Dark Justice (9 page)

Sergeant Wade?

WADE: No.

MORSE: So these gut feelings were your own.

WADE: I’ve already told you why I had suspicions regarding Hannah Shire.

MORSE: Yes, you have. But you’ve also told us your instincts are usually right. In this case you were wrong.

Have you nothing to say to that? I remind you again you’re here to tell us the truth.

WADE: And I remind
you
, sir, that you’re here to believe the truth when you hear it.

(Pause in testimony as committee confers.)

MORSE: Sergeant Wade, we now want to turn to the video. In order for us to understand the chain of command—what did you do with the flash drive that evening?

WADE: I bagged it as evidence in the homicide of Morton Leringer. It was around 8:30 p.m. on a Sunday. I knew that on Monday morning a deputy with technical knowledge would be on duty. I planned to have him look at it.

MORSE: You saw no need for more immediate action?

WADE: Nothing I saw on the video made me think immediate action was needed.

MORSE: Yet you have testified you recognized the machine on that video as a power generator. And you and Deputy Harcroft discussed the possibility that the video might signal some kind of terrorist attack.

WADE: We discussed it, yes. But Harcroft’s emerging opinion was that it just showed a generator going haywire. Beyond that we had no evidence or any indication whatsoever that it was connected to a terrorist attack.

MORSE. It certainly seemed to be an important video. It was slipped into the pocket of a woman by a dying man. And two men posed as FBI agents to gain possession of it.

WADE: At the time we didn’t know those two men were in pursuit of the video. In fact, evidence pointed to the contrary. According to Mrs. Shire, they didn’t say anything about it when they were at her house. She was the one who told them about the video.

MORSE: All right. So you entered the flash drive as evidence. Did you continue to view it, looking for more clues as to its meaning?

WADE: I looked at it quite a number of times but saw nothing more than I’d seen the first time. At that point I was interrupted. I received a call that a deputy had made contact with Cheryl Stein, the daughter of Morton Leringer. Ever since we’d learned Leringer had been stabbed, we’d been trying to locate Mrs. Stein to gain entrance to his home. We needed to search the premises for possible evidence. I had to leave right away to meet Mrs. Stein at Leringer’s house. She had a key and the code for his alarm system.

MORSE: Where is Morton Leringer’s residence?

WADE: On Skyline near its intersection with Tunitas Creek Road. It’s a large home overlooking the ocean.

MORSE: You mentioned Mrs. Stein had the code to her father’s alarm system. When you entered the home, was the alarm on?

WADE: No. Which surprised Mrs. Stein, who informed me her father always turned it on upon leaving the house. She surmised he’d left in a hurry. Her theory fit with the unexpected scene we were about to discover inside that home. A scene that would make me suspect Mrs. Shire even more.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

On the way home in the backseat of Deputy Gonzalez’s car, Mom talked a blue streak about her “new friend Nance.” I sat beside her, numb, managing once in awhile to interject an “uh-huh” and “that’s nice.” My mind could not dwell on her chatter. I couldn’t shake thoughts of the two FBI frauds in my living room, warning me they’d be back if I hadn’t told them everything. Which I hadn’t.

But how would they know that?

“Nance.” Mom half sang the name. “Rhymes with
dance
, you know. And
fancy pants.
”

“Yeah.” I patted her hand.

“She told me all about her childhood. Had six sisters growing up. Can you believe that?
Seven
girls in one family.”

“That is a lot.”

“Said they drove her father crazy.” Mom adjusted her hat. “Your father had a hard enough time just dealing with you and me.”

My father had always been distant. Not like Jeff, who’d doted on me and Emily. A pang shot through my chest. He should be here with me. If he were here, I wouldn’t be afraid.

“Did Nance ask you about Morton, Mom?” Interesting how the woman had used her first name with Mom instead of calling herself a deputy. Made her sound more friendly.

“Oh, yes.” Mom aimed a sly look at the back of Gonzalez’s head. “I told her he seemed like a very nice man. Then I asked her more about her family.”

I had to smile at the enigma of my mother’s brain. She’d lost so much short-term memory, yet the facts that did remain cemented themselves there. At least for awhile. And she still had the smarts to work against the wiles of law enforcement.

We reached our house. I stared at it, my gaze drifting over the door and across the front windows of the living room on the left, Mom’s bedroom on the right.

“Thank you,” I told Deputy Gonzalez as he opened the back door of his car for us.

“Yes, thank you, young man.” Mom gave him a sunny smile.

Young man? The deputy and I exchanged an amused look. Gonzalez had to be in his midforties.

I ushered Mom into the house and locked the door behind us. Stood there listening. Feeling the silence of the house.

Mom yawned. “Oh, my, what a day. I think I’ll go to bed.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Goodnight, Hannah.” She headed toward the hallway. Apprehension kicked up my spine.

“Wait, Mom.” I caught up to her. “Let me just . . . check your room first.” I slipped past and went into her bedroom. It looked the way she’d left it. Purple blanket draped over her armchair, the bed made. Family pictures on her dresser. I rounded the corner into her private bath. Empty. Pushed back the shower curtain. Nothing. I strode back to her closet door and threw it open. Just Mom’s clothes and shoes, boxed knickknacks on the shelf.

“What are you looking for?” Mom stood in her doorway, frowning.

“Nothing. Just . . . nothing.”

She shook her head. “I think you’re tired too. You need to go to bed.”

“Okay.” I hugged her, my heart tripping. “But first I need to give you your medicine.”

Ten milligrams of Aricept, taken every night at bedtime. Mom had started out with five milligrams, then graduated to ten after six weeks. At first she’d had some nausea, but that side effect seemed to have gone away. In a couple months, the dosage would likely increase to twenty-three milligrams. At this point I wasn’t sure I’d seen any improvement from the medication.

Mom took her pill like an obedient child. I gave her one last hug and left her room. Closed the door behind me.

I wiped a hand across my forehead.
Really, Hannah.
What would I have done if I
had
found someone?

Jeff’s gun.

For years it had sat in our nightstand, unloaded, bullets nearby. When Mom came to live with me I’d moved the weapon and bullets to a box in my closet. Tonight I’d load the thing. Sleep with it by my bed. In the morning I would put it away.

For now I couldn’t stop with Mom’s bedroom. I checked my room, bath, and closet. Then the closet in the front hallway. The kitchen and laundry room and garage. I even peered through the windows of my car. No one lurking in the backseat.

No one else anywhere. Just me and Mom.

Going through the house again, I closed all the curtains.

I stood in the kitchen, hands on my hips and pulse still high. I needed to eat. And I wanted to find out just who Morton Leringer was. Did he own an electrical power company? One tied to that video on the flash drive?

The phone rang. I leaned over to peer at the ID. Emily.

“Hi, Em.”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you forever.”

“At the sheriff’s department.”

“What? Why?”

I told her all about it. The video, the FBI agents, Harcroft and Wade. Right down to the fact that a deputy would be watching our house.

When my words ran out, Emily was silent, as if she didn’t know what to say. “Mom, this is really scary.”

“I know.”

Another pause. “You said you gave those fake FBI agents a copy of the video. Not the original.”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because . . . nothing.”

“There’s something. I hear it in your voice.”

Emily sighed. “Look, those guys probably won’t bother you again. At least they have the video, for whatever it means to them. They should leave you alone now.”

Of course they should. Her words sounded so reasonable. But they also sounded almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

“I’m going to research Morton Leringer,” I said. “We never got to watch the news. I don’t know if the story made it on TV or not.”

“I want to see that video. Can you send me a copy?”

I hesitated. “I don’t want you involved in this.”

“Mom, just looking at it won’t hurt anything. I might see something in it that you didn’t.”

“Could be. Still, I don’t want you involved. Look what’s happened to me. I don’t want fake FBI agents showing up at your door.”

“Now you’re just being paranoid.”

Maybe, maybe not. “Emily, I’m not sending it. And I’m going to go erase it from my own computer. It’s in the hands of the sheriff’s department now.”

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“No. Just cautious. Especially when it comes to you. And Mom.”

“Well.” Emily’s voice softened. “That’s true.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

We talked a few more minutes. I had the impression Emily didn’t want to let me off the phone. The worry would not leave her voice. In the end I said I needed to go.

“Okay, Mom.” Her words remained tight. “Stay safe. And call me anytime tonight. It’s not like I’m going to sleep anyway.”

I winced, sorry that I’d concerned my daughter. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her any of this. “We’ll be fine.”

“If anyone comes around, just tell Grand to put on her music real loud. That oughtta keep ’em away.”

I managed a laugh. “You’re right about that.”

We hung up and I lingered at the counter, thinking. So much to sort through.

My stomach growled.

From a cabinet I pulled a can of vegetable soup. Dumped it in a bowl and slid it into the microwave. As it heated I slipped into the living room without turning on the lights and peeked through the front drapes. No parked car in sight. I leaned over to see down the street to my left. No car. Peered to the right. Some distance down, on the other side of the street, sat a van. It was as far from a streetlamp as possible.

Was anyone inside?

Deputy Harcroft had given me his cell number to call. So had Sergeant Wade. “Anytime you need us,” they’d said, “day or night.” I found Wade’s number in my purse and punched it in. He answered immediately.

“Mrs. Shire, you okay?”

“Did you send a car to my street?”

“It’s there.”

“I see a van, but I’m not sure anyone’s inside.”

“That’s it. We can’t be obvious.”

“Okay. I know.”

“You all right?”

No
. “Yes. Fine. Good night.”

I hung up.

The microwave was beeping. I ate the soup by rote, not tasting. Drank a glass of water and headed to my computer.

At Google I searched for
Morton Leringer.

The Wikipedia site for Morton came up near the top. I clicked on it and found a long article, split into sections. Leaning forward, I read.

Morton was born and raised in upper state New York, the son of a factory worker. His mother died when he was a teenager. At twenty-one he started his first company, selling homemade bread to the neighborhood. That business grew into the present-day Leringer’s, a 500-million-dollar company.

Of course, Leringer’s. Various foods and spices found in gourmet and organic stores. I’d eaten their bread for years.

I read further.

Morton later diversified, starting and buying more and more businesses under his umbrella company, ML Corporation. That, I’d never heard of. But I was familiar with some of the companies it owned—and they were numerous. Companies in the tech field, security, finances, consulting, food and beverage, the housing market, and appliances, and widgets, and carpeting/flooring. Nurseries, and furniture, and steel. What business
wasn’t
Morton into?

But no electrical company.

And nothing in his personal life that seemed to connect with Raleigh, North Carolina.

Morton’s wife had died from a stroke two years ago. They had two children, Cheryl and Ben. Both now in their forties. I couldn’t tell where they lived, or what Cheryl’s current last name was. If she ended up living in Raleigh, North Carolina . . . I shook my head. Mom would just say, “I
told
you.”

Where to go next? Find out more about Cheryl and Ben?

First I searched
Raleigh
. All the hits on the first few pages were for businesses of that name or the North Carolina city. I tapped my desk, unsatisfied. Opened a new tab and went to weather.com. Typed in
Raleigh
. Up came additional choices for cities in Illinois, Mississippi, North Dakota, and West Virginia. And one in Canada.

I sat back and looked at the clock on my desk. Almost 10:00. Tiredness crept over me, but I knew I’d never sleep.

The gun
.

I pushed away from my desk and took the small metal box down from my closet shelf. Inside sat a Chief’s Special Model 36. Easy to shoot, holding five bullets. Years back Jeff took me to a shooting range. He explained about the gun’s double action—how it didn’t need to be cocked to fire it. I’d never held a gun before and didn’t like them to this day. But I’d learned to shoot—sort of. “Well,” Jeff had said with his dry humor, “if a bad guy with two heads breaks into the house, you’re bound to hit one of them.”

Wincing at the task, I loaded the gun. The box went back on the shelf. The weapon I laid beside me on the desk.

I returned to my research.

For the next two hours I ran down the websites for each of Morton’s companies. I read about each one—where it was located, what its services or products were. I was looking for a connection between any of them and one of the Raleigh cities.