“I’m grateful that there are folks like you out there protecting the rest of us,” Regina said. “You go ahead and do what you need to do. We’ll finish up here.”
After Chas left, Maureen turned back to Missy.
“Is your husband often absent in the evenings?” she asked primly.
Before Missy could open her mouth to respond, Regina jumped in.
“Mo, lots of people have to work an occasional evening. You and I are working right now,” she pointed out.
“Yes, and I don’t have a child at home,” Maureen grumbled.
“Well, I have three of them and I can guarantee you that they’re not suffering because they’re home with my husband rather than me for an hour or so after their dinner,” Regina challenged.
“I think we’re done here,” Maureen slapped her file folder shut and tucked it under her arm, standing to go.
“Regina, would you like me to box up some of these cupcakes for your little ones?” Missy asked, ignoring Maureen entirely.
“They would love that, thank you,” Regina smiled.
“I’ll be waiting in the car,” Maureen said, stone faced.
No one acknowledged her.
***
“Hi, Mr. Beckett,” Thomas said, looking confused when he opened the door to his tiny studio apartment.
Spencer had been outside, watching to make certain that he didn’t leave before Chas arrived. They walked up the stairs to the second floor together.
“May I come in?” Chas asked, unsmiling.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll warn you though, it’s pretty small in here,” he opened the door wide to allow the two men to pass.
“You can sit on the couch. Can I get you some water or something?” Thomas asked, fidgeting a bit.
“No, thank you. I have some questions for you,” Chas replied.
“Okay,” Thomas sat down on a barstool by the counter that separated the kitchen from the tiny living area. “What’s up?”
“Why did you leave the hospital before your check-out paperwork was ready?”
Thomas looked uncomfortable. “I really hate hospitals and there was nothing wrong with me. I felt like I could get more rest at home than I could there, with people checking on me every twenty seconds.”
“What did you do after you got out of the hospital?”
“I came home, had some lunch, and went to the clinic to check on some of my animals, then came back here, why?”
“Have you checked your bank account lately?” Spencer asked.
Thomas gulped. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I went to the bank on my way home from the clinic.”
“Why did you do that?” Chas picked up the questioning again.
“Because I needed to make a deposit.”
“What were you depositing?”
Beads of sweat sprung up on Thomas’s forehead and upper lip.
“Uh… a check.”
“From whom?” Chas drilled him with a stare.
“From a grant agency with the government,” he sighed, looking down at his feet.
Spencer and Chas gave each other a puzzled look. That certainly wasn’t the answer that they had anticipated.
“Look, I know it’s not supposed to happen like that. I have no intention of keeping any of that money, I just put it in my personal account so that I wouldn’t lose the check, or have it get stolen or something. I’ll literally be transferring it out in the morning,” Thomas’s face flushed with guilt.
“What are you talking about?” Spencer asked.
“The grant money. One of the grants for my special project came through, and I just didn’t want to lose the money.”
Chas took a moment to digest that information. He had a sinking feeling that they’d come here on a wild goose chase.
“Thomas, show me your right hand, please.”
The young man stuck out his hand, palm up.
“Turn it over. I need to see your knuckles.”
“Okay, why?” he asked, turning his hand over.
Spencer shook his head when he saw the back of Thomas’s hand.
“Thanks for your time,” Chas stood and headed immediately for the door, Spencer right behind him.
“Okay, bye,” Thomas gave a half-hearted wave, utterly confused.
“I’m going to need a plane ticket, aren’t I,” Spencer muttered once the two men were outside.
“Yep,” Chas replied, as they climbed into his car.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
* * *
Rather than chartering a plane from Calgon to Worcester, Massachusetts, which would have been ridiculously expensive, Spencer flew first to Boston, then rented a car and drove to Worcester, using the route that he’d memorized to get to Andrew Edmunds’s house.
“Calumet Avenue,” he said aloud, making his turn. “The house should be three more up on the right. Yep, there it is.”
He parked in front of the tiny home in what used to be a middle-class neighborhood, but which had been largely left behind in recent years. Spencer jogged to the front door and rapped on it with his knuckles.
“He ain’t home,” a tiny voice to his left informed him.
“What?” Spencer asked the boy, sitting on the stoop next door. The child couldn’t have been more than six or so, and wore a grubby sweatshirt with jeans.
“Mr. Andrew ain’t home right now. He goes to visit his mama on Fridays,” the boy said, shoving a forefinger deeply into one nostril.
“Okay.” Spencer grinned, amused. “Thanks.”
“You got any gum?” the kid asked.
“Nope, sorry,” Spencer waved and got back into his rental car, plugging the name of Margaret Edmunds’s nursing home into his GPS.
The address was across town and he hoped that Andrew would still be there when he arrived. Spencer charmed the nurse at the desk and she told him that Andrew and Margaret were in the sunroom, playing chess.
Sweet ladies with wrinkled skin thinner than parchment waved and smiled as the handsome young veteran wound his way through the nursing home to find the lobby; grizzled men, many stooped and broken, nodded to acknowledge him. Spencer returned each and every greeting, his heart aching for the lonely souls who far too often spent their last days without the care and comfort of a loving family around them.
He spotted Andrew almost immediately when he entered the sunroom, having memorized his face from file photos. He was sitting across from a delicate-looking woman, who seemed as old as time. Her hands were like claws as she picked up the chess piece to take her turn, but her smile was sweet and there was adoration in her eyes when she looked at her only living son.
“Mr. Edmunds?” Spencer said quietly when he approached the pair. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I speak with you for a moment?”
Margaret, who seemed to be a bit hard of hearing, smiled vacantly at the strange young man who spoke to her son.
“Mama, I’ll be right back, okay?” Andrew raised his voice and gave her a reassuring smile before rising and kissing her cheek.
“Okay, sweetie,” she said in a fragile voice. “I won’t cheat much while you’re gone.”
Spencer’s heart went out to her, and he wondered whether she even knew that her younger son had passed.
“Who are you and what are you doing here? This is my personal life, you have no right to be here,” Andrew hissed, once they were out of his mother’s earshot.
“I’m looking into your brother’s murder,” Spencer began.
“And what do you think you could possibly find out here? I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my mother. She doesn’t even know that Dale is… it’ll break her heart and she doesn’t have that much longer herself,” Andrew’s voice broke on the last word, and he clamped his lips shut, his throat working.
“I’m really very sorry,” Spencer replied quietly. “I just have to ask you some questions.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a text came in, with a 911 on it, from Ringo, advising him
to call the office.
Gritting his teeth in frustration, Spencer looked up at Andrew. “I’m sorry, I have to make a call, but I’ll be right back.” He glanced over Andrew’s shoulder at Margaret, who was staring out the window, as if she loved nothing more than having the warmth of the sun on her face. “Tell her that I’m a business associate,” he advised, walking away before giving Andrew a chance to answer.
“Ringo, this had better be important,” Spencer growled into the phone.
“Well, when I brought it up with the boss dude, he said that I needed to call you right away, so I guess he thinks it’s important,” was the lazy reply.
Spencer could tell that Ringo was chewing something, and whatever it was had just been washed down by a slurp through a straw.
“Then spit it out,” Spencer was not usually grouchy, but the thought of having to take Margaret Edmunds’s only remaining son off to jail stuck in his craw.
“Geez, fine,” Ringo grumbled. “So, I was looking into where the big deposit into Thomas the dog dude’s account had come from, and naturally, I started with the wife, and…” the hacker rambled.
“Can you get to the bottom line, please?” Spencer glanced back toward the sunroom, where Margaret was having a cookie with some tea while she played chess.
“Wow, you are just uber pumped today, man,” Ringo complained. “Okay, so the deposit into the kid’s bank account was no big deal, but…”
“I know that already,” Spencer sighed.
“Lemme finish a sentence. So his deposit was no big deal, but I found another deposit that was taken out of Mrs. Edmunds’s account that the boss dude wants you to check out.”
“And this couldn’t wait until I get back?”
“I’m just the messenger, man,” Ringo started crunching something that sounded like corn chips.
“So, what was the big deal with Mrs. Edmunds’s deposit?”
When Ringo told him, Spencer nodded grimly.
“I don’t need to be here then. I’ll be on the next plane back.”
“Later dude,” Ringo replied and hung up.
Margaret stared at Spencer as he approached their table.
“James,” she whispered. “James, are you here to take me home?” she asked, her gnarled hands reaching out to Spencer.
“James was my dad,” Andrew said in a low voice, his face pained.
Spencer gazed down at the lovely old woman and patted the hand that clung to his, not wanting to disillusion her.
“I have to go away for a while, Maggie. But you’ll see me again,” he knelt beside her chair and watched her soft blue eyes fill with tears.
“You promise?” she touched a hand to Spencer’s face.
Spencer looked over at Andrew, who nodded.
“I promise.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, then stood, reluctant to let go of the sweet woman’s hand, but let go he did.
“I’ll walk you out,” Andrew said hoarsely, standing.
Spencer swallowed past the lump in his throat and shook his head.
“No, stay with your mother,” he whispered, turning away quickly.
Margaret was staring out the window again, with a precious smile on her face. That night, she passed quietly in her sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
* * *
Timothy Eckels took pride in the fact that the corpses who came through his mortuary always looked their best, and that his artistry was the reason behind it. Even those who weren’t going to be seen in an open casket were treated with utmost respect and attention to detail. It was for that reason that Tim was brushing the hair on what was left of Dale Edmunds’s scalp. Dale’s body would go into the cremation oven as clean and presentable as possible. When he pulled the brush through, he noticed something stuck to one of the bristles, which seemed like it could be significant.
“Fiona,” he called out. “Get Chas Beckett on the phone. I think he needs to know about this.”
***
When Chas got off the phone with Timothy Eckels, Ringo came wandering into his office.
“Hey, boss man… I don’t know if you care or anything, but I found something kinda interesting in Mrs. Edmunds’s bank statement,” he slouched against the door, digging into a box of chocolate-covered peanuts.
“How did you get into Mrs. Edmunds’s bank records?” Chas frowned. “Never mind, I don’t want to know,” he held up a hand. “What is it that you found?”
“She made a really big deposit yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, here’s the name and address associated with the account that she sent it to,” Ringo reached into his pocket and handed Chas a rumpled piece of notebook paper that was smudged with taco sauce.
“You’re sure?” Chas was surprised to see the name on the paper.
“Yup, the computer don’t lie,” Ringo smirked, pleased with himself. “Oh hey, I think the pizza guy just got here, so I gotta run,” and with that, he turned and sauntered off down the hallway, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him.
***
“With what Eckels told me, and what Ringo dug up, we have a really good start, but I think you need to do a covert op tonight,” Chas told Spencer when he returned from Worcester.
“I can do that. What are we looking for?”
Chas gave him a list, and sent him off on his mission.
***
Spencer, dressed in black, parked his car at least a mile away from his first suspect’s home. Having mapped out the neighborhood, he slipped behind fences and through alleys to reach the back yard of the very modest house. There were no lights on inside, and thankfully, when he peered in the garage window, he noticed that there was no vehicle. The fact that the inhabitant wasn’t home would make the sneak and peak—the search and photograph mission—much easier. Breaking and entering wouldn’t be an issue, as no one but Chas would know that he’d ever been inside.
Trying the garage first, he hit pay dirt immediately, photographing the number one thing that had been on Chas’s list. After searching for a few more minutes, he decided to head into the house while its occupant was still out. The back door was so easy to jimmy that it was almost comical, and Spencer was inside within seconds, glad that the homeowner didn’t have any man-eating dogs to hinder his progress.
Knowing the most likely hiding spots, he checked those first for the items on Chas’s list. They weren’t between the mattresses in either bedroom, they weren’t under the carpet in any of the closets, nor were they in the attic, duct work, or freezer, but when he lifted the lid from the tank of the toilet in the master bathroom, he found exactly what he was looking for, neatly sealed in plastic Ziploc bags, taped to the side of the tank. He took photos, including close-ups, of the bag’s contents, noting that he’d found all the items on the checklist.
Using night-vision goggles, he slipped quickly through the house, making certain to leave everything the way that he’d found it, and was soon out the back door, relocking it behind him, and on his way to his car. He had another visit to make, and he had a feeling that this one wouldn’t be nearly as quick and easy.
After texting the photos to Chas, he drove across town, and parked, again, about a mile from his intended target. Moving through the thick humidity of a Florida night with the grace and stealth of a stalking panther, he neared the house he’d come to observe, noting that the kitchen light was on, but no one was in the room. There was a car in the driveway, so someone was clearly home, and the vehicle from the first house that he’d searched was parked in the garage. His hunch had been correct, now all he had to do was verify some assumptions that he’d made, with the help of a night-vision camera.
Skirting the bushes at the rear of the house, he made his way to the master bedroom windows. Through the glass, he saw what he’d been looking for: something he wished he didn’t have to see, and something that he desperately wanted to look away from. But he did his job, took photos, then left the house as quickly as he could, meeting up with Chas at the off
ice, well past office hours.
“Did you get it all?” Chas asked, his voice grave.
Spencer showed him the pictures and he grimaced. “Good. Let me talk to the chief. I’ll get a handful of warrants and we’ll go pick them up.”
***
Alison Edmunds and Renaldo Jimenez were more than a bit surprised when Chas Beckett pounded at Alison’s front door in the middle of the night. They thought they’d been clever when they hastily dressed and tried to slip out the back. Little did they know that Spencer, a former government operative, waited there; he subdued them both handily, while Chas dashed around the side of the house to help take the couple into custody.
***
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You come crashing into my house in the middle of the night and expect an answer to some trumped-up charges? Ridiculous!” Alison Edmunds folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead, a light sheen of sweat darkening her hairline.
“Have it your way,” Chas sat back in his chair casually, across the interrogation table. “Renaldo is over in room 2 singing like a canary. He’s selling you out, and if you don’t give up information to rebut his statement, you could take the fall all by yourself. We have evidence, and he’s tying it to you.”
Her eyes jerked fearfully to his face. He stared back at her, unmoving.
“It was his idea,” she whispered.
“I thought that might be the case,” Chas fudged to encourage her.
“I didn’t kill Dale, Renaldo did,” Alison’s eyes were huge, and her hands twisted in her lap.
“Start at the beginning,” Chas instructed, hitting the record button on the tape recorder.
“Dale ignored me all the time, and Renny was so sweet. I loved to watch him while he worked, and then sometimes he’d come inside for a cold drink. We got to know each other, and he listened to me. Laughed at my jokes… told me I was pretty,” she trailed off wistfully. “It’s not my fault… he was my kind of people. I didn’t come from muckety-muck money.”
“Neither did Dale,” Chas pointed out.
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