Mona Lisa Eyes (Danny Logan Mystery #4)

by Grayson, M. D.

  Doc opened a file in front of him. “We’re getting there—David and George are partway through with the extended financials, but not finished yet. I’ve got ’em looking at about fifty people—everyone at the Foundation plus all the friends and family. They’re making progress, but they don’t have anything at all yet on any of the Brits: Sophie Thoms or Nicki Thoms, Oliver and Cecilia Ward, or Jacob and Allesandra Thoms. David knows a guy in Scotland Yard, and they’re helping get the information put together, but it isn’t here yet. David says he thinks he’ll have it on Monday or Tuesday.”

  “The financials that SPD gave us were no help?” Toni said.

  Doc shook his head. “No. They’re pretty generic. More like a little one-paragraph narrative—the type you’d get off the web. We’re trying to get full-on financial reports: credit, payables, balance sheet, bank information—the whole nine yards.”

  “And the people you already have?” I asked.

  “So far, seems like nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Nothing at all? Nothing suspicious?”

  “Not really. Eric Gaston? Not all the way done with him yet, but what we have so far, guy’s apparently loaded: nice house, nice cars, nice sailboat, all the toys. David and George are still digging on him. No one else at the Foundation looks to have any significant money, not counting the Brits, of course.”

  “Back to Gaston,” I said. “Where’d he get all his money? Is it new? Guy’s been an employee of one nonprofit or another ever since he graduated. Can’t pay all that well. It’s not like he’s CEO of a major corporation. What kind of money does he get paid, anyway?”

  Doc shook his head. “Whoa! Slow down, dude. We don’t know where his money is from, yet—still lookin’. But I think I remember seeing that his salary was in the low one-hundreds. The Foundation has to file salary reports to keep its IRS nonprofit status up to date.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Why don’t we just ask Oliver tomorrow,” Toni said. We’d scheduled a wrap-up lunch with Oliver and Gloria at the Wild Ginger downtown.

  I nodded. “We will. Meanwhile, today, we keep working. Kenny: keep looking for the photos. Doc: stay on the financials. Richard, you can help Doc. Toni? Me and you, we keep looking for connections. We found one with McKenzie. There may be others.”

  “And just who is this fellow again?” Cecilia asked, reaching for her napkin.

  “His name is—was—Leonard McKenzie,” I said. We were sitting with Cecilia and Oliver in a booth at the Wild Ginger restaurant the next day. I’d just finished giving the two of them a quick briefing on the latest developments.

  “And you’re saying you think that there might be some sort of connection between this man’s murder and Sophie?” Cecilia asked, somewhat incredulously.

  I nodded. “I’m saying we think it’s a possibility.”

  “Wait a minute,” Oliver said. “What you’re saying is that the Foundation is the common denominator between the two of them, some sort of a nexus. Are you implying that something related to the Foundation is actually behind this man’s death? Or worse, Sophie’s?”

  “No. We haven’t reached the ‘implying’ stage yet. All I’m saying is that it’s possible there’s a connection between the two murders. There was definitely a business connection between the two people. As to their murders? If you just look at the facts, there’s no choice but to say it’s a possibility.”

  The table was quiet for a second as this sunk in. Then Cecilia said, “You said this fellow McKenzie called Sophie after he returned from a trip to Africa. Have you considered he may have just simply been moved by what he saw in Africa? Perhaps he decided he wanted to do more. I’m told it can be a very emotional experience, visiting those people, you know.”

  Toni nodded. “I imagine it must be. And yes, we have thought of that, and we agree—what you’re saying is also possible.”

  “And then, as Mr. Logan points out, that would make Mr. McKenzie’s death, while tragic, nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence,” Cecilia said.

  Toni nodded. “It would. That’s why we’re presenting this as simply a possibility.”

  “Humph,” Cecilia said, leaning back from the table. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I find all of this quite disturbing.” She looked over at Oliver. “I thought the case was over.”

  “It may well be,” I said.

  She turned to Oliver. “You realize that if those photos prove to be a ‘nexus,’ as you put it, between Sophie’s death and the Foundation, perhaps via Mr. McKenzie, then the implications as pertains to the Foundation itself are staggering.”

  Oliver stared at her. “You understand what you’re saying, of course.”

  Cecilia nodded. “I most certainly do. What I’m saying is that it appears we may need to consider the possibility that something—or someone—connected with the Foundation’s work in Africa may not be as we’d thought. In fact, the Foundation itself may be compromised.”

  Oliver looked completely stunned. “Compromised? The Foundation? That’s nonsense. I don’t think it’s prudent to jump right off to conclusions—”

  “I am not jumping to conclusions, Oliver,” Cecilia said sharply. “I’m merely stating a potential scenario. An ugly one, I’ll grant you, but a possibility nonetheless and one we must prepare ourselves for.”

  “May I interrupt and ask a question?” I said.

  They both turned to me. “Go ahead,” Cecilia said.

  “Along these lines, part of the procedure we normally follow is to have a look at the financial records of anyone who might have been even remotely involved in this. We’ve done this with the information provided by the police, but we’ve been digging a little harder. Everyone so far checks out more or less as we’d have expected with maybe one possible question. Something’s turned up that you might have a little insight on.”

  They both stared at me, curiosity in their eyes, neither saying anything.

  “Well, go on,” Cecilia said, waving her hand impatiently for me to proceed.

  “After examining his records, we find that Eric Gaston is apparently a pretty wealthy man, based on his lifestyle. He lives in a very nice home—on the same level as yours; wouldn’t you say, Toni?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s a nice home up in the Laurelhurst area. Just east of the University District.”

  “He has several expensive automobiles, and he even has a racing sailboat that he keeps at the Elliott Bay Marina,” I said. “The boat alone looks to be worth nearly half a million dollars. From what we’ve been able to see about Eric’s background, we can’t see where he’d have gotten this kind of money. As I recall, his father has passed, but his mother is still alive. We know his salary is not that high, so the question is, where’d he get his money? Inheritance?”

  “His . . . his . . . see here,” Oliver said, indignantly, “Mr. Logan, I see where you’re going with this, and I must say you’re layering supposition upon supposition, leading, I suppose, to the eventual conclusion that Eric Gaston has somehow embezzled money from the Foundation. Let me say quite clearly that the very notion is preposterous. He couldn’t possibly have taken money from the Foundation. All the donation funds are escrowed and then sent directly to the project providers. The whole process is audited, top to bottom, inside out, every year. And, I might add, in any case, Gaston’s not the sort. He’d never consider something like this.”

  “Let me stop you right here,” I said, holding up my hands. Oliver was getting worked up, and that was counterproductive. “I apologize—I shouldn’t have brought it up. If I inadvertently cast aspersions on anyone, including Eric Gaston, well then I’ve made a mistake. I have no solid proof. I should have kept my mouth shut until I have more information.”

  Cecilia smiled. “Yet once the subject’s broached, it’s rather a difficult genie to stuff back into a bottle again, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Logan?”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right, but again, I apologize.”
>
  “But it sure points out why we need to find those photographs,” Toni said, rescuing me. “It might be just as you’ve said, Cecilia. Completely innocent.”

  Oliver nodded and looked relieved. “Indeed. I would imagine that’s exactly what you’ll find: nothing at all.” He turned to me. “I’d say it’s critically important that you find the photographs, then—if only to clear the Foundation of any suspicion. What are you doing to locate them?”

  “We just discovered Monday that the photographs even exist. We’ve spent the last couple days looking for them with Gloria McKenzie. So far, no luck.” I smiled. “Gloria’s brother accompanied McKenzie to Africa. We’re checking with him.”

  “Maybe he has a copy?” Oliver said.

  “He told her he didn’t. It’s a bit of a long shot, but we’re checking again. We don’t know.”

  “Well, let’s hope you’re successful. You’ll keep us posted with all the details, then?” Oliver said.

  I nodded. “Of course. You know, the heck of it is? We’ve got Lieutenant Bergstrom waiting for them too.”

  It was quiet for a few seconds, save the background noise from the other tables. Finally, Oliver said, “When that other fellow jumped off the roof—”

  “Joshua Bannister,” I said.

  Oliver glanced at me. “Joshua Bannister, that is, well, we thought the case was closed.” He shook his head. “We were really hoping that we’d finally reached a resolution.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry for the whipsaw the two of you are having to endure. We know it’s tough. It’s been tough on us too. That said, we really want to see this case through to the end. Officially, our contract with you ended last night, but we’ve decided that we’re going to work on our own nickel for another week or so. We’re going to push our next job back a week.”

  Cecilia stared at me for a moment, clearly surprised. “I apologize for the oversight. I shall contact my brother at the conclusion of this meeting. Obviously, it was never our intent that you should work on our behalf without compensation.”

  I smiled. “Thank you for that. That would be appreciated. But the fact is, we’ve grown quite fond of Sophie over the past month. We decided as a team that we’re going to see this case through to its correct and final conclusion, regardless of our compensation arrangement.”

  She looked at me for a few moments, then she gave me a respectful nod. “Thank you.”

  Wow! Coming from Cecilia, that was almost as good as getting paid. Almost.

  The next day, Friday the 16th, just before 5:00 p.m., Doc and Toni walked into my office.

  “Kenny’s on the phone,” Doc said, as he grabbed a chair across from my desk. Toni took the other.

  I punched the flashing line and put him on speaker. “Dude. Talk to me.”

  “Found ’em,” he said, his voice full of excitement.

  I smiled. “Excellent work, man. Where are they?”

  “Gloria’s brother finally called. He’s been down in Miami. When Gloria asked before, he says she asked if he had photographs. That, he does not. I asked if he had a disc. He didn’t even know what it was until I described it. Turn out he does. It’s at his house. Said Leonard gave it to him after the trip and told him to hang on to it. He never told him what it was or why it was important. Gary put it away and forgot about it.”

  “So he doesn’t know what’s on it?”

  “Nope. No idea. Said he never even looked. He said Leonard didn’t tell him, either—never mixed business and pleasure. Said there were several times on the trip when Leonard would leave him for a couple of hours, saying he had some work to attend to. Leonard would take a cab and disappear. Said Leonard never offered up any commentary.”

  “That sound weird to you?” I asked.

  “Based on what I’ve learned of Leonard? No. He sounds like a pretty solitary guy for things like that.”

  I turned to Toni. “That leaves us where?”

  She shrugged. “We’ve got to look at the photos.”

  I nodded. “Kenny, how’s he getting them to us?”

  “FedEx. Monday morning.”

  “Monday? No Saturday delivery?”

  “No, he’s on a flight home now, doesn’t have it with him, and he doesn’t get in until late. He lives in Pennsylvania, remember? He’s going home early so that he can get the disc to us. He gets in late tonight, and he’s going to drop the disc off at FedEx tomorrow. It’ll be here Monday morning at eight.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Well, that’s good work, man. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—you being a special agent and all.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “Good work, Kenny,” Toni called out.

  “Thank you, kind lady.”

  We said good-bye and hung up.

  I rubbed my hands together, excitedly. “Well, hopefully good news for a change. Maybe now we can finally start to get somewhere, huh?”

  Doc nodded. “Depending what’s on the disc.”

  “Shall we call Ron and let him know it’s on the way?” Toni asked.

  I thought for a second, then I shook my head. “Nah, let’s not—he can wait ’til Monday. We’d better have a look at whatever’s on that disc first. If we’re wrong, I don’t want to blow any more cred with him. And if we’re right, well, we’ll know soon enough. Let’s give him a finished package. I say we wait.”

  She nodded. “Okay. What about Oliver and Cecilia?”

  “I’d better give them a call.” I rubbed my chin. “Cecilia will have my ass, even if we’re not under contract anymore.”

  “Well, with all this good news, does that mean we don’t have to work the weekend?” Doc asked.

  “Pictures aren’t going to be here until Monday, and David and George don’t work weekends anyway. You’re off the hook, dude. But I’m not. I’ve got that sailboat race with Eric Gaston tomorrow.”

  He looked at me sternly. “Yeah, ’bout that sailboat race. Been meaning to speak to you about that.”

  I looked at him curiously. “Oh yeah? What about?”

  He leaned back in his chair and clasped both hands behind his head. Uh-oh. This was a classic “serious” posture for Doc. I glanced over at Toni, but her face was blank. She either didn’t know what Doc wanted, or, more likely, she knew all about it but was happy to have Doc take the lead.

  I turned back to Doc. “C’mon, man,” I said, impatiently. “Out with it.”

  “Well,” Doc said, slowly, “I’ve just been thinking. This sailboat thing tomorrow? I got something I want to show you.” He opened a file, pulled out a printout, and handed it to me. I scanned it quickly and saw that it was a description of MarlowRopes.com. The heading said “Dyneema for Yachtsmen.”

  “It’s used on boats?” I said.

  Doc nodded.

  “Yeah. Racing boats, among others,” Toni added, apparently already having read it. “You making the connection?”

  I stared at the printout.

  “The short answer is that this little sailboat race tomorrow might not be the smartest thing you ever did in your life,” Doc said.

  It was silent for a second.

  “Think about it, Danny,” Toni said. “There’s a reasonable chance that those pictures are gonna hold some incriminating evidence that points to a problem between the Foundation and one of their donors. Something caused Leonard to jump on the phone with Sophie when he got back. If we’re right, four people may have been killed because of what’s on those pictures. That’s a lot of dead bodies piling up that all point back to the Foundation. And now, here you are, the man who’s about to blow the cover off the whole thing, about to go out on a tiny little sailboat on a big damn ocean with the guy who runs the Foundation and who may be the one behind the whole damn thing. That sound a little funny to you?”

  I smiled. “You guys are worried about me. I am touched.”

  Both fired off looks that said they were annoyed at my flippancy. Doc reinforced the notion by flipping me off.

  “How about if I go
, and you stay. How’s that feel?” Toni said.

  “It feels pretty damn stupid,” I said. “He didn’t ask you. He asked me. How could you go?”

  “But if he had asked me, would you have agreed?”

  I smiled. “Of course not. You’re a girl, and he’s a dude. I’d have never agreed to that, and you know it.” I can play dumb too.

  “Cut the crap, Danny. You’re being obtuse on purpose,” she said. “Pretend like Gaston was a woman and she asked me to join their sailboat racing crew. And we were starting to get the teeny-weeny sense that, just maybe, she was connected in some fashion to a quadruple homicide. Then would you let me go?”

  “You mean like Eric was really Erica?”

  “Erica. Right.”

  I smiled. “Hell yeah, you should go. I’d say it was a great opportunity to get close to your subject.”

  She shook her head and looked at Doc, exhorting him to take over.

  “And you’re not worried at all about the setting?” he asked.

  “What, you mean the slippery, pitching deck and the ice-cold sea? The potential for a tragic boating accident?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  I smiled. “Nah. I’ll take my chances. Besides, there are like six or eight other guys on the boat besides him and me. What? Are they going to make me walk the plank or something?”

  Chapter 22

  SATURDAY MORNING I KNOCKED OUT MY last hard training run before the race. Over the next few days, I’d be in what I call the “taper” mode, where I lighten the miles and the intensity in order to give my body a bit of a rest before the all-out effort of the race. Thank God. I like the training, and I love the racing, but still I was eager to get on with it. It’s always hard to peel my mind off the case and focus on training, particularly when the case is as compelling as Sophie’s.

  Since I needed to be at the marina by nine, I started at six thirty and did the first six miles in the dark, which enabled me to be home and showered by eight thirty. Eric Gaston had sent me an e-mail the day before with all the pertinent details: when to be there, what to wear, etc. He said they’d provide foul-weather gear, although I was hopeful this was just a thoughtful precaution and that it wouldn’t really be necessary.