Dying to Tell (22 page)

fifty

“Doc? Doc? Where the
heck are you?” I stood in the middle of my den. “Come on, Doc.”

“Oliver, stop shouting. I'm right here.” And he was,
now
. He stood in the doorway, arms folded, with that perpetual scowl on his face. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“What have
I
been doing? You're supposed to be my
watch-ghost
. Did you see who broke in here? Was it a pretty Arab woman?”

Doc sighed. “If it had been, I would know that. No, I was not here. I was resting.”

“Resting?”

“Yes. As you do, I need to get away and recharge. You've become something of a handful lately, Oliver. And now you've got Ollie all worked up about your bank murder. I thought I was prepared for this.”

How in the world do ghosts prepare themselves? “You're saying you didn't see or hear anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what good are you?” I sat behind my desk. “You never answer a direct question. You always nitpick. And now, you can't even hang around to see who burglarized the house.”

Doc stood in front of my desk. His eyes bore through me. “First of all, I answered your question. I didn't see or hear anything. Second, I don't nitpick, I guide. I motivate. I curtail your ego. And …”

“You curtail my ego?”

“And third, I also provided you the clue about my old photo album.” He cocked his head and let a thin, wry smile slip out. “And I see it helped you already. So, what more assistance should I be? After all, I'm a doctor, not a detective. You play that.”

“Right, sure.” Doc was obviously
well-rested
. “All right, then. Someone broke in and stole a computer. We caught an Arab woman.”

“She was beautiful.”

I eyed him. “So you did see her.”

“No.”

Oh, brother. “Okay, Doc, what about Operation Salaam? Do you …”

“Never heard of it. But, there is one important thing.” He sat on the arm of the chair and scratched Hercule's ears. “Raina was not Arab, she was Egyptian. Of course, technically, those born of the pharaohs are Africans, but I understand they feel themselves Arabs and foremost Egyptians. But …”

I held up a hand. “You're kidding me, right? Arab, Egyptian, African? And you know a lot about someone you didn't see.”

“Raina is not who, or what, she pretends.” He smiled. “That is my point, Oliver. If you would pay attention.”

Huh? I looked at him. He had a very
self-satisfied
smile on his face.

“Oliver, she was not a friend of William. Do you understand?”

“Of course I understand. The question is, why did she lie and did she kill him?”

“No, Oliver.” Doc faded. “The question should be—why were you so irresponsible as to allow her to escape?”

fifty-one

When Bear arrived, Angel
had already inventoried the valuables in the house and determined that only her computer was missing. Her jewelry, china, silver, a few pieces of art, and even my 9mm were untouched. Someone came to the house for information, not profit.

“I'll have a crime scene tech here to check for prints,” Bear said. “But it'll be a while—too many scenes working right now. I didn't see any signs of a
break-in
, so someone must have picked the locks. Did you get the license plate number on Raina's car?”

Ouch—sore subject. “No, we didn't have a chance …”

“I was on the porch,” Angel said. “Tuck walked her to her getaway car.”

Touché.

Bear snorted. “All right, I have to get back. Cal's got information on Marshal from the hotel in Harrisonburg. He's found something hot. Are you okay here?”

“Yes, I'm fine, Bear. I'll wait on your crime scene people,” Angel said.

“I'll go with Bear,” I said. “What are you going to do alone here, Angel?”

“I'll call my office and get a new laptop ready.” A car pulled up outside in front and she looked out the den's bay window. “Oh, Franklin's here.”

Thorne walked up the front porch stairs and rang the doorbell.

I said, “What's he want?”

“Lunch, I hope.”

Bear headed for the door. “I'll be leaving. Come on, Tuck, it's better if you're with me.”

“Or you could come along, Tuck,” Angel said, “and watch us eat a good
steak-and
-cheese sub with lots of French fries.”

“Now you're just being cruel.”

She grinned and taunted me by blowing a kiss. “Perhaps just a little.”

At the front door, Bear said to Thorne as the door opened, “What are you doing here?”

Hercule slipped into the foyer and greeted Thorne, too—with a growl.

“Hercule, lay down.” Angel apologized and told Thorne what had happened at the house, ending with, “And yes, let's get lunch after the crime scene people leave.”

“Sure, yes, lunch. Terrific.” He looked from Bear to Angel and back. “I'll wait with her until your technicians are through—for her safety, of course. Then we'll get some lunch.”

“Of course,” I said. “And take Hercule to lunch, too, Angel. For his safety.”

She ignored me.

Bear said, “Thorne, I may need to speak with you later. Keep your cell phone handy.”

“Of course, Detective. I am at your disposal.” He glanced over at Angel. “I am at everyone's disposal.”

Cal clicked the video player's pause button on his computer. “Did you catch it? Did you see the vehicle that comes into view when Marshal walks out of the hotel?”

“No, play it again.” Bear leaned closer to the computer screen.

T
he video was from Marshal Mendelson's hotel in Harrisonburg. It was shot on their security system the evening before, and early morning of, the day William was murdered. The readout said “0012”—twelve minutes after midnight. The video camera was mounted somewhere outside the hotel and focused on the lobby entrance and hotel parking lot in front of the hotel. When the video played again, Marshal Mendelson walked out the hotel lobby doors at precisely 0012. He proceeded to the sidewalk and turned right. As the video continued, Cal stopped it as a vehicle entered the camera view from the right and drove in the direction Marshal had walked.

Bear stared at the video for a long time. Then it hit him. “That's Larry Conti's pickup truck.”

“Maybe,” Cal said. “It's a pickup truck for sure, man. And it's the same description as Conti's—and it also matches the one fleeing the Kit Kat last night. I can't be sure they're one and the same, Bear, and can't say they're not.”

“So Marshal left the hotel at twelve after midnight.” Bear leaned back and opened the case file on Cal's desk. “And William opens the bank door at
oh-one
-thirty. Presumably to let someone in, right? That's plenty of time for Marshal to leave the hotel and drive back to town. And the ME says William was murdered at
oh-two
-hundred. That would give Marshal plenty of time to drive home from Harrisonburg, kill his father, and get back to the hotel by breakfast.”

I said, “Yes, it does. Whoever was in the pickup is connected to Marshal. Which means it could be William's killer and whoever tried to kill Poor Nic.”

Cal turned the video off. “Marshal's back in the suspect pool, right?”

“He never left,” Bear said. “What else you got?”

Cal pointed to a second file on his desk. “I ran backgrounds on Conti, Simms, Thorne, and Marshal Mendelson. Jeez, man, these people are something.”

“What's that mean?” I asked and Bear repeated me.

“Conti was fired from his last two jobs as a security guard. Guess why?” Cal waited but Bear didn't want to play “I've got a secret.” Cal went on. “He harassed some young
sweetie-secretary
every night. When her boyfriend stepped in, Conti beat the shit out of him and had him arrested for trespassing. The boyfriend
was
trespassing, but he sneaked into the building where the girl worked to catch Conti harassing her.”

Bear nodded. “And Simms?”

“She's been at the bank for years, ever since high school. She's in college part time—a nursing student at the hospital—and ran up some big tuition bills. Never married. No criminal record. Had a disabled stepfather who became an alcoholic and her mom died a year before she got out of high school. No father on record. But Thorne is the odd one.”

Bear opened the file and found the yellow legal pad page with Thorne's name at the top. Below it was his date of birth—he was
thirty-six
. Then there was a second date of birth making him
thirty-five
. His address was listed as a condo on the northwest side of town and he had two driver's license numbers. One in Washington DC and one in Virginia—hence the two dates of birth. There was no car registered to him, no previous addresses, and no credit history.

“What the hell is this?” Bear asked. “This guy's …”

“A ghost,” Cal said.

“He is not,” I said.

Cal went on. “I cannot find any reference to him before he joined the bank seven months ago. Poof, nothing.”

“
Poo
f?
” Bear said. “I don't like
poof
.”

“Then you're gonna love this.” Cal leaned forward and flipped the yellow legal pad page to the one with Marshal Mendelson at the top. “Read on.”

The notes provided Marshal's normal information—age, address, three registered automobiles, education, etc., etc. But it was the financial notes that had Bear's eyes popping. Marshal had over $100,000 in credit card debt and there was a note circled at the bottom of the page. It read
Private debt—$250,000
.

“His gambling debts,” Bear said. “Like Keys said?”

Cal nodded. “I contacted the track in West Virginia. Marshal was a big player there until about eight months ago. His credit crashed and then he came in with a private marker and ran up another quarter mil. They tossed him two weeks later and he's not allowed back until he squares his debts. Somebody paid down about fifty thousand a month ago—in cash, man.
Cash
. I'm guessing that was William.”

“I have a pretty good guess who owns his marker, too.” Well, maybe it wasn't a good guess; it was the only guess I had.

“Poor Nic is
loan-sharking
these days.” Cal smiled, nodded, and leaned back on the corner of the desk. “Marshal's into him for some big money. Now you know why William couldn't invest in the Kit Kat.”

Bear read the file. “So, we have one
goodie-two
-shoes who claims to have some dirt on everyone, one
nut-job
security guard, one
mystery-man
security executive, and one asshole in debt over his eyeballs. And of them, one is probably dead, one is in custody, one is now running the bank, and the other is courting Angela Tucker.”

I cringed. “Thanks, Bear.”

Cal nodded. “That's about right.”

“Oh, and the suspect pool just got bigger.” He told Cal about the
break-in
at my house and the mysterious Egyptian beauty, Raina. “Might as well add her to the list.”

Cal picked up the two files from the desk and stuffed his notes back inside. “Well things could be worse, Bear.”

“How?”

“We could have
no
suspects, man.”

fifty-two

Angel waited for the
waitress to refill her tea and walk off. “Franklin, where did you work before you came to the bank?”

“Oh, around.” Thorne bit into his BLT and took his time as he chewed. “Nothing spectacular. If it had been, I'd be in a better place than this
small-town
,
family-owned
bank.”

“Like where?”

He smiled. “I thought you were a college professor, not a detective.”

“Oh, I'm just curious. You can't expect a lady to consider a date and not know anything about him, right?” Was she being too much the detective? Since sitting down, he'd asked every conceivable question about her past. Wasn't turnaround fair play? “So, tell me more about yourself. I know you were an Army Ranger and you've been with the Mendelsons for a few months. That's not much.”

“No, I suppose not.” He took another bite of his sandwich and followed it with a long, slow mouthful of coffee. “I'm from a military family and I've lived around the world. When I was old enough, I enlisted. I got out a few years ago and went into private security and landed a couple good jobs in corporate work. That's how William found me. We met at a banking conference in New York.”

She watched him over her teacup. “Wow, did that hurt to tell me?”

He laughed. “I don't talk about myself. Sorry.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Close?”

“Never.”

She thought a moment. “How about now? Seeing anyone?”

“I was, but it got too complicated and I had to break it off.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “How about you? Is that
big-lug
Braddock on your radar? A past fling, maybe? Future one?”

Now she laughed. “Bear? None of the above. He's been, well, my rock since Tuck died. More, but never that. No, I've not seen anyone and have no plans to. Tuck is gone, yes, but he's still here with me. If you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

No, you don't. And good Lord I can't explain it.
She glanced around the café hoping Tuck had not popped in. “Good. So you'll understand if I say dinner and dancing is fine, but it ends on the sidewalk, right?”

“Well, okay for now.” He sipped his coffee and looked at her over the rim. “Can I see you tonight?”

“You're seeing me now. Sorry. I have to drive into DC. I may not be back until late. Maybe another time.”

Thorne finished his sandwich and played with the last of his French fries. “What's in DC? Your uncle, what was his name, Cartier?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She glanced around again looking for Tuck. Franklin was a charming, handsome man. He was the only man she'd had more than a few minutes of real conversation with in
months, Bear and work notwithstanding. The university was full of educated, eligible men but she dared not even consider any of their offers for an evening out—and there were many offers. None of which Tuck was aware of. But was that really the reason—Tuck's jealousy? Or was it her? Was
she
not ready to move on with her life? Her
living-life
?

The answer eluded her.

“And?” Thorne asked.

She looked around the café.

“Angela? Hello?” Thorne waved a hand in front of her. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“What? No, no.” She blinked and looked at him. “Sorry. DC … yes. My uncle, André Cartier—he's with the Washington museum circuit—used his contacts at the Smithsonian and found this woman, Raina. Her real name is Raina Iskandr.”

“The woman at your house?” He stopped eating his last fry. “Tell me you're not going to look for her.”

She nodded. “According to André, Raina was an adjunct professor with American University on loan from Cairo for the past two years. But, get this, there is no Egyptology and Archeological Research Group at American U, and she hasn't been active on campus for the past year. She left for some special research project. André found an old address for an office she used. I want to check it out for our investigation.”

Thorne leaned back, folding his hands in front of him on the table. A smile turned into a brief laugh.

“What did I say?” Her face flushed.

“You said, ‘our investigation.' ” He laughed again. “You mean the police's investigation.”

“Well, yes, of course.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don't. Isn't that Detective Braddock's job?”

“Well, perhaps. But he's busy with other things and I can handle myself.”

“I'm sure you can. Are you going alone?”

“André may tag along.”

Thorne waved for the check from the waitress at the counter flirting with a regular. “Why don't I go with you? The bank is still closed to the public so I can play hooky for a few hours.”

“No, no.” She sipped her tea. “You should stay close here—Bear may need to talk with you, remember? And I don't know how long I'll be. Depending on André, I might stay over at his place tonight.”

“Even better.” Thorne handed the waitress some cash. “We can have a nice meal in DC. I'd love to meet your uncle.”

She shook her head and forced a faint smile.

Thorne reached across the table to her hand, not quite closing his fingers around hers. “Angela, what's wrong? Am I such a beast? I know I'm not your husband, but he's gone and I'm here. Just dinner. I promise. And I'll leave you on the sidewalk if that's what you want.”

Why didn't she pull her hand away? Why was she trembling? Was his warmth so bad?

“No, no. I need to find Raina and find out about her connection to William.” She waited for him to let go of her hand; he took forever, but she couldn't bring herself to move first. “I promise, another time.”

He stood and gazed at her for a long time. “All right, Angela. But be careful you don't wait too long. Who knows, I might just disappear one day.”