And so there they sat, at a small table tucked in a corner of the bar as far from the big screen television as possible. They toasted one another and took the first sips of their pints. Zoe, more relaxed than usual, piped up, “I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this stuff!”
“Ha ha,” he answered, “love the ponytail. Nice touch, you look just like the little girl I remember when we were kids.”
The pub erupted when a towering shot by the Red Sox clean-up hitter soared over the Green Monster in left field. John joined in with hoots and high fives with giddy Sox fans around them. Zoe tugged the cap bill down lower over her eyes, took another sip and cringed. She desperately wanted to be in South Beach right now, lying by the Four Seasons pool with mojito in one hand and flirting with young, wealthy studs.
“Come on now. We need to focus,” Zoe snapped at John, her relaxed mood dissipating the longer she visualized where she really wanted to be when the job was complete.
“Alright, alright, simmer down,” John replied. “Before we talk about tomorrow, I finished going through DW’s laptop and struck big. I found a JPEG he made of the map, or at least I think it’s the map. It’s not super high quality, we’ll need to enhance it. There are color codes on the map and there are gridlines, but I can’t make any sense out of either the codes or the gridlines in the pic. It will take some time to figure out. I put it on two flash drives, one for you and one for me. Here’s yours.”
Zoe rose up, leaned across the table, and kissed him on the B of his baseball cap, “That’s my baby brother! When did you find it? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now!”
Chuckling, John gulped his beer and said, “I found it this morning. I didn’t tell you because I’m not sure it’s ‘the one.’ ”
“Anything else you found you want to share?”
“No, unfortunately that was it. There are some encrypted files. There are copies of those too on our drives. The file names were not descriptive, so they may not be anything of value,” John said.
Another roar went up around them. The Sox catcher had just doubled down the right field line to extend the inning. This time Zoe put in a hoot of her own, her mood on the rebound with John’s news.
“That’s one less item we have to get tomorrow!” she said, lifting her pint to toast John.
With zeal, Zoe continued, “Tomorrow morning, we’re heading over to DW’s house, and we’re not leaving until we get the stones, sculptures and the gold coins!”
“Amen to that,” John answered, “and the best part is we get the main meal this time, not the leftovers!”
“Cheers!”
After a healthy swig, Zoe said, “When we get there, I will go to the front door and see if anyone is home. You said there were two people staying there, right? Dr. Cully and some girl. If they are there, I’ll persuade them to let me in. If they aren’t, I’ll look for a way in that doesn’t set off the alarm. You wait in the woods. I will text you when the coast is clear. We’ll go through the whole house until we find what we came for.”
“What about the code to the safe we were told about?”
“If we can’t find the pieces elsewhere, we’ll have to pry it out of them. If they aren’t there, we’ll have to wait until someone shows up and then pry it out of them,” she answered.
“Could get nasty, especially if they don’t cooperate,” John stated. “Are you cool with that?”
“I’ve done it before, I’m not weak,” Zoe condescendingly responded.
He laughed, “It’s a little different, big sister, when you’re standing right in front of them, not hiding in the shadows like you were before.”
“Don’t you worry about me. We’re so close to cashing in, I won’t let anything or anyone stand in my way!”
XXII
TIPPING POINT
Aknock at the door interrupted Anabel Simpson as she cleared her breakfast plates from the kitchen table. Callers at this time of the morning were very unusual and she had half a mind to ignore the unexpected intrusion. When the doorbell impatiently chimed a moment later, Anabel deposited her dishes into the sink and cautiously approached the door.
Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Anabel tiptoed from the kitchen to the living room and timidly peeked out through the gauzy sheers of the picture window to observe the caller.
Anabel recognized him immediately and relaxed. With a smile, she drew open the front door and exclaimed, “Pacal! How nice it is to see you.”
A glum Pacal wiped underneath his nose and coldly replied, “I’m very sorry Miss Anabel.”
After Anlon and Cesar shared breakfast at the Two Lanterns Inn the following morning, they hopped in Anlon’s rental and drove back to Pittsfield’s airport. Antonio graciously had his plane and pilot stay overnight, so when he and Cesar arrived at the airport, their farewells were brief.
“Cesar, you’ve been an enormous help. I owe you a debt of gratitude. When you calculate out your summer dig expenses, please send the cost estimate to me and not Antonio. I insist,” Anlon implored.
“That is very generous of you Anlon, but I was only kidding about Antonio’s offer. I came because of Devlin,” the wiry archaeologist replied with a wide grin.
“As I said, I insist. I have a feeling before the hunt is over I will need your help again and I’d like to make it easy for you to say yes when I call,” said Anlon with a dead serious look upon his face.
“I suspect I will hear from you again, and your call will be welcome at any hour on any day. I appreciate your generous offer, but my research is well-funded. Besides Anlon, if you make enough progress in your hunt, there are some mysteries I would like solved for my own benefit. Mysteries that have troubled me for years,” Cesar responded with equal solemnity.
Anlon’s eyebrows rose at this last comment. “Such as?”
“We have not the time to discuss. If and when you find the other stones, then we shall talk. Until then, I am at your service,” he answered with a formal bow.
And with that, Cesar boarded Antonio’s jet and departed. Little did Anlon know as he watched the plane lift off that in less than a year he and Cesar would team up again in the darkest of moments.
On the drive back to Stockbridge, Anlon was deep in thought when he received a call from Jennifer.
“Good morning Anlon.”
“Hey Jen, good morning.”
“Sorry I didn’t come by the house last night, was burning the late night oil at the office,” Jennifer said.
Anlon replied, “No need to apologize to me. Any new developments?”
“Plenty. Will you be around this afternoon to talk?”
“Um, should be. What time?”
“I was thinking around four? I still have to plow through my email this morning and then I’m headed to Stockbridge around midday to follow up on a lead. I should be free by four,” Jennifer explained.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll make it work. We have some errands to run. I’ll make sure we’re both back by then. I really want to talk with you. I think I now know who killed Matthew Dobson and why, but I want to hear about your developments before I say anything.”
“Really?” queried Jennifer. “Well, here’s a quick rundown of what I found out yesterday. Matthew Dobson had some very questionable transactions in his bank account that seems to confirm the artifact smuggling theory. It also looks like he had two accomplices, a woman named Zoe Moore and a man named John Wood.
“He did have a safe deposit box, but no will in it. The box had diamonds and cash in it. Lots of both. And two statues. One looks oriental, the other one looks like it’s somehow connected to the Stones. There’s a lot more, but those are the highlights. Does any of that fit with your theory?”
“In a way, yes, but let’s talk later,” Anlon said.
After disconnecting, Anlon dialed Pebbles’ cell number. On the second ring, she answered, sounding half asleep, “Hello?”
“Rise and shine,” Anlon perkily admonished.
“
It’s early AC. Why, it’s only 10:00 a.m. I usually don’t get up until noon,” Pebbles answered with a scratchy voice.
“Not today! Too much to do. You came to help, right?”
“Okay, okay. Keep your pants on…” Pebbles retorted, cringing as she realized the implication of her jest.
“My pants are fully on, young lady. Just spoke with Jennifer, she’s coming by at four. Think you can take care of a couple things for me before then and get back in time to meet with us?” Anlon playfully answered.
“Um, yeah, absolutely. What do you need?”
“Something’s been bugging me about the conversation with Thatcher Reynolds at the funeral reception, and about our meeting with Pacal. I’d like you to do a little snooping for me,” Anlon said.
“Snooping?”
“Yes, and it will require you to impersonate a police officer, so I’m afraid the tongue stud will need to go,” he teased.
“Seriously? I mean about the impersonation part, not the tongue stud,” Pebbles clarified.
“It should be easy for you after what Ms. Neally shared with me this morning while I ate breakfast with Cesar,” hinted Anlon.
Pebbles, still in bed, covered her eyes in embarrassment and said, “You weren’t supposed to find out about that.”
When Pebbles went to iron out the funeral reception details, Mrs. Neally had copped a major attitude. She stared disapprovingly at the tattoos on Pebbles’ neck and wrists. At first Pebbles tried sugar. This fell on deaf ears. Mrs. Neally expected Pebbles, on behalf of Anlon, to bow before her. No prissy harpy would push the Two Lantern Inn’s manager around. Big mistake. At least, that’s how Pebbles saw it at that moment. She didn’t care for bullies; she grew up with four of them. That’s when she’d uncorked a torrid onslaught worthy of the most vapid starlet.
“Mrs. Neally!” she’d shouted, “I’m shocked! Don’t you know who Dr. Cully is? Don’t you realize how important it is that your inn show itself well for him? He’s a billionaire, Mrs. Neally. That’s billionaire with a capital ‘B.’ And not just any billionaire. His charitable works are world-renowned.
“Are you really telling me you aren’t willing to go the extra mile for him? And to think, he told me just last night he intended to open a museum here in town to display Devlin Wilson’s collection. Plans to donate the proceeds to the town’s historical preservation efforts, including your inn, Mrs. Neally!
“Think of what that means for your establishment! The extra business the museum would bring. The costs of your restoration efforts lessened. It’s insulting, given his generosity, that you won’t lift a finger to ensure his wishes are honored. After all, Devlin Wilson and Matthew Dobson were pillars of your community. I’m speechless!”
The force with which Pebbles delivered her tirade shook the oft-composed Mrs. Neally to the core. Her face turned beet red and her mouth widened with an emotion close to fear.
Pebbles spun on her heels and stalked away, “I’m done with you and your inn. I will advise Dr. Cully to look elsewhere. I’m sure we’ll find better and more hospitable accommodations.”
At this, Mrs. Neally sprang into action. All pretense of superiority vanquished. Her voice quivered as she chased after Pebbles. “Miss McCarver, please hold on. I’m so very sorry, I had no idea. Whatever Dr. Cully needs, we shall make it happen. You have my word.”
Face hidden from Mrs. Neally’s view, a devilish grin unfurled on Pebbles’ face. That was almost too easy, she thought. Now, what kind of IPA did Anlon drink at Sydney’s?
Roaring with laughter, Anlon said, “I like your style, Miss McCarver. I guess I’m on the hook now to open a museum, but for the record, I’m not a billionaire, nowhere near it!”
“Ouch,” Pebbles whispered, “sorry, AC, she wasn’t very nice to me and that made me angry. I guess I got carried away.”
“All is forgiven, here’s what I need you to do…”
Overnight, the list of unread emails in Jennifer’s inbox had climbed past 120 messages. Groaning, she began scrolling through the message headers in hopes of trimming the task of reading each email. Her perusal was interrupted by the appearance of Dan Nickerson at the entrance of her cubicle.
Clearing his throat, the tall, stylish African-American detective trainee held out an envelope and said, “Good morning Detective. Sorry to interrupt you, but I think you should see this.”
Thankful for the escape from email hell, Jennifer responded cheerfully, “What’s up Dan.”
“Just take a look and see if you come to the same conclusion,” he replied.
Jennifer received the envelope and opened it. Inside were photocopies of the driver’s licenses of Zoe Moore and John Wood. She scanned the data listed on each identification and glanced at the pictures. She did notice something unusual. The licenses were granted in New York on the same date. She peeked up at Nickerson and questioned, “Fake?”
Nickerson nodded and then answered, “Ran the driver’s license numbers and they don’t exist. I’m not sure what the bank was thinking, but I ran both social security numbers that the bank manager provided. They are both valid, and are the socials for one Zoe Moore and one John Wood. But Moore died 36 years ago and John Wood passed away in the late 1990s.”
“Good work Dan,” Jennifer said. “So our alleged accomplices have fake IDs.”
Clearing his throat again, Nickerson said, “Um, Detective?”
“Yes, what is it Dan? And stop with the Detective, it’s Jen,” she said.
“Okay, Jen. Take a look at the pictures again,” he suggested.
It was true, Jennifer had only barely glanced at the pictures. A hulking man with a crew cut and a nasty scowl. A dark-haired woman with an exotic look and elegant flair. The birth dates on the IDs couldn’t be trusted but based on the pictures she guessed both were in their mid-to-late 30s. She shook her head and said, “You’re going to have to help me Dan. What should I notice that I’m not?”
Nickerson pointed at the envelope and said, “There’s something else in the envelope. I might be off base. I don’t know, maybe I’m seeing things, but the resemblance was strong to me.”
Casting a suspicious look at Nickerson and then the envelope, Jennifer reached inside again and extracted an evidence bag with the photo she and Pebbles collected from Dobson’s house. Holding the snapshot up to the two photocopied IDs, she lifted her head and stared at Nickerson, “Oh my God!”
A wide smile formed on Nickerson’s face. He said, “Guess I might just be a detective after all.”
Jumping up, Jennifer exchanged a hearty high five with Nickerson and replied, “Hell Dan, they might just give you my job! Wow! Top notch rookie.”
“Thank you, Detective, er, Jen,” beamed Nickerson, “but I only made the connection between the two sets of pictures. I don’t know who they are.”
Sliding back into her seat, Jennifer spun and scrolled through her email and exclaimed, “Gotcha covered. I don’t know their names yet, but I do know who they are!”
She scanned the email headers until she saw the message from George Grant, titled “Follow Up”. Excitedly, she opened the email while Nickerson leaned over from behind her to view the screen. Grant’s message read:
“Detective Lieutenant Stevens, in answer to your question, Matthew Dobson’s niece and nephew’s names are Margaret Corchran and Kyle Corchran. Miss Corchran lives in Miami, Florida, and Mr. Corchran lives in Dallas, Texas. The attached PDF provides their contact information. Please let me know if I may be of further assistance. Warm Regards, George Grant”
After reading the message, Nickerson announced, “I’m on it, just send me the email and I’ll get working on their backgrounds and addresses.”
Jennifer gave a thumbs up as she pressed send to forward him the message. Nickerson disappeared to trace the Corchrans while Jennifer sat back in her chair with a puzzled expression. She said aloud, “Why does that last name sound familiar?”
For nearly 10 minutes, she sat massaging her temples, trying to
recall where she’d seen the name Corchran. It was recently, she knew that much. Jennifer stood and paced in an effort to jog loose her memory. And then a jolt of recognition caused her to lift her hand to her mouth and murmur, “No F-ing way!”
After Jennifer realized that Kyle Corchran had been at the scene of Devlin Wilson’s death, she dashed into Gambelli’s office and demanded an audience. She presented her findings from the visit to Dobson’s bank, shared Dickerson’s recognition of the photos, showed the Captain the Meredith PD police report and told him about the GPS tracker discovery.
Gambelli said, “Put it together for me, Stevens. What does it all mean?”
“I think it means Kyle killed Devlin Wilson, with or without Margaret’s help. We have a witness, Anabel Simpson, who says Wilson caught Matthew Dobson stealing from his collection and confronted him. It’s my guess Dobson panicked and told the Corchrans he was calling it quits. I think the bank records strongly suggest that the two of them were in on the thefts. I’m speculating, but I’d say they were the brokers between Dobson and the buyer…or buyers. Once we have their fingerprints to compare, I’ll bet we even determine the two sets of unidentified prints on the gold coins belong to them!
“I think Dobson was seriously conflicted. On one hand, he had been a loyal friend to Devlin Wilson for a very long time. On the other hand, I think he looked at the lifestyle Devlin enjoyed and was jealous. He probably felt Wilson’s wealth and notoriety were built upon his sweat and tears. But once he was caught, guilt ate away at him. I think he hoped to repair his relationship with Wilson. He could hand over the gold coins and return the statues and maybe that would placate Wilson enough to avoid charges.
“But Kyle and Margaret didn’t want to stop; the money was too good. And so, without Dobson’s knowledge or assent, I think they took his Sound Stone and killed Wilson to get him out of the way.”
Gambelli interrupted her, “Hold up. Why do you think Dobson wasn’t in on the killing?”
Shadows of the Stone Benders (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 1) Page 28