Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
"Oh, my God," I said, watching Barclay administer CPR to Detective Cabot, who was lying face up on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around his head, his eyes open and fixed. "Is he dead?" I muttered.
"Come on, Vincent," Barclay begged as he pumped the older man's chest.
Despite his desperate plea, I didn't think Cabot was coming back. "What can I do?" I asked.
"Ambulance is on its way. Go outside and show them in," he said tersely.
I ran down the hall and out the front door as the police, fire, and EMTs arrived. I showed them into the house and told them I didn't know what happened, but a man was in critical condition.
The den was immediately swarming with people as the medics took over, and Barclay got to his feet, his face white, his expression grim.
Turning to one of the police officers, he told them he'd found Cabot on the floor, unresponsive, had attempted CPR, but he didn't have a pulse.
He hadn't had time to check the house, but he hadn't seen anyone inside.
As the medics tended to Cabot, I looked around the room, which was a total mess.
Every drawer in two large filing cabinets was open, with folders tossed to the ground.
There was a pile of papers on the desk and drawers that had been ripped out of the desk as if someone had been searching for something.
And they'd wanted it badly enough to kill for it.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I walked back into the living room where a book was open on the coffee table, a newspaper on the couch.
Cabot's shoes were on the floor, and there were almost-empty wineglasses on the dining room table next to a chess set that appeared to have been stopped in mid-game.
All signs of a life recently extinguished, and I couldn't think of anyone besides Hale who had a motive to kill Cabot.
Hale hadn't been at the theater this afternoon.
Had he come here to play chess, to drink wine?
Had they gotten into an argument? Had Hale knocked Cabot out with some hard object?
I was sure the police would have the same questions, and they would be motivated to find the killer of an ex-cop.
But would they be forthcoming with the results? I didn't know.
What I did know was that the lead investigator for Paige's death was dead, and whatever he'd done or known had gone with him to his grave. If anyone had known his secrets, that person had probably killed him.
I sent Morgan and Cassidy a quick text to tell them Cabot was dead, but I was okay. That whoever had killed him had left before we arrived. They both responded with concern and questions that I couldn't answer, so I told them I'd give them an update when I had one.
As the investigation got underway, many officers came in and out of the house, but no one tried to talk to me until the end, when a detective with the Skokie Police Department asked me what I'd heard or seen.
I told him the very little I knew, and then he returned to the den as Barclay entered the living room.
"I need to stay here for a while," he said, his eyes strained, his expression somber. "Do you still have my keys?"
"Yes."
"Why don't you take my Jeep to your apartment? I'll get a ride back and pick it up later."
"I can just call a rideshare."
"It's fine. Don't worry about it."
"Okay, but…what do you think happened here?" I almost hesitated to ask because I could see the pain in his eyes. Cabot had been a colleague, a friend, a mentor to him. He had to be reeling.
"Vincent was struck from behind. He probably didn't know what was coming." Barclay drew in a heavy breath. "No obvious signs of a break-in, but his lock would have been easy to pick. The den looks like it was searched."
"I thought so, too."
"We'll have to see what forensics and neighborhood cameras turn up. He didn't have a doorbell camera, which is unfortunate, but we'll check the houses across the street. Whatever it takes, I will find his killer." His passionate conviction was impossible to doubt.
"There are wineglasses on the table, a chess game in progress. I wonder if Hale was here."
"We'll take those glasses to the lab, and we'll know soon enough. I'm sure he had other chess partners."
"Hale wasn't at the theater today, for what that's worth."
"Good to know."
"Do you think whoever killed Cabot is tied to Paige's death?" I asked.
"It's a strong possibility. If so, this whole case has taken on a new and dangerous dimension. This would be a good time for you to bow out, Tessa. Let us handle this."
I didn't want to argue with him, with police coming in and out of the house and his mentor's body lying in the next room, so I just said, "I'll speak to you later. And Detective…I'm sorry. I know Detective Cabot meant something to you."
"Vincent might not have been the man I thought he was," Barclay said tersely. "When you get home, Tessa, lock your door, and don't let anyone in, even if you think you know them."
A shiver ran down my spine. Was I getting too close? Was the killer starting to tie off loose ends, desperate to protect their secrets? Or did they think they were safe now that Cabot had been silenced?
Those questions followed me back to Evanston.
I parked the Jeep on the street a few doors down from my building, and after looking around the street for anyone suspicious, I jumped out of the car and ran down the block and through the breezeway, my hand shaking a little as I used my key to open the door.
I felt like someone might jump me at any moment, but, finally, I got the door open and went inside, locking it behind me.
I jogged up the stairs and put my key in the next lock.
"Tessa, is that you?" Morgan called out.
"It's me," I said as I entered the apartment.
She gave me a look of relief. "Thank God. I've been worried ever since I got your text. How did you get back here?"
"Detective Barclay lent me his car."
"The detective gave you his car?" Morgan asked in surprise.
"He was going to be there a while, and he wanted to get rid of me. He'll pick it up later."
"What do they think happened?" she asked as I sat down at the table across from her.
"Too early to know, but it looks like Detective Cabot might have let someone in. There were two wineglasses on the table by a chess game in progress, which made me think of Hale. Cabot probably would have felt comfortable inviting him inside."
"But a drama professor? Could he really kill someone?" Morgan asked.
"I have to admit it's difficult for me to see Professor Hale doing something physically violent. He's also not stupid. If he was drinking wine and playing chess with Cabot, why would he leave his DNA or fingerprints behind?"
"Maybe it wasn't him. It might not even be tied to Paige."
"I think the timing implies that it's connected. But why would someone be afraid Cabot would talk now, after so many years?"
"Perhaps the killer was worried that the new investigation would put pressure on Cabot to talk, and that Cabot might try to shift the blame to someone else. Whatever the reason, it seems likely that Cabot knew something that he didn't put in the police report."
"I agree. But now Cabot can't tell us what he knew." I felt disheartened at having lost our best lead. "I should have started with him before anyone else."
"He probably wouldn't have talked to you without the public pressure we've been building," Morgan said. "Since he's a former police officer, the police will definitely want to avenge his death. If they weren't interested in this case before, they have to be now."
"Which means someone was willing to take a huge risk to silence Cabot. The accident theory is unraveling, and we can pull it all the way apart now. We should do another video tonight and let people know that Cabot is dead."
"Are we allowed to go public with that information?"
"I wasn't told not to, and I'm sure it will be on the news tonight. We need to use our insider status to get the information out there first. That's what our listeners expect."
"I'll set it up now."
While she was doing that, I got up and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and ate it, needing a little something in my stomach to override the queasy feeling I got every time I thought about what I'd seen at the house.
I'd never been that close to a dead body before.
The image of his body on the ground felt like it was tattooed on my brain.
I didn't think I was going to forget the sight of all that blood for a very long time.
"Ready," Morgan said.
I sat down in front of one of the two microphones she'd put on the table and looked into the camera as she adjusted the settings and the light.
"Do you know how you want to start?" Morgan asked, sitting down next to me. "Do we want to write down any notes, or are we going to wing it?"
"I think it will feel more real if we just talk."
"Okay. Let's discuss what happened tonight at Cabot's house, versus speculating about what other clues or people we're investigating."
"I agree. We don't want to give too much away or make anyone think we're zeroing in on them. We won't talk about Sloane, Liam, or Carrie."
"Or Hale," she added. "If he's the killer, it's best he doesn't think we're focused on him."
"Exactly. This will be short," I said with a dry smile.
"It's still an update, and an important one." Morgan turned on the camera and recording equipment. "Go ahead."
I looked into the camera. "Hello, everyone.
Morgan and I wanted to give you an update on our investigation into Paige MacIntyre's death in the Chicago area.
We've had a big turning point in the case, and a shocking one at that.
I've always wondered why the investigation into Paige's death was so short.
That was also one of the reasons why Paige's sister contacted me.
She didn't feel satisfied with the information she'd gotten from the police. "