Killertrust (7 page)

Randolph hurried to the bedroom
and returned with his glasses.

“I found it,” Rhetta said.
“Get settled in, and I’ll play it again.” When he stopped alongside her, she
began replaying the video.

They watched again, silently.
This time, Randolph clicked the mouse and froze several frames. “I want to
study this strange mark on their arms.” He scrutinized the blurry image of an
unusual tattoo that each man bore on his arm.

“I’m convinced this man is
the man claiming to be my father,” Rhetta said, tapping the computer monitor on
the image of Frank. Pointing to another figure, she added, “And I’ll bet money
this is George, recently deceased.”

“I agree. Now we just have to
figure out what’s going on.” Randolph minimized the screen and opened a new
search.

“You said you know what this
Garibaldi Tontine is?” Rhetta watched him open several browser windows.

Randolph pointed to a page
from a legal website. “I know what Tontine means. It’s an old type of financial
trust that’s set up like a reverse pyramid. I think some Italian named Tontine
started this scheme back in the 1800s.” He read from the open document. “It’s
an agreement in which investors receive annuity payments, with the special
provision that when one participant dies, his or her share goes to the others,
increasing the payments to the survivors. Generally, the last to die receives
the remaining funds.” He squeezed her hand. “Or, I should say, the survivors of
the last to die get everything that’s left. That could be a boatload. Tontines
are illegal in the United States, by the way. I suspect it is indeed a Tontine
trust. Sounds like they named it after their leader, a guy named Garibaldi. And
that “Garibaldi” is also the password. The Tontine trust has to be established
in a country that permitted this type of financial trust.”

“What is it he wants me to
know about this video? What is he trying to tell me? I’m so confused. I need
coffee. Do you want some?”

“I do. I think sleep is out
of the question for the rest of tonight.” He took her hand and led her into the
kitchen, and propped her up on a stool. He began assembling the coffee fixings.

Rhetta rubbed her temples.
“All right, my super-smart husband. Tell me what you think is going on.”

While the coffee brewed,
Randolph joined her at the counter, carrying over the necessary enhancements to
the coffee—sugar for him, sweetener and skim milk for her.

“I think that all these men
are part of a Tontine Trust agreement, one I assume is named Garibaldi. I
believe all of them deposited a sum of money to form this agreement. But where
the money came from is anyone’s guess. They could have all been involved in
absconding with gold from the South Vietnamese. There was a lot of it missing
after the war ended.” He arranged the coffee cups in front of them. A plain
white one for him, the black cat one for her.

“Where the story goes from
there, or why it was started, is probably the reason your father wants you to
see this so badly. It’s possible that none of the original members of the
Tontine are left. And if your father is so hell bent on you knowing about this,
it must mean that he knows he’s the last survivor and is trying to give you
some information.” The coffee completed its aromatic journey from the brewer to
the carafe, and Randolph poured them each a cup. “And naturally, that’s the
part I don’t like.”

“Me neither, because now I’m
mixed up with this. If there really is a Tontine trust, then if we assume each
of those guys in the video is a part of it, then do my father’s suspicions that
George was murdered have to do with George’s share? And if so, who murdered
him?”

“That, my love, is
undoubtedly what the cops have to find out. Whoever broke into the airport
locker knows that your father is still alive, and probably wants him dead, so he
can collect. He’s probably the one who killed George Erickson. And now, because
you know about it, I believe dear ol’ dad put you in real danger.” He sipped
his coffee, then set the cup down and took both of Rhetta’s hands in his. “One
of the guys we saw on that video is a murderer.”

“We need to let the
police know about this video,” Randolph said, as he helped Rhetta clear away
the coffee cups. “I think it’s definitely connected to George Erickson’s death.
In fact, I’ll make a call to the coroner and ask him if there was any unusual
marking on George’s arm like what we saw on those men in the video. We need to
fill Delmonti in on what we just saw.”

Rhetta nodded slowly. “I
agree. Plus, if that mark is on poor George, then we’ll know for sure that he
is the same guy. Matt Clippard will tell you, won’t he?” she added.

“Matt and I go back a long
way. He’s not like his predecessor, ‘Stick-in-the-mud Sickfield.’ Matt will let
me know what, if anything was on George’s arm. And if for some strange reason
he didn’t note it, the funeral director would probably notice it.” Dr. Julian
Sickfield, the county’s previous coroner who held the job over twenty years,
was well known for not sharing information.

Rhetta downed the last of her
coffee as he continued. “We don’t know exactly what kind of marks the men in
the video have. They look like tattoos. I suspect the cops will have to enhance
the video to see them more clearly. However, if George has no mark, then there’s
nothing to go on. Besides, there’s no ‘we’ here, Rhetta. We turn this over to
Sergeant Delmonti and let the cops solve it.”

“Of course, Sweets. That’s
what I meant.”

Rhetta watched him raise one
eyebrow at her. She knew what that meant. He wasn’t convinced that she would
stay out of it. Her curiosity was epic. However, she didn’t confess to him that
this whole thing scared her, and that she’d much rather stay out of it and let
the police solve the murder. This whole thing was getting too crazy, like a bad
movie.

Instead, she said, “Old Frank
said he thought he might be taking a chance even calling me on our home phone
line. Do you think someone bugged our phone?” The thought of that made her head
expand. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep and the introduction of caffeine into
her bloodstream at such an early hour. “Do you know anyone who can check out
our phones for us?”

Randolph’s hesitation was
enough to convince Rhetta that he believed their home phones might be
compromised.

Then a thought hit her smack between
the eyes.
How
did someone know about the locker key number? Are my office phones tapped?
“
Sweets,
maybe we better have him check my office, too. Someone knew that I was going
out to the airport and what the locker number was. They had to have gotten that
information from when I called you.” The thought that her phones were no longer
private made her ill. They discussed a lot of personal information with
borrowers over the phone.

“I’ll ask Billy Dan
Kercheval. I just saw him yesterday, and he said retirement wasn’t much fun in
the wintertime since he couldn’t fish. This will give him something to do
beside sit down there at Merc’s Diner and grouse all day.”

“Good, the sooner the better.
But Billy Dan retired from Inland Electric. How would he know about phone
lines?” Rhetta rinsed out the cups and the coffee pot. “Anyway, Ricky should be
keeping him too busy to grouse. Billy Dan and Ricky are still seeing each
other.”

Although, Rhetta mused, Ricky
hadn’t mentioned Billy Dan much lately. They’d been seeing each other on and
off since last year. Were they in an off phase? She hoped not. She liked Billy
Dan, and his quiet way helped keep Ricky calm.

Randolph sidled up beside
her. “He started out working for the phone company before he went to Inland.
He’ll know what to do.” He scooped Rhetta up and hugged her tightly. He traced
her cheekbone with his thumb. “I don’t like any of this, Rhetta. Promise me you
won’t get any more involved in this. If you hear from your father, you need to
let Delmonti know right away. And me,” he added, kissing her forehead.

She hugged him back. He was
the love of her life, and she would do what he said.

Deciding she was much too
keyed up for any more sleep, she sought the quiet of the basement gym to
exercise and clear her brain. She loved the rhythmical hum of the treadmill,
where she could walk and think. She turned the machine on low and began
walking. While she walked, she ran through everything she knew about her
father. While she was growing up her mother had always told her that her father
had left and wasn’t coming back. Rhetta had not heard a single word from him
until recently, when an old man claiming to be her father showed up in the
hospital parking lot while Randolph was in the hospital. She increased the
speed to a fast walk.

She had proof in her desk
drawer that her father was dead. Yet this man came to her with evidence that he
was not only alive, but was indeed her father. He gave her a locket that had
belonged to her mother. Then he called with mysterious information, convinced
his friend George was recently a murder victim by hit-and-run.
What does George
have to do with all of this?
And what does all this have to do
with a Tontine trust?

“Ow,
crap, that hurt.”
Deep in thought, she didn’t realize she had stopped
walking until she went flying off the back, smacking her rear soundly against
the wall. After considerable moaning, she pulled herself up and turned off the
machine. The treadmill had a safety clip that she should have snapped to her
shirt, which would have stopped it when she flew off. However, she hadn’t worn
it. Lesson learned. With her butt, arm and one leg aching from her collision,
she gave up thinking and limped upstairs in search of more coffee. She couldn’t
tell Woody what just happened. He’d never let her live it down.

The kitchen clock with giant
numerals she could read easily without her glasses informed her it was barely
5:30. The aroma of bacon and eggs greeted her as she entered the kitchen.
Randolph had already showered and cooked breakfast. The smell of eggs turned
her stomach, but she joined him for wheat toast and bacon at the counter. She
couldn’t get used to eating eggs early in the morning. She preferred her eggs
in an omelet, and for supper instead of breakfast.

“Sweets, I’ve been thinking
about all of it,” Rhetta said, limping to the table and reaching for the
homemade strawberry jam, another gift from Mrs. Koblyk. “I can’t wrap my head
around this. How can this guy really be my father when I have his death
certificate? Plus, we know that George Erickson died, too, the same day as my
father, if the police information is correct. I’m getting the feeling that this
is an elaborate hoax.”

“That date is the same date
as on the video. That is significant. But why?” Then Randolph eyed her suspiciously.
“Why are you limping? I heard a thump downstairs. Did you fall off the
treadmill or something?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, it’s
nothing. I think I turned my ankle.”

He eyed her warily but
resumed eating. “I’m not so sure it’s a hoax,” Randolph said as he finished
mopping up his eggs with his toast. “I think Frank may be your real father.
Somehow, I think George Erickson was trying to reach your father, and it got
him killed. Or, he did make contact, possibly getting your card from Frank,
which would explain how he came to have it when he got hit. Furthermore, I
think it has something to do with their Tontine Trust. They may have all faked
their deaths. That’s why they all have the same date of death. I bet if we
looked up the other members, we’d find their dates are the same.”

“You may be right, Randolph.
Something else bothers me. When or where or how would Frank have gotten my
card?” She racked her brain. As far as she knew, he’d never been to her office.
He did know where it was, so maybe he’d been in when she wasn’t there. That
could have been possible. She’d ask LuEllen and Woody.

Of course, she had plenty of
business cards around the city. He could have picked up a card in a number of
places, even the grocery store, where she had promotional information on
display, along with her cards. “Now that I think about it, anybody could have
picked up my card at the grocery store. I should have told Delmonti that.”

Randolph stopped her.
“There’s too much coincidence, and neither you nor I believe in coincidences.
That’s why Sergeant Delmonti needs all of this information. You need to call
him, tell him where in town your cards are readily available, then we can be
done with all of this.”

Rhetta finished the last of
her toast, chasing it with a final swallow of coffee. “You’re absolutely right
and believe me I don’t want a thing more to do with any of it. If that man
really is my father, I don’t want him contacting me again. I don’t see any
point in it. He wasn’t around the whole time I was growing up, so he can stay
away now.”

She meant every word she told
Randolph about staying away from all the intrigue. She slid off the stool and
headed to the bedroom to shower and dress. She resolved to tell Delmonti about
the YouTube video as soon as possible and end her involvement in this once and
for all. She would call him as soon as she got to her office. Randolph would be
pleased. She was pleased with herself for her decision. She began humming an
oldies tune, and headed to the shower.

An errant thought skittered
around in her head.
I
sure would like to know how and why my father is mixed up in this, and now, me.
What the heck is going on?

A different little voice
answered, “Mind your own business, Rhetta.” That voice sounded a lot like her
mother’s.

She couldn’t listen to her
mother now, either.