A Merciful Secret Read online

  Inside, Truman shook Augustus’s hand and slid into the booth across from him. Augustus McGee looked like a retired clown. All he needed was the red nose and white paint on his round face. He was a big man with pale-green eyes that viewed the world with deep suspicion. He believed in silent black helicopters, mind-reading radar from the cellular towers, and that the government’s primary purpose was population control. Truman’s officers claimed the man got crazier by the year.

  “I’ve only got half an hour, Augustus, and I hope you don’t mind if I eat lunch while we talk.”

  The waitress appeared. “Coffee, Chief?”

  “Just water. And whatever your burger of the day is.”

  “It’s Hawaiian. Ham and a ring of pineapple on the burger patty.”

  “Perfect for a snowy day,” answered Truman. She poured his water and left. “What can I do for you, Augustus?”

  Augustus leaned forward, clenching his coffee cup in both hands, his eyes intense. “Is it true that Olivia Sabin has been murdered?”

  The Eagle’s Nest rumor mill was faster than the speed of light.

  “You knew her?” Truman asked.

  “At one time. Is it true?” he repeated. His bushy eyebrows quivered at each word.

  Truman tried not to stare. “Her death is viewed as suspicious,” he said with caution. “We won’t know until the medical examiner has results tomorrow.”

  Augustus sat back in the vinyl booth and exhaled, and his shoulders sagged. “We’re all going to die at some point.”

  The round face had deflated. Sad clown. “How well did you know her?” A very small sense of pity touched Truman.

  The man looked out the window and scratched at one of his gray tufts. “Well, I didn’t know her that well. We haven’t spoken in probably twenty-five years.”

  There goes my hope of useful information.

  “You seem upset that she died,” Truman prodded. “But you didn’t keep in touch?”

  “Well, you know how it goes. You always remember the good ones, you know what I mean?” Augustus made a lewd gesture with his hands, his gaze lecherous.

  That was more than I need to know.

  “So . . . the two of you were involved at one time?” Truman asked tactfully.

  “Oh yeah. Involved. The best two weeks of my life.” He leaned forward again, conspiratorially whispering, “You know she was a witch, right?” Truman’s mother would have described Augustus as mad as a hatter.

  Truman preferred the term crazy.

  “I’ve heard something like that. You believe in that sort of thing?”

  Augustus nodded emphatically. “Absolutely. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. How do you think she pulled me in for two weeks?”

  Truman knew better than to ask for details. “Know any reason someone would kill Olivia Sabin?”

  “It’s not easy to kill a witch, you know. Takes someone with a lot of power. But I’ll wager she angered somebody with one of her spells. Ruined their finances or gave them cancer.” His eyes narrowed. “Sounds a lot like what the government does. But I don’t think she worked for them, did she?” Conspiracy theories had bubbled to the surface in the man’s brain.

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “You know the world government is trying to reduce the population down to five hundred million, right? More manageable. It’s easy for them to do. All those vaccinations and bottled water.”

  “World government?” The question slipped out. Crap. Now he’ll never shut up.

  “That’s right. They’re hiding behind the facade of the United Nations. That’s just a front. The real power is like an octopus, all its arms causing havoc in different countries. They want a world where they rule implicitly. The best way to achieve that is division and unrest in the populations.”

  Sounds like Hydra from Captain America. “Seen any movies lately, Augustus?”

  The man waved Truman’s question away. “I know you want to hear about Olivia Sabin. She would chew men up and spit them out. You need to look at the daughter, the other witch. Her power is ten times stronger than her mother’s.”

  “Salome?”

  The old man crossed himself, surprising Truman. “That’s the one. An unholy birth, you know.”

  Now I’m totally lost. “What?”

  Impatience lowered the man’s brows. “No father. No one fathered that child. Olivia had told me she wanted a child, but no one was good enough to contribute the genes.” He snorted. “Made every man wear protection. Don’t know why. There’s pills for that.”

  I’m not giving him a lecture on safe sex.

  “Who fathered Salome?”

  Augustus glanced around the diner and, deeming no one within hearing distance, he whispered, “A demon.”

  Truman was speechless. Thankfully his burger arrived and he took two big bites as he searched for an appropriate reply to shut down Augustus’s crazy tangent. “A demon. Huh.” Brilliant comeback.

  “No one knew she was pregnant. One day she just showed up with a baby.” He nodded solemnly.

  “Interesting.” Truman took another bite, not knowing what to say.

  “That girl was evil. You could see it in her eyes.”

  “You met her?”

  “Well, no. But I heard about her.”

  Truman sighed.

  “Everyone said the mother and daughter fought like cats and dogs. Is it true the daughter is missing? That’s your killer.”

  “Because they fought doesn’t mean Salome would kill her mother.” The quiet little home in the woods hadn’t appeared to be a place of fighting. It was neat and clean and had a barn full of animals. “And why would she leave her daughter behind?”

  Augustus’s bushy brows shot up. “You seen the child?”

  “Yes. Pleasant kid.”

  “Another unholy birth. They say it was the fae this time, not a demon.”

  Truman’s fury boiled over. “You know, Augustus, your information is a bunch of malicious gossip. I’ve met that girl. She’s kind and caring and devastated that her grandmother is gone.” He slid out of the booth and fished a twenty out of his wallet, then tucked it under his water glass. “If I hear that you’re perpetuating this bunch of crap, I’ll haul you in and give you a dozen vaccinations myself. And make you drink some bottled water at the same time.”

  Truman nodded at the wide-eyed waitress, grabbed his burger with a napkin, and strode out of the diner. His icy march back to the station did little to cool him down, and he munched as he walked. Damned old gossip. Spreading bullshit about a child. He recalled Morrigan’s face, the elfin features and slight build. Fae?

  He put the thought firmly out of his mind. Has that poor family been ostracized due to rumors? Decades of rumors?

  And where was Salome Sabin?

  Mercy couldn’t sleep.

  She’d gone home after the eventful morning and had every intention of napping for the rest of the afternoon, but during her shower her brain had shifted into high gear and wouldn’t turn off. She’d lain in bed for a full hour, trying to get the image of Olivia’s abused body and Morrigan’s teary face out of her mind.

  She couldn’t do it. Instead she drove to work, planning to find information about Olivia Sabin.

  Even if it wasn’t her case.

  As she walked through her office’s parking lot, a tall man slid out of a black Range Rover. “Agent Kilpatrick?”

  Mercy stopped and wrapped her fingers around the pepper spray in the pocket of her coat. Every coat had one. The stranger had dirty-blond hair that needed a cut and sported a healthy tan even though it was January. His coat looked fresh from an expensive sporting goods store, but his heavy boots were beat up. He held up his hands in a calming gesture and flashed a charming smile. “My name’s Michael Brody. I’m an investigative reporter for The Oregonian.”

  Mercy relaxed a fraction. “What can I do for you?” She kept the pepper spray in her hand.

  “We have a mutual friend. Ava McLane.”

/>   She’d worked with Ava at the Portland FBI office. “So?” Reporters had never approached Mercy before, but she knew some agents had worked on high-profile cases and complained of their pestering.

  “I’d like to talk to you about the murder of Malcolm Lake.” Brody’s intense green stare reminded her of a hawk’s.

  “Who?”

  Brody frowned. “He’s a judge for the United States District Court of Oregon.”

  She was clueless. “I don’t know anything about it. He was murdered?”

  “The night before last.”

  She’d been out of the office the day before, working from home with the TV and Internet off. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Brody glanced at his watch. “Really? No one’s contacted your office yet? I can’t be the first.”

  “I wasn’t in the office yesterday and haven’t gone in yet today.” She gestured at the door. “You’re keeping me from doing so.”

  “You were at the murder scene of Olivia Sabin this morning, correct?”

  Mercy said nothing.

  He nodded as if that were confirmation. “Her body was deeply slashed several times?”

  She kept her face blank, but alarm started to churn in her stomach. How did the press find out I was there? Who leaked that detail?

  “Judge Lake was found in the same condition in his home. The extent of his injuries haven’t been released to the public.”

  Stunned, she blurted, “Then how did you find out?”

  He smiled. “I have my sources.”

  Asshole. There’s no way Ava is his friend.

  “What I’m trying to figure out is why an important judge like Lake was murdered in the same manner as an old woman living in the woods. The only connection I can see is that the judge lived in this area at one time.”

  “I can’t help you. Contact Deschutes County. It’s their case.”

  “Ah. Not any longer. With its similarity to the murder of a judge, which of course is being investigated by the FBI—our mutual friend, Ava, has the judge’s case—the murder of Olivia Sabin now will be included in the FBI’s investigation.”

  Mercy was speechless. The FBI now has Olivia’s case?

  “I had assumed the local case was given to you since you were present at the scene this morning. I guess I’m wrong about that.”

  “How the fuck did you know I was there?” Anger had replaced her shock.

  “It doesn’t matter. People talk; I listen.”

  “Well, your source left out some important details.” She clamped her mouth shut, nearly having spilled that she’d found the dying woman. She wasn’t going to be Michael Brody’s next “source.”

  “Like what?”

  “Why don’t you go talk to Ava? And there’s no way you’re a friend of hers.”

  He gave a lazy grin. “I am. To both her and her fiancé, Mason Callahan. Very good friends. Their dog Bingo adores me, I’ve drunk wine in their newly remodeled kitchen, and I’m on the guest list for their wedding this summer.”

  So was Mercy.

  “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

  “It’s one of my best qualities.” Another guileless smile.

  A small part of her softened. A very small part. The man was charming, but not in a smarmy way. He had an honest air about him. “I don’t have any information for you.”

  He glanced at the building. “Maybe you should go see if Ava has arrived yet.”

  “She’s coming? Here?” Despite the horrible circumstances, the thought of seeing her friend cheered her immensely.

  “I might have beat her to town. Once I heard the investigation was shifting to Bend, I left.”

  “Are we done, then?” Mercy asked.

  “You didn’t say why you were at the scene this morning. If you weren’t there as investigator, then why were you there?”

  She gave her own lazy grin.

  “Hmph,” said Brody with a twist of his lips. “I’m not scared of a challenge.”

  Neither was Mercy.

  SEVEN

  Mercy stopped at Special Agent Eddie Peterson’s office. “Is Ava here?”

  Eddie jumped. He’d been deep in thought, frowning at his computer screen. “Hello, Eddie,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Nice to see you today, Eddie.”

  “Sorry. Good morn—afternoon, and I don’t sound like that at all. Is Ava here?” she repeated, moving to stand in front of his desk.

  He leaned back in his chair, his gaze studying her through his thick-framed glasses. The young agent hadn’t changed one bit since he’d transferred to Bend from Portland at the same time as Mercy. He stuck out in the suburban office with his slim-cut slacks and skinny tie. During the weekends he wore plaid shirts, cuffed jeans, and a brown knit hat that looked identical to one Mercy had had when she was ten. It was a hipster-lumberjack look that suited him.

  “McLane? Why would Ava be here?” he asked.

  “I heard she was coming to investigate . . . the death I was at this morning.” Abruptly the crime scene flashed in her mind, and her tongue stumbled through the words.

  “Why? That has nothing—”

  “You didn’t have to come in this afternoon,” Mercy’s supervisor, Jeff Garrison, said from the doorway. “I know you were up all night.”

  “Thank you, but I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Understandable. I’m sorry you were there during her death,” said Jeff, his brown eyes sympathetic. Her boss was a good guy and a pro at making people relax, but he was married to his job. Mercy suspected he’d be snatched up by a bigger office soon. He was moving steadily up the government’s ladder.

  “I’m glad I was there, otherwise she would have died alone. And Morrigan could have gotten lost trying to find help.” Mercy doubted her last statement. Morrigan was completely at home in the woods.

  Jeff slapped the file in his hand. “I’ve got news.” His tone shifted from sympathy to business. “We’ve been notified that the murder of Judge Malcolm Lake in Portland yesterday strongly resembles Olivia Sabin’s death.”

  One point for Brody’s sources. Mercy kept her face carefully blank. “Who made the connection?”

  “The medical examiner. This morning Dr. Lockhart heard a few details from Judge Lake’s autopsy and she immediately contacted the state’s head examiner, stating she’d seen a similar case just this morning. Comparison of the injuries shows they are nearly identical.”

  “Where was the judge killed?” Mercy asked. “I didn’t hear about it since I was out of the office yesterday.”

  “In his Portland home, right in his own bed. His housekeeper found him yesterday morning.”

  “We’re over three hours away from Portland. Maybe even over four because of the crappy roads,” Eddie pointed out. “Why cross the Cascade mountain range to murder an old woman in the woods?”

  “Dr. Lockhart cleared her schedule and did the autopsy late this morning. According to her, the similarities can’t be ignored. The Portland special agent working Judge Lake’s murder is coming sometime today.”

  Two points for Brody.

  Eddie shot a narrow glance at Mercy. “Ava McLane?” he asked Jeff.

  Jeff glanced at the file. “Yes.” He scowled. “How did you know?”

  “Ask Mercy. Somehow she knew before both of us.”

  The two men stared at her.

  “Five minutes ago I ran into a reporter outside. He told me.”

  Jeff pursed his lips. “That’s not good. But with Judge Lake’s death, I’m not surprised it’s getting media coverage. Was he local?”

  “Portland. The Oregonian.”

  “Refer any media to me,” Jeff said. “Eddie, you’re to work with the Portland agent . . .” He looked at his file again. “McLane.”

  “I’d like to be kept in the loop,” Mercy said; she knew Jeff would never assign her a case in which she was a witness, but she had to keep her finger in this pot. Olivia’s face was imprinted on her memory.

  �
��Unofficially,” said Jeff. “I don’t need the complication of a witness involved in the investigation.” He placed the file on Eddie’s desk.

  “Understood.” Mercy would follow his rules, but finding Olivia’s killer had shifted to priority level in her brain.

  Her boss disappeared, and she raised a brow at Eddie.

  “This is my case,” Eddie stated. “Go away.”

  “I think you need to interview your primary witness: me,” she pointed out. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “True—hey, there’s Ava.” He gestured out his window at the parking lot. Mercy took two steps to get a view. Her friend had just been stopped in the lot by the same tall reporter.

  “That’s the reporter,” she told Eddie. “He claimed to be a friend of Ava’s.” Mercy laughed as the dark-haired woman waved her finger in the man’s face, clearly upset at something he’d said. “It looks like she doesn’t appreciate his nosiness. I knew he was full of crap when he said she was—oh!”

  Ava was hugging the tall man. She pulled back, smiled, and patted his cheek.

  “They look like friends to me.” Eddie poked her in the shoulder.

  Mercy stared as the two parted, clearly on good terms. “Huh.”

  A minute later Ava was shown into Eddie’s office. The Portland FBI agent gave Mercy a quick hug and shook Eddie’s hand. “Country living looks good on both of you.” Her low voice always reminded Mercy of melted caramel. Rich, smooth, and sweet.

  “It’s not the boonies,” Eddie said defensively. “We’ve got nearly eighty thousand people in Bend.”

  Ava’s dark eyes danced at his tone. “I understood why Mercy took this post, but I was surprised to hear that you threw your hat in the ring. Your hip, two-hundred-dollar hat.”

  “I like it out here.” Eddie scowled. “The air’s cleaner and the beer is just as good. Maybe better. And you can’t beat the scenery.”

  “Touché. I’m always stunned by all the beautiful mountain peaks. Especially after a fresh snow. But your roads really suck right now.”

  “Nothing’s melting,” agreed Mercy. “And supposedly we’ve got another big storm rolling in.” She glanced at Eddie. “Five minutes ago we were told the reason you are here. What happened to the judge?”