** denote italics
Part 12: Complexities
It was mid-morning, and a cool breeze was blowing up from the ocean. Most of his neighbors hadn't too long gotten up and out to begin the commute into the city. Mark, having a day off where he was actually staying home was seated on the deck, sipping at a cup of rapidly cooling coffee. He held the folder from the Jarvis murder before him, going through it yet again.
The picture showed the lawyer sprawled on the sidewalk leading up to his Condo, a pool of blood beneath him. There were dark, almost greenish splotches of something else beside the blood, but he couldn't make out what it was, even with his magnifying glass. He sighed and laid the picture aside. Perhaps he'd have a better idea later in the day.
But more than the splotches were bothering him. The way that things had turned out on the whole didn't quite sit right in his mind. He wasn't sure if it was something in the file, or just a niggling thought that had yet to find a place in the jigsaw puzzle the case had become. Focusing in the distance, he went over the events that had taken place the day before. . . .
**Steve had become very moody and out of sorts after Cheryl had left in search of Carla Rivers. Mark knew that he was troubled by the case on several levels. But Steve was resilient and usually bounced back from emotional disappointments with the women he dated. And the situation with Maeve seemed to only deepen, calling first his judgment as a man into question, and now his judgment as a police officer. It would not sit well if he had been duped twice.
"We're going to get to the bottom of this, Steve," Mark told him, hoping to offer reassurance.
Steve had simply looked at him and sighed, before mumbling something about getting dressed. He'd then headed off into his section of the house for the next hour. When he'd returned, he'd gone straight to the deck, sinking into one of the chairs and staring out over the ocean.
Mark had approached and attempted to raise the issue several times, but Steve had politely shut him down. Finally Mark had settled for simply being there while they awaited word from Cheryl.
About mid-afternoon Jesse had shown up, and Mark had left him on the deck with Steve, hoping that the friendship between the two of them would be able to lift him out of the funk he was in. And since Jesse always brought his hunger with him, Mark had just popped a lasagna in the oven for the three of them to enjoy later.
The doorbell rang as he was headed out of the kitchen toward the deck carrying a tray laden with chips and drinks. He retraced his steps, leaving the tray on the counter as he headed for the front of house. He smiled when he saw Amanda on the other side of the glass.
"Hi, Honey."
"Hi, Mark." Amanda displayed several vividly colored pieces of paper. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for Steve, yesterday. The scene that I was called to was pretty rough. The body had been in an enclosed area for almost two days."
Mark offered her a sympathetic look. He knew how bad some autopsies could be.
"But enough about that," Amanda waved that conversation away. "I brought these for him."
Mark admired the bold artwork, and gestured her on through the house while he made a quick pit stop in the kitchen for the refreshments and an additional glass. "Steve's out on the deck. You can give them to him." He secretly hoped that if Jesse hadn't somehow been able to raise Steve's spirits, that the drawings would.
"Hi, Steve. I heard about what happened, but I couldn't get away. How are you feeling?" She rushed around the deck table and offered Steve a gentle hug.
"I'm fine." Steve returned the hug with affection. "And I know you were tied up. It was no big deal, really."
Amanda gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Umm Hmm. Well, anyway, I brought these." She extended the drawings toward him. "The boys made them for you. I would have brought them but I didn't know if you'd be up to short company just yet."
Steve accepted the drawings with a laugh. "Well, Jess is here."
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Jesse put in.
Amanda shot Jesse a look. "Don't you have a home?"
"Well, yeah." Jesse's look was full of earnestness. "But I'm here in an official capacity."
"Oh, really? Which one is that? Official eater of food?"
"No. Checking on my patient."
"I can vouch for that one," Steve spoke up. "He's been doing nothing but lecturing me and hassling me since he stepped out here."
Mark chuckled at the banter that was going amongst the three. Perhaps they were just what Steve had needed.
"That's our Jesse," Amanda said, softening her words with a smile. "So, how's the case going?" she asked, settling into one of the deck chairs.
Mark saw the immediate return of some of Steve's glumness as he told them what they had learned about Adam Michaels' trust fund.
Amanda was crestfallen. "Steve, I'm so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have just left well enough alone."
"No, Amanda. Don't worry about it," Steve tried to reassure her. "At least Fred is off the case, now. Newman reassigned it to Cheryl."
"Good." Amanda nodded emphatically. "Do you guys really think she did it?"
"It doesn't look good," Mark put in. "But I'm also not sure that I buy the fact that she killed her husband because he was going to divorce her. And why kill the lawyer?"
"So maybe what we need to do," Jesse spoke up, "Is to write down everyone's names, the motives they have and see what we come up with." Jesse's suggestion was spoken around a mouthful of pretzels.
Steve looked less-than-enthusiastic, but grumbled an agreement. "It certainly can't hurt at this point."
"Why don't you grab the paper and pen, Jess?" Mark said to the younger doctor, noting his eager grin in response to Steve's okay. "You know where everything is."
"Sure thing." Jesse was up and out of his seat and headed back inside the house. Jesse returned quickly and flopped down in his seat, looking expectantly among the three of them. "Okay, who do we start with?"
"Well, I've hardly been involved at all," Amanda said, "So I'll just listen along and see if anything pops up."
"Okay. Why not start with the 'unknown' person?" Mark suggested. After Jesse had agreeably written it down, he continued. "The motive could have been anything, since it depends on the person. Revenge, greed. Who's to say that Adam Michaels wasn't dating someone who didn't want to let him go?"
"Kinda like a fatal attraction?" Jesse piped up.
"Means and opportunity don't matter since we don't know who this person is," Steve joined in.
"How about Kevin Masterson, the neighbor?" Amanda piped up, seeming happy to contribute something. "He was certainly strange enough."
"And there is the lawn contract. Although it isn't nearly as lucrative as a 4 million dollar trust fund. But there is the revenge factor. He really hated the Michaels'."
"What about means and opportunity?" Jesse asked.
Mark shrugged. "Well, no one has been able to verify his alibi since the owner of Free & Clear has been out of reach since the fire."
"Which sounds more than a little convenient," Steve put in.
"Yes it does," Mark agreed. "Too convenient. And we still have no reason for him to kill Sam Jarvis."
"Well, he is a divorce lawyer," Steve said. "Maybe there used to be a Mrs. Kevin Masterson."
"Good point," Mark said. "And Masterson is definitely one to hold a grudge."
Jesse wrote something on the paper. "Okay, who's next?"
"How about Maeve?" Steve asked.
"All right," Jesse said, shooting him a look from the corner of his eye. "I guess 4 million is a lot of reasons for murder."
"Yeah, it is. As far as means goes, she's a registered gun owner, so it's possible that she knows how to shoot. I'll have to check into that. She could even have gotten her friend Carla to shoot at us on the beach to throw suspicion off of her."
"That's some friend," Jesse commented.
"Maybe people who commit murder together are close that way," Steve replied dryly.
"What about opportunity?" Mark asked.
"Where was she the night before?" Steve said. "We only have Carla's word that they were together. Until Cheryl talks to the electrician, there is no evidence that she wasn't someplace staking out the house, waiting for her husband to get home so that she could knock him off."
Mark didn't argue with him, deciding that it was best to move on to the next suspect. "How about the electrician himself? We don't know where he fits into any of this. He could very likely have a motive that we're not aware of."
"Okay." Jesse agreed, then went to write the name down and paused. "What's his name, again?"
Steve answered for him. "Jeff Johansen. Cheryl's been trying to reach him. Maybe he's left town."
"You," Jesse pointed at him, "have a very suspicious mind."
"I'm a cop. So sue me."
Amanda coughed at that point, nearly choking on her drink. "Who did you say the electrician was?"
Steve looked at her strangely. "Jeff Johansen. He was the one who was supposed to be at the Michaels house that morning instead of Adam and his assistant."
"Oh my God. I know why Cheryl can't find him."
"Why?"
"Because he's dead. His car was found down an embankment yesterday off Fairfield. But it wasn't the car accident that killed him. Someone shot him first."
Surprise reigned for several moments, and then Steve pushed himself slowly up from the chair and headed inside. "I'll let Cheryl know."
Mark turned back to Amanda. "Do you know the time of death?"
Amanda shook her head, trying to come to terms with the changes in the case. "I'd have to say sometime very early Friday morning. Between 2 and 3 a.m. He was definitely dead before Adam Michaels."
"Well, if nothing else, we've just proved two things."
"What things are they?" Steve asked, reappearing at the door.
"The murder of Adam Michaels was no mistake, and the electrician didn't do it."
"We also have one other thing to add to that list," Steve said. "One Winchester Sharpshooter rifle, registered to one Kevin Masterson. Our friendly neighborhood video taper."
"Cheryl is on the way to see him, now."**
Mark came back to the present at a sound behind him. He looked up to see Steve moving through the doors, carrying a cup of coffee of his own.
"Morning, Dad." Steve smiled as he settled gingerly into one of the deck chairs. He was obviously still tender, but Mark was pleased to note that he appeared to be much better than he had the day before. He figured that might have had something to do with someone besides Maeve looking guilty.
"Good morning," Mark returned his greeting with a smile. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby," Steve replied, picking up the white envelope that lay beneath the Jarvis folder. He pulled out a couple pages and did a quick glance over them before shoving them back in.
"I'm glad to hear it." Mark chuckled. "Rest is the best thing for you to help your body heal. Although I can't say that coffee is on my recommended list for you today, but I'll let it slide."
"Thank you so much," Steve's reply was tinged with affectionate humor. He gestured toward the pages that he had taken from the folder. "You don't think Masterson did it, do you?"
"Pretty obvious, huh?" Mark looked sheepish. "What gave me away?"
"The other look," Steve replied.
"What other look?" Mark demanded with a laugh.
"Not the one that you get when you've figured everything all out, but the other one. The look that you get when there's a seed of an idea in the back of your mind and you just can't get to it. We all know that when you do get to it, it's going to help get the case all wrapped up."
"I don't know if I like that I'm so transparent."
"You're not. Trust me. But a son can learn a few tricks now and then. It was written all over you when you were staring along the beach. If it's any consolation, I don't think Masterson did it, either. And I didn't even interview him. I think our killer is trying to set Masterson up. Maybe getting rid of two birds with one stone."
"Who could Masterson have been a threat to?" Mark wondered aloud, glad to know that Steve was with him on this.
"From what I keep hearing about the man, he's more of an irritant than anything else. It would have to be someone who could get into his home and get his rifle. Unless Cheryl managed to find it sometime before I got up."
"No, she didn't." Mark looked at his watch. "But she did say that she'd be coming by this morning. Maeve's lawyer wanted to know if the police were finished with the house. I thought I'd go by for one last look. Maybe it'll spark something, help us to figure out what an electrician, a lawyer, a doctor and an assistant have in common aside from having been killed by the same type of gun."
Steve grinned at him. "If you hadn't thrown the assistant in there, my theory might have worked."
The doorbell sounded. "That'll be Cheryl," Mark replied, moving up from his seat. "What theory is that?" he asked over his shoulder as Steve stood and followed him inside.
"That they're all men that Maeve has dated," Steve replied.
Mark chuckled, and something distant clicked in his mind. But he didn't have time to focus on it as Cheryl was standing at the door waiting for him. She greeted them both, and they chatted for several minutes discussing the way Masterson had broken down and cried like a baby when he'd been questioned, that she had doubts about the man's guilt. "And not just because he cried," she added, when Steve teased her conclusion. "Call it intuition."
"Intuition, huh? Would that be women's intuition?"
Mark covered a smile, as he followed the conversation.
"Yes, it would. He didn't strike me as the kind who would even touch a gun, much less by one."
"So, what was he doing with a custom one, then?" Steve wanted to know.
"Says his father bought it for him. Wanted him to be more like his brother, apparently. He actually shuddered while he was talking about it."
"That sounds like him," Mark agreed. "And, Steve is pulling your leg. We don't believe Masterson did it, either. It's too pat. And there's no motive for the lawyer or the electrician."
"So you believe it's a set up scenario?" Cheryl queried.
"Yep," Steve agreed.
"Anything from Carla Rivers?"
"Nothing helpful," Cheryl replied. "She turned up another alibi who Sternen is checking out as we speak. She admitted that she and Maeve did a lot of business together, that they're great friends, what a wonderful person she is." Cheryl rolled her eyes a little. "You would think Maeve had given her a kidney or something. But it turns out that Maeve personally provided the seed money to help her get her decorating business off the ground, same with Findley, btw. She's a silent partner in both their companies. To hear Carla tell it, Maeve didn't need Adam's trust fund."
"Unless she's either over extended herself, or is paying Carla," Mark murmured, stealing a quick glance in Steve's direction. He was happy to see the look that Steve shot his way, clearly exhibiting a silent *I'm fine, Dad, so quit worrying.*
"Which doesn't change the fact that we're still at square one with too many suspects," Steve said, returning to the conversation.
"Which is precisely why we're revisiting all of the scenes," Mark said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe something will spark in the old gray matter."
~*~
Steve was stretched out on a lawn chair on the deck, dozing. Some sixth sense caused him to awaken. He immediately startled at the shadow that was looming over him. For several heart pounding moments it looked like a faceless blob against the sun. But then his vision cleared and he realized that it was just a man.
"Who are you?" he asked, pushing himself up into a standing position. The man on his deck wasn't one that he recalled meeting. And he didn't particularly like that he'd managed to sneak up on him as he had. He was a cop, for Pete's sake.
"Vincent Findley," the man told him, eyeing at him warily. "I'm here to do an estimate for Dr. Mark Sloan. For yard work."
"Oh." Steve looked the man over. He wore a baseball cap that contained the name Findley Lawn Services. His t-shirt bore a faded superhero logo, but the khaki-colored pants matched the shirt that was slung around his waist. Steve could almost make out some sort of logo on the khaki shirt, but it was lost in the folds of the garment.
"I hope you don't mind?" Findley said, following his look with an odd intensity. "It's a bit warm out today. Is Dr. Sloan here?"
Steve shook his head. "No, I don't mind, and no he isn't." And his father hadn't told him about any lawn estimates. But knowing his dad, he wasn't surprised. Still there was something odd about this guy. He was about to ask to see some ID when Findley gestured toward the large white envelope on the table.
"I gave him this when he made the appointment." He reached for the item that Steve had picked up earlier and flipped through its contents until he found a handwritten appointment slip. "Here's the confirmation."
Steve looked hard at the man a moment longer. It was obvious his dad had made the appointment in person. "Okay, well. Let me know if you need anything."
"No problem." Findley turned and headed back down the deck stairs.
Steve watched him go with a slight frown. His own version of that niggling feeling was working overtime. But he couldn't put his finger on what was causing it. He only knew that it had something to do with Findley.
Glancing down at the appointment slip, he noted the neat bold block lettering that had been used and wondered if Findley had written it. It was strangely reminiscent of the type of printing that was used in comic books. He'd never seen a person do that in real life. Shaking his head slightly, he grabbed up the rest of the items, including the Jarvis folder and headed back into the house. The feeling that he was missing something didn't abate as he got dressed for the day.
Part 12: Complexities
It was mid-morning, and a cool breeze was blowing up from the ocean. Most of his neighbors hadn't too long gotten up and out to begin the commute into the city. Mark, having a day off where he was actually staying home was seated on the deck, sipping at a cup of rapidly cooling coffee. He held the folder from the Jarvis murder before him, going through it yet again.
The picture showed the lawyer sprawled on the sidewalk leading up to his Condo, a pool of blood beneath him. There were dark, almost greenish splotches of something else beside the blood, but he couldn't make out what it was, even with his magnifying glass. He sighed and laid the picture aside. Perhaps he'd have a better idea later in the day.
But more than the splotches were bothering him. The way that things had turned out on the whole didn't quite sit right in his mind. He wasn't sure if it was something in the file, or just a niggling thought that had yet to find a place in the jigsaw puzzle the case had become. Focusing in the distance, he went over the events that had taken place the day before. . . .
**Steve had become very moody and out of sorts after Cheryl had left in search of Carla Rivers. Mark knew that he was troubled by the case on several levels. But Steve was resilient and usually bounced back from emotional disappointments with the women he dated. And the situation with Maeve seemed to only deepen, calling first his judgment as a man into question, and now his judgment as a police officer. It would not sit well if he had been duped twice.
"We're going to get to the bottom of this, Steve," Mark told him, hoping to offer reassurance.
Steve had simply looked at him and sighed, before mumbling something about getting dressed. He'd then headed off into his section of the house for the next hour. When he'd returned, he'd gone straight to the deck, sinking into one of the chairs and staring out over the ocean.
Mark had approached and attempted to raise the issue several times, but Steve had politely shut him down. Finally Mark had settled for simply being there while they awaited word from Cheryl.
About mid-afternoon Jesse had shown up, and Mark had left him on the deck with Steve, hoping that the friendship between the two of them would be able to lift him out of the funk he was in. And since Jesse always brought his hunger with him, Mark had just popped a lasagna in the oven for the three of them to enjoy later.
The doorbell rang as he was headed out of the kitchen toward the deck carrying a tray laden with chips and drinks. He retraced his steps, leaving the tray on the counter as he headed for the front of house. He smiled when he saw Amanda on the other side of the glass.
"Hi, Honey."
"Hi, Mark." Amanda displayed several vividly colored pieces of paper. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for Steve, yesterday. The scene that I was called to was pretty rough. The body had been in an enclosed area for almost two days."
Mark offered her a sympathetic look. He knew how bad some autopsies could be.
"But enough about that," Amanda waved that conversation away. "I brought these for him."
Mark admired the bold artwork, and gestured her on through the house while he made a quick pit stop in the kitchen for the refreshments and an additional glass. "Steve's out on the deck. You can give them to him." He secretly hoped that if Jesse hadn't somehow been able to raise Steve's spirits, that the drawings would.
"Hi, Steve. I heard about what happened, but I couldn't get away. How are you feeling?" She rushed around the deck table and offered Steve a gentle hug.
"I'm fine." Steve returned the hug with affection. "And I know you were tied up. It was no big deal, really."
Amanda gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Umm Hmm. Well, anyway, I brought these." She extended the drawings toward him. "The boys made them for you. I would have brought them but I didn't know if you'd be up to short company just yet."
Steve accepted the drawings with a laugh. "Well, Jess is here."
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Jesse put in.
Amanda shot Jesse a look. "Don't you have a home?"
"Well, yeah." Jesse's look was full of earnestness. "But I'm here in an official capacity."
"Oh, really? Which one is that? Official eater of food?"
"No. Checking on my patient."
"I can vouch for that one," Steve spoke up. "He's been doing nothing but lecturing me and hassling me since he stepped out here."
Mark chuckled at the banter that was going amongst the three. Perhaps they were just what Steve had needed.
"That's our Jesse," Amanda said, softening her words with a smile. "So, how's the case going?" she asked, settling into one of the deck chairs.
Mark saw the immediate return of some of Steve's glumness as he told them what they had learned about Adam Michaels' trust fund.
Amanda was crestfallen. "Steve, I'm so sorry I dragged you into this. I should have just left well enough alone."
"No, Amanda. Don't worry about it," Steve tried to reassure her. "At least Fred is off the case, now. Newman reassigned it to Cheryl."
"Good." Amanda nodded emphatically. "Do you guys really think she did it?"
"It doesn't look good," Mark put in. "But I'm also not sure that I buy the fact that she killed her husband because he was going to divorce her. And why kill the lawyer?"
"So maybe what we need to do," Jesse spoke up, "Is to write down everyone's names, the motives they have and see what we come up with." Jesse's suggestion was spoken around a mouthful of pretzels.
Steve looked less-than-enthusiastic, but grumbled an agreement. "It certainly can't hurt at this point."
"Why don't you grab the paper and pen, Jess?" Mark said to the younger doctor, noting his eager grin in response to Steve's okay. "You know where everything is."
"Sure thing." Jesse was up and out of his seat and headed back inside the house. Jesse returned quickly and flopped down in his seat, looking expectantly among the three of them. "Okay, who do we start with?"
"Well, I've hardly been involved at all," Amanda said, "So I'll just listen along and see if anything pops up."
"Okay. Why not start with the 'unknown' person?" Mark suggested. After Jesse had agreeably written it down, he continued. "The motive could have been anything, since it depends on the person. Revenge, greed. Who's to say that Adam Michaels wasn't dating someone who didn't want to let him go?"
"Kinda like a fatal attraction?" Jesse piped up.
"Means and opportunity don't matter since we don't know who this person is," Steve joined in.
"How about Kevin Masterson, the neighbor?" Amanda piped up, seeming happy to contribute something. "He was certainly strange enough."
"And there is the lawn contract. Although it isn't nearly as lucrative as a 4 million dollar trust fund. But there is the revenge factor. He really hated the Michaels'."
"What about means and opportunity?" Jesse asked.
Mark shrugged. "Well, no one has been able to verify his alibi since the owner of Free & Clear has been out of reach since the fire."
"Which sounds more than a little convenient," Steve put in.
"Yes it does," Mark agreed. "Too convenient. And we still have no reason for him to kill Sam Jarvis."
"Well, he is a divorce lawyer," Steve said. "Maybe there used to be a Mrs. Kevin Masterson."
"Good point," Mark said. "And Masterson is definitely one to hold a grudge."
Jesse wrote something on the paper. "Okay, who's next?"
"How about Maeve?" Steve asked.
"All right," Jesse said, shooting him a look from the corner of his eye. "I guess 4 million is a lot of reasons for murder."
"Yeah, it is. As far as means goes, she's a registered gun owner, so it's possible that she knows how to shoot. I'll have to check into that. She could even have gotten her friend Carla to shoot at us on the beach to throw suspicion off of her."
"That's some friend," Jesse commented.
"Maybe people who commit murder together are close that way," Steve replied dryly.
"What about opportunity?" Mark asked.
"Where was she the night before?" Steve said. "We only have Carla's word that they were together. Until Cheryl talks to the electrician, there is no evidence that she wasn't someplace staking out the house, waiting for her husband to get home so that she could knock him off."
Mark didn't argue with him, deciding that it was best to move on to the next suspect. "How about the electrician himself? We don't know where he fits into any of this. He could very likely have a motive that we're not aware of."
"Okay." Jesse agreed, then went to write the name down and paused. "What's his name, again?"
Steve answered for him. "Jeff Johansen. Cheryl's been trying to reach him. Maybe he's left town."
"You," Jesse pointed at him, "have a very suspicious mind."
"I'm a cop. So sue me."
Amanda coughed at that point, nearly choking on her drink. "Who did you say the electrician was?"
Steve looked at her strangely. "Jeff Johansen. He was the one who was supposed to be at the Michaels house that morning instead of Adam and his assistant."
"Oh my God. I know why Cheryl can't find him."
"Why?"
"Because he's dead. His car was found down an embankment yesterday off Fairfield. But it wasn't the car accident that killed him. Someone shot him first."
Surprise reigned for several moments, and then Steve pushed himself slowly up from the chair and headed inside. "I'll let Cheryl know."
Mark turned back to Amanda. "Do you know the time of death?"
Amanda shook her head, trying to come to terms with the changes in the case. "I'd have to say sometime very early Friday morning. Between 2 and 3 a.m. He was definitely dead before Adam Michaels."
"Well, if nothing else, we've just proved two things."
"What things are they?" Steve asked, reappearing at the door.
"The murder of Adam Michaels was no mistake, and the electrician didn't do it."
"We also have one other thing to add to that list," Steve said. "One Winchester Sharpshooter rifle, registered to one Kevin Masterson. Our friendly neighborhood video taper."
"Cheryl is on the way to see him, now."**
Mark came back to the present at a sound behind him. He looked up to see Steve moving through the doors, carrying a cup of coffee of his own.
"Morning, Dad." Steve smiled as he settled gingerly into one of the deck chairs. He was obviously still tender, but Mark was pleased to note that he appeared to be much better than he had the day before. He figured that might have had something to do with someone besides Maeve looking guilty.
"Good morning," Mark returned his greeting with a smile. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby," Steve replied, picking up the white envelope that lay beneath the Jarvis folder. He pulled out a couple pages and did a quick glance over them before shoving them back in.
"I'm glad to hear it." Mark chuckled. "Rest is the best thing for you to help your body heal. Although I can't say that coffee is on my recommended list for you today, but I'll let it slide."
"Thank you so much," Steve's reply was tinged with affectionate humor. He gestured toward the pages that he had taken from the folder. "You don't think Masterson did it, do you?"
"Pretty obvious, huh?" Mark looked sheepish. "What gave me away?"
"The other look," Steve replied.
"What other look?" Mark demanded with a laugh.
"Not the one that you get when you've figured everything all out, but the other one. The look that you get when there's a seed of an idea in the back of your mind and you just can't get to it. We all know that when you do get to it, it's going to help get the case all wrapped up."
"I don't know if I like that I'm so transparent."
"You're not. Trust me. But a son can learn a few tricks now and then. It was written all over you when you were staring along the beach. If it's any consolation, I don't think Masterson did it, either. And I didn't even interview him. I think our killer is trying to set Masterson up. Maybe getting rid of two birds with one stone."
"Who could Masterson have been a threat to?" Mark wondered aloud, glad to know that Steve was with him on this.
"From what I keep hearing about the man, he's more of an irritant than anything else. It would have to be someone who could get into his home and get his rifle. Unless Cheryl managed to find it sometime before I got up."
"No, she didn't." Mark looked at his watch. "But she did say that she'd be coming by this morning. Maeve's lawyer wanted to know if the police were finished with the house. I thought I'd go by for one last look. Maybe it'll spark something, help us to figure out what an electrician, a lawyer, a doctor and an assistant have in common aside from having been killed by the same type of gun."
Steve grinned at him. "If you hadn't thrown the assistant in there, my theory might have worked."
The doorbell sounded. "That'll be Cheryl," Mark replied, moving up from his seat. "What theory is that?" he asked over his shoulder as Steve stood and followed him inside.
"That they're all men that Maeve has dated," Steve replied.
Mark chuckled, and something distant clicked in his mind. But he didn't have time to focus on it as Cheryl was standing at the door waiting for him. She greeted them both, and they chatted for several minutes discussing the way Masterson had broken down and cried like a baby when he'd been questioned, that she had doubts about the man's guilt. "And not just because he cried," she added, when Steve teased her conclusion. "Call it intuition."
"Intuition, huh? Would that be women's intuition?"
Mark covered a smile, as he followed the conversation.
"Yes, it would. He didn't strike me as the kind who would even touch a gun, much less by one."
"So, what was he doing with a custom one, then?" Steve wanted to know.
"Says his father bought it for him. Wanted him to be more like his brother, apparently. He actually shuddered while he was talking about it."
"That sounds like him," Mark agreed. "And, Steve is pulling your leg. We don't believe Masterson did it, either. It's too pat. And there's no motive for the lawyer or the electrician."
"So you believe it's a set up scenario?" Cheryl queried.
"Yep," Steve agreed.
"Anything from Carla Rivers?"
"Nothing helpful," Cheryl replied. "She turned up another alibi who Sternen is checking out as we speak. She admitted that she and Maeve did a lot of business together, that they're great friends, what a wonderful person she is." Cheryl rolled her eyes a little. "You would think Maeve had given her a kidney or something. But it turns out that Maeve personally provided the seed money to help her get her decorating business off the ground, same with Findley, btw. She's a silent partner in both their companies. To hear Carla tell it, Maeve didn't need Adam's trust fund."
"Unless she's either over extended herself, or is paying Carla," Mark murmured, stealing a quick glance in Steve's direction. He was happy to see the look that Steve shot his way, clearly exhibiting a silent *I'm fine, Dad, so quit worrying.*
"Which doesn't change the fact that we're still at square one with too many suspects," Steve said, returning to the conversation.
"Which is precisely why we're revisiting all of the scenes," Mark said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe something will spark in the old gray matter."
~*~
Steve was stretched out on a lawn chair on the deck, dozing. Some sixth sense caused him to awaken. He immediately startled at the shadow that was looming over him. For several heart pounding moments it looked like a faceless blob against the sun. But then his vision cleared and he realized that it was just a man.
"Who are you?" he asked, pushing himself up into a standing position. The man on his deck wasn't one that he recalled meeting. And he didn't particularly like that he'd managed to sneak up on him as he had. He was a cop, for Pete's sake.
"Vincent Findley," the man told him, eyeing at him warily. "I'm here to do an estimate for Dr. Mark Sloan. For yard work."
"Oh." Steve looked the man over. He wore a baseball cap that contained the name Findley Lawn Services. His t-shirt bore a faded superhero logo, but the khaki-colored pants matched the shirt that was slung around his waist. Steve could almost make out some sort of logo on the khaki shirt, but it was lost in the folds of the garment.
"I hope you don't mind?" Findley said, following his look with an odd intensity. "It's a bit warm out today. Is Dr. Sloan here?"
Steve shook his head. "No, I don't mind, and no he isn't." And his father hadn't told him about any lawn estimates. But knowing his dad, he wasn't surprised. Still there was something odd about this guy. He was about to ask to see some ID when Findley gestured toward the large white envelope on the table.
"I gave him this when he made the appointment." He reached for the item that Steve had picked up earlier and flipped through its contents until he found a handwritten appointment slip. "Here's the confirmation."
Steve looked hard at the man a moment longer. It was obvious his dad had made the appointment in person. "Okay, well. Let me know if you need anything."
"No problem." Findley turned and headed back down the deck stairs.
Steve watched him go with a slight frown. His own version of that niggling feeling was working overtime. But he couldn't put his finger on what was causing it. He only knew that it had something to do with Findley.
Glancing down at the appointment slip, he noted the neat bold block lettering that had been used and wondered if Findley had written it. It was strangely reminiscent of the type of printing that was used in comic books. He'd never seen a person do that in real life. Shaking his head slightly, he grabbed up the rest of the items, including the Jarvis folder and headed back into the house. The feeling that he was missing something didn't abate as he got dressed for the day.