”

  “Spit it out, Saul.”

  “He said he was watching CNN at the gym this morning and the old Channel Four weather girl’s face came on the screen. He thinks she’s hot, so he started to pay attention. She had an exclusive interview with Bodhi about the complaint he plans to file.” The words came out in a rush, one right on top of the next.

  She stared at him. Time seemed to be moving slower than usual, and her mind was racing.

 
; She speed dialed her assistant. Before Susan had a chance to speak, she started rattling off orders.

  “Write this down. The Mayor’s Office issued a statement today that it has not had an opportunity to see the complaint referenced by Dr. King and cannot comment at this time. The Mayor takes seriously Dr. King’s allegations and intends to satisfy himself as to whether they have any credence. He expresses full confidence, however, in the Chief Medical Examiner and his office.”

  She paused and listened to Susan’s keys clicking on the other end of the phone. When the clatter of the keys stopped, she continued, “Send that to Barry from my email with the subject line ‘URGENT: RESPONSE TO MEDIA.’ Do it now. I’ll wait.”

  “Okay,” Susan said. “It’s gone.”

  “Send it to the press office, too. And then transfer me to Sonny Jackson.”

  “Will do. Are you going to be in later? There’s a lot of people looking for you.”

  She could imagine. Barry was probably in a panic.

  “I’ll be in soon. Has Mr. Fredericks called?”

  “Uh ... I don’t think he did. I’m going through the messages now. No, doesn’t look like it.”

  “Huh.”

  Maybe he was one of the missed calls on her cell phone. She could see him choosing not to leave a message about this particular topic.

  “Hold on. I’ll get Dr. Jackson on the line.”

  The line went silent while Susan transferred the call. Mackenzie glanced over at Saul. His color had returned but he wore a sickly look, like he was on the verge of vomiting.

  She knew the feeling.

  “Mackenzie?” Sonny’s voice boomed, overly hearty, in her ear.

  “Did you have any warning about this, Dr. Jackson?” she asked without preamble.

  Saul’s eyes, pinned on hers, widened as he heard the tone she took with his boss.

  She didn’t give a crap about the pecking order at the moment. Someone was going to pay for Bodhi King’s stunt. And if she had her way, it’d be the chief medical examiner. Bodhi had been his guy, after all.

  “By this, am I to infer you’re referring to Dr. King’s national television debut?”

  Anger welled in her chest at the hint of amusement she thought she heard under the clipped question.