BURY THE WITCH: Book 10 (Detective Marcella Witch's Series)

by Dana E. Donovan

  Lesley Swan stepped out, tossed her auburn mane over her shoulder and cinched her collar.

  “She’s not my date,” I said—insisted. “She’s an insurance agent.”

  “Insurance?” Silvia gave Lesley one last look before turning and walking away. “Good luck then, Marcella. You’re going to need insurance if your wife finds out about that one.”

  Lesley came in and spotted me from the doorway even before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the dim light. I stood and waited for her to sit before reclaiming my stool.

  “Ms. Swan, thank you for meeting me.”

  “It’s no problem at all, Detective. My pleasure, really, but I do wish you’d call me Lesley.”

  “Sorry. I’m a slave to professional courtesy.”

  “I see that.” She set her cell phone down on the bar. “Good looks and manners. You don’t see that in young men these days.”

  I smiled. “I guess I’m an old soul at heart.”

  Her eyes sparkled with intention. “Old soul, young heart, sounds like a charming combination.”

  “You know, Ms. Swan, I get—”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “I’m sorry, Lesley. I don’t know what it is, but I get the feeling I know you from somewhere? Have we met before today?”

  “I don’t know. Ever been to Warwick?”

  “No. I’ve been to Rhode Island plenty of times, but never to Warwick.”

  “No, then I doubt we’ve met.”

  “Yeah, probably not, though you do seem awfully familiar.” She offered nothing more to further the conversation. I gestured toward my beer and said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. A martini sounds nice.”

  “Coming right up.” I turned to give Silvia the order, but when I looked, she was gone. “Huh, she must have stepped out for a moment,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll be right back.”

  “Of course.” She pulled a pack of smokes from her purse and offered me one. I waved it off.

  “You know you can’t smoke indoors,” I told her.

  “Oh?”

  “State law, same as in Rhode Island. All public indoor establishments are smoke free.”

  She pursed her lips in a mock pout. “What are you going to do, arrest me?”

  “I might,” I answered, only half teasing.

  I thought she would light up anyway, perhaps test my resolve to control the interview. If I let her do it, then the interview was hers. If I stopped her, it was mine, though I knew I’d probably get nothing worthwhile out of her then. I stared her down until the stalemate resolved itself.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she said, shrugging with indifference. “It’s such a nasty habit anyway.”

  As she started to put them away, something interesting caught my eye. “Excuse me.” I touched her on the hand that held the pack. “May I?” She rolled her hand over, allowing me to see the brand. “Those are Melrose Lights.”

  She nodded. “That’s right. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Detective, ladies’ cigarettes, right? Low tar, low nicotine, why bother? I should just quit.”

  “No, that’s not it at all. Actually, I—”

  “You see, I tried quitting a million times, but then Rachel Marx turned me on to these. She said she was also trying to quit and that they’ve helped her cut way back.”

  “Wait. Rachel Marx smokes these?”

  “Yes, but you know, I think I’m really better off going cold turkey.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but do you know if she’s still smoking those?”

  “Rachel? I imagine so. She bummed one off me just this morning at the jewelry story. She said she ran out last night and didn’t have a chance to buy more. Why do you ask?”

  “Because we found a Melrose Light cigarette butt in the alley this morning. When I showed it to Mrs. Marx, she acted as though she’d never seen one before.”

  “Well, there you see. I helped you out with some more information, so now you can help me. Give me something I can take back to my bosses. They’re very anxious to see this thing resolved.”

  “Of course they are, and so am I.”

  “Yes, but you’re not looking at addressing a board of investors before fiscal year-end. It’s extremely important that I furnish a consequential disposition in this case to satisfy terminal balance and reconciliation.”

  “And why is that so important?”

  “Because, my promotion hinges on that.”

  “I see, and that’s more important than getting to the truth.”

  “No. Getting to the truth is important. I can’t make that promotion if we don’t get to the truth.” With that, she turned and snapped her fingers impatiently to get Silvia’s attention. “Where is that barkeep anyway?”

  “Ms. Swan, let me ask you.”

  “Uh-uh, Detective.”

  “Lesley.”

  “There you go.”

  “Let me ask you about the diamonds. How were you able to determine their value?”

  “Their value?”

  “Yes, their insurance value. How did you determine that twenty million dollars was the correct amount to insure them for?”

  “Why, we went with the appraised value, of course.”

  “Who appraised them? Does Royal Hall have its own appraisers?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. In cases such as this, we refer to an I.C.G.A. member in good standings with the American Gem Society.”

  “I.C.G.A.?”

  “Independent Certified Gem Appraiser.”

  “I see.”

  “In this case it was Lloyd Bishop Stephens, a well-respected I.C.G.A. located here in New Castle. He appraised forty-two gems for Marx, Feldon, Cohen and Shaul over the last eight months. All were unmarked and uncertified, but primo gems nonetheless, averaging four hundred thousand dollars plus apiece, with one sixteen carat diamond appraised at over two million.”

  “Wow! That’s astonishing.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  As I sat there, turning the numbers over in my mind, I felt a soft hand running up and down my arm. I looked her in the eyes. She was leaning closer to me than our conversation warranted. I pulled back.

  “You’ll excuse me,” I started.

  She pressed her finger to my lips and shushed me. “Let’s dance.”

  I inched my stool away and folded my hands on the bar. “Ms. Swan, I have to tell you—”

  “Lesley, Detective.”

  “No, Ms. Swan. I have to tell you that I’m a happily married man.”

  “Oh?” She glanced at my left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

  “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sat up straight, threw her shoulders back and took a deep breath. “Forgive me. Had I known...”

  “It’s all right. A simple misunderstanding.”

  She turned around again to look for Silvia. “Where is that useless bar twerp?”

  “Excuse me, but Silvia is not a bar twerp. I’m sure her detainment is completely unavoidable.”

  I watched Swan swallow her resentment along with her pride. “Of course, I’m sure you’re right. So, how about it, Detective? What have you got for me, I mean,” she ran her eyes down my body and back again, “since there’s nothing more tangible I can have.”

  “Well, you have been most helpful. I won’t deny that, but I don’t have much for you. I told you about the cigarette butt. That’s certainly circumstantial, but the truth is, Rachel Marx could have stepped out back for a smoke at any time within the last forty-eight to seventy-two hours and that butt would have looked just the same.”

  “But you do suspect her or one of her partners of pulling off this heist, don’t you?”

  “That’s not entirely true. If one did it, then they all did it. You probably wouldn’t know this, but as strange as it seems, no one in the company knows the combination to the safe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I
t’s crazy, I know, but each of them has to dial in a single number before Rachel can open it with the key.”

  “Yes, well I hate to tell you this, Detective, but that’s not entirely true either.”

  “Oh?”

  “It just so happens that someone else has the combination numbers, as well as a key.”

  “Who?”

  “A lawyer at Hartman, Pierce and Petruzelli.”

  “Why would someone there have it?”

  “They represent the jewelry store, have since old man Marx went into business.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Of course, I’ve spoken to the man in charge of their account. His name’s Allen Brinkman. He told me that Sheldon Marx wanted the law firm to have a back-up key and combo in case anything ever happened to the originals.”

  “Interesting, but how did you know to talk to him? Did Rachel give you that information?”

  “Rachel? No. She didn’t even know about it. I found out on my own.”

  “How?”

  “Are you kidding me? Detective, when an insurance company’s about to underwrite a twenty million dollar all-inclusive policy, they tend to do their homework.”

  “Wow, I don’t know how to thank you for that.” I kicked my stool out and reached for my wallet. “If I come across any information that’s safe to divulge, and that I think might help your chances for that promotion, I’ll surely let you know. In the meantime, you have my number.”

  I went to slap a ten spot on the bar for the beer when Silvia appeared out of nowhere. “It’s okay, Tony,” she said, sliding the bill back to me. “I got this one. You go on. I’ll look out for your little friend here.”

  “Thanks, Sil,” I said, and left in a dash. I was halfway to the Justice Center before I realized that when one woman refers to another as someone’s little friend, she has absolutely no intentions of looking out for her. I think now that maybe Silvia was looking out for me, instead.

  Chapter 12

  Carlos and Dominic were already at the Justice Center when I arrived, Dominic in the conference room with his flip chart easel set up for presentation, and Carlos in the hall on the second floor, waiting on me. Apparently, he spotted me through the window as I pulled up to the building and he didn’t want to waste any time getting our meeting started. He grabbed me by the arm as soon as I stepped off the elevator and whisked me away to the conference room.

  “Dominic, I got him,” he said, unwilling to let go of my arm until I was in the room and committed to a chair.

  “Good. We can start.”

  Both seemed unusually anxious. I didn’t know if it was because they had something interesting to show me, or because they sensed I had something for them. As it turned out, it was a little of both.

  “Well,” I said, “I take it you two made some big discovery in my absence, eh?”

  “Maybe,” said Dominic. “We have a theory if nothing else.”

  “Yeah,” said Carlos, pulling a chair up next to me and then inching it closer to the flip chart. “Dominic and I have it all figured out. It all makes sense now.”

  “Okay.” I dug my heel into the carpet, leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs. “Let’s see what you have.”

  Dominic presented the first page of his chart, a hand drawn diagram of the strip mall and alleyway behind the jewelry store. “First I want to review the case from the beginning,” he said. “It might sound redundant to you, but hear me out. I think everything ties together in the end.”

  I splayed my hands, palms up. “It’s your floor. I’m not going anywhere. Let`er rip.”

  “All right now, picture this.” He used a laser pointer to direct my attention to the critical points on his map, starting with the back alley. “Sometime last night, a small truck or SUV rolled up in the alley behind the jewelry store, here. One, possibly two, suspects got out. They cut the power to the air conditioning units to get a head start on warming the showroom.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll get to that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Once the AC was out, they placed a 2x12 board forty-two inches tall against the back door. This acted as a battering ram for the bumper. The board distributed the relatively low impact of the bumper up to the deadbolt, smashing the door in on the first try. You with me so far?”

  Dominic was in his element. The man lives for flip charts. “Go.” I said.

  He flipped to the next page, a wonderfully illustrated diagram of the jewelry store’s back room, showroom and office. “This is where time was the burglars’ only enemy. They had just sixty seconds to get it right. Fortunately, they knew what they were doing.” He pointed the laser to the back room area. “They rushed to the storage closet here, removed the plastic totes concealing the master alarm panel and, with a baseball bat most likely, smashed the panel box to smithereens.”

  This next part, Dominic and Carlos must have rehearsed, which was why Carlos had to sit so close to the easel. Dominic handed him a black Sharpie, which he used to draw two small circles on the diagram, positioning them directly in front of the doorway leading from the storage room to the showroom.

  “Nice,” said Dominic, smiling. Carlos returned the smile with pride.

  To me, Dominic said, “You remember those two rust circles in the doorway?”

  I nodded. “How could I forget? You’re burning a hole through them with your laser pointer now.”

  He ignored that. “We thought they were rust marks left by paint cans, but they weren’t. The typical paint can measures six and a half inches in diameter. These marks were a full seven and three-quarters inches wide.”

  “Ah-ha!”

  “What, you know where I’m going with this?”

  “No,” I said. “I just thought that was an ah-ha moment.”

  “Tony.” This from Carlos. “Quit stealing his thunder. This is good stuff.”

  “All right, I’m sorry. Dominic, please continue.”

  “Thank you. As I was saying, the rust circles measured seven and three-quarters inches across. Now, I checked. Do you know what does measure seven and three-quarters inches across?”

  I didn’t dare say anything, so I simply shook my head.

  “The base on propane tanks, the kind used in gas grills. That’s what measures exactly seven and three-quarters inches in diameter. So, naturally, I asked myself, what could somebody do with a couple of propane tanks? They didn’t use them to blow anything up. We’d have seen the effects of an explosion.”

  Carlos sprang to his feet and pointed at the circles with his Sharpie. “Heat!”

  “Heat?” I said.

  “Sure. I thought about them cutting off the air conditioning unit, and figured maybe they wanted to get the room hot. That got me thinking about camping.”

  “Camping? What does camping have to do—”

  Dominic cut in. “He’s getting there, Tony. Come on.”

  “Again, sorry.” I rocked my chair back onto four legs and planted my forearms on my knees.

  “The last time I went camping,” Carlos went on, “I brought along this really neat heater. It mounted on top of a propane tank and had two gas burners on telescopic poles. I’m telling you, it could really throw out some serious heat. And that’s just one double burner. Imagine two.”

  I nodded, and waited for one of them to continue. Instead, they stood there looking at me. Finally Dominic spoke.

  “Well?” He sounded a tad exasperated.

  “Well,” I said, “I get the part about them wanting to heat up the showroom, but the obvious question is why?”

  Oh boy, you’d have thought I just announced them both winners of the Nobel Prize for logic. Dominic was literally wringing his hands.

  “That’s the beauty of the plan,” he said, having waited sufficiently long enough to ensure my misery. “Remember the big question we had about why the motion sensor in the showroom didn’t detect the burglar’s movements from the back room to the office?”


  “Yes.”

  “The answer’s simple. It didn’t see him.”

  “Why didn’t it?”

  “To answer that, I have to explain how a motion detector works.”

  “I know how it works. It detects motion.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. See a motion detector doesn’t actually detect motion in a room. It detects temperature changes within the room.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, so typically, the temperature of any given room is generally in the seventy-five degree range, give or take ten degrees. A person’s body temperature is somewhere around ninety-eight point six. Anyone trying to enter a room monitored by a motion sensor hasn’t got a prayer of fooling it.”

  “I see. So you’re telling me that the perpetrators heated the room to a perfect ninety-eight point six degrees and then simply walked right in?”

  “Hardly,” said Dominic, and I think he even scoffed. Fortunately, he was smart enough to turn his back toward me when he did it.

  “Then tell me. What did they do? Obviously, they heated the room for a reason.”

  “They did, to fool the motion sensor.”

  “But you—”

  “I said they didn’t heat the room to a perfect ninety-eight point six. That’s because they didn’t need to. You remember the bed sheet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think of it as a cloaking device, only not for a visual camera, but a heat sensing camera, which is what a motion detector is. See, all the burglar had to do was heat the room to around ninety-three degrees, sufficient to handicap any commercial heat sensor. Then, simply by holding the bed sheet up between his body and the sensor’s eye, he was able to clock or mask the subtle change in room temperature, making it possible to waltz into the office without detection. Once there, all he had to do next was step over the laser tripwire and boom. He’s in.”

  “And to get out, he merely reverses his steps.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And the motion sensor never knew he was there.”

  “That’s right, but in fairness to the motion sensor, it wasn’t entirely its fault. Owner neglect had something to do with it, as well.”