Black Cat Weekly #88

Chapter 7-2

Silvia’s dark eyes roved over Mariah, settling on her nervous hands. “Relax. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Police detectives came to see me. The dead person found by the cleaning service yesterday was one of the owners of the house, Wilton MacDade. They think I killed him because I’m angry about the house being a vacation rental. But I didn’t! I didn’t know he was there. I’ve never even met him. He didn’t respond to any of my letters about the house.” Mariah swallowed her fear and summarized what the police had said.

Silvia frowned, adding wrinkles to her forehead. “They must have other suspects.”

“I don’t know if they do. They didn’t tell me anything. I was hoping your security cameras could prove that I didn’t leave my house yesterday morning.”

“Maybe my cameras caught video of the actual murderer. I’m surprised the police haven’t asked me any questions yet.” Silvia pushed herself out of her chair. “Come with me.”

Silvia led Mariah to a bedroom that was arranged as an office. “I do my household accounts and my consulting work in here. That is to say I’ll start doing consulting work again as soon as I’m medically cleared. You can sit there.” She pointed to one of two chairs placed in front of her desk.

Mariah knew Silvia had been widowed in her thirties and that her husband had been in the military, but she had no idea how her neighbor had supported herself and her two children. The office had all the latest equipment and several lockable cabinets and was arranged with space for visitors. While she’d seen the floral living room many times, Mariah had never seen this room on previous visits. What kind of consulting work did Silvia do?

Silvia sat at her computer and logged in. “This will just take a moment.” She turned the screen so that Mariah could see it. A few seconds later the security video files appeared. Silvia opened the file and began to review the video at triple speed, slowing it only when cars or people appeared in the frame.

Mariah could see her own front yard and doorway clearly. “This will definitely show I didn’t leave my house by the front door. They could accuse me of hauling myself over that eight-foot privacy fence that the MacDades installed, but I’d have scraped or injured myself if I tried that.”

Silvia slowed the video as two neighbors walked dogs past the house and a blue Chevy sports car appeared on the screen. The car stopped in the driveway of the vacation rental, and the driver, a middle-aged man wearing gray trousers with a white shirt and tie, climbed out carrying a laptop case and a travel mug. The time stamp said 9:15 a.m. “Maybe this is MacDade.”

Mariah watched as Silvia manipulated the image on the screen to focus on the man’s face. Even more stunning than the quality of the video was Silvia’s expert handling of the software. Mariah bit her lip and studied the man’s face, which had pronounced jowls and a high forehead with thinning hair. “I don’t know if that’s MacDade or not.”

“We can compare this image to other photos of him.” Silvia switched tabs and searched for images of Wilton MacDade of Austin, Texas. The screen filled with photos of the same middle-aged man. She selected one and moved the tab to set it next to the image from the video. “This is definitely MacDade.” She opened a notepad and wrote the time of arrival and MacDade’s name.

Mariah agreed, but was puzzled. “He’s alone. How did he die?”

Silvia returned to the video and allowed it to progress. MacDade entered the house using the keypad on the front door. Silvia increased the playback speed until a red SUV appeared. The driver, a woman with wavy black hair, parked on the street and checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. She was dressed in a formal business skirt and blouse paired with high heels, and walked with a feminine swing to her hips as she entered the front door at 9:45. She reappeared and returned to her car thirty minutes later.

“Could this woman be the killer?” Mariah asked as Silvia paused the video.

“I suspect that she’s his mistress,” Silvia replied. “But I don’t know if she’s the killer.”

“His mistress?”

“Look at her blouse. When she entered the house, it was buttoned to all but the last button at her throat and the side seams were even. When she exited, two buttons at the top were unbuttoned, and the side seams, where it’s tucked into her skirt, were crooked. She removed her blouse while she was inside. If she was his wife, they probably wouldn’t be meeting here.” Silvia noted the woman’s time of arrival and departure on her notepad, along with the words “possible mistress.”

Mariah felt silly for not having noticed such obvious details. “I see. You’re right.”

Silvia returned her attention to the monitor. “Let’s see if anyone else appears.”

They resumed forwarding the video. At 10:22 a.m., a pudgy man in gray sweatpants and a red wind-jacket walked down the sidewalk. He stopped to look at Mariah’s house before continuing to the vacation rental. He seemed to be studying the fence lines.

“What is he looking for?” Mariah asked.

“I suspect he’s trying to figure out which house aligns with one of his fences. That’s Ren Coughlin. He lives on the next block. He’s a stay-at-home dad to an energetic four-year-old boy named Connor. Connor likes to pet Steve when our paths cross on our walks.”

In the video, the man walked to the front door of the vacation rental and knocked. No one answered. He rang the bell and stood with his hands on his hips trying to peek in the windows. After a minute he walked to the side of the house, glanced around, then tried the gate to the back yard, which was directly across from Silvia’s house. The gate opened, and he entered. A moment later he exited carrying something under his arm. Once again, he looked around before closing the gate and trotting away.

Mariah leaned forward on the desk. “He took something from the backyard?”

“Let’s see what it is.” Silvia used the software to enlarge the item under the man’s arm. “A toy drone. I’ll bet he was playing with his son, and their drone went over the fence and crashed. He came to retrieve it.” She noted Coughlin’s name as well as his arrival and departure times with the word “drone” on her notepad.

“If MacDade didn’t answer the door, does that mean he was already dead? His mistress killed him?”

“Maybe, or maybe not. Let’s keep watching the video.”

Just before 10:30, a white Buick sedan appeared and parked in front of the house. This time the driver was a woman with long, glossy mahogany hair that reflected in the sun. The woman sprinted to the front door, punched in the keypad code, and entered.

Mariah said, “She was in a hurry.”

“Yes. This may be Mrs. MacDade,” Silvia said as she noted the arrival.

“Really? His wife? What makes you think so?” Mariah hadn’t noticed anything about the woman other than her black trousers and royal blue shirt.

“The car license plate says ‘MacDade-1’ on it.”

Again Mariah felt like she’d missed the obvious. “Of course. I see it now.”

At 10:35, the woman, agitated and crying, rushed out the front door. She paused on the porch and dug into her purse for what looked like a tissue or a handkerchief before stomping one foot in anger and turning back to the door. Instead of reentering the house, she swung around and darted off the porch to her car. She almost hit a passing delivery truck as she pulled away from the curb without checking for traffic.

Mariah said, “She hesitated on the porch, like she couldn’t make up her mind. Did she find her husband dead and not stay to report it? Or did she kill him?”

“Too soon to draw conclusions.” Silvia advanced the video until another car appeared at 11:30. The gray SUV bore a logo for the cleaning service and carried the housekeeper and her cleaning supplies. The housekeeper approached the door, took out a spray bottle and a rag, and cleaned the door, doorknob, and keypad before entering the house. She was inside the house for about thirty minutes before she ran out and knocked frantically at Mariah’s door.

Mariah said, “She was in there a long time. Maybe she killed him.”

After noting the time of the housekeeper’s entrance and exit, Silvia paused the video. “It would be helpful to know exactly where in the house the body was found and how the victim died. We need to get this video to the police. This will give them suspects to consider other than you.” Silvia rose from her desk as the front doorbell rang. “That may be the police now, coming to ask about my security cameras.”

Mariah followed Silvia to the living room and watched as she admitted a uniformed officer who explained that he was canvasing the neighborhood, looking for video of the house across the street.

After Silvia provided the officer with a copy of the security video and saw him out the door, she turned to Mariah and said, “Will you do me a favor? Would you walk around the block to Ren Coughlin’s house and ask him if he heard any noises from inside the house while he was retrieving his drone?”

“Noises? What sort of noises?”

“Anything to suggest that someone might be inside. A television playing, water running, music. Anything at all.”

Mariah asked, “Where does he live?”

Silvia gave Mariah the address, described the Coughlin house, then walked her to the front door. “Thank you, Mariah. I’ll see you again shortly, and we’ll have a cup of tea when you return.”

Mariah walked down the sidewalk hoping Silvia’s taste in tea didn’t run to Earl Gray or Lapsang Souchong, both of which she detested, and wondering why Silvia thought Mr. Coughlin had heard something while he was at the vacation house.

As she arrived at the Coughlin house, which aligned with the back of the vacation house, Mariah heard children’s music playing. She knocked on the door.

A pudgy man in his late forties wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, both splotched with colorful, fresh paint opened the door. “If you’re selling something, I’m not buying.”

Mariah recognized him from the video. “Oh, no. I’m not. I live on the next block, almost behind you. I have a question for you about the murder yesterday.”

“Murder? What murder?”

Mr. Coughlin glanced over his shoulder as a tiny voice called, “Who is it, Daddy?”

He called to the child, “It’s a lady to talk to me. Keep working on your finger painting. And keep the paint on the paper!” He stepped out the door and pulled it almost closed behind him. “Let’s talk out here. This isn’t a subject for a four-year-old.”

Mariah introduced herself and explained about the murder, the police visit, her visit to Silvia’s house, and the security video.

“I’m on video sneaking into the backyard of a house where a murder occurred yesterday? I only wanted to get our drone back. I didn’t see anyone while I was there.” Mr. Coughlin grabbed the door frame and put one hand to his chest. “This is terrible! What if they think I did it? I’ve called the police with noise complaints about that house at least a dozen times.”