Dying for the Past (20 page)

Chevy nodded. “Extra bacon.”

“Right.”

“And pancakes—lots of syrup.”

Bear slammed the door behind him.

Chevy breathed a heavy sigh and sat at the interview room table, checking his cameras and equipment. He picked up a small, thin, digital recorder and flipped it on. “You guys better not have busted my stuff. Testing, testing—”

“Bo
o, Chevy,” I said, leaning in close and making the EMF meter dance and f
licker. “I'm watching you,
amigo
.”

“Testing, one, two.” He flipped the device to replay mode and turned up the volume. “…
better not have busted my stuff. Testing, testing
…
Boo, Chevy, I'm watching you, amigo
.”

“¡Hijo de puta!
” He threw the recorder across the table and shoved himself back from the table against the wall. “
Madre de Dios,
it can't be.”

forty-four

“Sorry about the breakfast.”
Agent Jim Dobron stood across t
he room pouring coffee from a cardboard carafe. “This is the best I can offer for a Sunday morning to-go ord
er.”

Bonnie Grecco sat at the small dinette table watching him. She snapped her arms folded and huffed, frustrated at the FBI man's casual attitude. She'd been sequestered in the hotel for a day with around-the-clock FBI men hovering nearby. She was tired, fed up, and scared. The one thing she was sure about was they hadn't gotten to the point yet.

“Look, Agent Dobron, I've been here since yesterday morning. All you've done is ask about Steph's business. I told you—I didn't kill him and I don't know anything about his business. When can I get out of here?”

“When we get to the bottom of his murder, Mrs. Grecco.” Dobron stirred sugar packets into his coffee. “And when you help us with a few business matters, you'll be moving on even faster.”

She jumped up. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don't know anything. He didn't tell me anything. I didn't learn anything. And I didn't see anything.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“Then what else do you want from me?”

Agent Dobron returned to the small dinette table and took a chair. He looked across the hotel suite at the other FBI man sitting in an armchair beside the door. “Mike, get some air, okay?”

The agent nodded, stood, and left the room. A second later, the door lock clicked.

Bonnie took a breath and sat down. “Now what?”

“A little talk.” Dobron smiled. “Bonnie, it's just you and me. No one is listening. So here's the deal—I want the book. Stephanos knew about the book. I want it.”

“What book?”

“The book your husband had up for sale. The book every mobster on the East Coast wants. You know the one. Give me the book and I'll still put you into witness protection and give you a new life somewhere nice.”

“How nice?”

“Nice.”

“The book?” She framed her best poker face. “The book is what
this is about? I thought—”

“Sure, sure, I know.” Dobron patted the air. “We want his killer,
too—of course. But if we get the book, we get the killer, too. Right?”

She shrugged.

“So where is it?”

“I don't know. I don't know anything about it. Everyone wants the book and I don't know why. I asked Stephanos and he hit me—he hit me good. If I'd found the thing, I would have burned it. He was a bastard.”

Dobron watched her over his paper coffee cup. “Where'd you look for it?”

“Around our place a few weeks ago. I didn't find it. I knew it was important because of the way he talked on the phone—secret and hush-hush.”

“What did you hear—exactly?”

She folded her arms and looked at him. He seemed interested in what she had to say. He wasn't asking the same old questions and looking bored or indifferent. He wanted to hear her—wanted to hear about the book.

It was always about the book.

“Well, let me think.” She played it slow. “A couple weeks ago, I heard him talking on the phone. He said he had the book—like everybody in the world knew what the book was.”

“Talking to who?”

“I don't know. He said it could make them rich and they wouldn't have to worry about anyone anymore. For a price, of course.”

“
Come on, Bonnie, quit screwing around. Your Caribbean beach house is waiting for you.”

“I could live there—beaches, fancy drinks.” She picked up her coffee and played with the cup. She took her time; she liked the way it irritated him. “They must have asked him for proof he had it because he said he had some old notes to prove it. He would bring the notes to the party.”

Dobron narrowed his eyes. “Angela Tucker's gala?”

“Yeah, that party.”

“Notes?” Agent Dobron went into one of the two bedrooms and returned with his briefcase. He opened it and took out several pieces of paper, handing one to her. “This kind of note?”

She looked down at a photocopy of Grover Cleveland's face on a one-thousand dollar bill. “I never thought of those. He had a lot of them, too.”

“Oh? Where's all the money, Bonnie? Where does he keep it?”

“I don't know. I only saw it all once. You never asked me about it
before, why now?” She leaned on the table. “What's this about, Agent
Dobron? You're more interested in the book and the money than in Steph's murder.”

“Oh yeah? You aren't very broken up about his death either.”

“I cried it all out yesterday. I'm grieving inside.” He was fishing so she cast some bait. “You want to make a deal? No lawyers, no Ruth-Ann Marcos—nobody else, right? Just you and me?”

“A deal?” Dobron took the photocopy out of her hand and slipped
it into his briefcase. “What kind?”

“The kind of deal where you get a lot of this old money and I get some money and I get to go away. Everybody wins, right?” Bonnie ran her tongue along the rim of her coffee cup and smiled when his eyes followed it. “But I get a free pass on anything Steph did.”

“Maybe. But it depends.” Dobron refilled her cup, taking care to hold her hand and steady the cup while he poured. “What kind of illegal things did your husband do, Bonnie?”

“I'm not sure. But if I'm in this lousy hotel with you, it must be
big, right? And you're asking about the book and stash of old
money, too. I know he didn't get it making business deals. Who pays off in old thousand-dollar bills?”

Dobron picked up his cell phone, stood up, and walked across the room. “It's me. Bonnie Grecco and I are talking. She has a lot to tell me I think—so, we should talk later.” Silence. “All right. But I can't get anyone else out here for an hour. Sure, send them. I'll meet you in thirty.”

When he tapped off the call, Bonnie asked, “You going somewhere, Dobron? I thought we were going to talk about a deal?”

“We will,” he said, slipping on his suit coat. “I have to go talk to someone first. You sit tight with Mike. I've got more agents coming out and there's a West Virginia State Trooper in the parking lot. You're safe.”

“I better be.” She stood up and went to her bedroom door. “Look,
you have to take me to my house later. I want to get some more things. And I have to make arrangements for Steph's funeral, too.”

“Don't worry about the funeral. I'll take you when I get back. Stay away from the windows until I do. And no calls out, okay?”

She nodded and went inside her room, shutting the door behind her.

Bonnie lay on her bed, listening as Agent Dobron spoke to the other FBI agent, Mike-somebody. Mike was young and athletic and she had caught him eyeing her several times already. Maybe she could talk Mike into getting something other than bad coffee and egg sandwiches for breakfast. Maybe Mike would be nicer to her.

She had a way with men.

She checked her overnight bag, sorting out the two changes of clothes and cosmetics Dobron let her gather after swooping her away from Detective Braddock. The few things just wouldn't do. She needed to get back home and get to the basement safe; the safe the FBI didn't know about. The safe with Stephanos's hidden loot.

Strange how Agent Dobron wasn't interested in the money. Did he know there was almost a quarter of a million dollars? If he did, then the book was far more valuable than the money. The book must be all he wanted.

It's all everyone wanted.

forty-five

It took Chevy a
while to calm down after listening to his recorder—he almost wet himself and accused Bear of trying to intimidate him into a false confession. Spence convinced him there was no trickery and a hot breakfast and a deal with the Commonwealth's Attorney soothed him the rest of the way.

“So, you were ghost chasing while you gathered information
on Angela Tucker for your mysterious client?” Bear watched
Chevy devouring a plate of eggs, sausage, and hash browns. “For a guy who is afraid of the dark, ghost hunting seems like a strange occupation.”

“I'm a PI and I ain't afraid of the dark,” Chevy said before taking a long mouthful of coffee. “I got into this ghost thing to make some extra money from the videos. I got a friend who knows a guy—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bear said, “who introduced you to the producer on the
Ghost Walk
TV show. You have haven't explained how you found the tunnels and secret rooms at the Vincent House. Did the ghosts show you?”

“No. I don't—I didn't—believe in ghosts. Whenever I get a gig from the show's producer, I do research on the place. You know, like the building plans, city and power lines, and sewer access. The whole history of the place.”

Bear wasn't taking notes. “And it's all for the cameras, huh?”

“Heck yeah, man, it makes good video and I ad-lib a lot. The producers love it when I talk about a building's history and stuff that happened in it. And man, they go nuts when I ‘uncover' some old wine cellar or underground city tunnel. Sometimes—and man, don't tell no one—I talk it up like I just discovered it—but I knew it was there from my research. It's all for show.”

I asked, “And he found the Vincent House's tunnels through research?” Bear knew Angel and I found them the same way. “Makes sense, Bear.”

Bear started scribbling notes. “That's it?”

“Most of it. There were old sewer lines running through there around the turn of the century. They followed an alley that split the Vincent estate property in sections. But Vincent bought it all up. I figured the sewer lines were converted into tunnels. Just like up in New York—”

“You know a lot about escape tunnels in New York?” Bear asked. “How?”

“I told you—research.” Chevy sipped his coffee. “Anyway, one night I was checking the place out—last week—and I got some strange readings on my tri-meter so I lit the place up with my IR camera.”

“What?” Bear stopped writing and looked up. “Let's pretend I live in the real world, Chevy. Explain all the electronic junk.”

Chevy put his coffee down. “Junk? I paid three grand for the infrared camera gear and almost two for the tri-meter. The tri-meter system detects any radio and microwaves, electric and magnetic fields—they say spirits and paranormal phenomenon disrup
ts electric and magnetic fields and gives off readings. The stronger the reading, the more energy is around. You know, energy equals ghosts and other stuff. And the
IR—”

“You can see ghosts?”

Chevy shrugged. “Well, kind of—the equipment can. But you know, I never have before. Except that night—oh, man, I gotta say, it scared the crap out of me.”

Bear was about to laugh when I said, “He's not lying, Bear. His equipment knows I'm around. And he could have seen something in the house—there's plenty there to see, trust me. Wait until I tell you about Sassy—”

“Detective, I'm telling you, the night we're talking about, I was in looking for the tunnels and hiding my cameras. All of a sudden my gear goes wonky. I saw something moving around first floor at the bar. I kept getting tri-meter readings, too, so I turned on the IR camera in the lounge and watched from the attic.”

“And?”

“Plenty.” Chevy pushed his empty plate across the table and poured himself more coffee. “The hot spot on my IR disappeared behind the bar into the booze closet.”

“Disappeared? Like, vanished?”

“I can prove it.”

“Then prove it,” Bear said. “Now.”

Chevy cracked a thin smile. “Okay, I'll give you a little taste. But if you like it, we make a deal. Okay?”

“Sure. Prove it.”

Chevy nodded. “Under my bike's saddle is a pouch for my insurance card and papers. There's a flash drive inside. Get it.”

“Your bike is sitting on a truck out back.” Bear stood up and headed for the door. “You better not be lying, Chevy. If you are, you're going down for murder.”

Bear stuck his head out of the interview room door and issued orde
rs to a uniformed deputy. Ten minutes later, the deputy returned with a notebook computer and a small computer USB memory d
rive.

Be
ar placed the computer on the table. “Okay, Chevy, impress m
e.”

Chevy took control of the computer and banged away on the keyboard. Twice he had to log into websites to access software he needed. Ten minutes later, he brought up a video program and inserted the USB drive into the notebook.

“Ready?” He turned the screen around to face Bear. “When I sa
w this IR image disappear behind the bar, I went down and checked it out.” Chevy tapped the keyboard. “One of the b
ooze racks is a secret door. Watch what I found.”

First, Chevy played a video clip showing the Vincent House's lounge and bar. The camera pointed down from the corner of the room. In the center of the view, a distorted red and yellow blob of light moved in front of the bar. The image looked like a grotesque shape without features or a fine outline. Instead, it looked more like a person made of gelatin and radiating reds and yellows. After a few seconds, the image moved behind the bar to the far corner wine closet. The image bent over and disappeared.

“See, man, the ghost went through the wall. Watch what I found when I went down there myself. I was holding the camera going through the house.”

This video began in the second-floor hallway and descended the stairs. It bounced and jiggled as he descended the stairs and walked down into the bar. He steadied the camera as he walked
behind the bar. There, he set the camera down and entered the screen view, poking and probing behind the bar for clues. He opened
a small closet door and revealed a liquor and wine storage closet with shelving on all sides still laden with old, dusty bottles. He picked the camera up and went inside. It took him several tries probing the shelves before he came to the center one—he tugged on the shelf and the bottles shook—another tug and the shelf pulled open.

“See.” Chevy tapped the computer screen. “There are stairs inside leading up to the second floor. They come out in one of the bedroom closets at the top of the stairs. When I went back and checked the video for the bedroom, I saw the same ghost-hotspot there, too.”

Bear laughed. “And you think the blob of light was a ghost?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Why would a ghost use a secret passage? Don't they just poof to where they want?”

“I dunno. But you saw what I did, Detective. We got a deal?”

I had an idea. “Bear, he's got something. Maybe the killer was there, too. We know the shot came from one of those bedrooms on the second floor. Maybe the killer was setting up, too, just like Chevy.”

Bear asked, “Chevy, what night did all this go down?”

“Monday, late. I sneaked in around midnight, maybe a little after. I had a key, so—”

“You had a key?” Bear almost came out of his chair.

“Yeah, I told you, the guy who hired me put a key in one of my payments at the office.”

“You forgot to mention that.”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, I had a key. So, we got a deal?”

“Anything else you forgot?”

“
Deal first, Detective.” Chevy turned off his video program. “Oh, and did I me
ntion I'm making another drop of recordings tonight—at midnight—in Old Town?”

“No, you little turd, you didn't.”

Chevy smiled a big, evil smile. “Oops.”

The knock on the door kept Bear from twisting him into a pretzel.

Captain Sutter leaned in the doorway. “Bear, a minute outside please.” Her voice was irritated and her face tight like she just lost her mortgage payment on the ponies. “Now.”

“Sure, Cap,” he said, following her out.

Next door to the interview room, standing beside Captain Sutter in front of the one-way glass in the observation room, Agent Jim Dobron lifted his chin as Bear walked in. “Just what are you doing with this witness, Detective?”

“Interviewing him.”

Dobron's tone was edgy and curt. “Don't you get it yet, Braddock?”

“I get it just fine. Do you?” Bear looked at Captain Sutter. “I'm sure the Cap has already told you, Dobron, I'm following up on Angela Tucker's stalker. Why? What brings you here this morning? You already stole all my crime scene evidence.”

“Stole?” Dobron stepped close to him. “You're still chasing the Grecco murder. I told you it was an FBI case.”

“Yeah, you did.” Bear forced a laugh. “But since then, somebody tried to break into Angela Tucker's house. They b
roke into your crime scene, too, and now, two more bodies are lying in the tunnels beneath the estate.”

“What? Why wasn't I informed?”

Captain Sutter raised a hand. “We tried, Agent Dobron. I called your office and they said they would relay the message to you and Marcos. They said you were together.”

“We weren't. My meeting got cancelled. But that's not the point. Why were you at my crime scene?”

“I was pursuing
our
stalking suspect and he led us there.”

“He led you there?” Dobron looked through the one-way glass at Chevy. “Bullshit, detective. You're lying.”

Bear closed on Agent Dobron and jammed a steel finger into his chest. “You listen to me, Dobron, our suspect dropped his
camera outside Angela's house. There were photos on it proving that he
stalked her at the gala and photos proving he had been inside the estate. He also left several thousands of dollars of equipment at the Vincent House.”

“You should have informed me—”

Bear jammed his finger deeper. “If you had bothered to look over the case file and evidence you stole from us, you'd know about the surveillance gear left at the house. We staked the place out to catch him trying to recover it. And as you can see, we got him. Back off.”

“Easy, Bear.” I patted Bear on the shoulder. “Like it or not, we're all on the same side—I think.”

Captain Sutter threw a thumb at Bear, making him step away. “Seems we have an impasse, Agent Dobron.”

“Yes we do, and it's because you can't control your detectives, Captain.”

She laughed. “You should have seen his partner.”

“Then I suggest—”

“No, I have a suggestion.” She patted Bear on the back. “I'll assign Detective Braddock—temporarily—to your team as a liaison. He can muck around in your investigation in an official capacity and you don't look stupid for missing what he won't.”

Agent Dobron looked from Captain Sutter to Bear. When he
caught Bear's eyes, he tried to stare him down and failed. He faced Captain Sut
ter. “We need local support anyway. But he answers to me.”

“Terrific,” Bear said in a snarky tone. “But keep your Feebie geniuses out of my way. We work alone.”

“We, Detective?” Dobron asked. “I'm only signing up for you, not Detective Spence.”

“Whatever.” Bear pointed to Chevy through the observation glass. “And he's my witness, not yours.”

Dobron's mouth tightened. “Fine. What did he give you?”

Bear briefed him on the discovery in the tunnels of the missing donations and the two bodies—one we presumed to be Grecco's killer and the other, Petya Sergeyevich Chernyshov. He didn't share many details but did give him the highpoints of what we'd learned from Chevy.

“You know what I do,” Bear said, wrapping up. “More or less.”

Agent Dobron looked at the floor for a moment and then up at Bear. “And my men missed all this?”

“Could have happened to anyone,” Bear said, “in the FBI. We simple sheriff's detectives caught it all.”

“Agent Dobron,” called a dark-suited man from across the detective's bullpen. He ran through the office toward us. “Sir, it's the
West Virginia State Police.” He handed Agent Dobron his cell phone. “Our back-up te
am arrived at the hotel safehouse a few
minutes ago. They found Agent Mike Childs unconscious. He's
being medevac'd to the Charles Town Hospital.”

“What happened?” Agent Dobron's face flashed red. “Wh
at about Bonnie Grecco?”

“We don't know much yet, sir. We're only getting bits and pieces from Childs.”

“What about Grecco? Where—”

“Unknown, sir,” the agent said. “The state boys didn't find her. She's gone—someone took her.”