“Or Kotter was the one who went after the embezzler, but he ends up plunging to his death instead.” Fitzgibbon grinned. “It’s possible.”
“What do you think, Nostradamus?” Ronan asked, drawing a smile from Tennyson. “Are you seeing or feeling anything?”
Ten shook his head. “I haven’t seen or spoken to Kotter Brighthouse for two days. Everly spoke to him yesterday but only to say that he’d been murdered. My gift isn’t showing me anything more than what I saw in the Ferris wheel gondola the other day. I saw Kotter falling face-first toward the ground.”
“Was he flailing or screaming?” Jude asked.
“No, I could just see him falling.” Ten gasped. “You think he was drugged?”
“Maybe,” Jude agreed. “He could have also been tasered. Either to get him on the ride or at the top to incapacitate him and make it easier to shove him out.”
“We’ve got so many theories, but no hard proof any of these scenarios happened.” Fitz sighed. “I’ve got a friend in the Essex County Medical Examiner’s office. I’ll call him and see if we can get a copy of the autopsy. Maybe there were marks or bruises notated that could give us more clues to Kotter’s manner of death.”
“Pull whatever strings you have to see if we can get ahold of the police report too. With Kotter’s death being an apparent suicide, the file’s gonna be thin.” Ronan didn’t want to say anything yet, but it was also possible that the local police helped cover up the murder by pushing the suicide theory.
Fitzgibbon was right. They had several theories and no answers. Ronan hoped Kotter showed up this afternoon and spilled his guts. If not, there was no way they’d ever know what happened at the top of the Ferris wheel twenty years ago.
Unless, of course, the killer confessed.
16
Tennyson
Ten paid close attention to all the theories tossed around by Ronan and the others. Some seemed more plausible than others. Usually, his gift would supply answers or at least an inkling of which idea might be on the right track, but at the moment, he was getting nothing. It was possible none of their ideas were on the money, but Ten was at a definite loss.
Ronan gave his name at the park entrance and was given a placard to put on the dashboard so he’d be able to park in the employee lot rather than the general admission area. As they drove through, looking for an empty spot, Ten opened his gift and got a myriad of static. Anxiety. Fear. Exhilaration. Lust. All of them shot through his body like a bolt of lightning. Ten had a feeling his gift was being overwhelmed by the hundreds of people in the park. He hoped there would be less noise when they were in Baxter’s office.
After checking in with a secretary, Ten and the gang were shown upstairs and announced before the office doors were opened to them. Scanning the room, Ten saw Baxter, who sat on the left-side leather sofa. He looked worn to the bone and was sipping on a cocktail. Not his first of the morning. His mother, Mary Lou, sat opposite her son in a gorgeous sheath dress that Ten knew cost more than his monthly mortgage payment. Paired with it were her usual Louboutin shoes. Sitting beside her was a well-dressed man Tennyson didn’t know.
“Ah, Tennyson, you finally made it.” Baxter was out of his seat and ushering Ten and the others toward the couches.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Brighthouse. Mary Lou.” Ten nodded to the older woman, whose look was a bit less sour than thelast time he’d seen her. He sat on the other side of Baxter with Ronan, while Jude and Fitz sat with Mary Lou and her mystery man.
“This is my husband, William Conrad. He runs a successful building firm.” Mary Lou tapped a hand against his knee.
“I’ve heard of the Conrad Group,” Fitzgibbon said with an easy smile. “Your work is quite impressive.”
William nodded, but Mary Lou’s left eyebrow shot sky-high. “How does a retired police officer know about my husband’s work?”
“Like you, I married up. My husband is Jace Lincoln. Of the Boston Lincolns.” Fitzgibbon offered a neutral smile, but Tennyson knew Fitz was internally beaming.
“How can I help you, Mr. Brighthouse?” Ten asked, wanting to do what he came for and then get the hell out. Now that he’d had a chance to relax for a few minutes, there was a strange feeling in the room that put Ten on alert. He wasn’t sensing danger, but like Ronan said to Everly earlier, he didn’t trust any of these people as far as he could throw them. What was worse was that Ten couldn’t figure out which of the three people in the room was making him feel this way, which made him feel off-balance.
“It happened again last night,” Baxter said. He looked worried, but his mother looked as though she thought he had a screw loose.
“What happened?” Jude asked, his eyes never leaving Mary Lou.
“I was home after the park closed. I’d, uh, brought a date, uh, with me.” Baxter cleared his throat loudly, obviously uncomfortable with his mother hearing the details of his private life. “We were sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine when Iheard something. A moan or a cry, asking for help. My date heard it, too, and accused me of having another woman locked up in the house. She called me a freak, grabbed her purse, and was out the door. I heard a voice ask, ‘Why,’ two or three times, and when I asked, ‘Why what?’ there was no answer. I didn’t sleep a wink. You have to help me, Tennyson.”
The words spoken to Baxter were exactly what Tennyson heard Kotter say on the Ferris wheel and again when he’d tried to channel the spirit in his living room. He could see the fear in Baxter’s eyes, but his mother was one eye roll away from a concussion. As Baxter spoke, Mary Lou looked at her son with disdain. “That sounds very scary,” Ten said to Baxter. “I’m not sensing that Kotter is with us. If he visits you again, try to have a conversation with him. He’s not looking to hurt you but is asking for your help.”
Baxter nodded.
Ten turned his attention to Mary Lou. Where he’d been able to read a bit about her the other day, now she was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. The look on her face told Ten everything he needed to know. “What about you, Mary Lou? What do you think is going on here?”
Baxter’s mother smoothed her dress and patted her immaculate hairdo, a sleek bob with sharp edges, mirroring Mary Lou’s attitude. “It’s obvious my son is having a psychotic break. He’s lost touch with reality and should be hospitalized indefinitely for his own safety.”
“Interesting assessment,” Fitzgibbon said. “Out of curiosity, Baxter, what would happen to Fun-A-Rama if you happened to become unwell or involuntarily committed?”
