Stealing the Countess Page 16

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  “Is this all about the violin, Duclos’s Stradivarius?”

  “I won’t know until I find the shooter. That’s my guess, though.”

  “It’s crazy. But—did you just say ‘until I find the shooter’? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m not going anywhere.”

  “A lot of folks are going to be unhappy to hear that.”

  Voight smiled. I think he wanted me to know that “a lot of people” didn’t include him. I decided to ask an ill-mannered question just to see if he really was on my side.

  “Mr. Voight, someone shot my friend,” I said. “When I find out who, I just might shoot them. I don’t want it to be you. Please tell me that it wasn’t you.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Prove it.”

  Voight stared at me for about ten seconds before he replied.

  “When we spoke before, I said things about my wife and Paul Duclos,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t talk at all. See, last night I was with Maggie Pilhofer. On the Heather II. We were together belowdecks when Chief Neville called on Jack Westlund.”

  “You and the Ghost Lady?”

  “She wasn’t doing the tours when we first started seeing each other. That was what? Fifteen years ago? I was single then, and she was married to an asshole who later ran out on her. Her and the kid. We get together four, five times a year. More often than not we’ll rendezvous at a marina somewhere along the lake and go off on my boat. I wouldn’t want that to get around.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “No one will hear it from me.”

  “I know what you must think of me. It’s just that—there are times when I look at Heather, I think to myself, I could have done better, you know?”

  “She’s pretty; she has wealth, position.”

  “It’s not about that, though. Never is. More often than not—Mags and me, we actually like each other, enjoy each other’s company. Heather and me, not so much.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you, McKenzie?”

  “I think so. Tell me one thing, though. It’s none of my business, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “Is Heather having financial problems?”

  Voight stared at me for a few beats, a pensive expression on his face that quickly turned to one of amusement.

  “Are you kidding?” he asked.

  “I heard that a couple of her restaurants aren’t doing well.”

  “You mean like Superior 13 that she’s selling to the Chippewa; that she built knowing she’d eventually sell it to the Chippewa. Heather’s smarter than all of us, McKenzie.”

  I stood and threw some money next to my plate.

  “Good luck to you, sir,” I said.

  Voight covered the bills with his hand.

  “I got this,” he said. “Another restaurant owned by Heather.”

  “Then tip the waitress.”

  * * *

  Bayfield City Hall consisted of three rooms in a gray wooden building that had seen far too many Lake Superior winters. I went into the room marked POLICE DEPARTMENT without bothering to knock. I heard Chief Neville say, “I told the mayor you would behave after your last dust-up. Now what should I tell him?” When he saw me he stopped talking.

  Officer Pilhofer was sitting in one of two wooden chairs positioned in front of the chief’s desk looking remorseful, a penitent taking a scolding from the head of his order. His eyes came up when I entered the room. His expression turned to one of rage and scorn. He rose quickly from his chair.

  I walked deeper into the room. The chief gestured at his officer.

  “Brian says you’re lying,” he told me. “He says he never told you to leave town; he says he never assaulted you at the Iron Bridge Hiking and Nature Trail.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind. I didn’t come here to file a complaint or press charges. I would never do that to a cop. I wouldn’t even have mentioned what happened except you asked.”

  Pilhofer squeezed his fists tight.

  “It’s a fucking lie,” he said.

  I sat in the second chair without being asked.

  “Let’s forget about it, then,” I said. “For all I know, you have the makings of a fine police officer—once you get past all that rookie crap.”

  Pilhofer took a step toward me.

  “Brian,” Chief Neville said.

  Pilhofer glanced at the chief, back at me, and at the chief again. He slowly unclenched his fists and sat down. Yet his breathing suggested that he was still angry.

  Good, my inner voice said.

  “What rookie crap?” Pilhofer asked.

  “Thinking that you know it all, losing control of your emotions, lacking respect for the job and the citizens you serve; generally believing that your badge means you’re in charge and everyone else had better watch out. I was kind of a jerk myself when I was first sworn in, and look how well I turned out.”

  Chief Neville rolled his eyes.

  “How ’bout you?” I said. “Walking those means streets in Houghton, Michigan?”

  “Michigan Tech is in Houghton,” the chief said. “Typical college town. Half the morons I dealt with on a daily basis when I was a rook were about my age, and I was always trying to prove that I was smarter and tougher than they were.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  “Here I am. Is this just a social call, McKenzie, or did you barge into my office for a reason?”

  “I wanted to ask—three rounds were fired at Heavenly and me last night. Two missed their mark. Can you tell me if they’ve been recovered?”

  “No. The sheriff’s department forensics team scoured the area, but they were unable to find any impact craters. Why?”

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, the docs at Memorial Medical refuse to take the bullet out of Heavenly Petryk’s shoulder.”

  “I heard.”

  I turned in my chair so I was looking directly at Pilhofer when I asked the next question. “You guys carry nine-millimeter Glocks, am I right?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Heavenly was shot with a small-caliber handgun, .22, .25, maybe a .32. Anything bigger would have torn her shoulder off.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Do you own any small-caliber handguns?”

  I was shocked at how quickly Pilhofer jumped to his feet, at his willingness to start beating me about the head and shoulders right there and then. Chief Neville stood, too. He shouted Pilhofer’s name. Pilhofer spun toward him.

  “Did you hear what this sonuvabitch said?” he asked. “I don’t need to take that shit.”

  “No, you don’t. McKenzie, what the hell?”

  “Remember what I said about controlling your emotions?” I asked.

  “I don’t need to take this shit,” Pilhofer repeated.

  “Spoken like an outraged suspect.”

  “McKenzie, Jesus Christ,” Chief Neville said.

  “Did you ask him where he was last night?”

  “Stand up,” Pilhofer said. “Stand up, damn you.”

  “Someone shot my friend last night, Officer Pilhofer. Was it you?”

  “McKenzie, enough,” Chief Neville said.

  “Were you trying to get back at me and missed?”

  “Stand up,” Pilhofer said. There was genuine anguish in his voice.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “He was with me.”

  We all turned to find the Ghost Lady standing in the doorway, only instead of a flowing black cloak and lantern, she was wearing cargo shorts and a tight, long-sleeve T-shirt that outlined large breasts that had been hidden before. I thought, Mr. Voight, I get it now.

  She slammed the door shut.

  “Brian was with me,” she said.

  “Mrs. Pilhofer,” the chief said.

  “Don’t give me that Mrs. Pilhofer stuff, Jeremy.”

  “Maggi
e—”

  “Are you accusing my son of shooting that girl last night? You are, aren’t you?”

  “Ma,” Pilhofer said. “What are you doing here?”

  “You think I don’t know what’s going on? You think I don’t know what they’re saying? I know.”

  Even though the Ghost Lady pointed at the office wall, I suspected it was someone on the other side of the wall that might have tipped her.

  “Ma, please,” Pilhofer said.

  “You were with me last night,” she said. “You were with me. Tell them.”

  Pilhofer looked down and away.

  “I was just about to,” he said.

  “We were watching that Will Smith movie on HBO and eating popcorn. Tell them.”

  Pilhofer turned toward the chief.

  “We were—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the chief said.

  “Don’t you believe us?” the Ghost Lady asked.

  Chief Neville didn’t say if he did or didn’t.

  “Maggie,” I said.

  She pointed a finger in my face.

  “Don’t you dare speak to me,” she said.

  “He can’t hide behind your skirts forever.”

  If she had been carrying her staff, there’s no doubt in my mind, she would have driven it through my chest.

  “We’re leaving,” Maggie said. “Brian?”

  Pilhofer looked at the chief.

  “We’ll talk before your shift begins,” the chief said.

  Mother and son left the room, the Ghost Lady slamming the door behind her yet again. It echoed through the room.

  “Chief?” I said.

  “Fuck you, McKenzie. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Okay.”

  I started drifting toward the door.

  “Ahh Christ,” the chief said. “What?”

  “I don’t know where Pilhofer was last night, but he sure as hell wasn’t with his mother.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What do you mean you can’t say?”

  “I made a promise to someone. I don’t want to break it unless I have to.”

  “Guess what, you have to.”

  “The question is—is Maggie lying to protect her son, or is my source lying to protect himself? Or maybe to protect Maggie.”

  “That’s three questions, and who exactly is he?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Does the term obstruction of justice mean anything to you?”

  “I have a friend who’s a lawyer who has made it quite clear on numerous occasions exactly what obstruction means.”

  “Yet you’re going to stand there and screw with me anyway.”

  “I want to talk to the Great Lady. It would be better if you came along.”

  Chief Neville stared at me for a few beats before speaking.

  “Phil Speegle is the only person I know who calls her that,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what he told you about Heather, but he’s been trying to fuck her over for years.”

  “Actually, I think he just wants to fuck her.”

  “That, too.”

  * * *

  We drove up the hill in the Bayfield Police Department’s only cruiser, parking in the long driveway between Heather Voight’s mansion and her small carriage house. The entire trip took all of three minutes. When I asked why we drove instead of walked, Chief Neville said, “The car makes it official.”

  We followed the winding cobblestone sidewalk to the front door. The chief pressed the doorbell. I was as surprised when Heather answered it as I had been when Duclos answered his doorbell, and for the same reason—the house was so big and opulent, I expected servants. Only there were none.

  “Jeremy,” Heather said. “More questions?” Then she saw me. “McKenzie. It’s going to be one of those visits, isn’t it? Please, come in.”

  She stepped aside, and we moved past her into the house. It was as old as the Queen Anne, yet better furnished.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Heather asked. “Is this about the shooting last night? Honestly, Jeremy, I don’t know what Bayfield is coming to.”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time,” the chief said.

  “Just not today.”

  “I have hard questions.”

  Heather curled her arm around the chief’s and led him into her parlor.

  “Hard questions to ask or hard to answer?” she said.

  Walking behind them, I couldn’t help but notice Heather’s tight blue jeans. And her boots. And the soft pullover sweater. Her attire was very similar to the clothes Heavenly had worn the night before. There was no chance anyone could confuse the two women, though, I told myself. Except maybe in the dark.

  Heather sat the chief in an overstuffed chair and moved to the chair directly across from him. They were nearly knee to knee.

  “Sit anywhere you like,” she told me.

  I did, on a love seat where I could watch them both at the same time.

  “There’s a rumor that you’re sleeping with my officer—Brian Pilhofer,” Chief Neville said.

  “This city’s rife with rumors, you know that. Remember a few years ago when they said you and I were having an affair?”

  “I remember.”

  “It wasn’t true, though—was it?”

  “No.”

  Heather patted the chief’s knee.

  “Pity,” she said.

  “Heather, are you…?”

  “It’s more like an adolescent crush than an affair.”

  “Is that why Brian warned McKenzie to get out of town? Is that why he attacked him near the Iron Bridge, because of an adolescent crush?”

  Heather looked at me.

  “Did that really happen?” she asked.

  “That’s the rumor,” I said.

  “Heather,” the chief said. “Why would Brian do that?”

  “Astonishing as it sounds, he thinks I stole Paul Duclos’s Stradivarius. He keeps thinking it no matter how many times I tell him that it’s not true.”

  “So does his mother,” I said.

  “Good ol’ Maggie. Did she tell you that we went to school together? Not many of us left from the old crowd. Me, her, Phil Speegle…”

  “The Maestro.”

  “Him, too.”

  “Heather,” the chief said, “I’m this far away from arresting Brian for attempted murder.”

  No kidding? my inner voice asked. Do you mean it, or are you just messing with her?

  “If you know of any reason why I shouldn’t do it, now’s the time to tell me,” the chief added.

  Heather closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “I don’t,” she said.

  “Heather?”

  “I don’t.”

  She rose from her chair and walked to the large window overlooking the carriage house. She leaned against the sill and shook her head some more.

  “It’ll be easier now than later,” the chief said.

  “There are things,” Heather said, “once you say them out loud…”

  “Anything you tell me today remains confidential. Just between you and me. Everything you say after an arrest is made, that becomes public record.”

  “McKenzie…”

  “I won’t repeat a word,” I told her. “You have my promise.”

  “Your promise? Are you an honest man, McKenzie?”

  “I’ve always tried to be.”

  “How’s your success rate?”

  “Better than average, I think.”

  Heather spun away from the window to face us.

  “Brian and I were together last night,” she said. “We spend most of our Wednesday evenings together.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It works with our schedules.”

  “No, I mean, a woman like you…”

  “What do you know about a woman like me?”

  “I know you’re smart. I know you’re ambitious, you’re accomplished. I know that
you’re attractive—”

  “For a woman my age.”

  “For a woman of any age.”

  “What do you want to know, McKenzie? Spit it out.”

  “Why Pilhofer?”

  “Why not him?”

  “His age, for one thing.”

  “Look around. There aren’t that many options available to me up here.”

  “Your husband—”

  “Don’t. Don’t, McKenzie. Don’t bring him into this. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever known.”

  “Then why are you cheating on him?”

  “I need someone stronger. Someone … sometimes—you’re going to think I’m a heartless bitch, both of you, but sometimes I look at Herb and I think I could have done better.”

  “Thank you, Heather,” the chief said. “We won’t trouble you any longer.”

  Clearly, he had heard enough, yet I hadn’t.

  “Heather,” I said.

  “You don’t get to call me by my first name anymore,” she said.

  “We’re done here,” the chief said.

  “Just one more thing,” I said.

  “What is it?” Heather asked.

  “The violin case was found outside your house.”

  “What of it?”

  “The GPS tracker placed in the case was meant to help lead us to the Countess Borromeo.”

  “So?”

  “So, what if the case was dropped at your doorstep following the theft in order to lead us to you?”

  “I don’t … I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You own a lot of property.”

  “Three restaurants in Bayfield, one in Washburn, another in Red Cliff, a motel, a full-service gas station. I’m also partners in an art gallery. What of it?”

  “What happens if you’re … incapacitated?”

  “You mean if I’m arrested and sent to prison?”

  “Exactly that.”

  “I have people…”

  “I’m sure you do. But who takes charge?”

  “My husband. No, no, no, he would never do anything like that.”

  “Because he’s such a nice guy?”

  “McKenzie, I want you to leave now. Both of you.”

  * * *

  We were outside, the door firmly shut behind us, and walking toward the police cruiser parked in the driveway.