A moment later a woman whom I ascertained to be her secretary appeared in the entryway. They spoke in soft voices and when Ms. Carter returned, her son and her husband were with her.
Introductions were made and the three Carter-Webbs seated themselves in separate chairs, all facing us. The senior James Webb was twice as broad as his slender wife, and bald. Stress, I suspected, as opposed to heredity.
The son resembled his father in all ways but for the lack of hair. James Junior’s flock of premature grey hair was thick and wavy. I wondered if it was a point of envy.
“I understand you’ve moved to Spokane. How long are you in Seattle?” Charlie began with a benign question.
“Just today and tomorrow,” the man in his early forties answered, his focus scarcely rising from his clenched hands.
“Have you established work in Spokane yet?”
“Yes. As a”—he looked at his parents, clearly anticipating their disapproval—“framer.”
“How did you find the job?”
Again a glance from mother to father and back again. “Someone I met in prison has a buddy who’s a contractor.”
“Are you comfortable with this job?”
“Yeah. I guess. It’s okay.”
By now Eleanor Carter had risen and was pacing in front of the fireplace, still glancing frequently at her watch. I wanted to ask her if we were detaining her from something, but why ask a rhetorical question.
“It’s not exactly what he’s used to doing,” James Senior said.
“But it’ll do until he can get his contractor’s license back,” his wife finished his sentence for him. I wondered if he would ever be able to obtain a contractor’s license again in the state of Washington.
“Of course,” Charlie said. “It must be difficult starting over.”
James Junior shrugged. Senior smirked. “Of course it is. But he’s tough. He’ll be fine. Is there anything else you want to know?” He was frowning as he looked at us, all the while picking at his fingernails as his wife looked on in disapproval.
“James,” she said to her husband. “These gentlemen are only doing their job. The least we can do is co-operate with them. Is there anything else?” she repeated the question she had just reproached her husband for having asked.
Charlie shifted his focus from the parents to the son. “We’re interested in the period from your release until now. How and where have you been spending your time?”
Junior shrugged. “Here mostly. Just hanging around.”
“Here?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. McNair, in case you haven’t noticed, we have a very comfortable home. There is no lack of things to do here. The pool is heated year-round, there’s a recreation room as well as a game room. So, if our son felt the need to recuperate from his dreadful experience, this is an ideal place in which to do it.” I would have to remember to ask Charlie later if he’d felt smacked by the woman.
“Of course,” he said obligingly. “Anything else?”
“Not much, other than looking for work.” How curious, considering that his parents could have easily provided him with a job.
“You’re wondering why he didn’t come to work for us,” Ms. Carter said. It was spoken as a statement, not a question.
“Eleanor—” her husband said, but it was too late.
The smile she had offered Charlie swiftly transformed into a frown as she glared at her husband. “What, James? It’s obvious they’re both wondering that.”
Sufficiently chastised, Senior, after throwing an icy glance toward his son, went back to nail picking. For some reason it seemed an odd habit for a man of his stature.
Again the fake smile appeared as Eleanor Carter looked at Charlie and me. “Quite simply, we felt it would be better for our company . . . and for James, of course, if he worked elsewhere.”
The fact that she had put her company before her son in that sentence did not escape me. When her statement was met with silence, she filled it. “Our company—at least Carter Engineering and Construction—has built a reputation in the Seattle area over the past sixty years. When my husband and I married forty years ago, and we merged our companies, we made it our number one priority to maintain that reputation.”
“Of course,” Charlie said generously, that charming McNair smile assuring her that he understood perfectly the concept of sacrificing a child in the name of business.
“You understand,” she said, her smile indicating that Charlie was now a trusted friend. “James’ reputation could damage, if not destroy, our names. Enough harm was done as it was.” She glanced at her son out of the corner of her eye, and I realized it was the first time she had looked at him since they’d entered the room together. Nothing short of disgust was reflected on her face now.
“What my wife is trying to say, gentlemen,” Senior said, standing up as if his size would help convince us that their rationalization was justified. Or perhaps it was so that he would exhibit some amount of power beside his wife.
But that feeling of power, if it existed at all, was short lived. “I believe I said what I meant, very clearly, James.”
He winced, ever so slightly. “Of course you did, dear. I was only trying to express my support for your explanation.” Sufficiently reprimanded, he backed off, glowering at his son as he took his seat. Clearly, Junior was low man on the totem pole.
Her eyebrow rose in the epitome of haughtiness. “What my husband is trying to say,” she said with a hint of mocking in her tone, “is that we met with our attorneys and our accountants and our board of directors and came to the conclusion that it was in the company’s—everyone’s—best interest to distance ourselves from our son‘s reputation.”
She paused but the questioning look in her eyes indicated that she would wait for a response before continuing. Charlie gave her one, albeit sparse. “I see.”
“I hope you do,” she said. “Just as I hope you won’t make assumptions from that information. I want you to know that other than allowing James to become involved with our company, we have supported him in every way possible since this unfortunate occurrence.”
Every way other than visiting him in prison. I was also struck by her choice of words which implied that this was something that had happened to her son as opposed to something he had created.
“Now, if that’s all gentlemen—”
I didn’t know about Charlie, but I certainly felt as if I’d been dismissed. Charlie took a sip of the tea the housekeeper had served and gave her another one of his famous smiles. “We would like to speak with James alone now.”
“Certainly.” She walked over to us, reached out and shook our hands, and with a sigh of relief, walked out of the room, her husband in her wake.
The three of us sipped our tea in silence as if needing to catch our breaths. Catch something anyway.
Surprisingly, James Webb Junior was the one to break the silence. “Just so you know, I thought it was better if I didn’t work for my parents’ company either.”
“Understandable,” Charlie said.
“And so did my parole officer and counselor. They thought it would be better if I moved out of the area, got a fresh start and all that.”
“A wise decision,” I concurred.
“Of course they always say that when you have an alcohol problem. Get away from the people you used to drink with.”
“I take it you have a problem with alcohol,” I said.
“Yes.” He raised his cup of tea. “I’ve been sober for eight years now.” Of course. That was the period of time he had served in prison.
“Makes sense then to get out of Seattle if that’s where your drinking buddies still are.”
He laughed a lifeless laugh. “Not exactly buddies.”
The meaning of his words seemed to strike both Charlie and me at the same moment. “Your parents?” I asked.
“Yep, we pretty much drank together every night. Unfortunately my drinking started earlie
r and earlier in the day.” He shrugged. “Not that my father’s didn’t.”
We both controlled ourselves from saying, “understandable” again.
“Were you drunk the night you—you sabotaged the job site?” Charlie asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Have you been back to see the building now that it’s complete?”
“You mean, have I returned to the scene of the crime? Yeah. Just had to see it for myself, I guess.”
“What did you think?”
“Of the building?” He shook his head and snorted. “No denying it, the guy is a genius. I hate his guts, but he’s a brilliant architect and engineer. Have you seen some of his work?”
“Hard not to, living in Seattle,” Charlie hedged. “You still hate the guy then?”
He shrugged. “Truth is, I’ve never even met the man. But there was a time I blamed him for destroying my life. My counselor says my anger is misplaced, something like that. Like I’ve projected it onto Edward Sharkey when I’m really angry at— other people. And myself.”
Clearly the man had done a lot of healing over the past eight years. The benefits of a prison term.
For the next few minutes, he spoke more about his life in Spokane and the job he had started recently. “It’s kind of boring. Nothing challenging about it, but at least it gets me outside working. And the guys I work with are okay. No one treats me like this big ex con like they do around here.” I didn’t have to ask where here was. “It’s okay for now.”
“Do you think you’ll try to get your contractor’s license back?” Charlie asked.
“Probably not. That would take some string pulling and— Don’t want to go there. Don’t want to involve my— I’ll probably just keep doing what I’m doing for a while and eventually hope to do other jobs besides framing. As long as I stay busy and make some money, I’m okay.”
“Do you see your kids?” Charlie asked.
His smile was overshadowed by sadness, reminding me of when Jimbo Finn had quoted Shakespeare’s Hamlet. “A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.” A perceptive man, that Jimbo Finn.
“Yeah,” James Webb answered Charlie’s question. “My boy, Tim, is seventeen now. He came to see me when I was inside. Plans to go to college in Eastern Washington which is why I got hooked up with a job there. Rosie, well, I hadn’t seen her in years, but before I left for Spokane, we got together a few times. She’s coming around. She’s fifteen now. A handful.” He smiled almost proudly. “Turned out real pretty.” He stopped shy of pulling out his billfold and showing us photographs. It was then that I realized we had not seen a single family photograph in the entryway or the living room of this house.
* * *
“So, laddie, what do you think?” Charlie asked.
“As if you need my reaction when your intuition is perfectly capable of determining whether this is our culprit or not.”
“Aye, I’ve my own humble opinion but I’ll ask for yours anyway, particularly considering that Jenny claims you have the ability to sense energy.”
I smiled. Just the sound of her name lightened my mood and made me more tolerant. “I believe what she’s referring to is my sensing when potential energy is about to be converted into kinetic energy. Particularly concerning intention. When someone is yet to take action but they have the intention of doing something. In this case something harmful.”
“Ah, yes, and what did you make of the energy in these three homes? Any ill intentions?”
“Well, quite honestly, the hostile energy in that house far surpassed the energy of our man who was convicted of armed robbery and manslaughter and our tattooed poet who was convicted of manslaughter and drug dealing.”
“Ahhh.”
“I admit I did feel intimidated and nervous as we approached Jimbo’s fine abode and after I read the report, but anyone who names his dog Tinkerbelle has to have some redeeming qualities, to say nothing of his affinity for poetry.”
Charlie chuckled. Jimbo Finn would not be soon forgotten by either of us. “The anger and resentment in that room today was palpable. I can’t say as I’ve met anyone quite as cold as Eleanor Carter. I’m convinced that she would have been quite content to sweep this entire matter under the rug if her son had not been caught.”
“I fear you’re right.”
“So, what is your hunch? After hearing what the two inmates said about him and meeting him and his family, do you think he is behind the threatening letters or attacks on the Lincoln?”
“What I think is that we’d best get into Sharkey’s and take possession of those index files on his desk and see if there might be any other suspects worth considering.”
“In other words, you don’t think he would wreak more havoc on Sharkey’s life.”
“I don’t.”
“Even though his words were the exact same words in the most recent threat?”
I too had noticed that. “At one time blaming Sharkey for destroying his life? No. If for no other reason, fear of his mother’s wrath as executed by his father.”
“So, no potential energy just waiting to be released?”
“Aye, there’s plenty of that, and I daresay it could explode at any moment. However if it did burst through the barrier of fear of his parent’s approval, his fury would not be released toward Eddie, but rather toward the very people of whom he is most afraid.”
“His mother and father.”
“Aye.”
“So we continue to pursue other avenues,” Charlie said.
“I think that would be wise.” I swallowed hard before I spoke the rest of what I was feeling. “And I think we had best pick up the pace.”
Chapter 17
“Let’s go,” Charlie said at me through his cell phone.
“Sarai left?”
“Aye. I’ll meet you at Sharkey’s in three minutes.”
In fewer than six minutes we were standing inside Sharkey’s office, going through the paperwork on top of his desk. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except that his briefcase sat open with the paperwork for his Canadian job staring up at us. Confirmation of our assumption that he was not in Montreal.
Just as Maureen had told us, there were two index files of names and numbers. Charlie snatched up both and we headed for the door. I wasn’t certain why we were in such a hurry. Courtesy of the towel Charlie had brought, we wiped up any rogue footprints. Even if Sarai discovered our having been there, who would she call to report us to? Obviously not the authorities. But it would cause an awkward scene at the very least.
Once back at Charlie’s, we called Maureen to come over. I went home to help Josh with his school work until she arrived.
When I spotted Maureen’s car pull up to Charlie’s curb, once again I headed for the door.
“Busy with this case you and Charlie are working on?” Josh asked.
“Right.”
“What kind of case is it?”
I shrugged. What did I tell him? “We’re not sure yet.”
His forehead wrinkled as his keen eyes studied me. “What do you know so far? I mean, how do you know it’s a case even?”
Good question. What did we know? That we hadn’t seen or heard from a friend in a wee while. “Missing person—we think.” I left it at that as I headed back over to Charlie’s.
Maureen was settled in with a glass of brandy when I arrived. Charlie must have figured brandy had a better chance of warding off the tears than tea and sympathy had done the last time she was there. And this time we needed her full attention for the task at hand.
“This file is all business acquaintances, people he’s done jobs for or knows professionally, that kind of thing,” she said as her fingers worked their way through the index cards. “The front section is all people he hires, who do work for him. Draftsmen and that kind of thing. He never wanted to deal with owning a large company and having to deal with a payroll so he just hires out individual projects to companies he likes.”
“And this fi
le box?” I asked, pointing to the smaller one of the two.
“This one is for personal friends, including the Westside Wanderers.” She groaned. “And for his lovers.” She flipped to the back. “Ex-friends—mostly women from his past—have been banished to the back.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I know my dad is very organized. But he also likes to keep people’s contact information.” She took a sip of her second brandy.
I knew the girl was clever. “Are you planning on spending the night here?”
Her forehead wrinkled, then she looked from me to where my eyes were directed, on her glass. “Naw, I’ll have Declan pick me up if I’m too drunk to drive.”
I nodded my approval at her suggestion, but couldn’t help asking, “Not Andy?”
She shrugged and glanced down at her brandy. I got the message. Andy would not be thrilled at the idea of having to fetch his somewhat inebriated wife.
“Maybe we should have Declan come over and help anyway,” Charlie suggested. “What time does he finish work?”
“He’s off today.” She reached for her cell and pressed her brother’s number. “He’s on his way,” she said after hanging up. “Where were we?”
I sat down beside her and studied the cards. Aileen’s had already been assigned a spot in the back of the file box. Maureen was definitely onto something.
Charlie, whose focus seemed erratic at best, looked from the card file to the picture window, and finally settled back down in the chair opposite us. He scooped up the business file and put it aside. “I’ll call all these tomorrow to see if anyone has heard from your dad. We need to focus on the ones you or Declan think might . . . be after your dad for some reason.”
He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen where we lowered our voices. “What are you thinking, Charlie?”
He shook his head slowly the way he did when he was assessing his answer before he spoke it. “I guess seeing those cards made me wonder why now? Why would someone want revenge against him now? The only person who’s had a recent battle with him is Aileen and she would not have sent him a threatening letter while they were together. Unless those have nothing to do with his disappearance. And if it’s money they’re after, as you pointed out before, they would most likely be seeking ransom. Obviously his children haven’t received a demand. Again, why take Eddie and not someone near and dear to him? Unless they are forcing him to give them access to his wealth, which means we need to gain access to his financial records.”
Saving Sharkey Page 20