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Unveiling the Past

Page 16

by Kim Vogel Sawyer


  The pair rose and left the room. At the click of the door latch, Meghan turned to Greg. “Do you get the feeling they practiced answers before meeting with us?”

  Greg laughed. He opened his laptop again. “I kinda felt like we were in a room with a couple of shyster politicians. They talked a lot, but they didn’t say anything.” He stared at his computer screen, his forehead crunching into a series of furrows. “But they’re sure laying the blame on Anson Menke, aren’t they? It’s pretty obvious they want us to draw the same conclusion the judge drew, that Menke took the money and ran. But I’m not buying it.”

  Meghan scooted her chair closer to Greg’s. She had the same gut feeling, but Greg was more seasoned. “How come?”

  “First of all, the man’s reputation.” Greg turned sideways in his chair and fixed his serious gaze on Meghan as if delivering a formal lecture. “The ABI delved very carefully into Menke’s financial and personal dealings. They went all the way back to his college years and couldn’t uncover one single questionable act committed. If they couldn’t find it, it’s not there.”

  He tapped two fingers on the tabletop. “Second, Sheila’s personal memories of her father. Sure, that last night he wasn’t himself, but that only says he was worrying about something. Maybe something he knew could get him into hot water. I think he was wrestling with a truth he needed to share but was hesitant to let out.”

  Meghan nodded. “I agree. He was probably trying to protect his family.”

  “And most likely someone else who was important to him.”

  Meghan tipped her head. “You mean like a friend or coworker?”

  “Exactly.” Greg’s expression turned grim. “I’m leaning toward looking at Menke’s closest pals here at the bank. From everything we know about him, Menke was a loyal, honest man. If he found out someone who mattered to him wasn’t so honest, he’d struggle with turning him in.” He pointed at Meghan as if taking aim with a pistol. “Let’s say he’s a straight shooter, same as Eagle and you. What would you do in a situation like this?”

  Their minister had taught the appropriate response when a Christian found himself in conflict with someone else. She couldn’t recall the scripture, but she remembered the application. “Go to the person who’s doing wrong and try to make it right. If he refuses, then get someone else and go again. The goal being to get the one who’s in the wrong to repent and change.”

  Greg smacked his palm on the table. “Exactly. I don’t care what the judge determined. I suspect Menke’s wife hit upon the truth. I think Menke found out someone he worked with was stealing the money. I think he approached that person and encouraged him to come clean. And I think that person did away with Menke to keep his evil deeds hidden.”

  Could one of the men they’d spent the last ninety minutes with be a murderer? A chill crept up Meghan’s spine. “It’s a pretty ugly accusation, Greg. We’ll need to back it up with fact before we actually say it to anyone who matters.”

  “I know. But I’d bet my kids’ beloved standard poodle that Menke is innocent of embezzlement.” He picked up his laptop and slid it into his briefcase, then sat and stared across the room, his forehead furrowed. “In the fifteen years since he disappeared, he’s never been sighted. Neither has his vehicle. The ABI found no overseas accounts in his name or in any of his kids’ names—a common ploy for embezzlers. He made no suspicious purchases. If he’d taken the money, he’d have made sure his wife knew where to find it. Then his family wouldn’t have lost their home and experienced all the other problems that struck. Seems to me he cared too much about them to put them through the losses.”

  Meghan couldn’t argue with anything Greg had said. “If Menke really was murdered by a bank worker and we ask who Menke’s friends were, they’re liable to close rank and not tell us. So who should we talk to next?”

  Greg grinned. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  Meghan bumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, duh. Blame it on the weak coffee at the hotel.”

  He laughed, closed his briefcase, and stood. “Shall we use my room or yours as the meeting spot?”

  Meghan rose, grabbed her belongings, and headed for the door. “Mine, of course, since that’s where we’ll find our informant.”

  When they reached the hotel, Meghan asked Greg to wait in the hallway until she was sure Sheila was ready for company. Then she entered the room, calling Sheila’s name. The younger woman was sitting against a pile of pillows on her unmade bed, playing on her phone.

  She set it aside and gave Meghan a hopeful look. “Are you all done with the investigation?”

  Meghan swallowed a chuckle. Sheila had a lot to learn about detective work. “Not yet. But you might be able to help. Is it okay if Greg comes in and we all talk?”

  Uncertainty briefly pinched Sheila’s face, but she stood and smoothed the covers up over the pillows. “Sure. Bring him in.”

  Meghan invited Greg in, and he crossed to the desk in the corner and sat in its squeaky chair. He pulled out his computer and placed it in his lap, fingers poised over the keys. Meghan sat on the end of her bed and patted the spot beside her.

  Sheila sat, her frame stiff and her hands woven together. “Okay, what do you need?”

  “Names,” Greg said. “Think back. Who were your dad’s closest friends at the bank?”

  A scowl creased Sheila’s face. “Dad didn’t have a lot of friends. I mean, with Mom being so sick, they couldn’t socialize much with other people. He had a high school friend he stayed in touch with, but that guy didn’t work at the bank. The only one I’d say was a friend at the bank was Uncle Wally.”

  Greg tapped on the keys. “Wally who?”

  Sheila shrugged. “I don’t know. Dad just told Wayne and me to call him Uncle Wally.”

  An alert dinged in the back of Meghan’s brain. She tipped her head. “Did Brandon call him something different?”

  Sheila laughed. “No. Brandon wasn’t born yet when Uncle Wally was coming around. Before Mom got so sick, she and Dad invited Uncle Wally and his wife over almost every Saturday night. They played pinochle. Uncle Wally always brought us kids a little something—candy or books or a toy. Mom said that since he and his wife didn’t have kids of their own, they needed somebody to spoil. They picked us, I guess.” She turned to Meghan. “They were really nice to us. But then Brandon was born, Mom got sick, and we didn’t really see them anymore.”

  Meghan gave Sheila’s knee a light squeeze. “What did you call his wife?”

  Sheila crunched her forehead. “Um…it was Aunt something, but I don’t really remember. I was only, like, seven when I saw them last.”

  Greg closed his computer and stood. “Thanks, Sheila. If you happen to remember the wife’s name, will you let us know?”

  “Sure.” Her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t help much, did I?”

  Meghan patted her shoulder. “You did great. No worries.” She walked Greg to the door, then stepped out into the hallway with him. “What do you think? Does our theory about Menke struggling about turning in a close coworker still apply?”

  “I’m not ready to dump any theory yet. But there’s gotta be something we’re not seeing.” Steely determination flashed in his pale-brown eyes, darkening the irises. “We’ll find it, though.”

  Little Rock, Arkansas

  Sean

  Sean glanced across the top of his computer screen to Farber, who sat scowling at his own computer. The other detectives were away on assignment, leaving the two of them alone in the office. It should have been a relaxing day—no Roach asking what Farber deemed stupid questions, no other conversations or phone calls creating distractions. Cap had even carried in lunch for them. But Farber had arrived wearing the scowl, and not even towering roast beef sandwiches, warm chocolate chip cookies, and soft drinks diminished the detective’s foul mood. Farber couldn’t find
Stony Dunsbrook, and it seemed Farber was a sore loser. Sean’s patience was nearly spent, and it wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

  “When someone goes off the grid, they’re reclusive, fanatical, or they’ve got something to hide. Wonder which applies here.” Sean hadn’t intended to speak out loud. Maybe the deathly silence of the room bothered him more than he realized. He wished he’d kept quiet when Farber shot a derisive sneer at him.

  “You left one out. Dead, but nobody knows it.”

  Sean had already considered the possibility. “If he was dead, wouldn’t he have been declared missing by somebody? Even if it happened after his parents’ deaths, there should be a family member, friend, or coworker who’d question why he suddenly dropped out of sight.”

  “Unless nobody really cared.”

  What a dismal thought. Sean pushed the idea aside and dug for another reason why Stony Dunsbrook wasn’t showing up in any of their standard internet searches. “I wonder…” Would Farber sneer again? Probably. Ridicule was his modus operandi. But they wouldn’t turn over new rocks unless they explored new ideas. He gathered his courage and finished the thought. “…if something happened when he was still a youth. You know, when records can be sealed or expunged. And he changed his name before he reached the age of eighteen to further cover up his past. Anything done by a minor wouldn’t—”

  Farber banged his fist on his desk. “—be public knowledge. You might have actually hit on something, Beagle.” The man didn’t smile, but the stern downturn of his lips eased a little. “You dig in Arkansas, and I’ll take California. Let’s see if we can find anything sealed or expunged.”

  Although the cold-case unit had access to files the general public and even some other policing agencies were denied, expunged records were deeply buried. Sean and Farber spent the rest of the day digging, but by quitting time, neither had discovered anything usable.

  Farber slammed desk drawers, flung his chair under the desk, and yanked up his computer case, all the while muttering under his breath. Sean was pretty sure some of the words were off color, and he sent up a prayer for the man to calm down before he got home. His family didn’t need the kind of treatment Sean had put up with during the day.

  Farber stomped toward the doors, and Cap trotted out of his office and stopped in the detective’s path. Farber snapped, “What?”

  The captain’s face reddened, and his gaze narrowed. “First of all, watch your tone with me.”

  Farber’s jaw muscles twitched, but he gave a brusque nod Sean interpreted as an apology.

  “Second”—Cap pointed to Farber’s computer case—“leave that here.”

  Farber took a backward step, slipping the leather case halfway behind his back. “Why?”

  “Because you need a break.” The captain folded his arms and set his feet wide, a stubborn stance if Sean had ever seen one. “You’ve been going after this case like a bulldog after a bone. If you don’t take some time away from it, you’ll end up making yourself nuts.” He angled his head. “Is there something personal at stake, or is it—”

  Farber snorted a laugh. He waved one hand in Sean’s direction. “I’m going at it hard because the detective you put on it to start with can’t seem to find his way out of a paper bag. How many weeks has he been on this already and…nada. Somebody’s got to get it done, and I intend to see that it happens.”

  Lord, gimme patience, and give it to me quick. Sean swallowed a chortle. At least he’d found some humor in the situation.

  “Farber, I could argue with you, but I’m not going to waste my breath. I am, however, going to deliver an outright command. Lay off the investigation until tomorrow morning.”

  Farber glared at the captain for several tense seconds, then huffed out a snort. “Fine. Here.” He shoved the briefcase at Cap. “Put it on my desk.”

  To Sean’s shock, Captain Ratzlaff took the case. “Good choice. Now go home.” He put his hand on Farber’s shoulder. “And get there safe, all right?”

  Sean waited for an explosion. The captain’s directions stepped across professional lines, and Farber never put up with people intruding into his life. Surprisingly, Farber hung his head.

  “Not in the mood for that anyway.” He stormed out without a backward glance.

  Captain Ratzlaff remained in place, his gaze seemingly following Farber’s progress, until the elevator doors closed behind him. “Dealing with him is worse than parenting a rebellious teenager.”

  Sean suspected the captain hadn’t intended to speak out loud, but the comment hit him like a fist in the gut. Would he ever know the challenge of seeing a son or daughter through the rocky teenage years? He’d take it all—the good, the bad, the heartbreaking—if given the chance.

  Cap trudged to the desks and laid the leather case next to Farber’s computer. He looked at Sean, his lips forming a weary half smile. “Been a rough one.”

  Sean stifled a grunt. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s not likely to get easier. Working with him, I mean. Just giving you a word of warning.”

  Sean leaned back in his chair and examined his boss’s face. The man knew something. The question was whether he would share. “I appreciate the warning, although I have to tell you, Farber’s never been easy. Not on me. But the antagonism he threw around today can’t all be because I accidentally mentioned prayer to him on the phone last night.”

  Cap’s eyebrows rose. “You said you’d pray for him?”

  “Not in those exact words.” Sean repeated the exchange he’d had with Farber. Then he shrugged. “I didn’t proselytize. I know better. But he took it as such and hung up on me after threatening to file a suit. I’m not worried about it. He doesn’t have a case, and I think for the most part, he’s more bark than bite.”

  The captain chuckled. “You’re right on that. But it doesn’t make listening to the bark any more fun.” He glanced toward the doors, as if concerned someone might be listening in, then pulled out Farber’s chair and sat. “Listen, Sean…”

  Sean went on alert. If they were sliding into a first-name basis, Cap could be stepping outside professional boundaries again.

  “I’m asking you as a favor—this isn’t an official order, okay?—to go easy on Farber.”

  Sean crinkled his face in confusion. Didn’t the captain have it backward?

  “There’s stuff going on. Stuff he can’t control. And you know how he likes to be in control.”

  Yes, Sean knew.

  “He isn’t handling it well.”

  And taking it out on Sean, so it seemed.

  Captain Ratzlaff pinned Sean with a penetrating frown. “What is it you Christians say about treating other people?”

  Sean rocked in his chair and held his hands wide. “There’s a lot. Love your neighbor as yourself, treat others the way you want to be treated, turn the other cheek…”

  Cap braced his elbows on Farber’s desk and linked his hands. “Yeah. All of that. That’s what Farber’s gonna need over the next few weeks, and I’m counting on you to stick to your convictions. There’s not another detective in the office, including Dane, who could do what needs doing for Farber right now.

  “I know I’m putting a lot on you, and maybe I shouldn’t, since what I’m asking goes beyond the normal work partnership. But I think in the long run, knowing what I do about you, you’ll be glad you had a role to play in this.”

  Sean sat up and angled his head, his flesh prickling. “Exactly what game are we playing?”

  The captain shook his head. “I can’t say. Confidentiality. But you’re a smart man. I think you’ll figure it out. Until you do, be civil. Even when he’s at his surliest—and, Sean, we’ve likely not seen the worst of it yet. It’ll all come to an end. Eventually.”

  Captain Ratzlaff seemed in need of assurance. Sean pasted on a wobbly smile. “You got it, Cap. I’ll do my bes
t.”

  The man released a slow breath. Relief sagged his features. “Thanks, Eagle. I appreciate it.” He rose and headed for his office. “You go on home now, too. You need a break as much as Farber does.” He paused and glanced back, smirking. “Maybe more.”

  Sean laughed. “Yes, sir.” He gathered his belongings and strode toward the elevators. For the first time since he’d tossed Meghan’s suitcase into the back of his vehicle, he was glad she’d left town. At least she was spared attacks by whatever demons Tom Farber battled.

  Battling demons…Today was Wednesday. Bible study night. Even though Meghan wasn’t there to go with him, he should attend. He’d grab a burger somewhere, then head to church. If things would get harder than they’d been today with Tom Farber, Sean would need prayer support. And folks would give it.

  He felt more confident already.

  Twenty-One

  Fort Smith, Arkansas

  Meghan

  The evening was so mild that Meghan and Greg decided to walk to a little family-style restaurant near their hotel for supper. Sheila stayed behind, claiming she wasn’t hungry and needed to call home and talk to her brothers.

  Meghan didn’t doubt Sheila’s claim about wanting to check on her brothers, but she also feared that the young woman had very little money and couldn’t afford to keep buying meals. At least the hotel offered a continental breakfast. Simple fare—store-bought rolls, boxed cereal, and apples and bananas—but at no extra cost, so Sheila could carry an apple or roll to the room for a later-in-the-day snack.

  A sign inside the restaurant’s foyer invited guests to seat themselves. Greg led Meghan to a corner booth. Menus stood on end between a sugar shaker and a bottle of ketchup. They opened them and made their selections even before a waitress brought silverware and glasses of water.

  Greg gestured for Meghan to order first, and she asked for her favorite, a reuben sandwich and fries. Greg ordered the chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad.

 

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