by Lisa Gardner
Roy and Shelly nodded. It did feel more and more like Sandra Duvall’s family history held the answer.
“Maybe Rainie will have better luck,” Quincy said.
Almost on cue, Quincy’s phone rang. He downed another bitter gulp of black coffee and hit talk.
Rainie did have information. She and Sharlah were already on their way over.
—
THEY MET IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM. The official investigative team, Quincy thought. Two profilers, one sheriff, a homicide sergeant, a volunteer tracker, and a thirteen-year-old girl. Definitely the most interesting team Quincy had ever seen assembled.
He eyed Sharlah with concern. His daughter was up well past her bedtime, not to mention the trauma of her day. But Sharlah, much like Rainie, looked far from tired. Both of them, in fact, appeared incredibly jazzed. Quincy felt a rush of pride. For his daughter, for his wife. For this family he was so lucky to call his own.
Rainie plopped down a pile of printouts. More photos, Quincy realized. Obviously from her computer. She started passing them around.
“Meet David Michael Martin,” she said. “Former CEO of GMB Enterprises. Died five weeks ago of cancer.”
Quincy took in the printed photo before him. The frail old man at the obviously posh gala did appear to be the same person from Telly’s scrapbook. His eyes homed in on the younger man standing with the same group.
Already, Rainie was nodding.
“Furthermore, meet the male victim from the EZ Gas shooting: Richie Perth. He didn’t have any ID on him at the scene, but once I learned of his connection to David Michael Martin, I called the ME and asked him to run fingerprint analysis.” Rainie glanced at Shelly. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“Turns out, Richie is also an employee of GMB Enterprises. Their charter fishing division.”
“The truck outside of the EZ Gas,” Shelly stated. “It was registered to a company out of Nehalem.”
“Exactly.” Rainie nodded. “All right, GMB Enterprises was first established forty years ago. Small-time import-export business, specializing in olive oil and vinegar.”
Already a few brows were raised around the table.
“Since then, GMB has grown into a hundred-million-dollar company, operating in a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Import-export, shipping, charter fishing companies—you name it, GMB does it. At least on paper.”
Sharlah spoke up. “GMB is a shell company!” she exclaimed, clearly having been educated by Rainie.
“And a very successful one at that. Now, David Michael Martin, otherwise known as Sandra’s father, has been listed as CEO for the entire forty years. Upon his death, however, leadership was passed to the company’s CFO, Douglas Perth. Who is also Richie’s father.”
Noonan held up a hand. “Hang on. I get shell company. This GMB, it’s Sandra’s father’s cover, right? According to what we’ve heard, this David Michael Martin was basically a criminal. Like a godfather, right?”
Rainie nodded.
“But bad money can become good,” Quincy said, “if you run it through a legitimate business enterprise, hence the creation of GMB. It’s Martin’s legal front, covering for his illegal activities.”
Rainie nodded again.
“But Martin dies,” Noonan said. He tapped the photo they’d all been given. “Of cancer. And just like when any business leader dies, the company’s gotta get a new leader.”
“Douglas Perth,” Rainie supplied, “who, being the former CFO, would know all the ins and outs of the business, including its legal and illegal operations. As CFO, it would be his job specifically to spin all the illegitimate gains into legitimate profits.”
“Okay. But his son . . . Richie . . . He’s one of our victims?” Noonan asked. “Because that’s where I’m getting lost. If Douglas Perth is the winner from this Martin guy’s death, then how did Douglas’s son end up being one of the losers?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Rainie assured him. “What we do know is that these shootings aren’t random. Sandra Duvall and Richie Perth have a connection: GMB Enterprises. Once run by Sandra’s father, and now run by Richie’s father.”
The table fell silent. Even Quincy had to think his way through this one. “Is there any evidence,” Quincy asked at last, “that Sandra was on GMB’s payroll, had any current ties to the company?”
“No.”
“Even under the name Irene Gemetti?”
“I couldn’t find any record of Irene Gemetti having a bank account, meaning I can’t find any traces of her receiving payments. If we assume GMB is nothing but a front, however, there’s an entirely different business operation running behind the scenes that we have no way of seeing. So I can’t be positive. But from the up-front side of things, Sandra and/or Irene wasn’t receiving any monies.”
Roy spoke up. “I’ve examined Sandra Duvall’s financials. There’s no record of her receiving unaccounted-for payments, not monthly nor lump sum. And I also couldn’t find any activity for an Irene Gemetti.”
“So once upon a time,” Quincy said slowly, “Irene was connected to GMB Enterprises through her father, David Michael Martin. At sixteen, however, she ran away, then ended up creating a whole new life, new identity, with Frank Duvall. The lack of financial activity would indicate she truly did cut her ties with her former life and her father. Henry was right about that.”
“Until her father found her again,” Shelly said. “First approaching Henry, away at college. Then meeting with Frank, then, presumably, Telly.”
“Did Henry say why his grandfather reappeared?” Rainie asked.
“Deathbed repentance,” Quincy said. “But maybe also to recruit Henry into the family business.”
Rainie’s eyes widened. “Did he say yes?”
“According to him, no. But do I one hundred percent believe him?” Quincy glanced at Shelly.
The sheriff shrugged. “If Henry really was recruited into the family business, all the more reason to lie to us.”
The table fell silent again, everyone thinking.
“To make things more interesting,” Rainie said at last, “Richie Perth does have a rap sheet. Assault, trespassing, more assault. His father might be the financial genius behind GMB’s criminal enterprises, but Richie comes across more as good old-fashioned muscle.”
“I think he killed Telly’s fosters,” Sharlah said.
All eyes turned to Quincy’s daughter. Sharlah wavered but didn’t back down. “Telly didn’t shoot them. He talked about them to me. They were good to him. He wouldn’t have killed them. No way.”
Quincy felt for his daughter. For the courage it was taking his socially anxious teen to meet the onslaught of adult stares. For the loyalty she obviously felt for her brother. They had her too involved in this case, he recognized. And yet, it was his and Rainie’s nature to work without limits. Hence the fact that his older daughter, Kimberly, was also now an FBI agent.
“Richie is a thug, right?” Sharlah was speaking again, looking at Rainie. “That’s what muscle means, right? His father is good with numbers, but Richie likes to hurt people. You know, assault.”
Rainie nodded.
“So he killed Sandra and Frank,” Sharlah concluded. “Because that’s what thugs do. They kill people.”
“But why?” Rainie pressed gently. “Just because Richie has a history of violence doesn’t mean he shot and killed two people.”
“His father told him to,” Sharlah said.
Quincy and the others blinked.
“I mean, that’s how this would work, right?” Sharlah continued. “You said Richie’s father is now in charge of the company. So if Richie did something, it’s because his father said so.”
“Then who killed Richie?” Noonan asked, looking confused.
“Somebody else
,” Sharlah said promptly. “Not Telly, ’cause we’ve seen the video and it’s a different arm. But maybe Telly saw who did it. He was at the EZ Gas, right? He saw who killed Richie and that’s why he had to run away. Because otherwise, that person will kill him.”
Quincy blinked again. His daughter’s theory was getting crazier and crazier. And yet, there was an outline of a crime he could almost see . . .
“How did Sandra get away?” he asked.
His fellows at the table stopped staring at Sharlah, turned their attention to Quincy instead.
“We’re saying Sandra left home at sixteen,” he continued thoughtfully. “Ran away from a father who even thirty years ago was clearly building a successful criminal enterprise. What successful criminal lets his sixteen-year-old daughter go? Wouldn’t that have made him appear weak? Even made her a liability to him and his organization?”
Sitting across from him, Rainie got it first. “A crime boss would never tolerate that level of disrespect. He would’ve gone after her.”
“But he didn’t. Irene got away, admittedly had a rough start, then met Frank Duvall and successfully rebuilt her life. New name, new image, everything. You couldn’t find a single tie between her and her father’s business.”
Rainie shook her head.
Quincy leaned forward, rested his hands on the table. He eyed his daughter, then his wife. “What if David Michael Martin couldn’t go after his daughter? What if Irene, who we already suspect was capable of murder, also understood her father’s true nature as well? So she took out insurance. I don’t know. Stole something, hid something incriminating. As long as he left her alone, she’d leave that alone. But come after her . . .”
“She’d pull the trigger,” Rainie filled in.
“Sounds like a chip off the old block,” Shelly drawled. “But what does that have to do with what’s going on now?”
Quincy sat back. “We keep going over the new variables in Sandra and Frank Duvall’s life. Fostering Telly. The reappearance of her father. But there’s a third variable. Her father’s death, five weeks ago. Which led to Douglas Perth taking over GMB Enterprises and his son, Richie, appearing in Bakersville. What if Irene and her father did have some kind of stalemate, which lasted thirty years? He lived his life, she lived hers. Then he died, and now . . . that balance is gone. Whatever Irene—Sandra—has, did, Douglas Perth wants it. Hence he sent his son to get it.”
Quincy glanced at Roy. “Do we have ballistics back yet from the Duvalls?”
The sergeant shook his head. “But I could ask the ME to test Richie Perth’s hands for GSR. That would certainly be a hint.”
“GSR stands for ‘gunshot residue,’” Quincy supplied for his daughter. “If Richie’s hands test positive for GSR, that means he shot a gun shortly before dying. Which would lend credence to your theory: Richie Perth killed Frank and Sandra Duvall.”
Sharlah nodded. Quincy could already tell from the look on his daughter’s face that she was certain she was right.
“Still doesn’t explain who shot Richie, though,” Shelly said. “Hell, how many people with guns do I have running around my county anyway? And why didn’t Telly come forward, instead of ending up at the EZ Gas, shooting out a video camera?”
“I’m going with my original theory,” Rainie stated firmly. “Whatever’s happening, Telly’s been set up to be the patsy. He has to take the blame in order to keep his sister safe, so he can’t come forward directly. Instead, he’s been leaving us a trail of bread crumbs. The photos of his sister on his phone, so we’ll keep Sharlah close. Then the picture of Sandra’s father at his fake camp. He wants us to figure out what’s going on. He wants us to stop it.”
“By shooting my search team?” Noonan all but growled.
No one had an answer for that. Sharlah dropped her gaze to the table, sufficiently cowed.
Once again the room fell silent, everyone thinking.
“All right,” Shelly said briskly. “We have four victims. Sounds like Frank Duvall and Erin Hill were collateral damage. Real targets were Sandra Duvall, then Richie Perth. Both had ties to GMB Enterprises, which had a major shake-up five weeks ago, with the passing of David Michael Martin. Now we got a new leader, this Douglas Perth, and a lot of carnage going on. If we agree with Telly Ray Nash that our goal is to stop this, then how?”
“I got a theory,” Noonan said.
They all turned to stare at him.
“Not about the crime,” he added hastily. “I don’t know sh— beans about crime. But I’ve been working the map. According to the best data we have—including Sharlah’s contact with her brother—Telly is headed south. All the rest, including the fake camp, has been for show.”
Quincy studied the tracker. “How close is Telly’s last known location to the Duvalls’ house?”
“Couple of miles.”
Quincy nodded. “Dark now,” he observed. “Quiet. Media’s camped out here. Law enforcement is holed up for the night. Meaning, if Sandra had some kind of insurance policy on her father’s criminal enterprise and no one has found it yet—”
“You think Telly is heading back to his parents’ house?” Shelly asked Quincy and Noonan.
“If that’s really what this is all about, then yes,” Quincy supplied. “Sandra took something thirty years ago. Douglas Perth wants it. But . . . so does someone else. A rival maybe? Inside the corporation, outside the corporation? Who knows. But Richie must’ve gone to the Duvalls’ home for a reason. And then someone shot him for that same reason.”
“But since Richie was at the home first, wouldn’t he already have the information? And then the second shooter would have taken it from him?” Shelly asked.
“I don’t think he got anything,” Quincy said. “Based on the position of the bodies, he shot Frank immediately to eliminate a perceived threat. Sandra he might’ve left alive long enough to answer questions. But she was still killed in the bedroom, shot in the back, just as she was getting out of bed. No way she went out, retrieved her thirty-year-old secret, handed it over, then walked backward toward her side of the bed. I think the shooter’s mistake was killing Frank Duvall. After that, I can’t see a woman like Sandra giving up anything. Especially a woman as savvy as she was—she would’ve known talk or no talk, she was going to end up dead. Why give her killer the satisfaction?”
“Her father’s daughter,” Shelly said.
Quincy glanced at Sharlah. “It’s been known to happen.”
Shelly pursed her lips. Quincy could tell the sheriff was considering. Some cases started with evidence that led to theories. Then there were cases like this one. Where they sat around developing nearly outlandish theories, which they hoped would lead them to some evidence. In Quincy’s experience, whatever worked.
Shelly must’ve thought the same. “What the hell, let’s go on a goose chase. Not like we got any better ideas. Roy, contact the ME. Ask him to examine Richie Perth’s hands for GSR, then run a full background. Also, see if you can’t get Douglas Perth in here for questioning. See what the father has to say for his son. As for the rest of us . . .”
Shelly’s gaze fell on Noonan. “How do fugitive trackers do when it comes to searching for secret information? Under the cover of night, with the threat of possible imminent death, of course?”
“We’ll find out,” Cal said.
Quincy stood. Kiss to Rainie, hug for Sharlah. Then he, Cal, and Shelly were back on the road, headed once more for the Duvalls’ house.
Quincy wondered if Telly Ray Nash had truly returned to his foster parents’ home. And what it was about to cost them to find out.
Chapter 38
SHELLY HAD A HINKY FEELING. Like an itch between her shoulder blades she just couldn’t scratch. Taking the back roads to the Duvalls’ residence, she found herself driving more slowly than strictly necessary, watching every bend in the road quiver on the edge of her he
adlights. No streetlights out in the country. Not to mention most folks weren’t the type to leave porch lamps burning all night. Which left them with miles of darkness, the towering shapes of bordering fir trees mere black etches against a navy blue night. Plenty of places for a shooter to hide on a night like this. Especially one with a high-powered rifle and hunting skills.
Just because Telly Ray Nash hadn’t shot the two people at the EZ Gas didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer. It just meant there was more than one threat running around in Shelly’s county.
Shelly parked several houses back from the Duvalls’, pulling off the road, behind a wild hedge of blackberries. She didn’t feel like advertising their mission. Not given all the unknowns involved.
From the back, she withdrew her department-issued rifle, plus ammo. Quincy took it without hesitation. As his shirt advertised, he was a firearms instructor, whereas Cal’s skills were better suited for searching than, say, guarding.
“I don’t have night-vision goggles,” Quincy informed them, jamming home the first clip; he slipped two more into his pockets. “So if either of you plan on running toward me, I’d identify yourself first.”
“Position?” Shelly asked him.
“No higher ground. Given that, I’ll go with the classic patrol model. Circle the house at random intervals. Hope you find what you’re looking for before anyone appears out of the gloom.”
“Fair enough.”
Cal spoke up. “What are we looking for?”
Shelly frowned. She’d been considering this for a bit. “Something feminine,” she said at last, which earned her two blank stares. “Think about it. Judging by Sandra Duvall’s Facebook page, she prided herself on being a wife and mother. Which means the home is her domain. If she was looking to keep something safe, she’d keep it close. Not in the garage—that belongs to her husband. And not on the computer—that’s her son’s toy.”