The prosecutor took a breath and asked another question. Ava settled in for what would be her last long day with this grand jury. She was exhausted when the grand jury finally let out around four in the afternoon. She took a taxi home, where the people in her lab, Seth, Maresol, and their friends were waiting to celebrate the end of their second case.
Her cell phone rang.
“Ava,” she said into the phone.
“It’s Frederico,” a male voice with a Native American accent said. “Hey, I heard you were between cases.”
“Maybe,” Ava said.
Frederico Alvarez was a historic-remains investigator for the Colorado Commission of Indian Affairs.
“Maybe?” Frederico laughed.
Ava grinned.
“What’s up?” Ava asked.
“Remember when we made the agreement that I could have one of your cold cases?” Frederico asked.
“I remember when we talked about an Arapaho woman whose remains were found on the Pawnee National Grassland,” Ava said. “We had all of the case files sent to the lab. She’s on the list of cases, but the CBI. . .”
“They’ve found another one.” Frederico’s voice rose with anxiety. “A new one. Young Lakota Sioux woman. Same age as the woman we agreed to. When their forensics were poking around, they found five more. The CBI called me a minute ago. They think it’s a burial field for some serial killer or a bunch of killers or. . .”
Frederico swallowed hard.
“Can you. . .?” Frederico asked.
“I’ll call the CBI and get on the case,” Ava said. “We’re wrapping up a case. We should be done next week. We’re ready to sink our teeth into another cold case.”
“But you’ll. . .” Frederico said.
“Of course,” Ava said.
“O’Malley, too?” Frederico asked.
“Of course,” Ava said.
“What should I do?” Frederico asked.
“Tell the investigators to send everything to our lab,” Ava said. “Everything. If they get fussy, tell them to call me.”
Ava thought for a moment.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ava said. “Fran and Leslie can finish up the lab work. Why don’t O’Malley, Bob, Nelson, and I come out tomorrow morning? I’ll see if Dr. Quincy can come.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Frederico said.
“See you tomorrow,” Ava said but the young man was gone.
She looked at the phone. When she’d signed up for the grant to bring modern forensics to ten cold cases in rural Colorado, she had thought that she would work on some old dusty stuff. Now, she was right in the middle of an unsolved serial case against indigenous women.
Overwhelmed, she spent the rest of the way home with her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the taxi window. In his wheelchair, Seth met her at the curb.
“What is it?” Seth asked.
“A burial field,” Ava said. “Pawnee National Grassland.”
Seth’s face broke into a grin. She shook her head at his enthusiasm.
“When do we start?” Seth said.
“Tomorrow,” Ava said.
“Perfect,” Seth said. “We can still celebrate tonight. The prosecutors called. They did an informal poll of the grand jury. They aren’t going to charge Billie.”
“That is great news,” Ava said with a grin.
“Yes, it is,” Seth said.
He opened the door and they went into the house to celebrate with their friends and family.
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Never read a Seth and Ava Mystery?
There are four longer books where Seth is in charge.
The books have the same characters and are set in Colorado. The mysteries tend to focus around weird things that happen in Colorado.
Here’s the first chapter of the Tax Assassin! You can find the book anywhere you purchase eBooks.
Enjoy.
The Tax Assassin
A Seth and Ava Mystery
Claudia Hall Christian
Cook Street Publishing
Denver, CO
Copyright Cook Street Publishing and Claudia Hall Christian, October 2012
ONE
The Tax Assassin
“So you think she’s coming back?”
Seth O’Malley looked up from the ancient upright piano he was playing.
“You asked me the same thing last night,” his friend and housekeeper, Maresol Tafoya said, as she leaned against the doorframe.
“I don’t remember what you said.” His fingers continued their dance along the keys, unleashing a familiar tune.
“Otch.” She moved into the room to pick up a crystal tumbler sitting next to the couch. “You’re drinking! Twenty years of sobriety gone! Just like that. The girl’s only been gone twelve hours.”
He felt his back burn from the heat of her glare. He continued playing until he was forced to respond.
“Dale,” Seth said of their resident handyman. “He was here for a while last night. Plus, it’s Scotch. I hate Scotch. Smell it.”
She held the glass to her nose and nodded.
“It’s ten?” he asked.
“It’s ten,” she said.
“You’re late for work,” he said.
She shook her head at him. She’d been his housekeeper since he’d graduated from Eastman School of Music more than four decades ago. They were closer than family and more comfortable than lovers. She went to the small, built-in bar along the wall and washed the crystal tumbler. She set it in the cabinet before wiping down the sink and bar. Tidying the room, she folded his mother’s hand-stitched quilt and laid it across the back of the leather couch.
“Well?” he continued playing.
“Do I think she’s coming back?” Maresol kneeled down to sweep the ashes from the fireplace.
“Would you mind telling me again?” he asked.
“I think she’s having a very difficult time,” Maresol said. “She’s had a lot of hard, horrible times that would break most young people. I understand why she wants to be with her mother now; so do you. She wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t encouraged her.”
“But?”
“Yes. I do think she’s coming back to you, old man.”
“Old man?” He smiled.
“You’ll be fifty-nine in a few months,” she said.
“And you?”
“Otch, don’t be mean,” she clucked and set up another fire in the fireplace. “Maybe you should start drinking again.”
He laughed. Standing up, she put her hands on her hips to survey the small, wood-paneled room.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” He stopped playing and turned to look at her. She scowled at him. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”
“You have a guest,” she said.
“Who?” he asked.
“One of your war buddies,” Maresol said. “He asked to speak with you in private, then had the nerve to ask if I was making rellenos for lunch.”
He smiled.
“I wasn’t planning to make rellenos for lunch.” She gave him a sour look. He chuckled and she shook her head. “Should I send him down?”
“Who is it?”
“McArthur, McAudry,” Maresol shook her head.
“McGinty?” Seth asked.
“Sure,” Maresol said. Switching to Spanish, she added, “All you old white men look and sound the same to me.”
Seth laughed.
“Go,” Maresol said. “Wash up. You’ve been up all night, and you smell of worry.”
“You think he’ll care?”
“I care,” she said. “I’ll bring him down on the elevator. With Ava gone, your puppy needs a walk. I set clean clothing for you in the bathroom.”
Seth watched Maresol leave the room. His fingers itched to return to the quiet space provided by the song and this hand-me-down piano. He’d touched the keys for the first time when he was four years old and had written
his first concerto right here when he was eight years old. He returned to the sanctuary of this piano whenever he could.
He grunted when he stood. His stiff joints were the only remnants of almost dying from First Responder’s Toxin. He made a slow, stiff journey to the full bath he’d installed in his father’s precious den. Five minutes, a brutally hot shower, and a fast shave later, he was playing the piano again.
He looked up to see Maresol holding the elbow of his old friend, McGinty. His hair and clothing were clean, but an indentation around the oxygen cannula in his nose and his unkempt fingernails told a tale of a long hospital stay. Seth stood to greet his friend. Maresol left the room to make chile rellenos.
“Before you ask,” McGinty’s voice came out in gasps. “I got the sarcoid like Mitch.”
Seth nodded. His best friend, Mitch Delgado, died from sarcoidosis almost ten years ago.
“Rained Agent Orange on us,” McGinty said. “Didn’t it, Magic?”
“Rain?” Seth smiled. “The tunnels flooded with the stuff. I still taste it in my dreams.”
“Nightmares. You ever go see the museum they made out of hell?”
“No.”
The finality of Seth’s ‘No’ spoke volumes. McGinty shuffled to the couch. As if he’d walked a long way, his eyes closed with relief when his ass hit the cushion. Seth sat on the piano bench and waited for his friend to collect himself. When he was ready, McGinty opened his eyes and looked around the room.
“How ‘bout you, Magic?” McGinty asked. “Anything?”
“Nah,” Seth said.
“We didn’t call you Magic O’Malley for nothing,” McGinty smiled, coughed, and closed his eyes again. His face took on a blueish cast. He waved his hand. “You can play.”
“I’d rather talk,” Seth said.
“Heard you had some hot, young girlfriend,” McGinty opened his eyes to wiggle his eyebrows.
“She’s taking a break from being my girlfriend,” Seth said. “I wore her out.”
McGinty coughed a laugh.
“Her name is Amelie,” Seth said.
“Same as that song we used to hum when we were chasing VC in those damned tunnels?” McGinty chuckled.
“She’s named after the song.”
“I heard that song once when I was on an elevator,” McGinty said. “No offense, but I had to get off the elevator. That song, in a small space? Brought too much back.”
Seth waited. Eventually, McGinty would get to the point.
“I’m running out of time, Seth,” McGinty said. “I know I’ve only got a few months left. I can feel it in my bones.”
McGinty nodded to Seth.
“I like that you don’t try to talk me out of it,” McGinty smiled. “You’re a good friend.”
“Just seen it before,” Seth said.
“We’ve seen a lot of death, you and I,” McGinty said. “How many years did you work homicide?”
“Fifteen?” Seth shrugged.
“That’s right,” McGinty said. “You and Mitch did a tour in Vice. You really out?”
“I’m on contract to the new chief, but I haven’t started yet.”
“Sounds cushy,” McGinty said. “When you s’posed to start?”
“Why?” Seth gave McGinty a hard look. “While I appreciate the old man routine, and I know you’re sick, I’ve known you, Harry McGinty, for a long, long time. You’ve never made a social call in your life. Why are you here?”
McGinty smirked and Seth chuckled.
“There are two things I’d like to do before I die,” McGinty said. “I’d like to take Mary Ann on that cruise to Greece. You know, I promised I’d take her to Greece when we got married thirty-five years ago? Never did. I made the reservation on Monday. We’re going at the end of the month.”
“And the other thing?” Seth asked.
“I have this . . .”
“Case I’d like to solve,” Seth said with him. “Of course.”
McGinty smiled.
“Every old detective has a case he couldn’t solve,” Seth said. “They’re like bones we can’t stop chewing on.”
“You still have one?” McGinty asked. “Heard you just solved that Saint Jude thing.”
Seth nodded.
“Then you’re bone free,” McGinty said. “Old dog like you, you need a solid, unsolved case between your teeth to get the juices flowing again. And this is a doozy.”
Seth smiled at the image, and his old friend laughed. His laugh became a cough. Seth got up to get him a glass of water.
“I wouldn’t say no to some of that sixty-year-old Scotch you keep down here,” McGinty gasped through breaths. “You pour, and I’ll talk.”
“Deal.” Seth got up from the piano bench and went to the bar. He poured McGinty a few fingers of Scotch. “Ice?”
“Sure,” McGinty said.
Seth got ice and a bottle of water from the small refrigerator he’d installed under the bar and brought McGinty the drink. He sat on the piano bench and watched his friend drink down the Scotch. When his glass was empty, Seth got the bottle.
“I forgot that you’re trying to use up your father’s Scotch,” McGinty said.
“I still have more than a case,” Seth said.
“It’s good Scotch,” McGinty smiled
“You were going to tell . . .”
“Yes, yes,” McGinty waved at Seth’s impatience. “Why waste time with pleasantries when there’s a murder on the line?”
Seth smiled.
“It’s simple,” McGinty said. “That’s why.”
“Simple, unsolved, and a doozy?”
“That’s right,” McGinty said.
“What is it?”
“Four individuals were killed in the summer of 1994 in Minneapolis. I’d just made sergeant and had a couple kids working under me. It was . . . a good year. But any year before this . . .” McGinty gestured to the portable oxygen tank. “ . . . was a good year.”
“Why ‘individuals’?” Seth asked.
“I knew you’d catch that,” McGinty said. “Two men; two women – one old; two middle aged; one young. Killed on different days of the week, in different areas of the city, with different weapons – knife, couple handguns; shotgun; but . . .”
“No M.O.,” Seth took a battered manila folder from McGinty’s outstretched hand.
“No,” McGinty said. “At least one of these is considered solved. This guy, Frank Kolar. They charged the wife because she wanted a divorce and he wouldn’t give it to her. There was some question of money missing from their account six or seven months prior to this incident. Her defense lawyer said he spent it on hookers and beer.”
McGinty nodded.
“And?” Seth asked.
“She got off,” McGinty said.
“And you don’t think she did it?”
McGinty shook his head. Seth waited through a long, pregnant pause.
“Okay,” McGinty said. “You’re going to get there soon enough.”
“Get where?”
“There’s no link between these murders,” McGinty said. “Or these.”
He took a folder out of the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out. Seth took the folder and opened it.
“Four more murders,” Seth said. “Omaha.”
“Kansas City,” McGinty threw another folder onto the sofa. “Jefferson City. Bismarck has five.”
“Any more?” Seth looked to see what else McGinty was carrying.
“Not that I’ve found,” McGinty shook his head. “But it wouldn’t surprise me if there were more, a lot more.”
“Why do you think these . . . are related?”
“Feeling,” McGinty said. “That summer – 1994 – I couldn’t shake the feeling they were related. Summer after? Omaha – four murders. You remember in those days, we didn’t have the computers like we have now.”
“And Omaha PD?”
“They charged a guy with a couple, but nothing stuck,” McGinty said. “They got somebo
dy in Jefferson City.”
“But you don’t think he did it?”
“He didn’t do it,” McGinty said.
“Serial killer?”
“Murder-for-hire,” McGinty nodded. “That’s what I think. Kill a few in a city every summer and move on. Those smart FBI profilers can’t see the connection, but to me? It’s plain as day.”
“The Kolar wife is guilty,” Seth said.
“Or the husband,” McGinty said. “He could have changed his mind. She said he came home in a rush that day and wouldn’t leave her side.”
“He got in the way,” Seth said.
“Most people think I’m nuts,” McGinty said.
“I know you’re nuts,” Seth said.
“Ain’t that the truth?” McGinty’s smile looked happy and worn, like a Jack O’Lantern that had dried out in the hot sun.
“But never about murder,” Seth said.
“I was a good detective,” McGinty said.
“You remember that day we were supposed to go down in Cu Chi and you said . . .”
“It’s not a good day to be a rat.” Remembering the young man he’d been, McGinty brightened. He sat up a little straighter. “You and Mitch were just kids. What were you. Sixteen?”
“Seventeen,” Seth said. “You saved our lives.”
“Was a long time ago,” McGinty shrugged.
“Did you ever put a computer on this?” Seth asked.
“I found the other cases, if that’s what you mean,” McGinty said.
“But never put all the facts in a computer to see what came up,” Seth said.
McGinty shook his head.
“What else should I know?” Seth asked.
“You mean you’ll take a look at this?” McGinty asked.
“Of course,” Seth nodded.
“Why?” McGinty chuckled.
“Because you deserve to die in peace,” Seth smiled. “Plus, it gives me something to do.”
“While your hot girlfriend is on a break?” McGinty asked.
Seth smiled.
“Come on,” Seth said. “Let’s get some rellenos.”
Seth helped his old friend to his feet, and they made their way to the elevator.
“You’ll keep me in the loop?” McGinty asked.
“When do you head back?” Seth asked.
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