“Katie’s stepbrother told us to come up. He was going to let us go into the hot tub at the mansion he was taking care of. He…” she looked back up at her grandmother. Again, the woman nodded. “He got us some wine coolers and pot. We thought it would be fun.”
I noticed the poor woman’s eyes rise to the sky. I could tell she was silently pleading with God for something.
“Cameron Knox? Is that who we are talking about, Lisa?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her voice dipped, making it hard to hear her.
“Did you see Cameron that night, Lisa? Did you ever go to the house?” I questioned her further.
She shook her head. “Afterwards, we all did. I don’t really remember much. I had a couple of wine coolers.”
“Did Jamie go into the house, Lisa?” Marty quizzed her.
“No, I don’t think so. Dylan and Jamie got into a fight on the way up there. When he stopped the car, she ran out into the woods. That’s when we went looking for her.”
“What were they fighting about, Lisa?” I prodded her to give us more.
“Just stuff. Jamie was being a bitch and Dylan was getting pissed at her.”
“What time did you get there? Do you remember?” I asked her.
“I’m not sure, I think about ten o’clock. I wasn’t wearing a watch.” Her eyes shifted from me to her grandmother and back to Marty.
“How long did it take for you to find her? Who actually found Jamie first?” Marty asked this time.
“Tiffany found her. We heard her screaming. She was hollering for us to come. I was with Dylan and Katie was with Cameron.”
She put three of her fingers in her mouth and started to suck them. She looked like she was going to cry. “Am I in trouble?” she asked.
“Not if you’re telling us the truth, Lisa. Are you telling us the truth?” I tried to sound more maternal than official.
“Yes ma’am. I swear, I’m telling you the truth.”
I had heard enough. We thanked them and I let Mrs. Padilla know how we appreciated her cooperation.
We were about to walk out of the house when I remembered something important.
“Lisa, do you know if Jamie had any allergies? Like you, with your asthma?”
She nodded.
“Yes ma’am. Jamie was allergic to bees. She usually carried an epinephrine pen in her bag, in case she got stung.”
***
We left the Padilla’s house ten minutes later, after arranging for Lisa to come in and give a written statement.
When we were back on the road, I turned and looked at Marty. “Was Jamie’s purse found at the scene?”
He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned through it.
“Nope.”
“Okay, who first? Dylan, Cameron, or Katie?”
“How about we have this kid Dylan picked up while we go talk to Cameron?” he suggested as he got into the vehicle. By the time I got into the passenger side, he had already radioed someone to have them pick up Dylan Silver.
“Let’s go find out why Cameron lied to Sully,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot.
“So what do you know about the mayor’s kid? What’s the long story you were going to tell me?”
First off, he’s no kid. He’s a few years younger than me. He’s my little brother Danny’s age.”
“Which is?”
“Thirty, Danny just turned thirty this year,” he answered after some thought.
“What the hell is a thirty-year-old doing hanging out with sixteen and seventeen year olds?” I was nauseated at the thought.
“Cameron Knox is a piece of work. He has a problem keeping his pants zipped.”
“He’s an exhibitionist?” I shot out in disbelief. Now this was getting interesting.
“Among other things, but daddy always called in some favors and kept him out of trouble. The reason he moved to live with his mother in Connecticut was that he was being accused of statutory rape. They paid off the girl’s mother and the problem went away. He liked—or should I say, likes—them young.”
“Is this just speculation, Marty? Or do you know it for a fact?” I could tell he noticed the doubt I was feeling about his remark.
“The girl that he was sleeping with was Danny’s wife’s niece. It’s true.”
“Are you saying the mayor’s kid is a pedophile, Marty? That’s a pretty big accusation.”
“I’m saying the guy’s a horse’s ass, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Including murder?” I prodded him.
“That I can’t tell you. Cameron Knox is an embarrassment and thorn in his father’s side. I never thought he was too bright. Cameron was, or is, more of an impulsive type. I can’t see him planning anything quite so elaborate. Hope would have some sort of psychiatric medical term for it. I’m getting vibes telling me that Jamie’s murder was definitely premeditated and well thought out. If the medical examiner is right, Jean, somebody had to have collected those bees, found an empty jar and put them in it… somebody who obviously knew that she would have an allergic reaction.”
“Knox is not going to like this, Marty… two of his family members being suspects in a high-profile case… he’s not going to like it at all. You’re right, let’s take a ride over to the Forester place. Maybe we can have a little talk with Junior, before the mayor finds out and calls in any favors.”
It was getting late, and rush-hour traffic was starting. We both had the same thought at the same moment. I sat back as he pulled out the blue globe and placed it on the dash and hit the siren. Neither of us felt there was any sense in wasting time.
On the way to find Cameron Knox, Marty made a few phone calls and did a little fishing for information on the mayor’s son. Unlike me, Marty had grown up in this town. That tended to be an advantage in our line of work. Even though I had been living here for over twenty years and raised a family here, I wasn’t privy to old family gossip. I was still an outsider.
***
Just before we got to our destination, Marty filled me in on the history of the Forester home.
The Forester estate was built on land that used to be owned by the Armistace Family. Five thousand acres of prime real estate had been sold off in ten-and twenty-acre lots when Alexander and Rebecca Armistace passed on and left their numerous assets to their only surviving child a son, Skylar.
Skylar Armistace, now an old man himself, kept the main house and fifty or so acres, and deeded a good deal of the property to the state hospital for children with mental and emotional disorders, most of them violent in nature. That is where Marty’s girlfriend Hope worked as a clinical child psychiatrist.
The Forester place was a three-story Victorian style home built in the 1980s by Herman Forester as a wedding present for his new wife, Claire. In order to make the transition easier for his wife, he had the house built as an exact replica of her childhood home in New Orleans. The new Mrs. Forester reluctantly left her home and family and joined her new husband in the mountains of New York State, where he pioneered a computer software company. What was supposed to be their main residence soon became just a summer home. The Foresters’ business had become quite successful, enabling the couple to spend their lives jet setting around the world.
Being a lifelong card-carrying Republican, Herman Forester and Mayor Paul Knox became steadfast friends and maintained political ties.
Marty found out through some mutual acquaintances that Mayor Knox had arranged for his son Cameron to be offered use of a small cottage on the property rent-free in exchange for caretaking duties. His main job was to make sure the gardeners and groundskeepers were doing what was required of them.
He was to vacate the premises for three weeks in the summer when Mr. and Mrs. Forester returned from Europe, or Asia, or wherever their travels had taken them. According to Marty’s sources, the arrangement was fine with Cameron. He could always go stay with his father, his new wife, and the hot stepsister for those three weeks.
The Forester mansion was about 500 feet back from the wooded area where Jamie’s body had been found. A long driveway led to a clearing that was beautifully landscaped with seasonal foliage of all kinds and faux waterfalls and ponds. The small cottage just northeast of the main house reminded me of the cover of the picture book I used to read to Bethany when she was a toddler. I had never actually been back here before, and I found it breathtaking.
Marty pointed out a dark green Harley Davidson that was parked in front of the cottage.
“That’s Cameron’s bike.”
“Do you think this guy is dangerous, Marty? Should we call for backup?” My hand immediately went to my weapon. I looked around, the area was beautiful, but desolate.
I would say he made an ugly face, but with Marty that would have been impossible. I don’t care how hard he tried to screw up his face, there was no way the man could look bad. It was a curse.
“He’s about as dangerous as Silly Putty, or at least he used to be. Just keep your eyes and ears open. No reason to be too lax.”
We just pulled up next to the bike when a shirtless, tall, well-built man walked out of the cottage. He headed over to his bike to get something out of the saddlebag when he noticed he had company. He had a pair of shades sitting on his head and dropped them over his eyes to keep the glare of the setting sun from blinding him when he turned in our direction.
He seemed to recognize Marty immediately. If he was disturbed that we were here and were about to question him about his part in a homicide, and why he had lied to the cops, he wasn’t letting on.
“Hey Keal, that you?” He smiled, reaching out a hand to shake, as if they were longtime buddies.
“Cameron.” Marty made nice and accepted the handshake. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
The mayor’s son glanced over at me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he wasn’t at all what my mind had envisioned after the description Marty had given to me. He was not bad looking at all. Sandy blond hair fell loosely to his shoulders. Dark eyelashes emphasized a pair of muddy brown deep-set eyes. In his own way he was quite attractive, not to mention he was drowning in sex appeal.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he offered me his hand. “Cameron Knox, and you are…?”
“Detective Whitley. Mr. Knox, do you mind if we join you inside, it’s getting a little buggy out here. Mosquitoes and I don’t get along.”
I was hoping to get a look inside without needing a search warrant.
“Sure, come on in. So, Marty, how have you been? I hear Danny is on his third kid. Is he trying to compete with the Captain?”
The cottage was just a one-bedroom bungalow, with a large kitchen and dining area. Under a bay window in the room was a small, worn-out sofa. I grabbed a seat on the sofa; Marty took one of the wooden dining chairs.