Weapon of Opportunity
Part Two: Suspect MacGyver

Detective Mahey opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, laying it next to the pile of paper he had been examining. He then made a show of patting his pockets.

"You wouldn't have a match, would you?"

Mac took a deep breath to try to rein in his temper. He knew that the police detective was trying to provoke him for some reason ... and he wouldn't be able to learn that reason without playing along. He reached into his jacket to fish out one of the matches he had pocketed that morning, laid it on the desktop next to the cigarette and said, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't smoke that while I'm in here."

Mahey stuck out his lower lip as if in a pout. "I should quit, anyway. You haven't answered my question, Mr. MacGyver. Are you telling me that during all those years in the service of the government," and here there was more than a trace of scorn in the man's voice, "there was not one single loss of life for which you were responsible?" He flipped open a folder and ran his finger down a list. "Do you want me to read the names to you ... maybe refresh your memory?"

Mac returned Mahey's stare evenly. "I don't kill people, Detective," he repeated firmly. "And as far as working for the government is concerned, I do what I am asked to do when I believe it is going to help people. Help people ... not kill them."

"But people seem to die, don't they? And a lot of them seem to die in direct proximity to you. Now, I've heard all the glowing reports ... how you help the helpless and defend the weak ... how you're such a slick operator with your duct tape and your paper clips ..." Mahey raised a pile of paper from the corner of his desk, considerably larger than the pile between him and Mac. "Here are the letters of thanks and recommendation, citizen's awards and all that hoopla. It's quite obvious that you have your share of friends in high places.

"But this is the pile that concerns me." Mahey closed his fist and lowered it gently on top of the smaller pile of reports. "Here it says that you are a dangerous man with dangerous friends, who likes to bend the law whenever it doesn't suit his purposes. Civil disobedience, breaking and entering, manufacture of explosives, interference with ongoing police investigations, and the noted ability to improvise various objects and/or substances to serve your need as it arises. Mr. MacGyver, nobody gets into that much trouble by accident."

Mahey continued to try to pin MacGyver with his stare. He leaned forward and spoke softly, "You people always think the cops can't touch you ... license to do whatever you think is necessary, up to and including risking people's lives, because you can hide behind the protective shield of 'national security'.

"Well, you folks aren't the only ones with connections in Washington. I've read your files, MacGyver.

The information available to a mere civil servant like me probably has plenty of great big gaping holes in it – maybe to protect innocent readers from the harsh statistics behind your 'classified missions'. But I can see through the censorship. And I don't have to look far beyond your public record to see the carnage."

Pete finally broke his silence. "That's enough." His voice was soft but it brooked no argument.

Mahey stopped talking, but his attitude was still belligerent. His pale eyes never left MacGyver's face.

Mac kept tight control of his emotions. After a moment he turned and gave Pete a grateful smile. Looking back toward Mahey, he said, "Detective, here's my answer.

"My grandfather Harry Jackson once told me, 'It's better to be sorry for something you did than something you didn't.' To me, that means that it's better to do something that you might regret later than to do nothing when you think that you could've made a difference. I've done a lot of things in my life that I regret, but the one thing I don't regret is caring." Mac waved a hand toward the paperwork under Mahey's closed fist. "If you talk to enough people, you'll hear any story about me that you could want, but if you want to know who I am and what I'm about, you have to get to know me. Then you won't have to trust anyone but yourself."

Mahey's eyes darted from Mac to Pete, and something seemed to pass between them. Pete relaxed and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blotted the perspiration from his face.

Mahey stood up and walked around the desk, offering his hand to MacGyver again. "I'm glad to know you, Mr. MacGyver. I won't apologize for the things I said, because once you hear my reasons, I think you'll understand why I need to be sure."

Mac clasped the man's hand again, and the handshake was sincere. "What's this all about?"

"Detective Mahey contacted the Phoenix Foundation yesterday about a series of mysterious deaths that have been occurring in the city," Pete said. Mac turned his chair so that he was positioned where he could see both men when they spoke. "The Board sent me down here to cooperate with the investigation. However unlikely it seemed – Mac, don't take this the wrong way – the Board believed it was possible that you might have been involved."

Mac closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath before he spoke, "What makes them believe that I have anything to do with these deaths?" Mac's voice was calm, but Pete could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped the armrest of the chair.

"The nature of the deaths themselves," Mahey said. His voice and attitude had changed drastically. Gone was the abrasive and antagonistic 'bad cop', replaced by an earnest detective. Mac was beginning to appreciate what an effective investigator this man must truly be. "The only thing that these people have in common is that they had perfectly normal and harmless objects in their home environments … and someone used some of those objects to kill them."

Mahey spread five more case files on the desk in front of MacGyver. "These cases weren't connected to each other at first. They were all put down on the records as accidental deaths after the initial investigation. Then we began to turn up underworld connections – one victim had been a thief, another a drug trafficker; all hoodlums with unsavory lifestyles. Except this one." Mahey extracted one file and handed it to Mac. "Tabatha Carr."

The folder contained several police and medical examiners' reports, and two photographs clipped to the inside cover. One was an picture of a pretty brunette in a high school sweater posing with a dog. The other was a crime scene photo. Mac winced as he read the reports.

"It wasn't until this girl was found that a pattern was noticed. Evidence surrounding her death pointed to an attempt to disguise a homicide as an accident. After that, further inquiries were made into several earlier 'accidental deaths' that revealed them to be connected."

Pete stood up and read over Mac's shoulder. "Why weren't the connections noticed earlier?"

Mahey sighed and ran his fingers through his crew-cut style hair. "I'm embarrassed to admit it, but in the earlier cases the investigating officers didn't do as thorough a job as they should have. In their defense, I have to say that when they submitted their reports, I was satisfied that they were correct. Scumbags get killed every day: by other criminals, by their double-crossing accomplices, by their drug-using partners. There are just too many people coming up dead with not enough evidence to warrant a full investigation. But Miss Carr didn't slip through."

"Why was her case different?" asked Mac.

"She was found dead at the foot of a staircase, initially thought to be from an accidental fall."

"What made you change your mind about the accidental nature of her death?"

"Tabatha Carr was a stuntwoman. She fell down staircases for a living. I found it difficult to believe that she would die in such a way, and had the M. E. do a complete autopsy. We found evidence that contradicted the accident theory."

Pete sighed. "Whoever killed her must not have known her. Perhaps she saw or heard something, so that she had to be eliminated?"

Mahey nodded. "That's my assessment as well. We retraced her steps on the last day she was seen alive and came up with a loose connection to one of our victims here." Mahey pointed to the last file. "This fellow was killed when a window fell on him as he was coming back home after a lousy night of cat burglary. One of the places he tried to rob was Tabatha's apartment. She was home and hit him in the eyes with pepper spray. There's a transcript of her 9-1-1 call in her file.

"MacGyver," Mahey placed his hands on his desk and sighed. "Your name did not come up at random as a suspect for these murders. We received an anonymous message that led us to you, and the sketchiness of your records lent credence to some suspicion. I am satisfied now that you are not directly responsible, but it makes me wonder if whoever is killing these people isn't trying to set you up, either to take the fall or as a target. I'd like to place you under police protection …"

"Detective, I think I'd be more helpful if you allowed me to assist your investigation."

Mahey let a grin slip onto his face. It made him look almost boyish. "Mr. Thornton said that you'd say that. I wish I could ask for your help ... even if half of the things that people say about you are true, you'd be damned useful. But I can't let you do that."

Mac sighed. "I'm still a suspect, aren't I?"

Mahey gave a little shrug. "Hey, in this case, everyone's a suspect until I catch the killer."

"Or until they wind up dead," Mac added under his breath.