Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (36 page)

He squirmed. “You know about me and Liz?”

“I figured it out. Can I see the file?”

“Why do you want it? Has Dad contacted you again?”

“No. But Peter and I have decided to start looking into

things in the interim. I’m going to review the external

paperwork, and Peter’s going to poke around inside

Mashburn & Tul y.”

“Won’t that get Peter in trouble at the firm?”

“If they find out, yes. I was hoping I could count on you to

help me.”

He nodded eagerly, pushing at his glasses. “Let me get the

file.” He disappeared into his room and came back carrying

a folder. “This is what I have so far.”

“There’s more?”

He nodded. “I’m getting all the police reports and

courthouse records for the case.”

“I thought those were available only to Dad or his

attorney.”

He lifted his coffee cup for a deep drink.

“Wesley, what are you up to?”

“Remember when I broke into the courthouse database?”

“To fix your traffic tickets, yeah.”

“I didn’t hack into the computer to fix my traffic tickets.”

He took another gulp of coffee.

She gaped. “You broke in to get Dad’s records?”

“More specifically, I broke in to leave a backdoor so I could

get back in later.”

“Later?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Your

community service—”

“Is pretty convenient.”

She crossed her arms and tried to look harsh. “Almost as if

you planned it.”

He pursed his mouth and nodded. “Almost.”

Carlotta shook her head in wonder. “Why didn’t you tel

me?”

“I thought it was better if you didn’t know. Besides, at the

time, I didn’t think you’d be so keen on trying to help

Dad.”

She held up her finger. “I didn’t say I was going to help

Randolph. I’m going to follow the truth and see where it

leads me.”

“Sounds good,” Wesley said happily. He was so certain

that their father would be exonerated, he couldn’t imagine

another outcome.

For his sake, she hoped that was the case.

From his pocket a cel phone rang, and Wesley seemed

slow to answer it.

“Is that a new phone?”

“For my courier job,” he said, then flipped up the cover.

“This is Wes…hey…Yeah…Yeah…okay.” He closed the

phone. “Gotta go.”

She frowned. “You’re making a delivery on Sunday

morning?”

“Uh…some of our clients are in church.”

“You mean some of your clients are churches?”

“Right. If it’s late and I’m on the other side of town when

I’m finished, I might crash at Chance’s for the rest of the

weekend.”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything bad about

Chance. “Wesley?”

He turned back.

“Where are you going to put the money?”

“In my sock drawer for now.”

“I’m just throwing this out there—how about the bank?”

He looked appalled. “Records? Taxes? No, thanks.”

“It was only a suggestion,” she cal ed. “Wesley?”

He turned back.

“I’m proud of you. Your methods may be questionable, but

your heart is in the right place.”

He smiled and flushed scarlet, then left the kitchen. A few

minutes later, he shouted goodbye before he banged

through the front door.

She smiled into her coffee, then went to the breakfast bar

to study the pictures from the Eva McCoy event with fresh

eyes. Now that she knew James Canary had cut off the

bracelet and dropped it, perhaps she would see who’d

taken it. Unfortunately, none of the pictures revealed

anything new.

Knowing that Eva herself might have funded the bracelet

robbery made her think about the food poisoning incident

at the Olympics. Had the woman spiked her own food, or

was her life truly in danger? Maybe she’d even faked the

il ness? Carlotta’s conversation with Hannah floated back

to her.

How would you ever be able to prove someone sabotaged

her food?

You wouldn’t…unless you had a witness.

A witness…footage of the venue…of the event itself?

She picked up the phone and dialed Coop’s number. After

several rings, he answered, his voice gluey. “Hello?”

“Coop…it’s Carlotta. Is this too early?”

“Not at all,” he said, over a yawn. “Is this going to become

a habit of yours?”

She laughed. “No, I’m sorry. You mentioned once that you

recorded the women’s Olympic marathon event. Do you

stil have it?”

“Yeah, somewhere.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“To watch on your TV?”

“Good point. Can I watch it on yours?”

“Sure. When do you want to come over?”

“Now?”

“Okay.” Coop’s laugh rumbled over the phone, then he

gave her directions. “See you in a few.”

26

Carlotta had never seen Coop’s place before, but when she

pul ed up to the two-story concrete building with a red

door, she immediately liked it. He lived in the eclectic

neighborhood of Castleberry Hil , known for its art

galleries, novel restaurants and offbeat hair salons. Instead

of condos, many early residents had bought entire

commercial buildings and converted them into residences.

Coop’s home looked like it had once been some kind of

business with a sidewalk storefront and garage, maybe an

auto parts or repair shop, with a storeroom on top. The

exterior had been stripped of all ornament, leaving it sleek

and minimal, masculine and appealing.

The tall midcentury garage door was raised and Coop

emerged to guide her inside. He looked lanky and

handsome in old jeans, a white button-down shirt and

tennis shoes. The first floor, she realized as she was

steered inside, was actually an open-plan story and a half

that housed his white Corvette convertible, his white van,

a piano, home theater and kitchen on a shiny sealed

concrete floor. A row of tall orange cabinets lined the wall

opposite the cars, flanked by a drafting table. A set of

stairs led to another floor, and an old-fashioned freight

elevator sat in the corner.

She climbed out of her car and turned to greet him after

he lowered the door. “Coop, this is amazing.”

He grinned. “I like it. I’m glad you do, too. Coffee?”

“Do you have decaf? I’ve already hit my limit of caffeine

for the day.”

“Up bright and early, huh?”

“Hardly. I didn’t sleep wel .”

He made a rueful noise. “No wonder, after last night’s

incident.”

“Coop, have you ever seen anything like this serial kil er

before?”

“No.”

“What’s happening? Why would someone do this?”

He pul ed his hand down his face. “I don’t know. Jack said

his partner would have a ful profile soon. Fortunately and

unfortunately, the more murders, the more information

they have to go on.”

“And they’re sure the first two deaths were murders?”

“No, not yet.”

“If they’d listened to you on Shawna Whitt, she could’ve

been autopsied properly.”

“Water under the bridge. They have their hands ful now.”

“I hear you’re helping on the cases?”

He shrugged as he loaded the coffeemaker and started the

drip. “I help when I can, where I can.”

“How’s Abrams?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen.

The photograph of her that he’d lifted from the envelope

of extras at Moody’s was attached to the side of the

stainless steel refrigerator with a magnet.

“Abrams is the same. We try to stay out of each other’s

way.”

“So who hired you back?”

“I’m not really an employee…more like an advisor.”

“It must have been someone over Abrams’s head?”

“The state M.E. suggested it, and Abrams went along.”

So someone at the top was looking out for Coop.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, “why are you so

interested in the footage of the Olympic marathon?”

“I’m hoping it’ll tel me something—about Eva McCoy,

about her competitors, about the venue. She thinks

someone sabotaged her.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know. She could be paranoid…or maybe she likes

the limelight more than I think she does.”

He set a mug under the drip spout until it was ful , then

handed it to her. “Well, let’s see, shal we?”

The boxy sofa was surprisingly comfortable. Coop loaded

the DVD he’d burned and sat down in front of the screen

beside her to watch. “Let me know if you want to skim,

skip, rewind, whatever.”

“Okay. Tel me anything you think seems pertinent.”

“This is a shot of the Olympic Vil age.”

Carlotta nodded at the elaborate sign and landscaping that

marked the entrance. “This is familiar.”

“Yeah, they showed it a lot during the Games. And there

are the announcers talking about the possibility that Eva

McCoy won’t run in the marathon.”

He allowed it to play and she studied the pictures of the

two female athletes who, according to the statistics, had

the most to gain from Eva dropping out: a runner from

Great Britain named Bianca Thaler and a Venezuelan, Ruda

Napor. The announcers indicated there was no love lost

between the three women, either. Thaler and Napor were

very competitive and had been accused of unethical

behavior in the past, such as tossing spent water bottles in

the path of other runners, and bumping against

competitors when it got down to the sprint at the end.

“So chances are,” Carlotta said, “if they didn’t get along,

those two women wouldn’t have had access to Eva’s

food.”

“I don’t see how,” Coop agreed. “Okay, here are the racers

at the start, and there comes Eva in the back.”

“Pause it, and go back a few frames. Can we watch Thaler

and Napor take their places at the line?”

He found the spot and forwarded the frames slowly.

“There’s Thaler…and there’s Napor.”

Carlotta frowned at the screen. “Thaler keeps scanning the

crowd as if she’s trying to find someone. Let’s see if the

camera catches who she’s looking for.”

Coop slowly advanced the screen. “There—her hand

doesn’t go up, but her head does.”

“And there,” Carlotta said, pointing. “Someone nods in

response. Can we get a closer view?”

Coop took it out of view mode and into edit, where he cut

and pasted, zooming in on the person in question—or

rather, the man in question.

Carlotta gasped. “It’s Ben Newsome, Eva’s boyfriend.”

“Maybe he and Thaler just know each other from having

competed at all the meets,” Coop suggested.

But as the race got underway and Eva’s miracle run

unfolded, her face pale and her skin waxy, it seemed that

when the camera panned the crowd, Ben Newsome was

always looking someplace else. Not once did he give Eva a

thumbs-up or a big smile.

“What’s that in his shirt pocket?” Carlotta asked. “It’s

some kind of flower—a buttercup?”

“Maybe a daffodil,” Coop said. “If I remember correctly,

they were all over the Olympic Vil age. Remember the

flowers in the opening shot?”

Her conversation with Hannah about organic plants came

back to her. “Are daffodils, by chance, poisonous?”

Coop pursed his mouth. “Yes, the bulbs are. They contain

narcitine and narcicysteine.”

“What are the symptoms of daffodil poisoning?”

“Nausea and cramping.”

“Like food poisoning?”

Coop nodded. “And it can be fatal.”

“Maybe that’s how Ben did it,” she said excitedly.

Coop looked dubious. “It fits, but narcitine poisoning

seems a little extreme.”

“Not if Ben Newsome is in love with Bianca Thaler and was

trying to knock Eva out of the running so Bianca had a

better chance of winning.”

“Stil , unless someone saw him spike Eva’s food, it would

be impossible to prove.”

Carlotta pressed her lips together in thought. “Wait a

minute. Don’t the athletes have their blood drawn

regularly for doping testing?”

“Yes.”

“Would the poisons you mentioned show up during

toxicology screening?”

“Sure…if you were looking for it. But it’s not likely the

testers would be watching for that.”

“It would stil be in her blood sample that’s been stored,

though. Right?”

He smiled. “Yes, it would.”

“Wel , at least that gives Eva recourse. Can you make me a

copy of this DVD, Coop?”

“Sure, give me a few minutes.”

While he was setting up the machine to tape, she

wandered over to the drafting table sitting next to the row

of orange cabinets. On the table was a ruler, mechanical

pencils and a finely detailed drawing on thin paper. “Is this

your work area?”

“My hobby area,” he said, walking over to join her. He

opened various cabinets to reveal stacks of cigar boxes,

and trays of tiny supplies. “It’s where I build the

dioramas.”

“Do you have any finished ones?”

“Just a work in progress,” he said, then careful y pul ed out

a cigar box and opened the lid.

She looked inside and smiled. “It’s a library—how

wonderful.”

“It’s far from finished,” he said, then removed one tiny

book with a spine that read POE. He opened it and she was

astonished to see that it had writing on the pages.