A Ton of Gold (Crystal Moore Suspense Book 1)

by James R. Callan

  He blinked his eyes and tried to focus on the clock. One minute before three. His groggy mind tried to calculate how long he’d slept, but before he could figure it out, the caller was talking.

  “Mark, this is Crystal.”

  He lifted the receiver. “Crystal,” Mark interrupted. The answering machine clicked off. “What’s wrong?”

  Crystal hesitated a second.

  Mark’s mind kicked into gear and he didn’t wait for a reply. “They found the fire-breathing car.”

  “No. But they found a fire-breathing office.” When Mark did not respond immediately, she added, “Yours.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Tom Hawkins, my police detective friend, called. He knows I work there, and apparently we don’t have an emergency number posted anywhere.”

  “How bad?”

  “He said not too bad.”

  “But he called at 3 a.m.” Mark paused only a moment. “I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Thanks for the call.”

  #

  Mark’s body drove. His mind raced along other paths, only vaguely aware of the turns and stops the truck was making. He tried to prepare himself. She had said “not too bad.” Compared to what? Maybe it hadn’t burned to the ground. Maybe only half of the IRS quarters were destroyed. Without willing it or wanting it, his mind jumped to Eula’s house. Glothe thought the firemen had done a good job there. Did his offices look like Eula’s house, sky showing through all over the place?

  No. Mark knew he had installed an excellent fire suppression system. The fire had not destroyed everything. If the system worked. They hadn’t tested it, at least not very well. When he’d asked about that, the company said you couldn’t test that kind of system.

  But if there wasn’t any damage, why the police? And why call at three in the morning? Probably routine. Probably always call the police. And the owner.

  Would his people have a place to work, or computers? How much time would they lose? The venture capitalists were coming in less than a week. Would they have an office to show them? Computers to run demos? The problems in Wooden Nickel had already slowed things, put them behind schedule. They were playing catch-up, struggling to be ready by next Tuesday. Would this bring them to a total standstill?

  Crystal said Tom was a friend, so he might call even if there was little or no damage. Tom? That’s who she called from JT’s, Mark remembered. Could that only have been eight hours ago? If someone had broken in, that might warrant a call. Of course, it could have been an electrical fire. He’d have to post an emergency number. How lucky a policeman at the scene would be Crystal’s friend. Even if things were okay, Mark would need to check it over, lock up. She did say it wasn’t too bad.

  #

  Twenty-five minutes later, Mark skidded to a stop outside his office in the West End. He had passed three fire engines leaving the area. Did they always send at least three units? He stepped out of his truck, his shoes crunching on small shards of glass that littered the sidewalk. He looked up and saw that three windows on the second story had been blown out. The lights were on and several people were moving about. He jogged to the door and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  He found Crystal and four other people, most likely from the Dallas Police, in the computer room. Mark scanned the area. Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept over him and his whole body sagged. The words "utter disaster" popped into his mind. It looked like an explosion had not only blown out the windows, it had done considerable damage inside.

  A large, black, ugly area of charred and melted vinyl flooring dominated the room. A desk was destroyed, a chair, badly burned. Mark went over and laid a hand on it. The chair had been the very first piece of furniture IRS had owned. A large computer cabinet was lying on its side. The new RAID system leaned against a wall, undoubtedly damaged. Pictures and ceiling tiles littered the floor. Pieces of burned paper were everywhere. The smell of smoke permeated the air. And there was another odor that he could not identify, but brought to mind a fireworks show.

  #

  Crystal and one of the men walked over to Mark.

  “Mark, this is Tom Hawkins. He’s a detective for the Dallas Police Department. Tom, Dr. Mark O’Malley. He owns IRS.”

  Tom looked at his watch. “I should give both of you speeding tickets. It’s obvious you did not stay within the limit.”

  “What happened?” Mark asked, in no mood for humor.

  “That’s what Johnette, Gus and Frank are trying to determine.” Tom introduced Mark to Johnette Toofer, an arson investigator, and Gus Penny and Frank DeLira, from the Crime Scene Unit. "Looks like someone tossed a firebomb through the middle window over there. It exploded, blowing out the other windows and starting a rip-roaring fire. The good news is, your fire suppression system worked well. It rang the fire department and put out the fire. Since I don’t see any water on the floor, I’m assuming you have an inert gas fire suppression system.”

  “Yeah. Water and computers don’t mix well.” Mark looked around the room. “Doesn’t look like it worked all that well.”

  Johnette suppressed a soft laugh.

  “You’ll have to pardon Officer Toofer, there. Just before you came in, she was commenting on how lucky you were. She thinks the bomb had some sort of acetone accelerant in it, and those are usually pretty tough to put out. A regular sprinkler system wouldn’t have helped much. You had a strong explosion in a confined space. Indications are that the fire was immediate and intense. This damage you see probably occurred in ... How fast, Johnette?”

  “Under twelve seconds, I’d guess. It’s a wonder the explosion didn’t damage your fire suppression system. And with the windows blown out, I’m surprised the gas system worked so well. When the fire department got here, there was no fire at all. Just damage.” The petite blonde turned back to her work.

  “Just what are they looking for? And what is that in her hand?” Crystal asked. The initial shock she had felt was beginning to fade.

  “That’s an electronic nose, an accelerant detector.” Tom looked at Mark. “I’m dry as a bone. Got a soda machine?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mark led the way to the coffee room while Tom explained the basics of the investigation. By the time they returned to the computer room, Tom was just finishing. “When Officers Toofer, Penny and DeLira are finished, they’ll be able to tell you what kind of a bomb, how big, where the material came from, how and when it was put together, the experience level of the bomber and whether he was right- or left-handed.”

  “He always says that,” Gus muttered.

  “Oh, we can. But only with fifty percent certainty,” said Frank.

  “About the right or left hand bit,” Gus added.

  “Actually, sometimes we really can,” Frank said. “Tell about right or left handedness.”

  “What about ‘Who’?” Mark asked.

  “Forty-two point six percent of the time,” Gus replied without looking up from his work.

  Tom snorted at that last comment. “Okay, guys. Can the Laurel and Hardy routine and get to work. Johnette’s going to make you both look bad.” He turned his attention to Mark. “So, how bad is this going to affect you? A couple of those computers look pretty beat up. And I don’t know how much smoke was generated. Doesn’t seem to be much smoke damage to the walls or ceiling. What about the computers?”

  Mark shook his head. “Don’t know. The one on its side will probably have some damaged cards. A few days and a thousand bucks and it’ll probably be okay. But you never know. We could have intermittent trouble with it for months.” He looked at the RAID. “The cabinet leaning against the wall is a large disk system. Could be okay or completely worthless. Just got it a week or two ago. Crystal loaded her data on it this week.”

  Crystal’s mind leaped to her project. Even without the fire, it was going to be close. Now, the database has to be reloaded——if there’s anything to load it on. What’s today? Thursday. They’re coming Tuesday.


  “That’s a disk system? My God, how much data can it hold?”

  “Twenty terabytes,” Mark answered. “Fortunately, we haven’t had it long, so it’s mostly empty. And if my people are doing their jobs correctly, the data should be backed up.”

  “How much is a terabyte?”

  “A trillion bytes. That cabinet can hold twenty trillion characters, letters or numbers. Better yet, think of it as capable of holding the entire text of every book in the Dallas public library.”

  “Sounds like a bunch.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook and a pen. “Well, let’s get down to business. Do you know anyone who would have had reason to bomb your offices?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Just a random kid’s prank?” The detective’s skepticism showed in his tone.

  “Well ...”

  Johnette was shaking her head no.

  Tom clicked his ballpoint pen a few times while he studied the owner. “I’d say you’re not over the initial shock yet. Otherwise, you’d be thinking more clearly. This was not a pop bottle filled with gasoline and a rag stuck in it. We’re talking serious stuff here. This was an attack on a specific target.”

  “Maybe they ...”

  Johnette and Gus joined in and said in unison with Mark, “... hit the wrong target.”

  A touch of color rose in Mark’s cheeks as he looked at the two officers. “You’ve heard that before, I take it?”

  “Any really unhappy customers?” Tom continued.

  “No.”

  “Fired anybody lately, or not so lately?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Disgruntled employees? And don’t just give me a quick ‘no’. Think about each one before you answer.”

  Mark shrugged and began to run down the list of employees. After each one, he said no, then looked to Crystal. In each case, she shook her head no. “Nobody.”

  “You didn’t check off Crystal,” said Tom.

  Mark grinned. “Okay. Crystal. No.”

  “My point is, did you forget anybody else? And this is no time to be lenient. You should be overly critical on—.”

  Crystal cut in. “Tom, you have to understand. I think it’s fair to say everyone likes her job here and we all really get along well.” As soon as she said it, she thought of Phil claiming credit for her idea.

  “That may just mean you don’t know everyone as well as you think you do.” Tom scribbled some more in his notebook. “These are almost always tied to an employee in some way or another. Keep that in mind. Let me know if you come up with any possibilities.” He looked at Mark. “What’s happened around you or Intelligent Retrieval Systems lately that’s unusual, out of the ordinary?”

  Crystal thought of Dr. Krupe and the venture capitalists.

  Mark cast his eyes down. He said nothing.

  “Come on, Mark. This wasn’t a random act, or a mistake. It was deliberate. And it wasn’t a warning, like a brick through a window. From the looks of the bomb, they intended to shut you down. Burn you to the ground. And you’re damn lucky they didn’t succeed. If we don’t catch them, they’ll try harder next time.”

  It wasn’t a warning. The words were an echo in Crystal’s mind. The same words she’d spoken to Glothe less than a week ago. “Somebody did take a couple of shots at me a few days ago.”

  Tom’s mouth dropped open. “Somebody shot at you? Why’s it taken so long for you to tell me that? How many days ago?”

  “It was out by Wooden Nickel, the day of Nana’s—ah, Bessie’s—funeral. That was Friday. I don’t think it had anything to do with this. They probably didn’t know who I was, and certainly not where I work.”

  “Crystal, as smart as you are, and Brandi says you’re really smart, I know more about this sort of stuff than you do. So just tell me everything and I’ll—assign a weight to it—isn’t that what you computer types say? I can’t believe you work in information retrieval, and won’t divulge any.”

  “They could have been the guys driving the fire-breathing car,” Crystal said.

  “The one you wanted us to look out for? Here in Dallas? And you don’t think there’s any connection? I take back what I said about you being smart. You’re a goddamned idiot.”

  “When they shot me, they—.”

  “Shot you? A minute ago, it was 'shot at you'. You’re saying they hit you?”

  Crystal waved that aside.

  Mark interrupted. “I don’t see how they could know about IRS. When Eddie Ray and I went looking for them, we never found them. Eddie Ray was the one who talked to them, not me, not Crystal. They don’t know we’re connected, and they don’t know where we work.”

  Tom sat down on a slightly charred chair and put his head in his hands. “God save me from the people who have never been around crime, but know all about it.” He shook his head, clicked open his pen and looked up, first at Crystal, then at Mark. “Okay. Let’s see if I have this straight. Two guys shot you, Crystal. You, Mark, went looking for them. You didn’t see them. Your office is firebombed. Oh, and Eddie Ray is missing. Am I leaving anything out?”

  “Maybe Al and Joe saw me with Eddie Ray, and figured we were looking for them,” Mark said.

  “Very good, Dr. O’Malley,” Tom said as he wrote more notes. “Now the thugs have names. Go on; tell me you know their last names and who they work for?”

  Crystal began hesitantly. “Ah, didn’t Brandi ask you about ‘Big Man’?” That’s who Joe and Al work for.”

  “No. I haven’t talked with her today. It seems like everybody knows a lot about what’s going on, but nobody wants to tell the investigating officer.”

  For a minute, nobody said anything. Finally, Tom snapped his notebook shut. “Why don’t we go get me another drink while you two think? In fact, I’ll buy for all of us. Then you start at the beginning and tell me everything. Is that a deal, or what? Mostly, I don’t want these other officers to hear what naive fools you are.”

  Crystal, Mark and Tom sat around a table in the coffee room. Crystal and Mark told Tom the folk tale about a lot of gold hidden in a lake and the subsequent attacks on Eula. Periodically, Tom would interrupt to ask a question or just to stop them while he caught up on his notes. Sometimes he just shook his head and let out a sigh or a low whistle.

  When the shooting came up, he asked to see the wound. Crystal rolled up her sleeve and peeled back the bandage. That elicited another shake of the head in dismay.

  The funeral for Eula, which was really Bessie’s, caused Tom to call for a halt while he tried to sort out the legality of the deceptive service. After a moment, he muttered something about it not being his jurisdiction, and told Crystal to resume the bizarre tale.

  She had just finished when Officers Toofer, Penny and DeLira came to tell Tom they had finished and were heading back to the station to start the paper work.

  “You through with the scene? Can they start cleaning it up, get back to work in there?” Tom asked.

  “I’m through,” said Toofer. She looked at the other two officers. They both nodded and agreed they were finished.

  Mark asked if they had found any real clues to help identify the bombers. Toofer said they had recovered considerable evidence that should shed some light on the situation. Before Mark could decide if she had said anything, she and the other officers left.

  For the next half hour, Tom, Crystal and Mark rehashed all the details, Tom pressing hard for more information, Crystal and Mark slowly coming to agree with the policeman’s theory.

  Tom believed Eddie Ray probably succumbed to the carrot and stick approach. With the gold as the carrot, and Al and Joe holding the stick, Eddie Ray might well have waltzed over to the enemy's side. That would explain why he was missing and how the perps knew about Intelligent Retrieval Systems. Mark suggested that they might have targeted the computer room specifically.

  “Possible,” said the detective. “Mostly, I think they wanted you out of it, too busy rebuilding to bother them. If they’d hit another ro
om, without the inert gas system, they might have burned this place to the ground.” He closed his book. “What I am certain about is, we should call it a night.”

  Crystal stood up. “Good idea, I’m pooped.”

  “One last thought,” said Mark. “We know about Eddie Ray and Joe and Al. And we know now what they’re up to. And if Eddie Ray’s in with them, they know that we know. Isn’t it logical for them to back off?”

  The policeman looked at Mark and sighed in resignation. “There’s a place for logic in police work. In fact, it’s very important. But if you get hung up expecting the bad guys to act logically, you’re going to find yourself in deep trouble.”

  They walked out to the reception area. Tom visited the rest room while Mark wrote a note to Bobby Don and a brief notice to all the employees. When he finished, he taped the notes to the glass door. They couldn’t miss seeing the messages when they arrived in a few hours. He locked the door and the three walked downstairs.

  “Tom,” Crystal asked as they reached the street. “Is there really any chance your officers might identify the bomber?”

  “Sometimes we get lucky. Might find a usable fingerprint on a bomb fragment. Usually, though, we get some help from the victim, like the name of a suspect or two. Gives us a starting place.” Tom gave Mark a slap on the shoulder. "Oh, and you owe me. The news noses came sniffing around. We told them it was a small fire in a computer room and they left. No burned bodies, no raging flames. No news. You probably don't even know how lucky you are they didn't latch on to it. I mean, a fire-breathing car, a ton of gold, wow! What a story! You’d never get rid of them."

  #

  At 5:30, Mark turned out the light and closed his eyes. He was bone-weary, yet his mind wasn’t ready to shut down. It kept turning over the events of the last few days. Nothing made sense, from the first idea of gold being hidden in Eula’s lake to the firebombing of IRS. Nothing about it was logical, and logic was Mark’s strong suit. He was trying to recall Tom’s exact words about criminals and logic when his mind finally decided to rest.