“It tells me everything I need to know.”
“I’m gonna go talk with Ms. Breyer now. You wanna join me?”
“There’s someone else I need to see first.”
“Who?”
“Mel Dick.”
* * *
The technician left, giving me privacy. I pulled back the sheet and considered Mel Dick’s corpse. It had begun with the body in the woods, so I had returned to the beginning.
Death diminished us all, and Mel was no different. When I looked at the bag of bones and guts on the steel table, I could not reconcile it to the blustering man I’d know in life. The animating force was gone, extinguished in an unfathomable act of violence, pushed into eternity by an unseen hand. But whose hand?
At the very beginning I thought Mel’s death had been quick and painless—wrong on both counts. Mel’s end had been as slow and painful as any. First the poison tea to destroy the old man’s credibility, and then the coup de grâce, a bullet into the dead brain, both done by one hand—I was certain.
At the very start Jesse and the other guards told me about Mel’s boasts about his looming celebrity. Come November, Mel told them all, he would be a famous man. It took me a while—I was stubborn, not smart—but eventually I determined that Mel was working on a big story, the story he planned to publish in November’s Commentator. But for the first and last time in his life Mel underestimated himself. His story was even bigger than he thought and it had nothing to do with hookers at the G and G. This was a story worth killing for.
Over the last days of his life, the mysterious story consumed Mel’s life. A fatal obsession. But not exclusively—there was another.
That night at Eddie’s with the guys, we all agreed Mel Dick loved his dog, but at the end of his life Mel’s affection for Mr. Jinks became a mania. So in the days leading to his death Mel’s addled mind was in the grip of dual obsessions, his big story and his dog.
Were the two were connected?
One by one, Mel turned against everyone—friends, wife, mistress—but not his dog. I saw him running from the G and G with Jinks cradled to his chest. Next stop on the Mel express, the Commentator office, where he removed Jinks’s collar and replaced it with a smelly bandana. After that was the confrontation with Anita when Jinks pulled his disappearing act. The wounded Mel ran to Gigi, but only stayed long enough to have his wound bandaged. Then it was out in the night once more, compelled to search for his lost dog.
As if his life depended on finding Jinks, Gigi had said.
What if she had been right?
Mel Dick loved his dog, but he was also a self-centered bastard. Crazy or not, it was not simple affection alone that sent him out in the dead of night to hunt for his dog. Somehow, that fatal search was connected to Mel’s story. I felt a prickling down my spine—I was so close.
Something else: Mel Dick wasn’t the sort of man who dressed his dog in silly scarves just for kicks, even with a datura-pickled brain. Busy had said that when she spied Mel walking his dog, the old man keep kept worrying at the bandana. That smelly scrap of blue fabric. More craziness from Mel?
Sure, but crazy had a reason and now I knew it.
I was on my cell the second I was free of the building. I needed to get my hands on Jinks’s bandana.
* * *
“Are you sure it’s the right box, Pop?” I asked again.
Pop sighed. “Yes, it’s the shoebox in the bottom of the hall closet, as you said. There’s a coffee mug, a calendar, some pens and...”
It was the right one, all right. After getting canned, I’d flung my belongings into the cardboard box, my one and only thought to be gone. If the bandana wasn’t there, then where was it? I seemed to remember shoving the reeking thing into a desk drawer.
It hit me like a skillet in the face: Jinks’s bandana was locked away in what was now Tyler Andrews’s office. Suppose Tyler had tossed it, now wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?
I disconnected and punched the number for Mystic Cove Security. While I waited for Tyler to pick up, I comforted myself that at least Pop wouldn’t be alone tonight. His buddy Frankie was stopping by with a pizza and a six-pack.
Tyler Andrew’s recorded voice said he was sorry to have missed my call and blah, blah blah. I didn’t bother with a message.
I started to call Brad to give him an update. For all the bumps in the road, he had done right by me, and there was nothing more to be done tonight. For once I’d do the smart thing and wait until tomorrow when Tyler would be in the office.
Right?
I opened my cell, but instead of calling Brad, sent him a text: gone 2 cove MWBRL.
When had I ever done the smart thing?
* * *
“What the fuck, Addie! What the fuck!” José Barracas barreled toward me, eyes wide and arms spinning like windmills.
I had just parked the Vic in the G and G lot and my hand instinctively touched the Glock beneath my jacket. “What’s wrong?”
“Everybody says you went nuts. First you break into the Rand house and beat up old Mr. Rand and now the Dick girl is in the hospital! What the fuck!”
I didn’t have time for this. “Listen, José, I just wanted to make sure it was all right if I parked my car here for a couple hours.” A long pause, way too long. “José?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Suppose Mr. Richt says something about me letting you park your car here?”
“Has Richt spoken to you about me?”
José didn’t need to answer—his face told me everything.
“Listen, Richt doesn’t know my ride, and if he somehow figures it out, just tow the fucker. I don’t care.”
“Damn it, I need a drink,” José said.
I wouldn’t mind a drink myself. Then I wondered when wanting a drink became needing a drink and prayed to hell I’d never find out.
“It’s all right, Addie. I won’t tow your ride.”
“Thanks.” I hoisted the large purse on my shoulder. José was giving me the once-over. “What’s wrong?” I said, checking my look. From José’s stare I half expected to find my blouse unbuttoned or a trail of toilet paper hanging from my shoe, but everything was in order.
“You look different.”
“You’re used to seeing me in Mystic Cove khaki.” I started away.
“No, that’s not it.”
I didn’t turn around, just kept walking, only a little faster.
“I got it!” José crowed from behind. “It’s that purse. You never carry a purse.”
Just my luck—if José had been drinking he would have never noticed. I could only hope his newfound attentiveness wouldn’t come back and bite me on the butt. José was right—I never carried a purse. I had purchased the carpetbag-sized pocketbook an hour earlier at the local megamart, along with a few tools that might come in handy later tonight.
You see, I was pretty sure I had a way inside the Financial Building, but might need a little help breaking into my old office.
* * *
Twenty minutes later I was on the first floor, standing outside security headquarters. To this point my plan had come off without a hitch. I’d waited till eight o’clock when the building would be empty. And as I’d expected, Tyler Andrews hadn’t bothered to change the security codes. All I’d had to do was stroll to the rear entrance, punch in the old code and waltz inside. I had a pang when I punched the code for the stairwell door and it hadn’t opened, but on the second try, the lock released.
Now I faced the real obstacle. The door to security headquarters required a key, a key I didn’t have.
I moved the knob back and forth. The quickest and surest method would be to take my brand-new hammer and give the knob a good whack. A good back
up plan, but I was hoping for more discreet ingress. I extracted a credit card from my wallet. Earlier I’d gone through my cards, selecting the largest and most flexible. It had been a while since I’d done this but I figured it was like riding a bike. I slid the card into the door crack, held it at a slight angle, and pushed toward the lock. Then I pushed in the opposite direction, leaning hard against the door, and turned the knob. The lock popped and I fell inside security headquarters.
When I tried the door to my former office, I was surprised to find it locked, but my trusty credit card once again did the trick. As I passed my flashlight over the interior I felt a twinge of regret. True, I had not been happy here, but there had been happy moments. But I needed to be quick. I tiptoed to the desk and pulled a drawer. I pulled again and realized it was locked. I tried each of the drawers. All locked.
I cursed under my breath. It appeared that Tyler Andrews had something to hide. But I was prepared. I rummaged in the voluminous purse and pulled out a screwdriver. It was tedious work but I wouldn’t be so unlucky as to have to unscrew every locked drawer. I started with the right bottom drawer, where I thought I’d stashed the baggie.
I pulled out a stack of DVDs bearing titles like Donna Does It Doggy Style and Monster Jugs. Now I knew why Tyler kept his desk locked, or so I thought. Buried beneath the porno horde was a manila folder containing a report on the soil conditions on the land that would become Captain’s Castle, Mystic Cove’s newest phase that was currently under construction. How did Tyler get hold of it and why was he interested in soil? The only dirt Tyler Andrews cared about was pay dirt. But Andrews’s machinations were no longer a concern of mine.
I worked my way through the remaining drawers, finding a few scraps of additional porno and not much else. Damn! I had to face it—Tyler had found the baggie and either tossed it or put it somewhere else. Unable to accept the first possibility, I spent valuable time rifling the lost-and-found box and any other likely hiding places, but again came up empty. When I planned this adventure I’d counted on spending no more than five minutes inside the office. I’d been at it almost an hour and was pushing my luck. But I couldn’t let go. Not yet.
I returned to the desk. This time I removed the right bottom drawer, dumping its contents on the floor. I aimed my flashlight into the gaping hole, and there it was, resting on the carpet. The plastic bag must have wedged in the space between the drawer and desk and fallen onto the floor.
I sat at my old desk, prize in hand. It would have been smarter for me to leave, but I had worked so hard for this pearl of great price. I could not wait a moment longer to know its value. I took the blue fabric from the baggie and laid it flat on the desk. The flashlight insufficient, I flipped on the gooseneck desk lamp, directing its single eye at the faded blue fabric.
My immediate thought was that it was just a rag, an old man’s sick fancy. It was neither a bandana nor a bufanda, just a cut piece of fabric, and poorly cut at that. Its maker had frantically hacked through the faded wool without concern for aesthetics—an image of a drooling Mel Dick mutilating one of Anita’s shawls filled my mind.
On closer examination I saw that not all the edges were raw. One of the narrow ends was seamed, the stitching sloppy but extensive. There were three, maybe four lines of hand-sewn stitches. Pulse rising, I started patting the length of the wide seam, stopping on a hard rectangular object. I tore and bit at the stitching, but the seam resisted—Mel had taken pains to secure his treasure. Screwdriver in hand, I ripped the seam open. A flash drive fell into my sweating palm, the answer in my hand.
I turned the computer on—Tyler hadn’t changed the password. Hoping my luck would hold, I inserted the flash drive. I was a little let down when I saw the drive contained a single file, but my disappointment disappeared when I opened the document and read the title, screaming across the monitor in caps and tabloid punctuation: THE MURDERER AMONG US
I had found the story Mel Dick had been working on at the time of his murder. I printed it—a few short paragraphs along with a picture of a young dark-haired woman. While the printer hummed I cleaned my mess, throwing the spilled contents back into the drawer. When I came across the soil report on Captain’s Castle, I thought, why not? It only took a few extra seconds to xerox a copy.
Heart singing and with the documents packed in my purse, I hurried down the hallway, toward the stairs that would take me to safety. My hand was almost on the doorknob when the stairwell door swung open.
A man stepped from the darkness and into the light, fear and amazement mingled on his face. “Addie Gorsky!”
Chapter Eighteen
The Murderer Among Us
“Addie Gorsky?” Jeremy Louis said again.
I nodded a greeting, an unnatural smile plastered on my face. What in the hell was a financial planner doing on Security’s floor?
“I’m surprised to see you here,” I managed at last.
“I might say the same about you.”
We eyed one another, me grinning like an idiot and him looking like he’d just bumped into Jack the Ripper. It dawned on me that the residents of Mystic Cove probably believed their former chief had lost her mind.
“Jeremy, I...I don’t suppose you saw Tyler on your way up?”
A head shake and the eyebrows furrowed.
“Tyler was nice enough to stay late so that I could pick up some personal property I’d left in the office.”
“Oh?” Jeremy’s shoulders relaxed, just a little.
“Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy with Mel Dick’s murder case.”
Jeremy Louis’s eyes brightened and his ears pricked, just like a goddamned German shepherd. “I heard you were investigating Mel’s death for the daughter. Well, let’s not stand around in this drafty hallway. We can talk in my office.” He hustled me into a small room at the end of the hallway.
“Being low man on the totem pole—is all right to say totem pole?—anyway, with me being the newest hire, they sent me here during the renovations.” He gestured at the tiny space. “Of course, I can’t meet clients here so I’m out and about all day. I stop by here before going home to catch up on paperwork. Please sit down.”
I sat, a rat in a trap.
“I heard about the excitement at the Rand house.”
“Just a little misunderstanding,” I mumbled.
“And how is Mel Dick’s daughter? I understand EMS was out there today.”
Where was he getting his information? Maybe I should have been talking to this nosey parker all along. “Julie Breyer was overtaken with a sudden illness, nothing serious.”
“Oh.” He folded his arms and looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Addie. I never gave you a chance to explain what you were doing here after hours. Mr. Richt doesn’t look kindly on trespassers.”
Damn it—I should have thrown him some red meat.
“After I got my property from Tyler, I was halfway down the stairs when I realized I had...I had...” I stopped, run dry of lies. I took in a ragged breath. Jeremy leaned close, beady eyes wet. I buried my face in my hands, said a prayer to the god of liars, and as always, they answered. “It’s just no good, Jeremy—I...I can’t pretend that everything thing is all right when it isn’t. Can I trust you with the truth?”
Jeremy nodded—good boy.
“Part of what I told you is the truth. I did pick up my property from Tyler.” Jeremy’s head tilted, eyes questioning. “It was only Jinks’s little bandana, his bufanda—see!” I pulled the scrap from my purse, just for a second. Jeremy’s nose wrinkled. I returned the bufanda and sealed the baggie.
“So it’s true about you and the dog,” Jeremy muttered, his worst suspicions confirmed.
“As I said Tyler gave me Jinks’s bandana, but it didn’t go well. We argued. I don’t know if I should tell you this, but Tyler...Tyler and I were very close, Jeremy. Intimate,
you might say.”
“Intimate,” Jeremy breathed.
“When Mr. Richt fired me and appointed Tyler chief, I felt betrayed. I told Tyler that. Do you blame me, Jeremy?”
“Not at all,” Jeremy said, handing me a tissue. I wiped a dry eye.
“It was terrible—both of us saying awful things to one another. Finally I just ran off, but by the time I reached the ground floor, I had cooled down. I just couldn’t leave those awful words hanging between us. I came back to apologize, but Tyler was gone. I was leaving when I bumped into you.” I slumped in my chair.
“I knew the moment I saw you in the hallway that something was wrong. Poor Addie—you were smiling on the outside, but crying on the inside.”
“You’re an astute man.”
“I’ve always had good instincts where people are concerned.” He grinned. “You might say I’m a people person.”
“Can you do something for me, Jeremy? Please keep all of this to yourself, for Tyler’s sake as well as mine.”
“This is between you and me.” With that Jeremy Louis sealed his lips with a finger and pantomimed throwing away the key.
“I’m feeling much better now,” I said. No lie there.
Before we parted Jeremy insisted that we hug. I bore it as well as I could and then made my getaway.
Of course I knew Jeremy Louis’s promise to be worthless. Come tomorrow morning, midday at the latest, news of my nocturnal visit to security headquarters would be all over the Cove. This time tomorrow night I might be spending the night in the county jail.
If I was to act, I had to act now and quickly.
* * *
I was relieved to find that José hadn’t towed the Vic. It was parked where I’d left it, the last car in the lot. As good a place as any to read Mel Dick’s final story.
There is a murderer among us. Under cover of darkness, a viper slipped into our Eden of Mystic Cove. But this devil has the power to assume a pleasing face and so remained hidden for years, but not from me.
Murder in Mystic Cove Page 22